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astrognossienne · 2 years

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scandalous star: henry fonda - an analysis

“I don't really like myself. Never did. People mix me up with the characters I play. I'm not a great guy like [some of the characters I play]. I'd like to be but I'm not.” - Henry Fonda

Pity. I love Henry Fonda. Mainly because he reminds me so much of my own father, who also happens to be a strong, silent Taurus. His bearing suggested something like morality, a sort of ethics of posture and gait: upright and humane, empathic if also stoic and withdrawn. Indeed, he was, onscreen, a man who exemplified for nearly half a century a man of honesty and decency in more than 100 film and stage roles. So much of what we know about Fonda derives from the authority of his body on-screen: a long, taut, calibrated instrument, most expressive when restrained—as it nearly always was. He perfected an understated style that might be called precisionist, his performances all sharp lines and edges. He acted naturally. On film, he repeatedly bears the values, and burdens, of civilization. Many people my age associate him not with the performances of his Ford-era classics—the stunning 12 Angry Men being my personal favourite—but with his self-portrait as the flinty father in the sentimental 1981 drama On Golden Pond, his swan song for which he won an Oscar.

Fonda was the patriarch of a family of famous actors, including daughter Jane, son Peter, granddaughter Bridget, and grandson Troy Garity. His two biological children, Peter and especially Jane, are more immediate in the collective consciousness, linked to ’60s counterculture via hedonism and leftist radicalism, and because each had a publicly strained relationship with him. Fonda is a man stranded due to the intensities of familial strife, amplified into cultural conflict. Off-screen, Fonda was a useless father and unfaithful husband. True to his earth and air dominance, Fonda loathed displays of feeling in himself or others, and this was a consistent part of his character. Whenever he felt that his emotional wall was being breached, he had outbursts of anger, exhibiting a furious temper that terrified his family. He was described as cold, self-absorbed and a bully to women, not to mention a shameless womanizer, marrying five times. He drove his second wife, Jane’s mother, to suicide. Fonda—the outmoded liberal, the vital-center moderate who is too accepting of compromise—seems marooned on the far side of the 1960s. Nonetheless, I love his equanimity and his sober dignified maturity: a man with a mournful appreciation of the past and its costs, rather than a heedless orientation toward the future.

Henry Jaynes Fonda, according to astrotheme, was a Taurus sun and Libra moon. He was born in Grand Island, Nebraska, to the former Herberta Jaynes and William Brace Fonda, owner of a small printing company in Omaha. Initially, he was a short shy boy keenly interested in boys scouting; but avoided girls as much as he could. When he was 14, he and his father witnessed the brutal lynching of a black man named Will Brown from a nearby building during the Omaha race riot of 1919. This enraged the young Fonda and he kept a keen awareness of prejudice for the rest of his life. Towards the end of his school years he suddenly grew tall and handsome. His aim in life was to become journalist and he graduated from the Omaha Central High School in 1923. He attended the University of Minnesota, studying journalism while working in two jobs, as a physical-education instructor at a settlement house and as a troubleshooter for the telephone company. In his sophomore year, he later said, he was exhausted and returned home for a rest.While supporting himself with a series of unsatisfying jobs, he was persuaded by Dorothy Brando, a family friend and the mother of the future star Marlon Brando, to join the Omaha Community Playhouse, where Mr. Fonda acted, painted scenery, became assistant director - and resolved on his career. After two years at the playhouse, he decided to try his luck in New York - to no avail. He went on to Cape Cod, Massachusetts, where he joined the University Players, composed of college students, including future film stars James Stewart (who became his life-long friend) and Margaret Sullavan, who was to become Fonda's first wife. Over the next four summers and one winter season with the group, Mr. Fonda played a wide variety of leading roles, becoming a seasoned actor. His marriage to Sullavan ended in divorce in 1933. On Broadway, meanwhile, he got a walk-on part and bit roles in two short-lived plays, and he appeared in comedy skits in the 1934 hit revue ''New Faces.''

In the succeeding decade, the actor alternated easily between films and the theater. Fonda was a rising star in 1936 when he met beautiful but emotionally fragile New York socialite Frances Ford Seymour on the set of a British film, Wings Of The Morning, which he was making in England.

Frances Ford Seymour, Henry’s doomed second wife

After a whirlwind romance, Frances badgered Henry into getting married. Frances was the daughter of an American industrialist whose family claimed ancestry from Henry VIII’s third wife Jane Seymour – a fact that was reflected in Jane Fonda’s full name being Lady Jayne Seymour Fonda. Medical records revealed that Seymour was a victim of recurrent sexual abuse in her childhood. According to her daughter Jane, it was at the hands of her piano teacher. The abuse left Frances traumatized, and turned her into a promiscuous adolescent who had nine abortions before her first daughter Frances de Villers "Pan" Brokaw was born; Seymour’s first, much older husband, businessman George Brokaw, was a violent alcoholic who beat her savagely. A year after Brokaw died, Seymour married Henry Fonda. Their daughter Jane was born in 1937. Flighty and self-absorbed, Frances ignored her daughter, who she left to be brought up by nannies. Her father was no better, preferring to fly kites with his good friend, movie star Jimmy Stewart, than spend time with either one of his children. Frances was diagnosed with bipolar disorder after the birth of Peter in 1940. Discovering that her husband was cheating on her with other women, Frances went to desperate lengths to regain his attention. She would walk around naked in front of him and even crawl on her hands and knees to him, begging him to talk to her. It didn’t work. Terrified she was losing her looks, she would spend hours in her darkened bedroom, wearing a chin strap and eye pads to keep her skin youthful. She had plastic surgery long before it was commonplace.

In August 1949, Fonda announced to Frances that he wanted a divorce so he could marry his mistress Susan Blanchard; their 13 years of marriage had not been happy ones for him. Devastated, Frances spiraled into a mental breakdown and had repeated stays in psychiatric hospitals, sometimes being confined in a straitjacket. Rather than comfort a woman who was descending into madness, her husband’s main concern was for the damage it would cause to his career if word got out his wife was in a ‘loony bin’. When Frances was allowed home briefly from a psychiatric institution (shadowed by nurses because she was on suicide watch), she called out desperately for Jane. But the 12-year-old hid upstairs. Frances didn’t see her daughter that day, but she did manage to distract her nurses long enough to slip a tiny razor into her pocket. A week later, on her 42nd birthday in April 1950, she shut herself in a bathroom at the hospital and used the razor to kill herself by slashing her throat from ear to ear. Unperturbed, Henry Fonda performed on Broadway that night as usual. He didn’t even give their two children the farewell letters their mother had written them, and insisted that she had died of a heart attack. Her daughter Jane only learned the awful truth about her mother’s suicide months later when a fellow school pupil showed her a report in a film magazine. Her brother Peter didn’t know for years. By then, having been packed off to boarding school where she had nightmares every night about her dead mother, Jane wrote to her father about her terrors. Henry returned her letters with her grammatical errors highlighted in red ink, refusing ever to discuss the suicide. Later in that same year, Fonda married Blanchard.

He starred in comedies such as The Lady Eve with one of his favourite co-stars, Barbara Stanwyck (who he had a lifelong crush on). In World War II, Fonda enlisted in the Navy as a seaman, rising to lieutenant and receiving a Bronze Star and Presidential citation for his work as an operations and air-combat intelligence officer in the Pacific. He starred in movies directed by John Ford, and their collaborations produced a number of classic films that established Fonda as a star. It was his role as the dispossessed farmer and ex-convict Tom Joad in The Grapes of Wrath (1940), an adaptation of John Steinbeck’s novel that earned Fonda particular praise and his first Academy Award nomination. After the war, Fonda took a break from movies and attended Hollywood parties and enjoyed civilian life. Stewart and Fonda would listen to records and invite Johnny Mercer, Hoagy Carmichael, Dinah Shore, and Nat King Cole over for music, with the latter giving the family piano lessons. In 1957 Fonda made his first foray into producing with 12 Angry Men, in which he also starred. Early on, the film drew poorly, but after gaining recognition and awards, it proved a success. During the 1960s, Fonda performed in a number of war and Western epics, including 1962's The Longest Day and the Cinerama production How the West Was Won. His third marriage, to Susan Blanchard, with whom he adopted his daughter Amy, ended in divorce, as did his fourth marriage, to Contessa Afdera Franchetti. His fifth wife was the former Shirlee Mae Adams.

Despite approaching his seventies, Fonda continued to work in theater, television and film through the 1970s. Hollywood first made its amends in April 1981, when it awarded him an honorary Oscar for career-long achievement. A year later Hollywood underscored its esteem by awarding him the Oscar for On Golden Pond. With 10 Academy Award nominations, the film earned nearly $120 million at the box office, becoming an unexpected blockbuster. In addition to wins for his co-star Katharine Hepburn (Best Actress), and Best Screenplay, On Golden Pond brought Fonda his only Oscar - for Best Actor (he was the oldest recipient of the award; it also earned him a Golden Globe Best Actor award). Fonda was by that point too ill to attend the ceremony, and his daughter Jane accepted on his behalf. Fonda died at his Los Angeles home on August 12, 1982, from heart disease. He was 77.

Next, I’ll cover an equally taciturn yet feisty Taurus: the famously cantankerous Katharine Hepburn.

STATS

birthdate: May 16, 1905

major planets:

Sun: Taurus

Moon: Libra

Rising: Virgo

Mercury: Taurus

Venus: Aries

Mars: Scorpio

Midheaven: Gemini

Jupiter: Taurus

Saturn: Pisces

Uranus: Capricorn

Neptune: Cancer

Pluto: Gemini

Overall personality snapshot: The principles of justice and harmony featured strongly in all he did. He wanted to get to grips with ideas and translate his vision of Utopia into a realistic proposition, but probably discovered the necessity for compromise. This may have disillusioned him at first, but later will become central to the way he operated. Innately sociable and convivial, he was genuinely interested in other people and indeed needed large amounts of kindness and affection. He wanted the best for everyone but he made sure that he did not skimp on himself. He thrived in beautiful surroundings and in the company of elegant minds. An innately aesthetic person, and probably quite romantic as well, he brought a genuine warmth and lively concern to all social gatherings, which made him downright flirtatious sometimes. If he was an artist, he created works of art that were good enough to eat; if he became a chef, dishes that were works of art. Whatever he did, his creations will express his innate sense of harmony, beauty and style. A lively social conscience is another aspect of this combination, as well as an awareness of the importance of education in the healthy development of the individual and of society.

He was attracted to progressive ideas that assert the inalienable rights of every human being, and he accepted the paradoxical fact that everyone is different and yet the same. He believed in a society that respects both material needs and high moral values, and his social instinct and pragmatic perseverance may have taken him into social-welfare work or the political arena where he could express his power and idealism. He learned how to make others see the intelligence of his thinking by first listening to and valuing their thinking on the subject. But he probably had a diplomatic knack of making sure the substance of his view prevails. And he could really impress with the practicality of his approach: he economized with flair and used the resources to hand. Waste not, want not, he always said. He also knew that a happy, convivial, relaxed atmosphere was the most conducive to constructive communication and compromise. Conflict is anathema to his being and he employed his natural diplomatic skills to overcome antagonism in any setting – with the sheer force of his magnetic personality.

His body was neat and wiry, and he used neat and economical movements. His well-groomed appearance was mirrored in his cool and classic way of dressing, good posture, fine bone structure and animated expression. Physically, he possessed good stamina. He tended to look younger than he really was, all the way through into his later years. He was practical, steady and patient, but he could be inflexible in his views. One thing he did have was plenty of common sense and good powers of concentration, although he tended to think that purely abstract thought was a waste of time. His thought processes weren’t as quick as others, but his decisions were made with a lot of thought behind them. He loved to talk and to travel, so with his able to combine these two in her job as an author, he was happy. He needed to have a fair degree of variety and change within his job, and the aspect of travel may have satisfied this. In whatever job he would have done, he would always have been the perpetual student, as long as the subject was interesting enough. He was a person who wanted a first-class life-style, and who treasured his possessions. He needed to be able to feel materially secure, and he probably gained wealth through sheer industry, because he was patient, steady and confident in this area of his life. However, he may also have been a little too trusting when it came to money, presuming too easily that there is always more where it came from. His acquired wealth may be generously distributed, both on himself, for he was self-indulgent, and on others, because he was vulnerable to sob stories.

A rather complex person, he was artistic, creative, intuitive and compassionate. At times, he was his own worst enemy, because he tended to relive past errors over and over again, which gave him a negative outlook on life. He could be hypersensitive and moody, needing quiet and solitude. Although he had a basic fear of subjects he didn’t understand, they fascinated him nevertheless. He looked for a life partner who had similar ideals to him. He belonged to a generation with a rational and logical attitude to life, a time when scientific advances came to the fore. There was a conflict between tradition and convention, and the experimental and unconventional. As an individual, he learned to strike a balance between the erratic and the conventional. He had the ability to come up with original ideas which could be of practical value. He was part of an emotionally sensitive generation that was extremely conscious of the domestic environment and the atmosphere surrounding their home place and home country. In fact, he could be quite nostalgic about his homeland, religion and traditions, often seeing them in a romantic light. He felt a degree of escapism from everyday reality, and was very sensitive to the moods of those around him. Fonda embodied all of these Cancer Neptunian ideals, trying in vain for the rest of his life to please his moody, petty, vicious mother and live up to her expectations. As a Gemini Plutonian, he showed an enormous amount of mental vitality, originality and perception. Traditional customs and taboos were examined and rejected for newer and more original ways of doing things.

Love/sex life: The bad news first; he was one of the least subtle of the Scorpio Martian lovers and his attempts at using his sexuality as a means to dominate were likely to be clumsy, bombastic and, in the end, ineffective. His biggest problem is a lack of patience. For most people of this type, sex is a time-consuming activity in which erotic sensibilities are allowed to simmer slowly in a thick stew of emotional meaning and physical delight, but he was just too impulsive and too horny for such drawn out processes. He needed his pleasure now. Now the good news; he was one of the most active lovers of this type. He was not content to just sit back and observe passion. He went out, found it and made it his own. He liked challenges in his relationships—new experiences, aggressive partners and the spice of a good fight. This kept his sexual instincts sharp and helped him resist the temptation to sink into redundant sensuality. In a nutshell, he was the most alert, dynamic and courageous of all the lovers of this Martian type. So why should he have had to wait?

In 1949, when Fonda told his mentally fragile second wife Frances Ford Brokaw he wanted a divorce so he could marry his 20-year-old mistress, the devastated Brokaw spiraled into increasing mental instability and entered a psychiatric hospital for treatment. Four months later, at age 42, she committed suicide by slitting her throat with a stolen razor. Fonda refused to discuss her suicide with his children, who didn't learn the truth for years. The following year, at the age of 45, Fonda married Susan Blanchard, stepdaughter of theatrical producer Oscar Hammerstein II, who later became a producer herself. They adopted a daughter named Amy in 1953. Blanchard was in awe of Fonda, and she described her role in the marriage as "a geisha", doing everything she could to please him, dealing with and solving problems he would not acknowledge. But five years of marriage was enough for Blanchard. Italian baroness Afdera Franchetti became Fonda's fourth wife two years after his divorce from Blanchard. Audrey Hepburn introduced the two while she and Fonda were in Italy filming War and Peace. Franchetti and Fonda married in 1957 and divorced four years later in 1961. Fonda's final and most enduring marriage was to Shirlee Adams, a former flight attendant and model whom he married in 1965. She was at his side when he died. It seems Fonda had finally met his match and mellowed in the process.

minor asteroids and points:

North Node: Virgo

Lilith: Taurus

Vertex: Aquarius

Fortune: Aquarius

East Point: Virgo

His North Node in Virgo dictated that his tendency to dream and be disorganized needed to be tempered by developing more practical and down-to-earth attitudes. His Lilith in Taurus dictated that he was dangerously attracted to women who were unabashed sensualists. These women were earthy, smutty, and totally without apology for their perfectly natural needs. He fell for women whose gut instincts were impeccable, their libido formidable, and whose sexual life-forces operated above and beyond petty morality. His Vertex in Aquarius, 6th house dictated that he yearned for completion of himself through the highest ideal of friendship. Hidden in the inner recesses of his soul were desires for a union that would impact the world in an almost utopian sense. There was a yearning for each act of intimacy to reflect a conviction of how all relationships should be in order for the world to be a better place.There was no place for exhibitions of jealousy with him. If his lover joined him in his lofty dreams, they had a companion for life. He had an attitude of duty, obligation and sacrifice when it came to heartfelt interactions. He tended to become hypochondriacal or martyristic to get the love so desperately wanted. There was a need for others to appreciate the sincerity of his intentions, to the daily tasks he executed in a conscientious and caring way and for others to know that his actions, no matter how routine they may have seemed, were based on devoted love.

His Part of Fortune in Aquarius and Part of Spirit in Leo dictated that his destiny lay in opening his mind and experiencing unique and unconventional life experiences. Happiness and fulfillment came from following pursuits that were idealistic, innovative and unique. This was especially so where there was a humanitarian benefit to his efforts. His soul’s purpose asked him to take a prominent position in life as a leader of some sort. He felt spiritual connections and the spark of the divine when he stepped forward into the spotlight and performed. East Point in Virgo dictated that he was most likely to personally identify with the need to work and to be pragmatic. He needed early responsibilities (which were within his capabilities). He tended to feel guilty when not working, as if he should be contributing in some way. He was generally identified with his work (“I am what I do.”) and with a performance orientation. If carried too far, this led to excessive self-criticism. When done in moderation, he was simply very practical and realistic, usually worked hard and saw life and himself clearly.

elemental dominance:

earth

air

He was a practical, reliable man and could provide structure and protection. He was oriented toward practical experience and thought in terms of doing rather than thinking, feeling, or imagining. Could be materialistic, unimaginative, and resistant to change. But at his best, he provided the practical resources, analysis, and leadership to make dreams come true. He was communicative, quick and mentally agile, and he liked to stir things up. He was likely a havoc-seeker on some level. He was oriented more toward thinking than feeling. He carried information and the seeds of ideas. Out of balance, he lived in his head and could be insensitive to the feelings of others. But at his best, he helped others form connections in all spheres of their daily lives.

modality dominance:

fixed

He liked the challenge of managing existing routines with ever more efficiency, rather than starting new enterprises or finding new ways of doing things. He likely had trouble delegating duties and had a very hard time seeing other points of view; he tried to implement the human need to create stability and order in the wake of change.

house dominants:

8th

9th

10th

He loved the totality of the human experience and embraced the whole cycle of human life, including birth, sex and death. His darker side, and the complexes and emotions that he preferred to keep hidden, even from himself was a theme throughout his life. His ability to undergo deep personal transformations and spiritual regeneration was also highlighted. Traveling, whether physically across the globe, on a mental plane or expanding through study was a major theme in his life. He was not only concerned with learning facts, but also wanted to understand the connections formed between them and the philosophies and concepts they stand for. His conscience, as well as foreign travel, people and places was also of paramount importance in his life. His ambition in relation to the outside world, the identity he wished to achieve in regard to the community at large, and his career aspirations were all themes that were emphasized throughout his life. All matters outside the home, his public image and reputation were very important to his. His attitude to people in authority, and how he viewed the outside world, as well as the influence of his mother and his own attitude to her was highlighted.

planet dominants:

Mercury

Pluto

Venus

He was intelligent, mentally quick, and had excellent verbal acuity. He dealt in terms of logic and reasoning. It was likely that he was left-brained. He was restless, craved movement, newness, and the bright hope of undiscovered terrains. He brought about complete and profound transformations in his life, good or bad. He felt the need to let go of what was familiar to him and accept new and different ways of being and doing things. There were areas in his life where he had to accept regeneration, which involved the destruction of the old and the creation of the new. He was romantic, attractive and valued beauty, had an artistic instinct, and was sociable. He had an easy ability to create close personal relationships, for better or worse, and to form business partnerships.

sign dominants:

Taurus

Gemini

Virgo

His stubbornness and determination kept him around for the long haul on any project or endeavour. He was incredibly patient, singular in his pursuit of goals, and determined to attain what he wanted. Although he lacked versatility, he compensated for it by enduring whatever he had to in order to get what he wanted. He ventured out to see what else was there and seized upon new ideas that expanded his community. His innate curiosity kept him on the move. He used his rational, intellectual mind to explore and understand his personal world. He needed to answer the single burning question in his mind: why? This applied to most facets of his life, from the personal to the impersonal. This need to know sent him off to foreign countries, where his need to explore other cultures and traditions ranked high. He was changeable and often moody. This meant that he was often at odds with himself—the mind demanding one thing, the heart demanding the opposite. To someone else, this internal conflict often manifested as two very different people. He was a discriminating, attractive, thorough, scientific, hygienic, humane, scientific man and had the highest standards. His attention to detail was second to none and he had a deeply penetrative and investigative mind.

Read more about him under the cut:

This remarkable, soft-spoken American began in films as a diffident juvenile. With passing years, he matured into a star character actor who exemplified not only integrity and strength, but an ideal of the common man fighting against social injustice and oppression. Henry's father, William Brace Fonda, was a commercial printer, proprietor of the W. B. Fonda Printing Company in Omaha, Nebraska. His distant ancestors were Italians who had fled their country and moved to Holland, presumably because of political or religious persecution. In the mid-1600's, they crossed the Atlantic and settled in upstate New York where they founded a community with the Fonda name. Growing up, Henry developed an early interest in journalism after having a story published in a local newspaper. At the age of twelve, he helped in his father's printing business for $2 a week. Following graduation from high school in 1923, he got a part-time job in Minneapolis with the Northwestern Bell Telephone Company which allowed him at first to pursue journalistic studies at the University of Minnesota. As it became difficult to juggle his working hours with his academic roster, he obtained another position as a physical education instructor at $30 a week, including room and board. By this time, he had grown to a height of six foot one and was a natural for basketball. In 1925, having returned to Omaha, Henry reevaluated his options and came to the conclusion that journalism was not his forte, after all. For a while, he tried his hand at several temporary jobs, including as a mechanic and a window dresser. Then, despite opposition from his parents, Henry accepted an offer from Gregory Foley, director of the Omaha Playhouse, to play the title role in 'Merton of the Movies'. His father would not speak to him for a month. The play and its star received fairly good notices in the local press. It ran for a week, after which Henry observed "the idea of being Merton and not myself taught me that I could hide behind a mask". For the rest of the repertory season, Henry advanced to assistant director which enabled him to design and paint sets as well as act. A casual trip to New York, however, had already made him set his sights on Broadway. In 1928, he headed east and briefly played in summer stock before joining the University Players, a group of talented Princeton and Harvard graduates among whose number were such future luminaries as James Stewart (who would remain his closest lifelong friend), Joshua Logan and Kent Smith. Before long, Henry played leads opposite Margaret Sullavan, soon to become the first of his five wives. Both marriage and the players broke up four years later. In 1932, Henry found himself sharing a two-room New York apartment with Jimmy Stewart and Joshua Logan. For the next two years, he alternated scenic design with acting at various repertory companies. In 1934, he got a break of sorts, when he was given the chance to present a comedy sketch with Imogene Coca in the Broadway revue New Faces. That year, he also hired Leland Hayward as his personal management agent and this was to pay off handsomely. It was Hayward who persuaded the 29-year old to become a motion picture actor, despite initial misgivings and reluctance on Henry's part. Independent producer Walter Wanger, whose growing stock company was birthed at United Artists, needed a star for The Farmer Takes a Wife (1935). With both first choice actors Gary Cooper and Joel McCrea otherwise engaged, Henry was the next available option. After all, he had just completed a successful run on Broadway in the stage version. The cheesy publicity tag line for the picture was "you'll be fonder of Fonda", but the film was an undeniable hit. Wanger, realizing he had a good thing going, next cast Henry in a succession of A-grade pictures which capitalized on his image as the sincere, unaffected country boy. Pick of the bunch were the Technicolor outdoor western The Trail of the Lonesome Pine (1936), the gritty Depression-era drama You Only Live Once (1937) (with Henry as a back-to-the-wall good guy forced into becoming a fugitive from the law by circumstance), the screwball comedy The Moon's Our Home (1936) (with ex-wife Sullavan), the excellent pre-civil war-era romantic drama Jezebel (1938) and the equally superb Young Mr. Lincoln (1939), in which Henry gave his best screen performance to date as the 'jackleg lawyer from Springfield'. Henry made two more films with director John Ford: the pioneering drama Drums Along the Mohawk (1939) and The Grapes of Wrath (1940), with Henry as Tom Joad, often regarded his career-defining role as the archetypal grassroots American trying to stand up against oppression. It also set the tone for his subsequent career. Whether he played a lawman (Wyatt Earp in My Darling Clementine (1946)), a reluctant posse member (The Ox-Bow Incident (1942), a juror committed to the ideal of total justice in (12 Angry Men (1957)) or a nightclub musician wrongly accused of murder (The Wrong Man (1956)), his characters were alike in projecting integrity and quiet authority. In this vein, he also gave a totally convincing (though historically inaccurate) portrayal in the titular role of The Return of Frank James (1940), a rare example of a sequel improving upon the original. Henry rarely featured in comedy, except for a couple of good turns opposite Barbara Stanwyck -- with whom he shared an excellent on-screen chemistry -- in The Mad Miss Manton (1938) and The Lady Eve (1941). He was also good value as a poker-playing grifter in the western comedy A Big Hand for the Little Lady (1966). Finally, just to confound those who would typecast him, he gave a chilling performance as one of the coldest, meanest stone killers ever to roam the West, in Sergio Leone's classic Once Upon a Time in the West (1968). Illness curtailed his work in the 1970s. His final screen role was as an octogenarian in On Golden Pond (1981), in which he was joined by his daughter Jane. It finally won him an Oscar on the heels of an earlier Honorary Academy Award. Too ill to attend the ceremony, he died soon after at the age of 77, having left a lasting legacy matched by few of his peers. (x)

#henry fonda #taurus #astrology #scandalous stars #star analyses #long ass post #mine

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shih-coulda-had-it · 3 years

Note

If Izuku had met the Young Torino?

I like the idea of Prime Torino being punched into present-day canon (punched by who? Toshinori, of course), and being the only one able to keep up with Deku as Deku scours Japan for AFO. Prime Torino just wants to get back home. He's too young to be a grandfather!

captions, and a starter beneath the 'keep reading' -

Gran Torino: What did you do to my cape?

Izuku: Ah.

Descriptive arrow pointing at the cape lists, 'bloodstained, tattered, singed,' and 'riddled with bullet holes.'

Not too long after Izuku cuts contact with All Might, he finds a cluster of masked people terrorizing a high-rise. Zero hints as to whether or not they’re aligned with All for One. But they’re extorting supplies from the people hiding within, and in any case, when Izuku hears the wail of a child, all bets are off.

Fighting comes easier to him now. Even if the holders disapprove of Izuku’s pace, they lend their expertise, smoothing out the wrinkles in his techniques.

He ducks under a wild swing, lashes out with the Fifth’s Quirk, yanks his opponent towards him and feels One for All flare within his veins as he preps for a punch. Standard. What is not so standard is the First’s urgent voice, saying, “Something’s wrong!”

Izuku has to drive the punch forward. There is nowhere else to redirect the energy.

One for All surges, unfamiliar and wild, and Izuku barely has time to process the foreign emotions: rage-loss-grief--a young voice that screams, “You’re awful! You’re not helping me, you’re just taking your anger out on the closest, most convenient target! I hate you!”

Something tears in the world. It’s different from a Warp Quirk, if only because it wrenches at Izuku’s gut, and also, because an extremely bright and heavy weight is flung into existence and into Midoriya Izuku. Izuku yelps, trying to slow his and the newcomer’s momentum.

They crash into a storefront on the opposite side of the street.

Amidst the shattered wooden boards (no glass? a lucky break, then) and under the stranger’s heavy form, Izuku coughs. His backpack digs uncomfortably against his spine. “Who is he,” he asks the empty air and prods wearily at the now-cheerful flames of One for All.

“Sorahiko,” says the Seventh, Shimura Nana. Her voice is soft, stunned, and terrified.

Izuku blinks. Presumably, Gran Torino stirs. His voice doesn’t sound like it did several months ago, like it’d been run through a blender and mixed with gravel, but the weariness is the same. He murmurs, “Shimura, help…”

“Help him, Ninth,” she snaps, and Izuku sees her spectral form manifest and circle their perimeter. She crouches by them, and as Izuku struggles out from beneath Gran Torino, he sees her fingers brush against the off-white suit. The Seventh twitches back as if stung.

“Did you just--?” Izuku blurts out.

“No.”

He has his doubts, but the important thing is to roll Gran Torino over so he’s not breathing in dust and splinters. The yellow cape he wears is the brightest, sunniest thing Izuku’s seen all month, and presumably, Gran Torino as he is now is the darkest, meanest he’s ever been in his whole life. Izuku heaves the man face-up and tears his own hood off, in case Gran Torino feels like punching first and talking second.

“Gran Torino?” he tentatively calls.

The Fourth’s Quirk zings, and Izuku dodges the grasping hand just in time.

“Where am I,” snarls Gran Torino, surging to sit upright and immediately looking nauseous. His hand goes to his abdomen, gingerly pressing at some invisible wound.

“Roppongi,” says Izuku. He telegraphs his raised hands, and he bears the cursory, critical once-over with patience. Torino’s grimace softens to a frown; he instinctively lifts a hand to touch the collar of his own cape, as if to make sure it hasn’t been looted.

“Your name?”

“Deku.”

Torino registers the title without comment. Instead, he nods, and he says, conversationally, “Excuse me, but I’ve got to go kick my student’s ass. If the little shit thinks he can dump my body in the middle of Tokyo without suffering any consequences, he’s got another thing coming.”

He attempts to rise, and Izuku, struck by the horrifying thought that seeing a Gran Torino in his prime will really cut All Might’s life short, hurries to say, “What year is it?”

Torino pauses. His expression darkens.

“It’s 20XX,” says Izuku, terrified of the missing answer. “Did you--did you just start teaching…?”

“I’m going to kill that boy,” says Torino, apropos of nothing.

Eep! goes Izuku’s heart. He gets to his feet, unnerved, and watches Torino lever himself upright. Gran Torino in his prime is tall, taller than even Endeavor--he thinks the Seventh is only a tad shorter. Before Izuku can witness the sheer presence Gran Torino used to exude, the Fourth draws his attention to the high-rise.

“You’re not allowed to kill All Might,” Izuku declares, too distracted to watch his words. He pulls his hood back up and over his face. “Sorry, um, I have to--”

He bolts to deal with the villains. A loud curse follows his exit, and then Gran Torino chases after him. The fight would have been a minor nuisance for Izuku, but with the added help, it’s a breeze.

Gran Torino in his prime is a nightmare in close combat. Izuku is only done knocking out two when Torino impatiently connects the dots and one-two-three-four-five men and women collapse, knocked out cold. When Torino touches down, he watches Izuku handcuff each villain to the other like a daisy chain.

“Aren’t you a little young to be a pro-hero?”

“I’m licensed.”

“Hn.”

A little awkwardly, Izuku activates the Fifth’s Quirk and gathers the cluster of villains. He doesn’t know if the nearest police precinct can hold them; too many people have broken the law in the name of survival. The country is in perpetual triage.

“Sorry,” Izuku says again, “but I need to relocate these guys.”

“Where to?”

“Somewhere else. I can call, um...” Endeavor? Is Endeavor qualified to handle a foulmouthed, time-traveling pro-hero who in his prime, could give Hawks a run for his money as the fastest hero on the registry? If Gran Torino wants to escape surveillance, then nothing can stop him.

“I’m going to follow you,” says Torino intently. “I have a feeling you’re the key to getting me back home.”

“I’m busy.”

“Too bad. I’ve been told I’m difficult to shake off.” Gran Torino pops his neck from side to side. “Thirty-some years in the future, and you know All Might. You know me. Get me up to speed, Deku, or I’ll go to U.A. and start from there.”

Izuku pales beneath his mask. If he sends Gran Torino like this to U.A., then All Might really will have a heart attack! And Izuku has no good news to tell Torino, not about the future in general, and definitely not about Torino’s own fate. “There’s a lot to cover?”

“Then let’s get to a private location.”

(A bit later…)

Gran Torino glances down at Izuku and says, “Is that a scarf?”

Izuku feels insulted on Gran Torino’s behalf. Certainly on Izuku, the cape’s ends are tattered and singed, bloodstained and pockmarked with Lady Nagant’s bullets. But on the old man, it had trailed on the ground, purposely dragging in the dust. “It’s yours. You gave it to me.”

“Well, what the hell did you do to it?”

“Ah… Funny story…”

#bnha #midoriya izuku #deku #torino sorahiko #gran torino #shih's art #shih.txt #asks #anon #anon if you sent another ask #it's delayed until i get c6 of ghostnana out #hmm what to call this...#oh well figure it out later #izuku was spiraling #but now he has bad enabler grandpa with him #so he's spiraling in a different way now

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pastxlscorp · 3 years

Text

Bully! Mitsuya Fanfic (pt.3)

Chapter III: Abidance

✿ Word Count: 3.2k

✿ Pairing: Takashi Mitsuya x reader

✿ Topics covered: (Eventual) Enemies to lovers trope, Hakkai POV, Y/N POV, Mitsuya POV, tsundere-Mitsuya, bully! Mitsuya, fem. reader, minor manga spoilers, slight angst

Awakening from his slumber, he found that the woman was no longer taking up space in his bed. He heaved a sigh of relief, only to, unfortunately, see a message from an unknown number on his phone saying “Text me when you’re free ;)” Ignoring the text, he found he had a message from Hakkai and remembered that he had abandoned him to sleep with that damn woman. However, Hakkai didn’t confront him about it, but instead acted as if nothing happened.

🗨️ Hakkai: Is the party still on for today? (Sent 2:00am)

🗨️ Mitsuya: Yeah, sorry about yesterday. I wasn’t feeling my best, I should have let you know. (Sent 10:00am)

🗨️ Hakkai: No hard feelings. Ya feeling better now Taka-chan? (Sent 10:01am)

🗨️ Mitsuya: Not really, but it’ll pass. What’d you end up doing yesterday after I left? (Sent 10:02am)

Picking up on the subtle curiosity of Mitsuya’s text, it became clear to Hakkai that he did see him with you. As much as he admired Mitsuya, the anger building inside of him got the best of him. Therefore, in response, he chose a reply that he knew would get Mitsuya boiling.

🗨️ Hakkai: Caught Y/N outside of your class, had a wonderful lunch with her! She’s so nice, Taka-chan! Why are ya so mean to her? (Sent 10:04am)

Vigorous fingers typed in reply.

🗨️ Mitsuya: Why the fuck were you hanging around that slut? She’s just gonna try and get in your pants. What did she say to you? (Sent 10:04am)

🗨️ Mitsuya: Hakkai? Hello? (Sent 10:05am)

🗨️ Hakkai: Sorry Taka-chan, I’m back. She didn’t say nuthin bad, actually she was so sweet. She saw I was alone and we both had some tea together back at her place. Ended up sleeping over, I’m still here actually! (Sent 10:05am)

🗨️ Mitsuya: BACK AT HER PLACE? I told you, she’s just trying to get in your pants and you let her win! I can’t believe you let a whore like her win you over, Hakkai! Where the fuck is your brain? She probably was enjoying every minute of your sorry ass. (Sent 10:05am)

🗨️ Hakkai: Who said we slept together, Taka? (Sent 10:05am)

Silence enveloped the room.

🗨️ Mitsuya: Sorry… I just assumed that’s what you meant by sleeping over. (Sent 10:07am)

🗨️ Hakkai: Awh, it’s okie Taka, I know you were only looking out for me. (Sent 10:07am)

Absolutely, looking out for Hakkai. That’s what this was, that’s what he was doing. There couldn’t have been any other reason why he was so upset at the thought of you sleeping together. He was just being a good friend.

-----

┃ “Y/N!” the hoarse voice spoke to you, feeling the smooth cloth of his jacket pressed against your face as you bumped into him.

You looked up only to recognize Hakkai, kind thoughts flooding your mind, diminishing your anger stemming from your interaction with Mitsuya moments before. He grinned at you giddily, eyes relaxing any sort of tension left in your body. You slowly began to forget why you were mad and allowed yourself to indulge in his presence.

┃ “Good afternoon Hakkai! Waiting for Mitsuya?”

┃ “Mhm, you takin’ Designer 101 too, right?”

┃ “Yup! How come you aren’t taking it? You’re very fashionable, y’know?”

┃ “You’re too kind,” He giggled, his grin beginning to somehow grow wider on his cheeks as he raised his hand to pat your head.

┃ “I’m serious! Why don’t you join the class? It’s not too late, the second semester is about to start!” You eagerly pushed on, rejoicing in the positive energy he emitted.

┃ “ ‘m not really into making clothes, just showing them off...” He let out a hefty chuckle before getting cut off by you.

┃ “You don’t have to be good at making them! Some students choose to learn how to stylize different clothing and patterns, it’s all about the latest trends.”

┃ “Really?” He went silent for a few moments, smile morphing into a straight line as he contemplated your words carefully. Not to fret, as his smile quickly returned as he said: “Well then, might have to ask Taka-chan to help me sign up!”

You both shared a laugh and began to discuss the enrollment process in order for Hakkai to join the class-- if he were to drop another class, what class would he drop, or would he simply add it to his current schedule? While your conversation was nothing more than an innocent developing friendship, unbeknownst to you, Mitsuya had witnessed it all and declared it once more another betrayal. You were such a slut, flirting with anyone and everyone. Irrationality began to consume him-- instead of seeing your interaction with Hakkai for what it truly was, a genuine developing friendship, his brain refused to comprehend your behavior with other men. He never got to the level of comfortability you had with Takemichi, and he had lost the sense of ease you had with him to Hakkai and god, god did it piss him off. Unfortunately for that kohai, she was just another doll for him to play with just until he could get your attention again. Even a single drop of your attention, your attachment, it was enough to drive him for weeks just to be able to be near you again. Your kind words squeezing his heart tighter and tighter the more you spoke, your laughter ringing in his ears at a corny joke he told you during club meetings, it enveloped him into infatuation which later developed into a larger feeling. Such a large feeling over the progressing months that when he began bullying you, when your lack of presence and absences during meetings began to grow, an emptiness began to root in his heart, waiting for you to touch it once more and let it grow.

He could go on and on listing things about you-- the way he loved your sense of fashion, the way he loved your sense of humor, your compassion to helping others, your intellect that allowed you to read everyone like a book, everyone except him. Why couldn’t you see that he didn’t hate you? Oh, but that jealousy, the first time he’d admit that it was jealousy, it gripped him so tightly around his neck that it felt suffocating. Every shove, every clasp of your hand, your wrist, your chain, your chain, it made his heart shutter seeing that dead watery look in your eye, but your attention was like a drug that he just had to keep getting more of. It would never be enough to satisfy him, not until he could call you his and you would call him yours. He pitied using them, he really did, but he needed someone to satiate his needs. He was a womanizer, after all-- if one left he would just charm another into his bed. They all had high respect for Mitsuya, his intellect, his charm, his skill, and his kindness. Yet no matter how hard he tried, all those women, they were never you and they could never try and be you. He found that he no longer sought sex for his own pleasure anymore, but for your own, pretending so desperately that the one trembling out of pleasure beneath him was you. Imagining, no, fantasizing that he was making you happy and leaving you satisfied.

Upon seeing your interaction, he quickly left with his kohai for their own exchange, leaving Hakkai unfortunately confused as he waved you goodbye, patiently waiting for his friend to meet him. You were still on campus because you had taken additional extracurricular activities to build up your transcript to make up for your absences in Mitsuya’s Home-economics club. At first, you attempted to make it through the club meetings but he made every single one as unbearable as possible. The second semester, could it come any sooner? Hakkai, too focused on organizing his schedule with you previously, had failed to notice Mitsuya leaving with a woman. He waited, he waited, and he waited, coming to a good hour until he realized Mitsuya wouldn’t have left him waiting for this long without a heads up. He looked at his phone, expecting some sort of contact-- a phone call, a message, anything. All that awaited him was several unread messages from group chats and friends, none of them from Taka-chan. He sighed, placing his phone away just as he noticed your presence once more, planting a fake smile on his face to disguise his obvious disappointment. Unfortunately for him, his smile only instantly alerted you something was wrong.

┃ “Hakkai? Why are you still here, weren’t you supposed to be meeting Mitsuya?”

┃ His phony smile stood in place as tears began to fill his eyes. He croaked: “T-taka-chan left me. Do you think he’s mad at me for sumthin’, Y/N? I don’t ‘member doin’ anything.”

You instantly rushed over to comfort him, witnessing what appeared to be an intimidating giant become undone into a fragile teddy bear at the thought he had upset his best friend. Your disdain only kept growing for Mitsuya, first it was his lack of maturity during class, and now he had abandoned his best friend for whatever reason it was. Hakkai was a sweetheart, you couldn’t imagine what he may have done to upset someone. Therefore, you came to the conclusion Mitsuya had thrown a tantrum of sorts and took it out on him. It irked you, however, Mitsuya always remained respectful and loving to his best friend in addition to Yasuda-san, so you couldn’t help but raise your brow wondering what got him so upset for him to entirely ditch his friend. Pushing those thoughts aside, you placed all of your focus on bringing a smile back to Hakkai’s face, gently rubbing his back and placing your forehead against his temple as he crouched over in defeat. You desperately attempted to think of anything to cheer him up.

┃ “Ah, how about some tea?”

┃ “...Tea?”

┃ “Listen, I have absolutely no idea what you like and I want to calm you down so-”

┃ “Tea sounds good.” He said softly, a small smile returning to his face.

You escorted Hakkai comfortably back to your dorm, located on the east wing of the campus. Women and men could go to each other’s dorms, they just had gender-separated wings because it was just easier to contain the chaos if everyone was allowed to sleep with their girlfriend or boyfriend. The boys had their dormitory on the west side, thus you noticeably got some glances as you strolled with Hakkai. Mitsuya was always surrounded by Hakkai and Yasuda-san, so obviously most of your classmates were shocked to see you hanging out with his right-hand man. Were you both sleeping together? Ooh what a scandal (not). Although you didn’t mind the glanes too much, Hakkai on the other hand made sure to shoot down them all with a nasty side glare, quickly causing them to turn their cheek. It was a cute sight after all, seeing how you subconsciously had reached for his hand and began to rub gentle circles on it in order to ease him, which succeeded in doing so. Once you arrived at your dorm, you opened the door and gave him a show of jazz hands as you toured him around your dorm. Your dorm wasn’t the largest compared to his and Mitsuya’s dorm, which made him realize the privilege of not having a financially aided dorm. Your queen bed comfortably rested on the right side of the room, covered with a curtain and fairy lights on the wall behind it. Your desk was not too far away, maybe a good 15 feet across your bed, not too messy but not too neat. It was obvious you were working on something, as there were papers still out and scattered but the rest of the desk had the pens, pencils, and stapled papers sorted in a clean pile. Your pinboard was half-covered with your calendar, cluttered with small sticker reminders while the other half was your schedule, nicely decorated with washi tape sticking it to the board. Next to your bed was a wooden closet and you led him into the cramped kitchen that made him gasp, seeing how you make such a tight space so comfortable and presentable. You had a small glass coffee table in the middle, a small fridge cramped in the kitchen underneath a cupboard and next to a cabinet holding the sink on top. Next to that was a stove with a microwave on top, both color-coordinated black, contrasting the white of the room. You guided him over to the table and motioned for him to sit and he obediently did. Walking over to the countertop holding an old-school kettle, you used it to strain and brew the tea. Gleefully, you dropped a few ice cubes in his glass and carefully poured his tea and then your own, sitting across from him at the table. He took a sip of the tea you had placed in front of him, smiling not at the delightful taste but the awaiting face you had fixated, putting your hands under your chin waiting for a response.

┃ “This tea is delightful, thank you Y/N.” He said warmly and you basked in his praise.

┃ “Ah, sorry if I made you uncomfortable with the staring. I don’t… really get visitors. It’s nice to have someone over.” You replied, your face beginning to glow a light pink as your lips formed into a slight frown, embarrassed to admit how you had no friends.

┃ “Mm, I should be the one thankin’ you,” The softness in his voice made your crouched posture fix itself as you looked up to him. “You made me sum tea, opened me to your home, all ‘cuz I was sad and overthinkin’. You ain’t hafta do that, but you did anyway. I appreciate ya!” His iconic grin was now back where it belonged as his eyes glazed over you in pure adoration. You smiled in return, both returning to take a sip of your tea.

Hours passed and he was still at your house, you both gossiping and talking like old friends. You discussed your classmates, praising them and disapproving of the behavior of others. He began to confide in you about what he witnessed during his time as the second-division’s vice captain. You eagerly listened to him as he described to you his tales with his brother and his amazing sister Yuzuha, anything and everything was up for debate. At least, almost everything. Despite being the main reason he was so upset, you and Hakkai had not discussed Mitsuya’s treatment of you. He was mentioned in a few gang stories, but it seemed as if Hakkai was opting out of speaking about him out of respect for you. However, his head began to slump, implying he was tired. You grabbed your phone, which had been placed upside down on the coffee table, and looked at the time and saw it was well past midnight. You leaned over to rub Hakkai’s shoulder and you gasped when his head turned back upright, alert as if he just remembered something. Drunk on drowsiness, he began to speak:

┃ “Mmh, y’know Mitsuya used to talk about you a lot. Always went on about this pretty girl who was awfully sweet, really smart…” He trailed off, fighting off the sleep that clung desperately to his eyelids. “He never gave me a name but after club meetings when I woulds wait for him, he would tell me about his conversations. I always saw him looking at ya. What did ya do to make him so pissed off?” Although he had no malicious-intent in his questioning, it was enough to cause goosebumps all over your body.

┃ “I didn’t do anything, ‘kai. Really, nothing different happened that day. All of the sudden, the next day during his club he humiliated me in front of everyone and then made me stay after hours to yell at me even more.” You went silent for a moment, before your curiosity got the best of you and you questioned: “He used to talk about me? Are you sure?”

┃ Ignoring your question, he replied to your initial response. “You didn’t do anythin’ different at all that day?”

┃ You contemplated his question carefully, before realizing the one event that was an outlier to the rest. “I was waiting for my friend outside campus gates that day. He offered to wait with me but I insisted he didn’t, mainly because my friend had said Mitsuya wasn’t very fond of him so it was better if he didn’t see him.”

┃ “Who’s the friend?”

┃ “Hanagaki Takemichi.”

┃ The tired man in front of you took a full minute to process your sentence before bursting out and crying of laughter a few moments later. You looked at him, pure confusion coating your body as he continued to sob. Finally, after a few minutes, he wiped his eyes and sat back up, gleaming at you. “Well that’s your problem, Mitsuya fucking hates Takemichy. Probably spied on ya because he was worried, saw Takemichy, and boom-- he got jealous AHAHA!” He went back to crying of laughter, leaving you a few moments to yourself to process his words.

It was embarrassing to admit how Hakkai was half-asleep in front of you and somehow managed to put together your puzzle of confusion together months after said incident had happened, in under 20 minutes. However, you couldn’t find yourself disagreeing with his theory. Suddenly, Hakkai stopped laughing and looked up at you, all serious.

┃ “Now wait… that’s not funny! He’s been pushing ya around all the time just cuz he’s jealous of you being with other guys?! That’s fucked up! ‘M gonna beat his ass, Y/N! Just for you!”

You now began laughing, taking Hakkai’s hand in yours over the glass countertop and tapping it gently.

┃ “That won’t be necessary, ‘kai. How about we come up with a solution?”

┃ “My solution is beating his a-”

┃ “A non-physical solution.”

┃ He went silent for a few moments, looking away from you to the window to think. You could tell he thought of something when a smirk began to plaster itself on his face. “How about we test our theory?”

┃ “Elaborate.”

┃ “If that pain in my ass is done with whatever it is he’s doing, there was supposta be a party tomorrow. Not at our dorm, but our friend’s. You might have heard of him, Manjiro Sano?”

You responded with silence.

┃ “Mikey. The Invincible Mikey.”

┃ “Not ringing any bells.”

┃ “Brother of Emma Sano. Brother of Izana.”

┃ “Emma Sano is so nice!”

┃ “Captain of the Tokyo Manji Gang, Y/N.”

┃ “Oh.”

┃ “Point is, he’s having a party tomorrow. We could get some revenge, I bring you as my date~”

┃ “Won’t that make him angri-

┃ “That’s what revenge is.”

┃ “Why don’t I just talk with him?”

┃ “Has he tried talking to you?”

┃ “...no.”

┃ “I rest my case.”

Silence enveloped the room once more. It wasn’t an awkward silence, no, it was quite a comfortable silence actually as he patiently awaited your response and allowed you to process and think.

┃ “When is the party exactly?”

✿ tags: @haiq-trash @blackmysticalsimp @the2ndl @bren-heron @delicatejudgecopcowboy @skiwalkers

✿ a.n. // First of all, thank you so much for 102 followers <3 I appreciate the support being given to me! I would like to address one thing, however, please don't rush me to write! I've gotten very kind messages of support but others have been demanding more of me and it's important to remember that I have classes, chores, a social life, and many other things happening. I love writing but rushing me makes it unenjoyable and it won't be my best work. My goal for this ongoing fanfic is to post weekly. Just a little ted-talk there, I hope everyone enjoys this chapter though! I had such a fun time writing it :)

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amoristt · 3 years

Text

Grazing the Fire | IV

well hello. here i am, four years later, once again enamored with nathan enough to finally dust this baby off and pick up where i left it. im a little rusty so bear with me this chapter! much more to come <3

reblogs + tags and replies will make my entire day as i put a lot of effort into this :)! it also helps motivate me!

story continues beneath the read more. let me know if you can’t access it!

Warning: language, very vague s/a mentions

want to support me? heres my kofi!

__________________________

“Alright class, who can tell me,” A board stick clacks against the chalkboard. “Who can answer problem four?”

A few hands raise in the corners of your eye, but yours remains atop your desk. Eyes far away, mind in a murky haze and almost completely unaware. All you could focus on were the memories playing on repeat within the confines of your tired, tired brain. Hours ago, you were warm, you were comfortable. Safe.

Cheeks heated to a dusting blush when you remind yourself just how you had awoken that morning. At some point in the night, an angel had blessed you. Allowed you to wake up wrapped around none other than big, bad, Nathan Prescott. Your face nuzzled into his chest, broad but wiry hands pressed firmly over your shoulder and his arm slung over your waist to keep you against him. Thankfully you had been the first to wake up, blinking away the morning sun blazing through his blinds and painting the room stripes of gold. At that moment, before your headache came crashing down onto your skull, you were astounded by him.

Eye lashes brushing the top of his cheeks, his lips parted ever so slightly, chest rising and falling rhythmically. In that moment, there was no anger, no bitterness. Just a soft and peaceful slumber. It was like being the sole viewer of a magnificent painting- each stroke and detail placed just there just for you to pick out, to remember the curves and sharp edges down to the very foundation. From his unkempt hair down to the way his hand flattened onto the mattress where your indent still lived. Nathan was so beautiful like this.

For a long time you stayed there. It was as though you were afraid to move- you couldn’t bear to disturb him. You had wondered, if he was always like this, so at peace, what would he be like? Likely soft voiced, mild mannered. He’d do his school assignments without hassle and donate to the charity board. He would wander the town with his friends and listen to music in a beat up truck flying down the stretch of highway overlooking the bold, blue, and beautiful ocean. An entirely different version of himself- carefree, and a fair blue as opposed to a burning flame of red.

But, if that were the case, you’d never have gotten here. You’d never been both the outsider, and the only seeing eye. A lucky, albeit firstly unwilling witness to the display of depth before you.

It never hit you like it had quite in that moment how lucky you were.

But- just then- an alarm disturbed what serendipity existed. You nearly leapt out of your skin, clutched your hands to your chest at the sudden sound. A headache wove its way into your once untouched temples. Nathan groaned, mumbled, ‘god damn it’, under his breath, and thus his body was reanimated into life. He rubbed his eyes and he stretched, that familiar scowl coming over his eyes and lips as he took in the sunlight damn near blinding him. A polar opposite to the being you’d appreciated just moments earlier.

“Ugh, fuck, how the fuck is it seven already.” He groaned. “I feel like shit.”

“Well good morning to you too,” You started, welcoming Nathan into the world. “‘I’m feeling pretty shitty as well.”

You said that, but really… You were more than alright. Your head had hurt, slight nausea crept into the wells of your stomach, but other than that you’re sure you were phenomenally better than you’d have been waking up whereverTate would have left your ass.

“You need to get outta here, before everyone gets up.” Nathan drawled, but he didn’t sound as urgent as you expected him to be. You’d expected him to be angry that you were still in his room, but instead he just… accepted it.

You snickered, climbing out of his throne of a bed. “Wow, you’re giving me the morning after treatment?”

“Sure am. Get outta here, whore.”

“Oh fuck you.”

You located your heels from last night, resting upright near his dorm room door. Heels didn’t sound like the most practical to sneak out of a dorm with, so you instead opted to grappling them by the straps and carrying them at your side. Hair a mess, outfit riddled with wrinkles and makeup smudged under your eyes, you stood before Nathan in all your glory. He stared at you for a long, odd moment- and you for some reason felt exposed, or even, shy.

“What?” You ask expectantly, placing a hand on your hip.

His eyes trail to your line of vision. He shakes his head. “Just thinking about how now you really do look like my morning after.”

“Yeah?” You hummed. “Find it hard to believe you get a lot of those.”

Nathan shoots you a suggestive glance. “You’d be surprised. Everyone wants a piece of Prescott.”

Surely, he was joking, or maybe he wasn’t, but you… Didn’t like hearing that. It made your stomach feel odd, uncomfortably heavy. As he stood up, reminding you how many inches he had over your size, you swallowed and cleared your throat to flush out that crappy feeling. “Well,” you started, mood having dropped. “I’m gonna go, then.”

“What got your panties in a twist all the sudden?” He asked, raising a brow and pulling some clothes from his closet, tossing them onto the bed.

The bed you two had shared.

You hated the idea of his morning afters- whoever they may be.

“Not feeling great. Probably a side effect of the roofies.” You mumbled.

Nathan breathed a laugh. “Probably.”

He seemed so calm, right now. Perhaps due to it being so early, before the outside world had a chance to remind him just why he was so uptight all the tight. Before he needed to be so uptight all the time. He really did have so many versions of himself- all of whom you were slowly becoming familiar with. Compared to the person you’d believed him to be before your run ins, you’d never have assumed someone so dangerous could be so soft as last night, as this morning. In the beginning, you’d feared him. Avoided him like a plague, or a wild animal. Even when you were enraptured in the existence of him, you still wanted to keep away. You’d never have believed someone like you could wake up clutched to his chest, as though he were afraid if he released you, you’d be gone long before he woke.

Then, a sudden thought struck your mind.

He’d held you so tight. He’d welcomed you in the morning. No anger, no annoyance. His soft laugh at your banter and taunts. How your heels were standing upright instead of tossed haphazardly into some random corner, where he’d watch your struggle to find.

How he’d stayed awake to ensure your sleep.

“So are you just gonna stand there?” Nathan called you back to reality, hands gripping the hems of his shirt. “I gotta get ready and you need to wash up so you don’t look like a five dollar stripper.” Cruel words, but with absolutely no bite. You rolled your eyes.

“Yeah. But, hey,” You started. “Thank you for last night.”

“Yeah, yeah. You gotta start learning to watch your own back.” He says. “There’s gonna be times I won’t be there to drag your ass out of the fire.”

If you’d been charged, if you’d been stricken with a strange defensiveness, you’d have retorted, ‘than stop helping me’, but… Instead you allowed yourself the comfort of protection. You allowed Nathan Prescott to watch you.

“I know,” You reached for the door. “Thank you.”

With that, you bounded out of the dorm silent as a mouse.

-----------

In hindsight, you should have left earlier. Class was merely 15 minutes away when you slipped out of Nathan's room and bounded towards the women's dorm. Albeit not exactly a long walk, by the time you discreetly snuck back into your own dorm, you had roughly twenty minutes to somehow pick an outfit from your countless unopened boxes and make yourself even slightly presentable.

Wiping off whatever make-up you could get and reapplying it, brushing out the tangles of your hair and nearly tearing off your scalp in the process, scattering your nightclothes over your floor and managing to scrounge out a semi-decent outfit for the day… You still looked a mess. If the mirror could laugh, it would have. Black mascara smudges under your eyes and frizzy untreated hair. What a lovely look.

You’d made it to class just five minutes late, but those five minutes were all it took for all eyes to be on you as you tried to slide into the classroom unnoticed. A couple classmates whispered to their table mates as you passed by, smelling of oversaturated cherry blossom perfume to hopefully cover the scent of alcohol. You sauntered to your seat and sank down with all your weight, suddenly exhausted. You’d made it with just five minutes tainting your record of attendance. The teacher greeted you with a disappointed sigh, and thus, the day began.

But, it was so hard to focus. All you could think about was Nathan.

“Alright class, who can tell me,” A board stick clacks against the chalkboard. “Who can answer problem four?”

You lowered your head.

“Ah, how about, ___?”

You snaked back into reality, blinking up at the chalk board that was somehow already riddled with math equations. Since you hadn’t been paying attention even in the slightest, your mouth gaped wide open, eyes scanning for something you understood even slightly so you didn’t look like a total idiot.

Sadly, you were out of luck. The teacher shook his head. “I’m shocked,” He said. “You're normally so on top of things. Oh well.”

“Oh, I’m sure she was on top of things,” A female voice sniggered behind you “Last night.”

Your face flushed a red, hot, ruby. What the hell was she talking about? How had they found out you were with Nathan? You were so sure of being sneaky, there was no way-

“Her and Tate totally got it on last night.”

You whipped around in your seat, facing girls who looked to be clones of some sort. Both with the same dark eyes, short brown hair, and freckles. “What?”

“Alright-” Your teacher blurted. “That's enough. April, May, enough. Let’s not discuss things outside of the classroom.”

The two girls batted their eyes. “Sorry sir.” One spoke, twirling a hand through her hair. Her sister's wide toothy grin never fumbled.

“Back to it then. Kate, can you help out __ with number four?”

The small, blonde girl nodded quickly, brushing a lock of hair behind her eyes and offering an empathic nod.

As you turned around in your seat, her answer fell on deaf ears. Your heart was racing in your chest, hands balled into fists while you stared ahead blankly.

They couldn’t seriously think that you chose to leave with Tate, could they? Surely someone must have seen the state you were in. Someone other than Nathan.

The clock ticks forward but time feels like it's passing almost unnaturally slow. With just 10 minutes left, you feel your phone vibrate in your pocket.

‘Nathan: consider ur favor officially returned

Your tongue poked from your lips, the tiniest of smiles taking over your once sullen features. Terrible thoughts and worries flew out the window while you type back, ‘damn. here i was gonna to ask you to do a backflip off the roof with me. there goes my plans.’

Nathan types for a moment. Typing, stopping, typing again.

‘Nathan: soundz like a blast. where and when?’

A small blush heats your cheeks. ‘very funny. thanks to last night i have an entire 24 hour session of studying to catch up with.’

His response is almost instant. ‘Nathan: boringgg. txt me when ur fun.’

Rolling your eyes, you shove your phone back into your pocket. It seems you’ve been able to secure enough of a friendship with him for some mindless banter even outside your little visits. You smile. He’s… Fun to talk to. Surprisingly.

Class comes to an end and you start to pack up the books and papers you’d hardly even glanced at the whole period. Whatever had been upsetting you before is lost in your mind while you think of the morning, the night before. All the things in-between. But, your happiness doesn’t last long. As you get up, you’re almost forced right back into your seat as a weight shoves into your shoulder. Your books scatter to the floor. April, the one who’d remarked about you earlier, glares at you in what looks to be disgust.

“Careful April,” Her sister hums as she saunters past you, keeping distance and raising her already shrill tone of voice. “Might wanna watch where you’re walking- I’d hate for you to catch something from this slut.”

You absolutely gawk at her. “What the fuck did you just say to me?”

April scoffs. “Oh come on, like everyone doesn’t know what you were up to last night.”

“Sleeping around isn’t a good color on you.” May hikes her bag over her shoulder and snickers at you. They both leave the class together, sickeningly in sync. You’re left stunned where you stand, unsure how the hell your life came to this so quickly. How you’ve stooped so low that the daughters of the world's most uncreative parents are able to bully you based on something that didn’t even happen.

Next class goes no better. The person to your right, a jockey looking brunette guy, asks, ‘have you ever heard of a Tate?’. You say no, that that’s the dumbest name you’ve ever heard. The idiot grins and goes back to marking down likely wrong answers on his test sheet and you debate kicking the leg of his chair out- but you don’t to avoid even more eyes on you. It makes you sick to your stomach- even more than recovering from the roofies does. How can everyone believe it? You barely even knew the guy and you were clearly uncomfortable with his advances. No one saw that?

After everything you’d worked for to build a reputation, trying so hard to not call out peoples shit for the sake of seeming friendly, tainted over something that didn’t even happen? And the kicker was that it hadn’t even been your fault! He’d drugged you, he’d have taken advantage of you! Yet you were the bad person?

Class came and went in the blink of an eye this time. Your mind wrapped up in the situation, your stomach churning. You wanted the day to be over with but you still had 4 more classes to suffer through. Why was this happening to you? Was Tate being treated just as horribly, or was he getting pats on the backs of his unaware friends?

Wandering down the halls to your locker, you noticed Lance and Kaz hanging around one of the drinking fountains. Your nerves quelled- your friends would surely make you feel much better. Especially since they had witnessed how awful you were feeling as you left. You approach with a relieved smile, ready to say your truth and finally have someone on your side.

“Hey guys.” You smile, but Lance looks down at his feet while Kaz places her hands to his hips. Your smile fades.

“You could have told us you were gonna spend the night with Tate,” Kaz snaps. “You didn’t need to lie like that just to leave. We were all worried about you and it was for nothing.”

“What?” You feel like you could cry. “No, Kaz, I really did try to leave. Tate tried to drug me and take me home, and-”

“He wouldn’t do that.” Lance interrupts, with a frown. He looks back down at the floor with knitted brows. “I’ve known Tate since before time. He wouldn't do something like that, especially not to one of my best friends. Plus he told me he was really into you. Why would he even try?”

“Are you serious?” You sputter. “You think I’d lie about something like that?”

“You’ve been lying about all sorts of things!” Kaz huffs. “What’s going on with you lately? You’ve been so distant, and secretive. What are you hiding that’s making you lie like this? We’re supposed to be your friends and then you lie to our faces just to go and fuck the first guy that shows you attention.”

“What…?” It was like acid. It was like the rug had been pulled from your feet sending you spiraling down the unending cliff. Kaz, your best friend, all that venom. How could they turn against you like this? What the hell is going on? You felt your throat tighten. “Look, I’m sorry if I’ve been distant, but I’m not lying to you, I-”

“We gotta go.” Lance isn’t in the mood to hear it. “We’ll catch up to you.. Some other time.”

Kaz says nothing as she pushes past you. Lance, at least, spares a short glance over his shoulder. You stood there alone in the hallway, your bag falling off your shoulder and clattering onto the floor with a thud echoing off the walls. Everything you had, all gone at once.

No one believed you.

---------

With nowhere to go where you felt like you could truly allow yourself to process the day's events, you went to the only place you knew.

Just outside of campus, where rocks lined the edge of the boundary, overlooking the outskirts of the town and the ocean stretching as far as the eye could see. You settled yourself there, staring at the vast waters and wondering how this had all happened. Unlucky didn’t even begin to cover how it felt. Not only did you feel violated with Tate attempting to do unthinkable things with your unconscious body, but you also felt alone, and walked on. Your best friends hadn’t believed you. While Lance seemed saddened, Kaz was so… Angry. Her words cut like knives into your skin.

It wasn’t fair. It wasn’t fair. You didn’t deserve this.

You want to talk to Nathan, but knowing him, he’d see your state and bounce instantly. After all, this isn’t exactly very fun of you.

As the sun began to fall, splaying orange and blues over the wide open sky, behind you, you could hear voices. A group of them, some male, some female. Memories of when your notebook had gotten snatched by those two horsed face assholes came flooding back and with all your alertness, you stood up, and decided that this sitting place was no longer safe. Nothing was.

Before you even made it ten feet away, the group had found their way to your spot and gotten comfortable, one of the girls cheering, ‘this’ll be our hangout! look at how pretty the view is!’

You took a short drive down the stretches of road and decided that if you were going to lament in your own sadness, you were at least going to do so in a place that had something to cover the sound of your tears. Plus a nice view.

The beach, littered with its picnic tables and the sounds of crashing waves would suffice just fine. So, you pulled in the desolate parking lot and wandered down the sandy shores until you stumbled upon a picnic table shaded by a large willow cascading lushious branches to block out the sun- a perfect canopy for you to wallow under.

You had nothing at that moment. No friends, no reputation, no one to believe your tragic tale. And now, you’d just lost the one spot that made you feel comfortable when stress was building into your body like concrete. Tears pricked into the corners of your eyes and you bit your lip, dreading that feeling of a lump in your throat. Why you? Everything had been going so well. How could not even a single person believe that Tate had tried to hurt you?

Well, actually, there was one person.

Of course Nathan believed you. He’d been the one to rescue you, after all. Time and time again it seemed. How was it that even the ones closest to you would turn their back so fast, yet Nathan seemed to be there even when you didn’t want him to be? Even when you yelled at him, and he yelled right back, fire and sparks falling into embers around the two of you.

In that moment, you almost felt like you could finally relate to him. A reputation based on lies and things out of your control, paired with a hardheaded attitude to try and combat all the assumptions.

No wonder he was so angry.

“Hey bitch,” A voice suddenly called, and you had a split second moment where you were terrified of once again being the victim of a cruel prank or some classmates boredom. “How about next time you have a pity party you don’t fucking call me in the middle of it.”

You blinked away your tears and through the blurriness saw a figure coming towards you. All that sass, the tone...

“Nathan?” You breathed. It only takes moments before he’s in front of you, holding his phone in view, seeing that the call that had been running for nearly ten minute. You flush in embarrassment, pulling your phone from your back pocket. “How did that happen?”

“Well, can your ass dial numbers?” He taunts, ending the call.

“Damn it, dumb phone must have butt-dialed you. I knew I should’ve gotten a different one.” You mentally kick yourself. “It must have unlocked in my pocket.”

“You don’t have a password on your phone?” He taunts. When you shake your head, he whistles. “You are just begging for a robbery. I’ll keep that in mind when I’m in the mood to send random messages to all your buddies.”

“Fuck off.” You scowl, and he grins, hopping up on the picnic table next to you. The sun flatters his skin. He’s almost glowing.

“Speaking of buddies, how the hell did it pick my number out of your sea of friends?”

You shrug. “Probably cuz’ it’s a priority contact.”

“Oh lala, I’ve been upgraded to priority huh? Does it display a superman logo whenever you give it a ring?”

“Nope. When I press call it rings the nearest asshole in my vicinity. The fact that it’s you is your own problem.”

“Haha, fucking ha.” He leans forward and rests his elbows on his knees. He stares out at the water, watching waves pull and crash onto the beach. It’s almost beautiful, until he ruins it. “Yknow, you’re a really ugly crier.”

“Wow, thanks.” You shake your head. “That's exactly what I needed to hear right now. Why did you even stay on the line?.” Wiping your eyes, you start to forget your tears. “Couldn’t have been that wild of a conversation.”

Nathan shrugs. “Between the crying and the sound of the waves it was pretty nice.” He grins. “Very educational.”

“Awesome. Glad I was able to make your day.” It doesn’t feel like your usual bitey remarks. You’re tired, you’re still a little hurt and you can’t stop thinking about how such an amazing morning had turned into such a horrible day.

“So what’s got you all fucked up? Never seen you act like this big of a baby before.”

“Nothing. You already paid off your debt to me per this morning, so feel free to resume our regularly scheduled mutual hatred.” You say, lying through your teeth. You know you’re both past the point of hatred, but you’re feeling jaded, you can’t help it.

“Oh shut the fuck up,” He groans. “I didn’t drag my ass all the fucking way out to this shit hole of a beach just for you to give me that bullshit. What, did you fail a test? No one matched you on tinder?”

“Everyone thinks me and Tate slept together last night.” You blurt. “I think he’s telling people me and him had sex.”

Nathan tenses his shoulders and grimaces. “Fucking werido.”

“I told my best friends that he tried to take advantage of me and they don’t believe me. One of em’ even said he wouldn’t do something like that.”

“Fuck em’. Who needs best friends.”

“And to make everything so much better, these two bitches that I share four of my classes with harassed me all goddamn day. I mean, fucks sake, how the hell are girls named April and May of all things able to get to me. It’s bullshit. And to make matters worse, Tate is just… Getting away with it.”

“Yeah well, something tells me that Tate’s gonna get a real nice fucking taste of medicine eventually. I just gotta find him first. He’s got a lot of nerve spreading shit around given I knocked his ass onto the pavement.” Nathan brows knit at the memory.

You test the waters. “Why would you do that for me?”

He seems caught off guard, or maybe, surprised that you’d ask. Maybe he thinks you’re both beyond that point. He grumbles, “Why does it matter.”

“I’m just curious. We don’t owe each other anything, remember?”

“Yeah, well,” He huffs. “Don’t ask me questions to shit I don’t know the answer to.”

“You say that an awful lot.” You tease.

“Yeah well you ask dumbass questions an awful lot. Not everything I do has to have some weird ass motives behind it, ___. Maybe I’ve got beef with Tate that’s outside of you.”

“Uhuh. Sure.” You’re about to say something else, when your phone lights up with a text. The display makes your heart fall all over again.

Unknown Number: you should just pack up and go somewhere else. no one wants std’s from breathing your air xoxo

You don’t even know who that is. Now absolute strangers are on your case. You want to throw your phone into the ocean and leave.

Nathan scoffs. “Don’t even bat a fucking eye for that bitch, whoever the hell they are. Half the hoes you’ve mentioned have slept with half the football team,” he pinches his jacket, “and I would know.”

“Ew, Nathan,” You grimace, that same feeling from the morning returning. It feels, oddly, like jealousy. He nudges your arm with his elbow and grins playfully. It’s cute.

“Chill, I’m just fucking with you. You gotta know even I wouldn’t fuck girls that desperate. I’m a man of class.”

That last comment actually forces a laugh from you. It’s soft, but it’s real. The first laugh you’ve genuinely had all day. “That’s horrible.” You remark, giggling again.

It's almost like the slight restoration of your mood puts him at ease as well. He leans back on his hands and stares off into the ocean, those sparkling waters under the setting, orange sun. “I’m for real though. Those hoes aren’t worth your time. One day when we blow this shithole of a town they’re not even gonna matter.”

Your brows knit, eyes blinking up at him. Had you heard that right?

“We?” You ask, perplexed, albeit a little… Hopeful.

Nathan sputters. “Well- Like, when everyone’s older and-”

“You know what, it's fine.” You interrupt. “Fuck it. You’re right. We’re gonna blow this town and they’re just gonna be some shitty memories.”

He sucks in a shaky breath. You’ve never heard him scramble like that, like he’s been unmasked. The look he casts you when you agree, when you don’t tease or patronize and finally hop on the idea that yeah, what if the two of you really didn’t have to deal with it anymore.

What if the two of you could just exist, without the anger.

You look up at him. “Would you actually do that though?” You start. “With me, of all people?”

He swallows. His expression is tense, but he’s not upset. He appears nervous, caught off guard. Nathan tries, “I-”

Your phone rings. Shrill, piercing. Mood destroying.

“Jesus Christ, it’s my mom.” You grab your phone and Nathan looks forward, stone faced and silent as you hop off the table and answer. It’s your mother, who all but shouts into the phone that her and your father are taking a surprising visit to Arcadia Bay while they’re traveling by on their vacation. She insists that you be ready in about an hour for dinner, and likely there will be family photos.

Which means if you still look as wrecked as you did this morning, you’re gonna have a lot of washing up to do. With a quick goodbye, a short and sweet, ‘love you’, you hang up and sigh.

“You still tell your mom you love her?” He teases. “What are you, five?”

You frown. “You don’t tell your parents you love them?”

Nathan side eyes you, and just shrugs. It is all the answer you need, really, and for his sake you decide it wouldn’t be best to press the issue. Not now. But- it still makes your heart hurt just a little. You wished that he’d had it better growing up.

“Right… Do you want a ride home?”

“Fuck no, what am I,” He shoves his hands into his pockets. “a fucking girl scout?”

“I was just offering, weirdo.” When he doesn't get up, you feel like you’re missing out. Like if you stayed, maybe, just maybe, you’d get to know him a little better. “Hey, if you want, I can stay for a bit longer.”

He rolls his eyes. “You’re needed elsewhere. But,” he shrugs. “I don’t know. Fuckin’... Text me or something. Or not, I don’t care either way.”

There’s a small warmth in your chest that rises to your cheeks. He wants you to text him. “Yeah,” You say. “If I’m feeling fun.”

And with that, you bid him farewell, beginning your descent to the parking lot.

“Hey,” He calls, and you turn just in time to catch a small item he’s tossed right at you. A tiny key resides in the palm of your hand. “Spare. If shit hits the fan again-...” He shrugs, and actually looks away. “Just don’t be too fucking loud of I’ll kick your ass out myself. No Madison needed.”

The widest grin plays over your lips. “I’m gonna re-decorate your room while you’re gone.”

“Ah, you fucking better not.” He shouts. “Actually- you know what, give it back.”

“No, no! I’m sorry.” You play with the key between your fingers. “Thanks for this.”

“Yeah, whatever. Don’t lose it and remember- emergencies only. I don’t need you watching me sleep like fucking freak. We’re past that stage.”

“How many times will I have to say I was never watching you. Christ… But, alright. See ya, then.” The key is heavy in your palm.

You place it into your pocket and give him one last glance before you take off, leaving him to enjoy the sound of waves, birds, and the absence of your tears.

#nathan prescott #nathan prescott x reader #life is strange #grazing the fire #scenario #fanfic #fluff

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thinkingisadangerouspastime · 3 years

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(pt 1) i really enjoy all your atla analyses & you've done a great job breaking down the usual arguments re how eip shows that kataang shouldn't have happened. i'm curious about your take on one specific argument that i just saw today, in an analysis of the show by a zker that was otherwise quite good and respectful (i know you've already talked about eip a lot, so no problem if you don't feel like rehashing). the premise: aang didn't just pressure katara in eip, he threatened her.

(pt 2) they point to when katara joins aang & asks if he’s alright: “aang: no, i’m not! i hate this play! katara: i know it’s upsetting, but it sounds like you’re overreacting. aang: overreacting? if i hadn’t blocked my chakra, i’d probably be in the avatar state right now!” the suggestion is he’s threatening her when he says ‘i’d probably be in the avatar state right now’ to describe his anger. i think this take exaggerates and oversimplifies it, but interested in your thoughts on it.

Hello my friend!! It is true I am Old inside and don’t like rehashing dhdlksjslks BUT your comments on my posts are always incredibly kind and insightful so I am more than willing to do a bit of rehashing for you 🥰 Besides! I’ve seen this general take before a few times and it’s always irked me for the exact reason you point out - it simultaneously exaggerates and oversimplifies the situation (and honestly that’s an impressive duality since it’s seemingly contradictory, so hats off to them lmaooo) - and now is as good a time as any to address it. So, for starters, let’s go ahead and get the excerpt they love to focus on so much:

Cut to Aang standing alone on a balcony. Katara enters and walks up to him.

Katara: Are you all right?

Aang: [Angered.] No, I’m not! I hate this play! [Yanks his hat off and throws it on the ground.]

Katara: I know it’s upsetting, but it sounds like you’re overreacting.

Aang: Overreacting? If I hadn’t blocked my chakra, I’d probably be in the Avatar State right now!

Here’s the thing about so-called analyses of this excerpt: in a manner extremely convenient to the poster, they never seek to contextualize this moment. (I mean, to do so would deplatform their entire “argument” - perhaps that’s why they avoid performing a full analysis?) So let’s avoid that pitfall from the start.

Firstly, below are some links to related posts; I’m going to do my best to summarize the most relevant parts, but for anyone who desires greater detail, I gotchu 😤

This post explains why EIP (the play, lol) is imperialist propaganda and is intended to belittle the entire Gaang.

This post explains how Aang never acted “entitled” to Katara’s affections, particularly in regard to EIP.

This post breaks down the infamous EIP kiss like Snopes Fact Checker, covering common misconceptions, important perspectives to consider, etc.

Alright. With that out the way, it’s time for some context.

Aang and Katara have this conversation on the balcony after watching 95% of “The Boy in the Iceberg,” a play chock-full of Fire Nation propaganda that demeans the entire Gaang in order to prop up the Fire Nation as superior (hence why the play ends with Ozai’s victory). Here is my general breakdown of Aang and Katara’s treatment in particular from a previous post:

- katara, an indigenous woman, is highly sexualized and portrayed as overly dramatic and tearful, because the fire nation objectifies women not of their own people and views them as less intelligent and less emotionally stable

- aang, the avatar, the sole survivor of the fire nation’s genocide of the air nomads who is incredibly in-touch with his spirituality and femininity, is portrayed as an overly-airy and immature woman. the fire nation portrays him with a female actor to demean him (like, that’s classic imperialistic propagandist tactics) and furthermore writing his character as a childish airhead reinforces the fire nation sentiment that the air nomads were weak, foolish people who did not deserve to exist in their world

In other words, these kids have just watched almost an entire play that preys upon their insecurities and depicts them using racist and sexist stereotypes about their respective nations. It is completely understandable that tensions might run a little high and that their interactions would not be as balanced as usual (Katara and Aang have a great track record of communicating well with each other, as it happens!).

So we have to keep that in mind when examining the aforementioned excerpt. But there are other factors to consider, too! Namely: they are kids. Children. Teens. Aang is 12, Katara is 14.

If we want to be scientific, a person’s brain doesn’t finish developing until they are 25, lmao, and the preteen/teen years are when the prefrontal cortex that controls “rationality,” “judgement,” “forethought,” etc. is still developing. This doesn’t mean Aang and Katara are irrational and make poor decisions 24/7 (obviously not), but it does mean that in an intense, highly emotional situation, like after watching a play that intentionally demeans them and depicts them as inferior, they are more likely to overreact, more likely to be emotional, and more likely to make mistakes. Like, I’m serious, lol. “Teens process information with the amygdala.” That’s part of the brain that helps control emotions! It’s why teens sometimes struggle to articulate what we’re thinking, especially in situations that require instinct/impulse and quick decisions, because we’re really feeling whenever we make those choices. Acting more on emotion. Our brains simply haven’t finished developing the decision-making parts, lmao.

In sum: Aang and Katara are both kids, not adults, and should be interpreted as such. This doesn’t negate their intelligence, because they are both incredibly smart and Aang is arguably the wisest of the Gaang, but they are human. Young humans. They have emotions, and we should not be so cruel as to assume they’d never act on them.

So taking that all together, we can now acknowledge the high stress Aang and Katara are under, understand why they might be upset (*cough* imperialist propaganda is hurtful *cough*), and examine how their youth might play into their emotional reactions. And funny thing - all analyses that come to the conclusion of Aang “threatening” Katara here do not usually bother with this context. I can’t imagine why!

And you know what, let’s add one more piece of context: Sokka states that Aang left the theater “like, ten minutes ago,” which is what cues Katara to go look for him on the balcony. The reason I mention this line is because to me, it suggests Aang knew he was more worked up than usual! He chose to separate himself from his friends so he could process his frustration! He did not take his anger at the play out on them; instead, he purposefully took time and space to be alone.

With that in mind, I don’t understand at all how Aang’s Avatar state quote could be interpreted as a threat? Canonly, Aang is someone who was aware enough of his frustration to separate himself from the others - yet the logical next step is him threatening Katara as a result? He knew his intense emotions were because of the play (which he says himself), so the logical conclusion is that he then pinned the fault on Katara? What?? Sorry, that interpretation has no textual basis, lmao. But I digress!

Aang tells Katara, “If I hadn’t blocked my chakra, I’d probably be in the Avatar State right now!” As you said, this is the line people point to in an attempt to justify their (baseless) conclusion that Aang is “threatening” Katara. So let’s bring in the two key pieces of context: imperialist propaganda and age. Given that Aang is 12, and given that Aang has just watched almost a full play that demeans him and everything his people stood for (and let’s not forget it also mocks his and Katara’s love for each other)…

His reaction is understandable. An exaggeration and needlessly dramatic, but understandable. He feels vulnerable and insecure and Aang is human. He is human and flawed and he overreacts here and I love that A:TLA shows how even our heroes, even people who are truly good at heart and in soul, can get overly upset (especially given the aforementioned circumstances!). Would Aang actually be in the Avatar state at that moment, had it been possible? Of course not! He’s young and he’s hurt and as such he says something dramatic to convey his anxieties and frustrations. The line is not meant to be taken literally, and seeing people do so despite all the factors that should be taken into consideration when analyzing it… Cue a long, tired sigh from me and so many other A:TLA fans.

And to be honest? I cannot fathom how people watch this episode and come to the conclusion that Aang is “threatening” Katara. To me, this episode - besides being a recap episode - is one that humanizes our cast even further. Aang snaps at Katara, kisses her when he shouldn’t (which the story appropriately treats as wrong). Katara pushes down her true feelings and retreats into herself, afraid to start a relationship with the boy she loves because she’s already lost him once before and can’t bear to do so again. Zuko further confronts the hurt he’s enacted upon others, especially upon Iroh. Toph practices being vulnerable and accepting vulnerability from others by conversing with Zuko. Sokka witnesses how others have erased his contributions and labelled him as nothing more than the token nonbender in the group. Even Suki learns that she is not the only person who holds a place in Sokka’s heart and that she can never replace what he has lost.

To watch this episode where our heroes must come to terms with how the Fire Nation deems them inherently inferior, with how they have more fights to overcome in the future with the Fire Nation than a single war, and to come to the conclusion that… that what, Aang is abusive? A monster? Irredeemable? That he would threaten his best friend, someone he loves in every way?

Wow. That says more than enough about the viewer, doesn’t it?

#getting back into the swing of things babey ✌️#aang #katara #kataang #kataangtag #the ember island players #atla #avatar the last airbender #amy answers #dramaticowl #amy analyzes #also i am speaking in GENERAL TERMS here lmaooo this is not a direct response to any one post 😂😂

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write-r-die · 3 years

Text

Prisoner - Part 14

February, 1067

Henry Cavill is a respected Norman baron who has been tasked with finding Lady Thomasin, an ill-tempered Saxon noblewoman, and returning her to London so the king can marry her off to a cruel Norman invader. The two grow close during the long journey, and Henry puts his own life in danger (more than once) to protect the woman he loves.

Masterlist

This chapter sucks but it’s about to get super good!

Thomasin went straight to church in the morning to confess. She liked and trusted Elaine, but she wasn’t comfortable sharing her innermost thoughts with her yet, especially since her daughter was likely to eavesdrop.

Not that she particularly trusted William’s priest to keep her confidence, especially considering what she planned to confess.

Her conversation with Charlie pricked at her mind like a sewing needle hidden in a bed might prick at her body.

Thomasin lowered herself to her knees and made the sign of the cross. “Bless me, Father, for I have sinned. It has been three months since my last confession.” It was the custom to confess at least once a month, but the past year’s events had altered everyone’s routines.

“What are your sins, daughter?”

“I have been unkind. I have blasphemed. I have not loved my neighbors. I have not kept the Sabbath day. I have been . . . amorous.” These were mostly the same sins as usual, but the amorousness was a new addition thanks to that week she spent in Henry’s lap. “That’s all I can remember.”

“Are you sure of that?” asked the priest.

Thomasin took a deep breath. “No. I have not yet - that is, I’m considering another sin. You won’t betray my confidence, Father, will you? That must surely be a sin. Is it not?”

“It is. No, child, I won’t betray your confidence and share your secrets. What is this sin you consider?”

“I’m thinking of . . . lying . . . to the king.”

There was a long pause on the other end of the curtain. “Explain.”

All at once, Thomasin’s story came rushing out starting with the night the Cavills took her prisoner to Charlie’s idea that she lie to the king about her virginity. “And I know I mustn’t bear false witness against my neighbor, but I am not bearing false witness against my neighbor, only myself. You see?”

The priest was silent for a long time. “Would it truly be so bad to marry Lawrence?”

“Yes!” He drove his wife to commit self-murder. Didn’t he? He didn’t seem actively cruel. Did he truly become so angry that he beat his wife until she lost the child in her belly? It seemed to Thomasin that he couldn’t be bothered to do such a thing, that he didn’t feel anything strongly enough to act in such a way – to act at all, really.

“I think so,” Thomasin amended. “I can’t be sure. But it cannot be good.” Of that, she was quite certain.

“Is that the only reason you don’t wish to marry him?” asked the priest.

“There’s Henry, too, of course.” She swallowed hard. “I cannot bear the thought of Henry being with someone else.” The words stuck in her dry throat like fish bones. Lord. That was the first time she’d admitted it. It was painfully true. The idea of Henry bedding another woman, her bearing his children – it made her sick to her stomach.

The priest sighed. “It is never easy to follow God’s laws. We all must make sacrifices to enter His Kingdom, for the road to Heaven is narrow and steep.”

“You think I ought to marry Lawrence? Don’t you know what happened to his last wife?”

“Seek solace in the spiritual world. Devote yourself to God. It is through Him that you will find comfort and joy.”

Thomasin had to literally bite her tongue to keep from lashing out. Wouldn’t God want His children to be happy? Didn’t He want Lawrence to be punished?

The priest told her to recite certain prayers to atone for her sins. She thanked him as graciously as possible and nearly stomped out of the chapel.

She was being childish, she knew, but she could not help it. Most girls were married off at fourteen to men they did not know. She was some twenty years old and unwed. She spent her life being coddled and guarded by her father. And now she was a piece of chattel to be traded by men who did not know her or care for her wellbeing.

She knew in her heart that Henry wouldn’t let that happen. He’d give his arm for her if she asked him to. But it might not be enough.

She believed that he was a finer swordsman that Lawrence – better than even King William, perhaps – but she also believed his honor made him vulnerable. Henry might be the finer warrior, but she suspected Lawrence had a great and dark mind. That could be just as dangerous. Sometimes more so.

Henry ordered her to let him deal with the matter. It was the only thing he ever truly asked of the woman he held so dearly and treated with such generosity and respect. But if it was in her power to preserve the life and limb of the man to whom she owed her own, how could she not? Surely he would understand. He must.

***

The next few days numbered among the most difficult in Thomasin’s life. She felt sick even after her courses passed; she’d worked herself into a fine state. She had an episode like this when she was young, around the time of her mother’s death. The healer, a monk, called it hysteria. She’d been blessedly free of it since then – it didn’t even happen when her father got sick – but now it was back, and it would not go away.

One of the Saxon prisoners died – of what, Thomasin did not know – and two more pledged their loyalty to William, even though it meant giving up everything they owned, including their dignity. They made their pledge in front of the entire court just before supper.

Thomasin and Henry were seated at the table at opposite sides, one chair over from each other. They could steal glances at one another during the meal, but they could not speak. Thomasin supposed that was the point.

Lawrence had taken to sitting next to her most nights. They didn’t speak. Lawrence had ceased with the pleasantries after her comment about his last wife. He ignored her as much as possible, but he sneered whenever she spoke.

Thomasin understood that he didn’t want this any more than she did, but he needed a wife to produce heirs and Thomasin was a gift from the king. He couldn’t refuse. He did still get pleasure out of the arrangement, for seeing him with Thomasin upset Henry to the point where he could hardly hold back his anger. Between Henry’s jealousy and Thomasin’s feistiness, conquering her was sure to be excellent sport.

The Saxon knights came forward and fell to their knees before the king and his wife and made their pledges. The other Saxons in attendance – mostly women, but a handful of warriors and former nobles that pledged themselves to the Normans early on – showed a range of emotions. Some of the men applauded their brothers for being sensible; others appeared to be ashamed. Most of the women looked like the wanted the whole thing over and done with, especially Elaine, who knew most of the Saxon prisoners either from tending their wounds or meeting them at court before the Norman invasion.

Henry’s reaction was surprising. He glared at the trencher of food in front of him, nostrils flared and jaw clenched as though he were the one being forced to swallow his pride. Thomasin made no effort to hide her concern, and neither did Charlie.

He, of course, knew about Cerdic’s presence in the dungeon, and he worried that Henry would allow his emotions to get the best of him. Frankly, he didn’t understand why Henry was so upset. He thought Cerdic was dead already; soon enough he would be. Perhaps he was feeling guilty for his part in the conquest. Thomasin had his head in knots.

During the applause that followed the oaths, Henry shoved away from the table and made a beeline for the main doors without offering any excuse or explanation.

Thomasin looked quizzically at Charlie, who sat directly across from her. He shook his head. She stood up and went after him anyway.

The large corridor was mostly empty, except for a young couple kissing deeply in a shadowed corner and a handful of female servants walking back and forth between the hall and the kitchens. They gossiped as they walked, paying no attention to those around them.

“Henry,” Thomasin called, scurrying over to him. He had his shoulder leaned against the wall and he was rubbing his face with his hand.

He looked up at the sound of Thomasin’s voice and gave a weary smile. “You should not have followed me,” Henry said, trying to sound stern; he just sounded tired. He caught sight of his ring hanging from the chain around Thomasin’s neck. He held it in his hand, still hanging from her neck, and smiled slightly.

“You followed me when I ran off in the woods,” she said. “I’m only returning the favor.”

“Or exacting your revenge,” Henry teased.

Thomasin shrugged her narrow shoulders and repeated Henry’s earlier words back to him. “It’s a matter of perspective.”

“This looks very fine on you,” Henry said of the ring.

“Will you have a pendant made for me like your brothers’ wives and your mother?”

“Patience,” he said teasingly. In fact, he had commissioned a jeweler shortly after arriving in London, though the piece’s production was delayed because Henry didn’t have his ring to show the jeweler. Instead, he had to provide the man with his shield so he could study the symbols painted on it. It wouldn’t be very pretty, he thought, but as long as it was recognizable it didn’t matter.

He knew better than to seek to borrow Charlie’s ring when he arrived. He would lend it to Henry if he asked him to, but he’d certainly put up a fuss about it.

And then he remembered the Saxon awaiting his death three floors below them.

Henry’s smile faltered.

“What’s wrong?” Thomasin murmured.

Seeing Cerdic, simply knowing that he was alive and nearby, upset Henry. As far as he could tell, the man was a boar, and it would be no great loss to the world for him to die. But it still bothered him.

Cerdic didn’t know about Henry’s relationship with Thomasin, her betrothal to Lawrence, or even that she was at court. He had no fondness for Thomasin, it seemed, and he would certainly not treat her with respect if they were wed, but he was still a living reminder of the life the Normans stole from her. That Henry stole from her. He sometimes felt that Thomasin was as much a prisoner as her former intended.

She cared for Henry, of course, but he wondered how much of her affection was true – true, in that it would still be there if she were free of Norman rule – if she had the option to return home to her father and go on living as she did before.

More than that, he worried how Thomasin would feel if she knew Cerdic was here. He swore Roger and Charlie to secrecy, of course. Lawrence didn’t know of his intended’s former relationship with the red-bearded prisoner – if he did, he would surely use that information to inflict pain.

“The Saxons . . .” Henry shook his head. “I’m so tired of all this fighting.”

Thomasin took a deep breath knowing she was about to start a fight. “Then why do you insist on fighting Lawrence?”

Henry’s nostrils flared in anger; he let the ring fall back into place. “Don’t start.”

“I’m not trying to start anything,” she said apologetically. She stepped closer as he started pacing in a circle, one hand on his hip as he rubbed his brow with the other. His hair, still short by Saxon standards, was a small pile of tumbling curls stacked atop his head. But he still looked so handsome. “I just . . . I’m just . . .”

“Just what?”

“I’m frightened! All right?!” How dare he make her say it out loud?

Henry stopped pacing. He tried to soften his features, but he was still stiff with nervousness. “It will be all right, Tom. Nothing will happen to you.”

“I don’t care about me!” she hissed. “I want to protect you just as much as you wish to protect me. Why won’t you let me?”

Henry was lost. “How?”

Kal let loose a warning bark that nearly made Thomasin jump. She hadn’t even realized he was in the hall with them. “Go,” she said to Henry. “I need a moment to compose myself.”

Henry slipped past her just as Lawrence came into view, carrying a goblet of wine in one hand and holding the other behind his back. Henry tensed his muscles so hard he nearly shook. Thomasin nodded silently to assure him that she was all right. Henry stomped back into the hall as Lawrence took a long drink from his goblet of wine.

“Would you like some?” he asked Thomasin.

“No, thank you.”

“Very well.” He tapped his fingernail against the rim of the glass. “You remember the nobleman’s family that I put to death?” he asked, lifting the cup to his lips again.

What sort of a question was that? “Yes.”

“Do you think they would’ve been better off alive, surrounded by lustful soldiers?” Lawrence asked calmly. “Do you think the baroness would be pleased to see her young daughters beaten and defiled in the same home where she was once mistress? It was a mercy killing in some ways.”

Thomasin was silent. She’d considered such questions for months after the Normans landed up until the night Henry lifted her out of her hiding place. She always concluded that she would rather be dead than passed around like a brood mare.

“You’d never have been so lucky. That would’ve been your fate if the king weren’t so set on bringing your brother to heel, which he clearly cannot, and if anyone but the Cavills had come for you, you would’ve been tied and beaten into submission and raped nightly, not carried about like a babe with your virtue intact.”

“I know that,” Thomasin snapped. What was his point? “Are you truly surprised that I might wish to marry someone who would treat me well? Someone I know would never raise a hand to me?”

“I won’t deny that I struck my wife on more than one occasion,” Lawrence said. “She came to me when she was fifteen years old. Still a child in need of discipline. You’re more intelligent, more mature, and I think you will know better than she did. I was not the source of all her troubles, as much as you might like to think so.”

“Why are you telling me this?”

“Because I dislike the way that you fawn over Henry and regard me as the most heinous of villains. You should be grateful for your good fortune. You’re betrothed to a man capable of mercy toward women.”

Beating his wife was mercy? He likely just meant that he wouldn’t take her against her will, and that was a great mercy indeed for women. Beating wasn’t so heinous, Thomasin supposed, but that didn’t mean she was all right with it.

“What do you care what I think?”

“I don’t. I care about whether or not my peers perceive me as weak, though, and I won’t have a wife who runs after another man anytime he frowns.” His voice remained even but his whole face had gone bright red with anger. “We’re to be wed next week. Once you are mine, I won’t tolerate such behavior. A wife obeys her husband in all things; you will not embarrass me by fawning over a weakling. Should you continue to do so, I won’t hesitate to show you my displeasure. Am I clear?”

The calm with which he spoke was unsettling. God’s truth, Thomasin would have felt better if he shouted.

Thomasin dipped her head. “I understand, my lord.”

Lawrence’s face returned to its normal color and a smile bloomed across his face. “Good.” He gave Thomasin a peck on the cheek. “Sleep well, my beloved.”

She didn’t notice Elaine and her daughter standing nearby until Elaine called out to her. “Thomasin?” She scurried over to her friend. “Are you all right?” Thomasin swallowed back the lump in her throat and nodded. “Here. Come with me.” She released her grip on Mercia to pull Thomasin around a corner for greater privacy, squeezing her hands reassuringly. “What’s happened?”

Thomasin didn’t realize all the color was gone from her face or that she was quaking like a leaf. “I’m fine.”

“Mamma?” Mercia said.

“A moment, my love,” her mother told her. “She was falling asleep at the table; I was leaving to put her to bed,” she explained to Thomasin. “I didn’t mean to listen in on your conversation.”

“I don’t care about that,” Thomasin said, shaking her head.

“I didn’t hear anything clearly,” Elaine said over her. “I only saw that he was talking to you and the look on your face.”

Mercia wasn’t paying attention to what the women were saying, she only saw the sadness in Thomasin’s eyes. “Why you crying?” she asked, eyebrows knit together. Thomasin noticed for the first time how cherubic the child appeared.

“I’m not crying.” Thomasin honestly didn’t think she was. And she wasn’t really, in that there were no tears, but she certainly looked distressed.

The child wouldn’t accept the non-explanation. “Mamma, why she crying?”

Elaine released her friend’s hands and crouched to look her daughter in the eye. “Go back inside, please. Lady Thomasin and I are speaking. I’ll take you to bed just as soon as we’ve finished.”

“But she sad!” Mercia objected. She looked around. “Where Bear? Bear make you happy. I go find!” She was still upset with Kal for assaulting Batty, but she trusted in his ability to bring joy to others.

“No, no, that’s all right,” Thomasin said with a sniffle. “I don’t want to bother him.” The last thing she needed was for Henry to be involved.

Mercia frowned for a moment before thrusting her doll up toward Thomasin’s face. “Take,” she commanded. “Batty make you feel better.”

Thomasin swallowed again and reached out numb fingers. She couldn’t remember the last time she held a doll. “Thank you.”

“Not for always,” Mercia said, holding up a finger. “You keep just until you feel better.”

“I understand. Thank you.”

Elaine and Mercia walked Thomasin back to her room. Elaine gave Etheldreda some instructions. “Mercia, can Lady Thomasin borrow some of Batty’s magic?”

“Just a little bit,” Mercia agreed.

Elaine smiled in thanks. She tore the doll open just enough to pull out some of the dried lavender, which she instructed Etheldreda to put in hot water for Thomasin to drink. “It will keep you from getting upset. I’ll send along some more herbs to help you rest. And more of Batty’s magic,” she assured her daughter. She turned back to Thomasin. “It won’t seem so bad in the morning. A good night’s sleep always helps.”

“I don’t think I can shut my eyes,” Thomasin said.

Elaine smirked. “Sleeping drafts are my specialty.” She didn’t mention that the drafts were the only thing that kept her from going mad when the Normans arrived. Without them, she’d spend all night staring up at the ceiling, clutching her daughter to her chest, praying for mercy from God and the invaders both.

She slipped away to put Mercia to sleep while Etheldreda prepared Thomasin for bed she sent a servant back with a pack of herbs for Etheldreda to make a sleeping draft and a handful of lavender to replace Batty’s stuffing.

Thomasin watched the fire flicker until the draft was ready. Etheldreda watched her drink, ensuring she drained every drop. Thomasin wiped her mouth with the back of her wrist.

“Lie down,” said Etheldreda.

Thomasin shuffled down in the bed as her maid drew the covers over her. “Etheldreda, have you ever been married?”

She nodded. “Twice.”

“Did you love your husbands?”

“Oh, yes.”

“Did they ever beat you?”

The old woman frowned. “Peasant women can be lucky on occasion. Sometimes we get to choose our husbands.” She tucked Batty under the covers beside Thomasin. “Shut your eyes and rest.”

“I don’t feel tired,” Thomasin said skeptically. She was asleep moments later.

Thomasin woke around noon the following day. She was still in a daze, so she decided to keep to her rooms for the day. She’d go visit Henry once she was feeling better.

Etheldreda drew her a steaming bath to ease her into the waking world. She washed and brushed her mistress’s hair, as there was too much of it for Thomasin to manage on her own. She told little stories about her daughters and granddaughters. She had sons, too, Thomasin thought, but she didn’t talk about them. Thomasin guessed they were killed in the war.

A servant dropped off some bread and cheese so Etheldreda and Thomasin did not need to leave the room for their nooning meal. Thomasin did feel better, she thought as Etheldreda laced the back of her simple gown.

The servant had only just finished when someone pounded on the door so hard that it shook. “Thomasin!” It was Charlie’s voice.

She pulled the door open, knowing immediately that something bad had happened. “What is it?”

Charlie’s shoulders heaved as he breathed heavily; he’d clearly run from wherever he had been to Thomasin’s room. “Henry’s challenging Lawrence.”

“Today?”

“Now!” Charlie said. “If you want to help him, we must go.”

Thomasin didn’t even stop to put on her slippers. She ran alongside Charlie, damp hair loose and whipping around her. The people they passed looked at her like she’d gone mad. Maybe they thought she was drunk for presenting herself in public like that. Or a strumpet.

They finally reached the throne room.

Charlie shoved the doors open and Thomasin rushed inside. Henry had removed his glove and prepared to throw it down; Thomasin surged forward and managed to grab it out of his hand before he could and careened toward the dais and the king.

She fell so heavily on her knees that she scraped the skin. She’d have awful bruises tomorrow. It didn’t matter. She stared up at the king with enormous eyes. “Your grace, they can’t fight,” she gasped. “Please don’t let them fight.”

“Thomasin,” Henry snarled.

“There’s no need for them to fight,” Thomasin said over him. She refused to turn and look at him.

William raised an eyebrow. “No need? Does this mean you’ll marry Lawrence willingly?”

“Absolutely not.” Her tone was far too harsh but she prayed William would excuse her given the circumstances. “But – I cannot be his wife. Not truly.”

William asked, “Why?”

Oh, God help her. This stupid, stupid girl. Charlie’s plan might not work but she at least had to try.

“Because. Because I’m not – I’m – I’m not a virgin!”

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writingwithacupoftea · 4 years

Text

A family reunited - part 2!

Summary: The time has come for Y/N Shelby to explain her five-year disappearance to her family. Tommy, her beloved elder brother, proves to be less than understanding...

Word Count: 3220

A/N: 300 followers?? I still can’t believe it. I know this part 2 has been a long time coming, so I hope it serves as enough of a thank you 😘 I’ve never written a sequel to a fic before, so I don’t know how this will go down, but I hope you like it!! 💜💜

Part 1

Y/N Shelby had loved seeing her family again, she really did: it had been what she'd dreamed of for so long, just for them to know that she was alive had brought her happiness.

What she didn't love was Tommy's booming wake-up call of "FAMILY MEETING AT THE SHOP IN AN HOUR - DON'T BE LATE," at half past 8 in the morning.

Ah, but she sort of did at the same time.

Thinking back to the night before, Y/N found a warm, fuzzy feeling spreading throughout her body and a smile spread across her face as she snuggled back into her pillow. Her eyes began to close again, tempting a few more minutes sleep – surely she would still make the meeting in time?

At the thought of the meeting, however, Y/N suddenly found herself wide awake as she realised what the meeting would be for: she was going to have to explain herself. Y/N was going to have to tell everyone why she disappeared for so many years and what happened in that time. Her stomach began to churn and her mind started to race, trying to hurriedly plan out what she would say, but unsure where to even begin.

Y/N was proud of her work as a spy during the war, but that didn't mean that she was looking forward to reliving some of the details of her story.

Knowing that there was no point in delaying the inevitable for longer than necessary, she dragged herself out of bed and sent up a little prayer for the strength that she so desperately needed.

***

As Y/N walked into the meeting an hour later, she noticed the change in Tommy immediately. Gone was the loving brother that had spent the entire evening practically glued to her hip, and in his place was the cold leader of the Peaky Blinders that Polly had told her about upon her return to Birmingham.

Whilst in hiding, Y/N had seen the impact that the war had had on the men who fought in France, but that didn't stop her heart from breaking slightly as she properly looked at Tommy in the light of day. He had always been quiet and controlled, but never to this extent.

She sat down at the table, and soon enough the whole family were gathered. Y/N couldn't bear to look at them, even though she hadn't said a thing yet. She feared their judgement, and was petrified that they would kick her out when she'd only just got back.

But Y/N knew that in order for this to go the way that she wanted it to, she couldn't afford to let thoughts like that show. Instead, she needed to make it clear to her brothers that she still stood by her decision to leave. She had been made stronger by her mistakes and experiences during her time away, and refused to let them believe otherwise.

So, as Tommy cleared his throat to begin speaking, Y/N took a deep breath and looked up.

"Right, well, we're all here - "

"That we are!" Arthur's hand came down and rested on her shoulder roughly, causing Y/N to smile in amusement.

"Yes, thank you, Arthur." Tommy's gruff voice cut through the joy. "So, Y/N, would you care to tell us where the fuck you've been for five years?"

Out of instinct, the woman in question met her older brother's blue eyes, hoping to find the comfort and support that they had always shown to her in the days before the war. But there was nothing; not even the slightest bit of love, or encouragement, or anger or anything.

In that moment, Y/N realised that no one could help her – only she could tell the story.

And so, she began...

***

A couple of hours later, it was finally over.

Y/N had told them all about how she had been recruited as a British spy, recounted most of her tales (but not all – some of them were still highly confidential and as much as she loved Arthur and John, Y/N wouldn't trust them with a barge pole when it came to keeping secrets), and eventually about her time in hiding and return to Birmingham.

Miraculously, she hadn't shed a single tear. Not even when she'd recounted the worst trappings and beatings. Before coming down to the meeting, Y/N had debated whether or not to tell her family about those times, but in the end she knew that the full truth would come out in time and that it would be better to get all of the pain out of the way at once. Whether that pain was for Y/N or everyone else, she wasn't sure.

But Y/N also hadn't been able to suppress her laughs and smiles at the happier memories: the friends that she'd made, the clubs that she'd danced at undercover, the boys that she'd seduced whether as part of her mission or just for a bit of fun (Tommy may appear to be an expert at controlling his emotions now, but you bet that Y/N didn't miss his jaw clench in protective anger several times).

Now, silence filled the room. A silence that seemed to last for eternity for Y/N. Unable to cope with it for any longer, she spoke again, this time unable to control the waiver of emotion in her voice: "Please say something, anything. You lot have always got something to say," Y/N finished with a slight laugh. Unknowingly, she had directed her words at Tommy, who was staring at her, his eyes as cold as ice. Y/N hated the fact that she sounded like a little girl again, seeking his approval; Tommy's opinion had always been important to her, no matter how many times she had vehemently denied the fact when she was younger.

Surprisingly to her, it was John who spoke first, looking at her directly as he did so. "We're proud of you, Y/N/N."

"Yeah," Arthur continued, gruffly. "Just a fucking lot to take in, is all."

Silence infiltrated the room once more, only cushioned by Polly reaching over to grasp her niece's hand tightly.

Realising that Tommy wasn't going to speak any time soon, Y/N stood up as if to leave, her chair screeching horribly across the floor. "Well if that's it, I'll go and -"

"Why?" Her second eldest brother cut her off. Even though her back was now turned, Y/N felt his gaze burning into her.

"Why?" She repeated, confused, as she turned around.

"You heard me. Why did you go?"

"Christmas had long gone, Tommy. I needed to do something other than sit around in Small fucking Heath waiting for you lot to come back. I tried to help with the business, you know I have ideas. But I got nowhere because I'm a woman, alright? So, when an opportunity arose to go and do something useful, of course I was going to jump at it."

Tommy scoffed. "Do you realise how fucking selfish you sound?"

Y/N's eyes narrowed dangerously. "Excuse me?"

"Even after you knew that the war wouldn't be ending any time soon, you still went gallivanting off, throwing yourself headfirst into danger. Did you not stop to think that this family could have lost another member? You clearly didn't, because apparently all that matters to you is getting a rush of adrenaline and trying to be the hero."

Crack. The sound of Y/N's open palm meeting Tommy's cheek echoed through the room.

"How dare you, Thomas Shelby." Y/N's voice was deadly quiet, her rage and feelings of betrayal bubbling ferociously inside of her. "How fucking dare you. After everything that I've just told you, you have the nerve to stand there and call me selfish? I knew that when I signed up there was a chance that I might not come back, but I did it anyway, you're right. I did it in the hopes that my work may help to end the bloody war sooner, so that it was more likely that you boys would come home alive. Because if none of you came back, have you thought, Thomas, how wrecked this family would be? Not just emotionally, but financially as well. There would be three women, Finn, and John's kids left and that would be it. We would hardly be able to bring enough money in to keep everyone safe and together forever, at least not until the children had grown up. As much as you might not like it, Tommy, that I knowingly put myself in a situation where I could've been killed, I did it to try and protect this family."

If Y/N had looked around at her family at that moment, she would have witnessed the shock and pain etched onto the face of each person around the table. None of them had realised that she had put so much thought into her decision to leave. Instead her eyes were locked with those of her brother, unwilling to back down.

Breaking the silence, Y/N added bitterly, "Still think I'm selfish, Thomas?"

She didn't know what she'd expected.

Y/N knew that Tommy wouldn't take it all well, and whilst his instinct to protect her and make sure that she was safe typically overrode everything else, she had hoped that he would have at least understood her reasons behind her actions. He had always said that family came before anything else. So, when Tommy barged past her, storming out of the shop and slamming the door behind him, Y/N couldn't help the sob that escaped her.

***

Dusk had settled over the city. Y/N was sat by the Cut, mulling over the events of the last 48 hours.

After Tommy had left, she had broken down completely, letting out all of the emotion that she had kept pent-up for so long. Her siblings, aunt and cousin had told her that Tommy would come around, and that they would do anything that they could for her.

But, as much as she adored her entire family, she needed Tommy; she needed the brother who had stood by her through thick and thin, who had always trusted her judgement and always loved her no matter what. She hadn't realised how much she had needed him until he had turned his back on her completely.

When most of her tears had dried, Y/N left the shop herself, murmuring a quick "I'll be back later" before she did. The family had let her go, knowing that she needed the time and space to process everything and calm down.

A few hours later, she did feel calmer as she took in the familiar surroundings (a hidden spot next to the Cut that her and Tommy had found when they were younger and hiding from their father). That was until she heard footsteps quickly approaching her from behind...

***

Tommy's mind was racing at a mile a minute.

Once again, he'd gone and ruined things with his family. He'd probably destroyed his relationship with Y/N for good, something that he couldn't bear the thought of losing. His little sister meant the world to him; it just hurt him to know that she had been through so much by herself, and that he hadn't been able to stop it. At least in the trenches he'd had his brothers by his side. Y/N had no one.

But he could help her now. He had realised that after hiding himself away in the Garrison with his thoughts. He'd realised that his place was now back by his sister's side once more.

Tommy had made his way back to the shop to try and make amends, and marched straight over to Polly. "Where is she?" His voice may not have shown it to his aunt, but she could see the emotion in his eyes. Polly was glad that her nephew seemed to have got some of his sense back, but she sure as hell wasn't going to make things easy for him. Tommy's behaviour had been despicable, after all.

"She left." Polly said, simply, returning to her work.

"Left?"

"You heard me, Thomas." God, how many times was he going to be full-named today?

"Left where?"

"She didn't say."

Tommy felt a niggle of anxiety stirring in him. "Well, did she say when she'd be back?"

"No." Polly's lips were pursed in irritation.

"You let her wander off alone, I take it, without asking where she was going or what she was doing, eh? Do you know how fucking stupid that is? We've only just got her back, and you're risking losing her again?"

"Perhaps you should listen to your own words. At least I wasn't the one who caused her to have a panic attack." It was harsh, but partly true: the combination of the memories and Tommy's reaction had caused Y/N to spiral.

Tommy froze, worry and guilt consuming him. How could he have let this happen? He had spent half of the night in Y/N's bedroom last night, making sure that she was real and safe, and now she was gone again.

Walking back out of the shop, Tommy found himself hiding in an alleyway, trying to collect his thoughts as his hands shook. Where could Y/N be? Where would she go when she was scared and upset?

Suddenly, he knew.

***

The hurried footsteps drew nearer, and instinct took over Y/N's entire being. She spun around, gun cocked and pointed straight at the source of the noise, her breathing speeding up again as the last ebbs of her panic attack began escalating quickly again.

Any relief that Tommy had felt at finding his sister faded at seeing her distressed state. He raised his hands slowly and spoke softly to her: "It's okay, Y/N/N. It’s just me, it's Tommy. You're home, you're safe." As he continued to offer his reassurances that she wasn't under threat and edged closer to her, he noticed recognition begin to sweep over Y/N.

Her gun clattered to the ground as she broke down into tears again, relaxing into her brother's embrace as he sat down next to her and pulled the young woman into his arms. In that moment, Tommy realised how broken his sister was, how much the war had affected her, just like him.

Eventually, Y/N's breathing became normal again, the sound of Tommy's heartbeat and the gentle hand stroking her hair grounding her.

After a few moments, Tommy mustered up the courage to say the words that had been on repeat in his head for so long. "I'm sorry, sweetheart." Y/N looked up at him with those big eyes that had him wrapped around her little finger. "I was...overwhelmed and I lashed out, even though you didn't deserve it. Hell, you probably even saved our lives at some point and all I do is call you selfish. I went too far, and I'm sorry."

Y/N smirked slightly at Tommy's obvious discomfort at his confession, but it melted into a gentle smile when she looked up and was met with his loving yet troubled gaze.

"Thank you, Tommy." His entire demeanour relaxed at these words. "Do you understand though? Do you understand why I did it all in the first place? Do you understand why your reaction broke me? All I needed was for my brother to be there, and you just walked out on me. You promised me that you never would. You promised."

Tommy took her hand tightly in his larger one and nodded slightly, a lump forming in his throat. His other hand settled in his coat pocket as he asked: "Are you really back to stay?" The vulnerability that had been uncovered again last night had now returned.

"Yeah, I am." Y/N squeezed his hand. "Doesn't mean you're completely forgiven yet though; speak to me like that again and I'll cut you a smile on that grumpy face."

Tommy breathed out a slight laugh, despite the threat (which he knew was an honest one). "Oh, I missed you, darling." He wrapped his arm around Y/N and she rested her head on his shoulder.

"Missed you too, Tom."

***

The siblings sat there, peacefully, for a little while longer. Whilst part of Y/N was still angry at her brother, she couldn’t deny that she felt at home back by his side, in their special childhood hiding place. So, for now, she decided to put her anger behind her.

Soon enough, the chill of the night air began to settle around them. Tommy offered Y/N a hand up and wrapped his long black coat tightly around her, before the pair slowly started walking back towards the streets of Birmingham.

“I promise I’ll try and be better, for you.” Tommy’s voice cut through the silence. I can’t bear the thought of you leaving again because I pushed you out, he added in his head.

Y/N smiled sadly. “Don't make promises you might not be able to keep, Tom. We’re different people compared to who we used to be. All we can do is try, eh?”

Tommy stopped off at the office to call Polly and let her know that Y/N was staying with him for the night. Y/N found herself looking around the big building, in awe of what her family had managed to achieve.

She plunged her hands in the big pockets of Tommy's coat as a shiver wracked her body, frowning when her fingers touched something familiar. Checking that her brother was still on the phone, she pulled the object out and her eyes widened in surprise as she stared at it. It was a small stuffed toy, shaped to resemble a horse (sort of, it was definitely handmade).

Y/N had loved it when she was younger, and barely used to be seen without it. When she grew into a teenager, she had hidden the toy in her old childhood treasure box and retrieved it when she felt low, even as she had entered adulthood. She had been devastated when she couldn't find it to comfort her the day that her brothers had left for France.

The horse was more frayed and tattered than she remembered, and dirtier too. Y/N had always been meticulous for looking after her possessions, not having much of her own.

Then the explanation for its state and whereabouts dawned on Y/N: Tommy had taken it to France and kept it with him ever since, a constant reminder of her.

Placing the toy carefully back where she found it, Y/N looked through the glass to Tommy’s office with tears in her eyes as he hung up the phone. A small smile flickered across his face as he caught sight of his sister and made his way straight to her, not a single piece of work in his hands.

"Come on," Tommy said, softly. "Let's go home."

As her brother subtly offered her his arm, Y/N felt optimistic about the future for the first time in years. As Tommy rested his hand on top of hers, which now sat in the crook of his arm, one thought crossed Y/N's mind:

Maybe Tommy would try. Maybe there was hope for him yet.

But the Shelby family knew that there was hope, because Tommy's guiding light always came in the form of Y/N Shelby...and she wasn't going anywhere any time soon.

#peaky blinders #tommy shelby #tommy shelby x sister reader #shelby!reader #shelby sis #shelby sister #shelby!sister #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x sister!reader #tommy shelby imagine #peaky blinders imagine #peaky blinders sister #peaky blinders x sister!reader #peaky blinders fic #peaky blinder fanfic

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theshelbyclan · 4 years

Text

Defiance

Summary: When your brothers went off to war, you couldn’t just sit and wait for them: you had to work, so as nurse Shelby, you started nursing in London

(Gif by @nofckingfighting)

A/N: Anon requested: Hello, I saw that you write Shelby sister imagines? Is it ok for you to do me one please? I always imagine her being the same age as John and very close to Tommy. I was thinking along the lines of when the boys go to war she goes to a hospital in London dealing with soliders who need rehabilitation and help with PTSD. She doesn't come home until a year after the boys? Here's they are in trouble with Campbell and Billy Kimber Obviously take it wherever you like to I'm happy for whatever x I’m making this a two-part story, to be able to combine two different requests that had a lot of similarities. I’m using your request for the first part, and let me just say, this is such a beautiful idea that it deserves to be a film on its own. Hope I did it justice! :) Part 2 is Acceptance

Warning: mentions of death, war and suicide.

Words: 3107

***

“I will not,” defiantly you stood in front of your superior, arms crossed in front of you and a rebellious scowl on your face. “Excuse me?” the head nurse turned around to face you, “This again, nurse Shelby?”

For a moment, you faltered. Going against a senior nurse was something that wasn’t tolerated, at all. And with good reason! The hospital wouldn’t be able to function properly. During the war, it’d been constant chaos, with men coming in and going out constantly. Dying was often a blessing, and there had been so much, so much death. But the war was over and still the men kept on coming.

“I’m not trying to rebel, nurse Miller,” you said, more meekly this time, “I just don’t see how this is going to help any of them.” “Doctor says it works,” nurse Miller replied matter-of-factly. “But does it?” some fire was coming back into you, “They are able to talk and walk again, sure, but that’s not the same as recovery, is it? The problem is not of a physical nature, it’s a mental struggle these men face.” The head nurse looked up from her work and turned fully towards you now, “Remember your place, nurse Shelby. Do as you’re told. Go on, off with you.” “What research has really been done concerning these…” you waved your hand in an annoyed manner, “methodsthat the doctors employ these days!” Thoroughly irritated now, nurse Miller dropped her work and one look told you all you needed to know: you were in trouble. Again. And so you were back to scrubbing bedpans yet again. All nurses were required to do this work and the long days without much sleep had hardened you all to the blood and filth. Still, some nurses were given this job more than others. Especially the nurses who couldn’t control their mouths around their superiors. Silently, you cursed your Shelby spirit.

But then your mind drifted off to the subject you had been discussing with nurse Miller and your blood began to boil again. ‘The soldier’s heart’, that’s what they used to called it. These were the men who could never sit still, felt anxious all the time and were constantly on edge. It had been considered a ‘normal’ condition for decennia, but it had taken on the form of an epidemic after the Great War. Brave men could no longer function and the severe psychological trauma haunted most of them still, even though the war had been over for several months now! ‘Shell-shock’ was now the popular term and doctors everywhere tried to fix the physical symptoms of the condition. You simply couldn’t fathom how none of them seemed to acknowledge that these were just symptoms: the real problem had taken root in the brain or the heart, maybe even in the soul.

“What did you do this time?” Daisy, or nurse Wells as was the proper term, asked you, when she saw you sitting on your knees in front of piles and piles of bedpans. You looked up and grinned sheepishly, “I disagreed with nurse Miller.”

“Again.” “Again,” you admitted contritely. Daisy put down the towels she had taken in for washing, “If you’re going to disagree with anyone, choose someone less uptight! Might save your knees.” A small smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. Daisy was the perfect nurse: she could function on two hours of sleep a night, see the most horrific stuff and still work on tirelessly, while aiming to make the others smile. Where you’d be without Daisy you didn’t even dare think about. “Alright,” she sighed good-naturedly, “Tell me. What did you argue this time? And tell me you’re sorry afterwards, just to practise!” Full of anger, you threw down the brush, “Electro-shock therapy doesn’t fucking help anyone! These men went to hell and back and now their brains are protesting against all the horrors they witnessed. Their minds are revolting, as they should be! The only thing ever accomplished by shocking the men into talking again or walking again is that you’ve taken away their last manner of protesting against inhumane practises. Bravo! You’ve made them into full human bombshells now, without a peep of opposition. How in the fuck is that even medically sound!?” Daisy waited a moment, “So you’re not actually sorry.” “Fuck, no.”

She looked around the door for a second and then whispered, “Fuck.” Your head shot up and you grinned broadly, “Nurse Wells, what did you just say?” “I suddenly felt brave,” she shrugged a little, “thought I might be brave enough to say the F-word, with just you here to hear me.” Full of theatrics you stood up and offered her your hand, “I congratulate you earnestly. You have now crossed a line. Welcome to the fucking party!” Beaming, Daisy tried to scold, “You’re a bad influence on me.” “You should see the rest of the Shelby clan,” and a sudden pang went through you the very moment you had spoken the words. Your friend noticed at once, “Y/N, when are you going back?” “Can’t abandon the men now,” you said briskly, leaving very little room for discussion. Daisy hesitated and finally asked, “They did all come back from France, didn’t they?” “Yes.” “When did you hear?” Scrubbing again, you replied, “I never heard, but I’d know if something had happened to them.” Daisy nodded: she knew you well enough to know your instincts never failed you, even if it got you in trouble. A lot.

***

You were lying in bed and even though the shifts weren’t as long as they’d been during the war, sleep was still scarce. Many of you got five to six hours of sleep now, which had been unimaginable during the war! Still, exhaustion wasn’t unfamiliar to any of you and when the nurses hit their pillows, they often slept at once. Still, you were wide-awake at this very moment. When the war started, it didn’t take long for the boys to sign up. Your brothers went, full of energy and bravery and all women were left grieving at home. Ada kept her mind off it, something you were never good at. You couldn’t bear the thought of all these men dying out at the front, and for what? No one seemed to know. But aunt Polly had really send you over the edge. Every morning she got up to pray and at first you had joined her, but unrest had grown inside of you and praying simply wasn’t enough anymore. So, just like your brothers, you had decided and left for training in London. There was no arguing with you and no one tried.

But nothing could’ve prepared you for the things you’d seen during your time here as a nurse. The broken men, shattered limbs, blood and gore and death were easy enough to get used to. That thought alone made you frown in confusion: what has become of us, that we think that’s the easy part? But the endless streams of young men, hopeful men once, now broken and shattered like the fields of France themselves, that was the hard part. You fed them, nursed them, mended them, talked to them and held their hand if they went. And each and every face changed the moment just before they died: they were all one of your brothers. They were still alive. Aunt Polly had the gift of second sight and even though you weren’t sure what to believe, you had some of it too. Either way, you would’ve known if they were dead. But what were they like now? Because that was the real reason you daren’t go back to Small Heath. What is they were like some of these men, like ghosts trapped in the body of a once healthy human being? You wouldn’t be able to cope.

People always said that twins have a certain connection. You and John had never noticed anything of a special connection, apart from a certain gift for squabbling. But once he was at the front, when the bombs started falling, you could hear his screams in your mind. That’s when the connection had suddenly kicked in and it kept you up and made you tear your hair out for fear. God was cruel like that. “Are you a Shelby or not?” you suddenly whispered strictly to yourself. “Who is this, cowering away in London and fearing what she might see at home? Be a grownup and fucking face your family!” But something just stopped you.

***

For the next couple of weeks, you tried to get back into the swing of things. You worked harder than ever, with your exhaustion as a form of atonement. Daisy was worried and even nurse Miller told you to slow down at some point.

And then you sat next to a bed of a dying soldier. Your shift had finished already, but still you’d refused to leave him. And why? Because he reminded you of Arthur. “Nurse?” he asked feebly. You shook your head to get rid of the thoughts roaming about, “I’m here,” you comforted him. “I can’t see,” he said, “Is that normal?” You took his hand, “I’m right here. Can you feel my hand?” He grabbed it a little tighter, “Yes. You have soft hands.” You smiled warmly at him. He asked again, “Nurse?” “Yes.” “When I get better,” he tried to sit up a little, “Can I maybe take you out some time?” He sure as hell wasn’t the first one to ask, so his request didn’t embarrass or shock you in the slightest. You tried to put on a chipper voice, imitating Daisy, “I don’t know. It depends, I suppose: where would we go?” The wounded soldier smiled, “I can take you to the movies. That’s what the Americans call it, did you know? The movies…” You couldn’t help but smile, “Which film would we go to?” “I’ll take you to that new romantic film, the one with that famous American actor.” “You quite like the Americans, don’t you?” you joked. He smiled again, suddenly revealing how handsome he actually was, “Americans, they have a way with women.” “So do you!” “Does that mean you’ll go with me?”

“When you get better, we’ll go to the movies,” you confirmed. But he didn’t get better. The next day, he was back to his ailing and screaming. The trouble with his mind was that sometimes the fragments seemed to recompose again and he was as sane as any man, but at other times, the war bombed his soul. His physical injuries were extensive and his chances of survival were slim. Still, the doctor was adamant on trying shock therapy on him, thinking it might help with both his physical and psychological ailments. You didn’t agree, but kept your mouth shut for once. Still, you screamed into your pillow the next night, feeling so fucking helpless at the sight of pointless suffering. The next morning, nurse Miller send you over to that soldier once again to change his bandages. All light had left his eyes. Practically inaudibly, he said, “Nurse?” “I’m here,” you took his hand again in yours. “Would you’ve done it? Would you’ve allowed me to take you out?” “Of course!” you exclaimed, “Not every day a handsome young man asks a girl like me out!” He paused for a moment, “Honestly?” “Honestly,” you said. Suddenly, he relaxed and fell back into the cushions. You frowned a little though, slightly worried about why he was no longer sure of his recovery. But there was more work to be done and you had to be on your way again. When nurse Miller told you he’d gotten hold of a razor somehow and killed himself in the night, something inside you shattered. That was it. You were done. ***

On the train to Birmingham, you couldn’t help but think about how much you’d changed. Once a Small Heath gypsy, being on edge about not being useful enough, you’d left full of innocence. Well, maybe not innocent, you were a Shelby after all. But you’d grown up being protected by young brothers, fighting them and others constantly, and still you considered your childhood a happy one. The amount of times you’d screamed at them, “I’m not a child anymore!” was insane, but only now you felt like that sentence was justified. The war had changed you too. Quickly, you’d send Aunt Polly a telegram before departing London. It said: ‘I’m coming home. Still alive. Make sure the boys save me some whiskey.’ She wouldn’t be pleased with a message like that, but you couldn’t wait to deal with the consequences again. Stepping off the train and back onto familiar ground felt like entering a dream. Oh, how you had missed the stench and noise! Without a thought, you took off your shoes and walked barefoot through the muddy streets. Watch out, Birmingham, you thought cheekily, the pauper princess is back! All nerve left you as soon as it’d come when you stood in front of your house at Watery Lane. And while you were still plucking up the courage to open the door, it swung wide open and nearly hit you square in the nose. A flash of green came rushing out and two arms squeezed the life out of you. “Where the hell have you been?” they demanded. Softly, you breathed in the smell of her perfume, “Fucking working, Ada, unlike you.” “Aunt Pol is going after you with the wooden spoon and I won’t lift a finger to save you,” she scolded, without letting go. You rolled your eyes into your sister’s hair. And then you suddenly noticed, “Looks like you’ve been busy as well!” Ada stepped back and looked down, “Seven months. Can’t even see my toes anymore, I’ve gotten so fat.” “Not much to look at anyways,” you commented. Ada slapped your shoulder and you winced. At least nothing had changed between you two.

With Aunt Polly it was an entirely different story. As soon as you walked into the house, she froze and fixed you with one of her stares that could make empires crumble. You could feel your shoulders slumping, your heart racing and you held your breath. Nothing had changed there either: it was like you were eight years old again. Slowly, she walked over to you and took a long hard look at you, never releasing eye contact. Then she grabbed your face and you almost winced, but instead she said, “You need to eat. Sit.”

Not hesitating, you obeyed at once. Without a word, she threw your telegram on the table. The silence was filled with anxiety-fuelled electricity and she let you calmly simmer in it for a few more moments. Then she spoke, “You have ten seconds to explain, before I slap you back to London myself.” So you took a big gulp of breath and explained, “I got into another fight with the head nurse and then everything went to shit and I didn’t know what to do, because I felt guilty, because he died and I fucking cannot with those doctors, because I knew work would be hard and I signed up for it, but all of a sudden I was just done, and I wanted to come back sooner, but I was scared Tommy and Arthur were dead and that John was, well I wanted to come sooner but didn’t know how to come back, and also I was you know scared that you might not take it well, and how I left, and yeah well, I was afraid this was going to happen…” “Leave her be,” Ada said to your aunt, “She’s worn out.” “It’s been eight months since the war ended,” Aunt Polly said, her face still not betraying any emotion, “We thought you were gone.” “I’m okay, Pol,” you said carefully. “How the fuck were we supposed to know?” She burst out, “No note, no letter, nothing. And now you think you can just show up, like the queen of fucking Birmingham, after writing some shitty telegram that made me drop my favourite teacup?” “Oh no, the blue one?” you asked. Ada glared at you, her eyes saying: not the right fucking response right now. So you cast your eyes downwards, “I’m sorry, Pol. The work, it just drags you in. I kept on seeing their faces in all the wounded soldiers I took care of. It was the only way I could cope.” Aunt Polly’s face softened a little, “It’s the waiting. The waiting almost killed the women.”

Images of wartime nightmares flashed in front of your eyes. Waiting was the thing you were terrible at, as it turned out. It ate you up inside, and now you’d done it to them. Finally, Aunt Polly’s reaction made sense.

“Forgive me,” you pleaded.

Your aunt walked over to the table and sat down next to you. She took your hand in hers and a wave of reassurance washed over you, “You’re like a working horse. They go crazy when they rest. You leaving shouldn’t have come as a surprise to us. It’s good to have you back. Welcome home, Y/N.”

No longer able to contain yourself, you flung yourself forwards and hugged your aunt. Tears fell from your eyes and finally, ease came over you.

Then you heard voices from the other room. Arthur’s voice first, loud and angry. He hadn’t changed much either then, perhaps a little angrier than before. Then Tommy’s reply, cold and business-like. He sounded like dad now. Finally your twin: John laughing like he was still playing in the gutter. For a few minutes, you didn’t move. You just listened to them and revelled in their sounds. These were the sounds of brothers, still alive, and you couldn’t be happier about it.

“Billy Kimber has a bloody army!” Arthur shouted.

You looked towards Ada for some kind of explanation, but she just rolled her eyes. Aunt Polly sat back and lit a cigarette. The fact that she gave that one to you, before lighting another for herself, showed she now thought of you as an adult as well. The moment was brief, but so intimate.

With a bang, the door slammed open en Arthur came storming in. Tommy was sighing deeply and still cursing right behind him, and through the open door you could see John. They all froze when they saw you, all at the same time, jaws practically hitting the floor.

“Billy Kimber, eh?” you merely said, “Looks like I showed up just in time.”

***

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millysaurusrex · 3 years

Text

Oath

Ash falls from the sky and Arya can’t help but think of how it looks like snow. White and pure as it coats all around her. If she wanted, she could imagine she is in Winterfell, in the summer snows, laughing with her brothers as they tossed snowballs at a scandalized Sansa, with mother and father laughing. But, she is not in the north and mother and father and Rickon and Robb are gone. She is in King’s Landing, or perhaps one of the seven hells, and she leans against the stone wall as smoke and ash blanket the city streets around her.

How had she gotten here? She wasn’t quite sure she remembered. Sandor. She remembered the Hound marching with her into the Red Keep. Remembers him stopping her, begging her. Live. Live. Choosing to live.

Then chaos.

Screams of men, women and children burning alive echo in the air, still warm from dragonfire. Swords. She can still hear swords. Men shouting. Death. She thought the House of Black and White had shown her death, but here in King’s Landing is the temple of death. Where father died. Where her sister’s innocence died. Where all men died.

Valar morghulis.

But, like this? If this was the God of Death’s plan, well -

She yelps as she’s pulled from the alleyway. A chainmail fist knocks into her her face splitting her lip, and thrusts her against the corner of the wall. More blood rushes down her face, but she grabs Needle, swings it around to meet the Lannister soldier’s sword. He looks manic. Primal, like an animal. He’s screaming at her, slamming his sword down over and over.

He is not particularly strong and any other day, Arya could have easily overpowered him. But she’s lost so much blood already, and her lungs hurt with the taste of ash and smoke. Anger - or fear - have strengthened the Lannister man, and he catches her with his sword, ripping into her side. It stings as sweat and dirt seep into the wound, but she doesn’t stop. She isn’t going to die here in King’s Landing. Not when she promised the Hound she’d chose life. Not today.

Her muscles ache but she meets each of his blows, counters them, hits him with all her strength. He kicks her hard in the chest and she stumbles back. Needle slips from her hand. She’s quick though, and she reaches for her discarded sword. But then there is a sudden sickening crunch of bone, and the Lannister soldier falls dead to the ground. His skull is mush in his helmet, blood pooling into the dirt below.

Arya glances up and her breath catches in her throat, because she did not expect this. He’s as tall and as broad as he’s always been, but he looks different, and she isn’t sure if it’s because he’s covered in dirt, blood and ash, or if its because of the stag sigil stitched into much finer leather armor than he’s ever worn.

He knocks his war hammer into his left hand and offers her his right, pulling her up with ease. She opens her mouth to thank him, to maybe quip sardonically that she had the guy, the way she might have when they were two children on the run. But, the words die in her throat because he’s pulled her to him, embracing her in a one armed hug.

It feels good which is ridiculous because they’re standing in the middle of a massacre, but she allows herself, just for a second, to revel in the feeling of his arm around her.

The moment is over as quickly as it began, as a voice calls, “Lord Gendry.”

She notices them then, a small circle of soldiers circle them, on guard for another Lannister or maybe a dragon. They bear the same stag sigil Gendry wears. Stormlanders. His men.

The thought of Gendry with his own men is almost laughable, and if the world wasn’t ending right now she might have, but Gendry pulls away from her and nods. “They’re burning the city down. The dragon queen’s army, they’ve...” he visibly swallows and she ridiculously wants to reach out and touch that place on his throat. Perhaps she’s delirious from the blood loss, but his words snap her to. She saw what the dragon queen’s army did. Saw what the northmen did. Did he -

“No one is massacring anyone on my watch,” Gendry says, as if reading her mind because of course he knows what she’s thinking. She smiles fondly and glances at his men.

“The gates of the city are blocked. We’ll have to find another way out.”

Gendry nods again, grips his hammer and says, “There is another way. Follow me.”

And his men don’t hesitate to follow. They follow him the way northmen followed father. The way they follow Jon. And Gendry is every bit a lord then. A storm lord. Perhaps, a rightful heir to the throne in another life.

You will marry a king and rule his castle...

She smiles at the memory. That’s not her. But, that’s also not him. He is Gendry, lord or not, and he’s followed her enough. She will follow him now.

Jon killed the dragon queen. Put a sword into her heart as they embraced. Or so she’s heard. It must be true, because the surviving dragon is nowhere to be seen, and neither is Jon.

She wanted to march into the dungeons where he was being held, dare her army captain to even try and stop her from rescuing her brother - cousin, but she doesn’t. Jon has chosen his fate. So has she.

She sits in the tent and cleans her sword. There is no need for battle right now, but she does it all the same. It calms her mind.

The city had nearly burnt to the ground with all it’s people in it. The dragon queen had taken the iron throne with fire and blood. Arya snorts. Old nan always said that history has a nasty way of repeating itself.

The tent pulls open then and Gendry makes his way in. He’s managed to clean his face a bit, but his leathers are still caked in ash and blood. In an odd way, it’s fitting. She wonders briefly if this was how his father might have looked, many moons ago. Tall, strong, dangerous. Handsome even.

“They’re looking for you,” he says, and she doesn’t need to ask. She’s in charge of what’s left of the Stark army now that Jon is incapacitated and Sansa’s in the north.

“They can wait,” she responds.

Gendry only nods and makes his way across the tent. She watches him as he rifles through a stack of letters on the makeshift desk and rolls her eyes. She didn’t realize he could read.

If he can, he must not understand what is in the scroll, because his face scrunches up the way it always does when he’s thinking hard, and it has her sighing and sheathing Needle before making her way over to him. She places out a hand and raises a brow.

Gendry rolls his eyes and huffs. “I’ve been a bloody lord for all of two moons. Haven’t really had time to learn the little things, now have I?”

Arya shakes her head, unimpressed. “You’ll have to do better than that, if you plan to rule a castle, Lord Baratheon.” It’s teasing, and it gets the proper response, because he’s smiling back at her, the first smile she’s seen since that freezing night in Winterfell.

“Yeah, Lord Baratheon. Can’t order me around now, can you, Lady Stark?”

“I never order you around.”

That earns a full chuckle form him. The sound is gentle, like music after all the screams and death.

“You’ve been a pain in my ass ever since we met. How’d you think I knew you were a rich girl? Always so bossy.”

She laughs, too, and it feels strange to be laughing in a place like this. After what they’ve just witnessed.

“Now you’re the one bossing around men.”

Gendry sighs. “Don’t bloody know why. I’m no war strategist. I’ve never lead anyone into anything before, much less a war. Felt like an idiot trying to convince a bunch of men I’d never met before follow me into battle under orders of a queen they didn’t acknowledge.”

“But they followed you,” She adds.

“Aye, some.” He runs a hand down his face and looks exhausted. She supposes they all are. “Not sure why they did it either.”

“I told you, you make a wonderful lord.”

He pauses and looks at her and she steels herself because this is it, this is when they’re going to discuss what happened in the Winterfell grain store what seems like ages ago.

“Aye, a wonderful lord. But, still an idiot.” He sighs again before falling heavily into a chair at the desk. “What I said that night...it was stupid. All these years, I’d like to fancy that I knew you better than I’d known anyone. You’re no lady, and you’d certainly never be mine.”

She doesn’t speak. Doesn’t trust herself to say a word. She just kneels before him, touches his face the way she did that night. She studies him, taking in the new scars that litter his face. There’s one above his eyebrow, identical to hers, and dried blood crusts there. There’s another one on the left side of his jaw, deeper and still an angry red. She runs her finger along it gently, and he shivers beneath the touch.

“Arya,” its a whisper, almost a prayer, and she tilts her head up, kisses his sweetly. She won’t say it. She’s never been good at words. But, she tells him all the same, as she deepens the kiss, spilling all of the words and feelings that would never come out right if she tried. It is a confession. A proposal. An oath. But, he understands. He’s always understood.

He knows her better than anyone else.

#gendry x arya #gendrya #not sure where this came from #I need more gendrya in my life #sorry if this was crap

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irishseeeker · 3 years

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Prompt: Day 1, Jealousy and all its cousins @katexanthonyweek

Kate Bridgerton was definitely not jealous.

(She was.)

rating: mature!

---

Kate tried really not to dislike people.

That did not mean she was always successful but she truly did try to give people the benefit of the doubt.

It became an exceedingly hard task when certain people made it incredibly difficult for Kate to like them. Especially before she knew them.

For example, the woman across the room who was standing far too close to her husband, openly flirting with him.

That was hard to like.

Kate was not a fool, she noticed how women behaved around Anthony. She could accept women would always be attracted to Anthony. He had been a notorious rake for a reason, after all. It made no difference to their marriage, Anthony was hers. Whenever he was in a room, the female gaze naturally drew to him.

She could not blame them. Her charming husband, who would kill her if he ever heard her say this, was beautiful.

He was incredibly handsome but there was so much more. There was no better feeling than being wrapped up in his broad shoulders and muscular arms. He had long, dark eyelashes every woman dreamed of. He had a strong jawline that she loved to kiss and trace with her fingertips when they lay in bed. He had a head full of dark hair that she loved to run her fingers through, unlike some men his age who were already bald.

Kate herself could barely keep her eyes off of him and she got to see him everyday, especially when no one else did. She got to see him when he first woke up in the morning, completely content with his tousled hair and half awake eyes. She had the privilege of seeing him with his shirt slightly unbuttoned, his cravat loose and best of all-with nothing on at all.

It was a challenge sometimes in public not to touch him, especially at balls and parties when he was dressed so well. She usually kept her hands occupied with a drink or an appetizer.

Anthony usually subtly touched her anyway, always improperly, to tease her or just because he wanted to.

(Even when she blushes and scolds him for it, they both know she loves it.)

However, she could not accept women who stepped a bit too far. From across the room, a woman was talking to Anthony. She was leaning towards him, taking subtle steps towards him and creating an improper distance between them. The woman was petite, blonde and her skin glowed in the dimmed lighting of the ballroom. She was beautiful.

She also had her hand on Anthony’s forearm.

Kate did not like this feeling. This bitter, bubbling anger in the pit of her chest as she watched Anthony across the room.

She was not jealous.

(She was.)

Technically, that was also Kate’s forearm. She had married that forearm just under a year ago.

They would be celebrating their one year anniversary, hosting their first ball as Viscount and Viscountess Bridgerton in Aubrey Hall next week. The ball would mark the end of the season, and Anthony and Kate were staying in Aubrey Hall for the rest of the summer before returning to London.

Kate was incredibly nervous.

She still felt at odds with her role as Viscountess. Her broken leg had put a stop to her social calendar after only a month of marriage, and she had not been able to carry out many of her roles as Viscountess.

It had taken a few months for her leg to heal. Kate could finally walk again, without the need for her stick or Anthony’s arm. Anthony had objected to their vigorous social calendar since the season had started but Kate was determined to attend as many balls as they could. Anthony, of course, was always by her side.

She was trying to do exactly as Violet Bridgerton would. Her days were now filled with parties, balls and social calls. Her first ball as Viscountess would be perfect.

It had to be.

She could not bear to think of the possibility of disappointing Violet and Anthony. There was a nagging feeling deep inside her, that society had been right to question why Anthony Bridgerton had chosen Kate Sharma to be his viscountess. The whispers that she was not fit for the role.

She was determined for those whispers not to be right.

Kate knew how lucky she was to have Anthony. Her marriage was wonderful, something she never would have dreamed of for herself. They loved each other to the point it was almost nauseating, as Eloise and Colin enjoyed to remind them, but they were also friends.

Anthony was her best friend.

Oh, she truly was nauseating.

The woman currently talking to her husband was making it exceedingly hard for Kate to concentrate on anything but them. Anthony had been talking to this mystery woman for just over three dances, when Kate had left him to dance with Benedict. This woman was now laughing at something Anthony said, her blonde curls bouncing in the air as her head tilted back.

What was so funny?

Kate loved her husband to death but he was not that funny.

“You cannot keep dancing with me to avoid dancing with other eligible ladies,” Kate teased Benedict, deciding to focus on her brother in law who was waltzing with her for the third time that evening.

“Can I not enjoy the company of my sister and not have any ulterior motives?” Benedict’s grin was wide across his face as he spun Kate around, narrowly avoiding her clumsy feet. She was a challenged dancer on her best days but when she was distracted by her husband across the room, it was every dancer for themself.

She glanced across the room again and now Anthony was laughing. Why was he laughing? She hoped it was a pitiful laugh.

“I thought I was doing you a favor by asking you to dance for a second and third time,” Benedict said, “I was distracting you from glancing over at my dear brother every few seconds.”

“I was not glancing. I was simply observing the room,” Kate said, but even Kate did not believe herself. She was blatantly staring at her husband. “Besides, we both know you are dancing with me to avoid dancing with one of the eligible ladies your mother is trying to marry you off to.”

“I believe three dances is all we have, so in a few moments I will have to venture back into the wild and attempt to avoid my mother for the rest of the evening,” He said, “However, I have been waiting for you to ask me who he is conversing with since the last dance. I thought you would give in five minutes ago”

“The thought had not crossed my mind.” Anthony had told her previously what a terrible liar she was. She previously thought it was because he knew her so well that she was incapable of lying to him, but she really was quite dreadful at it.

“Your face says otherwise.” Benedict glanced down at their feet before his teasing gaze returned to Kate’s face. “You have stepped on my feet at least four times while staring over there.”

A pang of guilt hit her. She was being rather rude. It was Benedict, so she knew he was not actually offended. Kate had gotten to know him quite well since her marriage. He joined them for dinner quite often, and spent a lot of time with Anthony at Whites or at their home. “You know, this is precisely why Gregory and Colin are my favourite brothers. They would never point out my flaws.”

Benedict chuckled. “Oh, how you wound me.”

Kate could not help herself. She had to know. “Who is that woman?”

Thankfully, Benedict chose not to tease and indulged her curiosity. “Her name is Eleanor Trent, previously Falmouth. My father and her, the Earl of Falmouth, attended Oxford together. They were friends until his death.”

Kate’s face fell. “She was a family friend?”

“Yes. She has brothers around the same age as Colin, Anthony and I. I know there were discussions of a betrothal, between Anthony and Eleanor. Nothing came of it, father died and Anthony would not discuss it further. He focused on the family and Oxford.” Benedict was not shy with the details, which Kate was equally grateful and upset about.

Kate’s stomach suddenly felt nauseous. Had something happened between them when they were young? Had Anthony courted her before his father’s death? Eleanor was the perfect candidate for a Viscountess. The daughter of an Earl, a family friend, a regular part of London society. “I imagine your mother was displeased.”

Kate loved her mother in law. Violet Bridgerton had been nothing but kind to Kate from the moment they met. She had been even kinder before their wedding, despite the circumstances that caused their nuptials.

They shared a lot in common, their love for gardening for one and met for tea multiple times a week, but Kate had always feared she was not the wife she had envisioned for her son. The same fear that had made itself known to Kate before her wedding remained inside of her: she feared Violet believed Kate had trapped her son.

The woman had witnessed her son’s face in Kate’s bosom, for heaven’s sake.

Benedict did not deny it. “Mother was furious when Anthony still refused three years later after he finished his studies. Eleanor later got married that season to a Baron and that was that. It took our mother a long time to learn that Anthony only does what Anthony wants to do.”

The music ceased and the dance ended, all the participants clapping before departing the dance floor. Benedict and Kate moved to the edge of the dancefloor, weaving through the crowds towards the refreshments table. Kate had been dancing for quite some time and she was quite thirsty. She wanted to find Anthony, but when she turned to look for him he had disappeared.

So had the woman.

Her heart sank in her chest.

“Brother, I believe that is enough dancing with my wife for one evening.”

Kate turned around to see her husband standing in front of her. She had regained her ability to breathe and realized how silly she was being. He smiled at her and she felt her insides melt.

It was ridiculous really, how this man’s smile always made her giddy.

She wanted to fall against his chest and bury her face in his neck, but instead she moved to his side and wrapped her arm around his. That was as affectionate as society would allow. Anthony covered his hand with hers, squeezing it briefly. It was a promise for later.

“Thank you,” She said, smiling as she took the glass in his hand and took a long sip, the dryness of her mouth disappearing. Her husband had developed a sense of always knowing what Kate needed. He had rarely left her side during her bed ridden months with her broken leg and they had spent a lot of time together.

Kate wondered if they could leave soon. She wanted the privacy to ask Anthony about that woman earlier, she could not remember him ever mentioning an Eleanor when recounting his childhood tales.

“Jealous, brother?” Benedict teased, grinning at Anthony as he took a sip of his wine. “I was always the better dancer. Kate simply wanted a better partner.”

Kate let out a long sigh, her eyes flicking between the two brothers. “Now, boys-”

“Kate took pity on you and indulged your attempts at hiding from our mother’s matchmaking endeavours.” Anthony narrowed his eyes at his brother, his competitive edge seeping out. Her dear husband did enjoy being the best at everything and disputed anyone who thought otherwise. “My waltz trounces your waltz any day.”

At the mention of his mother, Benedict scanned the room around them before visibly relaxing, his shoulders dropping. “It is a nuisance. Mother had cornered me at every ball so far this season, introducing me to potential marriage candidates. Colin had his wits about him to travel as far as Greece to get away from her.”

“You should consider looking for a wife,” Anthony said, scanning the crowded room for their mother. “I presume mother is hassling Eloise.”

“Not you too,” Benedict replied, glaring at his brother. “I am perfectly capable of finding my own wife, thank you. She simply is not here.”

Anthony, now bored of his brother, turned to his wife with a teasing smile. “How many times did you step on his toes?”

It was Kate’s turn to glare at her husband. “None, thank you very much.”

Benedict decided to join in on his brother’s teasing, glad for the change in topic. “Lying is a sin, Kate.”

“Oh, Violet!” Kate said, looking over Benedict’s shoulder.

Benedict jumped and darted to the side, causing Anthony and Kate to burst out laughing, muffling their laughter into their sleeves once other party goers began to stare.

Benedict glared at the pair of them once he realized his mother was nowhere to be seen. “Very funny. Your ball at Aubrey Hall is only next week. Maybe I shall take a page out of your book and compromise some young lady in the garden?”

That wiped the smug smirk right off Anthony’s face.

Kate had to disguise her snort with a cough into her glove.

Before he could retort, Anthony’s eyes froze at something across the room. “Who is that man Eloise is speaking to? Alone?”

Kate and Benedict’s heads turned in the direction Anthony was glaring in. The man’s head was all they could see, Eloise hands waving in the air as she spoke passionately about something.

“I will be right back,” Anthony squeezed her hand before he charged in the direction of his young sister.

“Benedict!” The distinct voice of Violet Bridgerton came from an unknown direction, but it was enough for Benedict to say a quick apology to Kate before disappearing into the crowd.

Kate found herself alone at the refreshment’s table.

“Lady Bridgerton?”

Kate finished swallowing the biscuit she had put in her mouth, trying not to choke before she turned around to see who had addressed her. Kate held in her gasp, eyes widening as she looked at the woman in front of her.

It was her.

She bowed, and Kate did the same. “It is such a pleasure to meet you, I hoped we would be introduced sooner. I have heard so much about you.”

Kate felt herself blush. This woman was assuming she knew who she was. “Apologies, I do not believe we have met.”

“Oh! Forgive me,” She said, shaking her head and laughing to herself. “I would have thought Anthony would have mentioned me. I have known Anthony and the Bridgertons my entire life. I am Lady Eleanor Trent. It is such a pleasure to finally meet you.”

Apparently, she was on a first name basis with her husband.

Kate smiled pleasantly, feeling slightly uncomfortable. “How lovely to meet you, Lady Trent.”

“I am very much looking forward to your ball in Aubrey Hall.”

Kate did not know she was invited. Violet had handled the guest list. “I am very happy to hear that.”

“I have not been there in quite some time. We used to visit Aubrey Hall a few times a year throughout my childhood. It was like a second home. I adore it. Have you been yet?”

Kate blinked slowly at her odd question. “Have I been to my home? Yes.

For some reason, Lady Trent was not phased by Kate’s blunt response whatsoever. “I have been more times than I could count. I have known the Bridgertons my entire life, as I am sure you know. That is quite funny, I have known your husband longer than you.”

Kate tried to unclench her jaw, breathing steadily through her nose. “I did not, actually.”

“Oh, how odd.” Her laugh was almost a shriek. “I was practically a Bridgerton until my marriage.”

Kate was not being dramatic, that was a peculiar thing to say. Benedict had not conveyed it that way at all.

Lady Trent continued to speak. Kate wished she wouldn't. “Was your father an Earl? A Duke? A Viscount?”

What did that have to do with anything? Kate's heart sped up at the mention of her father. “No. My father was a gentlemen. What does that have to do with anything?"

“Oh.” Lady Trent was not subtle with her disdain. “How interesting. Forgive my curiosity. One would think that must have made the transition quite difficult.”

Kate blinked. “Pardon?”

Lady Eleanor took a small sip of her wine, nodding sympathetically. “It must be difficult coming into such an important role as a Viscountess at such a young age. Especially when one is marrying a man like Anthony.”

This woman had no clue what type of man her husband was.

“I know this from experience, of course. I would be terrified if I came into the role of Viscountess with no experience,” Eleanor smiled sweetly at Kate, her voice dripping with everything but kindness. Her not so subtle dig made Kate’s blood boil.

“Oh!” She let out a cheerful laugh. “I am sure you are doing a fine job, Lady Bridgerton.”

Kate was nearly positive she had been insulted at least twice in this bizarre conversation.

If one thing was certain, it was that Kate did not like this woman at all.

She particularly did not like how she had been looking at her husband but her personality was just as unpleasant.

Kate was debating how significant the consequences would be if she launched her wine at Eleanor’s pink evening dress. She could stumble, blame it on her healed leg. It would be worth the earful she would get from Anthony, who still believed her leg had not fully healed and Kate should still be bedridden.

Kate didn’t cause scenes intentionally, she had been in the background for most of her life.

It definitely was not something a Viscountess would do, to cause such a scene, so she resisted.

Instead, she finished her glass in a few gulps. Kate replaced it with a glass from one of the server’s trays quite quickly as she composed herself.

“Thank you so much for your concern.” Kate matched the falseness of her tone, her smile stretched far too wide across her face to be genuine. “It has been a splendid year. I suppose, experience or not, some people are just born for certain roles.”

Eleanor appeared as if she was at a loss for words. She simply nodded, her smile wrinkling the skin on her forehead. “I could not agree more, Lady Bridgerton.”

“I must go find my husband. It was such a pleasure to meet you, Lady Trent. I look forward to seeing you at our ball next week.” Kate certainly was not. “Good evening, Lady Trent.”

Kate found Anthony in the crowd, he had also been searching for her. He took her arm in his, squeezing it softly. That was their signal it was time to go home. They kissed and bid their family goodnight, making their way towards the front of the house to get their carriage.

Anthony nodded at the valet and opened their carriage door, making way for Kate to step in before closing it behind them.

“I am exhausted,” She said, pulling a few pins out of her hair that had been digging into her scalp all evening. Relief flooded her head as she gently massaged her sensitive scalp. She couldn’t wait to take off her corset and go to bed.

Kate knew she would not be able to sleep until she spoke to Anthony about both of their conversations with Lady Trent. Her interaction with Lady Trent had left Kate feeling uneasy.

“Come here.” Anthony pulled her on top of him, her back resting on the carriage wall and her feet resting on the cushioned seat.

“There is a seat right beside you.” Kate laughed, wrapping her arms around his neck and lightly running her fingers through his hair.

“I prefer you on top of me.” Anthony moved his hands down to lightly squeeze her buttocks.

“I thought you liked being on top?” If he wanted to tease, Kate could tease him right back.

Anthony laughed, nuzzling her neck and leaving a trail of kisses from her collarbone all the way to her lips. “Right as always, Lady Bridgerton.”

“Did you have a good evening? I did not see you much,” She murmured against his lips. She could tell, with his fingers already creeping up her thigh, that talking was the last thing on her husband’s mind.

She would have to be quick if she wished to find out anything. The carriage ride home to Bridgeton House was less than fifteen minutes and he would not waste one of them before they had to stop.

They would not get caught in a carriage.

Again.

Once they arrived home, they wouldn’t do any talking once they got to their bed chamber.

She had enough willpower to focus on the task at hand and not let her husband completely distract her.

Right?

She needed to find out about his conversation with Eleanor.

His lips brushed hers before he spoke. “It was fine. A ball is a ball. I would have much preferred to stay home with you or at least sneak off to the gardens. Why did we not do that?”

Kate let out a laugh, her fingers tightening around his strands of hair as his lips moved down across her jaw. “How many gardens do you wish to compromise me in?”

“All of them,” Anthony said, his lips tickling the skin of her jaw as his laughter vibrated against her.

“Did you speak to anyone interesting?”

“Mm?” His teeth tugged at the top of her bodice, his tongue dipping behind the satin fabric.

“Anthony.” Her voice shook slightly as she spoke, his tongue was eliciting tingles throughout her chest and between her legs. “I said, did you speak to anyone interesting? Anyone you have not seen in a while?”

She would power through. “I met someone new, actually. Lady Eleanor.”

Anthony hummed in agreement against her skin, “Oh. Yes.”

“Benedict mentioned you have known her since you were children.”

“Indeed.” His face remained expressionless. He wasn’t listening to her. He was far too interested in pulling her dress down, which he did promptly.

Kate had lost the battle, and Anthony had won the war. He palmed her breasts in his hands, squeezing them softly as he pulled her in for a deep kiss. She could feel him hard against her thigh, and she reached down to palm him through the fabric of his breeches. His groan filled her ears and made her limbs weak.

“Oh,” She whispered, her lips parting as Anthony began to kiss his way down her neck, down her chest until his tongue grazed her nipple. He teased her momentarily before taking her fully in his mouth.

The carriage came to a halt and Kate hastily pulled up her dress, smoothening her dress and hair to fix her disheveled appearance. This was not their first indecent carriage ride. Anthony helped Kate out of the carriage, not letting go of her hand as they raced up the steps and entered the foyer, wasting no time running up the stairs.

If she did not keep up with Anthony, he would carry her up the flights of stairs to their bedroom.

Anthony dismissed her maid, fully intending on undressing his wife himself.

There wasn’t any talking for the rest of the night.

Kate’s morning had started off pleasant.

The following morning, Kate and Newton had joined Eloise and Penelope for a walk in the park. It was a beautiful day, the sun was shining and the cool breeze was refreshing. They joined Kate at Bridgerton House afterwards for some lemonade, before leaving to return home.

She had called on Daphne for the remainder of the afternoon and on her way home, her carriage had stopped at Madame Delacroix’s modiste for one last fitting before the ball.

“Lady Bridgerton!”

Kate had finished her fittings and was waiting on one of her gown’s to be packaged. The last person she had wanted to see had walked into the modiste. “Lady Trent. How lovely to see you.”

She smiled widely at Kate, it was unnerving. “How are the ball preparations going?”

“Very well, thank you.” Kate had always found small talk with strangers quite uncomfortable. Kate could not find the words to describe how she was feeling in this current situation. She had not found the opportunity to discuss the evening with Anthony last night and he had left early this morning for Parliament. She would not see him until she arrived home.

“How nice,” She replied, nodding her head slowly. It reminded Kate of one of Hyacinth’s frightening dolls. “I always found the menu planning quite tedious.”

Kate nodded. “Indeed. A pleasant task, nonetheless.”

“Have you finalized your menu?” Lady Trent asked, examining the different materials in the display case.

Kate nodded. “For the ballroom, yes. We will have traditional English pastries, desserts. I would not want anyone to go hungry.”

Lady Trent continued to nod slowly, her lips in a flat line. “It is always a good idea to keep things simple. However, I do remember Anthony having a more adventurous palate.”

Kate would hardly call pastries, sandwiches, desserts and food displays she had planned simple. Kate had known this woman for a day and she had already had enough. “Why would my husband’s palate be any concern of yours, Lady Trent?”

That shut her up.

Kate squeezed the ribbons between her fingers, trying to stop her shaking hand. This woman was a beast.

“Have you ever been outside of England, Lady Bridgerton?” She asked, circling the ribbon’s display with disinterest.

“I have not,” Kate said through gritted teeth.

“What a pity.” She tutted, her curls bouncing in the air as she shook her head. “I suppose my traveling has given me a new outlook on life. It has opened me to a whole new world of cuisine and flavour. Traveling really exemplifies how dull the English customs and cuisine we are all accustomed to are.”

“I am sure it will be lovely. I must be on my way. Good day, Lady Bridgerton.” She bowed her head before turning around, swiftly exiting the modiste.

Kate was furious.

She sat incredibly still, not uttering a word during the carriage ride home until she reached Bridgerton House. She made her way towards the drawing room, not checking to see if Anthony was home in his office.

She stood in the middle of their drawing room, pacing in the same spot before she screamed.

There’s the slamming of a door and Anthony appears, Newton barking at his feet, looking incredibly alarmed. “Kate! Kate. Are you alright?”

Anthony charges towards her, holds her shoulders, scanning her entire body to assess any damage. “

“No. Yes, but no. It...it is that….that woman,” Kate spat out her words.

“What woman?” Anthony asked, frantically looking around the room.

“That woman. That, that-what was that word you taught me the other night?” Kate’s

“Bitch?” Anthony supplied, looking incredibly concerned for his wife.

“Yes!” Kate waved her arm in victory. “That bitch.”

Kate had sobbed in front of her husband before, from their declarations of love to the agony of her broken leg, but she had never expressed such fury before.

Anthony had not the slightest clue what was going on. “Kate, what the bloody hell are you talking about?”

Kate was pacing the room again. “Lady Eleanor Trent, of course. Firstly, she was standing far too close to you. Then she touched your forearm. That is highly improper-

“At the ball?” Anthony furrowed his eyebrows as he thought about it. “Wait.”

Anthony stared at her as if she had grown another head. “Kate Bridgerton. Is this all because you are jealous?”

Her husband looked positively gleeful.

“Anthony!” Kate nearly threw a pillow at him.

“I am sorry, I am sorry,” He pleaded, biting his lower lip to restrain his smile as he walked towards her with open arms. “Tell me what else happened.”

“She introduced herself and the conversation was strange. She was incredibly rude last night and this morning. She insulted me, my father, my

Anthony’s face darkened. “She insulted you? She insulted your father? That is unacceptable. I will make sure she is not welcome in London again. I will call on her and tell her exactly what I think of her-

Kate shook her head rapidly. “The last thing I want is you going near her. She has some strange infatuation with you. She referred to herself as practically a Bridgerton until she was married. Did you court her?”

“I barely knew her, Kate,” He said, looking bewildered at Kate’s words. “I had not seen her for nine years until last night. Our parents were mainly friends. Her family usually visited when I was at Eton. I most certainly did not court her, no.”

Kate did not reply, although she was relieved to hear Lady Trent’s words had been based on delusion. Kate felt incredibly overwhelmed, as if every emotion and fear she had been bottling up was crashing into her at once.

“Kate,” He stepped towards her cautiously, wary of the readily available pillows within her grasp. He sat on the couch, extending his hand towards her. “Come here, darling.”

She broke, practically falling into her husband’s arms who wrapped himself around her, pulling her onto his lap. Their foreheads and noses were touching as he spoke to her.

His lips brushed her cheek as he spoke softly. “Can you tell me what else is wrong? Is there something else going on?”

She can’t meet his eyes, instead she stares down at her hands in her lap. “I am terrified I am letting you down.”

“Kate, you could never let me down,” He says, affection flooding his voice as he tilts her chin up softly with his index finger to look at her face.

Kate took a deep breath. “You have had so much on your shoulders for so long. Since your father died. Between your family and your duties, you have always worked so hard. I want to do whatever I can to help you. I want to do this right. I want to make your life easier however I can and I want to be a good Viscountess. I am really trying. I just feel like I am failing. What if she was right? What if my lack of experience means I am not right for this role? I-I want you to be proud of me.”

He leans down to kiss her firmly and it’s the type of kiss that makes her toes curl. “Kate,” He murmured, drawing back but staying as close as possible. “You are the perfect Viscountess because you are my Viscountess. Everyone adores you. I was merely existing before I met you. After you, I began to live. You brought this light into my life that I didn’t think was possible. Everything I do is for you and everything I am is because of you. I am so proud of you. I am in awe of you. You are everything, Kate. Everything.”

“I love you,” She says, because that is all there is to say. She loved him, and he loved her, even when she acted slightly insane in their drawing room. That was all she needed. Anthony was all she needed.

She could do anything with Anthony by her side.

“I love you,” She whispered,

“Anthony,” She whispered a few minutes later, feeling a lot calmer. “I was jealous, you know.”

Anthony tried his best to not look too pleased, but he was slightly smug. “Jealousy is a difficult emotion to deal with.”

“Not all of us can shove people out of the way, you know.” If Anthony saw a man try to speak to Kate, he simply shoved them out of his way to his wife.

Anthony shrugged. “It is quite an effective method.”

“I did not like how she behaves around you,” Kate said, nibbling on her bottom lip. “When I saw her touching you and standing so close to you-I did not like how it made me feel.”

A panic stricken look flashes across his face.“Kate, I would never encourage it-”

“Sweetheart, I know,” She murmurs, cupping his cheeks in her hands as she kissed him softly. The thought had never crossed her mind and she immediately went to comfort him. “I know. I know you would never stray.”

She felt his sigh of relief. “You would kill me.”

“No I would not,” She lightly teased, pecking his lips. “That would be merciful. I would physically and mentally destroy you.”

“That will never happen,” Anthony murmured, brushing some loose strands of hair out of her eyes. “There will be no more joking about infidelity.”

Kate took a deep breath before she spoke again. “So you have noticed Eleanor flirting with you?”

Anthony cleared his throat, frowning slightly as his uncomfortableness set in. “I have noticed. She is not exactly subtle.”

“I would never have married her. She was a young girl with a crush, which I cannot fault her for. I am incredibly handsome.” Kate rolled her eyes at her husband’s cheeky smile. “However, she was never kind. These recent events have only re-confirmed that. I remember when I was seventeen, I had come home for Christmas. Her family had come to stay for a week. She was incredibly rude to our servants. She cared more about parties and appearances than family. She was so disinterested in my younger siblings to the point of being cruel. She was not the type of person I could marry.”

“Why would your mother want you to marry her?” Kate asked, resting her forehead against his.

“My mother was grieving.” Anthony shrugged his shoulders, running one of his hands soothingly down her back. “She thought she knew what was best for me. She has always chosen to see the parts of people she wanted to see. Not all the parts that were in front of her.”

“Well, I for one am very glad you did not marry her.” Teasing was always an effective way to snap Anthony out of one of his serious thoughts, and she was successful when he snorted.

“As am I.” His thumb was making small circles on her cheek.

“She insulted my choice of food for the ball.”

Anthony raised an eyebrow at his wife and stared at her. “What?”

“She called it simple English cuisine,” Kate said, still incredibly bitter. “Who in their right mind does not like scones and cucumber and chicken sandwiches?”

“Colin will be there and he will wolf them down, so there is no fear they will not be eaten.” Her brother in law was returning to England the day before their ball, conveniently missing most of the season much to his mother’s dismay.

“As someone who lives in your household, your menu choices have always been exceptional. I have also eaten many of those food choices, including off of you, and they were delicious.”

“Anthony!” She smacked his chest, laughing against his lips as he stole a kiss. He always knew how to make her feel better.

Anthony had always made her feel safe, she had trusted him even when she did not particularly like him. That stormy night in his library had changed everything. It was his nature that made people admire him and trust him. He took care of people. He had been misjudged by society, made out to be a cold hearted rake incapable of true affection.

It angered Kate beyond belief. Anthony had suffered more than most, losing his father and becoming the head of the family at such a young age. He had become a father to his siblings and a Viscount to his tenants and society. In a way, his life had begun and ended when his father died.

He was the first person she opened up to about her fear of storms and the reason she had been brave enough to face her fear.

He had become her anchor, and her his.

“Our ball is going to be wonderful, do you know why?” Anthony asked, grinning at his wife.

“Why?” She responded, smiling right back at him.

“Because it is ours,” He said simply. “It is celebrating one incredible year of marriage and many more to go.”

“Until forever.” Kate rested her forehead against his, feeling completely content.

Anthony nodded in agreement. “Forever it is.”

A week later, the Viscount and Viscountess' ball was a complete success.

The food was devoured.

Laugher could be heard all around the ballroom.

The Viscountess was praised for her efforts throughout the evening.

Lady Trent's absence was not missed.

Anthony had surprised Kate at the end of the evening with a show of fireworks.

It was perfect.

Kate and Anthony had their own private celebration that very night.

Edmund Bridgerton was born nine months later.

#katexanthonyweek #kateandanthonyweek21 #bridgerton #anthony bridgerton #kate sharma #kate sheffield #kateandanthonyweek #fanfiction #my fic #thank you this was fun!#kate x anthony

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changyang-cloud · 3 years

Text

falling to our demise - cloud_wanderer

Summary: Mo Xuanyu should have never gotten the chance to meet Prince Hua, Nie Huaisang, much less fall in love with him. Seven years after entering the prince's manor as his fourth mistress, he commits suicide, much to the despair of Nie Huaisang. Desperate for any chance to see his beloved again, Nie Huaisang finds a way to go back in time to keep Mo Xuanyu from ever being hurt in the first place.

tw for no happy ending, mentions of suicide and self-harm (but no graphic depictions)

Chapter 1: Sometimes Love Brings You Flowers

Mo Xuanyu was not “engaged,” even if that’s one some people would say. Many others would argue adamantly against it. He himself also knew that “engagement” was far to proper a word for what he had with his beloved, the younger brother of the current Emperor, Prince Hua Nie Huaisang.

If it weren’t for how dearly the Emperor cared for said brother, even something as tentative as this so-called “engagement” wouldn’t have seen the light of day. Nie Huaisang was the Prince Hua, a refined and charismatic gentleman. Any woman would fall for him, as many already had. Even since the prince promised his heart to poor Mo Xuanyu, who couldn’t even be given the honor of carrying his father’s name, he had brought three other women into his manor. Not a betrayal to their love, he would assure. They were all carried out for political reasons which Mo Xuanyu couldn’t understand.

But despite this, and despite their ages and ranks and basically the entire world seeming against them, it had happened… tentatively. Because the Empero did spoil his brother that much, and Mo Xuanyu knew firsthand how persuasive Nie Huaisang could be.

He remembered when Nie Huaisang had first come to tell him the news, weeks before anything official could even be decided, and still a year before Mo Xuanyu would even be of the age to entertain the idea of marriage. He had come through the window, with the most charming smile decorating those lips of his. He had layed next to Mo Xuanyu and kissed his cheek and mumbled a thousand promises with only them and the moon as witness.

It was not an “engagement,” but Mo Xuanyu believed in Nie Huaisang’s luck, if he didn’t believe in his own.

Which he did not in the slightest, not after growing up in the Jin Manor surrounded by dozens of his recognized half-brothers and half-sisters, each bearing the name Jin and a vermillion mark between their brows.

While Nie Huaisang may have been concubine-born, he was still beloved by the late Emperor and the current one, and his standing could not be marred by his birth. Mo Xuanyu, on the other hand, wasn’t even that. Didn’t have that. The best he had was his mother, who loved him, and maybe some of his half-siblings who at the very least didn’t beat him up. He was the son of a servant, worth less than even the lowest ranking Jin in the household.

What more need be said of how they were clearly of two different worlds? That they had even come to meet, any respectable Jin would say, was an embarrassment to the entire clan. Mo Xuanyu could remember the ladies of the family gossipping when he was younger, and speaking of how they would marry the second prince, among other nobility. Vaguely, he remembered one of the elder ones being suggested as Nie Huaisang’s legal spouse, however the offer had been refused.

And if they refused the fourth lady, why would they accept little Mo Xuanyu? It was only common sense!

But Nie Huaisang didn’t tend to live by common sense. He was willful and creative, he wasn’t hard-working or strong like the other young masters that everyone admired, he was effortless in his beauty, and ruthless in his heart.

Ruthless? No, that wasn’t quite right, Mo Xuanyu thought. Not the Nie Huaisang that he knew. Effortless? Beautiful? Creative? All resounding “yes”s, but ruthless? Surely not the man who’s eyes sparkled when they landed on this useless servant’s son. Surely not the man who spoke to him as if he mattered. Surely not the man who held him like he deserved to be protected. Surely they were mistaken…?

Nevertheless, Mo Xuanyu, too, could not resist his charm, beauty, and kindness. How could anyone? he thought.

A year passed, and Mo Xuanyu came of age. For the first time in his life, his father looked at him. Not fondly. Not even with mild interest. But he looked at Mo Xuanyu.

A wedding date was set. It was an auspicious day, even if the wedding was to be a quiet one, without all the bells and whistles that would be afforded to a wedding of the prince’s legal wife. For the first time, his family spoke to him as if they cared. They didn’t, he knew. Even if he was just being used to garner more power for the Jin family, even if those well-wishes were all fake, Mo Xuanyu couldn’t help but feel something. It wasn’t happiness, per se--not if happiness was like what he felt when Nie Huaisang kissed the back of his hand, smiling up at him with a mischievous grin--but it was something outside of despair, so it was good.

He bid goodbye to his mother, the only person he was sad to leave. He had asked Nie Huaisang before if she could come too, or at least leave the Jins after he was no longer there to look after her. He had promised he would try his best, and his best was always something incredible, Mo Xuanyu thought, so she would at least be safe.

For the entire ride to Nie Huaisang’s residence, Mo Xuanyu couldn’t contain himself. He picked at the dead skin on his fingers, grinning madly. He just couldn’t believe that this was truly happening.

Everything in his vision was red, from the carriage to his clothes to every single decoration on the hall where he was finally let out. He stumbled ungracefully out of the carriage, dizziness and excitement making his legs feel weak. The remaining steps he took as confidently as he could. This was a good thing in his life, he thought. Things will be better from here on out.

He may have been naive, but his optimism would not be so easily snuffed. Nie Huaisang was as beautiful dressed in red as Mo Xuanyu had imagined, and his words were as sweet. For that day, Mo Xuanyu felt like falling in love all over again.

Life in Prince Hua’s manor was an adjustment for sure, but not one Mo Xuanyu was wholly unprepared for. Besides, the ever-innattentive Nie Huaisang was more than ready to spend long days at his beloved’s side, doing no more than admiring the gardens or painting in the study. For ensuing months, Mo Xuanyu could describe himself as content with this life, if not happy.

What Mo Xuanyu didn’t realize was how much Nie Huaisang was helping him with, and protecting him from. When his trip to visit his brother lasted much longer than expected, he was forced to leave Mo Xuanyu alone for another two nights. When he returned, he found his beloved bedridden. Every doctor he called saying they could only wait it out.

Wait it out they did, and Mo Xuanyu recovered rather quickly. Although still weak, he spent several long nights after that assuring his husband that it wasn’t his fault. It wasn’t anyone’s fault. He had just caught a cold, was all.

Nie Huaisang gave him a skeptical look, but it was quickly replaced by a sweet smile and sad eyes, whispers of how much he had worried, and how much he loved Mo Xuanyu.

Mo Xuanyu could only sigh. This Prince Hua. He really was more soft-hearted than anyone seemed to know.

It wasn’t for several more months that Mo Xuanyu fell ill again, in the height of winter as snow made travel impossible. To call for another doctor was fruitless, while the cold weather made Mo Xuanyu’s recovery achingly slow. The whole time, Nie Huaisang all but refused to leave his side. The only reason he didn’t refuse, was that no one dared ask.

This was the instance that finally tore off the rose-coloured veil that had covered Mo Xuanyu’s eyes since his wedding. When he finally returned to full health at the onset of spring, he was no longer oblivious to the reality of his new life.

If it weren’t for Nie Huaisang’s favor, he wouldn’t have survived this long in a world like this. He wouldn’t let his lover know his struggle, of course, but the smile that had been glued to his lips since he’d first come to this place started to fade in his absence.

Life-threatening situations became more and more common for Mo Xuanyu, more and more frequent. He could no longer pretend it wasn’t deliberate. He could see the anger in his beloved’s eyes now, as he knelt beside Mo Xuanyu’s bed. After he reassured Nie Huaisang with a million soft words and layed down to rest, he would stay awake to hear the distant yelling and scolding.

He couldn’t pretend it didn’t exist anymore.

If it weren’t for Nie Huaisang’s favor, Mo Xuanyu finally began to realize, he wouldn’t be hanging on to the last threads of his life right now.

When Mo Xuanyu recovered once again, Nie Huaisang wanted to stay by his side. He probably thought it was the only way to protect him, and once upon a time, Mo Xuanyu would have thought the same.

It wasn’t easy. But Mo Xuanyu started to avoid Nie Huaisang whenever possible. It was made easier when he was called away to see his brother, each time returning in a fouler and fouler mood. He stopped visiting Mo Xuanyu’s rooms every single night, leaving him to shiver through the cold, sleepless hours alone. It was better this way, he told himself, but he was starting to believe it less and less.

Nie Huaisang’s smiles became noticeably strained, his hands shaking when they painted together and his eyes wandering when they sat out in the gardens. Mo Xuanyu couldn’t say he was faring much better.

How was it that they both wanted to be with each other, and yet they still couldn’t achieve it? What kind of romance was that? A sham, Mo Xuanyu thought. His whole life was a sham.

The promises Nie Huaisang had made many, many years ago rang through his ears in the dead of night. Promises of romance and forever, and a million sweet nothings of young love. How foolish Mo Xuanyu must have been to believe it. No matter how much Nie Huaisang may or may not have meant it, it was never going to happen. It was too good to be true.

Mo Xuanyu managed a while without falling sick again, but the damage had already been done. He no longer had any illusions about his place here. When the news came that his mother had died, he didn’t even know how to grieve properly.

It was seven years after his marriage that the Emperor decreed Prince Hua would marry some princess or noble lady from another kingdom. By then, Mo Xuanyu couldn’t even catch the name.

That night, Mo Xuanyu was found dead in his room, not even a note left behind.

read the rest on ao3

#mine #my fic #nie huaisang #mo xuanyu #sangyu #falling to our demise

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lucas-grey · 3 years

Text

I always wanted to write a FanFiction about little 6 and 47 and their time in the Institute, so here it is! I would also be very happy if you would left some Kudos for it on my AO3 ❤️

TW: Torture, Child abuse, Drowning, Death

Brasov, Romania

The Institute for Human Betterment was located far away from any civilisation in the mountainous forests. It was an old building, a mansion trumped by a box-shaped extension, the only part that suggested it was more than just a simple institution.

Because the Institute was situated in such a remote location, the human experiments that were carried out in this facility remained hidden from the public. With the cunning use of intimidation and money, it was easy to keep something a secret. Nobody outside the building knew anything about Doctor Otto Wolfgang Ort-Meyer's cloning program and the experiments he carried out on infants and children. Nobody suspected that in these deep, dark forests children were being tortured and that the main goal was to form them into perfect killers by any means necessary.

Everyday life in the Institute was tough and marked by violence and pain.The punishments for misconduct ranged from bashing to isolation and execution. The rules were strict and discipline was paramount.There was no place for feelings in the facility. The boys were trained to suppress emotions. They were taught that feelings equated with weakness. They had their guiding principles: Weakness is the enemy. Strength through discipline. Discipline through the mastery of one's feelings. But what Ort-Meyer and the brutal guards forgot was that they were still children who only suppressed their feelings for fear of punishment. Subject 6 knew the feeling of coming into the bedroom in the evening and being able to shake off this fear. That time when the boys got ready for bed, when they put on their pyjamas. It was like his whole body was relaxing. The feeling of tense muscles that were finally loosening. He used the short time when the bedroom door closed behind him to inhale and exhale several times and then suddenly let himself fall into his bed. This brief moment of lightness and peace of mind was the highlight of the day for him. But 6 knew that these instants were rare and could be broken at any time. It happened again and again that the boys were startled by the overseer in their sleep, to go on long marches through the forest in the middle of the night or to scramble through the muddy course behind the house when it was pouring raining. For this reason, these short times without this tension, without the knot in the chest that reminded the boys of their guiding principles, were so precious.

Far away from the guards' gaze, the boys used the time to exchange ideas. They sat together on their beds, telling creepy stories or watching porn magazines that they had stolen from the guards. It was important to be quiet. The children's laughter in those moments were barely audible, the boys had learned to hold their hands over their mouths so as not to be heard when they giggled at the sight of the naked women in the Playboy.

Subject 6 was an orphan. As an infant, he was left behind in the hospital by his mother immediately after his birth, where Ort-Meyer found him. He bought the baby and many more to do inhuman experiments on them. Ort-Meyer got the money and influence from an organisation called Providence, which commissioned the doctor to create the perfect killers. They should be more than just super soldiers, they should be quiet, the perfect silent assassins. Subject 6 remembered the many injections given to him. He remembered the feeling of serums flowing through his veins, the warmth rising inside of him and cramps that made all his muscles freeze and the pain so intense that he vomited. He was tied to a metal table and left alone with his pain. What remained was the feeling of fear. He thought he was going to die any moment; every fiber of his body was streaked with pain, as if he was being burned inside. He felt the sweat on his forehead and he could no longer suppress the screams. Tears were running down his face from the corners of his eyes. He sensed exactly how the serum flowed through his body, he felt how it found its way through his veins, like a burning river. He didn't know how long he laid there each time. Minutes? Hours? At some point the pain stopped and gave way to total exhaustion. 6 was breathing hard and looking into the bright light of the neon lamps. He no longer had the strength to scream or to fight the serum. It was like embracing the pain that plagued his body. He felt beads of sweat drip from his forehead and bare torso. The heat spread evenly as the serum made its way into every fiber of his body. He had to endure this procedure several times a week, always followed by tests to see whether the serum had the desired effect. He had to run for hours on a treadmill, lift weights and do intelligence tests. He knew he had acquired skills beyond those of a normal child.

In parallel to the attempt to make children stronger and more resilient with special serums, Ort-Meyer started a cloning program with the help of funds from Providence. He hoped to be able to create the perfect killer right from the start without having to send him through the painful procedure that 6 had to endure. Many of the first clones died early, they were disfigured and not viable. But with Subject 47, Ort-Meyer created a perfect clone, the perfect human. The perfect killer. Right from the start, 47 possessed all the skills that 6 and the other children had only acquired through the serums and hard training. 47 has been trained to use his skills to become the best assassin from the day he was created. Ort-Meyer watched him with hawk eyes. He had great expectations of 47, and the other children knew that 47 was in a different position from theirs. Although he had to do the same training as the others, Ort-Meyer watched him especially. He called him the most gifted of all his boys. Oftentimes, 47 had to show off his skills by fighting with other children. 6 watched him during these fights. He saw as the rest of the boys were left expressionless as they witnessed 47's dexterity in combat. He made it look effortless while the rest of them had to endure long hours of fighting techniques to be his worthy opponent. 47 appeared to 6 and the other children as cold and reserved, disinterested and unemotional. He never spoke to the others and always held back when there was a conflict.

It was 6 who at some point, when the boys were back in their chamber and getting ready for sleep, took the initiative and approached 47 as he was sitting on his bed and taking off his socks. "Hey 47," he said softly as 47 turned around and looked at him with his deep blue eyes. 6 felt the other children's gazes on his neck, they fell silent and there was a certain tension in the air, as if they were expecting 6 to be eaten alive by a bear. 47 didn't answer, so 6 stepped forward. He crossed his arms behind his back to show that he had no intention of harming him. "Today in the fight, that was impressive," said 6 with clear appreciation in his voice. 47 looked at him, then his gaze wandered to the other boys, who immediately averted their eyes for fear of angering him. Then he looked back to 6 and their eyes met. 6 tried to read something in his stare, a sign of gratitude for the compliment he had just received, or, which was more likely, a sign for annoyance. But he saw nothing. They were cold and unemotional. 6 regretted having said anything at all when 47 suddenly whispered a soft "thank you". At that moment 6 saw it, that brief glint in his eyes. It was barely noticeable, but 6 could see it. A small smile played around 6 lips. "Do you like card games?", he asked. 47 looked at him questioningly when 6 pulled out a couple of old cards from under his bed. "Some cards are missing, but you can still play Mau-Mau with them", said 6 as he shuffled them and was watched by 47. "I don't know that", 47 said shortly. 6 sat on the bed. "It's very easy." While 6 started explaining the rules, 47 slowly sat down next to him and listened attentively. The other boys watched in disbelief.

From that night on, 6 and 47 played Mau-Mau together on their bed everyday. The other boys did not dare to play along, on the contrary, from that evening on they met 6 with the same distance as 47, as if he had tamed a lion that he could let loose on the children at any moment with just one command. 6 didn't care. He enjoyed the friendship with 47 and the feeling of not being alone. When he went to sleep in the evening, he whispered to 47 a quiet "good night". 47 didn’t reply. Only his look at that moment told 6 that he was happy. For 6, his gaze was not cold and distant, but warm and grateful. It were just nuances, dilated pupils when 47 won Mau-Mau, a slight squint of his eyes when he lost, and that warm look he gave 6 when he wished him good night. Sometimes 6 even saw a slight hint of a smile in the corner of his mouth. For outsiders who didn't understand 47 as well as he did, it wasn’t more than a twitch, but 6 knew it was there. 6 realised that 47 was more than an emotionless clone and he was aware that he was the only one with the gift of knowing this.

One night, Subject 6 and the other boys were asleep in their beds. In the small room there was space for eight children in four bunk beds. The chamber was bare and uncomfortable, with nothing to suggest that children lived there. There were no toys, no painted pictures on the walls, no books. The metal beds were equipped with thin mattresses and blankets and only an old fireplace provided the warmth that was so badly needed that winter.

Suddenly, Subject 6 and the other children were woken up when their warden opened the door and loudly ordered the children to get up. None of the boys showed resistance. Nobody pulled the covers over their heads again or stretched, yawning. As if at the push of a button, they got out of their beds and stood in a row. 6 looked at Subject 47, who was facing him. Their eyes met. 6 knew that 47 felt the same uncertainty about what was to come as he did, even though one couldn't tell. But 6 could see it in his eyes. No one except 6 knew that 47 sometimes felt the same fear as the other children and it was important that it stayed that way. Ort-Meyer would be very disappointed to know that his favorite Subject was feeling exactly the same emotions as the others.

The boys stood next to their beds. They knew these situations. They were aware that they were being roused from their peaceful sleep because they had a task to do. They were only dressed in their blue pyjamas, they wore neither socks nor shoes. Despite the log fire, the arch was freezing and Subject 6 felt the cold slowly rise inside his body. He watched intently as the guard walked scrutinizing past the children and examined them. "We're going out", he bleated and left the room. The boys followed without saying a word. They all knew that talking or even contradicting would result in a blow with the rubber truncheon by the overseer.

They ran down the hall and down the great stairs. Subject 6 felt uncomfortable. It wasn't the first time the children had been awoken from their sleep in the middle of the night to do some kind of task. But what they ultimately had to do remained a secret until the very end. It was the element of surprise that the overseer used. It should prepare the boys to be able to improvise in any situation and to always perform at their best.

When the warden opened the large front door, the boys were hit by the icy cold outside. Without hesitation, they followed the overseer into the snow. When Subject 6 stepped into the snow with his bare feet, he was breathless for a moment. The cold shot through him with an uncomfortable pain, he felt his feet and then his limbs went stiff. "Don't stop", the guard shouted angrily when he noticed the boys' hesitation as they tried to ignore the freezing cold that seized their bodies. 6 folded his arms and rubbed his armpits with his hands to at least warm up a little. He felt his breathing accelerate automatically and how the cold found its way into his throat. The pain that pierced his body was almost unbearable. He tried to remember the feeling he had when he was lying in his bed. Although the mattresses were uncomfortable and the blankets were thin, the moment the bedroom door was closed was the one 6 liked the most. He knew that it could happen at any time that he would be torn from his dreams, which is why the thought of his bed, of the silence and the relaxation that he felt when he lay there and his mind could freely circulate, was so precious to him. He thought of the evenings with 47, which they spent sitting on the bed playing cards and the warmth of the fireplace that surrounded him when he closed his eyes and slowly slipped into lovely sleep when fear and pain were forgotten for a brief moment.

At that point he dared to look back briefly. Subject 47 was further behind him. He rubbed his armpits too. 6 could see how hard he was breathing, each of his breaths visible through a thick, misty waft. 47 looked at him and gave him a short nod to understand that he should look forward again. Subject 6 turned and continued to follow the guard in silence.

It wasn't long before the children reached a lake not far from the Institute. 6 couldn't tell what time it was, but it was probably very early in the morning as he could already see the sun rise on the horizon, its rays making their way through the trees and lighting up the frozen lake as if its surface was made of nacre.

The warden ordered the boys to line up. "Your task: you swim from one end to the other", he explained briefly. The task was clear, none of the boys asked a question or protested, even if everyone knew this task could be fatal. So it was with many tasks that the children had to do at the Institute. 6 had seen many children die. He knew that because of the way they were created, he and the other boys were different from other children, both mentally and physically. They were made to be faster, stronger, and more resilient. They were intelligent, could improvise even in stressful situations and they could adapt well to any circumstance. But they weren't invulnerable. Even small mistakes could cause a task to fail. Even so, it wasn't impossible for them to accomplish this order. Normal children would hardly survive this, they would probably die from the shock of the cold water, let alone be able to hold their breath long enough to swim to the other side. 6 knew that he and the other boys were physically capable of doing this. More important was whether they would be able to keep a clear head during the process. This exercise was not only a test of their physical abilities, but above all their mental ones. "Subject 4, you are the first", the warden shouted. He had a clipboard and a stopwatch in his hand. One of the boys stepped forward. He took off his pyjamas until he was standing in the snow in his underpants. Subject 6 saw him shiver. His skin looked pale and bluish, and his feet were red from the cold snow. Subject 4 carefully stepped onto the ice surface, which crunched under his weight. He went on to a hole in the ice. 6 looked at the hole and his gaze wandered to the end of the lake, where he could make out another one in the distance that was straight ahead to the other.

Subject 4 slowly slid into the hole before taking a deep, perceptible breath and then submerged. The guard pressed the stopwatch. What followed was an uncomfortable silence. While the warden only looked at the ticking watch, the boys looked at the surface. Subject 6 held his breath. He wondered how long it would take Subject 4 to swim to the other side while watching the shadow of 4's silhouette beneath the ice sheet. He felt the tension when he noticed that he could no longer hold his breath and he knew that there were only seconds left for Subject 4 to get to the other side. 6 breathed out silently when couldn’t hold his breath anymore, when he suddenly heard a knock. The guard looked at the surface. It was first a short knock, then another, then it became more. They all heard the despair; they all knew what was happening. When the knocking fell silent, the guard stopped the clock, took the pen from the clipboard and with one movement he crossed out something on a piece of paper.

"Subject 6, you're next", he snapped. 6 breathed in and out deeply as he took off his pyjamas. He had the feeling that he no longer sensed the cold. The pain had given way to a strange numbness and what remained was the impression of many small needle pricks that hit his skin. When he was standing there only in his underpants and walking in the direction of the ice surface, he noticed the warden looking at him. He wanted to turn around and look at 47 but he didn't dare to. When 6 reached the small hole in the ice, he first slid his feet into it. The pain that rose through him almost made him scream, but he stifled the scream and clenched his teeth in agony. He let himself slide further into the icy water, then took a deep breath and dived below the surface.

The water was pitch black. Only a few of the distant sun rays penetrated the thick surface and served 6 as a subtle but much necessary orientation. Without hesitation, he started swimming. He stayed just below the surface and tried to the best of his capacity to swim straight ahead. He tried to remember the hole on the other side of the lake and he orientated himself by the sun rays that he hoped would shine through the other hole. As he swam as fast as he could, he was suddenly distracted by something he saw to his right. He dared a quick look to the side and looked into the wide-open eyes of Subject 4 floating motionlessly below the surface. Subject 6 was petrified. He felt a vibrating heat flooding his body. Immediately he removed his gaze from his late mate and refocused in front, yet in the corner of his eyes the boy’s stiff body still floated and his dead stare remained stubborn in his mind like a reminder. He had to make it to the exit hole because he knew he only had seconds before he couldn't breathe anymore, and his body would give up due to the cold.

Subject 6 swam as fast as he could when he saw the redeeming sun rays shining through the other hole. When he emerged, he took a deep breath. Although the cold continued to hurt and his heart pounded as hard as if it were about to beat out of his chest. He climbed out of the hole and as he stood on the slippery surface he felt life coming back to his body. He took some deep breaths to feel the fresh air in his lungs again. His stiff limbs ached, so he moved them a bit. He shook his arms and legs to get rid of the ice cold water that surrounded his body. He was clearing himself from the fear and pressure he had just felt and allowed the relief of having survived the task. Without lingering, he ran back to the others.

He got no praise from the guard, no applause from the other children. Another boy has already been asked by the guard to do the job. Subject 6 took his ice-cold pyjamas out of the snow and pulled them over his wet body. He saw his reddish blue skin, he saw how he was trembling and he could no longer suppress the fact that his teeth chattered softly and his lips trembled. Only now did he realise that Subject 47 was no longer there. The panic of the air slowly lacking in his lungs, his heart racing and shrinking due to the icy water was nothing compared to the shock of that moment as he realised that the blurry silhouette swimming under the ice was 47. The image of the lifeless eyes of Subject 4 floating stiff in the water came back as his stomach twisted violently in visceral dread for his friend. To his convenience, his trembling limbs and shattering teeth seemed to the rest of the boys and the warden as the natural response to the freezing low temperature. The truth was, the fear for 47’s life had taken over his whole self in uncontrollable nerves. He realized that the trembling of his body was no longer just from the cold, but also from the fear he was feeling.

The ticking of the stopwatch was the only thing that broke the silence. Those were painful seconds for subject 6. Tormenting because of the uncertainty whether 47 would make it, agonising because he was not allowed to say that he was afraid, that he would have to suppress any feeling. At the corner of his eyes he noticed as the warden threw a look at him and in the blink of an eye, he studied him. Emotions weren’t allowed, as neither were words of encouragement or congratulation. Emotions were equated with weakness. Weakness is the enemy. Strength through discipline. Discipline through the mastery of one's feelings. With one eye 6 followed 47 swimming under the ice while with the other, he made sure the warden didn't notice the sheer level of dread that had taken over his slender body. He felt his heart ache. His gaze was fixed on the other hole at the end of the lake. Tick tock tick tock tick tock. Subject 6 gritted his teeth. He had the feeling that he could hardly stop the tension. The agitation that surrounded his body hurt even more than those few seconds swimming under the ice cold water. His hands clenched into fists and trembled from the pressure. Suddenly he heard a gush of water come from the other hole and the bald head of Subject 47 emerged. When 6 saw him climb out of the hole, he immediately let go of the convulsion. Life returned to himself like a warm breeze and embraced his body. The pressure left his body as if he were shedding ballast. The knot in his chest that had cut off his breath came loose when he saw 47 climb out of the hole unharmed. 6 suppressed the imminent smile that wanted to draw in his lips. He didn't care that he was cold, he didn't care about the pain. It just mattered to him to know that Subject 47 had made it.

When the task was finished, the sun had already risen. Six boys followed the guard back into the large building, where they were allowed to take a warm shower and change into fresh clothes. When Subject 6 got dressed, he went to 47, who quietly put on his clothes. “Are you okay?” 6 asked quietly. 47 looked at him and nodded. 6 was unsure whether 47 was well, when he suddenly saw a small, barely perceptible smile flicker in the corner of his mouth. That's when 6 knew he was okay.

Special thanks goes out to @sillyliterature Thank you for giving me helpful tips and for helping me to improve myself as a writer! Thank you for taking your time reading my stories, I really appreciate ❤️

#hitman #lucas grey #agent 47 #fanfiction #hitman fanfiction #my fanfiction

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amythedvdhoarder · 4 years

Text

Arguments and Revelations

Pairing: Bucky x Reader

Summary: An argument with Bucky’s latest fling throws some uncertainty on your relationship with Bucky

Warnings: Language, a little bit of angst and fluff

Word count: 1.9K

A/N: (Gif not mine) This is my entry for the lovely @anika-ann 500 celebration challenge. I used the prompt “You are such a bitch!” “Takes one to know one, sweetheart!” I altered the words slightly to fit. This one was fun to write, not as fluffy as normal but I do enjoy writing a good argument!

Not beta read, any mistakes are my own.

Reblogs and feedback are most welcome, so let me know what you think x

Masterlist

xxx

“Hey Y/N, we still on for tomorrow?” Bucky called over as he walked to the fridge.

“Mmmm,” you nodded with a mouth full of cereal.

“Enjoying that?” he aimed at you with a smirk.

You rolled your eyes. “Yeah, you have good choice in cereal.”

His eyes widened in shock and he slammed the fridge for dramatic affect and turned to face you. “My cereal, you are such a dick!”

“Takes one to know one, pal!” you shot back with a smug look on your face.

“Bucky baby?” a voice whined from the corridor. You couldn’t help but roll your eyes as you turned your attention to your cereal in front of you.

Bucky let out a small sigh just before a petite blonde woman strolled in wearing one of Bucky’s t-shirts that only just covered her bum.

Her eyes flicked to Bucky and then to you. She clenched her jaw and threw you a fake smile which returned with a raise of your eyebrows.

“Babe, I missed you,” she pouted and wrapped her arms around Bucky’s neck and stood on her tiptoes so she could lean up and kiss Bucky. The view you got as she did this was not one you appreciated.

“I was just talking to Y/N about tomorrow night,” he offered calmly.

“But I thought we could,” she walked her fingers up his chest and bit down on her bottom lip “you know, hang out tomorrow night.”

“We already made plans,” his hand fell to the small of her back, encouraging her to rest back on her feet, he sent you an apologetic smile.

She looked up at him and realised he was looking at you. “But baby I want to spend time with you.” You could hear the irritation in her voice. All you wanted was to eat your breakfast in peace but Lisa, or bitch-tits as you had named her, was scowling at you. Why did Bucky have to go for women with very little between their ears?

“Look I’m sure we could rearrange.” You proposed.

“Thanks,” bitch-tits said in a fake sweet voice.

Bucky let go of her and turned to you, “doll, no we are not rearranging.”

“Doll? Are you kidding me right now?” bitch-tits was seething, she took a step back from Bucky and narrowed her eyes at him.

“Lisa, I call everyone that?” Bucky ran his hand through his hair.

“Not me you don’t. Do you know what? It all makes sense now.” You felt like you were witnessing something you shouldn’t. Quietly you tried to sneak out but she rounded on you. “Oh no you don’t get to leave.”

Lisa looked like she had just had a lightbulb moment, she took a step towards you. Automatically you took a step closer to her, daring her to try something. There was nothing you wanted more than to punch her annoying face.

“Lisa leave Y/N out of this. Why don’t we go back to my room and talk about this?” Bucky was pleading now.

Her head snapped round to him and pointed at him accusingly. “Umm, I don’t think so. She’s the one, isn’t she? She is the one you told me about when we first met, the friend you’ve got feelings for-,” she spun to face you “-and you. I can tell by the way you look at him that you obviously have feelings for him too.”

Bucky looked mortified and you were pretty sure that your mouth had hit the floor. You couldn’t believe that bimbo had been that perceptive, even Nat hadn’t sussed out how you felt yet. Bucky’s mouth kept opening and closing as he tried to form some words. His panic filled blue eyes briefly locked on yours before tearing his gaze away to look at Lisa.

“I will take your silence to mean I’m correct?” She aimed at Bucky. When he still stayed quiet she scoffed and with a final glare at the pair of you, stormed off.

Neither you nor Bucky spoke, both still reeling from being outed unexpectedly. You climbed back onto the stool, placed your elbows on the counter and rested your chin on your hands. Bucky was stood with his metal hand resting on his hip, pinching his nose.

“Doll, I –,”

“Buck –,“ Both of you started to speak at the same time. The pair of you laughed nervously and then Bucky gestured you to continue.

“Maybe you should go after her?” You didn’t want him to leave but it was the right thing to do.

He blinked a couple of times as your words sunk in. “Yeah I probably should.” He took a deep breath and sent you an apologetic grimace before heading off down the corridor back to his room.

xxx

For the rest of the day you hid in your room, replaying what bitch-tits had said, well yelled, at you and Bucky. You had spent a lot of time with him; he was your partner on most missions and other than Steve, you were the one he sought out and spent time with. You had reintroduced him to the modern world, caught him up on all the best music, movies and books from the last few decades. At times you wondered if you and him could ever be more than friends but then he started dating every woman under the sun. These women were the polar opposite to you, confirming, in your mind, that nothing would ever happen between you; clearly you weren’t his type.

That didn’t stop you developing feelings for him though. The time you had spent with Bucky made you realise that he was everything you could want rolled into one; you shared a similar sense humour, was kind, caring, and not to mention breathtakingly handsome without even trying. But you kept your feelings under control, not wanting to risk such a valuable friendship. It seemed impossible to imagine a life without Bucky in it, if that meant having to hide how you really felt then it was worth the ache you felt every time you saw him.

xxx

Back in Bucky’s room tensions were high. Normally he made a conscious effort to avoid confrontation, unless it was on a mission. But Lisa definitely wanted an argument, she was pissed, which to be honest he could understand. He had outlined when they first met that he wasn’t looking for anything too serious because he had feelings for someone else, he was just looking for a distraction and Lisa was more than willing to help. However, he had let this arrangement carry on longer than he should, Lisa had taken that to mean that Bucky wanted something more serious. He did, just not with her.

After Lisa had got the anger out of her system she calmed down. She quickly changed and packed up the few things that she had left in Bucky’s place during the few weeks they were seeing each other. Bucky apologised profusely for any pain he had caused her but subtly reminded her that this was never really anything more than sex for him. He understood how that made him look, but he couldn’t commit himself to a real relationship because it wouldn’t be fair to the other person, not when he was in love with you. He was just too much of a coward to do anything about it, you were too important to him to lose.

“You two should talk to each other. Y/N definitely feels something for you, she always looked sad every time I showed up,” Lisa turned to him from the door.

“Um thanks, I am really sorry Lisa,” he sighed from where he was sat on the bed

“You did warn me. Doesn’t mean it feels any less shitty. Bye Bucky.” She didn’t spare him another glance before leaving and closing the door behind her.

Bucky flopped back onto his bed and let the events of the last few hours sink in. He thought back to this morning where Lisa had exposed his feelings for you. You had looked shocked but not disgusted and a small part of him was hopeful because you hadn’t outright denied her accusation either. Not that there was much time to. Bucky hated the uncertainty now hanging between you two, he couldn’t just leave things as they were. He had to talk to you.

xxx

“Come in,” you shouted in response to the soft knock at your door.

The Bucky that stepped in was not one that you had seen in a while. He looked nervous and so unsure of himself. To be honest it mirrored exactly how you were feeling.

“Are you ok? How did it go with Lisa?” No matter what you felt for him you wanted him to be happy, if Lisa made him happy then so be it.

“We’re over, to be honest Y/N we weren’t really ever together properly,” Bucky took a seat next to you on the sofa.

“Oh, I just thought-,” you concentrated on keeping your face neutral, your natural reaction was to smile.

“We had a fairly crude arrangement, it’s not something I’m proud of. It was a distraction,” Bucky couldn’t look at you, he couldn’t bear to see the disgust on your face.

“We all need distractions Buck, our job isn’t the easiest thing to switch off from,” you shifted closer to him and placed your hand on his thigh, giving it a reassuring squeeze.

“Um it’s not the job Y/N.” He turned to look at you. “It’s you.”

“Me? I don’t understand,” your voice was wavering slightly as you tried to keep calm.

“I didn’t want to lose you Y/N, you mean too much to me,” his eyes were shining now as tears started to form.

“You won’t ever lose me Buck. I’m not going anywhere.” Letting go of his thigh you took his hand in yours, your thumb running over his knuckles.

“I love you Y/N. I can’t picture a life without you in it. I completely understand that you don’t feel the same way and if you don’t want to be around me anymore then-.“ You placed your free hand over his mouth to stop him rambling and turned him to face you properly.

His brows furrowed in confusion as you removed your hand from his mouth and smiled softly at him. “You love me?”

His rolled his bottom lip between his teeth and nodded at you. “Yeah, pretty much have from the moment you sat me down to watch Ferris Bueller’s day off, maybe even from the first time you spoke to me. You treated me like a proper person, not some broken thing.”

The way he was looking at you made your heart break; the man was so clearly expecting you to reject him. “I love you too you know. How could I not? You’re my best friend, nothing will ever change that but I want more. With you.”

“You mean it?” Bucky whispered as if saying it any louder would make it untrue.

“No, I’m kidding,” you mutter sarcastically.

“You’re so annoying sometimes you know that?” Bucky grumbled.

You chuckled, “I know but you love it really.” Bucky shook his head and rolled his eyes.

“Damn right I do doll,” he grinned.

“So, what you going to do about it?” you teased.

His eyes darkened ever so slightly at the challenge. “You might regret that Y/N.”

You leaned towards him, your lips mere centimetres from his. “Hmmm I don’t think I will.”

Taglist is open so let me know if you want in or out

Taglist: @stargazingfangirl18 , @silentcoyotesong, @queenofstarliqht, @buckys-henley, @lonelyheartsm @alexa-lightwood-blog, @angrythingstarlight, @drabblewithfranny, @rogueheretic555

#challenge500ann #writing challenge #bucky #bucky barnes #bucky x reader #bucky imagine #bucky angst #bucky fluff #james buchanan barnes #sebastian stan #marvel #marvel fanfics #marvel imagine

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