I Drew This On A Whim But Later On When I Was Doing Research On Public Crying I Found A Cool Book About

I drew this on a whim but later on when I was doing research on public crying I found a cool book about the history of crying in Britain, and after reading it I was struck with some thoughts on how this famously stoic boy feels about having cries. I think I’ve come across a few headcanons about sadboy Arthur Kirkland, based on stereotypes of the attitudes English people generally have towards being emotional. I wanted to explore a bit on how the history of norms about the general expression of emotions have influenced how England would have comported himself throughout time… what entails is some discussion of savoury subjects such as masculinity, dependency and British insularity as well...

(Disclaimer: norms around emotions and their expressions are obviously gendered in a country like the UK, so this discussion will be only applicable to a male-identifying England. CW for mentions of colonialism.)

In the present day, England is likely to keep himself from putting on displays of tears in public. He’s self-aware of the stereotype of the English able to uphold a “stiff-upper lip” in trying circumstances, and to a degree, adheres to it himself. This articulation of the myth of English stoicism arose recently, crystallized in the public mind through the propaganda of the First and Second World Wars, and packaged as an export of a stereotype (America being the most eager consumer of this, always happy to construe anything British to a way to patronize England. As you can imagine, he comported himself as eternally carefree as a moral counterbalance to England’s anal agedness).

The later Victorian years preceded the synthesis of this stereotype, when the association of tears with weakness and foreignness antagonized their shedding by English men. As Britain was reaching the peak of global geopolitical dominance, the physical and mental conditions as well as characters of its men became a matter of national security. A boy whose upbringing did not involve a disciplining with the Stiff Upper Lip ethic would become a man that threatened the upholding of imperial activities. Though Arthur later became a bit more aware of how the norm of the Stiff Upper Lip spawned from this ideology, at the time it wasn’t a matter for questioning, given the alibis granted by scientific inquiry. Darwinism and psychiatry shaped anthropological theories of weeping, which were made available for use to identify a human society’s proximity to either primitivity or civility – English/British society’s supposed exceptional ability to strictly regulate emotional expression marked them as superior, most obviously to non-white (or non-WASP), colonised societies, as well as to other Europeans. The incapacity to restrain passions was in turn pathologized as “emotional incontinence.” During this time, Arthur was most extremely committed to the repression of tears as a matter of conforming to the Age of Reason. But the sought-for clever, unsentimental disposition came at the cost of pre-emptively devaluing empathy. Furnishing the imperial superiority complex with the view that fellow Europeans were more prone to emotional excess, island-hood came to represent independence from the need for friends rather than the inability to keep friends at all.

Around the close of the Victorian era, the intertwined agonies of loneliness and repression of empathy -- particularly poignant when witnessing his state calibrate its technologies to wage violence and inequality at home and abroad -- inclined Arthur to take seriously complaints about the British “undevelopment of the heart” coming from perspectives of the British cultural elite, many of whom were already critically exploring other social mores. Intellectually, he had a general awareness of the conventions that bound himself and the English people, specifically those who were middle class. Yet, even in circumstances where he was in a place of repose and privacy, with the opportunity to weep – e.g. when affected by the catharsis spurred by the climax of a tragic play, after a gruesome battle on a foreign land, after attempting to comfort a struggling family – he’d find that he couldn’t. At that point he could not even be affected by stories of child suffering -- which were archetypical of Victorian heartrending stories, and which once could have evoked some adequate tears from him when it was popular to be evoked as such. By that point, he’d been comfortable for too long being held captive to his idea of masculinity. Meanwhile, amongst his fellow semi- or fullblown-alcoholic European peers, he gained a reputation as a weepy drunk -- in spite of weepy drunkenness having been a sign of foreignness. Inebriation was an easy escape from those terrible scruples. His drinking companions would have little sympathy to afford England during those fits of incoherent, pity-and-alcohol-fuelled blubbings.

Only with the social upheaval following World War II could norms have the chance to slacken, at least relative to British standards, which by that point were world-famously tight as straitjackets. Psychiatric support for weeping, trickling in primarily from America, encouraged discussion, at least, that recognized that the Stiff Upper lip ethic would be obsolete in the post-war era. Tears provoked by passion no longer were obviously the symptoms of a national traitor. For instance, Arthur came to find release in partaking in collective tear-shedding at emotionally-charged football matches, or during events symbolic of the decline of his empire. Despite his roughly century-long period of restraint, engagement in public rehearsals of catharsis didn’t always come without embarrassment or strangeness.

The period of the stiff upper lip was one of the most hostile to tear-shedding, but prior to this, Arthur had a liberal understanding of what it meant to cry. Throughout history, English society had variously regarded crying as a pious act, or as an intellectual act of sympathy, or a pathetic display of paternal affection, etc.. And with centuries’ worth of “maturing,” having more interactions with other nations, and becoming more self-aware, it became more important to Arthur to take these norms seriously, and more tactfully regulate the expression of emotion. With the 16th century reformation, he learnt from Anti-Catholics to avoid certain forms of weeping that represented the blasphemous and excessive frivolities that Catholicism spoiled religious Christian practices with. (This strengthened the foundation for anti-Europe feeling, but also further justified the feeling of superiority over the Irish). In the aftermath of the French Revolution and the 25 years of war that came with it, a triumphant yet jaded England harboured a special disdain for the seeming unrestrained passion and sentimentality that characterized France’s revolutionary condition. Since the onset of the 19th century, the restraint of emotion would last, to varying degrees, as an aspect of a certain kind of cultural conservatism.

Especially with hindsight, England did appreciate that the correlations of weeping with weakness, effeminacy, foppery, self-indulgence, madness, primitiveness, or degeneration etc. were not natural, and were products of ideological interests. But, having harboured a lifelong insecurity as an island situated a stone’s throw away from an unpredictably violent continent, it tended to seem necessary to adopt any behaviour that could defend him from the machinations of the outside world. His overall habits to repress feelings would be a difficult habit to discard, mostly because he couldn’t be motivated enough to be rid of it anyway. This made it tricky for the unexpected moments when the need for catharsis became too much. The reflex to smother instances of agonised feeling could be discomfiting due to the obsolete moral value the habit stands for. He occasionally indulged in some weeping so long as it’s appropriate and in private, but the sense of comfort that resulted would now be alien too.

And in turn, he couldn’t help his continued alienation from others. While it became more normal to be sceptical of the Stiff Upper Lip’s place in the world post WWII, and Arthur adopted more liberal gender norms, he couldn’t completely abandon old associations of maudlin sentiment so long as they persisted with some strength in English society. Being methodically uncomfortable in sharing these rare feelings with others, these days he’d find real comfort instead in his own geography, as he’s often done so in the past. He is always proximate to the ocean, or if not, to rain, or to sombre crowds of people -- with which he convenes, to observe the latent signs of their confident grieving in lieu of what he himself cannot express.

---

Tl;dr what if Arthur is just a boy about emotions but you also used English history to explain it.

Not as she seems.

(Aldo Raine x Russian!Female!Reader)

For the lovely @strudelcreme, I hope both you and your lovely friend enjoy this ❤️💛 Happy Birthday 🎉🎉❤️

Smiling wasn't something that (Y/n) was all too familiar with.

Even before all of this, her life back home in Russia wasn't much better. The cold was still very much embedded into her skin, and even the fiercest fire couldn't warm her. The frost of memory was always difficult to thaw.

There were moments of happiness, she supposed, moments she chose to not partake in. But there was always one man that would try to pull her in. And he would never let up.

(Y/n) could still hear his southern twang on the wind.

"Alright, ya Basterds! Gather round!" Aldo ordered, and (Y/n) was the first to move. Once everyone was close enough to hear, Aldo began to brief them. "Now, as most of yall' know, me and Donny hear managed to get some valuable Intel from one of the Krauts we caught." Aldo informed. (Y/n) remembered it well. The man spoke perfect English and was more than willing to speak if it meant getting to live.

Too bad he was hanging off Aldo's belt now.

"There's a small shack just north of ere', and someone there has been handing out supplies to countering war missions." Aldo said. "Kraut also mentioned that the guy's Russian. So (L/n) get your ass over here." Aldo said, and (Y/n) simply nodded and didn't say a word. Her relationship with Aldo was a complicated one. He always tried to make her smile, with stupid jokes and even stupider impressions. At the time, (Y/n) found it terribly annoying, but now, as much as she hated to admit it, it was cute.

She couldn't remember the last man that put so much effort to get her to do something as simple as smiling. His advances made some unfamiliar feelings drudge up as well. Feeling that (Y/n) thought herself too broken to possess. It took (Y/n) a lot of time to accept the fact that she was in love. And it was a beautiful and scary feeling. What if he died? What if she died? (Y/n) couldn't bare all the grim possibilities that could make her love turn into a tragedy.

Once the team had been assembled and the others were stationed on watch, it was Aldo, (Y/n), Donny and Wicki.

The four walked carefully until the reached the edge of the woods, where an opening sprawled into a field. The shack became visible and (Y/n) could see a figure moving on the inside. Maybe this informant of theirs lived there, if that were the case...why did (Y/n) get a bad feeling?

She stopped in her tracks, which also made Aldo stop.

"What's the matter, (L/n)?" He asked, a look of concern washed over his face. (Y/n) knew that Aldo would listen to her. And when you had a man like Aldo listening, everyone would follow. She threw her head at the cottage, making Aldo and the others turn their gaze at the shack. "I don't see anything wrong with it, doll." Donny commented, his accent coming out thicker than ever. "I….I got a bad feeling." She responded simply.

Aldo scratched his head. "Donny, Wicki, you stay on watch and me and (L/n) will get a closer look." Aldo ordered, raising his hand to quickly silence any sort of opposition.

Aldo and (Y/n) began to approach slowly, keeping their eyes on the visible figure. Once they were close enough, Aldo motioned for (Y/n) to speak.

"We are here! Come out!" (Y/n) called out in Russian. The informant seemed frantic in his movements, coming outside and smiling widely. "You have no idea how good it is to see another comrade!" The man announced and that name made (Y/n)'s skin crawl. It brought unwanted memories to her. "Are you armed?" She asked, and the man raised his coat and hands to show no guns or other weapons. Aldo calmed down, and asked the man if he spoke English. The man nodded.

"Good, now...a lil' birdie told us you had some supplies to share? We're kind of in a jiff here." Aldo explained and the man seemed to nod his head. He walked inside and before they all knew it...they were surrounded. The fuckers were hiding in the house. (Y/n) looked at the man, before spitting curses at him in Russian. The Krauts were circling them like they were prey, conversing with one another in German.

Fear and nervousness was heavy in the air, and (Y/n) was wondering where the hell Donny and Wicki were. One of the Krauts crouched in front of (Y/n), taking her chin into his thumb and forefinger.

"So you're the famous Ghost. I have to say, you're too beautiful to be a ghost." The officer complimented and Aldo felt an anger bubble inside him. He had reasons for all his effort in making (Y/n) smile, mostly because he himself had fallen in love with her.

And to see this Kraut fuck try and woo her was absolutely disgusting. The men around them switched positions, talking to each other in German.

The two dog handlers headed toward the back of the shack, seemingly searching for something. The dogs used their snouts around some disturbed snow patches, barking soon followed. There was a basement door, hidden under the snow.

(Y/n)'s "comrade" also seemed very nervous. As the Krauts were busy searching with the dogs, (Y/n) scooted closer to the man. He was surprised. "Now you listen to me very carefully, comrade." She whispered slowly, her accent coming thicker than usual. The man didn't utter a word, fear evident in his eyes.

"You are going to help us out of this...and if you try and betray me again, I'll beat you up so bad God won't even recognize you. Understand?" She threatened. The man began to vigorously nod his head, making promises that he was going to help.

For his sake, he had better.

Donny signaled them to quiet down, as the soldiers returned. The officer's interest had shifted from (Y/n) to Aldo. They hauled the southerner to his feet. "What the fuck!? Don't you fucking touch me you Kraut fu-!" He was silenced by a punch to the stomach. Aldo knelt forward, and the men dragged him inside the newly found basement. The silence that settled could have killed (Y/n).

Her stomach pooled with dread, as her mind came up with alarming scenarios. The dog watcher's began to move around the perimeter. Time was running out, and Aldo could be in danger.

(Y/n) felt her eyes shift to the roof of the house, where she saw more movement. At first, it arose to look like another hidden Kraut, but Wicki was always the more stealthy of the group. Donny used to joke that he should have been called Ghost. Wicki detected her eyes on him, and with swift hand gestures, (Y/n) knew immediately what to do.

She watched the Krauts move toward the basement entrance, where they were unconsciously inching closer and closer to Wicki.

"Give me your knife." She told the man, and he immediately handed it to her. Once the Krauts backs were turned, she rushed the shorter one, plunging the knife into his neck. The dog was swift business as well, and (Y/n) was sure the dog was the only one she actually felt bad for.

The other Kraut didn't even have time to react. Wicki retracted his blade from the German's throat, with a satisfied smile on his face. (Y/n) stood in her usual stoic expression, looking to the basement. It was odd how the commotion didn't bring the officer back, but (Y/n) was going to get him soon enough. Right when she took the next step, a loud bang echoed, catching the trio off guard.

"Fucking hell!" Donny yelled, covering his ears, and Wicki cursed in German under his breath. (Y/n)'s heart picked up in pace, for she would recognize that sound anywhere.

It was a gunshot.

The Russian wasted no time in bolting in the basement, where she was greeted with a fairly large storage area. "Wicki, Donny, get your asses down here." (Y/n) whispered.

The trio descended into the basement, quiet as mice. Which was kind of surprising for (Y/n), seeing as Donny was a literal giant compared to both her and Wicki.

(Y/n) couldn't shake her anxiety.

Please be alive.

For the love of God be alive.

They soon reached a spacey room, it not having been filled with extra supplies. It wasn't until the trio turned the corner that the wave of relief washed over. Aldo was sat against the wall, a freshly fired gun in his left hand and a newly dead Kraut on the floor. He had a wild-like grin on his face. “Took you long enough.” Aldo laughed. He got to his feet, and before he was about to say anything more, he was wrapped in an almost bear-like hug. Needless to say, it caught the men by surprise.

(Y/N) buried her face in Aldo’s chest, muttering words of gratitude. “Thank God, you're alive…” she whispered, like she didn't want the others to hear her. Aldo chuckled softly, wrapping his own arms around the woman. “Im glad i made it too, darlin’.” He said. “Donny, Wicki. Go get the others and lets haul as many of these crates as we can. We gonna need it pretty soon.” He ordered. Donny and Wicki were smiling ear to ear, like a couple of school children, and Aldo was the older kid swatting them away.

“Sure, Lieutenant. We’ll see you two later.” Donny teased. “Much later.’’ Wicki finished before they both exited the basement, not forgetting to scalp the Krauts on their way. Now Aldo and (Y/N) were alone, still in each other's arms. Aldo felt eyes on him, so he looked down and saw something that he never thought he would see.

(Y/N) was smiling up at him.

She looked the happiest she had ever been throughout this whole thing. “Is that smile for ol’ me, darlin’?’’ Aldo teased, earning himself a semi serious punch in the arm. “Be quiet.” She replied softly. “Were you worried about me?” He continued. “Of course I was worried. You were gone and then the gunshot. Oh, you get the idea.” She replied in frustration. Aldo smiled, taking her face in his rough hands. He brought their lips together in a sudden kiss, which made (Y/N) gasp softly. The kiss held desperation, and a longing most beautiful.

People are willing to do wild things, when all seems lost.

They pulled away from each other, eyes peering into one another. Sea blue into (e/c).

“Smile for me again, would ya’?”

And she did.

Everyday.

@strudelcreme @lemairepstuff @sergeant-donny-donowitz @jiejie-eonni-onee-sama @empress-writes @struggling-bee @jokersqueenofchaos @aurelie34-43

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strudelcreme

3 years ago

Favorite hunk

scenes from @waifu-napoleon ‘s post so it felt right to share it to them 🙌🏻

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strudelcreme

5 years ago

Oh my GOD , I LITERARY SCREaMed

@basterdsbby thank you so much omg love u 💝💞💖💕

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strudelcreme

3 years ago

Sounds fun hehe

just some of my repeated songs atm !

1. Save Your tears - the weeknd

2. American - Lana del rey

3. Fell in luv - Playboi Carti

4. Make that cake - lunchmoney lewis ft doja cat

5. Medieval warfare - Grimes

6. Corso - Tyler the creator

7. Necklace - freddie dredd

8. stfu! - Rina sawayama

9. Play with it - Tommy genesis

10. Meat grinder - madvillian

Music Meme

Rules: list 10 songs you really like, each by a different artist, and then tag 10 people to do the same.

Thanks for tagging me, @sometimesimfandomtrash ❤️

I’m literally lifting these straight off my current ‘on repeat’ playlist on Spotify so these are all songs I’ve been listening to pretty much constantly of late. To be honest, there were 8 different Bleachers songs on it, but, as per the rules of the game, I could only choose one.

1) Want You Back - HAIM

2) Rollercoaster - Bleachers

3) Lying in Her Arms - Anderson East

4) Want for Anything - Ernest Ellis

5) Love You for a Long Time - Maggie Rogers

6) Speed Trap Town - Jason Isbell

7) Yes - McAlmont & Butler

8) Ain’t No Easy Way - Black Rebel Motorcycle Club

9) What’s it Gonna Be? - Shura

10) White Flag - Joseph

I tag @fireladybuckley @foreverthemomfriend @oneawkwardcookie @mistmarauder @imwritesometimes @tulipintulle @fluffbyday-smutbynight @reyescarlos @kitkat0723 @evanesdust and anyone else who wants to play. No pressure on anyone who doesn’t!😘

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strudelcreme

5 years ago

One Last Time: Aldo Raine x Reader

@owba-chan, @war-obsessed, @inglourious-jules

Let me know if you want to be tagged in these! :)

Requested by @inglourious-jules

————————————————————

Aldo sighed.

He was sitting on the concrete ground, his back against the metal bars separating him from you.

He should’ve known you couldn’t be together… He lost his head over you and Hugo…

Now look where all that got his team.

You had all been captured, and he couldn’t help but blame it on himself.

He wondered how he could be so stupid?

He should’ve known a girl like you could never really fall for a guy like him. You were an educated girl from up north, you spoke any and every useful language to their side of the war… Aside from your ability to scalp a nazi, you were a proper, well-read, intelligent young woman, capable of deciphering intricate codes, from Vermont.

He was a redneck hilllbilly from the deep south. A basterd, through and through.

Even you were surprised at yourself for falling for him…One of many surprises since you became a part of the basterds.

You never thought you’d be in the war to begin with. As of December, 1941, you thought the most you’d ever have to do with the war would be with war bonds. By mid 1942, you were well within the OSS’ ranks, and dispatched to the basterds.

It was almost imaginable to anyone that you of all people would befriend the short-tempered, quiet, stubborn German basterd, Sgt. Hugo Stiglitz.

In fact, that was part of the problem.

No one else in the world had ever made him smile like you did, let alone laugh. If it had been anyone else, Aldo would have been more than happy with it.

But it was you.

It had to have been you.

It crushed Aldo to see you with Hugo…to see you talk to Hugo for hours on end. It shocked every single one of the basterds. Hugo barely tolerated anyone to begin with, then you came along.

Aldo fell head over heels with you.

He couldn’t bear to see you with anyone…the basterds’ joking flirts were of course just jokes, but it drove him crazy.

He especially couldn’t stand to see you with Hugo.

The thought of losing you scared him. So much, that he had to ask Wicki what you and Hugo were talking about.

Because of course, all your conversations were in German.

Wicki chuckled. Opera, ballet, concerts, your favorite symphonies, and records Hugo hoped to find after the war.

It terrified Aldo.

He thought he wasn’t good enough. He didn’t know much about those things, and it broke him to think he’d lose you to Hugo…or anyone, if you ever realized Aldo wasn’t enough for you.

Aldo’s little bout of jealousy, however, was what distracted the basterds at the worst possible moment.

It was, in fact, the reason you were all currently in cells.

“So…would you be so kind as to tell me what the fuck happened back there, lieutenant?”

It practically sent a shiver down his spine, froze his heart, and crushed him to hear you talk like that.

You were a basterd, but you were also ‘the best goddamn lady’ he ever met. It was rare to hear you curse, even rarer to hear you call him ‘lieutenant,’ and almost unheard of to hear you with a spiteful tone.

Still, he stood his ground.

“I think you owe me a goddamn explanation.”

You didn’t hesitate in firing back. You never did. According to Aldo, that was what made you one of the best goddamn basterds. But at the moment, it hurt him… something he never really admitted to anyone. “Owe you? The only thing I ever owed you was one hundred nazi scalps, seventy eight of which have already been accounted for. Try again.”

Aldo sighed in defeat and mumbled under his breath. “I just wanna know where the fuck we went wrong…”

He didn’t think you heard him.

“We never went wrong, Aldo.“ You leaned against the bars dividing you, your back against his.

He was startled for a moment, then managed to get his words together, and retorted, “The fuck you call this then?”

“War."

He growled, "Then what the fuck do you call that?!” He raised his voice. You could tell he was pointing to the cells down the hall, where Hugo was being held.

You lowered your voice, trying to salvage at least his friendship with Hugo in the darkest moment. “Hush…”

“Don’t you tell me to hush. I wanna know what the fuck-”

You understood Aldo had misunderstood it all. “Leave Hugo out of this.”

“So you do care for him.” Aldo crossed his arms, and shook his head, even if you couldn’t see.

“He’s a basterd. I care about all of you.”

Aldo wasn’t budging. “I didn’t say about, I said for.”

“No.”

“Then?”

“I don’t care for anyone. I love.”

There it was. The decisiveness. The stong cold truth you always seemed to carry on your shoulders.

Aldo knew that. He’d once fallen for that part of you, but he scoffed this time, “Love, huh.”

“You know me, Aldo. You know what I feel for you.”

“Yeah. But I don’t know what you feel for him. I don’t know what you and I are gonna be.” He looked up at the ceiling of the pitch black cell in exasperation.

“Nothing.”

Your answer was bleaker than the cell itself.

His heart stopped…

It took him a moment to get his words out. “Nothing to which one?”

“I feel nothing for him, and you and I will be nothing.”

No one had ever talked to him like that before. “What?”

“I don’t see us getting out of this, lieutenant.” You sighed as you watched guards walk down the hall. It was odd to you to call him that…even when you first joined his team, you called him Aldo with a blushing smile or a sly wink. Now you distanced yourself from him, not wanting to die with an aching heart, knowing it all could have been different… As the guards’ footsteps echoed and disappeared, you gave up. “They have it in for us. We’re not going to be anything because we are out of time. You know that, and I knoe that.”

Aldo was silent. He never heard you talk thay way before. He never heard you give up. He had to pry you away from firefights more times than you cared to admit, You were always the first one in, and last one out. You were always optimistic, always rallying the basterds, even in the worst times. You were like a ray of sunshine to them… that was why not a single nazi could ever get away with so much as a glare at you.

You were known for being blunt and brutally honest, but you were always positive. You never gave anyone false hope, but you gave them hope nonetheless.

You meant so much to the basterds…

And to Aldo, you meant the world.

That was why hearing you being so bleak, and hopeless was heartbreaking to him.

If you gave up, there was nothing left…

“Don’t talk like that.”

“And why not? You like the truth, don’t you?” You looked up, trying to find an ounce of patience, as you muttered, “That’s what you wanted to hear.”

“Hey…”

You felt him shifting, but you didn’t turn around. You couldn’t bear to look at him. But you held your ground, “We’re not getting out of this one, Aldo…it’s over…”

Hearing you say just his name gave him some hope. He shook his head, “You don’t know that. Team full of smart boys, we’ll be fine.”

“They’re lining us up in front of a firing squad at sunrise. It’s over.”

Aldo nodded slowly at the news… He knew she’d known that for at least a few hours.

And you chose not to tell him, somethingn that never happened before.

Aldo realized you must have overheard the guards…

It felt like a boulder was pressing over his chest… maybe you were right.

Maybe it really was the end.

“I didn’t think it would end like this…”

“What would?”

He sighed, “The war, the team…you and me.”

You were both silent for a moment.

You sighed, annoyed at yourself…for such a smart agent, you always seemed to be getting into some unfavorable predicaments.

This one might just be the worst of all.

You were proud, but you knew when you had to back off, and ease the coldness.

You knew Aldo loved you. Hell, you loved him. You didn’t want it to end like that.

“Seeing that these are our last few hours together, I’m going to say this once, and once only. I don’t care if you believe me or not. I don’t care if you’re still pissed at Hugo, or if you don’t care anymore at all. I’m saying it one last time. I love you, Aldo. More than anything or anyone I’ve ever loved before. ”

He stopped frowning. He uncrossed his arms. His heart softened up, and he wanted more than anything to hold you one last time.

After everything, he couldn’t lie to you. Not if it was the last thing he’d ever say to you

“I love you too, darlin’."

He realized it night be the last time he’s ever get to say that. It was his last chance to redeem himself to you. "I’m sorry, y/n.”

“It’s not your fault. That’s war…that’s life.”

“I’m sorry. I just never thought I’d love anyone as much as I love you.”

“Aldo, don’t.” You sighed. You didn’t want this. You didn’t want to hurt him, or anyone… And yet, there you were, waiting to be executed.

“I have to. I don’t want to die knowing the last thing I ever done was make the woman I love angry. This ain’t no way to die…”

“I’m not angry.”

“Y/n…” Aldo laughs a little at the absurdity of it all… “I imagined a life with you. I thought we’d end the goddamn war together. I dreamed we start a life together. I dreamed we’d end the war together. It was stupid of me to think you’d move down to Maynardville with me after all this.”

“What’s stupid about it?”

“You and Hugo talk about them operas and ballets, all those paintings and museums you want to to see. You don’t belong in Maynardville. You-”

“I belong with you, Aldo. Here, or Antartica, or in Tennessee.”

He smiled warmly, appreciating the sentiment, but realizing you were still right. “Come sunrise, that ain’t gon’ matter no more.”

“When you love someone, it never stops mattering. Dreams never stop mattering.”

Aldo smiled a little.

“Tell me about your dream, Aldo.” You needed to hear something to take the edge off it all…even if it was just a dream.

“Damn good one…” He smiled again, “Thought I was gettin’ too old… didn’t think I’d meet anyone, then I met you.”

You smiled a little. Silent tears streamed down your face as you desparately hoped for a change of fate.

“I thought we’d leave all this behind some day, take you up em Smoky Mountains… maybe some day a little 'un or two runnin’ round. I just wanted to make you happy.”

“You do.”

He muttered, “I got us killed…”

You shook your head, “Not yet.”

“There she is…” He smiled. There was the girl he knew. He felt your hand slip throufh the bars and into his hand.

Aldo turned around and faced you.

You wrapped your hands around the bars and pressed your forehead as close to his as possible.

He realized you’d been crying…

He managed to reach through the bars and told the side of your face.

“Don’t you cry now, darlin’…I ain’t leavin’ you.”

He smiled softly as he felt you gently press your hands over his.

Suddenly you heard metal clanging. You both turned around to see a smiling shadowy figure at the entrance of Aldo’s cell.

The door was wide open.

For a moment, you were petrified, your blood ran ice cold, you lost your senses.

You could hear the smirk in his voice, “Hol dir ein Zimmer, ihr zwei.”

The old, familiar voice…

'Get a room, you two.’

You smiled and got to your feet, “Hugo?!”

You heard jangling from keys, as you realized that he tossed the keys to Hirschberg. You turned to see the rest of the basterds waiting outside.

Somehow…Donny was already covered in nazis’ blood. Useful…and unsurprising.

You and Aldo looked at each other, then ran out of your cells. He picked you up and spun you around.

It wasn’t over.

Hugo chuckled as he watched you and Aldo kiss.

He wanted to you be happy, even if it was with someone else.

“Du brauchst definitiv diesen Raum.”

'You definitely need a room.’

You rolled your eyes at him as you smiled, and took your place with the basterds, and cleared your way to freedom.

You were a step closer yo the end of the war. You were a step closer to Maynardville, Tennessee apparently.

It wasn’t “ideal” but it was what you wanted.

You looked at your lieutenant, Aldo the Apache.

He was everything you could ever want. And more.

You loved him. You’d follow him to hell. In fact, that was where you met. In the middle of Nazi occupied France, deep behind enemy lines, in direct line of fire.

You would walk to the ends of the earth, if it meant spending the rest of your life with him.

The war went on, and you still had a debt to pay.

But you caught a glimpse of that familiar knowing smile and loving eyes as he glanced at you.

You knew from that moment that you were going to make it to the end.

You looked at the basterds, your brothers.

They all would make it…

You held Aldo’s hand as you marched back through nazi-occupied France, to a tavern called La Louisiane in a small town called Nadine.

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strudelcreme

3 years ago

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strudelcreme

3 years ago

Delicate spring florals

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strudelcreme

5 years ago

I deadass cried at this scene

Seven…feet. You Told Her The Wave Was Seven Feet. You Ran To Her On The Beach. There Were Seagulls.

Seven…feet. You told her the wave was seven feet. You ran to her on the beach. There were seagulls. She wore a hat with a blue ribbon. A long dress with a blue and red flower. And yellow sandals, covered in sand. She was pretty. She was really pretty. And you…you were happy.

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strudelcreme

3 years ago