Tumgik
#And in that way i believe it is a love letter from Austen to herself too
burningvelvet · 5 months
Text
i thought nothing could be worse than the burning of byron’s memoirs but i stand corrected after reading jane austen’s poor wikipedia page
Tumblr media Tumblr media
because at least we still have thousands of byron’s letters and journals which are mostly uncensored and which reveal his personality in all of it’s aspects, flaws and all, and everyone in his circle documented every detail of his life because he was a huge celebrity. his letters are considered some of the most brutally transparent ever written. i'm just using him as an example; him and austen shared the same publisher, lived during the same time, both very studied.
but with jane austen? we don’t get that honesty or that truly full picture. her relatives are the main sources of information, and all her surviving letters were carefully selected by them to portray her according to a specific agenda which would favor them, and so the true extent of her personality can never be as fully ascertained.
but at the same time... i don't think that's necessarily a bad thing. she doesn't seem to have wanted attention for herself but to have likely preferred privacy, and her books have gotten more acclaim that she ever could have comprehended -- her books are the way we access her, her life, her thoughts and her voice. i think that about all writers, though i do love biographical criticism and biography.
some writers we know nothing about and some writers we know everything about -- at least they all live on in their writing, yes. but on the one hand, i'm grateful all writers live on in their work (as a fan of history and literature) and on the other hand, my unquenchable curiousity does get annoyed with the lack of available information. i would really love to read an extensive series of austen diaries. there is something sort of voyeuristic about this, i know, but there is also a love of preserving the niche parts of history, the parts that others overlook, the undervalued parts (letters, diaries, receipts, notes, scraps, drafts, juvenilia, etc.)
marcus aurelius wanted his diaries burned but perverse curiousity, likely driven by excessive admiration, led to their preservation, and thus we have his meditations which is now one of the most valued pieces of literature ever. so i think letters and diaries, and any piece of writing, does have immense value, even when it borders on a violation of privacy or has the potential to ruin a reputation.
i think this all simply ties in to the fact that i don't believe in book-burning in any form. embarrassing love letters from 1812 ARE important, depressing diary entries from 1818 ARE important. i could go on and on and on but the point is that i think all words and all history are imporant. in my classes we've discussed how archival technology is at the forefront of all human knowledge: what do we keep, what do we preserve, what do we spend more time on salvaging?
it just kills me that so much has been burned and destroyed, regardless of all the intense ethical discussions which could derive from all this, which could go on for a million years. my point is that it is tragic that so much of austen's work was destroyed, and it is tragic that byron's memoirs were destroyed even though we have so much of his work any way. any loss of writing is a loss to posterity.
107 notes · View notes
bethanydelleman · 6 months
Text
Northanger Abbey Readthrough, Ch 2
Catherine is, "cheerful and open, without conceit or affectation of any kind". This proves to be entirely true. Catherine takes everything at face value and often answers sarcasm earnestly. A truth teller herself, she doesn't seem to realize that anyone else will lie.
Mrs. Morland is just a totally down to earth woman, warning her daughter to keep herself warm and be careful with her pocket money.
But Mrs. Morland knew so little of lords and baronets, that she entertained no notion of their general mischievousness, and was wholly unsuspicious of danger to her daughter from their machinations.
(I love the word "machinations")
I think the section about Sally/Sarah here: "she neither insisted on Catherine’s writing by every post, nor exacted her promise of transmitting the character of every new acquaintance, nor a detail of every interesting conversation that Bath might produce." is a jab at epistolary novels. Epistolary novels have letters which basically recount everything verbatim, which is not very much like a real letter and more like a narrator. Jane Austen may have moved away from this style because of how unrealistic it was, though it is believed that both her first novels had original epistolary drafts.
It was such a disappointment that nothing exciting happened on the way to Bath:
Neither robbers nor tempests befriended them, nor one lucky overturn to introduce them to the hero.
This is just... such a burn. Poor Mrs. Allen. I do think she was cast perfectly in the 2007 Northanger Abbey by the way:
And then we learn about our brave heroine's chaperone:
Mrs. Allen was one of that numerous class of females, whose society can raise no other emotion than surprise at there being any men in the world who could like them well enough to marry them. 
Tumblr media
We are also informed that her husband, Mr. Allen, is a "sensible, intelligent man". He never shows any regrets about his choice of wife, which puts him head and shoulders above like half of Austen husbands in quality.
This chapter contains our first ball and it is a general failure. After making sure Catherine is very properly dressed, they set off. The Allens have no acquaintance in Bath and the ballroom is very full. It's an uncomfortable and unprofitable evening, but Catherine ends up happy because she hears two gentlemen call her, "a pretty girl". She weathers the disappointment fairly easily.
This line is very anti-love-at-first-sight or Cinderella:
She was now seen by many young men who had not been near her before. Not one, however, started with rapturous wonder on beholding her, no whisper of eager inquiry ran round the room, nor was she once called a divinity by anybody.
It is an inauspicious beginning to our heroine's journey, we must hope for better in the future!
35 notes · View notes
Lover,
What is there to say that will truly express my emotions and feelings for you? I believe it was Jane Austen who said 'if I loved you less, I may be able to talk about it more.' and I believe that to be true. There just aren't the words to describe how I feel about you. To say I love you or I am in love you or to even say I love you endlessly wouldn't be accurate. Every part of me truly loves you for all you are, all you were and, all you are yet to be. I honestly don't know at what moment it was where I knew I loved you, I feel like I've always loved you. Like our souls were always destined to be together and that we've shared a love that has went through several life times.
This last two years specifically more than any other time I feel like you've shown me how much you love me. These have been the hardest two years I've ever lived through. Fuck 2020 and Covid-19, that was nothing compared to the pain I was yet to feel. When my sister and I got into the biggest fight we ever had and you were so supportive of me. I had never really felt that kind of support from anyone before and it was world shattering, in the best way possible. Of course you've shown how much you loved me prior to this and I knew you loved me. There's just something about when you're going through something tragic that really shows who's really there.
Shortly after I had the falling out with my sister I ended up cutting my mom out of my life. That was even harder. I felt like I had been going through life with blinders on. Only seeing the good parts that I wanted to see. You were there when the fog cleared and I was able to see my mother for all she is. She's not perfect and she never has been. She's a hurt child who grew up too quickly and had children when she was still a child herself. She has her own trauma she hasn't healed from and though I know she doesn't mean to, she still lets it determine her outlook on life. She's a hurt person and we know hurt people, hurt people. When I made the move to go no contact pretty cold turkey, I wanted to shut down. Frankly I wanted to lay down, give up, and just die.
I am lucky that you didn't let me just give up though. You have been there the whole way. You've held my hands while I learned to walk again and were the support when I felt like I could barely stand. I still struggle everyday with the small things but you're patient with me. You're understanding when we learn about a trigger I didn't know I had and it causes me to spiral. You've been kind to me when things cause me to have PTSD like flashbacks to my childhood. You listen to me when I paint you the picture of my trauma. You are kind to me. You respect me. You support me, but most importantly, you love me. You love me even though I am not this proud and confident person I present to the world. When I'm home and can be the fragile, soft, sad, and broken person, you still love me.
When I was writing in my journal before I started posting my letters on this blog I wrote about how you were my saving grace in lots of ways. I try to not be codependent because I hear it's not healthy so, I hope you know I don't mean to be so clingy and helpless at times. Sometimes it feels like I'm a child again and you're the person I feel safe with.
In my journal I wrote how I felt growing up. How I was labeled the 'problem child' before I was even a problem. My parents gave up on me before I even had the chance to try. They picked me up and threw me overboard and I don't know how to swim. So there I am, lost at sea trying to keep my head above water. Lucky to still be alive. That's when I was least expecting you to come sailing by. You help me and pull me from the ocean where I had be lost for so long. I had been drowning for so long with no one hearing my cries when all of a sudden this beautiful person rescues me.
You and I spoke all of once in high school. You were a 'quiet and straight girl' at the time and I was still trying to find the right label. I held the door for you and complemented what you were wearing before I continued down the hall to see my, at the time, boyfriend. I don't know what prompted me to get the door for you that day, it's not like I was walking out of the library or following you into the library. I mean technically it was out of my way more than anything. The only other interaction we ever had was once in our chorus class. Ironically at the time you were friends with my bully even though you never participated in bullying me. In fact I distinctly remember my best friend and I were sitting with out legs on one another, because it was comfortable, and your friend started to make fun of us. I shrugged it off because what does it matter I guess. That's when I hear you tell her to just leave us alone. I already had a small crush on you but that made my heart flutter. That was the extent of our interactions.
Several years later I'm working at McDonalds and I just so happened to be working the drive-thru one afternoon when, this cutie in an orange car with orange hair to match pulls up. Of course that cutie was you. You didn't exactly pull up close to the window, in fact you pulled very far away. I almost fell into your car as I exclaimed "I love your hair!" Little did I know that it wouldn't be long until I called you my girlfriend.
We met again when I started working at Walmart in 2018. I got a position in the same department you were in and we hit it off. Of course I won you over with my crazy good looks with my buzz cut and, my impeccable sense of humor. I mean who wouldn't fall for a bumbling idiot who just quotes vines all day. For real though, I don't know what I did to deserve you but I'm glad whatever it was I did it.
I'm certain that this isn't the only lifetime we've been together. I think that our souls have found one another through several different lives. You are my person in the past lives we shared, in this life, and in all the rest to come. I can't wait to spend the rest of this life with you. Thank you for being so kind to this sad and broken person. You're my baby. I love you. <3
-Forever faithfully yours <3
1 note · View note
contagiousgrace · 4 years
Text
Jane Austen most likely had undiagnosed Addison's diease (because no one was aware of it yet) and that is likely what killed her. Fanny Price also exhibits many of the symptoms of Addison's or another adrenal disease. In this essay, I will . . .
#Actually not sure what i will#I just find that significant#That she imparted that part of herself into this character#I think it is a commentary on how society prizes the energetic as well as charismatic#Over those with moral strength and thoughtfulness when that someone does not have the physical capacity to be charming constantly#Think about the first time Henry becomes enchanted with her#It's when she's so overcome with excitement and happiness to have her brother there that she is rosy cheeked and ready to dance#And think about how the foolish husband whatever his name is can't keep up physically or mentally#And he is thrown off to the side as much as Fanny#They are put in the same category simply because they are both physically weak#Even though their minds are world's apart#Yes this is Jane Austen's love letter to quiet poor girls who hear everything#But it's also a love letter to the physically weak who are made to feel deficient and weak when they are anything but#And in that way i believe it is a love letter from Austen to herself too#I have no qualifications except to say that i too have an adrenal condition and am mentally and personality wise much more an Elizabeth#But because of my chronic illness I have spent long periods of time being quiet and left behind like Fanny and therefore treated like her#And it wasn't until i began to recover and more of my *sparkling* personality shown through that shallower people paid attention to me#I will probably write this essay whether anyone wants it or not#Mansfield park#Fanny Price#Jane Austen
25 notes · View notes
Note
Dark Jonsa Ideas
Sansa was kidnapped by Ramsey and is readjusting to her life Modern AU
Jon was wrongfully imprisoned (the Starks bust him out) AU
Ned and Cat betrayed Sanaa’s trust/didn’t believe she had a traumatic experience. The Stark Siblings try to heal their relationship AU
USA Gymnastics AU (ft. Petyr Baelish in a Larry Nassar esque role)
Harry Potter AU (maybe Sansa is a squib?)
I have lots of random ideas lol I’ll keep sharing them and maybe something will click :) I love your work
Jonsa HP AU/Squib Sansa AU
Well... THIS has been sitting in my inbox for a while (not as long as that one last prompt from when I asked for them last December, though. Yikes.)
I'll be honest, I wasn't ever going to do a Harry Potter AU. It's been done a million times before and by better writers than me. But today I sat down and went, you know what? I don't think I've read a Sansa-the-squib one before. So here we are.
A disclaimer, I am no HP expert. I was when I was a kid, but I went a solid decade without ever touching it or the fandom because I got salty about the ending, and have only recently re-watched the movies. I have not read or seen any of the sequels/prequels. But also I don't think I go too deep into HP lore here, so it probably doesn't matter.
.
on AO3 here
.
Sansa is on the couch reading Pride and Prejudice for the hundredth time when she hears the distant pop of a portkey outside.
It's about time, she thinks. She's never sure why her siblings have to ride that train from Hogwarts all the way down to London, only to portkey back up to Scotland, but she has learned over the years not to question things too much. She may have grown up around magic, but she understands that there are some things that are not meant for her.
There's a bark of Robb's laughter and she feels herself smile as she slips her finger in between the pages of Jane Austen as a bookmark. She may be a squib, an outcast from wizard society, but her family has not disowned her – not like the stories she has heard of other families with squibs. No, Sansa is lucky. And Robb? Robb is her biggest supporter.
She hears Rickon start moving upstairs, also having heard the portkey, and mom comes out of the kitchen. Sansa has just stood up, book still clutched in her hand, when the door opens and dad comes through first, followed by Arya, then Bran, and finally Robb.
Except – not finally. Behind Robb is a boy she's never seen before, with dark hair curling around his chin, wire-rimmed glasses, and a fully muggle outfit just like the rest of them.
Robb freezes and his eyes go wide. “Sansa,” he starts, “I thought you'd be in France.”
Sansa herself attends a very prestigious all girls school outside of London, and one of her best friends, Margaery, is taking her to France with her family this summer. “I'm not leaving for a few weeks,” she corrects Robb. She thought she'd explained it well enough in her last letter.
Its then that she remembers mom mentioning that Robb's best friend would be visiting this summer, though Robb had written no such thing in his own letter. This must be Jon – Sansa has heard enough about him in the six years Robb has been at that school. She has never met him, though she knows Robb has gone over to Ireland to visit him the past few summers.
Robb is silent for a few moments as she waits expectantly for the proper introduction to his friend. Finally it comes, a hesitant, “Jon, this is my sister, Sansa.”
She watches Jon's brow furrow, his mouth turns down, his eyes go from Robb, to Arya, to Bran, before he says, “I didn't know you had another sister.”
Sansa feels like she can hear her blood pumping through her veins in the silence of the room; soon it's all she can hear. Jane Austen falls to the floor from her suddenly limp fingers and she barely hears her mother's scolding sigh of, “Robb.”
And then she runs.
She shoves her way past mom and through the kitchen and out the back door. She doesn't pay attention to where she's going – all she can hear is that horrible little voice in her head.
Robb doesn't talk about you. Robb is ashamed of you. They all are.
Somehow, inexplicably, she ends up at the little shed where they keep the quidditch supplies. She hates this building. It isn't meant for her.
She yanks open the door anyway and slams it shut behind her, finding a spot on the floor to sit. It's only then, when she's finally stopped moving, that the tears come, hot and fast. She pulls her knees up to her chest and buries her face in them and tries to be as quiet as she can. In the distance, she can hear her family shouting her name, but they will not be able to find her. She has no wand to trace, and tracking spells don't work on her, either.
Some things are not meant for Sansa. She has always known it.
She doesn't know how long she spends curled up in the quidditch shed. Eventually she stops crying and she wishes that she could call Mya – one of her best friends from school and the only person who knows about magic. They'd gotten drunk one night from vodka that Margaery had snuck into the dorms and she and Mya had been the last ones awake. She remembers Mya pinky-promising her that she would never tell.
But she can't call Mya, because electronics don't work at Winterfell Manor. It is too old, too infused with magic. If she wants to make a call on her mobile, she has to bike into town. She has all her friends convinced that it's just poor reception.
(And that only reminds her that the Starks are one of the old families – a long line of proud witches and wizards. She does not belong here.)
The door to the shed suddenly opens and she gasps a bit in surprise, which makes Jon's eyes move to the floor, where she is. If she'd just stayed silent, perhaps he would have never seen her.
“Hi,” he says, like he's not sure what else to say. “Your family's looking for you.”
“I'm a squib, not deaf,” she bites back, feeling a fresh wave of tears rise up in her.
Jon sighs, then looks off to the left and in the distance, she can still hear her name being called. Then he comes inside and lets the door swing shut behind him and he sits on the dusty floor beside her.
After a few moments of silence, he says, “I don't want to say that I know what it's like, but I think I can understand a little.” She gives him a glare, and he winces a bit. “I just meant, I'm muggleborn.”
“Congratulations,” she balls her hands into fists and looks away from him.
“What I mean is that my family doesn't talk about me either,” he explains, speaking slowly and carefully. She likes his accent. “It's not the same, not totally, but my mom spent so many years lying to people, I think she just found it easier to stop talking about me altogether. She can't tell anyone that I made the quidditch team, or how many O levels I'm taking.”
That makes Sansa turn her head again to look at him. He's got a rueful smile on his face, it looks a bit sad.
“She got a new job last year,” he continues. “I don't think any of her new coworkers know I exist. I know it's not totally the same, she isn't allowed to tell people about what I am, but I still... it still sucks.”
“At least you have magic,” she whispers.
“So what?” She levels another glare at him and this time it makes him smile. “Magic doesn't make anyone inherently better, no matter what those weird blood purists say.” His face twists into a scowl and she wonders if he's had run-ins with them before. She knows the type – families like the Targaryens who think magic should only be kept in the old families. No muggleborns, no half breeds, and certainly no squibs.
She used to think her own family was different – hasn't dad been championing for the rights of house elves and goblins and werewolves and other magical beings? She has never doubted it before, but suddenly she wonders if dad is the same – if dad doesn't talk about her, either. He sent her away to a boarding school in a different country - what if dad doesn't talk about her, just like Robb doesn't?
Robb, who always told her it didn't matter whether she had magic or not, she was still a part of the family. Robb, who encouraged her painting and writing and told her she could be whatever she wanted to be. Her older brother, her protector. He's ashamed of her.
“My mom doesn't have magic," Jon says, his voice fierce. "I've got friends back home that don't. They aren't any less of a person than me. And if I'm being honest, there's stuff from the muggle world I miss when I'm at school.”
“Like what?” she sniffs, trying to subtly wipe her nose on the knees of her jeans, which are still pulled tight to her chest.
“Like phones. Like movies and football and good music. Good music,” he emphasizes, “have you noticed that all wizard music is just about magic? It's like they can't sing about anything else.”
To her surprise, a bubble of laughter builds in her and it escapes from her lips. Jon looks a bit pleased with himself.
“I do like muggle music better,” she admits, something she has never even thought to say to any of her family before.
“We'll have to compare,” he says with a soft smile. “Swap playlists or something.”
“Electronics don't work here,” she tells him, and he nods.
“That's right, Robb told me I'd have to go into town to ring my mom.”
“I do that to talk to my friends.”
“Well,” he shrugs, and his eyes dart away from her, “maybe we can go into town together and go to a movie or something. Robb doesn't really get them, he says. It'll be nice to go with someone who does.”
“I'd like that,” she whispers, then presses her face into her knees because she thinks she might cry again.
“Robb might be weird about it,” Jon continues. “But honestly, I'm kinda pissed at him for never mentioning you, so he can deal with it.”
Another burst of laughter, mixed with tears – she is a swirl of emotions and she's too muddled to try and figure out what she's feeling. She's not sure how long they sit there, but eventually she notices that her name is no longer being called.
“We should probably go back,” Jon murmurs at some point, and when she looks up, she can see that the sky through the little shed window has turned orange.
He helps her stand, and they leave the shed and walk back towards the house. The kitchen door opens and mom appears on the landing, hand pressed to her heart. Robb is right behind her, looking pale and withdrawn.
“Sansa-” he starts, but she holds her hand up.
“I'm not ready to talk to you yet,” she tells him, but it comes out shakier than she wanted. She wanted to sound strong, cold even. Instead it just sounds like she's about to cry again. The stricken look on Robb's face doesn't make her feel any better, though she wishes it did. She wishes she took comfort in hurting him, but it just makes everything worse.
“You missed dinner,” mom says softly, “come inside, I have some warmed for you.”
She follows her mom in and sits at the kitchen table as mom sets a plate in front of her. She notes that mom doesn't use magic at all to do any of it, though she does suspect there was a warming spell. Mom always tries to do things the non-magic way when she can.
“Jon and I are going to go to a muggle movie in town,” she tells mom, picking up her fork and pushing some peas around on her plate.
Jon gives an uncomfortable cough before he says, “I just thought it'd be nice to do something...” He trails off, running a hand through his hair awkwardly.
“You missed dinner, too,” mom says softly, gesturing at another seat at the table, and then another plate appears in her hands.
“I think a movie is a fine idea,” dad says. He and mom sit at the table with her and Jon - Robb has disappeared, like he understands she can't bear to even look at him right now.
“Dad?” She still hasn't eaten a thing, she's not sure she can. When dad looks at her, she asks, “do you talk about me? At work?”
Dad sits back in his chair and mom reaches across the table to take his hand.
“Do you know, when I was young, I never thought much about the rights of non-witches and wizards. And do you know why I've made it my mission now? I'm ashamed to say it took you to open my eyes to it. You're all I talk about, Sansa, even when I'm talking about werewolves or muggleborns or centaurs or... anyone.”
“I should go,” Jon murmurs, pushing his chair back and standing as Sansa presses her hands to her face. He leaves the room, though there's a part of her that wishes he would stay. He understands her, and he seems to understand that she needs to be alone with her parents right now.
“You aren't ashamed of me?” she asks, voice wobbly and low. She sounds so pathetic, but she needs to know.
“Never,” dad says fiercely.
“But you sent me away.”
“We thought it was best,” mom sighs, and then her chair scrapes back and suddenly Sansa is wrapped in her mother's arms. “We looked for the best school that we could send you to. We wanted you to have everything. Any opportunity you wanted. You couldn't have that here at Winterfell.”
“I think perhaps we should have explained it better,” dad says, just as soft. “I think there's a lot of things we could have done better. I think there's some things we should talk about more, with the whole family.”
Sansa thought, perhaps, that she was all out of tears, but she isn't. She turns and buries her face into her mother and cries for what feels like hours. She cries until she is too tired to cry anymore and then dad picks her up like he hasn't done since she was a child and carries her upstairs.
Maybe one day she can forgive Robb, she thinks. Maybe one day she can forgive Arya and Bran, though their betrayal hurts less. She and Arya never really got along, and Bran likely followed the example set by his older siblings. It's Robb that hurts most of all.
But maybe one day.
Maybe one day dad will succeed, maybe one day being a squib won't be the shameful thing it is now. Maybe one day the world will be different.
For now, though, things are the same. For now, she'll focus on the things she has – her trip to France with the Tyrells. The new set of oil paints she had picked up in London before she came home. A muggle movie with a boy that might understand her better than her family ever could. She thinks she's looking forward to that one most of all.
That's her last thought before she finally slips off to sleep.
81 notes · View notes
dongofthewolf · 3 years
Note
Omg I’m sorry for not realizing u had a list 😅 but I wasn’t wondering if u could do 41 with Abby and could u make it like rlly angsty but with some fluff or smut at the end
Everything Good in Life Seems to Lead Back to You
Abby Anderson X Reader
Prompt: 41. Overhearing they have feelings for you
Warnings: blood and injury, canon typical violence, swearing, fluff, angst (I tried anon I tried), Owen slander once again (sorry not sorry)
Gender neutral pronoun for the reader (if you’d like your request to use specific pronouns please add to the ask)
Link to the prompt list here
A/N: it’s safe to say that I wrote this with the speed of a thousand blazing horses if that even makes any sense. I hope that you all enjoy this lovely word vomit (esp if you requested) it was a blast to write !!
btw the Virginia Woolf reference is from her letters to Vita Sackville and the Jane Austen one is from Pride and Prejudice. What can I say? I guess I’m just a hoe for old love, baby.
Abby spent a lot of time reading; so much so that she had created this false expectation of what love was supposed to feel like. Abby believed that love was supposed to be strong, and passionate, and bright—an everlasting devotion. Of course she shrugged it off at first, they were just books after all—pieces of fiction to fantasize and dream about. Love wasn’t something you could define in a book nor could it ever live up to the likes of Shakespeare or Virginia Woolf.
Abby had never been in love; she sometimes believes she came close to some iteration of it when she was with Owen, but looking back now she realized that what she felt wasn’t love. It was a desperate attempt to be wanted—to be needed, a manifestation of her desire for approval. And after her falling out with him, Abby had come to accept that she simply wasn’t made for love, and that if by some miracle she ever did fall, it definitely wouldn’t be like the books.
That was Abby’s initial perspective on love, but oh how times have changed. The moment you waltzed into her life, every sad, pathetic notion she had about love was thrown out the window in a matter of seconds. Never in her most outrageous dreams did Abby expect to fall this hard, especially since the two of you were practically best friends.
In fact, it had been very platonic at first; Abby was your superior and you often worked together on missions. She didn’t know what compelled her to talk to you but when she did, the two of you hit it off immediately. You started training together, then working out together, and eventually you were spending almost every minute together. The two of you could literally correctly predict every thought that went through each other's head, all except of course (in Abby’s case) for one. It even got to the point where you both somehow knew when the other couldn’t sleep, so much so that Abby had grown accustomed to opening her door to see you holding a glass of milk and a plate of cookies like a little kid on Christmas. She had spent so many sleepless nights alone only to realize that the one thing she was missing, was you and your adorable midnight snacks.
Abby never entertained the thought of professing her slightly less than platonic feelings for you, because she had become content with the idea that you’d simply never feel the same. However, while she had come to accept her unfortunate situation to be a permanent one, it still hurt her when she saw you flirt with other people. And she’d be lying if she said your absentminded touches didn’t still send her soaring. Sometimes she hated how naturally affectionate you were, it made it so hard for her to not love you.
The box that Abby had continually shoved herself into so she wouldn’t fuck up your friendship was almost starting to feel like home, and as uncomfortable as it was, she knew it was for the best. Almost nothing could compel Abby to leave this torturous, self-inflicted prison she was trapped in. Almost nothing.
The mission was supposed to be a simple one: get in, get the weapons, get out. A mission so simple, the both of you could’ve done it in your sleep. In fact, on a few occasions after a long night of drinking, you had practically done just that. You met up with the group of traders who you were well acquainted with, and the deal went down smoothly. Everything was going according to plan, which is why you and Abby were completely caught off guard when a group of rogue hunters suddenly began firing shots like it was a fucking carnival.
Turns out there was a new rival group in town, and someone had tipped them off. You and Abby luckily were able to find cover from their relentless fire, but not before you got a bullet straight through your left thigh. You didn’t even realize it at first, the adrenaline coursing through your veins still working to protect you from the devastating pain that was to come. When you did notice it, you had already lost copious amounts of blood. Then the dizziness began to set in, and soon after the pain. Abby hadn’t even realized you were injured till you slumped over on the ground next to her.
Looking down in horror, Abby lifted you into her arms. “Y/N? What’s wrong? Why are y-” Then Abby noticed the blood, and suddenly she was panicking. “Oh shit. Oh fuck, Y/N we have to get you out of here.”
“T-the package, we need the package. Can’t leave without it.” Your response was weak, desperate. You had to finish the mission, the WLF was in dire need of these supplies and you were not going to be the one to tell Isaac you failed.
“Fuck the package, we need to get you back to base.” Abby removed her belt, turnoqueting your leg with such surprising ease that you nearly didn’t notice the agonizing pain in your leg. Nearly.
You groaned when Abby hoisted you into her arms bridal style, careful not to move your leg too much before she booked it to the truck. When she plopped you down into the passenger's seat and began to speed away from the scene, you suddenly felt your eyes becoming heavier. You were so tired. You had lost so much blood already and your body felt like it was shutting down.
Abby was frantically racing towards the base, eyes fixed to the road until she heard you let out a small whine. “Abby, I‘m so tired. Need to sleep.”
Abby noticed you drifting off and she reached her arm out to shake your shoulder violently. “No. No sleeping, you gotta stay awake Y/N.”
Though Abby didn’t mention it, she was terrified. When she looked over at you, you were pale and cold to the touch, drifting off while your leg continued to bleed profusely despite her tourniquet. This could be it; you could die right now, and Abby would have lost the one person in this world she cared about most. She couldn’t let that happen, she wouldn’t.
You were equally as terrified as Abby; every natural instinct in your body was begging for you to sleep and you were becoming tired of trying to ignore it. The last thing you remembered was the look on the face of the girl you had fallen for, her eyes brimming with tears while she wore a desperate, horrified expression.
You laid unconscious for what felt like an eternity and Abby never left your side. She had abandoned her duties (with Isaac’s permission) and spent every second next to you, her head resting on the edge of your bed while she waited for you to wake up. The only thing that prompted Abby to step away was Manny, who had heard what happened and went to check on her.
Manny knew full and well that Abby was in love with you; in fact, almost all of Abby’s friends knew. Abby had confided in him during many torturous nights and he was a surprisingly good listener. He understood her circumstances and never pushed her to confess her feelings for you, even if it did annoy him how oblivious Abby was to the fact that you obviously felt the same way. “Abby, I heard what happened. Is everything okay?”
Abby was exhausted, she hadn’t slept at all since you made it back to the base and she couldn’t get the memory of your cold, pale body out of her head. “I almost lost them, Manny. Y/N could’ve died out there without ever knowing how I feel about them.” Tears threatened to fall but Abby did her best to keep her composure.
“It’s going to be okay, Abby. Y/N’s here and they’re alive, and that’s all that matters.” Manny’s hand was on Abby’s shoulder, trying his best to comfort her. “You should tell them how you feel though.”
“Huh?” Abby hadn’t expected that. Manny knew her situation well enough to know that telling you how she felt was a bad idea… It was a bad idea, right?
“It’s like you said, Y/N could’ve died without ever knowing how you feel about them. Wouldn’t it be better to have no regrets at all?” The words stopped Abby in her tracks. She never thought she’d actually agree with Manny.
“It’s just- I love Y/N so much, and I don’t want to lose them this way.” Abby was on the brink of tears, her voice turning into a desperate plea.
“I’m not going anywhere Abs.”
Abby froze, turning around slowly. You were gripping to the doorway for support, limping on one leg and looking extremely weathered.
“Y/N!” Abby immediately ran to put your arm around her shoulder while she carried you back to your bed, setting you down carefully. “You shouldn't be on your leg, you could make it worse.”
There was genuine concern on Abby’s face and in that moment you weren’t sure you could love her any more than you already did. She was so incredibly sweet and caring and no one had ever shown this much concern for your safety and well-being. You had heard her through the door and you couldn’t stop yourself from interrupting her. There was so much about Abby you absolutely adored and she had no idea. How could she not have known you were hopelessly in love with her? Was she truly that oblivious to your obvious flirting? All the subtle touches, the pathetic excuses to sleep in her bed, the fact you literally went out of your way to find rare coins so you could bring them back to her, it all just flew over her head. You couldn’t believe it.
Abby was still rambling about your leg, clearly trying to pretend like she didn’t just profess her love for you while you were standing right behind her. Instead of speaking, you wrapped your hands around her neck before leaning in, silencing her with a kiss so perfect you could’ve passed out right there. You could tell she was stunned at first, but soon enough she was kissing you back. Her fingers were running through your hair and when you pulled away she leaned her forehead against yours, not wanting to part from you.
“Did you mean it?” You pulled away to look Abby in the eyes, your hands still wrapped around her shoulders.
Abby had a dumbstruck look on her face. “Mean what?”
“When you said you loved me, did you mean it?” Your eyes searched her face for an answer while your heart was beating a million miles a minute.
Abby smiled, her eyebrows furrowed as she spoke. “Y/N, I have loved you for as long as I can remember. I’m so hopelessly in love with you that it’s almost pathetic. You have no idea how essential to me you have become—how many nights I’ve stayed awake because you weren’t there to hog all the blankets. Y/N, you have no idea how ardently I love you.”
You smirked “Abigail Anderson did you just quote Virginia Woolf and Jane Austen?” You couldn’t help but let out a small laugh, Abby could be such a nerd sometimes.
“I just confessed my ever-lasting love for you and that’s the first thing you say?” Abby was smiling widely now, relief flowing through her now that she no longer had to conceal her feelings for you.
“I love you too Abs, so fucking much. Also I do not hog the blankets, your comforter is simply too small.” Abby chuckled before she leaned in for another kiss, the worry suddenly disappearing the moment her lips touched yours.
Although Abby had never really known what she expected love to be, this is what she imagines it’d feel like, and you bet your ass it was better than the books. To tell the truth, it was better than any other conceivable thing on this entire planet. Nothing could beat the way Abby felt now that she had finally broken free from her excruciating self-inflicted prison.
Abby pulled away from the kiss, gazing at you lovingly. “Are you hungry?”
God damn Abby, it was like she knew exactly what you were thinking. You didn’t know how long you had been unconscious for, but you were ravenous. “Starving.”
And almost as if you were telepathically communicating, the both of you spoke at the exact same time.
“Cookies?”
“Cookies.”
191 notes · View notes
Text
you’re my world, you’re every move i make.
This is the story of a girl who’s chasing a past she never lived yet, almost broken-hearted.
Tumblr media
Yesterday, I saw Last Night in Soho, and it left me feeling strange, hopeful, and with a sense of déjà-vu. Alexandra Collins went through believing that she could do whatever she ever dreamt of to getting cheated on in the ugliest way. She saved herself. I understand her and I do not understand why. 
I’ve never been more beautiful than I am these days, and I still want it all. Last month I did a photoshoot inspired by the seventies and its glamour and it was like travelling in the past. How can I feel nostalgia for a decade I’ve never lived? My eyes, they never lie, and when I see the photos, I know that I am more me than ever I’ve ever been, as if I knew it. And as I’m writing this, I’m confused, am I speaking about the movie or am I speaking about the fantasy I’ve had ever since that I was a little kid? 
Tumblr media
Maybe that’s the disability thing, maybe that’s the old-kind-of-soul trope after reading Fitzgerald or Austen but honestly, the late sixties always felt like I could have a chance to belong. It doesn’t stop me though, it never will, and I am blooming into the woman I am and it’s precious and romantic. The music flooding into a never ending dance, and how everything seemed possible and free. After two WW, nothing could stop anyone’s creative hunger. Everybody could have a chance to become who they are and dream, bigger than everything (darling). If my words could convey the way it’s calling me, how it makes my stomach sing and my eyes starstruck! I wish I could have felt that freedom and that vibrant lust for life. Maybe I had. The current era we’re living will make me, I don’t doubt it a single second, but my romantic side craves the past.
At the same time, what’s in the past is in the past, I don’t look back and barely hold the word regret in my vocabulary. But as an artist, and as a young woman, I just can’t help but feel the way the satin kisses my shape and the way eyeliner make my eyes become killers. I can’t help but embrace the fantasy that I was born too late or feel connected to what might have been, once upon a time.
Tumblr media
Even the violence seems too familiar. Alexandra, just like Eloise did, I wish I could have told you “I understand” because I wish someone would do the same for me. Women who go for it, who are bold, and witty, shameless and talented, I love you.  
All these night where I dreamt of (and will probably keep on dreaming on) untold stories like they were holy secrets, with awe and romance, and gut wrenching accomplishments. I’ve lived these moments but were they mine? And I took them for what they are, precious hours that the universe gave me, and in return I kept the love, pain and smiles close to my soul, to never forget. 
This is my love letter to the person I could have been in the past and who kept going after everything that happened to her. You are who you are and it’s vivid in my mind as if we’re one and maybe, you could have used a friend or a savior. I know it doesn’t stop you from saving yourself, no matter what. You’re too much. You got the thrill life needs for and you don’t take no for an answer. Drugs didn’t kill you and weapons neither, even if it does hurt. They look at you as if they think they know but they don’t know shit. You dress in colors and have magnetic eyes and it’s how you convey the truth. The cupid bow of your lips. You fell in love with a city and it doesn't change a thing, in the best and in the worst, but you keep going. And you live as if you had nothing to lose, I admire you for that so fucking much. Your heart might be broken but you know how to put it back together to try again. And you’re beautiful, so bloody beautiful. You’re a part of me and a part of who I might have been once, somewhere, someday in the long forgotten past. But I’m emotional and feeling like we already met. Is it possible?
-Audrey
nb : Thank you Edgar Wright for the kaleidoscope trip. 
Tumblr media
35 notes · View notes
Text
My Experience with Jane Austen Part 1
Books I've Read:
Pride and Prejudice (read in 2016)
Sense and Sensibility (read in 2017)
Northanger Abbey (read around 2017)
Emma (read in 2017)
Persuasion (read in March 2021)
***I tried reading Mansfield Park before Emma but I couldn't get past the first few pages.
Favorite books: Pride and Prejudice and Persuasion. The relationships are the most well-developed in these two novels, plus Persuasion is probably Austen's most romantic novel as the protagonist learns to follow her heart.
Pride and Prejudice is one of my favorites (duh!) because it has all the elements of Austen's novels (love/marriage, strong female heroines, social criticism, comic relief). Darcy/Elizabeth are clearly equals and have a revolutionary (for the time) belief that marriages need to be based on love and respect. Plus they do grow and change and I like the emphasis on personal growth as necessary for their marriage to thrive. The unfortunate thing is that this book is so popular that it has become a cliche (the "I hate you" then "I love you" oversimplification). Plus because it has lots of adaptations done for it sometimes I don't know if my perception of the story is really based on the actual book or the adaptations.
Persuasion is very underrated (heck, it might even beat Pride and Prejudice in terms of romance). It was quite easy to read compared with Austen's other novels and I love how Anne starts to stand up for herself while supporting everyone even when they treat her like a doormat. She's an interesting character because she has to live with the regret of her choice not to marry Wentworth. What moves me is that this woman who according to the marriage market would be "past her prime" becomes more beautiful as she gets a second chance at following her heart. Plus Wentworth's love letter is the best: "You pierce my soul. I am half-agony, half-hope."
Least favorite books: Sense and Sensibility and Emma. Perhaps they'll do better on a reread but they're still not my favorites.
Elinor is my favorite character because she's strong and puts others before herself, but the book isn't my favorite because I don't believe in the Marianne/Colonel Brandon relationship. I remember being disturbed when reading the part where Colonel Brandon first notices Marianne; specifically that Marianne reminded him of his ward’s daughter. The two aren't together very often and unlike Darcy/Elizabeth don't have lots of conversations, so it was unconvincing that they would fall in love. Plus the age difference where he is "middle-aged" at 35 years old and she's 17 didn't help (yes I know Jane/Rochester from Jane Eyre have a similar wide age difference but that relationship is well developed and Bronte takes pains to emphasize that they are equals). Finally, the book isn't very easy to like if you don't know about the historical/literary context: it's basically a lot of waiting and desperation and uneventful trips back and forth from London. It really brings home how depressing Regency life could be for women.
Not much happens in Emma apart from "spoiled rich girl learns to be nice to less fortunate (compared to herself) people." When Emma does realize she loves Knightley, it's only because she'll lose him (and she's pretty much been taking him for granted throughout the book as she concocts her schemes), not very romantic. Knightley seems to be rather paternal in a way because until he declares his feelings for her (which started at 13, way to go!) he's always trying to teach her a lesson. He's like Emma's second father (because her father is a bit of a neglectful parent) and it seems patronizing because even though it's hard to like her, she has a lot of self-confidence and knows her own mind. While she does need to be humbled at times, as a modern reader it's hard to reconcile this with 21st century values.
Adaptations I've seen:
Pride and Prejudice: 1940 movie, 1980 miniseries, 1995 miniseries (my favorite), 2005 movie, Bride and Prejudice (2004)
Sense and Sensibility: 1995 movie (love that one), 2008 miniseries
Northanger Abbey 2007
Emma: 1996 movie with Gwyneth Paltrow, 2020 movie
Persuasion 1995
41 notes · View notes
desiree-harding-fic · 3 years
Note
mayhaps a snippet of reJEANcy Lup and Barry when they were courting and Before Things Went to Shit?
Is this ask like at least a year old? Yes. Am I sorry? Very.  Better late than never??? 😂 Please ignore the fact that the first half of this conversation is missing they’re courting they’re walking in a park in London, that’s all you have to know it’s fine don’t question it.  This is part of my ReJEANcy Au (it’s like jane austen but with taz)
***** “And you have been sent here to marry,” he said. Lup felt her face grow warm at the words, and a bitterness settle in her heart. For though the material circumstances of her situation never escaped her, they had felt of late to be more and more pressing in upon her, confining and stifling her at every step. 
“ I am one and twenty years of age,” she replied, bitterly. “I am a spinster in the making, in their eyes. And my brother, with the decline of our property, will scarcely be able to afford me, in a number of years.” Her chest clenched at the thought of it, her and Taako, her brother ragged and tired even just as a youth, and Lup a burden on him he could not afford, and would not part with.
“Spinsterhood is a harsh fate to have thrust upon you at so young an age.” And Barry’s voice drew her back to the present, the kindness and warmth in it, even with the weight of the subject they were discussing, and it did not escape Lup that such a subject coming from him could only mean one thing, and while her heart wished dearly for it, it frightened her. To be taken from Taako by matrimony would only be a fate slightly less terrible than to be a weight around his neck as their years advanced. 
And yet, Lup had enjoyed such company with Barry in London as she had never before experienced in her life. To imagine that he could walk out of this conversation, to a place where Lup could not follow, and perhaps that upon her journey home, she would not ever see him again, and perhaps exchange only careful letters from afar, as polite acquaintances… surely there could be no joy in that either.
“If I could, I would make my fortune as you do,” she said, wistfully. “Make discoveries that would bear my name for generations to come.”
Mister Bluejeans chuckled.
“There is little money to be made in discovering,” he said wryly. 
“Even so. As it is I am expected to prattle along until I keep house for whichever man deigns to make me an offer.” The forwardness of her words practically made Lup tremble. The distance between her and Barry seemed incredibly vast, and she longed, for a terrible moment, to be more openly his sweetheart, for though everyone in Town seemed to sense their connection, she could not link her arm with his and feel the strength and weight of him beside her, and had to make do with the faint energy of one who is close but yet not close enough to touch. She abruptly missed their first dance, and wished, foolishly, to have taken better advantage of the opportunity to touch him, when she had it.
 “It is a disheartening way to live,” she said, for the truth in it, and desperate, perhaps for comfort, and perhaps for clever mister Bluejeans to read between the lines, to see that he was one of those who could release her from the utter precarity of her circumstances, and more happily, perhaps, than any other soul on earth.
For truly, with him, she thought that perhaps she could be happy. That they could have a companionship in intellect as well as in affection, one that she could hardly have hoped for upon her arrival to London, nearly five months ago now.
“You speak of yourself very meanly, Miss Taaco,” Barry  responded, after a time, and Lup laughed with no humor.
“I speak the truth, meanly or no,” she said. She could not bring herself to brighten her words, the depth of her anxiety dragging her out of levity’s reach.
At this the gentleman paused a long moment, and the sound of birds’ wings and trills, and the footfalls of himself and herself along the path were all that she heard for a long moment. Until he spoke again,
“It would be a foolish person,” he said, “who would know you more than an hour and consider you fit only to keep  house.” He spoke in that stilted way that Lup had come to know well, the words coming slow and soft and in such a manner that she could hardly help but understand, in her deepest heart, that his intention was to tell the absolute truth, as he understood it, without alteration.
“You carry as sharp a wit as any of my colleagues,” he continued, “and as great a natural aptitude for the scientific arts, that you have consistently been a most stimulating conversational partner, these several weeks, without the benefit of the extensive education many others enjoy.” Lup flushed, half in shame at his oblique reference to her lack of fortune and circumstance, her greatest failure in the eyes of Society, and her greatest blemish. But the other half of it was no doubt in the sincerest throes of flattery, that he should speak of her so. 
Mister Bluejeans, she knew now, was not one to embellish needlessly, in his kindness to others. Though as good and generous a man as any she had known, Lup could not imagine that his words were meant only to flatter her unduly. Such counterfeit would not suit Barry, not in any reality she could imagine. 
“There is no lady in all my acquaintance,” he said, soft, “whose mind I admire more. It is a great injustice indeed, that the whole of society should underestimate you, when you are more than worthy of their highest esteem.”
Lup almost could feel tears coming to her eye at his words.
“Mister Bluejeans,” she said, her voice weak, “You are surely too kind.”
“I am exactly as kind as you deserve,” he answered, though Lup thought she could hear perhaps the barest tremor in his voice with the words. And indeed, Lup had hardly ever heard him speak in so forward a manner before, without the barest opportunity for misinterpretation to be found. He was always plain of speech, but never had Lup been on the receiving end of such unmitigated compliments. 
The day was fine, and the sun was shining down upon them, and the season would be over soon, and Lup, for perhaps the first time, allowed in herself a kind of happiness to blossom such as she had never thought she would feel in her life. For this was what it must be like, she thought, to be in love, and she was now certain, loved in return. For surely Barry must love her, with the time that he chose to spend by her side, and with his words, seemingly designed to cut her to the quick and lay her bare. She was certain he could see all of her heart stretched out before him, and she waited to see how he would act upon the information written upon it. 
“Perhaps it need not be necessary,” he said, after another several minutes of silence, “that you be forced into one circumstance or another.” Lup’s heart quickened in her chest, and she could scarcely believe her ears. “Perhaps marriage need not be… so stifling as you imagine it, if your husband were of a mind to pay sufficient respect to your intellectual capabilities alongside the pleasure of your company.”
Lup could hardly breathe. 
“I do not think I should find it stifling at all, mister Bluejeans,” she said, breathless, desperate, “if that were the case.” She swallowed, and wondered how much further she dared go. 
“In fact,” she pushed, “I think I should like that very much.”
And at that, Lup seemed to feel a tension roll off of his shoulders, by proxy, and saw, from the corner of her eye, an almost resolute nod, and he seemed inclined to speak no more, while Lup kept her pace silently beside him, and choked on her own anticipation. 
For surely, his words were as good as a proposal, in everything but name? What else could he be alluding to, with such talk, but a marriage between the two of them? And in a matter of minutes Lup’s life had turned on a dime, and suddenly all of her terror and discomfort and pain seemed they could vanish at a simple word from mister Bluejeans’ lips- 
If only he would ask her. 
But he spoke no more, just then, and Lup’s heart, as they took their turn around the park, slowly returned to a more sedate pace to match her breaths and her steps, and they spent a good fifteen minutes in a not-uncomfortable silence. 
Which, if his words had not before, only sealed Lup’s heart further in its conviction toward the man beside her. 
Here was someone, she thought, who must care for her, to have sought her out. Who must surely understand how perfectly suited he was to her desires for her own future and for companionship in marriage. With whom she could speak and feel at ease, and more, with whom she could be silent and feel no pressure to chatter needlessly and fill the air. 
He was perfect, Lup thought, practically sick with it, and she could not imagine another day without him. 
After a time, their ramble came to an end, and mister Bluejeans turned, as Lup saw the Captain catching up to them, from down the path, where he had been walking a good quarter-mile behind. 
“Miss Taaco,” Barry said, his blue eyes warm behind his spectacles, and weighty, so that Lup hung upon his every word. “Do you think the good captain would permit me to call upon you tomorrow, at his home?”
And Barry had already called to the Captain’s home many times. There could be but one reason why he was asking, as Captain Davenport was the closest thing Lup had to a guardian, and it could not have escaped Barry’s notice that while he had no right to deny any suitor Lup’s hand, Barry could ask for permission to see her, and it would be nearly the same. 
Her heart ached with his gallantry.
“Mister Bluejeans,” she breathed. “The Captain has always said that I am free to extend his invitation to any visitors I please, while I am here in Town.” Yes, he would be happy to have you. “Plus,” she added, “he considers you a friend. I am sure that he would be more than happy to see you call.” He will approve. 
Barry smiled, then, and it nearly killed her, and with a bow, and the barest brush of his lips to the back of her gloved hand, he bid her a farewell until tomorrow, and turned, and left the park, just as the Captain made his way to stand beside her. 
“That’s sorted, then?” he asked, in his brusque way. Lup thought she could feel her hand tingling through her glove, still warm from where Barry’s lips brushed against it. 
“He wishes to call upon the house  tomorrow,” she said faintly, still staring, quite shamelessly, at his retreating form. 
The captain’s hand came up to rest upon her shoulder, and he gave her something of a squeeze and an awkward pat. 
“Congratulations, then, lass,” he said. “I daresay you could not have done any better.” 
And Lup thought that she quite agreed. 
116 notes · View notes
hannie-dul-set · 3 years
Note
hi i'm a big fan of ur work :> (im on anon cuz shy)
anyways i noticed that u read a lot, so do you have any book recommendations? i'm trying to expand my reads and all i've read so far are YA/fantasy novels
omg hellooooo<3
actually, i don't read a lot HUHU i would like to read more but i don't have the budget to buy more books </3 (i'm physically incapable of focusing on my phone so i need the actual thing HUHU) but anyway, i hope my limited selection can satisfy ur needs in some way :'>
okay starting off with a book i'm currently reading and doing a terrible job on it because i don't have a physical copy HAGDBSJ— a little life by hanya yanagihara!
genre according to fanfic criteria: slice of life, domestic fiction, found family trope, ANGST fucking aaghdjdkska PAIN.
two things you need to know abt this book is that it's (1) long, and (2) SAD. very sad. i was already crying before the angsty parts came in because u just get so ATTACHED to the characters ugh i'm in love with willem.
another thing u need to know is that this book deals with a lot of triggering and sensitive topics. so if ur planning on reading it, please read through this list of trigger warnings before you do.
OKAY the next two will be from the legend himself, haruki murakami:
norwegian wood— bro i cried. that's not a surprise because i cry all the time but THE WRITING?? IS SO GOOD??? god i take so much inspiration from murakami's words bcs it's so???? bro u just gotta read it to find out it's SO—
genres: romance, coming of age, there's lots of sex and sex talk and it's just v explicit be warned HAGSHJA
also just a note abt murakami's writing is that he uh..... writes women.... evidently through the male gaze (ahem boobs) so take that as u will 😐.
scrumptious writing tho ooh lala
next one is after dark— this book is SO VIBEY like i don't fucking know what the hell happened here but i enjoyed it nonetheless. so much music recs too HAHHAHA this was such a nice read.
okay no way in hell am i gonna make a rec list and NOT mention my queen jane austen so let me just recommend all six od her novels because they're MWAH. ranked from my most favorite to least<3:
persuasion— GOD HOW DO I EVEN CONDENSE THIS okay. so much yearning. SO MUCH!!! YEARNING!!! it's always been you trope??? a love that endures??? CAPTAIN WENTWORTH'S LETTER AT THE END GOOD GOD RUIN MY LIFE!! NOW!!!
emma— read for a hecking good time<3 so much misunderstandings HAHA fuck this was so entertaining equal parts laugh. equal parts HOLLERING. very sexy book.
okay the next three are relatively the same rank
northanger abbey—if there was a modern rendition (maybe working on smthng like this rn) it would be a girlie being way too obsessed with wattpad books and trying so hard to believe that she is starring in one herself. also the male lead is to DIE FOR he's so fucking sWOON WORTHY I FELL IN LOVE WITH HIM NO JOKE I FELL IN LOVE.
pride & prejudice— don't think i have to say a lot abt this LMAO. except for the fact that you'll more vividly see the spiraling of mr. darcy into his state of whipped-ness with lizzie.
mansfield park— currently rereading.....god this was so good but for some reason i'm having a lot of trouble trying say anything about it HAHAHAH.
sense & sensibility— least favorite out of the six but still good 👍 (i am actually marriane dashwood, save for the fact that i'd up marrying someone almost the same age as my dad).
LAST ONE is the song of achilles by madelline miller! pretty sure you've heard about this already HAGDBSJ
i cried so fucking much like straight up SOBBING my tears wouldn't stop aahahah. the writing too??? GOD TIER. THE HEAVEN'S CRIED TOO. fuck.
this book ruined me thnx.
just for a little addition, i'm linking my have read/tbr list here too, just in case HAHAH hope this helped, and happy reading bb<3
7 notes · View notes
spine-buster · 4 years
Text
The President Wears Prada (William Nylander) | Chapter 13
Tumblr media
A/N: We’re getting into some seeeeerious business now.  Thank you all so much for your anons and DMs about last chapter!  Hopefully you all enjoy this one despite the subject matter.  
Also, if you didn’t see my post, I created a Ko-Fi page in case you ever want to support my work / my writing: https://ko-fi.com/spine_buster .  I love all of you so much and appreciate the reader engagement I have with you SO much!
TW: workplace harassment
December 21st, 2019
Aberdeen Bloom was in a meeting.
Brendan was addressing the room, full of practically everybody who worked on the administrative side of the Leafs.  Because it was just a few days until Christmas, he wanted to address everybody before the holiday to thank them for their hard work.  It was also the day that Brendan decided to hand out the Christmas gifts for all the employees – a “swag bag” with a S’well bottle, candy and chocolate from Sugarfina, a coffee tumbler from Yeti, a Patagonia sweater with a Leafs embroider, and a Raptors toque.  Aberdeen knew because she helped assemble them – literally and figuratively, because Brendan had asked for her opinion on a few of the inclusions.  She was happy to see everybody loved the gifts.
As the meeting began to wind down, Brendan singled out some specific people who had earned a promotion.  She was glad they were getting the recognition they deserved, because she knew how hard everyone worked.  It was a great gesture, and a nice way to wind down the meeting – letting everybody leave on a good note—
“And my executive assistant, Aberdeen Bloom,” Brendan’s words completely caught her by surprise.  She could feel a blush rush to her cheeks as many of the eyes in the room focused on her.  “Just a couple of weeks ago, Aberdeen pulled off the nearly impossible – she managed to track down Niklas Lidstrom while he was in Toronto to get a signed Tre Kronor jersey from 2006 for our special guest, Colonel Richard Brant.  But not only did she get the jersey – get this – she got Nik to come meet the colonel backstage.”
There was a round of applause for Aberdeen.  Now she was really embarrassed.  There was no reason for him to single her out like this – like she told him, she was just doing her job.  She smiled awkwardly at everyone.  Even Brendan was clapping.  When it died down, he continued.  “So, even though she had a bit of a rough start – like everybody does when they first start with the Leafs – I’m so happy to see how much she’s grown and integrated herself into our family.  So…great work, Aberdeen!”
Another round of applause.  Aberdeen continued to smile awkwardly and even through in an awkward wave for good measure.  Brendan said a few more words before the meeting ended, everybody filing out of the room patiently.  When she approached him, as one of the last bodies to leave, she gave him a stern look.  “How’d you like that?” Brendan asked.
“Please never, ever do that again,” she said, giggling at the end.
“Why not?”
“Because I told you I was just doing my job.”
Brendan shrugged his shoulders.  “And you did a damn good job of it, so everybody should know.”
As they walked back into his office together, she saw a perfectly wrapped box lying on his desk on top of all his newspapers and other things.  It was very, very rare that things were delivered directly to him – usually it went through her first, and Brendan had no problem with her opening his work mail because it was part of her job and all his personal stuff got sent to his house anyway – so it definitely piqued her interest.  “What’s that?” she asked.
“It’s your gift.”
Aberdeen’s brows furrowed.  “But I got my swag bag in the room.”
“I know that, silly,” he smiled.  “It’s my gift to you.”  Aberdeen stopped dead in her tracks, giving Brendan another look.  “What?” he asked.  “Are you seriously surprised?  You think I wouldn’t get you something?”
“Sort of…” Aberdeen admitted.  “But also…I was going to give you my gift to you on Monday.  It’s underneath my desk,” she laughed.
Brendan let out a hearty chuckle.  “Why’d you get me a gift?”
“You’re my boss!”
“Go get it.  We’re doing it now.  I’ll be too busy with kids being everywhere on Monday.”
Aberdeen quickly made her way to her desk and retrieved the gift, hidden in her bottom drawer.  It wasn’t large by any means, but she did put thought into it and she did have to enlist her mom for some help.  When she went back into his office, he closed the door behind them.  “It’s not much…” she began, comparing the size of the box on his desk to hers.
“You should be saving your money anyway,” he quipped.
Aberdeen sat in one of the chairs and handed him his gift across his desk.  He unwrapped the Christmas wrapping paper to see something wrapped in tissue paper and a Prada box.  Taking off the top of the Prada box, he was greeted with a blue and white patterned silk tie.  He shook his head but smiled.  “Aberdeen…”
“I had to get you something from Prada one of these days since you always send me there,” she smiled.  
“I love it.  It’s very fashionable.  What are the kids saying these days?  It’s lit?”
“Please don’t.”
“It’s lit, Aberdeen.  Thank you.”
“Thanks.  Although I think you’ll like the other gift better,” she said.
Brendan placed the box with the tie on his desk and focused on what was wrapped in the tissue paper.  When he unwrapped it, he saw that it was a card, made out of thick construction paper glued together.  Along the front were the words “With Love from St. Leo”, and in the middle, a big maple leaf cut out and painted with multi-coloured fingerprints.  When he opened it, the card had been signed by every student from her mom’s grade one class.  A small message was printed out by her mom:
Dear Mr. Shanahan,
We love the Toronto Maple Leafs and we love you!  We heard you came to this school a long time ago.  You and the Maple Leafs can come visit our class anytime you want and we can show you how well we read!
Love, Mrs. Bloom’s grade 1 class
Aberdeen watched as Brendan read over the card, looking at all the names printed, and his eyes glossed over with tears.  He smiled.  “Well would you look at that…” he mumbled, nodding his head slightly.  He already knew he was going to display this forever in his office.
“She means it, by the way,” Aberdeen said, trying to lighten the mood.  She didn’t think it would get him so emotional.
“Oh, I believe it,” he nodded again.  “This is really, really special to me Aberdeen.  Thank you.  I…it’s always nice to remember where you came from, you know?  This will remind me,” his tone was so sincere.  
“You’re most welcome,” she smiled.  
Brendan moved to display it on his desk.  He composed himself before picking up the box that started this whole thing and handing it to her.  “For you,” he said.  “Although I don’t know if it’ll top that card.”
She unwrapped the pretty ribbon and beautiful wrapping paper – clearly Catherine or one of his kids had helped, because for all the skills he had, she didn’t think he was capable of this wrapping on his own.  As she tore it apart, a box with the embossed logo and lettering of Smythson London stared back at her.  Aberdeen stopped.  “You didn’t.”
Brendan only smiled at her.
She was already overwhelmed because she knew how expensive Smythson London notebooks were – the smallest, cheapest, and most basic notebook ran for around £40.  But when she opened the box to find three notebooks – two small navy blue Soho notebooks retailing at £195 each and a large gold Portobello notebook retailing at £235, each of them personalized with her initials which she knew cost even more – she felt even more overwhelmed.  “Brendan…” she whispered, running her fingers over the embossed calf leather.
“I hear writers write in notebooks or something,” he joked once he saw the look on her face.  “Anyway, I want you to have these.  And when you get published and become super famous and they display all your notebooks in museums like they do with Charles Dickens or Jane Austen, I want to see one of those behind the glass.”
“I hope I get published one day…” she said quietly, almost to herself.  
“You will,” Brendan said assuredly.
Aberdeen nodded.  The material part of his assertion was nice – the notebooks – but what obviously meant more to her was the sentiment.  Hearing his tone and the confidence in his voice meant that he believed in her.  He wanted her to succeed.  That meant more to her than anything.  “Thank you, Brendan,” Aberdeen said in the same sincere tone he thanked her with earlier.  “That means a lot to me.”
Brendan could only smile again.  “I like to think I knew what I was doing when I hired you.”
“Was it all part of the Shanaplan?”
“Do not,” he giggled, shaking his head.  He hated that term, and she knew it.  “Go on.  Get out of here.  Go start your novel on your lunch break or something.  Actually, before you do, can you go down to scouting and give them these for me please,” he said, handing her a stack of files.
She smiled.  All was right and normal in the world again.
***
It was a few hours later when Aberdeen found herself in the staff kitchen, warming up a croissant she’d gotten earlier in the day from Starbucks as a snack before she and Brendan had to start preparing for the game against the Red Wings.  She had a fresh batch of files from scouting in her arm for Brendan to look over as she stuck the croissant in the microwave.  It was then that Ethan walked in, no snack in hand but instead wielding a tea packet.  She ignored him.  She wasn’t going to grace his presence with a greeting and, though it was probably a bit immature, she didn’t care.  He’d said and done enough to her that she didn’t want to be the first one to engage at all.  
“Good afternoon,” Ethan half-mumbled, engaging first.
Aberdeen looked at him.  “Hello,” she said curtly.
“Nice swag bags, huh?” he asked, trying to engage more.  Aberdeen only nodded her head.  “Did you put them together?”
“Of course I did.”
She hoped her short responses and tone were getting across that she didn’t want to speak to him, but Ethan couldn’t read a room to save his life, so he kept going.  “You know, a lot of us were jealous in that meeting that Brendan was praising you so much,” he said.  “We couldn’t believe you pulled that Lidstrom thing off.”
“Guess I’m surprising a lot of people lately,” Aberdeen shrugged her shoulders, setting the files down on the counter.  He didn’t have to tell her people were jealous.  She had a hunch that it was only him who was jealous, and not anybody else in his department.  “Especially you.”
“He must really like you to publicly praise you like that.  He doesn’t do that often, you know.”
“Does that officially make me better at my job than you?” she asked cheekily.  “You know, after you told me I can’t do the job at the Major Donor Gala.”
Ethan threw his head back at the fact that she brought that up again.  He moved to stand behind her as she stuck her food in the microwave.  “Abbie, come on.  You know I rib you because I think you’re good at your job.”
Well that was news to her, because for the last three and a half months, all he’d been doing was making her job a living hell and telling her how much she couldn’t do her job.  This complete 180 was out of the norm, even for him.  “You’ve known me for three and a half months and you’ve consistently called me every name in the book besides my actual name,” she said, turning around to face him, bringing up the other thing that was annoying her about this whole interaction.  “Don’t try to suck up to me now just because you know for a fact Brendan actually likes me.”
“Aberdeen, do you realize how cutthroat the hockey world really is?” Ethan began.  It was at that moment that she realized how close he really was to her; how there wasn’t much room between the two counters of the galley kitchen anyway, but that he was closer to her than normal, than what anybody would consider normal, and it was starting to make her a bit nervous.  “Do you realize how much backstabbing there is?  How many people cross each other all the time just to get promoted or get ahead?  If the little guys like us are going to survive in this industry, or any other industry adjacent to this one, we’re going to need to stick together.”
Aberdeen shook her head.  “You’re trying to use me and it’s so blatantly obvious,” she said sternly, turning around so she wasn’t facing him anymore.  She didn’t want to face him anymore.  “You can’t fool me, Ethan.  Now get out.”
“C’mon, Abbie,” his voice was low, and extremely, extremely close to her ear.  She could practically feel him breathing down her neck.
Then she realized.
“Stop calling me that.”  She tried to make her voice sound strong but it only came out weak as she felt his body pressing up against her back.  Angry tears welled in her eyes as her emotions broke through.  Her chest began to rise and drop from her heavy breaths.
“Abbie, the hockey world is full of favours that help people move up and excel at their job,” Ethan said.
And then she felt it.  His hand on her ass.  Her mind went into overdrive.  She shifted and reached her elbow up and across to push it away, which she did, thankfully.  “Get your hands off me,” she said as firmly as she could.
She turned around quickly so he couldn’t do it again.  Her back leaned against the counter, and she saw he had taken a small step back, but they were still unnaturally close.  “Abbie—”
“Get away from me,” she tried again.
“Just listen—”
“Is things okay in here?” a deep voice asked from the door way.  Ethan took a quick step back further as the both of them looked to see Pierre Engvall standing in the doorway awkwardly, holding a protein shake.  He seemed to be assessing the situation, but Aberdeen had no clue how long he had been standing there.  She would have seen him, she thought, if he had been there long.  
“Pierre!  Good to see you up here buddy!” Ethan put a smile on his face, walking over to him.  Ethan left her standing at the kitchen counter, chest still heaving.  “Feeling good being up with the Leafs?” he asked, switching his demeanour completely.  Aberdeen felt sick to her stomach at how fast he could switch from doing what he was trying to do, to being so buddy-buddy with Pierre.  
“Is there a party going on in here?” another voice asked from out in the hall.
Aberdeen’s stomach dropped.  Right then and there, William popped into the doorway.  He looked between Ethan’s shit eating grin, Pierre’s serious stare, and Aberdeen’s face, red from trying to hold back her emotion as her chest still heaved.  His brows furrowed.  “Is everything okay?”
“Everything’s fine!” Ethan said quickly, shifting to get out of the room.  He looked over his shoulder once more at Aberdeen, taking his phone out of his pocket.  “I’ll email you what Brendan was asking for as soon as I get back,” he called out as he left the room, walking down the hall and disappearing up the staircase.
William was trying to piece everything together.  He looked at Aberdeen.  “What happened?”
“Nothing,” she said, forgetting about her lunch and gathering the files folders quickly and messily in her arms.  
“Aberdeen—”
“Just leave me alone!” she whispered harshly as she shoved past the two large hockey players.
William and Pierre watched as she marched down the hallway, disappearing into the staff washroom.  When they couldn’t see her anymore, William looked at Pierre.  “What happened?” he demanded.
“I don’t know,” Pierre shook his head, trying to piece together and remember everything that he saw – at least the tail end that he saw – with all the visual, emotional, and verbal cues that just happened.  “I…I walked in and he was really close to her and—and—you don’t think—”
William saw red.  He didn’t even wait for Pierre to finish his thought or sentence – he started marching down the hallway to Brendan’s office.  Pierre followed.
He was the eyes, after all.
***
Aberdeen didn’t know how long she was in the washroom for.  She didn’t know how long she’d been crying but also trying to keep herself from not crying and just making herself redder in the process.  She couldn’t believe that had just happened to her…that Ethan would do something so awful and so heinous.  It had happened to her at clubs before – a quick squeeze or a pat on her ass, unwanted grabs of her hips, or awkward leans ins to try to get a kiss – but in those instances, she was able to swat the boys away, scream at them or tell them off, or her friends would intervene and help.  She didn’t do that this time, for some reason.  She couldn’t, maybe.  Maybe because they were alone?  Because she truly felt helpless?  Because she really did feel like Ethan could get away with whatever he wanted – he had been for the past few months with her alone, she couldn’t even imagine what he was doing to other people, specifically to other women – so what was the point?
But as she kept thinking about it, she came to a conclusion: that she couldn’t let him ruin her life because she still had her whole life ahead of her.  That even though she’d just become another statistic – another woman sexually harassed at work – it wasn’t her primary identifier, and she would never let it identify her.  She was so much more than that.  She had to put it behind her and had to overcome.  
She looked at herself in the mirror.  Her eyes were red, but there was nothing she could do now.  All she could do was keep doing her job.  And all she had to do was avoid Brendan until she looked normal again.  She unlocked the door and stepped out, trying to walk inconspicuously down the hallway.
“ABERDEEN!” Brendan called out loudly from his office.
She stopped dead in her tracks in the hallway.  She didn’t even have time to go hide from him, let alone breathe, because Brendan popped his head out the door of his office and looked around feverishly.  When he saw her, he immediately noticed the redness in her eyes and cheeks.  “Aberdeen, I need to speak to you inside my office,” his voice went ten times softer than what it was.
She was caught.  She followed him in, trying to think of ways she could lie to him or make an excuse for why she had been crying.  But when she walked in and saw Pierre and William standing in the room, she knew she wasn’t going to be able to get out of it.  She sat down in the same chair she had been sitting in earlier in the day.  It felt different now than it had then, when they were exchanging gifts.  “Why were you crying in the bathroom?”
“I wasn’t crying.”
“Aberdeen—”
“I watched a sad video on YouTube and—”
“Aberdeen,” Brendan said firmly but calmly.  He looked her straight in the eye.  “Do.  Not.  Lie.  To.  Me.”
She took a deep breath.  She looked at Pierre, who had a sympathetic and extremely worried look on his face.  She looked at William, who looked ready to explode right then and there.  “Umm…there…there was an incident—”
“An incident?”
“In the staff kitchen.”
“With who?” Brendan asked.  “Was it with Pierre or William?”
“No.  God, no,” she shook her head vehemently.  “It, um…it was…I don’t…I don’t—”
“Was it with Ethan Baker?” Brendan filled in her stutters.  He could see how pained she was.  His hands gripped the armrests of his chair.  Aberdeen couldn’t look him in the eye.  She nodded her head once, bringing her hand up to wipe a tear away.  “If we check the cameras will we see that he touched you inappropriately?” Brendan asked again.  Clearly William and Pierre had told him what they thought happened.
Aberdeen couldn’t – didn’t – even register that Brendan mentioned cameras, that the entire thing was probably caught on a camera.  She couldn’t form words.  She could only nod her head.  Slightly, too.  Not even enthusiastically.  Pathetically.  
Brendan didn’t say another word.  He picked up the phone on his desk and called an extension.  “I need Gary to share the last hour of the security footage from the staff kitchen right this instant.”
Aberdeen shifted uncomfortably in her seat.  A few more words were exchanged before Brendan hung up the phone.  “You’re going to tell me what happened,” he said, before spinning his chair slightly to face Pierre and William.  “And then you are going to tell me what you saw,” he pointed towards Pierre, who followed Brendan’s finger and sat to the left of Aberdeen, “and then you are going to tell me what you saw,” he pointed towards William, who sat to the right of her.
Aberdeen recalled everything: walking in, the conversation they’d had, the things Ethan had said to her, where he moved and how he got there and the feeling of how close he was behind her.  Brendan wrote everything down.  When she recounted how she felt his hand on her ass, Brendan and Pierre visibly scowled.  William looked like he was about to punch a hole in the wall.  When she mentioned Pierre in the doorway, Brendan stopped her and let Pierre take over.  Pierre told her what he saw – he’d come in at the last possible second of seeing Ethan’s hand on her ass before she pushed it away.  When it was William’s turn, he mentioned how upset Aberdeen was and how she looked ready to cry.  A notification sound came through on Brendan’s iPad and she knew it was the video footage.
“Aberdeen…” Brendan tried to say softly, though he was saying it through gritted teeth.  “Have there been any other incidents like this one?”
She shook her head.  “No.”
“Has he even been inappropriate or demeaning in any other way?”
And there it was: the million dollar question.  She remembered everything Ethan had done to her and everything he’d said; she was hyperaware of his presence around her at all times since her first day of work, so she felt like she had to remember everything.  In her hesitation, she made eye contact with William.  The way he was staring at her, it was like he was begging her to say something.  But William.  Poor William.  He only knew about the bag incident because he had intervened.  Now the floodgates were about to open.  “Yes…” Aberdeen nodded her head, taking a deep breath.  
“What were they?”
Aberdeen reminded Brendan of the coffee incident from her first day, but then recalled the long list of others: the bag carrying incident where William stepped in; the “Girl Friday” and “Brendan girl” nicknames he’d given her; the slightly inappropriate flirting at the Major Donor Gala and the things he’d said to her when she didn’t reciprocate; the comments he’d made to her at the Christmas party.  Brendan kept writing everything down.  The more she told, the angrier his scribbles got and the harder he pressed down onto the paper.  The more she told, the more William looked like he was about to rip Brendan’s massive solid oak desk in two with his bare hands like Captain America did with that log.
“Anything else?” Brendan asked.
Aberdeen hesitated.  “Um…no.”
“Aberdeen.”
She could feel William look at her as she looked down to avoid any eyes on her.  “There was um…there was an incident where I was in the staff kitchen heating up a snack wrap, and he asked if I should really be eating it because nobody likes a piggy working for a hockey team.”
Time stood still as Brendan, Pierre, and William looked at her, completely and utterly speechless at the words that had just come out of her mouth.  She tried to fixate her eyes on something in the room, but she landed on William’s balled up fist in his lap, his knuckles white from how much anger he felt.  It took Brendan reaching over to his phone and dialling another extension for any semblance of time to pass.  “Can you let Ethan Baker know he needs to come into my office in ten minutes?  Thanks.”
Aberdeen knew what that meant.  “Brendan—”
“Don’t Aberdeen,” he grabbed his iPad and swiped to his mail to get the security footage.  Everything that Aberdeen had said, what Pierre had said, what Willy said – it was all corroborated by the video.  Ethan wouldn’t be able to get out of it no matter how hard he tried; no matter what charms he tried to pull on Brendan.  Not that Brendan would fall for them.  “He’s never working another day in his life for any professional sports organization,” Brendan mumbled.  “And I’ll make sure of that.”
Aberdeen was shocked.  “That’s—that’s ruining his life—”
“You’re right – I am the one ruining his life,” Brendan said sternly, lifting any feelings of burden off of her immediately.  
“And he deserves to have it ruined,” William piped up, his tone scathing.  Pierre nodded in agreement.
“You two can go back to the locker room and do what you need to do to prepare for the game tonight,” he said to Pierre and William.  Pierre got up first, and had to wait for William, who didn’t want to leave.  It wasn’t until Brendan urged him with a slight head nod that he got up out of his seat.  Brendan waited until they left completely to continue.  “You can go home, Aberdeen.  If you want to take the Next Gen day off I won’t mind at all—”
“I don’t want to.”
Brendan stopped.  “You what?”
“I don’t want to go home and I don’t want to take the Next Gen day off.  Just let me do my job,” she said.
“Aberdeen, I really think—”
“If I go home all I’m going to do is wallow in this feeling.  All I’m going to do is think about it over and over again until I cry some more.  I don’t want to let him get to me more than he already has.  Just…just let me do my job.  Please.”
***
William booked it out of Scotiabank Arena the second he was able to.  Despite the team winning 4-1 against the Red Wings, William’s mind was somewhere else.  He was able to keep focused, sure, and make plays and complete passes, but there were other things that occupied his mind.  He didn’t even change into his suit – after showers and media, he left in his workout gear.  There was no point in suiting up.  He knew exactly the places he needed to go and exactly what he needed to do.  
When he got to the lobby of Aberdeen’s apartment, he typed Kasha’s name into the call system and waited to hear one of their voices to let him in.  However, there was no voice – only an acceptance of the call, and a click of the door opening.  He rushed towards the elevators.  He remembered the floor number easily.  
The door was already slightly open.  When William showed up in the doorway there were three people in the apartment, and luckily, none of them were members of Aberdeen’s family.  He didn’t take her as the type to have her parents talk her through a crisis like this one – she was too independent and maybe a bit too stubborn for that – but he knew she’d already called Siena about it.  It was what he would do with his brother.  Aberdeen had already washed all her makeup off and had her hair in a bun, and was standing in a hoodie and pyjama shorts as she cradled Minerva in her arms.  He recognized one of the people as Kasha, but had no idea who the guy was.
Kasha was the first to see him.  Her eyes widened when she recognized him.  “William?”
Everybody’s eyes turned to him.  Aberdeen’s were bulging out of their sockets in shock.  He saw that they were red – that she’d been crying again, probably recounting everything to Kasha once she got home.  “Hey,” he said.
There was an awkward silence as they all stared at him.  Kasha noticed that William was shifting his focus between Evan and Aberdeen and knew she had to be the one to break it.  “Will, this is my boyfriend Evan.  Evan, uh, this is William Nylander.  Aberdeen’s…uh…work colleague.”
Evan moved to shake William’s hand politely.  “You guys work together?” he asked, his voice upbeat.  “Are you another assistant with MLSE?”
Kasha intervened before anybody else could.  “Evan, William’s a player for the Toronto Maple Leafs.”
Evan’s eyes widened at the revelation.  It began to sink in to him how…interesting it was to have a member of the Toronto Maple Leafs in the apartment of his girlfriend.  “Ooooooooh, okay,” he nodded slowly.  “Sorry.  I don’t watch hockey.”
“It’s probably better that way,” William quipped.
“I…that was you calling?” Kasha asked.  William nodded his head.  “I thought you were the Uber Eats we ordered.”
“I’m not Uber Eats but I brought Sugo for…uh…” he held up the bag.
“Sugo’s been closed for like, two hours…” Kasha furrowed her brows.
“They’re not when you’re…me,” William said.  He stared directly at Aberdeen.  “Can we talk?”
Aberdeen stayed silent.  She looked at Kasha and Evan first.  Kasha held her hands up in front of her.  “Don’t look at me.  He’s your friend.”
“Kasha—”
“I don’t mind him being here at all,” she said, knowing what the question would be.  If she had to push them together herself, she would.  “And you know I’m not going to say a word.  He won’t say anything either,” she nodded towards Evan.  “If you guys need to talk, then talk.  Evan and I will be in my room.”
“We will?” Evan asked as Kasha yanked his arm.  “We will.  Nice to meet you Will,” he said as he was dragged towards Kasha’s bedroom, the door slamming behind them.
Aberdeen and William looked at each other.  She’d barely moved since he walked in the door.  She knew with every fibre of her being that he wasn’t supposed to be here, but she couldn’t help but feel…solace? relief? gratitude? as he stood there with his blonde hair and blue eyes and that dumb but cute look on his face.  “I got some pasta and their giant meatballs,” he said softly, setting the bag down on the counter.
“What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice a bit strained.
“What do you think I’m doing here, minskatt?” he asked.  “I needed to see if you’re okay.”
“I’m fine,” she tried to brush him off.
“Aberdeen…” he said softly.  “I’m trying to be here for you.  Will you let me?”
His words sounded so soft and so sincere that it almost broke her.  There was no way she could say no, no way that she could ask him to leave and deny him.  After everything that they’d been through, after everything he’d ever said to her, the hotel room visits, everything – she couldn’t deny him this.  He wanted to be there for her, and she was going to let him.  She swallowed the sob that threatened to escape her.  “Plate that pasta and bring it to my room,” she said quietly.
William’s eyes bulged in shock for a split second before he began moving around the kitchen trying to find an appropriate plate.  He kicked off his shoes before grabbing a fork and walking into her bedroom, kicking the door closed behind him.  He looked around, and it was just as he remembered it.  It had been a while, but the events of that night in June still played over and over in his mind.  If he thought about it hard enough, he could imagine the feeling of her bare skin underneath his fingertips.  
He found her sitting on her daybed, Minerva lying on her legs and her laptop on her desk chair that was placed at the edge of her bed like a TV stand.  He handed her the plate full of pasta and meatballs before climbing into bed beside her, sitting right next to her so their bodies were touching.  “He deserved what he got, you know.  After that piggy story I wanted to go to his office and strangle him with my bare hands.”
She nodded her head softly.  “I know.  I got that from seeing how white your knuckles were in your lap.”
“Do you want to know how Brendan did it?” he asked.  She didn’t respond, so he just went for it.  “He called Ethan into his office and he asked him what his dream hockey organizations were to work for.  As Ethan said them, Brendan wrote them down.  Then Brendan showed him the video, and in front of Ethan, called the president or GM of the teams he mentioned and blacklisted him.  He told them never to hire him because he was a sexual harasser.”
Aberdeen didn’t know what to think.  She knew William didn’t tell her that to get a reaction out of her, and she knew he wasn’t expecting one either.  It was harsh, very harsh.  Ethan’s career in the sports industry was ruined, that was for sure.  It was a fitting end to a guy who was such a dick.  And more than anything, she realized one important thing: Brendan cared about her.  He cared about her so much he’d ruin another man’s career for harming hers.  “Good,” she mumbled.  
“Why didn’t you tell me any of that was going on?” he asked.  “You promised me you’d tell me, Aberdeen, and you broke that promise.”
She shook her head.  She couldn’t deal with this right now.  She knew she should have said something earlier, but she was the lowest person on the metaphorical totem pole, and she didn’t think it was worth William’s time or effort.  “Please don’t.”
“I could have helped you, Aberdeen—”
“William, please,” her tone was strained, her voice begging.  “I don’t want to talk about it.  I don’t want to keep reliving it.  I just want to sit here with you and eat this giant plate of pasta with these giant meatballs, okay?  Please.”
William looked at her for a few moments, directly into her eyes, before he nodded his head.  It was all he could do.  He didn’t want to make her relive it any more than she had to.  And, quite frankly, he didn’t want to have to think about it, because thinking about what Ethan did to her made his blood boil and made him want to search every street and apartment in the city for Ethan so he could punch him.  She’d let her guard down, however minimally, and said she wanted to sit there with him.  If him sitting next to Aberdeen was going to make her feel okay, he was going to do just that.  If just being there, physically, was enough for her, then it was enough for him.  “What are we watching?”
“The Real Housewives of New York City.”
He smiled.  “Alright.  Real Housewives it is.”
With Minerva sleeping on her legs, Aberdeen downed the plate of pasta.  William couldn’t really keep up with the show, with all its drama and all the ladies gossiping over events he had no clue about, but that didn’t really matter.  All he was really focused on was Aberdeen.  And as her body language softened the more she worked through the giant plate of pasta, the more comfortable she became.  When she was done, she leaned forward and put the plate on her dresser.  She’d deal with it later.  
When she curled her arm underneath his, he rested his hand on her legs and she leaned her head onto his bicep.  Their bodies couldn’t be any closer, and now they were starting to intertwine.  It wasn’t long before her breathing steadied, and when the screen went dark during a scene, William could see through the reflection that she was sleeping peacefully against him.  He closed the laptop with his foot.  
He moved to lie her down in her bed.  The disruption in position made her grumble slightly, though she was still latched on to his arm.  “Willy?” she mumbled out.
The use of his nickname that everyone else called him but she never did until now brought a small smile to his face.  “Minskatt?”
She didn’t say anything else, but she made it clear she didn’t want to let him go.  And she showed it by grabbing onto him tighter.  When he lay down in her tiny bed with her – seriously, it was tiny and there was barely enough room for his body, let alone both of theirs – she closed her eyes again.  Comfortable.  Safe.  Protected.  
William closed his eyes too, letting his feelings of serenity overwhelm him.
***
Aberdeen woke up with the sun, which she was mad about because she had the day off and wanted to sleep in until it was an acceptable time to have brunch.  Her body still felt fatigued from yesterday, but her mind – even her mind still felt tired, like she’d barely gotten any sleep.  She saw Minerva curled up at William’s feet and smiled.
William.
William.
William was in bed with her.
The events of the night before came back to her – him showing up at the apartment with takeout Sugo; eating the giant plate of pasta and meatballs all on her own; sitting on her bed and watching the Real Housewives of New York; resting her head on his arm until she fell asleep.  He’d stayed the night.  For the second time in one month, she’d shared a bed with William.  The first time, they’d stayed on their respective sides because the bed was big enough – it was respectful and innocent, but she had still kicked him out in the early morning in complete fear.  But now, there was no respective sides.  She felt his hand underneath her hoodie on her bare skin.  She felt his body pressed up against hers, holding her delicately.  She felt his chest rising and falling softly.  But mostly, she felt the grip of his hand holding hers, cradling it near his chest.
For the first time, she didn’t mind.  And she didn’t pull away.
_______________________
Sexual harassment in the workplace resources:
from the Women’s Legal Education and Action Fund: Sexual Harassment at Work - What Can I Do About It?
from the Ontario Human Rights Commission: Policy on Preventing Sexual and Gender-Based Harassment 
from The Muse: Here’s What You Can Do If You’re Sexually Harassed at Work
from Workplace Fairness: Sexual Harassment Practical Strategies: How Do I Deal with Sexual Harassment?
from Canadian Labour Relations: Sexual Harassment Lawyers and Attorneys: a Legal Solution
from Workplace Fairness: Sexual Harassment - Legal Standards
222 notes · View notes
lostbbygorl · 3 years
Text
AN UNLIKELY VILLAIN (LEVI X F!READER):
AU: PRIDE AND PREJUDICE BY JANE AUSTEN
~~~~~~
Tumblr media
Lady Katrina was careful not to make a sound as she stalked her niece and nephew to the piano room. Isabel had dragged
Mr. Ackerman by the hand to the piano room, and the duo had shared countless looks and whispers throughout the ball which took place on that very night at the De Lancey mansion. As nosy as ever, Lady Katrina intended to discover the subject of her niece and nephew’s hushed yet frantic discussions.
“ A union between you and Amanda will be disastrous, brother! You cannot lie to our aunt, Amanda, and yourself forever! You’re a grown man, have a spine! It’s Y/N who gives you a purpose to live in this world, and it is Y/N you must chase and marry”, Isabel scolded Levi.
“ You are a child, Isabel, don’t tell me what to do. Besides, you know of our aunt’s stubbornness. Do you really think she’d happily accept a marriage between me and someone of Y/N’s standing after I’ve been engaged to Amanda my whole life?”, Levi reasoned.
“ I wouldn’t be meddling with your life if you acted like the grown up you are and defied our aunt! If Y/N can do it, so can you! I will not sit around and watch my older brother spend the rest of his days in acute misery”, Isabel said, decidedly.
“ I know of the letters you and Ms. Y/N exchange frequently, and I know for sure, as a young woman, that she loves you back now. It’s what you’ve been waiting for her to do all this time, Levi, why are you suddenly so obedient? Where’s the headstrong, independent Levi I know? Things must change around here, and you’ll be starting it”, Isabel finished definitely. The fire in her eyes made Levi know that Isabel wouldn’t back down till he was united with the woman he loved, and moreover, her words had motivated Levi to live by his own rules, which he had always done until Lady Katrina started discussing his engagement with Amanda more seriously. After learning of Levi’s feelings for Y/N and confronting him about them, she decided to have them married in 2 months instead of next summer, thinking that this change of plans would squash all hope in Levi. Lady Katrina angrily stomped back to the ballroom. To her displeasure, Amanda was deep in conversation with a blonde boy with blue eyes who she vaguely remembered as Armin Arlert- and she was smiling! An extremely rare occurrence indeed. This was an absolute nightmare for Lady Katrina! The world was turning upside down! Lady Katrina was determined to put a damper on this! So, the very next morning, she boarded her carriage for a journey to Trost.
Y/N’s household was much quieter than usual, now that Sasha was gone. Papa and Mama were bickering as old married couples usually do, and Mikasa was helping Ella with a sewing project. The eldest sisters were in the chicken house discussing Mr. Smith and Mr. Ackerman whilst petting baby chicks.
“ Mr. Ackerman’s been writing to me more regularly nowadays. It’s so refreshing to see him come out of his shell and open up”, Y/N said.
“ Mr. Smith says he’ll come visit Trost as soon as he has some urgent business seen too”, Christa squealed enthusiastically to a wide eyed, gasping Y/N.
“ And you tell me this only now? Christa, I can guarantee he’s coming to see you”, Y/N promised. Suddenly, the entrance to the chicken house burst open, and a heavily breathing Ella stood in front of them. Ella looked like she had some important news.
“ Ella, are you alright?”, Christa asked to which Ella nodded.
“ Christa, come to the living room immediately! You have a special visitor”, Ella said, catching her breath. The three sisters ran back to the house. When Christa entered the living room, she was shocked to see a beaming Mr. Smith sitting on the sofa talking to Mrs. L/N. Mr. L/N came back from the kitchen with a pot of tea and some muffins. Mr. Smith’s attention shifted to Christa as soon as she entered the room, and everyone intensely stared at the pair, who had hearts in their eyes when they made eye contact.
“ Ms. Christa, it has been too long”, Mr. Smith bowed.
“ Mr. Erwin, it truly is lovely to see you in flesh again. It’s been ages since we last met at Stohess”, Christa replied.
“ I agree. I notified you in my letters that I’d be visiting Trost after some urgent business was seen to. Well, all matters have been fixed much earlier than I predicted, so I thought I might surprise you”, he explained. His tone and his posture were confident, but if you noticed the way his hands clenched and unclenched on repeat, you’d notice he was nervous and obviously had something important to spill.
“ And I am surprised!”Christa laughed, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.
“ Then I am successful. Ms. Christa, I have come here to speak with you about a matter most serious. Everybody, may we have some privacy for a short while”, Mr. Smith politely requested as he looked around at all the faces staring at him. At once, everybody scurried out of the living room. But they didn’t leave Christa and Mr. Smith alone, oh no! Mrs. L/N and Ella pressed their ears to the door as soon as they closed it. Mr. L/N and Y/N whispered amongst themselves about what the motive behind Mr. Smith’s sudden visit could be.
“ Do you think he’ll propose to Christa?”, Mr. L/N asked Y/N.
“ I’m not entirely certain, but something tells me that is his motivation”, Y/N said, heart beating in anticipation.
Meanwhile inside the room, Christa was crying tears of pure joy, and Mr. Smith smiled the widest he ever had in his life. Twinkling in the sunlight that shone through the windows of the living room was a gorgeous pear shaped diamond on Christa’s ring finger! Mr. Smith had apologized to Christa for abandoning her so suddenly, and came back to ask for her hand in marriage. With their arms linked, Mr. Smith and Christa exited the room, smiling at the faces of their eavesdroppers.
“ Everyone, me and Mr. Smith are hereby engaged to each other”, Christa squealed, and all at once, chaos commenced inside the house! Mr. L/N wrapped his arms around Mr. Smith and congratulated him before making him swear he’ll keep his beloved daughter happy. Mrs. L/N was glad that she’d have yet another one of her children married off, and this time to a filthy rich gentleman! Ella, Mikasa, and Y/N tackled Christa with a bear hug and Y/N loudly exclaimed praises and jokes at Christa. Mr. Smith stayed over for lunch, and he took Christa on a ride with him to Dauper village afterwards for some bonding time as an officially affianced couple.
The rest of the day went rather peacefully. Mr. L/N and Y/N relaxed in the library. Mr. L/N was reading a novel, while Y/N wrote to Sasha and Nifa about the engagement. Christa returned to the house just in time for dinner, just as Lady Katrina had reached Trost!
Y/N lay in bed, not even a tiny fraction of sleepiness in her. Her head still buzzed with joy and excitement after Christa’s engagement. Could Mr. Ackerman really be behind all this? Was he really mending his ways after Y/N had criticised him, and solving everybody’s problems? For the umpteenth time, Y/N lay awake at an ungodly hour thinking of Mr. Ackerman, and letting her insecurities eat away at her. Mr. Ackerman loved her, no doubt about it, but it was Amanda who was getting in her way! Now, a good natured person like Y/N could never hate an innocent young lady who had no intention of hurting her, but god, it really would be blissful if Amanda didn’t exist! She was plain and dull, but she had all the wealth and connections. Y/N was losing all hope of ever reuniting with Mr. Ackerman, or of giving her hand to him. But she was rudely jerked out of her thoughts when it began raining unexpectedly, and heavily too accompanied by a boisterous thunderstorm! But it wasn’t only the loud rain that bothered her, it was the sound of wood being knocked on. It took Y/N a few seconds to realize that somebody was knocking on her door- and very roughly too!
Y/N flocked downstairs to see her family surrounding a short, plump woman in expensive, elegant clothes with her gray hair tied in a tight bun. It was Lady Katrina! But what was she doing here at Trost, in her home, at 3.00 in the morning?
“ Where is Ms. Y/N L/N?”, Lady Katrina demanded, her striking grey eyes shining angrily by the flames of the fireplace as she searched for Y/N. Y/N was taken aback! For a brief moment she locked eyes with Christa, who pointed her chin at Lady Katrina’s direction with a confused expression, silently asking Y/N who this lady was and why she barged into their home at such a late hour.
“ I am here, your ladyship”, Y/N answered.
“ May I ask why you’ve woken me and my family at 3.00 AM in the middle of severe rain to seek me out?”, she asked.
“ Now, Y/N, that’s no way to treat a guest. Would your ladyship like a cup of tea?”, Mr. L/N butted in.
“ Not at all. All I would like here is to talk privately with Y/N. Where might I sit and talk with her alone?”, she asked with a serious tone.
“ Let me lead you to the library, my lady”, Y/N answered, guiding Lady Katrina there. Once inside, Lady Katrina circled Y/N, giving her no scope to seat herself.
“ Ms. Y/N, I am here because a most alarming report has been made to me two days ago, and you are to debunk it”, Lady Katrina said in a matter of fact voice. Y/N was curious.
“ I have no idea as to how I could ever be in the middle of your problems, madam, so please provide me with a backstory so I may understand”, Y/N requested.
“ Ms. Y/N, I must warn you that I am not to be trifled with. The report made to me states that you intend to marry my nephew, Levi”, Lady Katrina clarified.
“ I know this to be a scandalous falsehood, and I came here as soon as possible to confirm my sentiments on the matter to you”.
“ If you believed a marriage between me and him to be impossible, why did you take the trouble of coming so far to confront me about it?”, Y/N queried.
“ To hear it from your own mouth. Why do you pretend to be ignorant of it? Have these statements not been industriously circulated by yourself?”, Lady Katrina challenged.
“ They haven’t, and I deny all accusations of them having been spread by me”, Y/N replied confidently, though her heart was cracking the more Lady Katrina spoke. All her insecurities about her relationship with Levi were seeping out.
“ So you declare that there isn’t any foundation for it?”, Lady Katrina asked.
“ I declare nothing, as I’ve just been informed of these rumors now”, Y/N said.
“ Then let me ask a clearer question which to my knowledge has no answer excluding yes or no. Has my nephew made you an offer of marriage?”, Lady Katrina interrogated.
“ Your ladyship has declared it impossible”
“ Let me be understood! Mr. Ackerman is affianced to my daughter. What do you have to say now?”
“ Only this: that if your words are kosher, he wouldn’t have a reason to ask for my hand”, Y/N said, riling the woman up! Why wouldn’t Y/N just give her straight answers?
“ Ms. Y/N, do you know who I am?”Lady Katrina loudly quizzed her.
“ I am his closest relative, so therefore I am entitled to know all of Levi’s most important concerns”, Lady Katrina stated.
“ But you aren’t entitled to know mine”, Y/N countered her, making Lady Katrina put a hand on her chest in offence. She took ragged breaths in an attempt to calm herself. She closed her eyes, and once she was more clear headed, she opened them again.
“ The engagement between them is of a peculiar kind”, Lady Katrina started again, her tone softer.
“ Their marriage was decided during their infancy, and it is the favorite wish of my Amanda’s late father and Levi’s”, she explained.
“ A matter as delicate and final as this shall not be hindered by the hands of a woman of inferior birth who possesses no fortune or connections, and worse: no sense of propriety! You have influenced my nephew and lured him in, and I will not stand it!”, her ladyship cried.
Y/N was offended and hurt beyond comprehension! How dare this busybody barge into her house at midnight, and insult her very being? Though tears welled in her eyes, she stood her ground, and unflinching, she faced Lady Katrina.
“ I’ve come this far, and my journey was tiresome. I won’t leave until I am satisfied. Now, Ms. Y/N, tell me that you promise to refuse Levi your hand should he ask for it”, Lady Katrina ordered.
“ I empathize with the exhaustion you face due to your long journey, and I’ve been compelled to admit clearly that I am not engaged to Levi Ackerman. But I will not make any promise to you, madam, and especially not a promise of the respective nature”, Y/N deadpanned to the thunderstruck Lady Katrina!
“ Insufferable, headstrong, selfish girl!”, Lady Katrina furiously hissed.
“ You have insulted not me, but my beloved kin as well, and that is an offence I can never forgive you for. It was wrong of you to force yourself inside my abode, uninvited and unannounced, to confront me about baseless rumors and personal matters. It is now 4.00 in the morning, and the rain has stopped. Your escort must be waiting, your ladyship. I will not be disturbed any further! Goodnight and goodbye”, Y/N said the final words.
Lady Katrina exited the house angry and displeased, cursing the situation and Y/N’s character as she stormed out. Finally, Y/N began crying. She ran out of the library to make her way upstairs.
“ Darling, what happened? Is everything okay?”, Mrs. L/N asked, concerned.
“ It was a simple misunderstanding. I’m off to bed, and you all should be too”, Y/N sniffled, trying to escape them.
“ Darling, talk to us-", Mr. L/N started only to get interrupted.
“ I have no desire to. For once in your life just leave me be!”she shouted before locking herself in her room to cry.
Lady Katrina had reached Shiganshina after hours of travel, and she seeked her nephew out immediately.
“ Levi, come here at once!”, she called. Levi curiously walked downstairs, Isabel following him suit.
Lady Katrina explained everything that had happened between herself and Y/N to Levi, thinking he’d be appalled by her behaviour. What the poor lady didn’t realize was that her recount had only made Levi exceedingly proud of Y/N, and deepened his feelings towards her. Isabel gaped at Levi the entirety of her aunt’s heated speech, knowing what her brother would do next. She smirked, an action which went unnoticed by Lady Katrina.
“ Oh my, auntie, what horrible offences you’ve had laid against you”, she said, feigning astonishment. Isabel entertained Lady Katrina and pretended to sympathize with her while Levi sat on his horse for a long ride to Trost- all in his nightwear! Levi silently thanks the lord for the fact that he had another chance with Y/N, and the closer he got to Trost, the gladder his heart became.
Lady Katrina on the other hand was much dismayed! Amanda had broken off the engagement from her part, and revealed that she was now affianced to Armin Arlert, a friend she fell for after meeting at the never ending balls.
“ I’m sorry to have disappointed you, mother, but I can’t allow myself to be under your control any longer. I’ve done everything you instructed me to these past 23 years, but all that ends now, for I do not love Levi Ackerman, I love Armin Arlert”, she sternly broke the news to Lady Katrina.
And before walking out the door one last time, she turned around and said:
“ Before I go, I will instill upon you some heartfelt, priceless advice that I believe will be most helpful in the future: don’t arrange marriages between two individuals while they’re still in their cradles. It encourages zero admiration or affection, and plans of this kind always find a way of souring”.
15 notes · View notes
flwrpotts · 4 years
Text
hands down
or: seven times jughead didn’t confess he loved betty and one time he did. some tooth rotting fluff to get us thru quarantine. the structure and concept of this fic is inspired by this. enjoy!
1. 
He knew that Archie’s bachelor party was going to end badly for him. It had started with Archie pressing a tequila shot into his hand before they had even gone to dinner, c’mon, Jug, it’s the only bachelor party I’m ever going to have! while Reggie and Moose had cheered in the background. He took the shot, lukewarm citrus and a rubbing alcohol bite. They drank steadily through dinner, boisterous and loud, and now they’re in a packed strip club, sweaty and bright with flashing lights.
He hasn’t been this drunk since college, five years at least, and he can feel himself slurring as he talks to Archie, everything hysterically funny all of a sudden. Betty texts him, a selfie of her and Veronica in a sleek looking bar, holding up their glasses of wine. Hope you’re having fun! she sends, and Jughead tries to formulate a text back, si goood i miss yoi so mughc, followed by a truly horrendous string of emojis.
Betty’s contact info lights up on the screen with an incoming call, and Jughead stumbles outside, away from the boiling music of the club. The night air is sharp with cold, and he sucks in an inhale, trying to clear the spinning in his brain.
“Hello?” he slurs into the phone, leaning heavily against the brick wall. Betty laughs, amused, and he misses her terribly, misses her even though he saw her that morning.
“Hi, Juggie,” she says. “Having fun?”
“I’m never doing tequila shots again,” he says, vowels blurry around the edge. “Not even for Archie.”
She laughs again, tinkling and amused, Veronica’s tipsy bright voice in the background. “You’re going to be okay getting home?” she asks, the faintest slip of concern in her voice.
“I’ll be fine,” he says, and suddenly the last round of shots catches up with him, any facade of sobriety gone. “I miss you so much,” he whispers into the phone, the words mushy and almost indiscernible. “Love you.”
There’s a quick, sharp intake of breath Jughead is almost too inebriated to catch.
“I’ll see you soon,” she says before the call clicks off. They don’t discuss it.
2. 
Jughead hauls Betty up onto the counter, his teeth already against her collarbone. This is something they indulge in rarely, when neither of them are seeing someone, or when work gets particularly stressful. Betty moans, and he gets a hand up to cup the back of her head, keeping her from knocking her head against the kitchen cabinets.
“Jug, Jug,” she says into his mouth, yanking up his shirt and getting her hands onto his stomach, nails sweeping low over his waistband. He has goosebumps running down his spine, and his blood rushes hot through his head, leaving no room for intellectual thought. He undoes the button and zipper of her jeans, his fingers clumsy with anticipation.
She sinks her teeth into his bottom lip, hard, and Jughead doesn’t know what to do with his hands, his brain is detached from the rest of his body. He hikes up her legs around his waist, pulling her even closer, and his vision is blurred with the flyaways of blonde hair and the sound of his name in her mouth. Her heel is pressed into the small of his back, keeping him pressed hard against her.
Betty moans again, louder this time, and Jughead’s hand flies to her mouth, remembering too late the thin walls of their apartment. Her breath is hot against his wrist, and his thumb dips against her bottom lip, mouth open. Her eyes open, a clear bright green, and it’s easily the hottest thing he’s ever seen, his pulse wired to hers.
“Fuck me,” she whispers into his palm. He wants to yank on her ponytail, wants to lick the cherry chapstick off of her mouth, wants to stay inside this moment forever, suspended by the longing.
He presses his mouth to the fragile, ivory skin of her neck as he fumbles to unhook her bra, and he exhales iloveyouiloveyouiloveyou, fervent and sticky hot, like a prayer, lost in the press of their mouths against one another.
3.
Jughead waits for Valentine’s Day to arrive with the dread of a condemned man facing an executioner. The days of February tick by, and he waits patiently for Betty to mention a new romance, a guy she’s been seeing or a surprise hot date for the most romantic night of the year, waits for the Jones luck to really kick in. Finally, it’s the morning of, and she pads into the kitchen, startlingly beautiful in an oversized t-shirt and socks, glasses perched on her face, no mention of any plans.
“Dinner tonight?” he asks, all casual, heart in his throat, and Betty hums her agreement, absentminded and pouring coffee.
“Yeah, sure,” she says. “I get out of class at six, so six thirty?”
He makes reservations at a nice restaurant, dresses up in a nice shirt and yanks at the collar, feels awkward and out of place as the hostess guides him to the table, watching the elegantly paired up couples around him. The menu is definitely out of his price range, but he figures if he’s going to tell her he might as well make the grand gesture, give her the sort of romance she deserves.
Betty walks into the restaurant and for a single second everything in his head goes blank. It’s a secret phenomenon Jughead wouldn’t even know how to explain, the way she numbs everything out, makes everything better.
She folds herself into the seat in front of him, wearing a breezy, careless lavender dress and that familiar smile, ponytail falling in a perfect twist.
“God,” she says, picking up the menu and flicking through it mindlessly. “You won’t believe what happened in the coffee shop today. Is there anything more cliche than confessing your love on Valentine’s Day?”
He freezes.
4.
Jughead gets home to the apartment late, cranky after being stuck in a social for the MFA students in his program. He yanks at his ill-fitting tie as he walks in the door, feeling some of the tension starting to seep out of his shoulders.
“Betts?” he calls, taking in the warm yellow glow of the hallway, light left on despite the lateness of the hour. Remnants of Betty’s evening are scattered through the apartment- dishes in the sink, a neat plate of leftovers in the fridge with a post-it note stuck on top, bolognese if you’re hungry <3
He steps into the living room, and Betty is passed out on the couch, surrounded by a stack of freshly graded papers, the sharp elegance of her  handwriting crawling across the pages in bright red. She’s slumped at what must be an uncomfortable angle, legs tucked up underneath her and her head propped on her shoulder. The fondness pangs in Jughead’s ribs, sharp with longing. He just stares at her for a moment, the fine curl of the baby hairs at her temple, her mouth just a little bit open with sleep, all the lines in her face smoothed.
She’s so relaxed that Jughead doesn’t want to wake her, potentially kickstart the insomnia he knows gets to her when she’s stressed. So he picks up an old quilted afghan off of the other edge of the couch, tucks it up around her shoulders. Betty sighs in her sleep, shifting into the blanket and kicking one leg out.
I love you, Jughead mouths. I love you. Betty turns in her sleep, eyelids fluttering, and Jughead shuts the light off behind her, head full of the things he wishes he could tell her.
5.
It’s Friday night, and the two of them are tipsy from the shared bottle of red wine, sprawled out on the living room floor with a Scrabble board between them. Betty sits cross-legged, flushed high in her cheeks from the wine and her hair loose around his shoulders. Jughead is raggedy in an old pair of plaid pajama pants and a threadbare t-shirt.
It’s his favorite kind of evening, Chinese takeout for dinner and easy conversation, laughing as Betty struggles with the wine bottle opener.
Now Betty is staring at her Scrabble tiles with intense concentration, a line between her eyebrows that he wants to smooth out with his finger.
“If you try to pass off a word that you made up again-” he warns, only half joking. Betty gasps in mock outrage, one hand to her chest. “I would expect someone getting their Masters in Psychology to have a more refined sense of ethics.”
“I would neve cheat at Scrabble,” she says imperiously, laying out her tiles and spinning the board back over to him. Zale reads the word in front of him. Betty, for her part, tries to look impartial and doesn’t quite manage it, the smirk tugging at the corner of her mouth. Jughead feels the warmth burn inside of his chest.
“I love it when we do this,” he blurts out suddenly, awkward and out of place. Betty smiles at him, presses her hand to his from across the board.
“Me too,” she says. “And that will be twelve points for me, if you please.”
He loves her, but not enough to let her get away with such a stunningly illegal move. The night goes on.
6.
Dear Betty,
I am writing to you now because I’m too terrified to tell you in person but I also can’t keep going on this way. Maybe a letter is the coward’s way out, but I prefer to think about it as romantic. To quote the genius herself (Jane Austen)- if I loved you less I might be able to talk about it more. And I do love you.
I don’t know if it was at first sight, but do I know that the first time I saw you in that terrible freshman English lecture, it felt like something was beginning. Like some part of me knew that I was going to fall in love with you, my brain just hadn’t quite caught up yet. In some ways it still hasn’t. The way I feel about you has nothing to do with logic.
You’re my roommate and my best friend and my fellow true crime obsessee and the best fucking person I know. Having you in my life is one of the things I’m most proud of, and I’ve been so scared to ruin what we have, because in a lot of ways I think you’re the best part of me. I don’t know what I would do if you weren’t there anymore. But I also can’t keep swallowing it down anymore. I guess I just have to trust that we’ll find a way to be in one another’s lives, no matter the capacity. Even if you don’t feel the same way.
Well, now you know. I love you. The ball is in your court, and it’ll really be okay if you don’t feel that way. I just need to know. So- come find me?
Yours,
Jughead
He sighs at the piece of paper, and balls it up with a groan, tossing it into the trash can with a faint thud.
7.
It happens so fast Jughead barely has time to react.
They’re crossing the street of their apartment to get to their favorite overpriced but delicious coffee shop, chatting idly about Betty’s thesis advisor and her obsession with Lorrie Moore, and then the taxi comes out of nowhere against the light, inches away and Betty a step in front of him.
Jughead grabs her by the elbow and yanks her back in the nick of time, all adrenaline, moving before he even has time to process the danger, clumsy and fast. The taxi swerves past, a flurry of horns from the surrounding cars, and they stumble in an awkward, half time waltz back onto the sidewalk. Betty’s eyes are huge when she looks at him, shocked, his hand still fisted in the material of her coat.
“Holy fucking shit,” he swears, tongue a jumble. “Are you alright?” He begins to pat her down over her wool jacket, searching for potential injuries.
Betty laughs, still in shock at the suddenness of it all. “I’m fine,” she says, pressing a hand against her forehead. “I’m totally fine. You grabbed me in time.”
Jughead sighs out a shuddery, terrified exhale. The closeness of the encounter is still racketing through him, fear and relief pulsing through the veins in his wrist. His hands are shaking, and Betty squeezes one tightly in hers, reassuring.
“That was scary,” she remarks, and Jughead nods, for once beyond words. “The drivers in this city are ridiculous.”
“No kidding. I’m- I’m glad you’re okay,” he says, squeezing before he releases her hand. Betty smiles at him, easy and fond. It’ll take twenty minutes and two cups of decaf for his heartbeat to slow down.
8.
They’re brushing their teeth side by side in the bathroom, seeped with the laziness of Saturday morning. There’s coffee percolating in the kitchen, and Jughead knows without asking that Betty will scramble the eggs so long as he makes waffles, that they’ll sit at the tiny kitchen counter for an hour, sipping at their lukewarm coffee and talking about nothing. It strikes him, quite suddenly, that this is how he’d like to spend the rest of his life.
Betty is wearing just one of his t-shirts, her hair knotted into a bun at the top of her head, talking to him through the foam. Jughead, blue toothbrush in hand, turns to her, deliberate and suddenly unafraid. “Betty,” he says, and she turns to him, gaze curious, and he looks for a moment at their reflection in the bathroom mirror, a portrait of exactly where he wants to be. “I love you.”
“What?” Betty asks, and there’s toothpaste smudged on her cheek, eyes wide.
“I love you,” he says, heart in his stomach again. Betty grins at him, slow and wide and perfect,
“I love you,” she says, like it’s the easiest, most natural thing in the world. He ducks down to kiss her, and her mouth is chapped and minty, and their teeth click together in his haste, and it’s pretty much the best moment of his life.
305 notes · View notes
catradored · 4 years
Text
Gilbert Blythe’s One Man Book Club (AWAE Oneshot)
This is a longer fic so I recommend reading on AO3. It’s also split into two chapters there between the time skip so it’s just easier to read overall
This takes place in between S2/3 and then a time skip to after S3. Enjoy!
https://archiveofourown.org/works/26281531/chapters/63982075
******
“You spelled ‘concerning’ wrong,” Anne said, underlining thickly a word on Gilbert’s paper. He looked over and realized he had, in fact, added an extra c.
He looked back down at Anne’s essay, sinking into the chair at his kitchen table. If he were being completely honest, there were probably a few issues with some wording here or there, but he and Anne had only just started getting along since Bash and Mary’s wedding, and he sure wasn’t going to mess it up.
He cautiously circled the use of a contraction when she wasn’t looking and crossed out a few “very”s (she used that word quite a bit), then put down his pencil.
Anne looked at him, her finger still on the middle of his first page. “You can’t be done already.”
“I didn’t need to edit it.”
“If I get a bad grade because you were too lazy to edit my essay, I will refuse to speak to you ever again.”
Gilbert smiled and shook his head, crossing out all the mistakes he’d tried to ignore hours before. “If that’s what you want.”
“Whoever gets the most words spelled wrong has to cook the other one bisquets.”
“Bash teases me so much on my cooking I would expect you not want to try anything I make.”
Anne considered his words for a few seconds. “Fine. The person who has the least incorrect words gets to talk for five minutes without being interrupted.”
“About anything?’
“Yes. You can talk with all your special doctor words that I’m pretty sure you’re making up.”
Gilbert smirked at the paper, circling a misspelled “exquisite”.  “They’re not made up. You just haven’t learned them yet.”
“My vocabulary is far more extensive than yours.”
“I was led to believe we’re evenly matched.”
“I’ll always be one step ahead of you. For instance, you spelled three words long in just one line,” Anne said with a satisfied hum, holding up his paper for proof.
Gilbert furiously concentrated on Anne’s essay once again, reading each word twice, and then another time just to make sure. Once when her chair made a scratching sound against the floor five minutes later did he look up.
Mary had walked into the Blythe-Lacroix kitchen, holding her pregnant stomach with one hand. “Oh, hello Anne. Are you two studying?”
“Gilbert and I have an essay due on the use of language in the news. We thought, since we’re the top students in the class, it’d be beneficial to proofread each other’s work.”
“She’s very excited to prove that she spells many more words wrong than me,” Gilbert added, and Anne gave him a swift, scalding look.
Mary laughed. “Well, have fun, you two. And Gilbert, I’ve read your papers before. You always use the wrong ‘to’.”
Gilbert rolled his eyes and looked back at the paper. “You and Bash always take her side.”
“It’s because we like her better. She doesn’t sing in her sleep.”
He flushed and continued to circle letters as Mary laughed out of the room.
There was silence between the two of them once again, only the scratching of pen and ink and a reminder that Anne was close to Gilbert, probably too close for a girl and boy to be under any other circumstances. He could hear her steady breathing and almost feel the space between her thigh and his. But then he remember he was a man on a mission and continued searching hopelessly for just another misspelled word.
Anne had flipped through his paper at least twenty times before she shoved the sheets toward him. “I just counted. Seventeen.”
Gilbert hopelessly counted through her mistakes, putting his index finger on each word and mumbling under his breath the number. “Fourteen, fifteen-” his anticipation grew as he flipped to the last paper, where only three lines were written. Then his stomach plummeted as he put his finger on the one lonely circle. “Sixteen.”
Anne’s face quickly split into a grin and she tugged her essay from him.
“No, let me count again,” he said, pulling it back towards him.
“No, I won! Five minutes without a single word from Gilbert Blythe’s mouth! What a delight. Oh, where to start?”
“Your time starts now,” Gilbert said, grumpily slouching as Anne stood up and twirled around once, just enough that the bottom of her dress flew out like a fan, or petals on a flower on a breezy day.
She smiled, pushing her braids on top of her shoulders. “Alright, alright. Well, I suppose I could start with the book I’ve been reading with Jerry. It’s Frankenstein, and he’s progressed surprisingly well with his reading. He even reads it aloud to Matthew, though it is a bit slow.  It really is a beautiful concept, about the inner monster in all of us, I believe…” she went on to talk about the book’s themes and characters and beautiful language, admitting even she would never be able to craft a book so brilliant.
Gilbert watched, slowly lifting himself from his slouched position and watching with interest as Anne’s hands flew around, her braids flopping as she bounced in place, in times reenacting a scene and her face scrunching from anger to desperation in just a few seconds.
He was completely enraptured with the whole performance, the sound of her voice filling his ears and his soul and being the only thing he was truly aware of in the moment. A smile worked onto his lips without his knowledge, and finally Anne paused, smiling with satisfaction, her chest heaving from the effort of fitting so many beautiful words into one sentence.
“And then I’m rereading Pride and Prejudice. It’s one of the most romantic books ever created in my strong and completely indisputable opinion. I would love to be Elizabeth Bennet, so headstrong and willing to reject multiple men until she could understand herself completely and truly.”
Gilbert was broken out of his trance. Rejecting proposals? “Wh-”
As Anne saw his mouth open, she leaped, up, screaming, “Five minutes!” And Gilbert was forced to concede, keeping his mouth shut and listening to every word.
“Disregarding your rude interruption, Elizabeth comes to understand that she judged Darcy unfairly, and everyone for that matter, when she first met them, because her ego was bruised. And only then could she find true happiness. It may be my favorite moment from any book that isn’t Jane Eyre, which is my absolute favorite book of all time.  Her family is so entertaining, obsessed with their reputation while they have such a...overbearing mother. She really is nothing like Marilla, Mrs. Bennet. Though they are stern in different ways.”
Gilbert watched as she continued her spiel on the family relationships and dynamics, how Mr. Wickham was a foul man, then finally came to a stop and looked at him with curious eyes. “Gilbert?”
He raised his eyebrows. “Huh?”
“It’s been over five minutes. You can talk now.”
He stared at her for a second. “Oh, right. Right. Um-” He grabbed his papers from the desk. “Thank you, I’m sure Miss Stacey will love your essay.”
Anne took her writing from him with a dazed look. “Okay. Thanks, um, thank you as well.”
She hovered there for a second, looking between her essay and at him, then rushing quickly towards the door. “Bye!”
Gilbert watching her rush through the yard and toward the road. Then he grabbed a pen and made a note to himself.
In Charlottetown Get:
-Frankenstein
-Pride and Prejudice
-Jane Eyre
*******
“Blythe, what’s with all these books?” Bash called. “Is that teacher of yours overworking you?”
Gilbert walked in from the front room to the kitchen, where Bash was distastefully flipping through the pages to Jane Eyre.
“No, those are just for fun,” Gilbert said, quickly grabbing them to his chest.
“That doesn’t look like fun to me. And I thought all you read were those big medical textbooks.”
“I could use a break every once in a while.”
Bash looked at him for a second and then shrugged. “Well, as long as you still help me pick the apples, you can read all the books in the world.”
“No worries.” Gilbert sprinted up the stairs before Bash could question him further, crashing open the door to his room.
It was still a mess from before he’d left for Charlottetown to work at Dr. Ward’s, his bed unmade and sun shining brightly through the windows. He sighed and put the books on his dresser watching the front yard.
He almost wished a red-headed girl would come running toward the front porch, but then hit himself in the forehead.
“Stupid, stupid,” he told himself. He’d just seen Anne two days ago, and she would definitely get sick of him if he tried to see her again before school on Monday.
He looked back at the books, fingers grazing their polished spines. He wasn’t sure which one to pick up first. She’d said Jane Eyre was her favorite...or was it Jane Austen? 
Why had he gone out and bought these books, anyway?
But he grabbed Pride and Prejudice without thinking about it any longer and collapsed onto his bed. Anne had seemed to like that Darcy character. Not that he cared what she liked. Or that she hinted she wanted a Darcy to her Elizabeth Bennet.
He absorbed himself into the story before he could let himself think a second longer.
*******
Gilbert finished Pride and Prejudice in a day. The other two books were consumed within the next week.
Needless to say, he was pretty confident walking into school after completing Jane Eyre. If Anne could talk for over what was probably more like ten minutes without any interruptions about these books, she could definitely have a solid minute of conversation with Gilbert over them.
When he walked in, a bit earlier than usual, Miss Stacey still hadn’t arrived. He sat at his desk and wondered if he should have brought the books. No, that was stupid, and people would talk. But he’d tabbed all his favorite parts of each one, maybe (absolutely) in hopes he could discuss them in length with Anne.
By the time Miss Stacey arrived, most of his classmates were trickling in.
“I’m so sorry,” she told Gilbert, running in. “I had some trouble with my bike.”
“It’s alright,” he said, and she smiled apologetically one last time before walking to the front of the class.
“I’ve graded all of your essays finally, and I’m proud to say they were all a major improvement to last time. Many less misspellings,” she added, and Gilbert sneaked a glance at Anne, to see her looking at him too. Both their heads jerked back to the front of the room, but Gilbert had to bite his lip to keep from smiling.
Miss Stacey walked around the room and passed out the papers, with groans from some students, and quiet cheers from others. When Gilbert got his back, all his saw was an “elaborate more” on one sentence. Other than that, it was a clean paper, with a large 98% on the top.
He looked at Anne once again, but she was chatting with her head turned to Diana, so he got his things out for math class and waited.
When lunch break had finally started, he practically bounced across the room to Anne, his essay in his hand. She turned in surprise.
“Hey,” she said, looking back at Ruby.
“Thanks for your help,” he replied, showing his grade at the top. 
She showed hers. 98% as well. 
“I told you we were equally matched,” he said.
“Well, I did misspell one less word than you, so I’m only a bit in the lead.”
His brain fought for something else to say, anything. “If only it were an essay on first impressions in Pride and Prejudice. I’m sure we would both get perfect marks on that.”
Anne stood completely still for a few seconds, a great feat for her. “Uh, yes.”
Gilbert smiled, his heart beating quickly, trying not to scream as he saw the confusion become understanding in her eyes. “See you later.”
Then he tried to walk as calmly as he could out the door. He wasn’t sure if his feet ever touched the ground, it was like floating on air.
********
Gilbert checked his list for the fifth time that afternoon as he walked through Toronto’s library.
It was much larger than even Charlottetown’s local bookstore, and he often found himself digging through shelf after shelf, searching for that one obscure title Anne had put in her latest letter.
“Gilbert, this is taking forever,” Daisy Hill complained, grabbing the paper from his hands and looking through the titles swiftly. “At least let me look for some of them.”
“You’ll break their spines like last time,” James Martin said. “I wouldn’t trust you either.”
“Why are we doing this, anyway?”
“Because Gilbert is in love.”
Gilbert blushed as he grabbed The Wild Irish Girl. “You say that like you’re trying to embarrass me, James.”
“Your face is red. But believe me, I know you’re not ashamed. You perform poetry about your most ‘darling Anne’ in your sleep.”
“I’m pretty sure she doesn’t go to the library once a week to take out every book you mention in passing to her,” Daisy added. “You have her wrapped around your finger.”
“It’s only because she doesn’t want to read medical texts all day,” Gilbert said. “And I wouldn’t want her to. I like reading what she reads, and she now likes talking about medicine with me, so we’re both winning in this situation.”
“Did she not like talking about being a doctor before?” James asked.
Gilbert laughed. “No. She swore I made up every word I said. She doesn’t like that I know more than her about something. I’m surprised she didn’t try and steal one of my medical textbooks and try to outsmart me with some new vocabulary one day. It’s probably because they’d bore her to tears.”
“That’s one thing we have in common,” Daisy said.
“Daisy, you’re literally becoming a doctor. You have to read those textbooks,” James replied, grabbing one on a shelf nearby for emphasis.
“I didn’t get into medical school to read. It’s not like I’m going to look up what to do when someone gets a common cold. I’ll just know it.”
“Because you read the textbooks.”
“Because I went to class.”
“Which requires the textbooks.”
Gilbert slowly backed away as they continued to bicker, grabbing books of the shelves and continuing to pile them in his arms. He grunted under the weight of War and Peace and made his way back to his friends, who were still arguing.
Daisy stopped mid-sentence to laugh. “Gilbert, I can’t even see your face. You can’t read all those books by the time the next letter arrives.”
Gilbert smiled, though he knew she couldn’t see it. “I know, but I can try. I’ve become a pretty fast reader because of Anne.”
His friends helped him carry the books out, and as always Gilbert set them on his bed and stared at all of them. Was it just him, or were Anne’s selections getting longer each time?
James walked into his room and watched as Gilbert picked up The Wild Irish Girl. “Hey.”
“Hi. I’ll talk to you in about ten hours when I’m done with this.”
“Give me a book?”
“What?” Gilbert’s head lurched up.
“Yeah. I already finished our work and it’s better than sitting around or arguing with Daisy. And when Anne visits, we’ll have something to talk about.”
Gilbert smiled at the idea of Anne coming to Toronto. He’d only been to Charlottetown once since their kiss, and he definitely was regretting not telling her how he felt when she was three feet away from his desk in the schoolhouse in Avonlea. 
“She’ll be your best friend if you read this,” he said, handing over the monster of War and Peace. James hesitated, then shrugged.
“Alright.” He began to walk out of the room, then stalled. “She’s one lucky girl, you know. Not many boys would read one book for a girl.”
Gilbert shrugged. “Even if we only talk about it for one second, it’s worth it.”
James shook his head. “I don’t understand. I just don’t understand.” But War and Peace was still stuck under his arm. Maybe, Gilbert thought, once he met Anne, he would. 
67 notes · View notes
365days365movies · 3 years
Text
February 7, 2021: Emma. (2020)
Another late one, people! Tomorrow might be a bit later, too, full warning. Like I said, school’s back in session, and I got students to teach and class to prepare!
Tumblr media
When I was a kid, I was a pretty avid reader, mostly due to my mom’s drive to get me to be an avid reader. I read Shakespeare from an early age, which might be why I like it so much, and why I remember it so well. 
I also read Jane Austen’s Emma when I was 10 years old. On a related note, I remember none of Jane Austen’s Emma. On another related note, I’m fairly certain that I saw its most famous adaptation, Clueless, and I don’t remember that either.
Tumblr media
I’m tempted to rewatch that one, since I don’t remember it AT ALL, but I figure that I’m going to place a more direct adaptation of the work first on my list of priorities. And so, one of the ONLY movies to come out last year is one my list, starring an up-and-coming “it girl,” Anya Taylor-Joy.
From what I can tell, this is a fairly popular movie on this platform, so I’m looking forward to watching it, despite knowing NOTHING about it, other than the fact that it’s a romance drama, and based off of a classic British novel by Jane Austen. Shall we? SPOILERS AHEAD!!!
Recap
Tumblr media
Emma Woodhouse (Anya Taylor-Joy) lives in the 1815 English countryside, with her father, Mr. Woodhouse (Bill Nighy), and her caretaker, Mrs. Taylor (Gemma Whelan). However, this is about to change, as she is to marry Mr. Weston (Rupert Graves) that day.
Emma is a sweet girl, who seems to be ale to predict things to pass. She also set up the present marriage, although she seems not to want one for herself. However, she also seems interested in the whereabouts of Mr. Taylor’s son, Frank. He never shows up, though.
Tumblr media
Meanwhile, the Woodhouses are visited by George Knightley (Johnny Flynn), whom her father favors, and whom Emma seems to clash with. And Imma call it now: they totally end up together in the end. I mean, c’mon.
Emma’s trying to replace Mrs. Weston nee Taylor as a governness, despite the fact that her father doesn’t want it. Emma finds Harriet Smith (Mia Goth), a young women whom she goes to school with, and apparently might be the illegitimate daughter of a nobleman. She’s also interested in setting Harriet up, as Emma prides her skills as a matchmaker.
Tumblr media
However, Harriet’s already interested in a local farmer, Robert Martin (Connor Swindels), but Emma’s trying to set her up with a local vicar, Elton (Josh O’Connor). They go to meet Mrs. Weston, and Emma introduces herself to Elton, who she believes likes her in return.
The next day, Emma and Harriet go to the store, where the gossipy busybody Miss Bates (Miranda Hart) comes to speak with the VERY unwilling Emma, and the considerably more interested Harriet. Miss Bates is speaking up her niece, Jane, although Emma certainly doesn’t seen to care nearly as much as Miss Bates thinks she does.
Tumblr media
On the way home, Harriet and Emma encounter Robert Martin, and Emma's definitely not a fan of that potential relationship. Instead, she regularly puts down Mr. Martin, and talks up Vicar Elton.
Tumblr media
As Elton and Harriet begin getting closer, and Emma seems to be vindicated in support of the relationship she set up, Knightley’s...not impressed. In a conversation with Mrs. Weston, he basically says that she gets high on flattery, and while she isn’t necessarily a true narcissist, she still NEEDS approval from her peers and others. That’s why she’s setting up Harriet, who feeds her constant flattery.
In addition, her whole “never going to get married” thing doesn’t seem to fly with George, here, who’d like her to fall in love with someone who isn’t...well, a simp, let’s be honest here. And honestly, this is already an interesting character dissection, and I can dig it.
Tumblr media
Knightley complicates matters for Emma, when he convinces Martin to write a letter, asking for Harriet’s hand in marriage. However, due to Emma’s subtle manipulations, she convinces Harriet to refuse the proposal, despite the fact that she clearly wants to say yes. And while Emma might be beautiful, and quite smart...yeah, she’s a bitch. Or, at the very least, she acts like one for her own benefit.
Knightley, pissed off about this whole thing, confronts Emma about her manipulations, and states that Martin might be the ideal match for Harriet. After calling her out, and warning her that Elton miiiiiiight be a bit of a ladies’ man, and that he’s certainly the wrong match for Harriet in the end. Emma admits that she mostly wants to keep Harriet for herself.
Tumblr media
Autumn turns to Winter, and Emma’s older sister Isabella Knightley (Chloe Pirrie), and her husband John Knightley (Oliver Chris) (and George’s younger brother) come to visit Emma and her father for the holidays. George and Emma make amends, although Emma still won’t admit that she may have been wrong.
Christmas Day comes, and Harriet is sick, while Frank Churchill once again neglects to appear at the house of his father and new wife. George berates his neglect of his familial duties, while Emma argues in his favor, obviously harboring a crush on him still.
Tumblr media
At dinner, Elton makes a remark about snow, causing LITERALLY EVERYBODY to leave the party prematurely, and Emma’s father accidentally leaves her behind. Elton, however, offers to give her a ride in his carriage. And in the carriage, he reveals that not only does he actually love Emma, but that he doesn’t care for Harriet at fucking ALL. Fuckin’ WHOOF.
Looks like Elton’s misread EVERY POSSIBLE SIGNAL, and Emma FUCKED UP SOMETHING FIERCE. Harriet is quite saddened by this, and is about to destroy a portrait of herself that Emma made for her. However, Emma instead keeps it. Elton disappears for a number of weeks, just as the niece of Miss Bates, Jane Fairfax (Amber Anderson) suddenly reappears.
Tumblr media
At dinner, it’s revealed that Jane appears to know Frank Churchill, as they live in the same place. During a piano performance of Jane’s that’s WAY BETTER than Emma’s performance, it’s also revealed that Emma’s been compared to her all of her life, giving her some fat, fat insecurities!
After an awkward encounter with Mr. Martin, Harriet goes to the Martin household to visit his sisters. Meanwhile, the long-awaited arrival of Frank Churchill (Callum Turner) comes, and Emma is unsurprisingly smitten with him. He asks her for a dance at an upcoming dinner, and she accepts.
Knightley is, of course, not impressed with the worldly gentleman. Meanwhile, someone has apparently delivered a pianoforte to Jane Fairfax, and it’s pretty goddamn obvious that it was Frank Churchill. Although, it’s possible that it was George Knightley, who’s been matched to her by Mrs. Weston.
Tumblr media
And it’s at this point that I should point out that GODDAMN THIS IS A SOAP-OPERA OF A MOVIE. The hyper-detailed intentions and events, all happening within the confines of high society and etiquette are both overly intricate, while also managing to be...weirdly enrapturing.
The next morning, after a six-week absence, Elton’s come back to town with brand new wife, Augusta Elton (Tanya Reynolds) in tow. Augusta matches Emma’s passive-aggressiveness measure-for-goddamn-measure, which, yeah, PISSES EMMA OFF.
Tumblr media
But it’s still good news on the horizon, as Frank’s appearance has prompted the Westons to hold a ball. While Emma and Frank seem to be getting along, Elton is prevented to opportunity to dance with Harriet, only to refuse LIKE AN ABSOLUTE TAINT. On the verge of tears, Harriet’s rescued by George, and they dance alongside the rest of the partygoers.
Emma shows his appreciation for this, and Knightley returns his appreciation for her friendship with Harriet, who’s way goddamn better than Augusta. The two decide to dance together, and the two basically fall in love RIGHT GODDAMN THERE AND I AM GODDAMN HERE FOR IT.
Tumblr media
Which sucks, because I’m, what, a little more than halfway in? No way it’s this easy.
Tumblr media
And as Knightley and Emma realize their feelings the next day, they actually run towards each other, SEE each other...and then get iterrupted by Frank carrying Harriet post-her being attacked by muggers GOD FUCKING DAMMIT REALLY?
Plus, it looks like Harriet might be in love with Knightley now, after the previous night. HowEVER, since the previous night, Emma is now in love with Knightley, and believes that Harriet’s feelings are directed towards her rescuer, Frank Churchill. But Frank’s in love with Jane. Like, for sure he’s in love with Jane. And Knightley’s in love with Emma, although Mrs. Weston believes that he’s in love with ane, as he leant her his chariot the previous night, although he DIDN’T do that, and the chariot (and piano) must’ve come from Frank, who’s actually in love with her, not Harriet, as Emma believes. YOU GOT THAT? BECAUSE I’M ASTONISHED THAT I DO
Tumblr media
Summer comes, and there seemingly no major changes to the love lives of our main characters. Can’t say that for George’s mansion, as he’s unveiled all of the paintings in the place.
Tumblr media
Might be wrong about the progression of relationship thing, as George and Harriet appear to be getting along, and Emma and George suddenly...aren’t. And THEN, Jane tells Ema that she’s feeling super down at the moment, and leaves. Which is when Frank shows up, which Emma appears to not be super happy about.
Later, at a luncheon, Emma takes out her emotions upon Miss Bates who, while kind of annoying during the film, doesn’t deserve the insult lobbied her way by Emma. Afterwards, George DESTROYS her, and she...she gets it. She’s been an asshole.
Tumblr media
After a good cry, she goes to apologize to Miss Bates, who immediately forgives her, as she tends to do. It’s also pretty quickly revealed after that that we find out that Frank has ALWAYS been engaged to Jane, since he arrived to Highbury. AND, Emma finally findss out that Harriet’s in love with George, not Frank. Which...yeah, Emma’s not a huge fan of, for obvious reasons.
However, Emma points out that George might have been trying to get Harriet involved with Mr. Martin, but also tries to step back. However, Harriet RIGHTLY calls her out this time, bringing up the fact that Emma fancies George, and that it’s because of Emma that she refused Mr. Martin. And Emma finally gets it. ALL of it.
Tumblr media
George, hearing of Frank’s engagement, goes to comfort Emma in her time of distress. And after railing out Frank for his lying ass, he starts to confess his true feelings to Emma. But she tries to stop him, but THERE AIN’T NO STOPPIN’ LOVE BABY
And as he STRAIGHT-UP PROPOSES to her...her nose bleeds and she says no.
Tumblr media
Finally, it’s confirmed that George was speaking on Mr. Matin’s behalf, not his own, and Emma pledges to make things right herself. She delivers the painting of Harriet to Mr. Martin, and he proposes to her. Harriet accepts, and has also finally heard from her father, who isn’t a nobleman at all, but a shoemaker. Emma still invites them over to their estate, and the two make up as friends.
Tumblr media
And speaking of making up, George and Emma also make up, and the two are officially engaged to be wed. And it’s honestly...quite lovely. Which describes the whole film, which comes to a close.
Tumblr media
WHEW. Now THAT...was a Recap. See you in the Review!
12 notes · View notes
firewoodfigs · 4 years
Text
amendes honorables
Summary: Riza Hawkeye is appalled to discover that her fifteen-year-old daughter has indicated interest in a boy. Her husband thinks she’s being a little bit of a hypocrite.
(thank you @waddiwasiwitch for hosting @moms-made-fullmetal-2020 ! ^_^)
read on ao3
~x~ 
Roy Mustang was having a very hard time trying to contain his laughter while lazing on the bed with his morning coffee in hand.  He was trying, really - his absolute, darnedest best - palms over mouth, holding his breath, distracting himself with boring, draggy books about legal positivism. But try as he might, it was very, very entertaining to see his stoic Captain, now beloved wife, getting so riled up over their daughter’s predicament.
Between the two, everyone always assumed that he would be the overprotective parent, but Roy knew better. He knew his wife like the back of his hand and had correctly predicted that she would be the paranoid parent who would impose a stringent “no-dating-until-you’re-an-adult” rule. Of course, every rule came with loopholes, and the definition of an “adult” was left up to her (legally, it should have been eighteen or twenty-one, but Roy believed that in Riza’s mind it probably ranged between thirty to forty, or more).  
“Stop laughing, Roy. This is serious!” Riza exclaimed, thoroughly flustered by the fact that their daughter had been the recipient of so many confessions, letters, chocolates and whatever frivolities teenage boys thought girls their age enjoyed receiving on Valentine’s Day.
Given how attractive her parents were it was no surprise that Rae Mustang was the apple of many young boys’ eyes at the juvenile age of fifteen. With thick, raven black hair like her father’s, her mother’s sharp features, and eyes like wood smoke in autumn - a lovely blend of her parents’ - it was hardly surprising that boys were attracted to her like moths to light, and while some girls were envious of her for winning the genetic lottery others had graciously accepted defeat.
Her mother was of course, acutely aware of this curse, or blessing, whatever one might choose to call it, and had taken it upon herself to confiscate gifts and letters she had received on that wretched holiday, on the excuse that it was hardly inappropriate for a girl her age to receive such things, and really, what did boys know about love at that age?
Riza had declared over dinner that night that professions of undying, profound love at that age were nothing but intricate lies designed by deceitful young boys, and Rae shouldn’t bother herself with it.
(Roy wanted to call her out for being a hypocrite there and then, but she shut him up with a threatening glare before the first syllable even left his mouth.)
In response, she’d nodded dutifully before returning to the steak and frites on her plate - courtesy of her father, who had taken it upon himself to “whip up a fantastic dinner for my lovely girls on this holiday about love” and “blessed it with a chef’s kiss” afterwards, but alas.
Alas. Her little girl had inherited their talents in covert operations and somehow managed to hide a very important gift and letter from her mother’s prying hands, and it didn’t take a genius to guess that it was gifted by someone she was interested in.
Riza had been utterly mortified when she found the traitorous piece of evidence sandwiched in between her chemistry textbooks (Rae had attempted to use some kind of alchemy she’d learnt from her Uncle Ed a few weeks prior to seal it, but there was something faulty with the array that foiled her plans in the end), which therefore led to the current situation of her pacing frantically around their room as she rambled on and on to her husband.
(She still didn’t know whether to be disappointed or proud of her daughter for possessing such a natural penchant at hiding things, but it was probably the former.)
Finally, she stopped pacing and turned to glower sullenly at her husband, who was hiding his laughter behind a book that he was pretending to be engrossed in. “I think she should be grounded, Roy. We can never know for sure if she’s been secretly planning dates behind our backs with this - this boy - mmph -” her words were muffled by a passionate kiss and a suffocating embrace.
“Relax, Riza,” he chuckled as he held her close in his arms to soothe her frazzled nerves. “We don’t even know what the boy is like. What if he was like me when we were younger?” He lifted his index finger and thumb to his chin, as if stroking an imaginary beard (Riza and Rae had conspired together to shave that blasphemous mustache off his face in his sleep) and pretended to be deep in thought.
Riza balked. “I didn’t like you when I was fifteen, Roy.”
He put a hand up to his heart in mock hurt. “Don’t be cruel, Riza. I know you did -”
“You did, I didn’t. Back to the topic at hand. I believe the appropriate punishment would be to ground her, and she most certainly owes us an apology for lying and hiding such scandalous affairs behind our backs.”
“Alright, alright,” he raised his hands in surrender, hoping it would ease the scowl on her face. It did somewhat, and so he decided to help his daughter with a little… negotiation. “You can ground her if you think that’s proportionate and necessary, but let’s give the boy a chance. We could have him over for dinner,” her frown was returning, and he hastened to add, “which would give us the perfect chance to interrogate him and analyse their rela - friendship, of course.”
The thought of being able to question him excited Riza just the slightest. She did love a good cross-examination, after all, and no one would touch her daughter without first crossing her. “Fine,” she relented. “I’ll talk to her tonight.”
Roy grimaced at that thought. His wife could be the living personification of the Spanish Inquisition when she put her mind down to it, and he hoped that it wouldn’t be a bad mix with the notorious teenage hormones that plagued everyone at fifteen. “Be nice, Riza.”
~x~
“You can come in, mom,” came her daughter’s trembling voice from behind the door.
Well. It seemed like they were already off to a bad start. As she opened the door slowly she could see her daughter’s quivering frame hunched over her literature homework, the likes of Austen and Bronte all strewn across her table messily as she tried very bravely to hold in her tears.
She groaned internally. Already, Riza felt her resolve weakening, and it was difficult to remain angry at such a sweet child (she often wondered what she and Roy did to deserve such a lovely daughter, but her husband deemed it necessary to discuss, in great detail, how Rae was made, so she never vocalised that thought ever again). She sat on the corner of her bed and beckoned for Rae to come sit with her, and as soon as she sank into the duvet as she placed a comforting hand over her shoulder.
So much for being strict.
Before she could even say anything, though, Rae started apologising frantically, words tumbling out of her mouth like a gushing stream. “I’m so sorry, mom, I know I shouldn’t have lied to you and I know I’ve disappointed you and I know I shouldn’t have and I’m just, I’m so sorry,” she stuttered, choking over her sobs. “I just… I know it would’ve upset you, but he’s… he’s a really nice boy, but I know what I did was wrong, and I’ve let you down, and I’m so -”
“Rae,” Riza called, her tone stern but gentle. “Okay, one thing at a time. I’m not going to lie, I am disappointed that you hid this from me, and there will be consequences, but I forgive you. I always will,” and she pulled her in for a hug, stroking her soft tresses tenderly as Rae sobbed into her shoulder and threw herself into the embrace.
… It truly was a challenge trying to pull a stern hand on her daughter. Her colleagues would’ve found this incredulous, and she never thought austerity was something she would ever struggle with, but Rae had proved her wrong. While she was supposed to be at the age of rebellion - Riza supposed this was it, the defining act - her daughter was quite the little darling, full of sunshine and joy, and it made it very hard to remain angry with her for long. In some ways, she reminded her a bit of Alphonse, although Rae had been adamant that her Uncle Al was wrong - dogs were better than cats.
Another point to Rae.
And though it was equally difficult to swallow her pride and admit that she had overreacted a little, just the slightest, over the gifts that had swarmed her table, she supposed it would only cause Rae to feel like she couldn’t trust her. “You… you can tell me these things, Rae.” Riza wanted to say she wouldn’t get mad, but that would just be an outright, blatant lie. “It’s better than hiding, or lying.”
“Really, mom?” her eyes glistened with hope, and really, it was hard to say no to a face like that. Riza would give her the stars and a mountain made of gold and diamonds if she just asked for it.
“Yes, really. In fact…” she remembered her previous discussion with Roy. Compromise, Riza. “You can invite him over for dinner one of these days.”
A watery smile crossed her daughter’s face, and it was so hopeful that Riza couldn’t resist chuckling a little. “But you, young lady, are still grounded, and will continue to be so for two weeks.”
She nodded glumly, as any other fifteen-year-old would be at the prospect of having to come home immediately after school, but otherwise relented and gave her mother another hug. “I understand, mom. I’m sorry.”
“It’s okay, I forgive you.” She grinned at the thought of being able to grill this young man, both literally and figuratively. “So, when’s a good time for dinner?”
~x~
Riza had been… surprised, to say the least, when she opened the door to come face to face with a tanned-skin boy with white hair and distinctly red eyes that shone like a dreadful mix of rubies and garnets.
An Ishvalan.
Her immediate response had been to apologise to Rae instead - for how could he bear to look at her and Roy in the eye and seriously say that he was alright with who they were? If he’d bolted there and then, or threw the bag of cookies that he’d painstakingly prepared as a present in her face out of anger or animosity, Riza would have honestly accepted it and forgiven him regardless.
But instead the boy - who introduced himself as Elyas - had proceeded to remove his shoes before asking politely if it would be alright to come in, holding out the dessert he’d prepared with such a delightful eagerness and enthusiasm, and really, it was impossible to reject him.
“Of course, come on in,” she said invitingly, swallowing the bile rising in her throat as she observed Roy’s equally shocked expression. But he said nothing, only smiled welcomingly as he set up the dinner table and thanked him for the wonderful gift.
She’d almost lost her composure when he mentioned that he was an orphan, when Roy asked about his family, but as if reading her mind Elyas immediately sought to qualify his statement with “I’m very sure you two had nothing to do with it, Mr and Mrs Mustang. They died in an accident not too long ago, not because of the Ishvalan War. I’m sorry I brought it up.”
“You have nothing to be sorry for. If anything, we should be the ones apologising. I understand if… if you are uncomfortable being here,” Riza whispered quietly, suddenly feeling like an incorrigible mother.
Underneath the table, Roy stretched out his hand to rest a palm on her thigh, rubbing soothing circles with a padded thumb. She responded in kind, knowing that the same sentiments, though unsaid, were on his mind as well.
Elyas, though, amazed them all by thanking them. Them, a pair of cold-blooded war criminals.
“Ah, well,” he rubbed the back of his head awkwardly with an open palm. “I’m alright. If anything, I’d like to thank the both of you for rebuilding Ishval. My parents often emphasised that it was General Mustang’s office that improved the lives of many Ishvalans because of the trade relations with Xing, and we’ve all benefited greatly from that.”
He flashed them a sunny smile, and his eyes conveyed everything they needed to know - that’s in the past now. “Thank you, Mr. and Mrs. Mustang, and thank you for having me over for dinner.”
“Not at all, we’re more than happy to have you here, Elyas.” Riza was unequivocally sure that she owed Rae an apology instead, and vowed to speak with her again tonight.
Her husband had offered to do the same as they stood at the sink together to wash the dishes, but after what happened she thought it best to speak with Rae separately herself first, and so his only response was a reassuring, understanding kiss to her forehead.
“We’ll work it out together, Riza.”
~x~
“Can I come in, Rae?” Riza knocked hesitantly, the nausea and guilt that had settled in her gut previously making an unwelcome resurgence.
“Of course, mom!” Rae skipped happily to where her mother was as soon as the door was open and gave her a tight hug. “Thank you so much for tonight.”
“Not at all,” she smiled weakly. “I think I owe you an apology, Rae. I… I wasn’t expecting him to be an Ishvalan.” Her daughter was not ignorant to the sins that they had committed decades ago, because she’d made it her personal duty, alongside Roy, to explain history accurately to her - for both of them had agreed that it would be worse if she found the truth out by herself.
And Rae, kind, innocent Rae - bless her heart - had accepted the harsh reality of who her parents were with a grim nod, but after a few hours of introspection she’d knocked on their door to tell them that she still loved them regardless, and that she was proud to have parents who were working so hard to rectify the injustices they’d committed.
But this… this was quite a different story. She wasn’t sure if Elyas was just being courteous earlier, or if he was genuinely alright with who they were, with the wrongs they’d done against him and his hometown and entire culture. How could he? “I do apologise, Rae, if I’ve ruined anything.”
“What? No, mom, you didn’t! When I sent him off at the porch just now, he said that he really enjoyed dinner - said that you and dad are great cooks - and that it was an honor getting to know the both of you personally.” She grinned giddily, like a young girl happily in love. “I… I know why you feel that way, mom. But believe me, you can believe whatever he said. He’s the most genuine person I’ve ever met, and…” her feet shifted in embarrassment as she confessed quietly, “that’s one of the reasons why I…”
“Why you like him?” Rae nodded shyly, pink mottling her pale cheeks flatteringly.
“I see. Well, I can understand that, Rae.” She bent down to whisper a secret in her ear, one that only she could hear - just in case her ridiculous father was snooping around somewhere trying to eavesdrop on their conversation. “I liked your father when I was fifteen, too.”
Rae giggled and smiled brightly at her mother when she heard her admission. Then, looking up at her mother curiously with her best set of puppy eyes, she asked, “Does that mean I’m not grounded anymore?”
“No, you still have a week more to go, Rae,” and while her daughter responded with a petulant, disappointed sulk she could still see the happiness sparkling in her eyes. “But feel free to ask him over for dinner anytime.”
75 notes · View notes