#and no matter how genuine it was on arthurs end. no matter how AWARE he finally is of merlins devotion

[swordsandarms]

"Why did Rhaegar leave a whole THREE Kingsguards with Lyanna? Why did he leave Jaime, A CHILD, to PROTECT his family? Why wasn't Arthur, a DORNISH man, with Elia?"

These or other individual questions about the Kingsguards during the Rebellion era keep coming up every now and then. Usually, it concerns questioning Rhaegar's motivations, sometimes even Jaime's morality or culpability, as well as the morality of said Kingsguards.

But I was having a conversation with some fans and it comes down to the same issue: no one considers the Targaryen politics at the time, and fragment these circumstances in shallow bits and pieces, naturally, coming down to "there's no good explanation for this!"

Everyone hates that these two Targaryen men have genuine character complexity, especially in rapport with eachother: Rhaegar and Aerys.

Let's go over the Kingsguard at the end of Aerys' reign, and actually consider allegiance and what the mean, and how those would actually easily explain a lot-

Jon Darry, Darry cousin: unclear loyalty, when it comes down to the Aerys-Rhaegar conflict. Darrys are without a doubt Targaryen men, but we don't know if and who they would choose. Darrys are most of all connected with Viserys and Rhaella, who are very sheltered from the rest of the world all the same. Darrys might have been sideline in the Aerys-Rhaegar conflict by such default then, and eventually Jon would be sent to the Trident anyway. But then again, unquestionable loyalty to House Targaryen sounds like a traditionalist approach.

Arthur Dayne: Rhaegar's man without a doubt. His oldest and closest friend.

Oswell Whent: Rhaegar's man. He's with him at the Tower and rumours are his family conspired alongside him to get the Lords at Harrenhal to stage Aerys' usurpation.

Gerold Hightower, Comander: King's (Aerys') man. The scene at the King's doors is often brought up in discussions about the ethics of the KG. But it actually also unveils a key political information within the Aerys-Rhaegar factions. Whether it's a matter of adhering to the status quo only, or personal allegiance to Aerys as well, the message is clear: even when it's between two royals, it's the King he will stand by, no matter what, even when he's not in the right (and if his son tries to usurp him, then technically he is).

Barristan Selmy: Barristan undergoes a character development during the main series in which he finally questions unquestionable allegiance to a King no matter their morality. A past Barristan, however, would then resemble a Ser Gerold, and be in the King's (Aerys) service before anything by virtue of duty. Notably, he would later reflect that Rhaegar did not find him fit to be in his confidence, and these expectations are probably why.

Lewyn Martell: Easily Elia's and Rhaegar's man, and Dornish. Noted as being in his confidence.

Jaime Lannister: One that causes a lot of controversy. A lot of back and forth discussion as to what expectations Rhaegar had of Jaime (and whether Jaime himself fulfilled them). The answer can actually be seen easily by:

1. Looking at it with the awareness that there was a faction divide existed in the KG in between Aerys and Rhaegar, as it was building up to a conflict and hence-

2. Reading their last conversation with that in mind

The day had been windy when he said farewell to Rhaegar, in the yard of the Red Keep. The prince had donned his night-black armor, with the three-headed dragon picked out in rubies on his breastplate. “Your Grace,” Jaime had pleaded, “let Darry stay to guard the king this once, or Ser Barristan. Their cloaks are as white as mine."

Prince Rhaegar shook his head. “My royal sire fears your father more than he does our cousin Robert. He wants you close, so Lord Tywin cannot harm him. I dare not take that crutch away from him at such an hour.”

Jaime’s anger had risen up in his throat. “I am not a crutch. I am a knight of the Kingsguard.”

“Then guard the king,” Ser Jon Darry snapped at him. “When you donned that cloak, you promised to obey.”

Rhaegar had put his hand on Jaime’s shoulder. “When this battle’s done I mean to call a council. Changes will be made. I meant to do it long ago, but … well, it does no good to speak of roads not taken. We shall talk when I return.”

For one, Jaime is the last KG left in King's Landing, and one to be kept close to Aerys himself. And Rhaegar is taking him into his confidence before he leaves - he is pretty much talking treason, hinting at usurpation upon his return.

Why did he leave Jaime, A CHILD, to PROTECT his family?

First of all, he doesn't leave Jaime himself in that post. As seen above, Aerys calls the shots. We know from the Ice and Fire "history book" that he sent Lewyn away from Elia as well for being Dornish (while before he was stationed with her and the kids on Dragonstone in Rhaegar's absence) and he commands Jaime to stay. As it appears, he also sends Darry and Selmy with him (with Selmy being a traditionalist at the time, it may even be to keep an eye on Rhaegar).

Rhaegar doesn't have a choice of whom to ask to look out for Elia and the children, no matter which KG would've been in town. He makes that clear. And as to expectations he has of the only one left and whom he can have a word with, while Jaime is, yes, by all means considered a grown man in their society AND a capable soldier who's well trained and already been in combat, he's not asking for Jaime to stand between his family and an army or anything.

There's not meant to be an army. That's meant to be Rhaegar's job to prevent. He's going out to battle. He's meant to give Robert a honorable single combat, prove himself as strong and fair - unlike the mockery of a "trial by combat" Aerys gave Rickard. Hence prove himself unlike his father first of all, probably give his explanations about Lyanna, and also make it clear he's against Aerys' actions and wanting to give the justice by deposing him.

No, Rhaegar isn't irresponsible, dumping that burden on younger Jaime. He does the responsible thing of taking all that upon himself. What does he expect of Jaime? As read above, he does not put Jaime in the mindset of a fighting machine that's supposed to save his family from anything unrealistic. He puts him in the mindset of someone who would be his man and oppose Aerys when the time comes - he's meant to be the one threat to his family when the chips fall down and he is taking the throne.

Whatever reading Rhaegar did of Jaime, he thought he could say those words to him (that would've been dangerous if he were wrong), that Jaime would have it in him to turn against Aerys (again not some ridiculous expectation - a frail man). And Rhaegar is clearly not dumb. He was right in his perception, wasn't he? (Is this where Jon Snow gets his amazing perceptive skills - "little his eyes do not see").

Why wasn't Arthur, a DORNISH man, with Elia?

Why would he be allowed to? We've already established Aerys calls the shots. And among them there's one KG specifically being sent away because he's Dornish and hence loyal to Elia (and Rhaegar). If Lewyn couldn't be there, why would Arthur?

Why did Rhaegar leave a whole THREE Kingsguards with Lyanna?

That is something I couldn't understand for a long time, too. Not only the specific number, but the fact that clearly Rhaegar can't just do whatever he wants with the Kingsguard. Why was this allowed?

It doesn't make sense until you go back to the Aerys-Rhaegar allegiance divide above. The three are Gerold (most loyal Aerys appears to have) and Arthur and Oswell (most loyal Rhaegar appears to have).

Gerold came from King's Landing to take Rhaegar. Oswell and Arthur would have already been with him. Either-

1. Gerold was sent with the order to stay behind with Lyanna. Aerys already took hold of Elia and the kids to control Dorne (and Rhaegar) and would have her in the hands of his most obedient man, too. Rhaegar cannot let that happen, as he plans to turn against Aerys while he's away. If he can't send Gerold away, he makes the compromise of leaving two of his own. One only would have been uncertain odds, but if Gerold eventually acts up when things unravel, he's outnumbered. Arthur and Oswell can do what they have to do and they are in an isolated location and can lie about it later to protect their honor.

2. Gerold wasn't meant to stay behind. But since Rhaegar is decided to depose Aerys, removing him from Aerys is an opportunity. Aerys/Gerold can be lured with the illusion of having a hold on Lyanna. Rhaegar had to leave someone (trustworthy) with her regardless but compromises his own numbers for the same reasoning above, if it means removing a barrier from between him and Aerys. Aerys would be blindsided in allowing in from that same perspective: Rhaegar is made to leave crucial allies behind.

[sasukesgucciflops]

Here I am back on my John Marston BS.

I pointed this out before ab how ppl loved calling John “watered down” but I’m also seeing people forget that he was also put on a very high fucking pedestal and had no idea how to handle it. In other words; he was the gifted kid who got burnt out after everyone expected everything from him. John never expected to be seen as such. He actually preferred to not be held to such a degree. I’m sick and tired of people feeding into the “John’s a golden boy” “John’s a piece of shit” narrative. Clearly these people have only seen RDR2 and have no clue about everything in RDR1 and yes I’m giving an attitude so y’all better catch it.

Here’s my John Marston character analysis and this is only about one aspect of him. (Wait until you see every other aspect bc I’ve literally dissected this man like a frog oops)

He never fucking asked for it. In fact, he didn’t expect jack shit from anybody. If anything, people used him. People used him up. You see it plainly in rdr1, he’s being used to hunt down his old partners. To find his old partners he’s gotta ask the sheriff, what does the sheriff do? He uses him to handle some lowlife gangs around the county. The sheriff ACCIDENTALLY—not even voluntarily—reveals someone that ends up somewhat helping him out. West Dickens—and what does he do? Uses him. Seth? Uses him. Travels over to another country, what do they do? USE HIM!

Okay, so rdr2—if you couldn’t get the picture already—John was one of Dutch’s MAIN PAWNS. That man raised John to USE HIM. John was young and had lots of energy and he was gullible enough to let Dutch do whatever with his naivety. The most fucked up thing about all of it, not only about how (almost) everyone saw him as a pawn, not as a genuine friend, saw him only for his uses;

John didn’t care. He knew he was being used but he didn’t care. Yes it bothers him and again he’s fully aware he’s being ran around in circles by all these people; it doesn’t matter. He sees himself as someone who is replaceable. He’s expendable. It’s whatever. He was always made to think this and perhaps he knew that it was his fate to be all used up and thrown out like it was nothing. And that’s what ended up happening.

No, he wasn’t a perfect father. He SHOULDVE done much much better about that. Just for that I let anti’s breathe a little because in Jack’s younger years, hell no John wasn’t a good father! John was in denial, busy trying to live up to his dreams of being someone he isn’t. On that note, John slowly realized that Abigail and Jack were probably the only ones that didn’t see him as a pawn; they just wanted him to be present and that causes him to do a 180. To him, it was worth dying for them. Maybe he felt as if he owed them a debt that could never be repayed—it’s almost like he expresses this to Jack a dozen different times. “I’m sorry, Son. I’m not going anywhere.” And “I know I wasn’t around a lot for you but I’m trying to make up for that”. He becomes viscerally aware of the damage of his absence (as he should) and it becomes something he fears he’ll never get to make up for.

Abigail never wanted to use him. She just wanted HIM. Jack—OF COURSE never wanted to use him, he wanted a FATHER. Honorable mention, but Arthur never saw him as a pawn either. In fact, he was well aware of how John was being treated, even mentioning it to him canonically, along the lines of, and I’m loosely quoting this, “At first you’ll be a prize pony until you become a work horse”. These people become so important to John—among others such as Bonnie, Charles, Sadie, even Uncle—because they never tried to use. him. John was more than expendable to them, he was worth something to them and for that he loved them and felt as if he would owe them for eternity.

I truly can’t believe some of y’all completely miss that whole point because it’s written EVERYWHERE it’s literally how John’s story goes and we experience it with him. His story is so fucking tragic and yes, while Arthur was the prime example of “having a doomed narrative from the start”, people don’t talk about how John is literally in the same boat. That man was always doomed, by his friends, the people he would try to call family—he was raised all the way up just to be put down…. THAT’S the story of John fucking Marston.

[jokeringcutio]

hiii

was wondering if i could request for arthur, like maybe you ended a friendship or relationship with him on the worst possible terms a few years back and saw eachother for the first time again in london

idk if that made sense but it’s just an idea 🫶🫶

Masterlist - Request Box - Support me on Ko-Fi AN: Sure thing! Here's a drabble :) Enjoy

Fandom: Joker (2019) Pairing: Arthur Fleck/Joker x Reader Rating: General/Teen Tags: Friendship, Moving abroad, Dark undertones. -- We Meet Again--

“Excuse me, miss,” a low nasal voice, but one you would recognize anywhere.

Arthur?

But it could not possibly be him, could it? He lived all the way back home in America. Why would he have come to London?

But when you turned around to face the owner of the voice, there was no mistaking. You’d recognize him anywhere.

“Oh my God, Arthur? Is that you?”

He looked so thin, so pale. But Arthur’s eyes still were as green as ever. They glistened with unshed tears and were bright with a mixture of emotions as if a hurricane of feelings had been trapped inside.

“You look great,” he said, voice nearly a stammer. But somehow he seemed to have recomposed himself as he spoke. You saw how his left hand clenched to form a fist and how he straightened his spine to stand a little straighter. Something in his eyes shifted. There was a confidence in them you had not seen in him before.

“You,” you started, but now it was you who stammered. Not Arthur. It always used to be the other way around. Your cheeks flushed and you brought a hand up to your lips, watched as he followed the movement with his own eyes, and saw how his lips parted in a silent sigh of longing.

Of course. After all these years. He still craved you.

You weren’t dumb, and neither were you blind. You could clearly see it in his eyes, how his pupils dilated with lust. You had known it before when you’d been friends. “You’re here,” you finally said, not knowing what else to say.

“I’m here,” Arthur confirmed in that nasal voice of his. A faint whiff of nicotine passed by. He still smoked then? Some things never changed.

“Cool,” you said, slightly at a loss for words because Arthur was here. Your Arthur. Your friend. Here.

“What are you doing in London?”

His eyes darkened and the corners of his lips twisted downward, displeased almost. But your question had been genuine interest, no refute. “Are you here for work?” You carefully asked when you saw the change in his expression. “Or to see a show?” You were near the musical theatres, so it was a proper guess.

“Such a coincidence, right?” Arthur said, not quite answering your question. Perhaps he didn’t want to share what he came to do here, you thought. Perhaps he was here with his family, or visiting a girlfriend. You knew your thoughts should not wander like that, but you still felt a pang of jealousy in your heart when you thought about him moving on. Things hadn’t been official between the two of you. You’d just been friends. But still….

You watched him as he flashed you a toothy smile. It wasn’t a gentle one, you noticed, but rather reminded you of those pictures of a shark grinning. “Remember how much fun we used to have?” he then asked, and you suddenly understood why he carried the smile he was.

You bit your lip, suddenly feeling guilty for having ended things as abruptly and as suddenly as you had. You were very much aware that Arthur had trouble striking up friendships, even back then. Whether it was due to his condition or his shyness when around others, it didn’t matter. He hadn’t scared you away.

Sometimes you wished he had.

He had made you intensely aware that you were one of his only friends back then, perhaps the only one he fully trusted, and then you had ghosted on him. Not even told him you were going to leave.

Truth be said, it wasn’t entirely your fault. Your parents had talked so often about making the move to the UK that you’d not believed it was going to happen until it was. And once it had become real, telling Arthur seemed to become impossible. You knew how he would react. He would feel as if you left him alone.

Which was in the end exactly what you had done.

Just a note that said you and your parents moved abroad.

Just a hurriedly scribbled note.

And Arthur couldn’t even properly read.

What had you been thinking?

“I never stopped thinking about you,” something in his voice was thick, as if clouded with emotion. He swallowed, audibly, then finally allowed his eyes to come and rest upon your face. You saw that the harshness disappeared from his eyes and that the shark-like smile fell from his lips until it was just him again. Just your friendly Arthur. The man who had made you feel less lonely and who had made you feel understood so many years ago.

“I missed you,” you finally admitted. You were glad he was standing here, unexpected and improbable as it was. Your hand reached for the lapel of his coat, gently taking hold of it while you watched his face for his expression. His eyes widened slightly, but there was no sign of gesture for you to stop. And so you stepped closer to him and inhaled his scent. You closed your eyes while you drew a breath, and opened them with a smile curving your lips.

Arthur was looking down at you, eyes intense. His jaw was chiseled, his lips pressed into a thin line. There was such concentration upon his face, even as he brought his hand up to your face and brushed a knuckle gently past your cheek.

We should get a drink, you wanted to say. I want to meet you again, get to know you, who you are now. What changed? What remained the same? How was your life when I was gone? But you didn’t say any of that.

Instead, you leaned into his gentle caressing touch and parted your lips in a soft whimper. It felt good, the warmth of his palm on your skin.

You were friends. Nothing more than that. But you knew he wanted it to be more. He always had. And by the sight of it, he still did. “Did you miss me too?” you asked, voice small, as if you were scared to hear the answer.

But you knew it deep down inside. The way his eyes softened and his lashes fluttered, the way he stood close to you and caressed your cheek. How his other hand now circled around you, found the back of your neck and drew you close.

You hoped he could forgive you for having left the way you had. You hoped he still wanted you as much as he did then, because this time you were older, wiser, and smarter. This time, you knew you wanted him too.

“Did you miss me too?” you’d asked.

“You have no idea, love,” Arthur said, something dark sparked within his eyes. His grip on you became more possessive, tighter. “You truly have no idea.” ~

AN: Of course we have an Arthur who turned Joker here and deliberately came to seek our dear Reader out now that he has the means to, because why not? You think he’s gonna forget about you just like that? Na- ah! 👀

Masterlist - Request Box - Support me on Ko-Fi

[bitsandbobsofwriting]

Mini story idea / Headcannon

Arthur rises from the dead today and he and Merlin have to decide if they are going to challenge Charles III for the throne

(Headcanon Masterlist) (Full Masterlist)

This is such a fun idea and I'm going to make it fluffy cracky lol :D

I mean... I imagine if anyone were to, in the modern world, somehow break into Buckingham Palace/Windsor/wherever and claim to be the real King Arthur back to take his throne, they would immediately, and very quietly, be sectioned. Even if they had a convincing/genuine medieval sword/armour/etc, then... it's not like anyone would believe them?? Even if Arthur managed to get super up to date on the modern world, he'd still be no match for a bunch of security agents, soldiers, Beefeaters, etc, who would tackle him to the floor rather viciously if he got anywhere near any of the Royal Family.

Plus... Britain isn't split up the same way as it was before; England wasn't England back then, Wales wasn't Wales back then, etc. So what would Arthur actually be claiming? Camelot doesn't exist anymore, the world as he knew doesn't exist anymore. That's completely ignoring the fact that Parliament, the UN, NATO, the Geneva Convention, etc all exist now. Huge governing bodies/laws that sort of... supersede the throne? Like yeah, the monarchy has a lot of money and power, but it's not like they can declare war out of the blue, or have complete financial control over the country, or force people to work in their households. Even on the off chance Merlin and Arthur could somehow convince the general public that they were legit... what's next?? Certain countries would call England/Britain crazy and use it as an excuse to invade/takeover, they'd be overruled, not to speak of the fact that the Royal Family kind of has a cult following, and anyone who ousted them, no matter how deserving, would be loathed world-wide.

I feel like they don't even question it, they don't even consider mounting some sort of coup, because the world is just not the same and it wouldn't achieve anything. Instead, they go for The Old Guard/Six Underground sort of thing (if you haven't seen them, they're on Netflix, watch immediately, they're some of my fave movies ever), in that they keep it super low-key whilst they save the world. They go to war-torn territories and help out before disappearing, mysteriously enough with no one remembering quite what their names/faces were. They find the most evil motherucker they can, and they deal with them, with barely anyone the wiser. But between that, between saving the world, they just... exist. Merlin takes Arthur all over the world to show him his favourite places, food, monuments, hotels, people, sunsets. They grow veg in their garden and they have dogs and cats and birds and squirrels and foxes. Merlin talks Arthur through every single antique he has in his collection and they just... live, you know??

Arthur loved his kingdom, he loved his people, and he loved serving them, but his kingdom, his people, the need for his servitude, is all gone now. So he gets to just... be a person. Just a person, no more important than anyone else. I honestly believe that that's all he's ever wanted. The amount of love and respect Arthur had for his Kingdom... I think it crippled him, in the end, because he very rarely got to grow in the way he deserved to grow, and he very rarely got what he deserved. It's that horrible paradox of, if he weren't a King, he'd have made a wonderful King, but being a King, made he less aware of what needed to be done as King. If that makes any sense at all. Let me know😅

~

Anyway anon, I hope this entertained you and made sense lol!! :D

[oaxleaf]

mag 145 - infectious doubt

i really like gertrude, in that i think she's a wonderfully written character, and this episode i think really is a highlight of her. it perfectly shows how, despite how deeply entrenched in this all she was, despite how dedicated she was to her cause, she was never emotionally too invested. she shows such casual cruelty, but only in what she views as necessity. if you flip it the other way around, you can also say that if she thinks the situation justifies it, she'll be willing to commit atrocities

i'd also love to find out more about her in her younger days. there must have been a reason she was chosen, but quite frankly in the older, more experienced state we always see her, she doesn't show many eye-aligned traits. like i said, there doesn't seem to be much investment or curiosity in her, nor does she have a tendency for neither inaction nor over-dabbling. so a younger version of her, something following her first decade or so as archivist (which would include her tying herself to agnes) would be fascinating

gertrude and agnes' bond is one i'm also curious about. i actually quite like the concept of soulmates. not in a 'perfeclty made lovers' sense, but more in a 'no matter how hard you try to be seperate, fate will always intertwine your lives' kinda way. which, considering they're both very isolated characters, is something that could have made for a very interesting dynamic. sadly, hearing them interact would have sort of broken the point of agnes' character, but i still deeply crave to find out what they said to each other the one time they did speak

arthur nolan is surprisingly sensible here. i don't think his assessment of agnes is any more accurate than anybody else's, but he is at least aware of it. there is some shade of genuinity in it. he's in general just far more introspective than i'd expected, and also seems to understand dream logic to some extent. sadly enough, he is, at the end of the day, still a landlord, and can therefore get fucked

[morgansunflower]

My Beloved Dear

Jason Todd X Wayne! Al Ghul! Reader

Bruce Wayne X Talia al Ghul

Warnings:suggestive content, explicit language and angst.

Words:1462

Arthur's notes! Third P. O. V. Good mom Talia! Damian Wayne is Damian Todd. Y/N is pregnant with Damian

Requested taglist @too-strong-to-lose

Jason wasn't the one who was killed by Joker it was Y/N. She had been living with her mother whilst visiting her Father and Alfred.. And especially Jason. Though things take a turn for the worse once she tries to take Jason's place when Joker plots to kill him.

Jason stepped into the dark hideout after a night of patrol. He turned on his lights and sense a presence behind him. He instantly turned with his pistols. A woman comes from the shadows.

"Talia!"

"I did not come here to fight you child" she scoffed.

"threaten me?" he said coldly, he knew shouldn't be cold but... He seemed to have lost a bit of himself.

"I came to tell you matters to which you should know. I am fully aware of your affections for my daughter"

Y/N his love. He had to take a deep breath from the force that fell onto his chest. He lowered his arms putting his weapons back in his holsters.

"inform me about, what Talia?" he asked with a calmer tone.

"you know I am to never lie just as my father. Be that as it may you will likely not believe what I am to say regarding.. My daughter" Talia then sadly smiled. "why don't you be a gentleman as I know Alfred taught you to be and make me some tea young man?"

"ok.. Sure have a seat wherever you like" he was quite glad he took Alfred's tea ingredients when he had got the chance.

She sat on the chair. He would love to see what shades of red Bruce would turn seeing her in here. As he poured a cup for her and himself. He can't help but wonder why she's here. Guilt? A chance to know her daughter's lover? He misses Y/N. He misses seeing her kind smile and her e/c eyes. Being able to tell her about his day and talk to her for hours without end. He gave Talia her cup and sat on the other chair.

"thank you" she said kindly

What the hell? Did he miss something?

"Y-yeah sure thing" he awkwardly said

That's when he understood how Bruce fell in love with her. She had a hidden kindness. She had layers.

She looked to her tattoo on her wrist of Y/N's favorite flower "my father underestimated Joker's madness just as he underestimated my love for your father. Though he did not believe in death that had no purpose.. You know well he's used the lazarus pit to remain alive for many years.. I was a grieving mother but she.. She returned to us damaged and disappeared into the darkness.. I tried to track her down for months but I've been able to gather she is still alive"

Jason felt a train hit his heart as it pounded and for the first time since she died, he feels he can breathe. He wants to feel her soft touch. She's alive. She needs him. He has to find her. His eyes wanted to shake. He wanted to hold her in his arms again. He wanted to cry.

Talia stands placing the cup on the coffee table and placed her hand on his shoulder "your silence proves how moved you are, by what I have said. Proving to me that you do indeed love her and for that I grant you my blessing"

He nodded with a sad smile "I am very in love with her"

"rest now, in a few moments we will begin our search"

"wait, wait! Does anyone else know about this" he asked then her face fell further. "does Bruce?.."

"I cannot expect my beloveds reaction to my presence be accepted with welcome arms" her voice hinted with a genuine heartbroken tone

"maybe not, I guess he deserves to know" things between Bruce and Jason are not exactly functional.

"yes, he does" she agreed her heart sinking knowing how much she has broken his heart.

"thank you" he said, she gently bowed her head and then left

He couldn't stand because he's in such shock. He couldn't even move. He takes a deep breath reaching for his phone. Dick nearly fainted when he got the phone call from his little brother. He almost thought it was just Jason hoping too much.. Though the heaviness in Jason's voice. Triggered Grayson's big brother mode, he had to help him find her.

Bruce's sitting in his chair in the Bat-cave. He smells Jasmine, rose of taif.. Talia!

"Talia" he rose from his chair to see her. "if this is regarding our daughter I already know. You should have nev--" she prevented him from speaking further

"how dare you?!" she yelled "Y/N is my daughter just as much as she is yours! Do you believe that I truly wanted her to have the life I did? I never wanted to lie to you but my father was going to betray you! I lied to spare you! She refused to not know you. Do you believe I wanted to be a assassin? I wanted to be different for you but you could never see--" Bruce grabbed her hand pulling her into a passionate kiss. One reason he had truly missed her. Second reason was that he was scared, scared to lose her, to lose their only daughter. They both sat in the batmobile to go search for their precious daughter. The silence was agonizing.

"I told Jason" she admitted to her beloved.

"you what?" he asked in a angered tone.

"he loves her I understood his pain in losing something that you once held dearly"

"you mean to tell me you knew of their relationship without my knowledge" her beloved said looking at her with a appalled look on his face

She scoffed "you're the detective or perhaps mother's intuition is stronger than your rice sized brain"

He grunts "dammit Talia"

Y/N shakes as she hears Joker's sick laugh sending a shiver down her spine. She's gonna throw up! She's so scared she'll never get out of this nightmare. She vomited into the alleyway. She finally stop her knees desiring to buckle. She walked for a few minutes but she doesn't know how much longer she's got. She crouched into a fetal position on the ground. Nothing seems clear. She can hardly even remember where she came from. She closed her eyes seeing a bright smile. His kind eyes with a heart warming laugh. She feels her heart beating fast with her e/c eyes shaking..... She jolted awake hearing a faded man's voice. She moved back, as he touched her face, crawling backward. She can't catch her own breath from complete shaking hands. All she could see is red, black and leather from his uniform. He takes off his helmet. He smiles, she knows that smile.. His arms were open in a cautioned manner.

"hey! Hey! Y/N it's me, it's me" he takes his mask off "it's me babe" his eye's shake with a brittle voice.

It's him. It's really him! She began to sob and weakly open her arms. His face broke into a helpless cry. Jason smiled lifting her into his arms. She buried her face in his neck. She heard, him began to cry. He takes her to the Bat-cave yelling for Alfred. He ordered Jason to lay her on the stretcher. They hooked her to an I-V. Alfred used a scanner to look for internal injuries. He gasped stopping near her abdomen. What he saw brought him to tears. He looks to Jason whom was kissing her cheek and then her lips. Alfred reached out to his grandson motioning him to look at the scan on the small computer by the stretcher.

"is that...." Jason gasps, how? The Lazarus brought them both back.

"it is indeed" Alfred smiled, she would have to be put on bed rest. He was more than willing to help her, breakfast in bed, her medicine. Anything his granddaughter would need.

Both Talia and Bruce run in to see their daughter, to the where she laid. She could see Jason his tears were stained on his cheeks. Jason glared to Bruce with enraged steps. Dick came into the room he nearly fell from shock to see his baby sister. Talia then looked seeing the image of her grandchild on the screen.

"you knew she was alive for 4 weeks! You didn't even have the guts to tell me!!" Jason said with a angered glare

"you kept your relationship with my daughter a secret from me for years. I only found out hours ago" he said enraged with folded arms.

"and what was I just a damn soldier to you?!!" Jason accused

Talia instantly got between them pushing them away from each other.

"both of you silence yourselves! Y/N is going to have our grandchild and I will not have the child live with quarrel among this family" she ordered to the men whom were behaving like children.

"Y/N is pregnant?!" Dick nervously exclaimed

[groundbreakingdot872]

mergwen dancing 💖

The Years following the Great Purge

Merlin taking Gwen by surprise and awkwardly asks her to dance after their first kiss, Morgana cheering from the center of the room as they knock knees in the corner of the party. They’re both red, no they won’t do this again!, but their friendship is emboldened with the memories of that semi-embarrassing night.

The Wedding Day

Gwen letting Merlin twirl her around on her wedding day, before giving her away to a slow, romantic dance with Arthur. She looks over her husband’s shoulder and gives him the biggest smile, and Merlin feels it all so strongly and so suddenly. He smiles back just as wide.

The Reign of King Arthur

Merlin stepping on all of her toes in the Queen’s chambers, while Arthur sits nearby, busy with treatises and things; their exclamations and bouts of laughter offer a salve for his tired mind.

He watches Gwen work as instructor, affectionately frustrated with her partner, and Merlin hopelessly trying, both flushed by the end of the impromptu dance lesson. He would never admit it (to Merlin), but it remained one of his favorite memories, their easy companionship some strange comfort on that night. It was lovely to watch.

———————- ——-

Post-Camlaan, 2 years later…

The Queen’s first royal ball since Camlaan, the Court Sorcerer by her side, their stoic figures slowly melting into quiet laughter as they watch new couples bask in the era of peace. It’s them all over again.

He puts out his hand, a question arising and Gwen accepts it with a gentle grip, fully aware of how everything will be observed; an old friend sacrificed to the harsh and vengeful rumors of the surviving court, they will not hesitate in the wake of the late King. She struggles to enjoy the moment.

But as she looks into his eyes, she sees the warm friendship of all their years in his gaze, a mirror to her own thoughts, fears and late-night grief.

Merlin’s face looks the most vulnerable than she had seen in almost a decade, the most wide-open since His death; a genuine solidarity in age, both matured by the terrible years behind them.

She drops her mask, and gives him a small smile, bittersweet with the exhausting burden of remembrance, and realizes that Merlin might be the only one who truly understands. Her heart speeds up in a familiar yet newly profound rhythm, as they take their places on the floor, hand to waist, hand to heart; their movements made perfect by time, and hardly a space between them to feel a loss.

As the dance comes to a close, and he returns her smile with a questioning one of his own, a small hope blossoms; in the arms of the only man she can trust to hold her steady.

He is the same yet changed, heavy-hearted yet devotedly admirable, his eyes sparkling with a promise that’s a vibrant gold in the endless horizon ahead of her, a buoying kindness to preserve her.

She wonders, hesitantly, is this history repeated, a cruel destiny turned legacy? Or more a grounding promise, sealed with the wishes of the past they were both cursed to remember.

The answer didn’t seem to matter looking up at him, his breath mixing with hers in a recollection of their own, an old attraction newly-formed.

As his gaze locked on hers, the familiar blue ringed with gold, a content feeling settled into her chest as she realized; that just as fickle as a foretold destiny, as bright as their enduring legend, and as synchronized as a soulmate, she and him, had been dancing all along.

[nextstopparis]

i dont know how to explain, but it’s not even arthur’s “just hold me” that fucks me up. its the way he breathes out a pained “please” as if he thinks merlin might deny him.

[weasleylangs]

secrets i have held in my heart - f.w

Pairing: Fred x Fem!Reader Summary: Everyone in the twins’ lives mix them up once in a while, except for Y/N. Fred is dying to know how.  Warnings: Some angst with a happy ending, yes I wrote oblivious Fred again with miscommunication issues, what about it, some swearing, brief mention of the war but obviously this is a FredLives!AU :D, mentions of sex but nothing descriptive it’s like one line, - everyone is 18+ by the way!  Word Count: 4k

A/N: For the anon who requested super secret mutual pining with some angst where the reader is the only person who can tell the twins apart! Thank you so much for requesting. This has also been cross-posted on AO3 (frederickweasleys) as per the anon’s request! 

Also, I didn’t want to write about a 17 and 15 year old pining after each other, so I made everyone older and it’s postwar, however I was like 2000 words into the fic when I remembered George got his mf ear blasted off in DH so…. U do not see that it’s not canon in this fic thank you

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

The sun is blaring down on The Burrow and everyone is starting to wonder the likelihood of getting heatstroke. They’re in the south-west of England and the weather doesn’t usually get above the early 20s in the middle of August, however, mother nature has decided to wreak havoc and today is almost 30°. 

Y/N is looking at the pages in her book but she’s not processing anything on the pages. She’s so appreciative of the relaxing life she and all her loved ones finally have. The war ended last year, and while Y/N isn’t family, Molly and Arthur are always insistent she’s welcomed at The Burrow for their Sunday roast dinners. 

So she sits under a tree, the muggle fantasy novel in hand as Molly is busy prepping dinner and her friends all play quidditch. Hermione’s been refereeing them despite having no actual knowledge of the rules, and right now, she’s waving Harry’s copy of ‘Quidditch Through The Ages’ at one of the twins trying to prove a point, fully aware she’s going to get nowhere with him. He’s laughing at her and he raises the hand holding the beater’s bat as he threatens to (softly) hit her with it when he looks over her shoulder and spots his favourite girl perched under the tree with his mum’s homemade lemonade. 

Before Y/N knows it, the bat’s been thrown in her direction, barely missing her and hitting the tree behind her, and when she looks up, she immediately recognises the twin as Fred. Fred and Y/N are almost two sides of the same coin and their friendship has always been considered unlikely. Fred loves mischief and pranks and he’s extremely exuberant where Y/N is a ‘stickler for the rules’ (Fred’s words, not hers) and she’d much rather spend her day reading than playing quidditch. But their friendship blossomed and eventually for Y/N her feelings evolved into more. 

But Y/N is one of Ron’s best friends, and having a crush on her best friend’s older brother is weird, even if they are 19 and 21. 

“Hi Freddie,” she says, dog-earing the page and closing her novel, accepting now that Fred’s in her presence, the book isn't getting read again until tonight, “no more quidditch?” 

The ginger gives her a shit-eating grin and completely ignores her question, “Darling, I’m George.” 

Y/N squints at him for a brief moment, second-guessing herself but the longer she looks at him the more she’s sure it’s Fred, not George in front of her. “No, you’re Fred. I’ve known you for how long? Just accept I can tell you apart.” 

Fred mutters a ‘fuck’ under his breath as he sits down. He’s always loved that Y/N is the only person who can tell them apart, his own family struggling sometimes and especially when they’re apart. But no matter what, she somehow gets it right every single time and he’s dying to know how.

“You’re never going to tell me how you do it, are you?” He questions and she replies how she always does when he asks, blaming it on intuition and that she doesn’t know how she does it. As always, he doesn’t believe her. Y/N secretly does have a way of easily telling the twins apart, not rooted in intuition in the slightest but she doesn’t want to tell him. 

The truth is, the way her heart races when Fred looks or speaks to her is her way of telling them apart. Fred always has a mischievous glint in his brown eyes and the way he looks at Y/N makes her feel like she’s the only girl in the world. George is sweet, loving and exceptionally kind- he was there as a source of comfort and calmness for Y/N when the trio disappeared during their 7th year to hunt Horcruxes, when she and her family went into hiding. She loves George like she would love a brother, like how she loves Ron and Harry, but the love Y/N has for Fred is different and the catalyst for her ability to tell them apart.

“I’m going to get you one day. One day George and I will swap and you’ll get it wrong and as a reward for finally tricking the oh so wonderful Miss Y/N Y/L/N, you’ll tell me how you tell us apart.” 

-

It’s not even an hour later when Fred and George come down wearing each other’s clothing. Y/N’s well aware Fred prefers to wear warm and bright colours while George likes to wear the dark colours in their coordinated clothing, so seeing Fred walk down the stairs in George’s purple shirt and vice versa is funny, despite the fact they’re identical twins, Y/N thinks they look ridiculous and unfamiliar.

“George put the purple back on. You look weird in orange,” she says, as she goes back to help Molly with the vegetables for dinner and soon after she speaks, she hears someone angrily kick the table. She looks up from her potatoes she’s been peeling to see an entertained George and Fred who looks like he’s going to throw a child-size tantrum. 

“How!” He exclaims again, pulling the shirt up over his head, shoving it in George’s hands and stomping back upstairs to change. Y/N is about to follow him, genuine concern for Fred in tow. She knows he’s most likely just being dramatic to cause a ruckus but there’s a small part of her that considers he might be serious. 

“He’s fine, Y/N,” George states, changing his shirts and throwing Fred’s orange one over the back of the chair as he sits down, “I think he’s trying to rile you up into telling him how you do it.” 

She laughs at this, knowing that while she might not have told him, the look in George’s eye hints that he’s picked up on her feelings for his twin brother. But before she can say anything, Ron comes bounding down the stairs and right into the kitchen, Harry in tow. They’re both looking for food and when Ron’s hand makes his way towards the ham, Y/N smacks him.

“Don’t spoil your dinner,” she scolds which causes Harry to laugh. 

“But, mum,” Ron mockingly replies, “All the quidditch got me hungry!” He might be 19 but he’s sulking like a 10-year-old boy and Y/N thinks temper tantrums might run in the Weasley family. 

When Molly isn’t looking, however, Y/N sneaks him a piece of ham and Ron jumps up quickly, smacking a kiss to her cheek, “You’re the best!” he whispers as he quickly shoves the piece of ham in his mouth to not be caught by his mother. 

Soon enough, everyone’s crammed into the small kitchen and Molly waves them all out except Y/N, who she insists stays. She thinks it’s because she was already helping with the vegetables but when she’s about to ask for her next task, Molly has a rare mischievous glint in her eye.

“How do you tell my sons apart?” She enquires and Y/N groans. She hasn’t been asked how she tells the twins apart this often since she was at Hogwarts and before she can speak, Molly continues, “it’s just no one can besides us, and even then, sometimes I catch myself calling George, Fred sometimes.” 

Y/N sighs. She loves Molly like her own mother, but she loves to meddle like every mother. 

“I just know, I wish I had some excuse like a mother’s instinct, but I just know,” Y/N pauses and thinks how to word her next statement without spilling too much for potential eavesdroppers and Extendable Ears to hear, “They have different energies. I think I pick up on it easily.” 

Y/N hopes that’s enough for Molly to drop the conversation at hand and while Molly hums in agreement, she reads between the lines. She’s known for a while that Y/N carries a flame for the oldest twin, after all the way Y/N looks at Fred is the same way she looks at Arthur, so she’s hoping for the day they both stop dancing around their feelings. 

She already loves Y/N like a daughter, and she’d like it to be official one day. 

-

After dinner, the girls are all holed up in Ginny’s room. She loves staying at The Burrow. Y/N never grew up with sisters and her friendship with Hermione and Ginny are the closest she gets to them. They usually gossip, who’s dating who, who’s already getting married, sometimes it gets juicy and someone’s pregnant. 

When Ginny and Harry, and Hermione and Ron finally got together, they gushed for hours about how it finally happened and how excited they all were.

Tonight, unfortunately, the topic at hand is Y/N and Fred.

“When are you going to tell him?” Ginny enquires as she smooths out her face mask. Hermione’s braiding Y/N’s hair and when she doesn’t reply, Hermione grasps some hair and gives a hard tug. Y/N yelps and while Hermione mutters an apology, she doesn’t miss the wink she gives Ginny in the mirror.

“Tell Fred what exactly?” 

“About your feelings for him,” Ginny replies like it’s the most obvious thing in the world that everyone should have known. Y/N starts to stutter, trying to find words to deny her feelings but these are her two best girl friends, her sisters and she can’t lie to them no matter how much she wants to. 

“Okay fine, they exist but he’s never knowing,” she states, a matter of factly as if it’s something to be proud of, “and he’s never finding out. I’m looking at you, Ginevra.” Ginny inherited her love to meddle from her mother, and if Y/N is positive about anything it’s that Ginny is going to meddle to get her best friend and brother together. 

“I’m pretty sure he likes you back,” Hermione says. She prides herself on being observant but even she didn’t notice Ron’s feelings for her until he quite literally put his lips on hers. 

“I’m just his little siblings’ best friend, Hermione, I doubt it,” she says as she grabs the tiny elastics to secure her hair. “Besides, I think he has a thing with one of the girls from his year at school.”

“You’re choosing now of all days to get the wrong twin? George is dating Angelina. Fred hasn’t even been seen with a girl since he slept with one of Fleur’s cousins at the wedding.” Ginny says and something about this makes Y/N blush, almost happy that Fred’s been single for as long as she has, but the jealousy is in the back of her mind.

“... Shut up,” Y/N laughs as she grabs the nearest pillow and smacks Ginny over the head with it. This causes chaos in Ginny’s tiny bedroom and soon enough all three girls are defending themselves with pillows and jumping around the bedroom.

What none of the girls knew, however, was Fred standing outside of the bedroom, eavesdropping. He’s always been curious about what the girls talk about when the boys aren’t around and Fred reckons if he doesn’t have to hear about his little siblings’ sex life, it doesn’t hurt anybody. 

Except it does, and he hurts himself. He arrived just in time for Ginny to question why Y/N doesn’t admit her feelings to someone. At first, Fred was hopeful, especially when the conversation steers in the direction of her liking one of the twins. After all, Bill’s married, Percy’s… Well, he’s Percy and Charlie isn’t in England enough for him to believe Y/N was able to develop feelings for him. 

So that leaves himself and George from context clues. He’s always had a crush on her ever since they were in school, but he was always worried about coming off as creepy, pining after someone two years below him. 

But then Y/N says ‘I think he has a thing with one of the girls from his year at school’ and he walks off before he even hears the rest of the conversation, hearing the apparent confirmation of Y/N’s feelings for George. 

-

The summer is still sweltering hot when she decides to visit Diagon Alley three days later. She’s shopping for her nephew when she ends up in Weasley’s Wizard Wheezes. Fred was unusually quiet when she said goodbye to him on Monday morning before she floo’d away to her job at the Ministry and she’s hoping to catch him at the shop during quiet hour. 

When she walks in, she’s met with a bell ringing and the voice that calls out ‘Hi, how are you today!’ doesn’t make her heart race so she immediately knows she’s caught the wrong twin at the counter.

“Hey, Georgie!” She makes her way over to the counter. It’s a Wednesday morning, so the shop has a lull in customers and he’s doing what Y/N assumes is a stock take of whizbangs. He gives her a nice smile as she potters her way over to him. She stops in front of the love potions, smelling the familiar scent of cinnamon, fireworks and something that can only be described as happiness in the small bottles. She’s so entranced for a moment that she doesn’t even notice George make his way up next to her.

“You don’t need one of these, by the way,” He whispers as he winks, looking behind him and seeing Fred standing on top of the spiral staircase not looking the happiest. 

“You’re the second person to tell me that this week,” she mutters, quickly putting the love potion vial down, “I don’t know what any of you mean.”

George chuckles at her obliviousness. It’s been obvious since they were teenagers about the feelings both Fred and Y/N harbour for each other but he can’t help but admit it’s just the tiniest bit funny. Like it’s a joke they’re all in on except the oblivious couple themselves.

“It’s because we’re more observant than you, darling,” George says, absent-mindedly fixing the display so it looks presentable. Y/N’s about to question him when someone clears their throat behind them- an elderly gentleman shopping for some grandkids when George excuses himself with the promise ‘this isn’t over’. 

Fred watched the interaction from the staircase and while he didn’t hear anything, he feels like he’s gotten punched in the stomach. He knows he’s never directly told George about his feelings for Y/N, and George is dating Angelina anyway and he’d never betray her, but he can’t ignore the slight feeling of upset he feels when he sees them interact.

-

“I think Y/N likes you,” Fred says nonchalantly and George almost chokes on his tea. It takes him a moment to fix his breathing before he looks at Fred like he’s got three heads.

“No, she doesn’t?” George questions, like it’s the most obvious thing in the entire world and that upsets Fred slightly. He’s not upset at George, he never has and he never will be upset with George, but it seems like his comment was brushed off without any deeper consideration.

“No, I think she does,” Fred says, twiddling his quill between his fingers as he stares at the tax invoice in front of him. Wednesday night is budget night and Fred knows he’s not going to get any work done if his mind is stuck on Y/N and her feelings for George.

“No, mate, she doesn’t,” George huffs and Fred notices the eye roll George gives him. George only ever gives him eye rolls when he’s being oblivious. Like when Fred spent 20 minutes looking for his wand last week only to find it in his pocket.

Fred’s convinced George is just being oblivious, blinded by his new relationship with Angelina that he hasn’t noticed Y/N’s feelings for him. “Do you wonder how she can tell us apart?” 

George huffs in annoyance as a reply and Fred pouts as he attempts to go back to his taxes. He’s reread the same line three times when George finally speaks.

“I think it’s got something to do with her feelings for us. She feels differently about one twin.” George is intentionally being coy, hoping to Godric that Fred caught the pointed stare and the emphasis but Fred wasn’t looking and the longer he dwells on what George has said the more he’s convinced he doesn’t have a chance with Y/N at all.

- 

It’s the weekly Sunday roast again and Fred isn’t expecting to floo into The Burrow and be met almost face to face with Y/N. He’s planned on ignoring her today, purposely volunteering to do any work needed at the shop while George floo’s to The Burrow early in the afternoon. 

It teeters on 5 pm when Fred finally arrives and he’s quickly engulfed in a hug by his mother with his father behind him telling him to stop working on Sundays as ‘Sundays are for family’. With a kiss to his mum’s forehead and a promise to his dad that he’ll force George into doing the Sunday work next week, who throws a piece of stale bread at Fred’s head while exclaiming ‘you offered!’ he quickly makes his way away from Y/N.

Molly’s quick to serve up dinner now Fred’s here, complaining he’s starving already. He quickly steals the seat next to Ron and pulls George down next to him- not wanting to allow Y/N to sit either side of him. Usually, she sits between Ron and Fred and when she turns the corner and the only available seat is the furthest from Fred, her heat sinks a little.

Dinner is pleasant, it always is at The Burrow. Hermione and Y/N talk about the ministry while Ginny tells stories of her Holyhead Harpies tryouts she had during the week. Y/N might let slip she works with the coach’s sister-in-law and overheard some high praise for a certain Miss. Weasley and Ginny’s eyes fill with tears when she hears this. 

There’s a quick lull in conversation as Molly waves her wand and the now empty plates make their way into the kitchen, children following behind them ready to help wash up but Fred makes his way outside. He likes to watch the sunset, the sun slowly dipping behind the hills where he learnt how to play quidditch as a kid as the sun becomes shades of orange. 

He’s sitting under the tree when Y/N follows him out. She’s shouting his name trying to find him. He slipped out without anyone noticing and that’s unusual for Fred so something is wrong. When she spots him, she starts jogging over and she can’t tell if he’s ignoring her or can’t hear her calling his name, so she tries something.

“George?” 

Fred turns, a smirk subconsciously forming on his lips and Y/N finally feels seen by him in a week. “It took me calling you your brother’s name to get your attention?” She asks, kicking sticks out of the way before she takes a seat next to him. 

“No, love. Just shocked you finally got us mixed up,” he replies, shoving her a little with his elbow. He knows she only did it to get his attention, but he’s Fred Weasley and he’s going to use this to his advantage. “I believe I told you when you get us mixed up, you’re legally required to tell me how you do it. I’m all ears.” He wiggles his eyebrows but deep down, he’s scared George’s assumption is right.

She rolls her eyes, but the love she has for this boy in her heart can’t be kept a secret anymore. This week she’s felt like he’s been ignoring her and while she and Fred are no means ‘best friends’, not like she is with the others, she’s felt a little piece of her universe missing knowing he’s been upset.

“You and George, I… I feel different about you to how I feel about George,” she starts and Fred’s breath hitches. He doesn’t know if he’s going to storm off or throw up so he just sits and stares at a rock. “George makes me feel comfortable. He’s always willing to talk to me about anything, feeds into the fact I can speak for hours on end about any topic if you let me,” she laughs and her nervousness is in her throat. She notices Fred isn’t looking at her and it’s making her want to run away.

“But you, you feel like home, Freddie. The way my heart races when I hear you speak or when you look at me. It’s the biggest indicator of how I tell you guys apart. George and you may be identical but the way you both make me feel is so different.” She’s whispering now and she’s realised Fred is looking at her so intently that the Earth might open up and swallow her whole. 

“Like, home?” 

She smiles softly and takes his big hand that’s been messing with rocks into her small ones. “Like I can tell you anything and you’ll never judge me. I could be having the worst day of my life and one joke from you can make me smile even if I’ve been crying for hours.” Her thumb starts to rub along the top of his hand and the way he shivers doesn’t miss her. 

“I’m trying to say, in a round-about kind of way, that I’m in love with you, Freddie,” her voice is shaky but there’s no backing out now. “I’m in love with you and this past week where it’s felt like you’re mad at me has me so confused because I don’t know what I did.” 

Fred feels incredibly guilty now, he was so caught up in his own feelings that he didn’t stop to think how his actions would affect Y/N. “I thought you liked George,” he whispers, and he feels his cheeks heat up in embarrassment. “I thought you liked George and not me and I didn’t want to be near you knowing that.” 

She giggles and drops his hands to run her fingers through his hair. It’s still short but she thinks she can convince him to grow it out again. “Me? George? Not even for a second.” 

“Why not?” The joking in Fred’s voice is there but so is the genuine curiosity. 

“I don’t know. It’s just always been you, ever since I was 11 and you were bullying Ron into performing a spell to turn Scabbers yellow.” She laughs at the memory, watching scrawny Fred bully his small brother on the train platform. 

Fred looks down at her, her hands now playing at the hair at the back of his neck and he feels goosebumps rise across his skin. He wants nothing more to lean down and press a kiss to her lips and when he realises he never actually admitted his feelings to Y/N back, he starts to lean down, hoping to convey everything he feels for her through a kiss.

She’s quick to catch on and she leans up so quickly they almost bump noses. It’s messy, like most first kisses are, especially in an awkward sitting down position but the love they have for each other is there and obvious. They pull away when they’re barely kissing anymore, just smiling and laughing into each other’s mouths. 

“Does this mean we’re dating now?” Fred asks. It’s a dumb question, they both know it but when Y/N pretends to think he stands up and hauls her over his shoulders and starts swinging her around. The giggles that erupt from her make Fred’s heart swell and he’s about to put her down just to get down on one knee himself and propose right then and there.

“Yes, Freddie, if you want me to be your girlfriend then I’m yours.” Y/N replies and Fred smiles, he loves that. Not Y/N being his, he could never believe she’s an object, but she loves him and he loves her and now he understands why George was rolling his eyes at him.

“As long as you don’t get George and I mixed up in bed, I’m all yours.” He says it jokingly, but the smack he receives from Y/N is no joke and when he starts swinging her around again, he’ll forever make dumb jokes like this if he gets to hear her laugh like that for the rest of his days.

[hetalia-reacts]

Ok maybe soft Yandere husband Allies with a nation darling. The darling could care less if they're a powerful nation or not, because in the darling words they said " It doesn't matter, because at the end of the day you're still my beloved husband no more no less ". The darling also doesn't mind their possessive behavior, they actually think it's kind of hot. So in a way, the boys and the darling's relationship is kind of healthy.

America

Alfred feels so lucky

Not only are you a nation, meaning you aren't a pushover and won't be leaving him anytime soon, but you also love him sincerely

You aren't even intimidated or are competitive over him being a world superpower either

as a matter of fact, you had never cared if he was strong or not, and that really takes a weight off his shoulders he didn't think was there

not only that you had willingly, willingly, agreed to marry him

You didn't even want resources or were doing it to make sure he didn't hurt anyone you loved! You just agreed! Just like that!

Alfred is even more pleased to find out that you actually liked his obsession and possessiveness over you

he definitely noticed the way you would blush when he got a bit more aggressive with you regarding who you could and couldn't see

and when he would get rid of those who dared mess with you or get too chummy with you, you always thanked him and would act extra loving for the next few days

of course, he probably noticed this a long time ago before he became your husband

I mean he was never subtle in his nature and neither were you with your love of it

needless to say, he's rather fond of the idea that you still think he's a hero and love him for the things he does for you

Aside from Alfred being, well, classic yandere towards others, no one would even notice that this relationship may not be the healthiest since you looked so genuinely happy with how much Alfred cared for you

England

Arthur feels over the moon about this

you being a nation means you won't ever have to leave him

death will never have to do either of you part and that's how he likes it

this also means he can take care of you, your people, everything! He can do everything for you so you never have any reason to leave

which you had agreed to! You even married him! Heck, you probably suggested it first which really threw him for a loop

and you saying you never have or will care if he was strong? well you've just made him swoon even more

tho he will reassure you that while he doesn't look stereotypically strong he certainly is

during his time being your husband he definitely notices that you enjoy it when he gets possessive over you

when he tells you not to go out or dictates your outfit, or even forces you to stay in the house you don't ever complain or cry

as a matter of fact, you seem almost smitten with him

this makes him all the happier, how could it not? Arthur sees this as you truly loving him for who he is

People don't even notice how kind of unhealthily you both are swoon for the other, of course, Arthur is more subtle and secretive with his tendencies so most people aren't even aware he's so possessive of you until it's too late

Canada

Matthew has never felt so loved and accepted

he's surprised when you bring up loving him whether or not he's strong

it's kind of a new feeling considering he thought for a long time someone would only love him if he was like America or well if he forced them to love him

you also married him, joining your countries in a permanent alliance

He's even more surprised considering you agreed to marry him without him having to pull any tricks or threats, you even looked excited when he has asked you

Matthew definitely noticed how you reacted every time he kept you from leaving him, or when he would forcibly remove those who would come close to you

Though he knows how you feel, if you were to openly state that you loved his possessiveness and how it made you feel safe and loved well

Matthew might melt and may just have to treat you to whatever you wanted, even if it was to see someone else or go out somewhere

nobody noticed him before so nobody notices how weirdly healthy this unhealthy relationship is, and since nobody notices him and now by extension you, nobody has to disappear

France

Francis' heart is completely melted

first, you were a nation, a proud nation, who he managed to swoon

second, you agreed to marry him long ago without him even having to force you

and finally, you never have and never will care if he is strong

I mean Francis can't be any more in love with you at this point

Francis honestly never noticed how much you loved his possessive tendencies before becoming your husband

he was more focused on keeping you with him, protecting you from anyone else's prying eyes

but now that he can relax more since putting a ring on you, he definitely noticed how much you enjoyed how he protected you

I mean it's hard not to notice that you attempted to push his buttons so he would get possessive

when it finally all connects in his head that you like his behavior he teases you about it

how can he not? It's incredibly gratifying to know you love his true nature

I feel like only certain people notice how odd Francis has become and how weirdly okay you were with his possessive behavior, nobody comments on it though after Francis made it very clear what would happen if anyone tried to come between him and his wife/husband

Russia

Ivan is still stunned honestly

I mean you were a nation, a strong-willed nation, that agreed to marry him after he had kidnapped you so many years ago and you weren't even faking it or agreeing to get out of trouble

and you didn't care if he was strong?

I mean laughable because of course he's strong, but endearing that you would love him if he wasn't

All of these things just make his heart do the happy thing

Ivan noticed early on that you truly loved his nature

Out of all the yandere allies, he is certainly the cruelest so it wasn't hard to figure out that you enjoyed his sometimes cruel punishments and possessive behavior

he was certain you would purposely put yourself in situations just so he would get possessive and protective

He honestly doesn't mind, for the most part, he rather enjoys that you love his nature that others often call creepy, violent, and suffocating

Everybody and I mean everybody even strangers notice how this relationship is, nobody would ever say anything to either of you tho, fearing that you would tell and Ivan would take it as a challenge or threat to take you away

China

Yao is honestly in disbelief

you were a stunning and powerful nation who apparently loved him from the start as when he proposed to you, you didn't even hesitate

and you often would reassure him that you never cared about his power or status, you loved him for him

though he may get a bit insecure if you say this because in his mind why would you mention his strength unless you were concerned he couldn't take care of you

so he would have to show off a bit that you would never have to worry about that

oh and he noticed how you reacted when he got possessive, it was clear since the beginning since he never tried to hide what he did for you from you

Yao thinks being honest with you is crucial, you had to know everything, otherwise, your love for him would be fabricated and he couldn't handle that

but he was so ecstatic to know that you loved his possessiveness over you

Nobody but those closest to him would notice his behavior or how unhealthy this truly was, however, no one would comment on the relationship since you seemed happy with how Yao was treating you

[chocolate-parfait]

I've never sent an ask before so I apologize if I'm doing something wrong, but could I maybe request some more Gen Z mc headcanons? I just love the idea of mc having a platonic younger/older sibling dynamic especially with Napoleon and Jean 🥺👉👈

dw, dw! here it is✨

Gen Z!MC (pt. 2) - ikevamp headcanons (Napoleon & Jean)

Napoleon

You and Napoleon get along amazingly from the start. Sure, there is a generational gap and many of the things you do or laugh at cannot be explained, but believe me when I say that his charisma and open mindedness make up for it, a lot.

Being the naturally caring person he is, he immediately takes you under his wing (he basically adopts you, like he did with Jean and Isaac). No one is allowed to lay a hand on you for the whole month, else they'd have to catch his hands and sword. Related to this, no matter how much you tell him that you can fight on your own, he will NOT let you. First, he will have you join on his sparring sessions with Jean and teach you the basics, maybe even tell you a thing or two on how to throw a punch, but he'd rather have you safe and sound than covered in bruises and bloody scars.

This may paint him in a slightly overprotective light, but you probably won't even notice it unless you're throwing yourself headfirst into danger. A creep is harassing a woman in the street? Napoleon will deal with it before you can move another step. He was a soldier and an emperor, he has fought for a future of peace and equality, and you, the fruit of his hard work, should avoid any kind of bloodshed.

On the other hand, if the fight is verbal, he will 100% support you and cheer you on. He absolutely adores it whenever he sees the eloquence and unwavering confidence with which you defend your ideals, and he wonders whether a father would be feeling the same way.

Another thing he appreciates about you, is your humor. Although sometimes it kinda upsets him and makes him think about the type of society you must be coming from (self deprecating jokes, mostly), he cannot help but get a good laugh or two whenever he sees you laughing at the most nonsensical things.

One day, he, you and Arthur were talking about your life in the 21st century, when you happened to mention a friend of yours. "..oh yeah! This actually reminds me of my friend, Joe. Though it's too bad that he died of ligma" "I'm so sorry to heart that... what's... what's ligma though? A new illness?" "🕴 L I G M A B A L L S 🕴" im sorry this joke is overused but its 1AM and i saw it on a jujutsu kaisen tiktok pls beare with me

(+ you and Arthur falling to the ground, tears in your eyes and the most horrible whale noises filling up the whole room)

Other times you come up with the most original and unusual phrases that don't match your usual speech at all. "MC, what were you doing before coming here?" "I had sworn an oath of solitude 'till the blight was purged from mine lands" "What..?" "I was in quarantine because of a global pandemic" Oh.

When the time comes for you to say goodbye, he will, of course, feel a heavy dagger in his heart, but he'll gladly let you return to your peaceful time, the place where you belong to the most. Knowing you, you'll surely be fine, after all.

Jean

He's confused at first. You're young, somewhere near his age back when he was alive, and according to what you told the others you come from a """relatively""" peaceful time. without considering police brutality, discriminations, wars in certain countries, and a pandemic. Let's just say that many of us can lead a life without going to war and such But why, why are you so cursed?

Saying that he's taken aback would be an understatement. He simply cannot get more than half of what you talk about, he's not a social butterfly and he struggles with being open with others; you, however, don't seem to mind it too much. You approach him, fearlessly and with genuinely good intentions only. He resists and tries putting distance between you, but there's something, something that makes him want to talk to you, laugh with you and understand you more.

Your arrival shows him that which he could not be. A simple teenager. An innocent person who peacefully lives without having to worry about traitors, incoming battles and the sight of dead comrades in a puddle of their down blood. You look so carefree in whatever you do, even when nervous and hesitant, and yet you do not lack depth. He has seen you defending your principles, the fire in your eyes and spirit wholly concentrated on your interlocutors. Could he have been like that, too, if he had been given the chance?

Ever since meeting you, he's become more and more determined to learn the basics which he had completely missed during a time of war. Reading and writing, for example. He's not as naive as to completely let go of all his sins, but the untainted side of him, which had survived so many years of slaughter and had tied the adjectives "saint" and "pure" to his name, pushed him to work hard for those simple yet rewarding goals.

He's utterly at a loss for words when you propose to help him out though, and even more when he sees the lack of judgmental sneer in your eyes. Could you really be so innocent? Or perhaps it's a sign of your maturity and benevolence? Maybe you two are not so different, after all. Sure, you may be one hell of an oddball, but he surely isn't that normal, either

Whether he likes it or not, Jean subconsciously starts considering you as a younger sibling, and he feels the need to protect you by sacrificing himself; he's the only one with stained hands, you should remain the way you are. Pure and childlike, like he used to be. This will bring you to butt heads every now and then, because yours is not a kindness that stems from ignorance, but from open mindedness and awareness. In the end, you're both mutually taking care of each other, and it's so wholesome that someone's younger brother might feel a bit jealous of your bond.

Teach him some modern songs and some slangs (Jean to the other residents: wassup, my fellow homies!), tell him about popular blockbusters and bestseller stories, do some popular challenges with him, like the chubby bunny one but using macarons instead. Jean will naturally develop a smile, and his usual dark aura will slowly dissipate, like a clear sky after a thunderstorm.

After the month passes by, he gets more and more nervous as the day of your departure gets closer. He's used to saying goodbyes before heading into battle, prepared not to come back alive anymore, but to do it with someone who will be alive, even if years and years after your present time? That's definitely a first for him. Nevertheless, knowing the time where you'll be going back to, he feels reassured, and is finally able, perhaps for the first time in his turbulent life, to say "goodbye" with a smile on his face

[dwellordream]

“To understand what friendship between women was, we must first understand what it was not. Before turning to the ways in which female friendship illustrated the play of the Victorian gender system, we must develop grounds for distinguishing it from other relationships between women. This is a detour, for the subject of this chapter is female friendship; erotic desire and marriage between women are the focus of subsequent sections. But friendship, erotic infatuation, and female marriage have so often been conflated, and women’s relationships so commonly understood as essentially ambiguous, that the detour is a necessary one. 

The language of Victorian friendship was so ardent, the public face of female marriage so amicable, the comparisons between female friendship and marriage between men and women so constant, that it is no simple task to distinguish female friends from female lovers or female couples. The question “did they have sex?” is the first one on people’s lips today when confronted with a claim that women in the past were lovers—and it is almost always unanswerable. If firsthand testimony about sex is the standard for defining a relationship as sexual, then most Victorians never had sex. Scholars have yet to determine whether Thomas Carlyle was impotent; when, if ever, John Stuart Mill and Harriet Taylor consummated their relationship; or if Arthur Munby and Hannah Cullwick, whose diaries recorded their experiments with fetishes, cross-dressing, and bootlicking, also had genital intercourse.

Just as one can read hundreds of Victorian letters, diaries, and memoirs without finding a single mention of menstruation or excretion, one rarely finds even oblique references to sex between husband and wife. Men and women were equally reticent about sexual activity inside and outside of marriage. In a journal that described her courtship and wedding in detail, Lady Knightley dispatched the first weeks of wedded life in two lines: “Rainald and I entered on our new life in our own home. May God bless it to us” (173). Elizabeth Butler, whose autobiography included “a little sketch of [her] rather romantic meeting” with the man who became her husband, was similarly and typically laconic about a transition defined by sexual intercourse: “June 11 of that year, 1877, was my wedding day.” 

The lack of reliable evidence of sexual activity becomes less problematic, however, if we realize that sex matters because of the social relationships it creates and concentrate on those relationships. In Victorian England, sex was assumed to be part of marriage, but could also drop out of marriage without destroying a bond never defined by sex alone. The diaries and correspondence of Anne Lister and Charlotte Cushman provide solid evidence that nineteenth-century women had genital contact and orgasms with other women, but even more importantly, they demonstrate that sex created different kinds of connections. The fleeting encounters Lister had with women she met abroad were very different from the illicit but sustained affair Cushman had with a much younger woman who became her daughter-in-law. 

Those types of affairs were in turn worlds apart from the relationships with women that Lister and Cushman called marriages, a term that did not simply mean the relationships were sexual but also connoted shared households, mingled property, and assumptions about exclusivity and durability. We can best understand what kinds of relationships women had with each other not by hunting for evidence of sex, which even if we find it will not explain much, but rather by anchoring women’s own statements about their relationships in a larger context. 

The context I provide here is the complex linguistic field of lifewriting, which brings into focus two types of relationships often confused with friendship, indeed often called friendship, but significantly different from it: 1) unrequited passion and obsessive infatuation; and 2) life partnerships, which some Victorians described as marriages between women. The most famous and best-documented example of a Victorian woman’s avowed but unreciprocated passion for another woman is Edith Simcox’s lifelong love for George Eliot, which has made her a staple figure in histories of lesbianism.

Simcox (1844–1901) was a trade-union organizer and professional writer who regularly contributed book reviews to the periodical press and published fiction and nonfiction, including a study of women’s property ownership in ancient societies, discussed in chapter 5. From 1876 to 1900, Simcox kept a journal in a locked book that surfaced in 1930. Simcox gave her life story a title, The Autobiography of a Shirtmaker, that foregrounded her successful work as a labor activist, but its actual content focused on what Simcox called “the lovepassion of her life,” her longing for George Eliot as an unattainable, idealized beloved whom she called “my goddess” or, even more reverently, “Her.”

Simcox knowingly embraced a love that could not be returned, though she was aware of reciprocated, consummated sexual love between women. Her diary alludes to a “lovers’ quarrel” among three women she knew (61) and mentions her own rejection of a woman who “professed a feeling for me different from what she had ever had for any one, it might make her happiness if I could return it” (159). Tellingly, though twentieth-century scholars often refer to Simcox euphemistically as Eliot’s devoted “friend,” Simcox rarely used the term, and modeled herself instead on a courtly lover made all the more devoted by the one-sidedness of her passion. Simcox defined her diary as an “acta diurna amoris,” a daily act of love, and aspired to keep it with a constancy that would mirror her total absorption in Eliot (3). 

After bringing Eliot two valentines in February 1878, Simcox wrote: “Yesterday I went to see her, and have been in a calm glow of happiness since:—for no special reason, only that to have been near her happens to have that effect on me. . . . I did nothing but make reckless love to her . . . I had told her of my ambition to be allowed to lie silently at her feet as she pursued her occupations” (25). George Lewes, the companion whom Eliot’s friends referred to as her husband, was present at most of these scenes, and he and Eliot tolerated and even enjoyed Simcox’s attentions, which they consciously construed as loverlike. 

During a conversation about Elizabeth Barrett Browning’s love poems, Sonnets from the Portugese, Eliot told Simcox “she wished my letters could be printed in the same veiled way— ‘the Newest Heloise,’” thus situating Simcox’s missives to her in the tradition of amatory literature (39). In private, Simcox indulged fantasies of a more sensual connection, reflecting on a persistent “love that made the longing and molded the caress,” and recalling how “[i]n thinking of her, kisses used to form themselves instinctively on my lips—I seldom failed to kiss her a good night in thought” (136). 

In trying to define her love for Eliot, Simcox significantly refused to be content with one paradigm; instead, she accumulated analogies, comparing her love for Eliot to both “[m]arried love and passionate friendship” (60). Like a medieval ascetic, Simcox eroticized her lack of sexual fulfillment, arguing that her love was even more powerful than friendship or marriage because, in resigning herself to living “widowed of perfect joy,” she had felt “sharp flames consuming what was left . . . of selfish lust” (60).

In an unsent 1880 letter to Eliot, Simcox again found herself unable to select only one category to explain her love: “Do you see darling that I can only love you three lawful ways, idolatrously as Frater the Virgin Mary, in romance wise as Petrarch, Laura, or with a child’s fondness for the mother” (120). By implication, Simcox also suggested that there would be an unlawful way to love Eliot—as an adulterer who would usurp the uxurious role already occupied by Lewes. She concluded by explaining that her relationship with Eliot was too unequal to be a friendship (120). 

In the absence of the sociological and scientific shorthand provided by sexology or a codified subculture, and in the absence of a genuinely shared life that could be represented by a common history or joint possessions, women like Simcox represented their unrequited sexual desire for other women by extravagantly combining incompatible terms such as mother, lover, sister, friend, wife, and idol. Other women deployed similar rhetorical techniques of intensification and accumulation to express sexual loves that were not equally felt and did not lead to long-term partnerships. 

At age twenty, Sophia Jex-Blake (1840–1912), one of England’s first female doctors and an activist who helped open medical education to women, met philanthropist Octavia Hill (1838–1912). In a biography of Jex-Blake written in 1918 that still adhered to Victorian rhetorical conventions, Margaret Todd called her subject’s relationship with Hill a “friendship” but qualified it as one that made “the deepest impression . . . of any in the whole of her life.” Jex-Blake considered the degree of love she felt for women to be unusual, writing around 1858, “I believe I love women too much ever to love a man” (78). 

During a brief relationship that Hill soon broke off, the two women may have been sexually involved, but even so their feelings were never evenly matched. During the period when the women were closest, Hill reduced their bond to mere chumminess by calling herself and Jex-Blake “great companions” (85). By contrast, Jex-Blake was in awe of Hill and described her as both child and mother, roles often eroticized for Victorians, writing in her diary of “My dear loving strong child . . . I do love and reverence her” (85). Even after the relationship ended, Jex-Blake thought of Hill as her lifelong spouse, referring twenty years later to the “fanciful faithfulness” she maintained for her first love, to whom she left “the whole of her little property” in repeated wills (94). 

Like Simcox, Jex-Blake used intensified language to underscore the uniqueness of her emotions. When she described inviting Hill on a vacation that included a visit to Llangollen, a site made famous by the female couple who had lived there together, Jex-Blake wrote of her “heart beating like a hammer” (85) and then described Hill’s response: “She sunk her head on my lap silently, raised it in tears, then such a kiss!” (86). Female friends often exchanged kisses, but Jex-Blake’s account took the kiss out of the realm of friendship into one of heightened sensation. Although it was common for female friends to love each other and write gushingly about it, Simcox and Jex-Blake also wrote of feeling uncommon, different from the general run of women. 

Simcox identified closely with men and Jex-Blake felt unable to love men as most women did; both were extraordinarily autonomous, professionally successful, and self-conscious about the significance of their love for women. Other women also had intense erotic relationships that went beyond friendship, but were less self-conscious about those relationships, which they rarely saw as needing special explanation, and which usually lasted years or months rather than a lifetime. An example of outright insouciance about a deeply felt erotic fascination between women is found in the journals of Margaret Leicester Warren, written in the 1870s and published for private circulation in 1924. 

Little is known about Warren, who was born in 1847 and led the life of a typical upper-middle-class lady, attending church, studying drawing and music, and marrying a man in 1875. Her diary attests to a fondness for triangulated relationships that included an adolescent crush on her newlywed sister and her sister’s husband, and a brief, tumultuous engagement to a male cousin whose mother was the dramatic center of Warren’s intense emotions. In 1872, when Warren was twenty-five, she began to write incessantly about a distant cousin named Edith Leycester in entries that reveled in the experience of succumbing to another woman’s glamour: “Edith looked very beautiful and as usual I fell in love with her....Tonight Edith took me into her room. . . . She is like an enchanted princess. There is some charm or spell that has been thrown over her.”

 Numerous similar entries recorded an infatuation that combined daily familiarity with reverent mystification of a sophisticated and self-dramatizing woman. Warren’s fascination with Edith lasted several years. Unlike Simcox and Jex-Blake, Warren never self-consciously reflected that her feelings for Edith differed from conventional friendship, but like them, Warren ascribed an intensity, exclusivity, and volatility to her feelings for Edith absent from most accounts of female friendship. Indeed, Warren rarely referred to Edith as a friend when she wrote of her desire to see Edith every day and recorded their many exchanges of confidences, poetry, and gifts. 

Warren fetishized and idealized Edith, was fixated on her presence and absence, and used superlatives to describe the feelings she inspired. Within months of meeting Edith, most of Warren’s entries consisted of detailed reenactments of their daily visits and the emotions generated by each parting and reunion: “Edith was charming tonight and I was happier with her than I have ever been. She looked beautiful” (287). Warren created an erotic aura around Edith through the very act of writing about her, through a liberal use of adverbs and adjectives, and by infusing her friend’s most ordinary actions with dramatic implications. 

Describing how Edith invited her to visit her country home, for example, Warren wrote, “Edith came in and threw herself down on the chair and said quietly and gently ‘come to Toft!’” (291). Although Warren got along well with Edith’s rarely present husband, Rafe, she relished being alone with her and described the awkward, jealous scenes that took place whenever she had to share Edith with other women (362, 369). Warren found ways to dwell on the details of Edith’s beauty through references to fashion and contemporary art. Like many diarists, Warren had an almost novelistic capacity to observe and characterize people in terms of prevailing aesthetic forms. 

She described Edith with flowers in her hair, looking like a pre-Raphaelite painting, and recorded her desire to make images of Edith: “I sd. like to paint her. . . . It wd. make a good ‘golden witch’ a beautiful Enchantress” (290–91). A ride with Edith inspired Warren to pen another impassioned tableau: “All the way there in the brougham I looked at Edith’s beautiful profile, the lamp light shining on it, and the wind blowing her hair about—her face also, all lit up with enthusiasm and tenderness as she leant forward to Rafe and told him a long story . . . I . . . only thought how grand she was” (369–70). 

Shared confidences about Warren’s broken engagement to their male cousin became another medium for cultivating the women’s special intimacy. By assuring Warren that she did not side with the jilted fiance´, Edith declared an autonomous interest in her: “‘I wanted you to come here because— because I like you.’ She was sitting at her easel and never looking at me as she spoke for I was standing behind her, but when she said ‘because I like you,’ she looked backwards up at me with such an honest, soft, beautiful expression that any distrust I had still left of her trueness melted up into a cinder” (290). 

Just as Warren heightened her relationship with Edith by writing about it so effusively and at such length, the two women elevated it by coyly discussing what their interactions and feelings meant. Before one of her many departures from London, Edith asked Warren: “‘[A]re you sorry I am going? . . . How curious—why are you sorry?’ Then I told her a little of all she had done for me . . . how much life and pleasure and interest she had put into my life, and she said nothing but she just put out her hand and laid it on my hand and that from her means a great deal more than 100 things from anyone else” (293). Edith’s gesture drew on the repertory of friendship, but in the private theater of her journal, Warren transformed the touch of a hand into a uniquely meaningful clasp. 

This is not to say the relationship was one-sided. If Warren’s diary reports the two women’s interactions with any degree of accuracy, it is clear that both enjoyed creating an atmosphere of pent-up longing. Edith fed Warren’s infatuation with provocative questions and a skill for setting scenes: “She asked what things I cared for now? And I said with truth, for nothing— except seeing her” (303). Three days later, just before another of Edith’s departures, Warren paid a call: When tea was over, the dusk had begun and I . . . sat . . . at the open window. . . . By and bye Edith came and sat near me. . . . The room inside was nearly dark, but outside it was brilliant May moonlight. . . . Edith sat there ready to go, looking very pale and very sad with the light on her face. . . . We did not talk much. She asked me to go to the party tonight and to think of her at 11. . . . She said goodbye and she kissed me, for the first time. (303–4) 

Warren is exquisitely sensitive to every element that connotes eroticism: a darkened room, physical proximity, complicit silence, a romantic demand that the beloved remain present in her lover’s mind even when absent, a kiss whose uniqueness—“for the first time”—suggests a beginning. Any one of these actions would have been unremarkable between female friends, but comparison with other women’s diaries shows how distinctive it was for Warren to list so many gestures within one entry, without defining and therefore restricting their meaning. Warren’s attitude also distinguishes her emotions from those articulated by women who took their love for women in a more conjugal or sexual direction. Her journals combine exhaustive attention to the beloved with a pervasive indifference to interrogating what that fascination might mean. 

Never classified as friendship or love, Warren’s feelings for Edith had the advantages and limits of remaining in the realm of suggestion, where they could expand infinitely without ever being realized or checked. Women who consummated a mutual love and consolidated it by forming a conjugal household were less likely to leave records of their most impassioned moods and deeds than those whose love went unrequited or undefined. Indeed, women in what were sometimes called “female marriages” (a term I discuss further in chapter 5) used lifewriting to claim the privilege of privacy accorded to opposite-sex spouses. 

Like the lifewritings of women married to men, those of women in female marriages assumed intimacy and interdependence rather than displaying it, and folded their sexual bond into a social one. They described shared households and networks of acquaintances who recognized and thus legitimated the women’s coupledom, liberally using words such as “always,” “never,” and “every” to convey an iterated, daily familiarity more typical of spouses than friends. 

Martha Vicinus’s Intimate Friends cites many nineteenth-century women who described their relationships with other women as marriages, and Magnus Hirschfeld’s magisterial, international study of The Homosexuality of Men and Women (1914) noted that same sex couples often created “marriage-like associations characterized by the exclusivity and long duration of the relationships, the living together and the common household, the sharing of every interest, and often the existence of legitimate community property.” 

Sexual relationships of all stripes were most acceptable when their sexual nature was least visible as such but was instead manifested in terms of marital acts such as cohabitation, fidelity, financial solidarity, and adherence to middle-class norms of respectability. Because friendship between women was so clearly defined and prized, one way to acknowledge a female couple’s existence while respecting their privacy was to call women who were in effect married to each other “friends.” Given that “friends” was used to describe women who were lovers and women who were not, how can we tell when “friends” means more than just friends? 

…There are many instances of published writing acknowledging marital relationships between women by calling them friendships. Victorian women in female couples were not automatically subject to the exposure and scandal visited on opposite-sex couples who stepped outside the bounds of respectable sexual behavior. Instead, many female couples enjoyed both the right to privacy associated with marriage and the public privileges accorded to female friendship. The Halifax Guardian obituary of Anne Lister in 1840 recognized her longstanding spousal relationship with Anne Walker by calling her Lister’s “friend and companion,” a gratuitously compound phrase.

Emily Faithfull, whom we will encounter again in chapter 6, was a feminist with a long history of female lovers. An 1894 article entitled “An Afternoon Tea with Miss Emily Faithfull” described her home in Manchester, decorated by “Miss Charlotte Robinson,” whom Faithfull readily disclosed “shares house with me.”80 Faithfull left all her property to Robinson in a will that called her “my beloved friend” whose “countless services” and “affectionate tenderness and care . . . made the last few years of my life the happiest I ever spent.” To call one woman another’s superlative friend was not to disavow their marital relationship but to proclaim it in the language of the day.”

- Sharon Marcus, “Friendship and the Play of the System.” in Between Women: Friendship, Desire, and Marriage in Victorian England

[stirringwinds]

What would u consider England's best qualities like I've a pretty good picture of his flaws. But what do u see as his best qualities? Like I'm aware that he is a deadly cunning man and ruthless, but what other qualities does he embody. I've some thoughts that nations may actively or instinctively perhaps try to emulate qualities that their culture considers very important, or do u think they would have more freedom to pick & choose? I'd love to hear ur thoughts. :)

thank you for this question! overall i think nations don’t always have full control over picking traits (tho sometimes they try to), but i think they sort of by nature emulate some things within their culture? as they’re steeped in it. these arent all of england’s traits, but just a few im thinking of, off the top of my head right now

the ‘stiff upper lip’: i think that with characters/people generally, sometimes flaws can be strengths in other circumstances? and that’s how i see it in this regard with arthur. i don’t wanna over-mythologise the idea of the ‘stiff upper lip’—people are human at the end of the day, and the historical record shows how the ‘keep calm and carry on’ idea of english and british stoicism is more nuanced. however, i do headcanon that when things are really going badly for arthur (like during the Blitz), he might often be good at appearing calm, nonchalant and even crack a few dry jokes. gallows humour. i have this vague idea that he might flip his shit over more minor things (’out of shortbread again?! absolutely ridiculous!’), but when shit’s really bad he might be eerily calm—which is often welcome for other people who are feeling panicky. this sort of stoicism can be a weakness because i think sometimes arthur represses expressing (and therefore processing) his emotions healthily and it might be an act to cover his anxiety. sometimes i think however, he’s genuinely calm—because of his long life and general worldview that you know, sometimes the world is going to hell outside the window but the first thing to do is Sit Down and put the kettle on (or pour out some whiskey)  

i see arthur, in truth, as not giving a rat’s arse about hoity-toity ideas of aristocratic lineage and class. like, class is definitely a huge issue in england and the whole UK. a lot of british period dramas centre on the lives of wealthy upper-class gentry who aren’t the majority of english society or culture. most people don’t relate to this lifestyle and mentality. and—the way i see it, the hetalia personification encompasses a larger group, no? i see arthur being the kind of person who will respect intelligence, cunning and talent (even if grudgingly, when coming from a rival or someone who’s pissed him off, like the way alfred did during the american revolutionary war) when he sees it. and that’s the case no matter how seemingly “”unrefined”” the person is through the eyes of the english gentry—whom till today, fixate a lot on etiquette, lineage and class status (there are still hereditary peerages. where you’re lord or lady so-and-so just because of the birth lottery). because there’s a whole lot of fascinating stuff with english labour history that is also intertwined with the history of us commonwealth migrants (both during the zenith of the british empire and decolonisation). a lot of major developments in the industrial revolution occurred in england), and were connected to the culture and politics of social reform in say, the east end of london. there’s also the history of northern english labour unions (since the north was historically where a lot of manufacturing industries were sited).  that being said: i do think arthur is shrewd and pragmatic, and sometimes he will play along with the Wealthy English Lord persona if it is useful to get information. and he isn’t immune to liking the trappings of money—during the victorian era and the zenith of empire definitely had greenhouses built to indulge his mania for orchids and bromeliads (which was the way really rich victorians showed off). on a nation meta-level: i see arthur being conscious of how roman britain was at times considered a backwater province, and that his beginnings are far more patchwork and seem less prestigious than say, how i see italy brothers’ link to rome being clearer. arthur feels to me like someone who—if some lord so-and-so sneered at the ambiguity in his lineage and called him a bastard—arthur would laugh in his face, throw back his drink and smile ‘why thank you, my dear. at least i am honest about it.’ so; he likes money and can be materialistic at times, but i headcanon that he doesn’t really give a shit about the weight people assign to aristocratic lineage and is pretty disdainful of it. 

bonus: he’d definitely fight anyone who tries to take a crap on the NHS. like, it’s genuinely a thing. it’s got loads of issues—but it’s the one institution polls show people being most proud of. i won’t get into the cultural perceptions of the NHS historically here nor the political fighting between the tories / labour and lib dem with how the NHS is funded/run (as it is A Lot of stuff...) but yeah—ever since it was introduced by the postwar Labour government, it’s really interesting how entrenched it has become as a symbol of england (and britain) across the political divide, whereas a lot of other national symbols, like the royal family have often been more polarising (there’ve always been moments of republicanism in english history).  

[emily-the-fae]

Every Day is a Lullaby

A oneshot. This honestly came to my mind yesterday night, I do not know how well the idea turned out to be.

Fandom: Supernatural

Pairing: Arthur Ketch x OC

Warnings:probably language, blood, injury, background character death, brief mentions of sex, angst mith mix of fluff

Rated: T

Mr Ketch has many sides, likable and repulsing - but which one of his faces is truly his is sometimes an uncertainty even for him.

Harper reflects on the changes on their relationship as they get out of a hunt gone wrong. While Ketch reconsiders some of his past choices... And reasons why he is still alive.

If he's a serial killer

Then what's the worst

That can happen to a girl

Who's already hurt

I'm already hurt

The first time Harper met him was a coincidence. It was long before the whole nephilim thing, long before she found out what kind of man he was, what kind of hunter he was. Yet even back then in the span of their first couple of meetings  she felt he was no good.

A stupid hunting coincidence.

Harper was not used to hunting alone. She did that to herself - separated herself from the Winchesters. However much she loved Sam and Dean, she could not bear continuously being around them, not after everything that happened. Not after Charlie. Because no matter what Dean said or how Sam reassured her - it was her fault. Charlie was a great friend. Charlie had the brightest soul. Harper was late to help her and now Charlie was no more. It was all Harper's fault.

Driving away and going head first into hunting was the outmost Winchester way of dealing with the guilt and grief. Hunting alone while slowly coming out of her lowest phase - those were the circumstances under which Harper met Arthur Ketch.

The first time it happened it was a coincidence - two hunters choosing the same target is not uncommon. Harper was already on spot and all in the fight when he arrived. "Are you insane going into a whole vampire nest alone?" - those were the first words she ever heard from him. She might have been slightly insane, but he sure was a damn psycho. To be honest if not for him she would have probably ended up dead or turned in that vampire nest that night. Harper hates being honest about it.

The second coincidence happened just a few days after the first one - she would later on doubt if it was a coincidence at all. Perhaps it was. Harper would never really know - what she did know though was that he still had a small scar left above his left eyebrow - a mark of where she hit him with the grip of her gun, thinking it was the witch that was creeping up to her and absolutely not expecting to hear a male voice swearing after her blow. Arthur had not known her for 24 hours in sum and they were already making a scene after a hunt - Harper almost pitied she had not knocked him out straight away.

What happened on the next day? He caught her in the town and suggested to team up to avoid "future confusions". Rule number one how to become friends with Arthur Ketch: hit him in the face. Harper wasn't going to become friends with him - with any hunters for that matter - but fate seldom cared what Harper was going to do anyways.

Harper definitely lied to herself when she said that they were going to be only friends or that she was going to hate him after all the British Men of Letters invasion story. She didn't. Not with the way they met in the first place: him ripping her out of the claws of the angry remnants of the vampire pack - slightly concerned greyish blue eyes and a British accent was what greeted her at dawn that day, even though mid in fight she had accepted she would not see the sun again. It seemed symbolic how he saved her from giving up, from herself. And certainly not after the way their relationship went from mutual curiosity to blind semi-professional trust. Harper did not need a "friend" to console her: if she had wanted that she would have stayed around Sam - she needed someone unfeeling but understanding enough to see through her and consciously let it be.

She remembered it clearly - three hunts into their relationship - a month after their first encounter - they were sharing a hotel room. Two beds, late night after a hunt, she lied on her side and quietly cried. It was a demon hunt. The memories were too much. Arthur came into view and stared at her for a couple of moments before walking to his own bed.

- I'd say you can talk about it when you want to, but I doubt you will ever feel the necessity, - a brief caress of his hand against her shoulder. He did not try to relieve her, he allowed her to get to her own way of coping. For that Harper was grateful more than ever. - We all have skeletons in our closets, it's the downturn of the job.

Oh, dear Arthur, we are both now  aware you knew far too well what you were talking about. Harper doubted any hunter had a closet cemetery as large as Ketch's.

Yet... Even after that - the awkward reuniting with the Winchesters, being pulled away from him as she came back to her old friends and witnessing, luckily from a safe distance, how the man she grew to trust without actually knowing him, uncovered darker and darker sides of his personality. What was worst - after she refused to join the BMoL, he would continue to sometimes keep her hunting company, going on like nothing happened. Like nothing changed. Why worst? It let the image of the heartless killer that she should have seen before her now connect and combine with the image of the man who would patch her up on her darkest nights and put a firm hand on her shoulder when Harper was too deep in memory to restrain herself. His presence around her became a reassurance in itself - because he did not have to know to understand. And because he simply had not been there - looking into his eyes Harper wouldn't get reminded of the times when everything was still right, wouldn't get reminded of that one time everything went very wrong. Probably those were the main qualities that helped him win a spot in her heart. Those and his unending casual flirting.

And now? After everything was over, after his very dark side was revealed, the confessions were made and the redemption was played, what did she think of him? The hunter, turned out just a very well trained assassin - he had served the British Men of Letters, he had served Asmodeus - now here he was separated from any commanding he ever had, living a hunting life of his own and sometimes collaborating with the Winchesters. Therewere many dark moments forgotten for the sake of peace. Many more had yet to come up - judging by how Ketch treated his own history and interests of others.

" - I wonder where Mick went, he was always so nice... Nicer than you, anyways. Pity he went away all of a sudden, - Harper mentioned once after a hunt.

- He did not go anywhere. I shot him in the head just like Hess ordered, - Ketch seemed calm and cold as steel. " Sometimes Harper thought that leaving BMoL would change him, but moments like that she realized how slowly the changes - if any - would have to occur. That night she simply walked away, not saying another word.

If anyone ever asked Harper how Arthur's spot in her heart had shifted after all the mess he had caused? She would say that he never even had one... And think that truth to be told there was no flame hot enough to burn him out of her chest - his name carved on her ribs would have been easier to get rid of than the bittersweet affection she harboured for the moral wreck of a man named Arthur Ketch.

If he's as bad as they say

Then I guess I'm cursed

Looking into his eyes

I think he's already hurt

He's already hurt

Despite that Harper never dared pursue a relationship. Why? She was very sure with people like Ketch the only right strategy was not to expect them to be capable of attachment. The flirting, the sweet promising looks he would give her after a well-accomplished hunt... Harper would dream of believing them to be genuine. She was very well aware thinking him in any way genuine was a risk she was not ready to take. She knew Ketch would not mind letting that affair happen - he made that quite clear. She also knew it would mean absolutely nothing to him apart from some company and a warm body in his bed. Arthur Ketch was cold, unemotional and taught himself well not to get attached to anyone - and even if that was not true, he tried his damn best to make it seem so.

Harper sometimes hoped she saw it in his eyes: a silent "please keep safe" when they would part after a hunt, a sparking "I missed you" when they would meet once again. Arthur sometimes hoped she would see it too - very deep in his soul, deeper than he would ever be able to admit even to himself.

In other words, the outcome of the new hunt would have presented itself sooner or later anyways. They were actually quite lucky to have it present itself the way it did.

The werewolf did not seem such a hard target - away from bigger packs, alone terrorizing the neighborhood - just because he could. Problem and solution crystal clear - a hunt where one clearly sees the root of evil is a blessing for a hunter that's used to all the versions of heartbreaking stories. What Harper did not so clearly see was the gun in their opponent's hands. To be more precise: she did see it, but a little too late.

Two gunshots rang at the same time: her silver bullet hitting right into the monster's heart and his normal one - ... Ketch fell against the wall, sliding down to the floor: his left shoulder bled, the bulletproof vest, even though being pierced in the thinner area, had preserved him from being too deeply injured - but not kept completely safe from wounding.

Several seconds of silence - making sure the werewolf is not a threat anymore - realisation and fear finally hitting Harper.

- Ketch?... Ketch?!... Arthur! - the hunter was too disoriented to answer and his silence was taken as a bad sign. - Oh Lord, Arthur, no! - gone are the self-restraint and professional coldness: the moment she sees blood on his chest, she rushes to his side, forgetting about everything else in the world. She needs to make sure he will be fine. He has to be. - Arthur, please, don't die on me! Arthur! - she calls for his attention, the hunter slowly regaining his senses.

For a moment there he believes he hears Tony. This reminds him of some of his unlucky hunts from the years before, though back then he had certainly had it worse. Besides this definitely was not Tony.

Tony would have said "Ketch's down" and carry on with the hunt, eyes on the target, and when the deed was done she would pass him with a short "How is it?" - more out of politeness than genuine caring. That was exactly what she did the only two times he had been seriously injured infront of her.

- Ketch, answer me right this instant, don't you dare fading out! - panic in her voice, genuine. The idea of someone caring as much as to panic at the thought of his death seems too good to be true - for him at least. Arthur feels hands investigating his chest, checking for the wound: cold thin fingers running over his blood-covered skin. Not Tony - Harper.

- I'll live, darling, it's nothing too serious, - attempting to sound confident, but his voice is rasp. It's nothing serious, but it hurt nonetheless: the blow on the shoulder was much harder than anticipated and the bleeding needed to be stopped.

Harper looks into the light blue, borderline grey eyes - he is staring up at her, his gaze unguarded only for a moment that lets her see the uncommon softness and hope in his expression - just for a moment - she believes the things she guessed about him were true, she believes the pain visible in his eyes is true, only by accident revealed to her. The state lasts only a couple of moments - but even that is more than enough for his visible emotions to imprint into her mind.

Arthur Ketch was able to feel. Arthur Ketch could be in pain. Arthur Ketch was capable of needing help.

I said "Don't be a jerk, don't call me a taxi"

Sitting in your sweatshirt, crying in the backseat ooh-ooh

I just wanna dance with you

Hollywood and Vine, Black Rabbit in the alley

I just wanna hold you tight down the avenue ooh

I just wanna dance with you

It was a wonder that the hotel clerk did not stop them on their way - Ketch looked positively dying - Harper was quite sure there was no legal thing that could have happened to him that would have explained this appearance. This was the reason normal hunters chose motels: less suspicion. Harper briefly wondered where he got the money to maintain his former lifestyle, since he was stripped of the BMoL funding, but she guessed there were other sources on his side and he was just too stubborn to change his ways.

When they stumbled into his hotel room, Arthur made a move to drop himself on the bed, but Harper grabbed him by the collar swiftly, dragging him away in the other direction.

- Ketch don't you dare stain the sheets, they'll report us, - she mumbled, pushing him to enter the bathroom and dropping him to sit on the edge of the tub.

He would have laughed if the sudden movement had not caused sharp pain to shoot through his damaged shoulder, making him wince. Alexandra. He had wondered for so long whom Harper reminded him of and out of all moments they shared it was this that made him realise. The memory reappeared in his mind so vividly now.

"Artie, no! Don't go to your room, you'll stain your carpet! Mum will kill us!" - and the older girl held him under his arms, guiding him to the kitchen.

He still remembered it: the years before school, before Kendricks, him and his sister mostly alone in the house with parents constantly away. Alexandra had brought him up before Kendricks had. Alexandra had a lovely voice, she would read him bedtime stories, she would sing to him, she was kind and caring - probably the only human being in his life that ever seemed to care. When he went to Kendricks was the last time he had ever seen her... Well, alive. Alexandra was kind and caring - and that was probably the reason why she had not made it through the training. In fact her death might have been the only reason why he survived and made it to the top - having no one care about you has a benefit: you don't have to care about anyone too.

After his sister's funeral life had never felt the same and Arthur had been quite certain before that it was for the better. Now, watching Harper rush about, trying to find the medical kit to help him, he thought that he had been terribly wrong all the damn time.

How long has she known him? A couple of years, not more, but the relationship between them reached beyond the borders of friendship or companionship. That little american hunter - the first time he saw her he thought she was suicidal, the second one - bold and full of sass. The following months proved her well capable of combining both while turning out to be so much more, one of which being: to be able to love Arthur Ketch. Of course he knew she loved him - this was among those traits in her that he openly treated with polite contempt and deep down envied more than anything.

He watched Harper come to his side, sliding his hunting gear off his shoulders - her movements so gentle, her eyes filled with worry and guilt.

- I'm so sorry Arthur, I should have... - you're always sorry. You always think it is your fault and none else's. This was most probably the main reason why it was so easy for him to openly reject her feeling: they both knew she loved him, they both knew he saw it, he toyed with her so many times, being suggestive, flirting. "As long as I enjoy the physical aspects of having an affair, the emotional attachment that other people believe necessary to form is rather pathetic" - he told her once. He actually said that, those were his words. I would like to fuck you as long as you shut your disgustingly human little heart. She stared at him for a moment, her beautiful face almost successfully hiding the hurt - then turned away silently, shrugging her shoulders. He was being a jerk. Harper never stopped him from that, Harper seemed to take it all in and believe he was right, believe that her feeling for him was utterly pathetic. That it was her fault.

- It was no one's mistake, love, it was an unlucky accident. Besides it didn't turn out that awful, - he trailed off. She was cleaning his skin over the wound now, preparing to apply stitches. Arthur could sense a little shudder in her at the word "love". He was so used to saying it that he forgot about all the connotations it held. Lord, was he bad at this.

Harper continued her work silently. She felt him studying her face and prayed to be finished as quick as possible - she did not need another heartbreaking hope and she had already made the mistake of looking into his eyes that night. When the last stitch was done, she turned away to put the materials aside and sensed him straighten up behind her back - Harper felt he wanted to say something else, but she could not give him that opportunity. She almost thought he would die that night - seeing him on the floor made her blood run cold - she did not need any more pain to add to the aftermath of the shock.

- I'm going to my room, but please call me if you feel worse during the night, - she spoke, not turning to face him, ready to walk out of the bathroom. Harper felt his hand grab her wrist in a rushed movement and turned abruptly only to see him staring back at her with unguarded softness in his eyes. The only time she remembered Arthur look at her like that was when she twisted an ankle during the hunt all due to his mistake. It scared her a little to see that expression on him.

- Why won't you just stay to keep an eye on me? - his voice low, with an undertone she so often heard when he flirted with her.

- You're a big boy, Ketch, we both know that even stitching you up was superfluous, you can perfectly well tend to yourself, - a smile. Harper tried to brush it off jokingly, ready to make her leave, but his grasp on her wrist only grew stronger.

- Stay.  At least for this night. Please, - the smile disappeared from her face. He sounded wounded, he sounded like he really pleaded. Harper broke away from his grasp, taking a step back.

- You don't need a... - she shook her head.

- But I do, - he stood up, taking a step towards her, not letting her increase the distance between them. His fingers came up to caress her cheek gently. - Harper, stay, - she shut her eyes, standing still and quiet for a couple of seconds, seemingly fighting back emotions.

- You don't mean this, - she said, looking up at him sharply and confidently, but in a moment, failing to restrain herself, she continues more quietly and softly. - Why do you have to be so cruel to me? - he could see tears brimming in her eyes.

They stood frozen in front of each other, her face so close to his, her eyes watering - not because of this particular evening, but because of all those times before he had behaved in similar nature. It was the first time she had so directly addressed the issue of her feelings for him. "Why do you have to be so cruel to me?" She seemed to be waiting for an actual answer. Why was she always so kind to him? Like he was normal, like he didn't hurt her? Arthur leaned down, his hand still cupping her cheek, his lips touching hers gently and firmly.

Harper closed her eyes - not as a girl would do in a pretty romantic movie - she shut her eyes, pressing her eyelids together, holding her breath, shuddering. A single tear ran down her cheek.

When they parted, though his face still stayed just a few centimeters away from hers, Harper opened her eyes again, her breath shaking.

- Arthur...

His free hand circled her waist, pulling her closer to him, as his fingers slid away from her cheek,  moving behind her head, running through her hair. Arthur leaned close to her ear, his breath ghosting over her neck.

- Because I hate how you make me feel like I can still have a life, like not everything is lost. I hate how you make me feel worth being cared about and able to care. I hate how you make me feel, - he said that rushed and quiet. Pressing his front to the side of her head, breathing deeply.

- And what if you are lying? What if this all is for the sake of one night? I'm tired of guessing if you have a soul or not, Arthur, I'm too worn out, - she wispered after some time, leaning her forehead into his uninjured shoulder.

- Then trust me this one time. I promise. Please.

- Why?

- Because I need you. I need you to feel alive.

Arthur felt her let out a deep breath, her petite form pressing itself to his, her arms sliding behind his back to hold him close. She raised her head, freezing for a moment before their eyes met, then leaning up - their lips meeting now less gingerly than the first time.

- Does that mean you'll stay?

- You're such an asshole, Ketch...

- I know.

Harper hid her face in his chest, sobbing quietly, her form shacking, worn out both physically and emotionally. Arthur kissed her temple softly, caressing her back, for once feeling like he did everything right. For once feeling like they had a chance.

Happiness is a butterfly

Try to catch it like every night

It's escaping from me into moonlight

[rodeo-boots]

Uhum hey! Could you do a oneshot of Arthur with a short and chubby wife? Modern AU if possible? Sorry for being so specific... Anyways, many thanks!!

Thanks so much for the request, and sorry for the long wait! I hope this adds up to what you've wanted<3

Rating: General

Words: 1405

Warnings: Insecurity; mentioned workplace bullying because of reader's weight

AO3

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Work was hard. That's often how it went, your days dragging like pulling teeth, passing agonizingly slow while you did the best to stay on track. It didn't help that your colleagues could be proper bullies of their own, didn't help that your manager demanded you prove yourself more than anyone else around you.

In your eyes, the treatment you received was downright unfair, but you were used to it by now. You've given up on complaining, on trying to talk things through. It had only gotten worse every time you've tried in the past and at this point, you were tired of it.

You had every right to feel good, to be happy, freshly wed and just back from your honeymoon with Arthur. On your first day already, everyone around you had voiced their displeasure at your absence. As if they had any right to take it from you.

In the afternoon, you finally returned home, pulling into the driveway with a relieved sigh leaving your lips, seeing Arthur's truck parked where it always was. He wasn't a stay-at-home husband, but he spent his time around your property more often than not, working whenever he was needed on the farm led by his adoptive fathers and driving out there whenever one of the animals needed his help. As a veterinarian, that was to be expected of him.

Instead of climbing out of the driver's seat the moment you shut off the engine, you remained sitting inside, reminding yourself to take deep breaths and put on a smile. It was alright. You were home, and so was he. The day was over, and the next one was nothing you had to concern yourself with. Though you couldn't exactly help yourself. It took a while until you felt composed enough to face your husband, to pretend like your first day back at work had gone well and that you were feeling fine. There was no reason to lie to him, you trusted him more than most people in your life, you just didn't want him to be concerned.

And so you stepped inside, moving quietly as you placed your bag down at the door, shrugging out of the jacket you had worn all day. No matter how hot it was by now, late spring often turning out a lot warmer than what was to be expected, the extra layer of clothing had given you some comfort, had spared you the harsh comments you usually endured.

You didn't see Arthur immediately, greeted instead by the Foxhound the both of you called your own, Cain, as Dutch had named him. The older man had found the animal on the side of the road one day, bringing him back here instead of giving him to the shelter, well aware that Arthur and you had been looking for a dog for quite some time. He was a blessing to have around, sniffing your leg and yipping happily upon seeing you, wagging his tail when you crouched down to scratch his ears.

It were the faint sounds of the dog that seemed to catch Arthur's attention, a grumble audible from your living room couch as he roused from what you expected to be another hour long nap. He often took them, still recovering from being sick a couple months back, needing all the rest and relaxation he could get in his rather busy day-to-day life.

"Mornin'," he rubbed at his eyes when he eventually stood by your side, looking groggy and downright adorable with his hair disheveled and his face puffy from sleep. You got to your legs, standing to receive the brief peck to your lips he gave you, unable to fully return his smile. Arthur brushed hair out of your forehead, his brows furrowing slightly while his bright blue eyes searched your expression. "Everythin' alright?" He knew you much too well, knew your every mood and the way you looked when you were down. Sometimes you wished he didn't.

You exhaled deeply, swallowing instead of giving him an answer right away. "It's fine, just... work was exhausting." Which was the truth, though your exhaustion mainly stemmed from something different than the labor you had needed to do.

Arthur hummed lightly, his arm gently wrapping around your waist. "C'mon, let's sit down then. I'll make you lunch," he offered, but you shook your head right away.

"M'not hungry."

"Horseshit, you ain't eaten since breakfast, sit down." Arthur led you to the couch, letting you sink down into the comfortable cushions. You held onto his wrist as he turned to go, wishing for him to sit down by your side for a moment.

His gaze was already worried, your attempts at keeping your state of mind concealed apparently for nothing. He sat down by your side, placing his hand on your thigh in a comforting manner, your heart beating a little faster like it always did. No matter how long you've known each other by now, Arthur still made butterflies flutter within your stomach, made you fall deeper in love with you every time your stares locked.

He didn't need to offer you to talk if you needed, because his eyes seemed to say it all, your own hand resting above his when you opened your mouth to speak. "They've made comments again," you revealed, averting your eyes now to avoid catching the expression in his. You knew how much he disliked your workplace, how toxic he thought your coworkers to be. "About how– about how I shouldn't have gone on break when all I did was get fatter," you frowned, trying not to let the words get to you now.

Even before, you had held onto yourself. You weren't a damsel in distress, weren't one to break down and cry about everything. It wasn't an isolated case, anyways. "And how I– how they didn't understand how I got myself a husband at all." You sighed, reaching up to brush your hair away from your face and tuck it behind your ear. "They're right, aren't they? I'm not... you should have a better wife than me." Every time you stared down at yourself, you couldn't quite believe that Arthur had chosen you, unable to see any sort of beauty within you on most days. Least of all when your very own coworkers kept making fun of you.

Arthur softly reached out for you, taking hold of your chin to tilt it upwards to him. He was much taller than you, the difference clear even when you sat down and lounged together. "You know you ain't gotta listen to them," he reminded, his voice softer than it usually sounded. Even though it still was a little gruff from sleep, he spoke as gently as he could, wanting to comfort you in this moment. "And I know it's hard not to, but you're worth so much more than they could get through their pea-brains." In the worst of times, Arthur still managed to bring a smile to your lips, the corners of your mouth tilting upwards ever so slightly.

He leaned in, kissing your temple and nuzzling your forehead, his fingers entangling with your own. "You're beautiful. Inside'n out. And I hate that they try to tell you otherwise, 'cause you deserve bein' treated like a queen." He kissed your cheek, his stubble tickling your skin. "I love everythin' about you, every little bit, you know that?" His eyes found yours again, genuineness within his own. You swallowed lightly and nodded. Arthur would never lie to you, his loving words and expressions entirely sincere.

"And I married you because you're the only one for me. You're everythin' I ever wanted and more, the best woman I ever had the pleasure to meet." He cradled your jaw, running his thumb over your cheek. "Do you wanna sit outside? I'd cook us somethin', give you a chance to unwind. Maybe you'd like a massage later in the evening." His lips shaped a smile, your own mimicking the gesture. It was impossible to start clinging to the bad thoughts when he filled your head with good ones.

You gave him a small nod, letting him lean in to capture your lips for a sweet and loving kiss, humming happily into his mouth. Because Arthur did make you happier than anyone else ever could, and he made even the hardest of days endurable in the very end.