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perfectpaperbluebirds · 3 years ago

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@sicktember Prompt # 28: Missing Out

Title: Unforgettable

Fandom: N/A

Based on this post as well as an ask box prompt. The prompt: “I’m currently dying for something set in a big house (any period) and the young master of the house has a party to attend but he feels awful and is trying to hide it and be a good host but keeps having to sneak off to cough/sneeze. Until maybe one guest notices and that’s how he meets his future wife.”

A young heir attends a Christmas party with his childhood friend as his date. They find themselves in an interesting position when he falls ill.

CW: Vomiting.

(Author's note: Never written this time period before, but I would like to again in the future! I really enjoyed this prompt. And yes these two are definitely in love and will be married someday.)

The year is 1927, and two young men are seated in the back corner of a jazz club in New England, talking little as they sit, enjoying the music. As the band finishes their opening set and prepares to take a break, the older of the two men takes a deep drag from his cigarette, then glances at his companion.

"All ready for your parents' big Christmas shindig next weekend, Jesse?"

Jesse rolled his eyes and scoffed, tapping a cigarette of his own out of the pack. "Sure John, of course. It's such a thrill to be a captive audience as they get smoked and strut around peacocking for their friends. Highlight of my whole year, that. Masquerade Ball, my ass. What drivel."

John chuckled, reclining back in his chair and taking another drag. "You're expected to bring a dame too, yeah?"

"Naturally. It'd be too bad for the heir of the Hamilton fortune to attend without a looker, wouldn't it? Shame all the women in this town are abhorrent."

John shook his head with another chuckle. "That attitude is why you're a perpetual bachelor, hombre. But I have some news that may interest you. Did you know Miss Greenwood is back in town?"

Jesse's interest was piqued in spite of himself. "Lillian Greenwood is back?"

"The very same. Home from university for the holidays."

Jesse leaned back in his chair, trying to look unbothered. "So what if she is. What's it to me?"

"Well I dunno, only that you might like to invite her to the Masq’. If memory serves, you never found her particularly abhorrent."

"We were kids!"

"You were damn near inseparable. You don't *have* to do anything, Jess. But as your oldest friend, I'm asking you to think on it. You'd enjoy the party more if you had company, and I'm sure she'd like to see her old stomping grounds again. Just something to consider is all."

Jesse made no reply as the band resumed the stage just then, but he did indeed think on it very hard.

***

John's information was proven true only a day later. Jesse was just exiting a drugstore he frequented with a fresh carton of cigarettes when he caught the eye of Lillian Greenwood, who was just about to enter the same store, and looking very fetching in a blue fitted coat and hat. Both their eyes widened in surprise upon seeing each other, and for a moment they were speechless.

"Jesse?" Lillian finally said, a slow grin spreading over her face, so familiar to him. "It's been at least an age!" She seized his hands in hers, reaching up on tiptoes to peck him on the cheek. "How are you? I've missed you!"

"Lil!" He wrapped her in a hug. "I've missed you too! What are you doing back in this dump, accomplished University woman that you are now? I'm surprised you didn't run in the opposite direction from here a long time ago."

"Well I haven't graduated yet, silly. And I couldn't miss another Christmas at home. I missed everyone here so much. Oh Jesse, it's so good to see you!" She hugged him fiercely again. "You must tell me everything you've been up to! Come inside while I shop before we freeze."

He willingly followed her back in, looking fondly at the soft brown hair brushing across her shoulders. He was so sick of the horrid bobs all the girls were wearing, and he loved that Lillian was still wearing hers longer.

He trailed her through the whole store, gamely answering the barrage of questions she directed at him, but mostly content to enjoy her familiar presence. Eventually she stopped short, turning to face him.

"Are you all right? You're very quiet. You've hardly said anything."

"I'm sorry. Just worn out I guess. Been working extra before the holidays."

"You are looking a bit peaky. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to jabber your ear off."

"No it's fine, honest. I'm just happy to see you."

"Likewise." She gave his hand a little squeeze, accompanied by a warm smile. Knowing he wasn't going to get a better opportunity, he took a deep breath.

"Lilli, do you remember that big bash my parents host every year for Christmas?"

"Oh yes!" she said, her eyes lighting up in pleasure. "It was my favorite part of the holidays!"

"No kidding? Well anyway, they still throw it. The last few years they changed it to a Masquerade Ball, but otherwise it's still just like it was. It's a week from Saturday. I know you just got into town and all, and maybe you already have plans… but what do you think about going with me as my date?"

Lillian's grin was immediate, and she clasped her hands together joyfully. "Oh Jess, I'd love that! Just like old times."

Jesse rubbed the back of his neck, attempting to smile. "Yeah, I guess. Same old dumb party. Like I said, if you're busy, don't worry about it. But you're welcome to come… if you want and all."

She looked confused and a little hurt at his abrupt backtracking. "Of course I want to come. I'll be there."

"Great. I better get going though. I'll call you in a few days to give you the details. It was great to see you, Lil." He pecked her on the cheek. "I'll see you around, kid."

He strode out of the store with hardly a backwards glance, leaving her shocked face in his wake. He hated himself for behaving that way, and he wasn't even sure why he did it. Perhaps it was because the "old times" she was referring to included the present he was stuck in, while she had clearly moved on. Perhaps it was the realization that he had resorted to asking his childhood best friend on a date rather than finding a real date to avoid the embarrassment of attending his parents' party unaccompanied. But whatever the reason, speaking to her had made him equal parts thrilled and miserable. Surprisingly, when he called her a few days later as promised, she again agreed to accompany him, despite his rude behavior in the drug store, and continued to insist she was excited for the party, despite his constant negativity towards it.

***

The Saturday before Christmas dawned bright and snowy, and the Hamilton estate was in an uproar all day with last-minute preparations. Every surface was bedecked for the holidays with ribbons and garlands and tinsel and wreaths and holly and candles. A Christmas tree stood in every room, making the whole house aromatic, each twinkling and topped with a star. When evening rolled in, so too did the guests, all as twinkling and bedecked as the house, filling every room in no time. The Masquerade Ball had begun.

Lillian arrived promptly. Jesse met her in the foyer. Even wearing a mask, she was easily recognizable. She looked stunning in a sparkling gown that accented her figure perfectly. Her eyes were a color that would be easier called unique than pretty, her nose a touch irregular, and her teeth a touch crooked, but Jesse had always found her beautiful. Yet he was in a foul temper, and had been the whole day, and seeing her gave him little pleasure. He noted she had pinned up her hair so it appeared “bobbed” like everyone else's, and even such a simple thing soured his mood further. Upon seeing her initially, he took her hand and kissed it, then gave a sarcastic bow.

“Welcom, Lillian dear. It’s a pleasure to see you again,” he said, trying to keep his tone civil

She curtsied daintily, smiling warmly. “The pleasure is all mine. You look very dashing and alluring in that mask.”

He chucked coldly. “You’re looking spiffy yourself, kid. Well, shall we get on with it?” He offered her his arm, which she took, almost hesitantly.

“Are you all right?” she asked. “You seem… not yourself.”

“Fine and dandy. Ready to cut a rug and show a girl a good time. Let’s not keep the evening waiting.” He didn’t bother to keep the sarcasm out of his tone, but continued to tug her toward the dining room, albeit gently. She reluctantly followed, casting him worried glances.

The young Master Hamilton performed his part admirably through the whole evening, however, donning the persona of the host as easily as he did his mask. He chatted and danced and flirted with the appropriate people, giving Lilli adequate attention as required as well. His mother must have been pleased, for the night was a smashing success, from the dinner to the dancing to the decor. Everyone was raving the whole evening about what a splendid party it was. The best one yet, everyone said, just as they said every year.

Jesse, however, was utterly miserable. The bodies packing every room made him too warm, the lights were too bright, the music and din of talking made his head throb, the food smells turned his stomach, and the aroma of pine everywhere left him feeling on the verge of a sneeze all night, especially since his nose had been on the verge of dripping since he awoke. He could only nibble the rich supper. He was barely able to swallow even small sips of Christmas punch without feeling the urge to gag.

In order to keep his sanity, whenever Lillian was occupied talking to someone and he wasn't otherwise engaged, he would duck into one of the unused side parlors. In this sanctuary, away from the lights and sounds and smells, he removed his mask and composed himself. He would first allow himself to sneeze unhindered, finally able to stop his incessant stifling and sniffling, each time surprising himself at how wet and messy and ill they sounded. Then, if he hadn't been gone too long, he would rest his face against the icy window pane, breathing slowly and deeply as a halo of condensation spread out from his hot forehead. Inevitably though, the time would come when he was forced to replace his mask and reenter the ball before he was missed. He counted down the hours desperately, willing himself to last until the end of the party.

The evening began to wind down, and Jesse found himself ducking away more and more frequently. His stomach was in knots and his nausea was gradually rising, so composure was getting harder to maintain. He always checked to ensure Lilli was involved in a conversation before he did so, however. Imagine his surprise then, when moments after he snuck into his sanctuary yet again, he heard the door open after him and Lillian appeared just as he had given over to a violent sneezing jag:

Hiihhh'GEHSSSH'ieeew! ESSSHH'yuuh! Hrrr'USH'IIEWW! Kuhh-hhiiih-ISSSHYUUH!"

"Bless you, Jesse! Heavens, that was a fit! Are you alright?" she asked, approaching him and removing her own mask. "Have you been sneezing like that all night? You keep disappearing."

He flashed the most winning smile he could muster even as he wiped the mess from his face. "I'm just ducky," he said, swallowing thickly as his stomach also decided to give a nasty lurch. "All the pine in the air gets me sneezing. Must be a bit allergic. Sorry for worrying you. Let's go back out before we're missed. I think I owe you a dance or two."

She ignored his rambling and came to stand directly in front of him with a searching look. She lifted a hand and brought the back of it to his sweaty forehead. She clucked softly.

"You're sick, aren't you? You're not feeling well at all."

The thin facade that was holding him together finally crumbled. He limply leaned against the wall, nodding mutely.

"Why didn't you say something? You should be in bed. You look awful."

"I didn't want to spoil the evening," he mumbled.

"Well we need to get you out of here. You look like you're about to collapse."

"I am about to collapse," he said ruefully.

"Come on then. No one will miss us anyway. Let's go up the servants' steps over here so we're not seen."

"I don't want you to miss out on the ball. You looked like you were having fun."

She caressed his cheek fondly. "I came here tonight to spend time with you. I'm not missing out on anything."

They shared a smile, his first genuine one of the night. Then she took him by the hand and led him expertly along the least conspicuous route to his bedroom. The pair of them had spent hours exploring every inch of this house from top to bottom as children, every cupboard, cranny, and corner. He hadn't forgotten those times, and clearly she hadn't either.

It was strange bringing her back to his room. They had spent hours together here too during their growing-up years. He couldn't help but imagine it through her eyes--what was different, what was the same. He realized bitterly that the only thing that was really different was the lack of toys and games everywhere. His room was a reflection of his life--boring and stagnant.

If she was thinking along those lines, she gave no indication. Instead she led him to his bed with a hand at the small of his back, guiding him into a sitting position and helping him remove his jacket and tie. His shirt clung to his back with sweat, and heat rolled off of him in waves. The drier air up here made him begin to cough as soon as he sat, the sound hoarse and desperate. She made a sympathetic sound as she carded her fingers through his damp hair, then dug through his dresser, pulling out a set of his pajamas and tossing them over.

"Make yourself more comfortable, and I'll do the same." She headed to his en suite bathroom. "I'll be right back. Try to relax, Jess." She gave him a little smile, which he attempted to return, a hand going to his sore stomach even as he did.

Once the bathroom door was closed behind her, he slowly changed into his pajama bottoms and managed to strip down to his undershirt. All at once, his stomach had had enough, and he knew he was going to vomit. With the bathroom occupied, the next available option was the balcony off of his room. He dashed outside to the railing, emptying the contents of his stomach onto the ground below, heaving until he had nothing left. As the spasms slowed, his vision began to go gray and wobbly. He sank to his knees weakly, unable to do anything else, clinging to the railing in the freezing cold, which at first felt pleasant on his fevered skin.

He wasn't sure how long he knelt there, and it would have been even longer had Lillian not come out to find him. By the time she did, he was shivering so violently that his teeth rattled in his head. She was speaking to him, but he couldn't register what she was saying. Finally she pulled him bodily to his feet and helped him inside, her arm wrapped around his waist as she supported most of his weight. She again led him to his bed, making him lie down this time and bundling blankets over his icy cold skin while she sat at his side. His consciousness solidified and the world stopped spinning, and eventually he noticed that while she was still wearing her party dress, she had removed her makeup and unpinned her hair, looking more like her old self. The thought made him marginally warmer.

"Let me go fetch some tea for you, and some medicine," she murmured, stroking his hair. She stood and tried to pull away, but he quickly grabbed her wrist, his grasp surprisingly strong.

"Don't go," he rasped, choking back a cough. "I don't want tea or medicine. It'll only make me vomit again. Just stay."

"Stay…" she repeated. "Right. I suppose I could stay."

She went to pull a chair to his bedside, but he stopped her.

"No, come lie here with me."

"Jesse…" she began. "That's not--"

"Why shouldn't you? You were my date. It's what everyone is expecting anyway," he said, a glint of humor in his eye.

She laughed in spite of herself. "I suppose there is that." Against her better judgement, she crossed to the other side of his bed and slipped under the blankets, trying to be mindful of her dress as she got comfortable. He immediately rolled over and nestled against her, and she wrapped an arm around him and began to rub his back soothingly.

They passed the night exactly like that. He was exhausted and very ill, and was clearly miserable the whole night through. However, he refused to let her leave the bed to fetch him anything and only wanted to lie against her all night as he slipped in and out of sleep. She vaguely recalled him being the same way when they were young, but she certainly hadn't expected such behavior tonight. Then again, she hadn't expected to be sharing his bed either.

He slept fitfully, his symptoms keeping him from true rest despite his weariness. Away from the pine trees his sneezing was less, but the congestion and coughing was worse. He was achy and nauseous and too hot or too cold. He also wanted to be touching her at all times, so she slept even less, for between his tossing and groaning and his sweltering fever heat, she could not get comfortable. Yet she knew he needed her this way tonight, and was glad to be able to help her oldest friend.

The morning dawned gray and cold. Lillian lay awake still, while Jesse was at last sleeping beside her, his face tucked into her side. She was trying to decide how best to convince him to let her go home and change when an opportunity for escape presented itself in the form of his mother.

Lillian heard her well before she saw her, for her best shoes clattered loudly on the stairs, and her inebriated giggling and whispering was impossible to miss. It was almost certain she hadn't gone to bed after the party. Lillian quickly slipped out from under Jesse's arm and slid to the floor, ducking under the bed. Just because Jesse seemed to think she was expected to spend the night with him did not mean she wanted to be caught in it, especially by Mrs. Hamilton, regardless of what did or did not happen.

Mrs. Hamilton attempted to be stealthy as she peeked into her son's room, but only his fever-induced slumber prevented him from waking. However, even while intoxicated, what they say about a mother's sense is true, for she apparently noted something amiss and crept closer to her son's bed. Lillian could only see her feet and legs, but she assumed she Mrs. Hamilton reached out to feel her son's forehead, for the elder woman made a little sound of dismay and began to shake him awake.

"Jesse, you're burning up! Oh my, what happened? Are you sick? Did it start at the ball? How long have you not felt well? Oh you're so pale! And you're shivering! My poor baby! What can I do?..." It seemed she had no end of exclamations and questions. Lillian couldn't help but roll her eyes.

Meanwhile Jesse made sounds of waking, sounding very irritated and confused at first. He didn't realize what was happening initially, and Lillian heard him say her name more than once. Thankfully his mother did not notice over the sound of her own constant flow of verbalized concern. Eventually Jesse realized who was speaking to him and began to give appropriate answers, leaving Lillian out of most of it, which the young woman appreciated.

Mrs. Hamilton didn't stop speaking the entire time she was in the room. Eventually though it became clear she intended to fetch a doctor, tea, medicine, and one hundred other things for her son's illness. Jesse spoke only as much as he had to, his voice weak and hoarse and congested. He did not argue with her about any of it, knowing it was futile. Finally the well-meaning woman left, still talking even as she shut the door behind herself.

Lillian gingerly rolled out from under the bed, startling Jesse when she appeared beside him out of nowhere. However a grin split his face when their eyes met.

"I thought you left me without saying goodbye," he rasped.

"Well now you see I haven't. I do need to leave now though, before your mother returns with an army of doctors and finds me here. I would also like to change my clothes at some point and freshen up. Perhaps take a bit of a nap."

He looked devastated at this, but perked up as she continued:

"I'll come back soon though, as a proper visitor. I don't fancy ducking under the bed whenever anyone comes up the stairs."

"All right," he sighed. "I'll be waiting for you, then."

She approached him, pressing her lips to his hair as he hugged her fiercely.

"Be well, Jess. I'll see you soon." She moved to the doorway, her eyes twinkling in a smile. "And thanks for a great night. That was a date I'll never forget."

#sickfic #everyone is hotter with a fever #sicktember2021 #prompt 28

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shadowsof-thenight · 5 years ago

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Fictober day 7: Dog walking pt 1/4

Promptnumber: 5 “I might just kiss you” Fandom: MCU Characters: Bucky Barnes x Reader Warnings: none Words: 1760 Summary: When Bucky promises his friend to watch after his dog, he has no idea it would cause so much problems.

A/N: I didn’t mean for this to happen, but as I was writing down this little idea it turned onto a two-parter. So that’ll be another post for fictober later this week.

Part 2 | Part 3 | Part 4

Dog walking (part one)

Bucky wasn’t sure why he had agreed to this, why he hadn’t just said no when Steve asked. He should’ve told Steve to ask Sam. Sam was a much better fit. However, he had said yes and now he was stuck with this. He moved around the hallway and grabbed the lease with bags attached to it. Such a glamorous job, he thought to himself.

There was a reason he never had a pet, he had no desire to change that. It wasn’t that he disliked animals, not at all. Though he did dislike the scooping up of poop. That was one of his least favourite things. The number one thing though was the socialising. Apparently if you had a dog, people just assumed you were friendly and looking for conversation. Bucky wasn’t social and he had no desire to be. Which was why he had asked Sam numerous times to take over. But his co-worker and friend had thought that it would be good for him. Sam couldn’t understand that it wasn’t about nerves necessarily. He just didn’t like chitchat. Not to mention the absolute horror he repeatedly saw on people’s faces when they recognised him. No, socialising with strangers was not his thing. And he was fine without it.

His grumbling stopped for a moment when Cooper walked up to him with a wagging tail and he bent down to put the leash on him. It was a good thing that Cooper was such a great dog, or this would have been even worse.  He checked if the house key was still in his pocket, before closing the door behind them and they started walking. The plan was to get the adorable labradane to the park, so he could run and loose some of his immense energy.

Steve usually took him to a dog park twice a day, but with work interfering Bucky had only been able to manage once a day. Which led to pent up energy for the dog and the neighbours had complained about his barking. It really wasn’t Cooper’s fault, Bucky knew, but his neighbours didn’t really see it like that. Thankfully Steve would be back tomorrow to take care of the dog again. The old man loved that dog and ever since he had retired, Steve had spend all of his days with him. The only reason he needed Bucky’s help was for a funeral out of state and Bucky couldn’t tell his oldest friend no. Especially since it was only a few days. Still, he should’ve asked Sam.

When Bucky arrived at the dog park he was happy to see it nearly empty. Cooper wagged his tail wildly as they entered and when Bucky unhooked the leash the dog ran off. He made a few laps before returning to Bucky and nudging his hand, looking for some attention and that the soldier was happy to give. The dog needed a lot of love and would often stop his running just for that. Bucky didn’t mind, as he sat on a bench and basked in the beautiful spring sun. He was intend on enjoying the warm rays, while watching the dog play.

The enjoyment was ruined though, ten minutes later, when one of the few other occupants of the dog park decided to leave the gate open after they left. Now Cooper was usually a very well adapted dog and he listened well, but it was nearly his dinner time and Bucky assumed that’s why he ran. Distracted by all the smells of the surrounding street-vendors, Cooper dashed off.

Panic washed over Bucky as he jumped up and ran after the dog. He tried to keep an eye on Cooper as he carefully avoided other pedestrians. He cursed the many turns that this city had to offer, right about he cursed the warmth of the sun he had been basking in just minutes ago. It was too warm to be running like this. The cursing became even more profound when he lost sight of the black dog two streets down. He could not loose this dog. Steve needed that dog!

***

It had been a long workday and you were enjoying the sun with one of those horrible pretzels. Okay, they weren’t horrible. You just shouldn’t be eating them as often as you did. Ignoring that though for a second, you took your last bite. You had done enough today to deserve a little treat.

Stretching out your legs, you took a deep breath, glancing around at all the people that were walking the street. Most were rushing and somehow it made you restful moment even better, because you didn’t to rush anymore today. Another deep breath and you closed your eyes for a moment, turning your head up to let the sun wash over you as you mulled over your plans for the evening. Take out and a movie sounded really good right now. It would give you the chance to rest your tired feet and dress up in comfortable sweats. Or dress down, which was it? It didn’t really matter. All that mattered was that you got to spend your downtime in your favourite way.

Your eyes shot open quickly when something wet touched your hand and you looked down to meet the lovely eyes of a big black dog. He was wagging his tail enthusiastically as he sniffed the hand in which you had held the pretzel. You chuckled as he nuzzled your hand, trying to get to the food that was no longer there.

“Aren’t you a pretty doggy,” you said, your voice suddenly an octave higher than normal and you chuckled at your own antics. Animals and kids, they were the only ones that could get this sound from your mouth.

You bent down slowly, careful, allowing the dog to sniff you some more before you went to pet it. As soon as you began, the wagging of its tail intensified and he leaned heavily into you, making you laugh. You noticed the collar and realise this wasn’t some stray. He did seem far too friendly for that anyway.

“Oh, you’re a lover,” you whispered, smiling brightly as you put all your attention on this lovely distraction. Your plans for that evening could wait a little while longer. First you had to figure out what to do about this runaway.

Fast paced footsteps coming to a halt near you, made you look up and you were greeted with the right of an overheated, broad shouldered hunk. He came to a full stop next to you and bent over to catch his breath, he didn’t say a word yet. The dog moved away from you and happily greeted the stranger. He walked around his legs and tried to lick his face, telling you that he probably wasn’t a stranger to the dog. The man stopped the dog from licking him, a smile forming on his face as he did so.

“There you are buddy, please don’t do that again,” his voice was gruff, sexy. You watched him pretend to be stern with the dog, including a wagging finger and a smile broke out on your face. The man’s features changed too and he laughed as he began to play with the dog instead.

“ I might just kiss you right now,” he said, turning his face sideways to smile at you.

“Not so fast, at least offer a girl dinner before,” you joked and he blushed as he stood up straight again. You chuckled upon seeing his shocked face and hoped he would understand that you were joking. Sometimes your mouth worked too fast for your brain to catch up and not everyone shared your sense of humour.

The man opened his mouth several times, closing it again without saying a word and you chuckled again. Apparently you had taken his ability to shape words. Reaching out your hand you introduced yourself, hoping to undo the effect you’d had.

“Bucky,” he replied finally offering up another one of his smiles, “And thanks, I don’t know what I would’ve done if I hadn’t found him.”

“You’re welcome Bucky, though I must admit I didn’t do much,” you confessed, looking up at the man, “He found me.”

With the sun slowly descending behind one of the higher buildings, you could truly check him out. He was really gorgeous, even overheated. His long brown hair was sticking to the side of his face a little, but he was clearly calmer now and it had brought a sparkle to his eyes. Eyes that were a mesmerising ocean blue, by the way.

“He’s a good judge of character,” Bucky said with a smirk and you barked out a loud laugh. He was smooth. That smirk must have made plenty women swoon for him.

“Referring to me or you?” You asked, pointedly glancing back to the dog that was still happily greeting him. Bucky reached into his pocket and pulled out a leash, quickly putting it on the animal.

“Me, of course,” he joked back, earning himself another laugh.

***

“Me, of course,” Bucky joked and looked at her face to see it scrunch up in laughter. The medallic clear sound rang loudly and he wanted to keep making her laugh.

She was very pretty anyway, but she simply radiated when she laughed. Being effected by that was a new feeling for him. Especially since he knew nothing about her. Other than that she was pretty. And that Cooper liked her, but Bucky was yet to meet someone that Cooper didn’t like, so he wasn’t sure how much that meant.

Still, he found himself trying to keep the conversation coming, racking his brain for topics. None seemed sufficient. So after thanking her in a myriad of ways, he finally had to say goodbye to the beautiful smiling Y/N and just hope that it would not be the last time he ran into her.

She waved at him and got up from the bench she had been perched upon, walking away. For a single moment he contemplated walking after her, pretend he needed to go in the same direction. But he realised just how creepy that sounded, besides Cooper needed to eat soon. So, he decided against it and walked back in the direction he had come from. It was time to get Cooper home.

At the end of the street he turned around once more, to see if he could still see her, but she was already gone and a little disappointed he moved on.

***

Fictober Masterlist

#Fictober19 #Bucky Barnes #Bucky Barnes x Reader #MCU fanfiction #No warnings #Pure cuteness

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mercurygray · 6 years ago

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Got bit by the dead fandom bug after a couple of gifs of Tobias Menzies’ Brutus came across my dash. We never meet Brutus’ wife on the show - one presumes the scriptwriters were trying to cut for time and budget. Here, I’ve explained her absence by making her live at her father’s house under the excuse that Servilia wouldn’t have tolerated another woman in her house and made a joke about how little she sees him.

His world was spinning, and Marcus Junius Brutus wanted very much for it to stop. To say - no, not even to say, to write such things and post them in the street for every freedman in the world to see! And put his name to them - his name, when he had ever considered himself a friend to Caesar. And that the source of such betrayal should be none but his own mother! What god had he offended recently, to invite such a time as this?

The house seemed to be closing in on him, the walls bearing down as they had been since he had come back from Gaul, less a place of strength and more a prison. What had long been familiar seemed foreign, every wall or shadow a potential place to hide. It was useless - he could not sleep here, not while he knew she would still be awake, still plotting. Who was to say that, taking his rest here, he would not wake to find another snake in his bed?

It was short work to find a cloak, take the back gate out of the garden and go down the lane a ways, the house he entered much more modest and - if he was being honest - almost a little shabby. But the house's master never cared for such things. The doorward turned over in his sleep as Brutus stepped over him, helping himself to the man’s oil lamp and a light from the sacred fire near the door. He knew the way, almost as well as he knew his ancestral home, but he didn’t want to wake the house tripping over some lampstand.

Here was the peristyle, and here the master’s study, and here her room, her maid sleeping at the door. He stepped around the girl and drew back the curtain to go inside. Nothing had changed - a happy thought for a man who’d been away too long. Laying aside the lamp and his cloak, he stripped, carefully setting aside his sandals, toga, and tunic. Her maid wouldn’t be used to caring for a man’s clothes, and he wasn’t sure he wanted to chance her father’s valet.

Who would have ever thought he’d bless the day his mother had declared a house could only have one mistress? He couldn't help if the bed creaked a little as he climbed in, the sheets warm from the body already beneath them, a body that shifted and made room for him, turning her face up to greet him, her eyes still half-closed.

“Hello, my love.”

"How now, who's this?" she murmured as he kissed her. "I think I scarcely know him - or he me, for that matter.”

"Oh, I know you excellent well," he whispered, smiling despite himself. "You are my mistress."

She snorted at his joke. “If I were your mistress, I think I'd see you more."

He buried his nose in her hair, breathing deep. She was still using the same preparation to dress her hair - it smelled of frankincense and clove. "And if you were only my wife, I'd love you less."

“Mmm, that’s fair. But show me how much you love me, then.” She drew his hand over her hips, bringing it down between her legs and against her mound.

But he did not feel like sex, not now, though his body throbbed to be against hers again, his hand stroking her almost as an afterthought. He wanted merely to be with her, to be where he knew who he was, and what he was. He wanted her surety, her strength, her reassuring arm - though perhaps he could do without her certain knowledge that something was wrong. And of course she knew - she always knew. Her hand stopped guiding his, drew it away. "Brutus, what's the matter?"

Oh, where even to start? "It’s nothing."

"If it were nothing, Venus would have had her votary by now."

He thought of the place he had just left, his mother and her guests, their plots and plans and his place in them. If she didn’t know already, she’d know soon enough - was it not her ancestor’s name on the deed? If he told her of it, then it was real, and not some bad dream. "It's...complicated."

She snorted, by now fully awake. "First it’s nothing, and now it’s complicated. We have the time.” She propped herself on an elbow and turned to look at him. “Do you not trust me, Brutus? Have you forgotten who I am?"

Brutus withdrew his hand from between her legs and ran his thumb along a scar on her thigh, a straight line the length of a finger. How could I forget?

It had been late in some party, and Junius Paulonius had been deep in his cups - which might have explained why he had been doing something so foolish as challenging Marcus Porcius Cato on a point of philosophy. They had been speaking of marriage, and the ability of women to keep secrets, since it was well known a woman couldn’t handle a broken dish, much less the pain of torture.

But Cato had looked at his daughter, who sat up, took a knife from the table, and plunged it into her flesh without a second thought, her face fixed like a flint, staring at Paulonius as if daring him to defy that she had done it. The hostess shrieked and one guest fainted, and Paulonius himself looked a little green around the gills, watching the blood bead around the blade, but she had not uttered a sound, not even when she rose, knife still in her flesh, and withdrew, limping, to have a servant attend the wound. "What were you saying about emotional women?" her father had asked, almost amused, and Paulonius, for once all evening, had nothing to say.

He found her later reclining in a bedroom with the knife still in her thigh, a servant carefully wrapping linen around it to stem the bleeding and stabilize the wound.

"Some people might call that foolish." He didn’t know why he’d said it, but it caught her attention, and she looked up, fixing him with eyes that looked like they were used to arguing. (How could she not be, with a father like that!)

"Some people have never had to prove a point," she had replied, her face flashing pain for a moment as the knife came out, her now ripped gown fallen back to better show off the long, clean lines of her leg, the delicate bones of her ankle carefully accentuated by her sandals. She looked like one of those barbarian queens you heard about from the frontier, with the bandage around her thigh like she'd just been in battle.

The servant tucked another pad onto the wound and Brutus watched, mesmerized, as she took the bandage and began fixing it into place herself. "Surely there are other ways of proving it."

She laughed. "None that he would have heard."

“Marcus Junius Brutus,” he offered, remembering his manners.

“Portia Catonis.” She rose and tested her leg, bandage disappearing again beneath the dress. "Thank you for the company." He offered his arm, but she only smiled at it. "I think I can manage." And, bandage firmly in place, she went back to join the party while Brutus watched, amazed and, frankly, aroused.

I'm going to marry that woman, he had told himself, watching her leave.

And he had. His Stoic, fearless Portia, who was never afraid of a hard decision, or a knife, or an action that needed to be seen and heard, whose scars would not let him forget what kind of woman he had married.

"Of course I’ve not forgotten," he replied, his hand still atop her scar. You are my rock, my fortress, my staunchest ally. You are the one I turn to when others turn away - the one I run to when the world is going mad. If I could not speak to you, whom then could I entrust? You are the strongbox in which all my secrets and my heart are kept.

She made some noise of assent and turned over, rearranging sheets until their noses were nearly touching, fully awake now and ready for whatever was at hand. Here he was at home - here he was safe.

"Then tell me, my love, and we will think on it together."

---

In Shakespeare’s Julius Caesar, Portia asks Brutus if she has ‘ made strong proof of my constancy, Giving myself a voluntary wound Here, in the thigh: can I bear that with patience. And not my husband's secrets?” Shakespeare makes it sound like the wound is an old one, but Plutarch tells the story slightly differently, saying that Portia wounded herself when she saw something troubling Brutus and didn’t tell anyone about it to prove that she could suffer in silence. I’ve split the difference and gone an entirely different direction. When I first read Julius Caesar, I seem to remember someone explaining that devotees of the Stoic philosophy would voluntarily wound themselves to show their ability to bear physical pain without complaining. While it makes for a compelling scene, as above, I can’t find any evidence now to back up this explanation.

I’ve also taken a liberty with the meeting described here, as the historic Portia (or Porcia) was Brutus’ cousin, as her father, Marcus Porcius Cato (played on the show by Karl Johnson) was Brutus’ mother’s half brother. Cato was reknowned as a Stoic, and his daughter is often given as a exemplary of that philosophy as well.

What both Shakespeare and classical authors all agree on is that Brutus probably really, really loved his wife and their marriage was an exceptionally good one.

#I have written a thing #Rome HBO #marcus junius brutus

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chasingthecosmos · 5 years ago

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By Any Other Name

Fandom: Doctor Who Rating: T Pairing: The Doctor/Rose Tyler, Eleventh Doctor/Rose Tyler (The Doctor/Clara Oswald, Eleventh Doctor/Clara Oswald) Chapters: 16/26 Read on AO3 here.

“Rose Tyler was dying - or, at least, she was relatively certain that that’s what was happening …” A Season 7 AU where Rose returns to her home universe only to find that 100 years have passed and nothing is quite the way that she remembers it. She wakes up with a new body, a new life, and a new Doctor. What has the Bad Wolf gotten her into this time? The 50th Anniversary will be included in this story.

"I don't like this, Doctor," Rose murmured nervously as she watched the two Maitland children dashing about the steps and balconies of the new TARDIS console room. "We don't even really know who these kids are! What if something happens to them?"

"Nothing's going to happen to them," the Doctor assured her with a small wave of his hands. "We're going to an amusement park in space! What could possibly go wrong?"

Rose turned and raised her eyebrow at him in a pointed look and the smile quickly dissipated from the Doctor's face as he rolled his eyes at her. "Yes, alright, I know I've said that before. But this time will be different!" he insisted eagerly.

"And what happened to finding answers about Clara?" Rose asked, making sure to keep her voice down to a whisper as the children continued to dart around them in wide-eyed wonder. "I thought we came back to Earth to do some research and investigation."

"We've got two key subjects, right here in the TARDIS!" the Doctor explained, gesturing grandly in Angie and Artie's direction. "We'll just take them out for a fun day at the park, let them ride a few rides, and subtly find out what they know."

"Yeah, you know I've actually seen your interrogations before, Doctor," Rose reminded him pointedly. "I don't think 'subtle' is the word that I would use ..."

"Hey, is this the Spacey Zoomer ride you were talking about?" Artie called over to them, instantly interrupting their conversation as he raced down a set of stairs and peered curiously into one of the TARDIS hallways.

"Nah, this is just the shuttle to get us there!" the Doctor called back eagerly, pointedly ignoring Rose's lack of faith in his plan as he darted forward and began pulling dials and levers on the center console.

"This is a shuttle?" Angie asked dubiously, eyeing the glowing time rotor with suspicion.

"Well, no, not really," the Doctor agreed with a shrug as he continued entering in their destination and preparing the ship for dematerialization. "But just for today, yes! Let's call it a shuttle!"

"It's a time machine, isn't it?" Angie asked, flashing Rose that knowing smirk once more. "That's how you ended up in all of those pictures. You've been traveling around in time with your ... professor."

"'Professor'?" the Doctor repeated, throwing Rose a look of disgust from across the center console. "I thought I was your boyfriend?"

"Are you?" Rose shot back teasingly, deciding not to be too concerned about Angie's keen perceptiveness since the Doctor didn't seem to be paying it any mind for the time being.

"It's better than professor," the Doctor grumbled under his breath as he finished setting the final coordinates. "Now," he added loudly, addressing the children, "hold on tight." He grinned broadly at Rose before he flipped the dematerialization lever. "Geronimo," he muttered gleefully.

Both of the children shouted in terrified delight as the TARDIS whirled and whirred around them, spinning them off towards whatever destination the Doctor had chosen for their adventure that day.

--------------------

Unfortunately, the Doctor's attempt at a child-friendly, simple space adventure quickly ended in disaster as a full-scale cyberman attack suddenly closed in around them on all sides. The imposing metal army took Angie and Artie first, leaving Rose feeling helplessly and dangerously out of her depth.

What would happen if the cybermen did something to them? What would happen if she were never able to get them back? What would she tell George, waiting patiently back at home for them to return form their fun, friendly outing with the landscaper/nanny? Rose realized with a sinking sense that - whether she liked it or not - she was responsible for these children, and she felt horribly guilty for allowing them out of her sight for even a moment.

When she finally found the Doctor again, she was elated to see that he had Angie and Artie with him, but terrified to notice that they all now had strange, silver wiring covering the left sides of their faces. The Doctor seemed to be the only one in his right mind (for now) - and Rose suspected that it had something to do with the small strip of gold paper that was hanging loosely off of his cheek.

"I'll explain later, in a bit of a hurry," the Doctor assured her breezily. "Get me to a table, and somebody tie me up! Need hands free for chess." He smiled confidently in her direction and Rose recognized the expression as his go-to Doctor-look for whenever he was attempting to stay positive in the wake of crushing disaster. "And immobilize me. Quickly," he added ominously.

Rose and the few soldiers who had taken to following her command after the Doctor had named her acting captain of the planet's punishment platoon did as he instructed and set up his chess board in the throne room that they had found in the fake castle that they had taken up residence in.

"Right, that's good. I won't be able to move, but hands free. Good," the Doctor exclaimed as he squirmed against the ropes that Rose had wrapped tight around his middle and then flexed his arms experimentally.

"Are you going to tell me the plan, now, Doctor?" Rose muttered as she clapped her hands on his shoulders and leaned her head in close to the non-cyber side of his face. "What's with the chess board?" she whispered conspiratorially.

"Playing the Cyberplanner," the Doctor replied cryptically, tapping a knowing finger to the silver wiring against his left temple, "and winning!" Without warning, he ripped the strip of gold off of his cheek and his whole body jolted as he leaned heavily against the table before him.

"Doctor?" Rose asked nervously as she watched the tense set of his shoulders.

"Actually ... he has no better than a twenty-five percent chance of winning at this stage of the game," he muttered, his tone low and dangerous as he took on a strange (yet oddly familiar) Northern accent. "Some very dodgy moves at the beginning. Hello, flesh girl. Fantastic! I'm the Cyberplanner."

His eerie words immediately sent a chill up her spine and Rose stepped forward slowly to get a better look at his expression. The Doctor sneered up at her with a look that she had never seen on any face of his in all the time that she had ever known him and it instantly sent a stab of fear deep into her heart.

"What did you do to the Doctor?" she asked breathlessly as she leveled her gaze on the man before her.

"Ha!" he chuckled darkly. "Clever one, isn't she? 'Course that's probably why you picked her. Ooh, but there's something of the Wolf about you, my dear. Allons-y!"

The familiar words spoken in the right tone of voice but paired with the wrong face was disorientating enough without adding the Cyberplanner's acidic, dangerous glare into the mix. Rose blinked at him in open-mouthed shock as her heart threatened to beat out of her chest. Her hands curled into tight fists at her side and she fought to keep herself as steady as possible as she forced herself to meet the man's poisonous gaze.

"Stop it," she murmured quietly, unable to manage much else as her old hurt for the previous incarnations of the Doctor who she had loved and lost resurfaced within her mind.

"Oh, come now, that was me attempting to be considerate," the Cyberplanner sneered up at her, his feral grin making her shiver. "I was trying to give you a taste of something familiar. Or have you decided to trade in the old models for the new? Frankly, I don't see the appeal."

"Stop it!" Rose repeated, her voice rising and becoming hard as steel as she leveled her onw glare on the Cyberplanner's familiar green eyes.

"Oh, but you know all about new models, don't you girl?" he continued as though she hadn't spoken. "Ah, but that which we call a rose by any other name would smell as sweet ..."

"Stop!" Rose shouted, her voice ringing through the room around them as another powerful bolt of fear and adrenaline shot through her. She could feel the confused stares from the soldiers standing at her back as the Cyberplanner began hinting none-too-subtly at her true identity. How could he possibly know all of this?

"Oh, but he's had some cowboys in here!" the Cyberplanner went on eagerly, his own voice rising as his eyes glinted up at her in a look of pure, manic glee. "My, my, Miss. Clara, for shame," he paused to make a disappointed clicking sound with his tongue as he shook his head at her, "carrying on with a married man like that. What would your late husband say?"

Ice immediately flooded Rose's veins at the word wife. The Cyberplanner somehow knew her name, knew about the Bad Wolf, knew about her husband, knew about the Doctor's past selves - but how could she possibly accept that this was true? Surely one hundred years wasn't enough to change the Doctor that much. There was no ring on his finger (though for him, that didn't mean much), but more than that, Rose knew for certain that he hadn't telepathically bonded with anyone. Her own mind's desperate attempt to reach out to him and complete her severed link was proof enough of that. She would have known if he had been married ...

"You don't know what you're talking about," Rose insisted stubbornly, staring down her nose at the creature wearing the Doctor's face in wary disbelief.

"No? Let's ask him ourselves, shall we?" the Cyberplanner muttered darkly. "Oh, Mr. Tyler ..." His tone took on a lilting, sing-song quality as he pretended to call out to her husband (who had not gone by the name Tyler, but they both knew that the Cyberplanner was using the name now simply for effect).

However, Rose had heard quite enough, and with this last hateful barb sitting heavy in her heart, she drew her hand back and slapped the Doctor hard across the face, the skin of her palm stinging where it scraped against the metal implants on his cheek.

"Argh! Ow!" the Doctor cried, tentatively raising his hand to the left side of his face in shocked defense. "Oh, that hurt! No, stop! Enough! Bit of pain, neural surge, just what I needed, thank you."

"Doctor ..." Rose muttered quietly, her eyes staring down at him with intensity as she fought to remind herself that it was really him this time and not the hateful Cyberplanner, "what are the stakes? What are you playing for?"

The Doctor sighed and rolled his eyes, explaining quickly as though he knew that time was running out. "If he wins, I give up my mind and he gets access to all my memories - along with knowledge of time travel. But, if I win, he'll break his promises to get out of my head and then ... kill us all anyway."

"Doctor, the children," Rose reminded him pointedly, closing her eyes briefly in frustration as she gritted her teeth together. She knew that it had been a mistake to bring them along - now she held two innocent lives in her hands and the Doctor had a malicious entity trying to take over his mind. "Please tell me you can fix whatever's happened to them."

"Children," the Doctor repeated distractedly as he blinked up at her and tried to focus. "Yeah. They're fine. I mean, right now their brains are just in stand-by mode."

"I think we have varying definitions of 'fine'," Rose growled as she flashed him her best no-nonsense look.

"Listen!" the Doctor snapped, leaning forward and grabbing her nearest hand roughly with one of his. His touch immediately sent a nauseating feeling rolling through her stomach and Rose gasped at the strange sensation. It just felt ... wrong in a way that she couldn't quite describe. No touch from the Doctor had ever made her feel like this.

"Right now, they have a much better chance of getting out of this situation alive than you do," the Cyberplanner threatened her ominously.

Rose blinked at him twice and then forced herself to lean closer so that she could level her gaze directly with his. "You're in the Doctor's head," she reminded him slowly. "You can see everything in there. You know as well as I do that he's never going to let anything happen to us."

The Cyberplanner chuckled low under his breath as he clapped his hands loudly and leaned away from her once more. "Oh dear, Doctor," he muttered as he slowly looked Rose up and down with a considering look. "I think you married the wrong blonde."

Before Rose could open her mouth to snap at him again, the Cyberplanner continued loudly, "Now, if you don't mind, I have a chess game to finish, and you have to die - pointlessly, and very far from home."

Rose simply glared down at him, refusing to reveal the fearful, panicked sensation that was currently making her heart beat out of control. The Doctor would fix this - he had to. She had seen him get out of worse scrapes than this, and she knew that if anyone could outsmart a supercomputer, it was the daft alien sitting before her now.

"Finish the game," she demanded coolly, not entirely sure who she was addressing at that moment. "Quickly."

"Toodle-oo," the Cyberplanner spat ominously as he reached for the black knight piece and the game continued.

#doctor who #dw #fanfiction #fanfic #dw fanfic #dw fanfiction #doctor who fanfic #doctor who fanfiction #the doctor #rose tyler #eleventh doctor #eleven/rose #elevenxrose #the doctor/rose #the doctorxrose

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luckyukhei · 6 years ago

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Brooke’s Birthday Special!

Today ( or the day this will be posted ) is my 16th birthday! I wanted to show some of my favorite writers some love for the occasion! These writers works have done the following:

inspired me

had me reading their whole series in one night

helped me forget my problems with the story

all of the above

I am so proud of how great they are doing and I want to recognize them and my favorite works of theirs. I want to talk about a few things so yeah! I’m sure these people don’t particularly need a shout out from me but, they definitely deserve recognition. Summaries are in italics! Comments on the series/work are in bold. Let’s get started hoes.

If you got a

@spookyhyuckie : from what I now personally Leyla is such a beautiful person inside and out. She works really hard and I’m really proud of her.

La Vie En Rose: La Vie follows flower shop worker Y/N, her mutual crush on bookstore worker Jungwoo, and her best friend’s hard work on trying to get them together. La Vie was such a cute and soft story. Definitely a story for someone craving tons of fluff with a few dashes of angst. It was super cute and how I met one of my best friends. It’s great for a romantic! latest masterlist link

Stoned: Stoned is about Y/N falling in love with a stoner! Haechan and vice versa. Although he doesn’t seem too appealing when he cures his munchies at her dinner. Stoned is really funny and I loved it. I’ve seen a lot when it comes to stoners and as someone who’s sober versus some of my friends, I found it pretty relatable. masterlist link

@whitelalin / @jenoptimist : She is the sweetest thing and is so under fucking rated and I will fight over that

Mused: Mused is about an up and coming band that Y/N’s best friend really stans. Well, Y/N may or may not become the band manager. She also may or may not be falling with band member Taeyong. This text series is so underrated. It is definitely a favorite of mine. There aren’t really many text series with Taeyong x reader and it’s some good shit.

@softjenohours : she is an amazing writer and a really hard worker oml

Money Talk: Rich boy Jaemin needs a job and daughter of the owner of a bookstore needs employees. Y/N can’t help but, give the rich boy a hand to hold. Okay, look. There are a l o t of Jaemin text series but, the amount of raw emotion and the comparison between a good person and a toxic one along with the showing on how to deal with it makes this particular one stand out.

@wowlele : she’s got a bunch of NCT related works and she was so nice to me when I let her know about my special. She’s really great.

The Mystery Begins: Chenle believes he’s never going to find his soulmate and when he finally does the weird shit that happens in the town needs be investigated by the Scooby Doo Gang Dream Team I really love what she has for this so far and I think it has so much potential! I hope she comes back to it soon!!

@camcamlovesbangchan : Cam is so supportive. Becoming friends with her has made such an incredible in pact on me. She has so much untapped writing potential and I can’t wait for a full-length series. She doesn’t have a specific series for you to binge so I’m just gonna give you her

@trouvaeh / @fangwoo : She's a big ol sweet heart and I can't help but fangirl she likes my stuff and includes me oml.

You; Me; We’re Contradictory: Y/N is a bad bitch that has the voice of an angel and even though the cigarette smell threatens to ruin Renjun’s reputation. Seems like a part of Renjun is falling for her bad girl charm. Both of these have a whole heap of potential! I’m ready to see more of this! Hopefully, we will.

Muse and the Blues: Y/N should know taking pictures of people without consent is illegal but, if illegal means a cute boy getting her number lock her up. So what I said for the first one still applies here. Also? Yuta? My mans?

@wereseoyoung she’s unbelievably funny and smart oml.

Starstruck: Yuta is a soccer player that happily agreed to help his former college but, he would be a lot more helpful if he stopped flirting with the team manager. This made me fall in love with Yuta even more ahhh.

Sunrise: Moon Y/N is the sweetest ball of sunshine it’s hard not to realize you smile when you see her. Johnny is no exception to that but, in more than in a platonic little sister way. Can Johnny stop being a pussy and ask her out? The world may never know. Honestly, the night I read this I was rolling around in my bed and giggling! It’s super romantic and sweet and I love a good Johnny fic.

Prima: Y/N is the daughter of the best ballerina to ever grace her college campus and everyone expects Y/N to follow in her footsteps. But, Y/N’s feet don’t seem to fit and there this really cute guy that dances too. He’s a Ten out of ten. The character development in this one is textbook but, amazing oml.

@hobiwonka / @2seoksolostan : She's very helpful and has helped me with ideas for Close To Heaven Closer to Hell. She has so many great stories and you need to read all of them. Seriously there will be a quiz

@guksthighs : You want some thicc ass stories? And cool af aus? Definitely the place. She's amazing at aus and such a nice person. She's a hard worker and definitely deserves a lot of praise.

@hazelhours she’s so awesome?? And like she makes her schedule. She updates when SHE wants to and honestly, we support an independent queen.

Spiked Out: Volleyball player, Y/N, joins the newly co-ed volleyball team but, something in Yukhei makes him dislike her presence. Lucas is so mean in this one and it makes me sad because Lucas is the love of my life buttttttt it’s amazing! The sudden switch of emotion gave me whiplash but, it was great.

@cappletini is based in the Marvel fandom and I've known her for years. She has amazing ideas and stories so if you're in the mood for some angsty super heroes that's definitely where you should go..

@w1nko

Naive: Johnny has had a crush on Y/N for a while but, as everyone seems to have established, Johnny is a pussy boy so, when he recruits his friend Jaehyun for help. Jaehyun is seemingly the next victim of Y/N’s unintentional heart stealing. I am so excited about this love triangle oml.

@jjkscafe

Empty Apartment: Twitch Streamer Jungkook is in need of a new roommate that is not dead and will actually pay rent, unlike Stanley. But, when Y/N notices the weird things going on she makes Jungkook help her with the mystery. So there isn’t anything romantic but, it makes up for it with the best crackheadedness I think I’ve ever read. Remember kids ghosts love gin.

@pjmlog she doesn't have very many up but, oh goodness she is so good and deserves a lot more recognition. She has a bunch of potentials and I'm so ready for it to shine.

@violetvelvvets

Red Lips: Y/N is a really good makeup artist they may have ended up flipping burgers if her model friend, Taeyong didn’t hook her up with a fresh new model named, Jung Jaehyun. Give me more please and thank you. There have been about 5 parts and they’re pretty good!

@mangodoyoung

Puzzle: Jaemin is deeply infatuated with Y/N’s best friend and although Y/N has a massive crush on him she just can’t help but, assist him in winning her best friend over. This one frustrated me due to the small little things that could’ve been fixed if the cOMMUNICATED AHHH but, it did that in an amazing way.

@taechubs

The Labyrinth: Jimin Park ending up on Y/N’s doorstep bloody and needing of help would unravel threads of connections not only to each other but, also to Jimin’s place in the mafia. This fic sparked my love for gang aus again and it was amazing. There are 50 parts and I read most of them in one night!

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katemarley · 7 years ago

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fanfiction: krampuslauf

Fandom: Hetalia - Axis Powers Pairing: Austria/Prussia Characters: Austria, Prussia, Kugelmugel Rating: G

Summary: Austria, Prussia, and Kugelmugel are on vacation in rural Salzburg when Austria gets talked into participating in the local Krampuslauf, a traditional parade, as a fill-in. He doesn’t like the idea—Krampus runs are loud and rough and sometimes violent. Since he agrees nonetheless, someone needs to look out for Kugelmugel during the parade.

A contribution to the @pruausadventcalendar. Also available on my AO3 and fanfiction.net.

Some notes before the story begins:

The city of Salzburg is the capital of the Austrian federal state of the same name, colloquially called Salzburgerland. This story refers to the latter (the rural part of the federal state). Sankt Johann im Pongau, where the story is set, has about 11,000 inhabitants.

In Austria and some other regions of the eastern Alps, the Krampus is a horned figure with (at least traditionally) a long tongue and one cloven hoof reminiscent of the Devil. Several of them traditionally accompany Saint Nicholas (feast: 6 December) who brings presents to nice children. There is also the tradition of the Krampuslauf (“Krampus run”) on 5 December (“Krampus Day”) in which several groups of Krampus with Saint Nicholas (Passen; singular Pass) parade through the streets, wearing clanking cowbells. Sometimes, children and adolescents try to pester the Krampus without getting hit by their birch rods (a tradition called Kramperltratzen or Kramperlstauben). There are increasing complaints about the Krampus becoming too violent. Indeed, people can get injured during Krampus runs, resulting in broken legs and the like. (I wonder if they’ve actually become more violent or if people are just more sensitive towards violence occurring during folkloristic traditions nowadays than a few decades ago.)

Friedl (short for Friedrich) is the human name I use for Kugelmugel (after Austrian artist Friedensreich Hundertwasser, 1928-2000).

Sankt Johann im Pongau, 4 December 20xx

“It would be much appreciated if you agreed,” Mrs Schneider said. “My husband has a touch of the flu, and the performance of his Pass is arranged so all Krampus parade parallel to each other in groups of two, performing a certain combination of steps. When Saint Nicholas gives the signal with his staff, they dash to the sides, rattling at the barriers where the spectators are. Then, they get back into formation.”

“I don’t know,” Austria said doubtfully. “Shouldn’t they ask someone from Sankt Johann first?”

“On this short notice, they need someone who has a certain sense of rhythm and who actually knows how to dance,” she explained. “That’s why the boys asked me to ask you.”

“Why don’t they ask me directly if it actually matters to them?” Austria was still putting up defences. Prussia could tell he had no intention to agree.

“Because you’re my holiday guest for this week, and because I know you better than them.” Mrs Schneider, on her part, had no intention to give up.

“Please, Mr Edelstein,” Lena, Mrs Schneider’s eight-year-old daughter, begged. “I was so looking forward to seeing Papa in his Krampus costume. Please let me at least see his costume tomorrow evening.” She looked at Austria with beseeching blue eyes.

Prussia could see how his lover’s resistance melted like snow inside their holiday home. He understood. There was hardly any means to resist against a pair of wide children’s eyes.

“Fine,” Austria sighed. “What do I need to do now?”

“There is a final rehearsal this afternoon,” Mrs Schneider explained. “Wait, let me show you where they meet…”

Lena turned to Prussia, raised an eyebrow—See? That’s how you get what you want—and rushed out of the parlour in order to play in her room.

“Looks like Roderich has quite the task to fulfil now,” Kugelmugel commented dryly. The micronation sometimes sounded far too worldly-wise for his physical age. Prussia snorted. He knew what Krampus were from his previous experience of his lover’s lands in the Christmas season.

“I have a hard time envisioning him participating in a Krampus run, to be honest.”

“Who knows.” Kugelmugel shrugged. “Maybe the old man is going to surprise us by actually being cool once in a while. —Well, sort of,” he added after a short pause. “As cool as you can be when you’re wearing fur all over.”

“So, how was it?” Prussia asked when Austria returned from the rehearsal.

“Exhausting,” Austria replied, flopping down on the wooden corner bench where Prussia already sat. “I didn’t expect the fur, the mask, and the cowbells to be so heavy … Well, I actually did,” he corrected himself. “But it was still strenuous to wear them during the whole of the rehearsal, and the fur smells strange too. The good thing is I probably won’t be cold during the Krampus run tomorrow evening.”

“Yes. About that.” Prussia sniffed. “I can smell it was exhausting. You should take a shower.”

“And you are, as always, Prince Charming,” Austria grumbled, boxing Prussia lightly against the arm. Nonetheless, he rose from his seat, heading in the direction of their room and the bathroom. “Did I already mention I’m not exactly fond of sweating outdoors in winter when it’s not for skiing?”

He hadn’t, but that wasn’t exactly news to Prussia either.

5 December 20xx

“…and pay attention to what Friedl is doing!” Austria said for what seemed to be the hundredth time. “I don’t trust the boy not to do something stupid during the parade!” By something stupid, Austria referred to the tradition of leaping over the barriers in order to pester the Krampus in the parade without getting hit by them. Prussia had seen that before. He had to admit it did look dangerous, especially if he imagined a lank person like Kugelmugel in that situation.

“Yes; yes, I will,” he mumbled once again. “Even if I doubt Friedl would do anything like this.”

“I know you doubt it, but he would,” Austria said in an exasperated tone. “That’s why I keep repeating how important it is that you pay attention!” He paused. “Friedl isn’t Ludwig, you know. Ludwig has always been a responsible boy. He’d never have done a dangerous thing such as this. Friedl, however…” Austria sighed. “Friedl would do—and has, in fact, done—many a stupid thing in the name of art. Please don’t have me worry for his safety while I can’t look out for him.”

“Okay,” Prussia finally said. “I will. Promised.” Austria nodded.

“Good,” was all he said before he left in order to morph into a scary beast for the Krampus parade.

The spectators of the Krampus run crowded around the barriers, waiting for every Pass to come close. Kugelmugel and Lena had managed to gather right behind the barriers. Mrs Schneider didn’t appear to be worried, but Prussia felt a little queasy when he saw how close some of the Krampus came to the crowd. A few of the scary-looking figures in their shaggy fur even jumped against the barriers, causing the startled crowd to draw back a little … but never for long. So far, however, none of them had joggled the barrier right where they stood.

Then, the next Pass emerged from the darkness; a group of figures coated in fur prancing closer, making noise with the cowbells around their belts. When the Saint Nicholas who lead them raised his staff, they dashed to the barriers, growling at the spectators. This time, one of them appeared right in front of Lena and Kugelmugel.

“Hello,” the girl cried cheerfully, extending a hand towards the Krampus, patting his fur. Kugelmugel took that as his cue to grab the fur around one of his arms, pulling.

“Friedl!” Prussia exclaimed, snatching the micronation away from any potential whips with the birch the Krampus had put under his belt.

Instead of the birch, a cool and slightly reddish hand appeared from under the fur, stubbing gently against Prussia’s nose.

“Very good,” Austria’s voice said from under the fur. “That’s what I asked of you when I told you to take care of him.”

Prussia felt himself blush regardless of the cold. Even if Kugelmugel didn’t seem particularly impressed at Austria’s costume, Prussia couldn’t help thinking that his lover fulfilled his Krampus role better than he would have given him credit for. He had only left said role in order to reveal himself to Prussia who seemed to be the only one not to recognise his lover in the first place. Then Krampus-Austria pulled back, re-joining the formation as it trod past.

Austria as Prussia knew him returned to their holiday home shortly after Mrs Schneider had left in order to put Lena to bed. Kugelmugel had gone into his room in order to paint Austria in his Krampus costume before he forgot how his brother had looked like.

“Didn’t you stay with the other guys in your Pass?” Prussia greeted him, realising he sounded almost reproachful even if he didn’t intend to. “Mrs Schneider told me all of you are supposed to be drinking beer now.” Austria shrugged.

“I told them I’d prefer spending the evening with my partner because I don’t see him as often as I’d like.” He smiled a tiny smile.

“And what did they say?”

“They mocked me for being domestic but let me go.” His smile grew broader. “I take it you realise they knew who I actually am?” Prussia nodded.

“I didn’t know, but I suspected. They wouldn’t have let you participate in their Pass if they hadn’t known you’re Austria, right?”

“Exactly.” For the second time within one day, Austria sat down next to Prussia on the rustic corner bench. “I don’t think they know who you are or who Friedl is, but they did realise we’re … well. Sort of a family.” He rested his head against Prussia’s shoulder, taking his hand.

“On holiday with my little brother and my loved one,” Austria whispered. “I’m happy now. And if that means I’m domestic and a bit of a bore, so be it.”

“You aren’t boring,” Prussia said, squeezing Austria’s hand in turn. “You’re actually pretty cool as a Krampus.”

“I love you, too,” Austria said, leaning forward in order to kiss Prussia on the tip of his nose this time.

#pruausadventcalendar #hetalia #pruaus #aph austria #aph prussia #aph kugelmugel #aph fanfiction #hetalia fanfiction #my fanfiction #aph #fanfiction

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asprettyasyourown · 8 years ago

Text

The Importance of Arya Stark

Analysis and conjectures

OH. MY. GOD. I can’t believe that the fandom, even after seeing Arya walk out of the House of Black and White in the show, still thinks she will die or disappear trying to be a Faceless Man. Come on people !!!

Let me be clear : Arya’s fate is not to be forgotten. Neither by her family, neither by the readers, and dare I say, not by anyone ever.

First of all, Arya is a hugely important character. She’s one of the first created. She’s one of the Big Five for god’s sake ! George knows what her fate will be since the beginning, and I can guarantee you, it is not to die in a corner like a common street dog.

“Some major characters — yes, I always had plans, what Tyrion’s arc was gonna be through this, what Arya’s arc was gonna be through this, what Jon Snow’s arc is gonna be.” [x]

You seriously think that he planned for one of his favourite characters from the beginning to die as a nobody ? (When asked he said : “She [Arya] was one of my favorites right from the beginning. I mean people often ask me who’s my favorite character and my answer is always Tyrion but Arya is probably the second favorite. It’s pretty close. She’s always a joy to write." [x]. She’s also his wife’s favourite - so much that she threatened to divorce him if something happened to her !)

George is nothing but a planner. He "knew what the principal deaths were gonna be, and when they were coming” [x]. We joke that he kills way too many characters, but the truth is, his deaths have meanings. Ned’s death was the spark that started the War of the Five Kings. Robb’s was a deconstruction of the myth of the dashing young king out there to avenge his family and bring peace to the realm. Catelyn’s was to allow Lady Stoneheart to exist, and show the futility and destruction of a revenge-driven character.

And, in some cases, these deaths were there to further another (more important) character’s storyline and personal evolution : thus Khal Drogo and her child’s happened so Daenerys could hatch her dragons and realize her power without the influence of a man. If Robb hadn’t died Sansa would probably never have left King’s Landing (hoping he would rescue her) and wouldn’t learn the schemings of politics with Littlefinger, Bran wouldn’t join Bloodraven and wouldn’t be becoming a “god” and, let’s be honest, Arya wouldn’t have left Westeros if there had been the slightest chance of her reuniting with him and Catelyn - and thus wouldn’t have joined the Faceless Men and wouldn’t be learning their secrets. Deaths are important in a story. What would Arya’s bring ? Nothing.

In terms of numbers, Arya is the female character with the most chapters and the third overall, after Tyrion and Jon. She’s the only one who has a POV in every novel, and one of the only three, along with Dany and Jon, to have a picture in The World of Ice and Fire. George regularly brings her up in interviews, even when the topic apparently doesn’t have to do with her. She is so prominent that other important characters - namely Sansa - were created as a foil for her !

“Arya was one of the first characters created. Sansa came about as a total opposite because too many of the Stark family members were getting along and families aren’t like that. Thus, Sansa was created.” [x]

In a story with so many characters, so many points of view, why would he waste so many chapters for a character that is meant to die uselessly ?

Still not convinced ? OK, let me tell you why Arya Stark is a fucking crucial character in terms of storyline.

The Faceless Men

First of all, the Faceless Men matter. I can’t believe you guys still think she will stay (or worse, die) there ! You saw her walk out in the show ! What is wrong with you !

It’s like, a given she will not stay with the Faceless Men. First, because she is a terrible one. We know that the FM have to get rid of their ancient identities, for the sake of becoming a blank page and get new ones. And Arya cannot for the sake of her life do that.

"Who are you?" he would ask her every day."No one," she would answer, she who had been Arya of House Stark, Arya Underfoot, Arya Horseface. She had been Arry and Weasel too, and Squab and Salty, Nan the cupbearer, a grey mouse, a sheep, the ghost of Harrenhal... but not for true, not in her heart of hearts. In there she was Arya of Winterfell, the daughter of Lord Eddard Stark and Lady Catelyn, who had once had brothers named Robb and Bran and Rickon, a sister named Sansa, a direwolf called Nymeria, a half brother named Jon Snow. In there she was someone... but that was not the answer that he wanted.” [AFFC, Arya II]

“Try as she might, though, she could not rid herself of Arya.” [AFFC, Cat of the Canals]

She tries though. She tries so hard, but no matter what she does, Arya always comes back. You can see it in the way she justifies killing this old man in her first assassination (”Why should he have so many years when my father had so few?” [ADWD, The Ugly Little Girl]). You can see it when she kills Daeron, because he was a man of the Night’s Watch and he deserted and it is the Starks’ duty to kill their deserters. You can see it when she kills Raff, though he has done nothing - yet - to Mercy (”See? thought Mercy. You know your line, and so do I. "Think so?" asked Arya, sweetly.” [TWOW, Mercy]). You can see it in the way the “wolf dreams” (aka her bond with Nymeria) will not leave her alone (”I should not be dreaming wolf dreams, the girl told herself. I am a cat now, not a wolf. I am Cat of the Canals. The wolf dreams belonged to Arya of House Stark.” [AFFC, Cat of the Canals]). And ultimately, you can see it in the way she desperately cannot get rid of Needle, the last thread that links her to her family, to Jon Snow.

“It’s just a sword,” she said, aloud this time…

…but it wasn’t.

Needle was Robb and Bran and Rickon, her mother and her father, even Sansa. Needle was Winterfell’s grey walls, and the laughter of its people. Needle was the summer snows, Old Nan’s stories, the heart tree with its red leaves and scary face, the warm earthy smell of the glass gardens, the sound of the north wind rattling the shutters of her room. Needle was Jon Snow’s smile. He used to mess my hair and call me “little sister,” she remembered, and suddenly there were tears in her eyes.

Polliver had stolen the sword from her when the Mountain’s men took her captive, but when she and the Hound walked into the inn at the crossroads, there it was. The gods wanted me to have it. Not the Seven, nor Him of Many Faces, but her father’s gods, the old gods of the north. The Many-Faced God can have the rest, she thought, but he can’t have this. [AFFC, Arya II]

Arya is not losing her identity. She physically cannot. She’s leaving the Faceless Men, pretty soon I guess. Whether it’s because killing Raff was the last straw for the Kindly Man, or learning that Jeyne had to impersonate her, or hearing about the “death” of Jon Snow ; but she is definitively walking out of there.

Ok, now that this matter is closed : what could Arya possibly do then ?

It always surprise me how little consideration people give to Arya in terms of what her role will be in the story. They act like we have little clues, when in truth we have so many it’s hard to guess !

Wolves

The most obvious - in my opinion - is that Arya will reunite with Nymeria. I mean, she has dream/she wargs into her a lot, as far as in the chapter of TWOW, and Nymeria is one of the things that keeps Arya from loosing her identity. And she is currently leading a giant pack of wolves in the Riverlands who, according to our dear George, is one of the Chekhov’s guns ready to go off in the later books.

"You know, I don't like to give things away." says Martin, a grin spreading across his face. "But you don't hang a giant wolf pack on the wall unless you intend to use it." [x]

It’s worth noting that George absolutely adores wolves. He gave a lot of money to charities for them. There’s a reason why he gave the Starks children wolves, and not say shadowcats (that would have been cool too) or giraffes (kidding). There’s no way he’s gonna let them roam the Riverlands “unused”. Plus, Arya is the one Stark sibling who identifies and is identified as a wolf the most (some nicknames include “wolf pup” (from Catelyn), “she-wolf” and “wolf-bitch” (from Sandor)).

So what are there for ? The most common explanation - to which I agree - is that they will have a role in the war with the Others. I doubt they will be involved in the battle for Winterfell (because I don’t think Arya will be there yet when it happens). And though I would love Ramsay to be torn apart by her pack (it would so poetic and satisfying : Ramsay, who likes to hunt women with his dogs and who treated “Arya” so badly, to get the same treatment by the real Arya) I have a feeling he will already be dead when she gets to Winterfell (unless he escapes ?).

But the wolf pack will need someone to lead them. They will not enter the battle of their own volition. Nymeria might be swift and strong and smart, she is still an animal. Someone has to think strategy to make the most of their abilities. And since Nymeria is their Alpha, that means Arya will be as well.

Magic

Arya has a strong connection to magic. She :

- wargs into Nymeria, something she’s amazingly powerful at, since she’s warging into her when she’s a continent away ! and without even the training Bran has !

- wargs into cats, when it is said they are one of the most difficult beings to warg into (because they have such independant minds) ; even Bran had trouble warging into something else than Summer at first, and he’s the most powerful of the Stark kids. She manages to do it without thinking and knowing what she is doing.

- witnesses the magic of the Faceless Men, a magic that she accepts incredibly well, not thinking it’s unatural and terrifying like most people but fascinating.

While the War of the Five Kings was purely military, I doubt that will be the case for the one with the Others. They’re supernatural beings after all. People will need all the help they can get, and magic users will be incredibly useful. I will not be surprised if people name her The Wolf Witch.

All that leads me to...

Dragons

There are SO MANY hints about dragons in Arya’s storyline ! From the first book where she finds the dragons’ skulls in King’s Landing’s basement (and thinking of them as “old friends”) to her “I would like to see a dragon” in her last TWOW chapter, Arya is heavily foreshadowed with dragons. For me, it means three things :

Arya will meet Dany, and team up with her. These two have so many common points : exiled princesses, lived in poverty and amongst the people, easily underestimated, champions of the smallfolk, kind, brave,... (I made this gifset about their similarities, and it doesn’t even cover everything they share !). I think they’re gonna be great friends. Arya will really admire her - she loves stories of conquering queens, as with Nymeria’s - and Dany will feel protective of Arya, this child who went through so much (also I really think Dany needs a female friend who is not her subordinate, like Irri and co.) Arya needs a female role model who doesn’t conform to the patriarcal standards of Westeros (like Catelyn or Sansa), and Dany needs someone who can advise her truthfully on people, without sugarcoating the truth (and since Arya is a great judge of character, I think the job will fall on her). And they’re currently on the same continent !

Arya will be the one to tell Dany about the truth of her father, or at least what happened to the Starks. Dany, thanks to Viserys, has this really idealized view of her father. She thinks Robert Baratheon usurped the throne not because he reacted to Aerys’ tyranny but out of sheer lust for power. She still thinks Ned Stark was his “dog” that helped steal their power. Someone needs to tell her the truth about what really happened, how Rhaegar kidnapped Lyanna and Aerys killed Rickard and Brandon. Since Barristan is too much of a Targaryen loyalist who will likely never break her the truth, I think Arya can very much be the one to do so (Tyrion would be the other option, but I think it would have less impact than from someone whose family is actually the one that was affected by the actions of her father and brother). This will probably rough things up between them, but Dany is not stupid : she is able to reassess her views of the world if proven wrong.

Arya will warg into one of the dragons. Let’s be honest, Viserion and Rhaegal are feral now. Poor things have been locked in the dark for weeks. They will need to be controlled. Though I don’t think Arya is one of the three-headed riders, I do think she will warg into them to, let’s not say “break their minds” but at least make them used to the feeling of being warged into. Now since Jon is probably one of the three-headed dragons, and since he is not their mother and does not have the same control (out of affection) that Dany has with them, he will probably have to warg to control his dragon. But Jon is definitively not powerful enough to control it on the first try. That’s where Arya comes into play. We already know she is powerful enough to warg into Nymeria when she’s leagues away, and she has no difficulty warging into other animals. Though I suppose warging a dragon is much more difficult than warging a cat, I do think she will be up to the task. Maybe she’ll even get to ride him ! (P.S : I say “them” but that’s mostly because I don’t know if Rhaegal or Viserion will be Jon’s dragon. I actually believe the theory that one of the dragons will be stolen by Euron.)

The Hardhome theory

That theory was first brought by Harlaw’s Book The Sequel on Westeros.org ; you can read it here if you want a more detailled analysis. Basically, we know from Jon’s chapters that wildlings have been stuck at Hardhome. A wood witch told them ships would go to their rescue ; when they saw them coming, the men sent their women and children to be saved first. But the ships were in truth pirates, who roped them up and meant to sell them in Lys when a storm broke out and parted them. One of the ships had to anchor at Braavos.

(Seriously, go read the original theory, it’s much more detailed.)

So. A bunch of enslaved wildlings women and children (northerners) are waiting in Braavos (a city created by former slaves) and Arya, who absolutely cares for the smallfolk, who makes friends with lowborns and highborns alike, who yelled that the masters should have been killed instead of the slave when the Kindly Man told her the story of the first Faceless Man, this Arya will do nothing ?

(Oh ! Eh ! Another parallel with Dany, her leading women and children and protecting them !)

The Riverlands

Man, that’s a big chunk of her story. I’m absolutely convinced Arya will have to go back to the Riverlands. First, because that’s where Nymeria and her pack are. And since they haven’t left this place since book 1 when Arya made Nymeria run away, I don’t see why they would suddenly go North on their own, where there’s scare game and it’s much colder. No, Arya will have to go get Nymeria herself - and show her that she didn’t want to get rid of her because she didn’t like her anymore, but for her own protection.

Secondly, because that’s where Lady Stoneheart and The Brotherhood Without Banners (and Gendry) are.

Lady Stoneheart : this, this is a heartbreaking story. Arya spent much of the third book trying to get back to her mother, only to get so close and see her slaughtered almost virtually in front of her. Then, to top that, she dragged her body from the waters through Nymeria. (Not cool George. Can’t you give the girl a break ?) Arya reuniting with her mother would fit George’s thread of “Be careful what you wish for” - like Sansa and Cersei wanting to be queen or Arya wanting to have adventures. Arya will reunite with her mother... but is she, really, anymore ? Catelyn has become this vengeful shell of her previous self, and despite what the fandom thinks, nothing in Arya is about revenge. Plus, there’s this whole “gift of mercy” philosophy that Sandor taught her, and that haven’t come into play yet. And now, Catelyn is suffering. I’m pretty sure Arya is the one who will kill her for good, both as a way to stop her and to give herself closure. (And, what is more heartbreaking, LS getting killed by Jaime, her official ennemy, or her own daughter ?)

The Brotherhood Without Banners : right now, the BWB is on a dark path as well. Some of that may be attributed to LS but they also lost faith in their cause - protecting the people from the damages of the highlords’ games. Honestly, they basically became a common band of outlaws, out for themselves more than anything (which is I think one of the reasons Gendry is so angry, besides Arya’s disappearance). I think Arya will be appalled by what they have become, and try (unconsciously or not) to get them back on the right track. Because, who better than Arya, one of the only highborns in the series to really care about the smallfolk to remind them of what they fought for in the first place ?

Gendry : Aaah, Gendry. The poor guy has had it hard too. First he joins the BWB because he believed in their cause, because he knows how little the nobility cares for the likes of him ; but they become this revenge-driven band who don’t care for anything beside themselves. Then his friend, the girl he admires, the girl he opened to when you have to beat him over the head to get the slightest scrap, the girl he was probably in love with, disappears, kidnapped by a man whose reputation as a brutal killer is well renowed - and worse, he thinks it’s his fault. I mean, he feels so guilty he stayed at the last place Arya was seen, protecting a bunch of orphans not so different of him and Arya. George wouldn’t have brought him back in AFFC if he didn’t have a role to play in the story (which he confirmed he will [x]).

And finally : I’m pretty sure Arya will run into her great-uncle (I think ?) Brynden Rivers in the Riverlands.

So, this is a personal theory of mine but it seems plausible enough for me to give it a shot. When I read AFFC, this line made me pause :

"After the trouble Ser Brynden took to leave us, I doubt that he'll come skulking back." Unless it is at the head of a band of outlaws.He did not doubt that the Blackfish meant to continue the fight.” [AFFC, Jaime VII]

The Blackfish isn’t dead, that’s for sure. And he doesn’t intend to give up Riverrun without a fight. My theory is he will run into Lady Stoneheart (another heartwrecking moment) and her part of the BWB. Whether he will take the lead is yet to be seen (I don’t think he will as long as LS is alive) but I really do think he will tag along. Arya will meet him when she runs into them later ; there was already a talk of them meeting in ASOS :

Lord Beric paid no heed to her outburst. "My lady," he said with weary courtesy, "would you know your grandfather's brother by sight? Ser Brynden Tully, called the Blackfish? Would he know you, perchance?" Arya shook her head miserably. She had heard her mother speak of Ser Brynden Blackfish, but if she had ever met him herself it had been when she was too little to remember. [ASOS, Arya VIII]

He could be her advisor like he was for Robb, or like Barristan is for Dany.

And after that, who knows ? I guess she could run into some lords of the Riverlands (including her uncle Edmure), who would support her claim to Winterfell once it revealed who fake!Arya really is, and if none of her brothers is revealed to be alive by this time. Since she witnessed firsthand the horrors inflicted to their people, she could get some sympathy points if she says how she wishes to protect them. Or they could try to use her to get ahold of Winterfell and the North through her, like the Manderlys are trying to with Rickon or Littlefinger with Sansa. And the Blackfish could help her naviguate these dangerous waters (ah !) by advising her, since he knows the lords of the Riverlands much better than her - with her own training helping her as well. I don’t have enough evidences to 100% support this theory, but it is as plausible as another.

Leadership

Of all the Stark kids, Arya seems to be the less connected to politics and leadership. Robb was King in the North, Jon is Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch and the legal heir of Robb’s will, Bran is heir/Prince of Winterfell (and the North), Rickon has the Manderlys searching for him in hope to get him on the throne, and Sansa has Littlefinger rallying the Vale to support her claim. Arya, on the other hand, has spent years hiding among commoners, believed dead by almost everyone who could help her reclaim her identity.

And yet... Arya's storyline is filled with leadership symbolisms and queen references. Much more than it would be for a simple coincidence.

1. Nymeria

It has been established that the Stark kids and their direwolves are basically one soul in two bodies. They have most certainly been sent by the Old Gods to protect them ; but their significance runs a little deeper. Each direwolf is a “part” of their master, as Catelyn said (”He is part of you, Robb. To fear him is to fear you.” [ASOS, Catelyn II]).

So what is the significance of Nymeria for Arya ?

First of all, let’s take a look on the name itself. Arya is the only one of her siblings to have named her wolf after not a concept but an historical figure, a real person. And not any one : Nymeria, the Rhoynar queen who led thousands of her people to safety. The parallels between her and Arya are numerous. They’re both women in a position of command (I’ll get to that later for Arya), leading their people to safety ; they both have a deep connection to water ; and they’re both seen as warriors when really, their strengths lie elsewhere, in their cunning and their determination and their love for their people/pack.

So. Not only Nymeria (the direwolf) is named after a character known for leading and protecting thousands of people, she does that herself. She is actually roaming the Riverlands at the head of a pack of hundreds of wolves, wrecking havoc on the Lannister’s and Frey’s forces. Nymeria has become the alpha of her pack with surprising ease - mirroring Arya’s natural ability to make friends and loyalists amongst the people she meets.

Indeed, Arya has a natural ability to make people loyal to her, and to turn foes into friends. That’s the case with Hot Pie and Lommy, who tried to bully her at first - but they became, especially Hot Pie, fiercely fond of her (one of the few things the show did right was that scene with him, Brienne and Pod, where he wouldn’t betray her even if he didn’t know if she was dead or not). Once Yoren is killed, or when they escape Harrenhal and they find themselves on their own, Arya takes the leader’s role without a pip from the others, even though she is younger and a girl to top that.

2. The qualities of a great leader

And why would they complain ? Throughout the series, Arya displays numerous qualities that make her a great leader. She’s an excellent judge of character - needed when naviguating in politics -, she’s smart, logical, practical. She doesn’t shy away from hard truths. But she’s also kind, protective, and most importantly, absolutely uninterested in getting power. Arya doesn’t care about power, and that means her primary goal would be to protect her people.

It has been asserted countless times, both through words and actions, that Arya cares a great deal about the smallfolk. She had a special relationship with them since she was a little girl.

Arya had loved nothing better than to sit at her father’s table and listen to them talk. She had loved listening to the men on the benches too; to freeriders tough as leather, courtly knights and bold young squires, grizzled old men-at-arms. She used to throw snowballs at them and help them steal pies from the kitchen. Their wives gave her scones and she invented names for their babies and played monsters-and-maidens and hide-the-treasure and come-into-my-castle with their children. [AGOT, Arya II]

She befriends a lot of them, and treats them as equals. When Mycah is killed she’s the only one who really mourns him, and whose fate is more than a passing thought. She witnesses (and experiments) the lack of consideration the smallfolk gets, how little their lives mean for the highlords. But Arya cares. And you know what have been consistently defined as a good leader ?

"A good lord comforts and protects the weak and helpless," [Maester Luwin] told the Freys. [ACOK, Bran II]

"A queen must listen to all," she reminded him. "The highborn and the low, the strong and the weak, the noble and the venal. One voice may speak you false, but in many there is always truth to be found." [ASOS, Daenerys I]

This is a philosophy that have been ingrained in Arya (in all the Stark kids, really) all her life, seeded by her father and his ruling. Ned took more time teaching his sons than his daughters (as was expected of him, and Catelyn to the girls) but Arya picked a lot more of his lessons than she should have.

“Her father used to say that a lord needed to eat with his men, if he hoped to keep them. “Know the men who follow you,” she heard him tell Robb once, “and let them know you. Don’t ask your men to die for a stranger.” [AGOT, Arya II]

“Whenever her father had condemned a man to death, he did the deed himself with Ice, his greatsword. “If you would take a man’s life, you owe it to him go look him in the face and hear his last words,” she’d heard him tell Robb and Jon once.” [ACOK, Arya VII]

Ned’s teachings have a deep impact on Arya and her decisions, way more than Catelyn’s (who should have been her main role model, like she’s Sansa’s) ; and it shows in how she fiercely cares about the people she feels entitled to protect, no matter how lowborn they are.

Arya took the lead, kicking her stolen horse to a brisk heedless trot until the trees close in around her. Hot Pie and Gendry followed as best they could. […] From time to time Arya glanced over her shoulder, to make sure the two boys had not fallen too far behind, and to see if they were being pursued. [ASOS, Arya I]

It didn't matter. The only thing that mattered was that they had Gendry. Even if he was stubborn and stupid, she had to get him out. [ACOK, Arya V]

Also, let’s take a look at this quote :

Aegon has been shaped for rule since before he could walk. He has been trained in arms, as befits a knight to be, but that was not the end of his education. He reads and writes, he speaks several tongues, he has studied history and law and poetry. A septa has instructed him in the mysteries of the Faith since he was old enough to understand them. He has lived with fisherfolk, worked with his hands, swum in rivers and mended nets and learned to wash his own clothes at need. He can fish and cook and bind up a wound, he knows what it is like to be hungry, to be hunted, to be afraid. Tommen has been taught that kingship is his right. Aegon knows that kingship is his duty, that a king must put his people first, and live and rule for them.” [ADWD, Kevan]

Replace “Aegon” by “Arya” and there’s literally no difference, nothing she doesn’t fit. She has been trained in arms (waterdancing + whatever training the FM gave her). Her highborn education ensured she can read and write and knows history and poetry (maybe laws too). She knows how to speak the common tongue, but also braavosi, high valyrian and the dialects of Lys and Pentos. We know Arya favors the Old Gods, but Catelyn must have ensured she knew about the Faith of the Seven too. She has lived with commoners, cooked, bound up wounds,... She has been hunted and hungry and afraid.

Every point of this list can be applied to Arya. Actually, I think it is even more relevant to her than to Aegon ! (Come on, the boy was under Illyrio’s protection for decades, with Jon Connington and Duck to protect him, in case the false death wasn’t enough. I highly doubt he has ever been hunted or starving in his entire life.)

So, if Aegon is supposed to be the Perfect King™, what does it make Arya ? A Perfect Queen™ ? Wait...

3. Queen references

For someone apparently so removed from anything political (she’s actually way more involved than given credit, but it is a topic I will not delve into here), Arya has an awful lot of queen references in her narrative :

- her direwolf is named after “the warrior queen of the Rhoyne”, and like her, is leading hundreds in her own right - she’s not the Alpha’s mate, she’s the Alpha, period.

(Also :

Robb was calling his Grey Wind, because he ran so fast. Sansa had named hers Lady, and Arya named hers after some old witch queen in the songs, and little Rickon called his Shaggydog, which Bran thought was a pretty stupid name for a direwolf. Jon's wolf, the white one, was Ghost. [AGOT, Bran II]

Arya’s direwolf is the only one to not be named specifically. The emphasis is not on the name there, but on the concept, the “witch queen”.)

- in No Featherbed For Me - a song GRRM composed exclusively for Arya, since it doesn’t appear anywhere else but in her chapter - this line is intriguing :

“My featherbed is deep and soft, and there I’ll lay you down, I’ll dress you all in yellow silk and on your head a crown. For you shall be my lady love, and I shall be your lord. I’ll always keep you warm and safe, and guard you with my sword. And how she smiled and how she laughed, the maiden of the tree. She spun away and said to him, no featherbed for me. I’ll wear a gown of golden leaves, and bind my hair with grass, But you can be my forest love, and me your forest lass.”

Now, we can read that the maiden “spunning away” means she is rejecting that life. I choose to read it as her refusing to be coddled by a man, instead making her own choices in how she wants to live her life ; not necessarily refusing to become queen, and if she does so, it will be on her own terms and volition.

- Ned also offers several times where he severely stans for Queen!Arya. The first one is when he’s talking with Catelyn about Sansa’s betrothal :

“Brandon. Yes. Brandon would know what to do. He always did. It was all meant for Brandon. You, Winterfell, everything. He was born to be a King’s Hand and a father to queens. I never asked for this cup to pass to me.” [AGOT, Catelyn II]

The second one is about Arya’s future :

Arya cocked her head to one side. "Can I be a king's councillor and build castles and become the High Septon?"

"You," Ned said, kissing her lightly on the brow, "will marry a king and rule his castle, and your sons will be knights and princes and lords and, yes, perhaps even a High Septon." [AGOT, Eddard V]

These two quotes stand out. At that point of the series, Joffrey is the only heir to the throne available, there is no suspicions about his parentage (from Ned at least). And Sansa is the one expected to marry him. Why talk about “queens” on plural, and tell Arya she will marry a king ? He’s not trying to cheer her up, because he knows his daughter well enough to know that’s not the kind of things she dreams about.

Compare this to the conversation he has with Sansa, when he tells her they have to go back to Winterfell and she can’t marry Joffrey anymore :

“Sweet one,” her father said gently, “listen to me. When you’re old enough, I will make you a match with a high lord who’s worthy of you, someone brave and gentle and strong.” [AGOT, Sansa III]

You would think Sansa gets the king and Arya the high lord, no ?

We can assume it’s a simple mistake... yet I highly doubt so. First of all, because these quotes both take place in AGOT, right when he started the books ; GRRM still had the original endings in mind. Then you could argue that time has passed, and he probably changed them... I don’t think so either.

David Abraham is the writer working on the graphic novels. He thus work closely with GRRM (even lives in the same neighborhood). He said about the “you will marry a king” line :

Have you collaborated at all with George R.R. Martin in the process of adapting the novel to comics? If so, what’s the creative process there?

I’ve spoken to George a lot in the process. The biggest issues we have are continuity questions. There are things about this story that only he knows, and they aren’t all obvious. There was one scene I had to rework because there’s a particular line of dialog – and you wouldn’t know it to look at – that’s important in the last scene of “A Dream of Spring.” [x]

Now, the first comic book came out in 2012. Assuming it would take roughly a year for Abraham to write the script, we can say with certainty that GRRM’s intentions about that line didn’t change from 1996 to 2011. Plus, since it doesn’t appear in the first issue - probably in the fourth or fifth, and those two came out respectively in 2014 and 2015, he then still didn’t change his mind about it. That’s barely two years ago. I would be very surprised if they changed in this laps of time.

Third objection you may have : Arya’s reaction when presented with this scenario.

Arya screwed up her face. "No," she said, "that's Sansa."

Of which I will respond : of course she says that ! Arya is a little girl who wants adventures, and whose insecurities ensure she would never see herself in the role of the beautiful queen. “That’s Sansa” refers both to the fact that she is the one who wants babies and sit quietly and be pretty (and who is expected to), and to Arya’s belief that she is not good enough to play that role.

But let’s take a look at two other instances where this kind of, let’s say “strangely timed quotes” appear :

“King,” croaked the raven. The bird flapped across the solar to land on Mormont’s shoulder. “King,” it said again, strutting back and forth.“He likes that word,” Jon said, smiling.“An easy word to say. An easy word to like.”“King,” the bird said again.“I think he means for you to have a crown, my lord.” [ACOK, Jon I]

Of course Jon will object to becoming a King. He’s a bastard, he has been taught all his life he would never get anything. He already feels incredibly guilty when he thinks about how he wants Winterfell, he wouldn’t dare imagine ruling the North. Yet the show made it that way... Why ? It could be one of their decisions that drift off the original endings, but Jon is one of their favourite. I don’t think they would pass on something this big for him.

Second quote :

And once my sister Rhae put a love potion in my drink, so I’d marry her instead of my sister Daella.” (…) “Did the potion work?” Dunk asked. “It would have,” said Egg, “but I spit it out. I don’t want a wife, I want to be a knight of the Kingsguard, and live only to serve and defend the king. The Kingsguard are sworn not to wed.” [The Sword Knight]

Egg too wanted to be something else than a king growing up, yet he became one (and may I add, him and Arya have a lot in common too, their love for their people being only the top of the iceberg).

So. That’s two instances of GRRM announcing the character’s fate, that is brushed away by the character himself and BAM! it turns out it happens anyway.

- This quote :

The girl smiled in a way that reminded Jon so much of his little sister that it almost broke his heart. The snowflakes were melting on her cheeks, but her hair was wrapped in a swirl of lace that Satin had found somewhere, and the snow had begun to collect there, giving her a frosty crown. Her cheeks were flushed and red, and her eyes sparkled. [ADWD, Jon X]

Alys has been repeatedly said by Jon to look and act like his little sister. How about she is a personification of Arya, crowned by snow symbolical of the North ? It would be crowning her itself, which would make sense because she’s, with Jon, the Stark kid that embodies the most northern values, and, in my opinion, the North itself.

- This other quote :

Gendry was the closest thing to a man grown, but it was Willow shouting all the orders, as if she were a queen in her castle and the other children were no more than servants. If she were highborn, command would come naturally to her, and deference to them. Brienne wondered whether Willow might be more than she appeared. The girl was too young and too plain to be Sansa Stark, but she was of the right age to be the younger sister, and even Lady Catelyn had said that Arya lacked her sister's beauty.[AFFC, Brienne VII]

Willow and Arya also share common traits, things that Brienne - who never met Arya - cannot know. They’re about the same age, with almost the same coloring. They’re both brave, headstrong, protective, and assume the leadership of their “pack”.

So. Interesting that most of the people who have been mistaken for Arya (save Jeyne) have a line about being a queen.

- And finally, Emilia Clarke herself said the one worthy of the Iron Throne would be Arya. (What do you mean it’s not relevant ?)

So, let me laugh when I see people saying she will end up dead or in a position of servitude. You can interpret these as you want but you cannot look me in the eyes and tell me Arya is not destined to greatness ? That her role will consist of being someone’s pet, doing what others tell her to do without a word ? It has been made clear by now that it’s against her character in her core. Arya Stark is a character who draws loyalty like she breathes, and who more than once assume the role of a leader. You won’t tell me this won’t come into play later.

Ok, that was a tad long but now you cannot say there’s nothing planned for Arya outside the Faceless Men, especially considering all the directions I didn’t explore :

The Battle of the Dawn : as one of the Big Five, Arya will have a role in the battle against the Others, something that will I presume involve Nymeria and her skills in leadership. I could see her as a strategist commander, much like Queen Nymeria - her being the only Stark kid, apart from Jon, to have witnessed and been a part of battles (about which she made astute comments like “Arya hated being left behind like she was some stupid child, but at least Gendry had been kept back as well. She knew better than to try and argue. This was battle, and in battle you had to obey.”, or “She loved swordfighting, but she could see how arrows were good too.” This girl has a real knack for strategy.)

Dark Sister : the lost sword of Visenya Targaryen. While it has been wielded by men before, it was designed for a woman’s hand. It was last seen belonging to Brynden Rivers, aka Bloodraven who look ! is alive ! and teaching Arya’s brother ! It would be fitting if Arya ended wielding her against the Others. Also look at the name : Dark Sister. It fits Arya like a glove.

The Stark look : Jon and Arya are the only ones to have inherited the grey eyes and brown hair of the Starks. For Jon, it’s certainly a proof of R+L=J... But what about Arya ? Her likeness with Lyanna, that have been repeatedly asserted throughout the books (so far as in ADWD), cannot be emphasized for the sole purpose of proving Jon’s parentage. I’m guessing it has something to do with her and Jon being King and Queen ? Of course for now it is just conjecture.

Arya’s beauty : Arya is definitively growing into her looks (you can go there and there for more informations). Arya has the Ugly Duckling trope going on (btw, the swan is another symbol or royalty -> another hint at Arya becoming queen ?), and there’s no way this won’t come into play later. And I think the courtesans of Braavos will be a part of that. After all, one the options the Kindly Man offers when he tries to get rid of Arya is to make her a courtesan (he thus obviously think her beautiful enough, and they’re among the most beautiful women of Essos, if tales are to be believed). My money would be on either the Merling Queen, who takes young girls about Arya’s age to assist her, or, even more likely, the Black Pearl (not the ship) that Arya met in person in AFFC when she bought her cockles and that we encountered again in The Winds of Winter, when she escort Harys Swyft to the play. Seeing how GRRM clearly set Arya as a Femme Fatale type of figure in Mercy, I think - this does not delight me but it is plausible - that she will have some kind of training by either one of them.

The Iron Bank of Braavos : it was said in her first chapter that Arya was good with numbers and the managing of a household. She’s good with money. She has the same reasoning than Littlefinger, consisting of using competent people rather than naming whoever can bring the most benefits. She’s currently in Braavos, knows the language perfectly... How could she not deal with them ?

Foreshadowing : there’s a lot of them, of course, but this sentence always puzzled me : “If I had wings I could fly back to Winterfell and see for myself. And if it was true, I’d just fly away, fly up past the moon and the shining stars, and see all the things in Old Nan’s stories, dragons and seamonsters and the Titan of Braavos, and maybe I wouldn’t ever fly back unless I wanted to.” [ACOK, Arya X]. There’s obviously a reference to dragons and Braavos, but what about the seamonsters ? My take on this (but I could be wrong) is that Arya will encounter a Greyjoy, possibly Euron, while traveling with Dany ; after all, she has a strong connection to water throughout the books. I think (emphasis on the “I”) that she will see right through Euron’s attempts at seduction on Dany, see him for the monster he really is, but she won’t listen to her and this will cause a feud between them. But Dany will ultimately see reason too, and they’ll reconcile. But again, I could be wrong, this is pure conjecture. I have almost no proof of that.

I am done. I applaud you if you stayed til here ! But I felt necessary for this meta to be this long. Too many people reduce Arya to this shell of her character, blatantly ignoring all the possibilities her narrative offers. I may have gone off road for a few of these hypothesis, but honestly, I don’t see them less plausible than a lot of what runs around.

Arya is crucial for the story. That may not be crystal clear at the moment, because she’s in training and not involved much in the main narrative (but neither are Sansa and Bran btw). But I can guarantee you, her role is far from done. On the contrary. It’s just about to begin.

If a twelve years-old has to conquer the world, then so be it. [x]

#asoiaf meta #arya stark #asoiaf #meta #mine #that one was a bitch to write #but i wanted to do it for a long time now #the title sucks tho

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smartgirlsaremean · 8 years ago

Text

The Reluctant Guardian - Chapter 9

Fandom: OUAT

Pairing: Rumbelle

Rating: M (suggestion of non-con, attempted assault, nothing descriptive or explicit)

Summary: Roderick Gold is about to complete his revenge on the Jones family by inheriting the family fortune and estate, but to his surprise there is one late acquisition: Jones was guardian to a young woman, and that guardianship now falls to Gold. Determined at first to marry her and make absolutely sure all of the Jones assets are under his control, he soon discovers that there is much more to Bella French than meets the eye.

Belle French values nothing so much as her independence, and would far rather die an old maid than lose even a moment of freedom. Her new guardian is intriguing, though, and the more she learns about his past the more questions she has. His reputation doesn't quite match her own observations, and while she would love to uncover the mystery that is Roderick Gold, she must be very cautious lest she reveal her own secrets and ruin her own plans.

AU Rumbelle with possible Swanfire later

Nominated for Best Historical AU in the 2017 TEAs

AO3

“A single word, mon amour. That is all it takes.”

Belle shivered on the cot, her gray dress providing her scant protection from the cold. D’Arque stood looming in the door, his shape long and monstrous, his face hidden in shadow. How long had she been in this horrible little room? And why could she not speak?

A word could save her mother, but she couldn’t speak it. She tried to clench her hands together but they were frozen in her lap and she could not move them. Her whole being was carved from stone.

“Say the word, beauty.” The monster loomed closer, his foul breath filling the room and suffocating her. “Say it.” His voice went higher and thinner. “Say it.” Her heart pounded as if it would burst through her chest. “Say it!” She tried to bring her hands to her ears to block out the awful shrieking of his voice.

“Say it!”

Belle started awake, staring at the canopy of her bed, the shrill scream of D’Arque’s voice fading to the faint squeal of the tea kettle from the kitchens. Her limbs shook and her hair was damp, and she clenched her fists, the nails biting into the skin of her palms.

It was over. It was over and she was so unspeakably tired of remembering how horribly she’d failed her mother.

God, why could it not be over?

Belle dressed and went to Sophie’s room to help her. She found Sophie struggling with the ties of her gown, and Belle sighed irritably.

“Why will you not wait for me, Sophie?” she asked, her voice sharp.

Sophie raised her eyebrows. “I am perfectly capable of dressing myself, Belle,” she pointed out. “I did so for years before now, you know.”

“And you are not growing younger,” Belle grumbled, taking the ties and setting herself to the task. “I wish you would let me do more. I wish you would let me help you.”

“Belle…”

“Is it so much to ask that I be allowed to help? To do what little I can to aid you? I am not useless!”

“Belle..” Sophie gasped. “You’ve tied me too tightly.”

Her face burning, Belle loosened the ties and stepped back, passing one shaking hand over her face.

“Belle, love,” Sophie stepped forward and placed gentle hands on her shoulders. “What is it? What’s happened?”

Taking a deep breath, Belle shook her head and shrugged gently away from her friend. “Nothing. I’m well. I’m well,” she insisted over Sophie’s protests. “Excuse me, I have duties to attend to.”

Hurrying out of the room, Belle rushed down the hall to the kitchens. Mrs. Potts had prepared a tray for Marian, who would take to her bed any day, and Belle took it to the sitting room Robin and Marian used.

“Good morning,” she said, attempting a cheerful smile. “How are you feeling?”

“Well enough,” Marian said weakly from her position on the sofa.

“The medicine seems to have made you stronger.”

“It has. I actually look forward to having the baby so that I can work again.” She eyed the tray as Belle set it down. “Is that ham?”

“Yes! I know how much you wanted it yesterday, so I made sure to give you extra today.”

“Oh, Bella, that’s so sweet of you, but…”

Belle removed the cover from the tray and Marian turned a horrifying shade of green. Scrambling frantically for a bowl nearby, Marian emptied her stomach.

“I’m sorry,” she whimpered. “The smell today...it’s unbearable.”

Irritation welled up inside Belle. “Well, I suppose the pigs would enjoy it. If we had any.” She set the cover back down with unnecessary force.

“I - I’m sorry. I’ve felt unwell all morning and…”

“That information would have been useful before I made your breakfast tray.” Belle stormed around the room, picking up pieces of laundry and tossing wood into the grate with a loud rattle.

Marian’s lips trembled. “Bella, I…”

“What is all this?” Robin poked his head into the sitting room, taking in Marian’s distressed countenance and Belle’s stormy frown. “Bella, what have you done to upset my wife?”

“It is Miss French to the two of you,” Belle snapped. “I may dress like a servant and clean your grates, but I am still your superior, and you would do well to remember it!” Picking up the tray, she swept out of the room.

She went about her tasks that morning silently and quickly, unsurprised and unconcerned when both Sophie and Robin gave her a wide berth. She felt as if her anger had become liquid under her skin, bubbling and hissing and steaming and ready to erupt if someone so much as breathed in her direction.

Huffing under the weight of a basket of wet laundry, she struggled towards the door to the garden, perspiration dripping down from her bedraggled hair. She shoved the door open and turned to heft the basket through, and collided with something solid.

Mr. Gold grunted loudly when the basket connected with his midsection, and Belle gasped as the basket tumbled from her hands and upended on the floor.

“Dammit!” she exclaimed.

“Tut, tut, such language from a young lady,” Mr. Gold drawled, brushing imaginary lint from the front of his jacket. “Is that how all bluestockings express themselves?”

Belle righted the basket and began tossing the laundry back into it.

“I do hope those clothes will be washed again.”

Belle froze, glared at him, and then went back to work, muttering. “Malum! Malus nequamque!”

“My, my, and now disrespect for one’s guardian,” Gold said with a whistle.

Rising and fixing him with a look that should have turned his blood to ice, she spat, “Pessime et nequissime!” Turning on her heel, she stormed away, leaving the laundry on the floor.

The library was blessedly empty, and Belle paced the length of it, willing herself to be calm. She twisted her hands in front of her and took deep breaths, but her head was whirling and she felt as if she must do something drastic - scream or cry or - or...her gaze fell on the decanter of whisky and the glass tumblers. Without stopping to think, she grabbed one of the tumblers and hurled it at the fireplace. The shattering of the glass was satisfying, but the look of horror on Mrs. Potts’s face when she ran into the study was not.

Something broke in her at that look. Belle rushed past the housekeeper, snatched her oldest cloak from the hook near the kitchen door, and dashed out into the sunlight.

She was not in the library, the kitchens, or the gardens. Wherever the girl had got to, she was determined not to be found. Gold was still a little flummoxed by her behavior that morning; while she had often defied him, she had always shown him at least a modicum of respect, and he wasn’t aware of having been overbearing enough in the last couple of days to merit her outburst. If anything, he’d found himself growing softer in his approach to her. He stood uncertainly in the hall outside of her chambers, wondering if he dared knock and risk her ire.

“Mr. Gold!” He looked to his right and saw Miss Hammond hurrying toward him. “Have you seen Bella?”

“Not since she dropped my clean laundry on the floor and cursed at me,” he said mildly.

“She did what?

“Have I been particularly beastly recently?”

“No, no...I’ve just left Marian, and she said Bella lost her temper with her this morning.”

“With Marian?” Gold frowned. “That seems unlikely.”

Miss Hammond clucked her tongue. “Bella is the kindest, gentlest soul, but sometimes - well, let us say that fear takes many forms, and Bella hates to feel afraid.”

“Where would she go?”

“I don’t know! If we were at home, she has a few favorite spots and I could find her easily, but here - she might be lost or injured, and I would not know where to look.”

“I’ll take Fitzooth and we will find her,” Gold reassured her. “She is on foot, so she can’t have gone far.”

“Oh, thank you, sir. I worry about her so.”

Gold did not want to add to her discomfort, but he worried as well. Fitzooth also looked grim when he explained their task.

"I know these woods well,” Fitzooth said, “but there are some unsavory characters who frequent the area, and they’ve grown bold with Mr. Jones’s illness and your absence, sir. We’d best pray we find her before they do.”

Belle felt her heartbeat slow and her blood cool as she walked aimlessly under the cool shade of the trees. Amidst the green and brown and blue, the red-hot flames of her fear and anger ebbed until they faded away entirely. She took deep breaths of the fresh, clean air and allowed a few tears to trickle down her cheeks.

There was nothing she could have done. Her father and Sophie had repeated those words until she agreed, and indeed she almost believed them. D’Arque was a monster, and he never would have kept his word, and she would have sold herself only to discover it had all been for naught. But doubt was her greatest enemy, and it poked and prodded with sharp-nailed fingers. What if he had actually loved her in his own dark and twisted way? What if she could have convinced him, flattered him into granting her wishes? Better still, what if she could have lured him into her bed and slipped a knife between his ribs?

What if she could have saved her mother if she’d only discovered the correct combination of words and actions? If she’d been brave?

The pounding of hooves brought her mind back to her surroundings and she looked up in time to see a man on a black horse ride up the path before her. She stepped to the side of the road to allow him room to pass, but he stopped when he drew near.

“Well, well,” the man drawled, “if it isn’t Mr. Gold’s pretty little ward.”

“Mr. Nott, isn’t it?” Belle asked, sweeping him a curtsey. “How do you do?”

“Better now, Miss French. Much better.” He leapt from his saddle and stood before her, smiling. “The sight of a face like yours always lifts a man’s spirits.” He made a show of looking around them. “How did you come to be on my grounds? And all alone?”

“Oh! Have I strayed onto your property? I certainly did not mean to trespass.”

“It’s no matter,” Nott said, waving one hand, “but the hour does grow late. I was heading back for my dinner. Perhaps you’d like to accompany me?”

“That is very kind of you,” Belle said, her heart thrumming, “but I must return myself. Sophie will be concerned, and Mr. Gold cross.”

“Yes, I imagine that old beast isn’t very good company when you’ve crossed him, is he? Poor little beauty, holed up with that wretched old man all day.”

Anger flared in her, but the tone of his voice was dreadfully, blood-curdlingly familiar, and she must keep him calm until she could make her escape. “We all have our own burdens to bear,” she said coolly. “Mine is not so terrible.”

“Well, if you won’t dine with me and my mother, may I at least escort you home? We’re quite close to Sherwood and I could drive you. Or,” he held up a hand when she began to protest, “if you prefer, I could...mount you.”

Belle’s heart stopped in her chest.

“On one of my mares. We have some of the best stables in the country.” The gleam in his eye told her that he knew she’d caught his double entendre, and he delighted in her discomfort. His eyes raked over her. “You look as if you’d have a good seat. A strong, strapping rider, I’ve no doubt.”

“You’re very kind,” Belle ground out, “but I would much rather walk.”

“Then allow me to see you home.” He stepped forward and took her arm.

“There’s no need,” she said, twisting in such a way that his grip broke. “I wouldn’t want to make you late for your dinner.”

“Don’t worry about that, dear. I find I’ve no appetite for food at the moment.”

He stepped forward again and Belle turned to run from him, but she was not quick enough. He snagged her arm and spun her about to face him, and fury blinded her. She heard a shout.

The shout sent a shiver through Gold’s bones, and he and Fitzooth urged their horses into a gallop.

“That was not a woman’s scream, sir,” Fitzooth called as they tore up the path. “What do you think…”

He stopped abruptly as they rounded the corner, both horses skidding to a stop. Keith Nott lay in the middle of the path, curled into a ball, and Belle loomed over him, her face hard and blazing with rage, her eyes flashing and her hair tousled. She held something small and gleaming in one hand, and when one of the horses nickered her glare snapped up to encompass them both. Her hand flew up and Gold realized with a jolt that he was staring down the barrel of a small pistol.

“Bloody hell,” Fitzooth breathed, and Gold raised his hands.

“Bella, it is only I,” he said in a low voice. “Robin and I came to find you.”

Her hand did not tremble as she lowered the weapon and trained it on Nott’s head. “Why?” she asked.

“We, er, wanted to help you,” Robin said.

“I don’t need your help.”

“Well, we can see that,” Gold murmured. He cautiously rode a little closer. “Leave him, sweetheart. He will not trouble you again, that much is clear.”

“No, I suppose he won’t,” Bella said calmly, and the icy fire in her eyes abated somewhat. She released the hammer of the pistol and knelt, twitching her skirts up to reveal a small holster on the outside of her boot. Sliding the pistol home, she stood and shook her skirts out. When she looked up, her face grew puzzled and Gold realized he was gaping at her.

“Papa made it for me,” she explained, “and taught me to shoot. Not,” she said derisively, “that this target would have presented much of a challenge.”

“Miss Hammond is sick with worry for you,” he said, filing that inexplicably attractive image away for another time. “Are you ready to return?”

Bella studied Nott, who was still wheezing and whimpering. With great deliberation, she aimed a last hard kick at his midsection, and then stepped daintily over him to approach Gold’s horse. “May I ride before you?” she asked. “I find I’m weary of walking.”

Wordlessly he offered her a hand, and she stepped on his boot and swung herself effortlessly up to sit sideways in front of him, and oh, she was much, much too close. Her hair tickled his chin, her breath fluttered against his cravat, and her hands were warm at his sides where she clung for balance. He swallowed around a suddenly dry throat and urged his horse to a walk; he ignored Fitzooth’s sparkling eyes and concentrated on the reins in his hands and the road before him.

“I apologize for this morning,” she said suddenly, and he started. He’d hoped they could ride to the house in silence; pretending to be unaffected by her proximity was taking every last scrap of his concentration. “I awoke feeling out of sorts and I’m afraid I wasn’t quite myself.”

“It’s no matter.”

“It is. You and Sophie and Robin and Marian are dear to me, and I hate to think that I treated any of you badly. Will you forgive me?”

“Of course, dearie.”

She was blessedly silent for the remainder of their short journey, but when he had helped her down and dismounted himself, she grasped the sleeve of his jacket and he was powerless to resist. He looked down to meet her serious gaze and clenched his jaw. He could feel the pull of those eyes on his soul.

Quick as a flash, she swooped up to kiss his cheek. “Thank you for coming to rescue me.”

“You didn’t need to be rescued.”

“True, but thank you all the same.”

He sighed and took her hand, tucking it into the crook of his arm as he led her into the house. “You’re welcome.”

#rumbelle #rumbelle fic

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