#Jane Austen Garden Party

[uglypastels]

Ridlington Park | I | Eddie Munson regency!au

Author's Note: It has been a long, long time, but I am back with another obnoxious AU. I hope you enjoy as we embark on this new adventure in Regency England. This story has been in the works for almost 2 years and is still far from finished, but I am having too much fun with this and have way too many ideas on where to take it, so suggestions are very much appreciated.

Word Count: 10k

Do be warned, Dear Reader, for this story in its entirety may contain:

female!reader. slow burn. forbidden romance. jealousy. pining. smut. alcohol consumption. swearing. OC family. horses. talks of arranged marriage. historical facts as well as trivial inaccuracies.

Due to the adult nature of the story, this author also kindly but sternly requires underage readers to pursue other works. 

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Chapter One: A Game of Perseverance

“I do not want people to be very agreeable, as it saves me the trouble of liking them.”

– Jane Austen, Letter to her sister Cassandra, 1798

Three stories high, full of balconied windows, the house stood tall and overlooked the entire street. Ridlington Park, they called it, and situated at the centre of life–that is, London–the front door of the building was enveloped in flowers matching the seasons all year long. Currently, it was bright peonies that caught the onlooker’s eye. The perfectly trimmed bushes and trees were planted symmetrically, leading up to the front doors, giving visitors the right impression of what they could await once they stepped inside.

The residing family had spent a good fortune and effort ensuring the house represented them perfectly: clean, fortunate, and grand, but all done so in the utmost respectable and modest fashion as they were never the ones to boast. The walls had a light, warm tone reminiscent of early mornings in Spring, and the interior was decorated with portraits, new and old, beautiful oil sceneries of lands near and far, and busts and vases. 

The evening was slowly approaching, the sun setting over the windows of the drawing room, enwrapping everything in a golden glow. The family sat silently around the room, giving each other the peace and quiet required for an uneventful afternoon followed by a slow night of fortunate sleep. The only sound appreciated was the pianoforte siding against the window, gracefully played by Mother. Four children sat around the separate corners of their world, enjoying the music while focusing on their own activities. Like most nights, these consisted of either reading or needlework, engaging in small conversations with one another occasionally. 

As typical as any evening at Ridlington Park, it was highly unusual for the rest of London– a city which runs on scandals and gossip. Outside, the streets were bustling with lords and ladies of the Ton making their way back home from the markets, gardens and their fellows’ tea parties, gossiping about the latest impropriety to have occurred. After all, such topics, no more than nonsense really, were simply inescapable. And no matter how hard they tried to ignore it all, one way or another, it would always find its way up to the Byrnwick family. Most of the time, you, Gentle Reader, could hold yourself accountable for introducing the rumours proudly, much to your brother’s annoyance, who did his best to turn the pages of his novel as loud as possible as you talked with your mother from across the room. 

‘Have you heard what happened at Lady Faulkner’s ball?’

  ‘Yes, sordid, really.’ Your mother sighed, turning around. ‘I am sure her family is in quite the uproar.’

‘Please,’ Christopher, your brother, shut his book down in frustration, clearly incapable of making any progress amidst the conversation. ‘If she had not wanted to get caught, she should have maybe ought to think twice about being out with a man in the middle of the gardens for everyone to see.’ 

You glared up at him. ‘Well, it is absurd that a woman cannot even stand in a public space with a man without bringing disgrace onto her entire family.’

‘Believe me; she did much more than just standing.’ Christopher scoffed, quickly receiving a cold stare from your mother. 

‘Still, it is unjust.’ You ignored his insinuations. ‘Think of how men are free to go out at any time of day or night with whomever they please.’ You stabbed your needle through the cloth a bit harsher than intended.

‘My, you sure seem to be giving all this much thought. Have you any plans we should know about, sister?’ Your brother smirked.

‘Christopher!’ Your mother scowled. ‘That is quite enough.’

‘I was only joking, Mother,’ Christopher sighed, ‘we all know she is not going anywhere anytime soon.’

You were ready to retort angrily, or at least throw your needle at him, when the doors to the drawing room opened, catching everyone’s attention by storm. Five pairs of identical eyes directly aimed at the door frame, only softening when recognising the intruders. A welcoming of surprised gasps greeted the Lord and his eldest, Nicholas, as they entered the room. Not one foot in the room, and all activities were being put to a halt as the rest of the family gathered around the men—a loving reunion after a months-long journey from the Americas. 

It was a surprising return, for father and son had yet to write of their plans in recent times. The last letter was received at Ridlington Park over three weeks ago, stating that the weather was amiable, if not a bit too humid, and that the family missed each other deeply. The lack of correspondence, therefore, was also an immediate subject. 

‘But why did you not write, dear?’ asked Mother, after embracing her son. Nicholas was too occupied by his youngest sibling to answer; airways tightened in the arms of his 11-year-old sister, Marjorie. His father responded instead:

‘How could we write at sea, my love? The message would not have gotten here any faster than we did,’ the lord chuckled to his wife. He was correct, too, of course. His eyes seemed to surpass the gaze of his present family members in search of the one missing piece. ‘Where is Annabelle? I thought she would be home by now.’ 

‘She is home, with her husband,’ you explained carefully. Your father blinked slowly, coming to terms with this fact he had tried to avoid for so long. Annabelle had married last season and was very well off, to a Duke, no less, but it was still a big adjustment for the family seeing her gone and out of the house. Even with her frequent visits, it was strange to have one head less at the dinner table; one less chair occupied each evening, one less song played on the pianoforte. 

‘Ah, well then,’ Father cleared his throat, ‘then we are complete.’ He looked at his wife and five children. One day, there would be even fewer of them. They will all be leaving the nest one by one. For some, marriage was long overdue, and as a man of high society, he could not wish his children a suitor or a lady soon enough, but as a father, he dreaded the day that the following proposals would take place.

Marjorie, becoming impatient and not as sentimental about her family’s reunion, tugged at Nicholas’ sleeve. ‘Come, you must tell us everything about your journey!’ She kept pulling until the eldest brother had no choice but to follow her and sit on the couch. Soon, everyone else joined on the chaises. 

‘I am afraid there is very little to tell,’ Nicholas said, taking a chocolate biscuit off the tray beside the sofa. ‘It was all rather dull.’ 

‘Do not be ridiculous, brother,’ Fitzwilliam, the second-youngest and still hungry for adventure and the world outside of the Ton, looked at his older brother with high expectations. ‘I do not believe you and Father had been gone this long and did not experience anything worthy of a tale.’ 

You listened on as your siblings bickered, arguing over the value of a story, and its worth of being told and heard. Finally, after listening to it for about a quarter of an hour, you had to agree with Nicholas; it was all rather dull. No wonder neither he nor father did not bother to mention anything but the weather in their correspondence. Their days quickly grew into a pattern one is used to in travel and business. A pattern you might have understood if you cared to pay attention. 

This attention only returned to the room when you heard your name being spoken. The conversation had shifted from the events that had been missed overseas to the town's happenings. Just as dull and irrelevant, some might say, the most interesting thus far was the staff changes at the house, and even these held very little consequence to you, but to this, some may disagree wholeheartedly. 

‘So, the season has begun, has it not, sister?’ Nicholas asked. 

‘Some weeks ago, yes.’ You did your best pretending not to feel an effect from this, occupying yourself with your needlework that was turning out far below the usual standard. ‘But do not worry; you have not missed much. In fact, I think things will finally begin to get a bit interesting with you back home.’ Nicholas had always had a taste for dramatics and had been known for having a very… loving nature. In the past years, you must have witnessed him falling in love at least a dozen times, preparing a proposal to half of these women, going through with it twice now, with one nearly making it to the alter if not for the bride getting caught in quite a compromising position with a footman.

For the next few weeks, Nicholas was known as the heartbroken gentleman, and you would have felt bad for him… if it was not for the fact that women from all over town came around to console him, day after day, of course not knowing that when his bride-to-be had been making arrangements with other men, your brother had been too busy charming ladies himself. It took a month for him to proclaim his love to another woman again.

‘I do not know what you mean,’ Nicholas deflected your comment, quickly looking over to your mother and second oldest brother, Christopher, ‘any fitting suitors I should be aware of?’ As the eldest brother, Nicholas made it his duty to ensure his sisters found good husbands. That meant status and wealth but, above anything else, a good and genteel nature. You remembered how picky he was when Annabelle had been searching for a husband, even more so than your parents. Still, it was something you appreciated about your brother. His protectiveness showed the little heart he still held for you and the rest of your family, as much as he tried to hide it away. 

Your mother bit her cheek, holding in the many thoughts and opinions she must have kept for herself. So did Christopher, who shared a very knowledgeable look of many words with Nicholas, one he understood clearly but you could not decipher just yet. However, you assumed the general message had been sent and received. 

‘If you had seen the choices, brother, you would understand my predicament and situation all too well, believe me.’ Pretending to seem unbothered by the encrypted messages being sent around the room, you preoccupied yourself once more with the needlework. 

‘I believe it is what you believe, sister,’ Nicholas turned back to your mother, ‘do you have a list of names? I shall go through them in the morning, see if it really is as bad as we are being told.’ 

You had wanted to reply, most likely in a dishonourable way, but you held your tongue and fell back in your seat, letting the rest of your family plan out the rest of your life, just like they had always done. 

Unbelievable, Nicholas was home for all of five minutes, and he was already making lists. And knowing him, which you would like to think you did, it was merely a formality for your sake. He would already have a dozen names at the top of his head, ready to send out invitations to men for an audience with you. 

Therefore, you were not surprised when, only a few days later, at the breakfast table, Nicholas told you about all the guests Ridlngton Park would soon be welcoming. 

‘There is Mr Elton, and Mr Brookes will be coming over for tea; I also heard Lord Frankworth is interested in a visit, so is Mr Campbell, and—’ he kept on giving you names, with all of them entering one ear and immediately leaving through your other. You could not care less who wanted to see you, not after spending the last month trying your hardest to escape all of their attempts at promenading, lunching, and chatting of sheer nonsense. 

‘I must ask you to be ready for your first audience before 10; a dress is already prepared in your room.’ Of course, there was a dress. All you could do was smile as you bit into a forkful of egg. 

‘Oh, and there is one gentleman I would particularly like you to meet,’ your father chimed in, almost as if with an afterthought that he recollected at the last minute. You looked up at him apprehensively. ‘I had made a nice acquaintance of his father on our travel. What was his name– Harrolds, no…’  ‘Harrington, father. It was Mr Harrington.’ Nicholas corrected before looking over to you as he shared more. ‘He is a tradesman, quite successful. His only son had joined us on the ship back to England.’ The emphasis on his lineage was made with an apparent inclination. There were no more heirs, meaning the son would inherit the man’s entire wealth. ‘Certainly seems like a reasonable young man, clever too. The two of you will have lots to speak of.’

Well, I certainly cannot wait to meet him,’ you forced out a smile before quickly getting on with your meal despite losing all your appetite. At that moment, your stomach felt like a hollow pit, eating away at you, ironically.

‘You know, if you gave this all a chance, you might find yourself to actually enjoy it in the end,’ your mother commented with a tight lip. 

‘I am sure I shall enjoy it then, as it means that it has all, in fact, ended.’ You sighed deeply, ‘I simply do not understand why this is a must in my life? Why must I marry this instant?’

‘Do not worry, dear. You are still young; you still have plenty of time, ' your father said, missing your point entirely and making you roll your eyes. ‘But your mother is right, too, a more agreeable attitude towards this will make things much easier.’

‘For whom, exactly? Is it for me to enjoy myself, or for everyone else as you will not have to endure me any longer?’

‘Can you really blame us?’ Nicholas mumbled, receiving a kick in the shin in return. He spent the rest of the discussion rubbing the targetted spot on his leg with a pained crease between his brows. You, besides gaining the small victory of maiming your brother, found yourself yet again on the losing side of another family dispute. Like all its predecessors, this battle ended with you pushing back your chair with a harsh scrape of the panelled floor and slugging back to your room where a dress awaited. 

It was beautiful; you could not deny that. Elegant and straightforward, it accented all your finest assets for interested suitors. It was comfortable: not too heavy or too textured in its pattern, it was made of soft material that slipped right on, with the fit of a well-tailored glove. Your hair was pulled up and out of your face, leaving nothing to hide behind. 

‘You look lovely, miss,’ your maid said with a kind smile as she put the final pin in your hair. 

‘Thank you, Claire.’ You muttered, noticing the saddened sympathy enveloping her features as she knew like no other how much you detested everything about what you were about to go through. ‘Have you got any advice? On how to endure it all?’

‘I’m afraid not,’ she shrugged, brushing something off your shoulder. ‘I suppose you could try making them uninterested in you, so they will want to leave sooner.’

‘That thought has crossed my mind,’ you admitted, ‘but I also do not want to put my entire family to shame.’ 

‘Of course, miss.’ Claire nodded. As she finished working on your presentation, you pondered over your possibilities. Indeed, presenting yourself as improper had been your first idea, and its appeal remained, but you were too afraid of the repercussions. If the gentlemen were to think of you as a lady without any manners, all it would do was put your upbringing up for question, something your parents did not deserve whatsoever. 

You also considered spreading gossip about the men coming to introduce themselves, which would scare your mother off them immediately, ensuring they were never to return by your parents’ preference. But it felt cruel to make up such lies. You were sure that in other circumstances, these were perfectly fine men. At this particular moment, you just happened to despise them and everything they stood for.

Perhaps the most appealing option was to simply not attend the audience. To run away and never to return… at least until the afternoon, once all the men had lost all their patience. But that would only cause you more trouble.

The ideas rolled around your head for the rest of the day, even once the suitors sat opposite you in the room. It was all incredibly dull, if not just mortifyingly humiliating, with your mother sitting only across the room, occupying herself with a book, or so it seemed because she most definitely was listening to the conversations attempted on your part.

‘So,’ as most of the dialogues began, the Lord whose name you already forgot spoke, clearing his throat, ‘I hear you read.’

‘Yes, ' you said, blinking to avoid staring too blankly at the wall behind the man, ignoring the balding patch atop his head. 

‘Grand,’ he smiled, somehow satisfied with your response already.

‘Do you… ride?’ you asked, hoping that at the least your mother heard your attempts at making a connection and would release you from this torment soon enough on the principle of your good sportsmanship.

‘No, God no, horses are far too beastly for my liking, unless we are speaking of the track, of course.’ The man scoffed, ‘However, I prefer more dignified activities, such as hunting.’ 

‘Of course, you do,’ you smiled, but the expression never reached your eyes. ‘What about chess? Do you play?’

‘I do not have the patience to commit to such silly games.’

Patience, you thought, or intelligence? And how ironic of him to speak of perseverance. You watched him take another small sandwich from the tea tray provided on a side table, which you were taught to ignore so as not to be observed as “gluttonous”. After all, no one wanted to marry a lady that ate all day. 

Considering that, you grabbed a plate and a piece of cake from the top of the tray and bit into it. The soft sponge melted on your tongue. In the meantime, you were asked a question, but you could not possibly answer with a mouthful of cake, could you? Once you had finished, you considered grabbing a second portion, but you could feel the judgmental look of your mother digging into the back of your head. 

You put the plate back down and your hands on your lap. 

‘I’m sorry, my lord, could you repeat the question, please. I fear I may have lost myself for a moment.’ And so, it continued. Thankfully, the man excused himself not long after, thanking you and your mama for the time, just for his seat to be replaced with someone else almost immediately. This time, the gentleman was significantly younger, with thick hair atop his head and charming eyes, but the second he spoke, you knew this would not reach much further than the comfort of this room. At the least, you did not see this relationship going any further than any of the other acquaintances you had made that day.

By lunchtime, you felt your eyes burning with fatigue, possibly caused by a constant suppression of tears. How much more could you possibly take of this torture?

‘Mr Elton was quite a charmer, was he not?’ Your mother commented as she sipped her tea. 

You suppressed your initial thought, rephrasing it to cause less offence, ‘He is too stubborn and self-centred. He barely let me speak a single word, too occupied by his own achievements to expect me to have any.’ 

‘Well, Lord Frankworth seemed to care very much for what you had to say.’ 

‘Only because he barely managed to string any thoughts together himself,’ you sighed. 

Your mother tightened her grip on the teacup before smiling. ‘Soon enough, we will find you a perfectly fine young man, dear. You just have to remain open-minded.’ She glanced at the clock. ‘Speaking of, your next suitor should be here shortly.’ 

You did everything in your power not to groan at the announcement and instead nodded politely. ‘Who is it?’ 

‘Mr Harrington, the one your father was so keen on you meeting.’

‘Ah,’ yes, the American. The only thing that gave you some slight hope in the situation was that Mr Harrington had already spent plenty of time in the company of your father and brother Nicholas and had seemingly gained their blessing. But nothing could help you gain the energy to entertain yet another man with polite conversation. The sun had been beaming into the room since the early morning, only growing warmer and warmer, making the hairs at the small of your neck stick. 

‘Will you just excuse me for a moment, mother.’ You got up. 

‘Is something wrong?’ She looked suspicious but with a glint of worry in her eye. 

‘I am quite fine, just require some fresh air, I think,’ which was not entirely a lie.

‘Alright then, just make haste, child.’ Mr Harrington was on his way, after all. ‘We do not want to keep the man waiting.’ 

‘Of course not,’ you smiled, heading towards the door. When the large panels closed behind you, you picked up your skirt and ran toward the gardens. Your footsteps echoed through the corridors, and you caught several members of the house staff glancing your way with inquisitive looks. 

Ever since you could remember, the grounds around Ridlington Park had a fantastical power about them. It had been the turf on which you would spend countless childhood summer days playing games with your siblings, whether the competitive or imaginary type. But no matter what the six of you could think of, your favourite game would always remain Hide and Go Seek. The gardens were a perfect place for it, with endless nooks and crannies one could disappear into. It was nearly a giant maze, and you had mastered it from a very young age. Whilst most got lost between the shrubbery and flowers, you knew exactly where you had found yourself. 

There were plenty of hiding spots you enjoyed over the years, some that to this day remain a mystery to the rest of your family, but nonetheless, it was the stables you adored the most. It was a safe haven for you on many days, to the point that you had nearly become invisible to the staff working there. 

The stables were located in the far east corner of the grounds, and the walk towards it already cost more time than you had if you had ever planned on returning that quickly. Undeniably, there was a pinch of shame and guilt nipping at your heart towards the strange Mr Harrington, but that soon dissolved when you heard the neighing of Barley Sugar, a golden-brown mare you proudly called yours. A gift and result of a successful business trade made by your father years ago, the horse technically belonged to all of the Byrnwick children, as much as any of the other horses under the family’s possession, but the bond between you and that particular horse just turned out to be that much stronger. 

This was visible as soon as you entered the stable. Barley Sugar went wild at your presence, happily swinging her head from side to side. 

‘Oh, we can both use an escape, I see,’ you grinned, petting the horse, who leaned into your touch immediately. ‘How about I get you out of here, hmm?’

But your plans were quickly interrupted by a voice. ‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, ma’am.’ 

❀❀❀

An average sea voyage from the Americas to England should take approximately 16 days, considering the weather corresponds with the sails of the ship. During this journey, passengers would most likely endure days upon days of heavy and tall waves bashing across the ship’s sides, and that is to be expected in favourable conditions.

As Lord Byrnwick and his eldest had boarded the ship headed to London, the sky had been bright blue, and it did not change far beyond that. There was, of course, a risk for the two of them to sail across the world as they did, them being head of the family and its heir. A journey such as this one can go awry in many ways, and if it were not for the dangers of seafaring, there were the Anglo-American tensions to consider. After all, the previous year's war was still fresh in everyone’s mind, and one could not be careful enough when entertaining both sides. Luckily for the Byrnwicks, they were not of the superstitious kind, and good fortune had always seemed to be in the family’s favour up until the very moment they stepped on the boat to return home, many years beyond that. 

Ever the convivial one, the most considerable success of the trip, according to Lord Byrnwick, was not the business or diplomatic aspects of their ventures but the social. The man immensely enjoyed meeting other like-minded spirits from across the pond, and there had been plenty of fine nights at gentleman’s clubs spent over fine spirits and betting games, discussing all sorts of topics and exchanging information on all subjects. Promises were made to keep in touch whilst arrangements were made for more future meetings. It was only the polite thing to do. 

But aside from acquaintances and business partners, an addition to the household had also been made. Of some sort, that is, for it seemed that the two had found a new groom in America.

Now, Gentle Reader, do not conclude of the worst, as the groom we speak of is not the sort one is meant to meet at an altar but the kind who spends his days tending the horses and carriages. The young man, Mr Munson, had been doing precisely that when the Byrnwick heir stumbled upon his conveyance services in town, in dire need of transport for his regular means, which had already been occupied by his father for the day. It was an encounter by utter chance but certainly one with greater consequences. 

Several days later, coincidentally, a letter from London had arrived. Five pages long, each written by a member of the family recounting their most notable memories of the week. The children spoke of the ton's gossip and anecdotes of what occurred at home. Mother, however, took it upon herself to write of more important matters regarding the household. Many topics had to be discussed, but in the middle of her letter, there was mention of the unfortunate passing of the family’s barn manager, Mr Falstipp. It was an unexpected death, leaving the entire house in shock as the man had been working for the family for longer than the children had been alive. But it also resulted in the question of what was to be done now? 

It was likely only because the interaction had been so fresh in his mind that Nicholas suggested finding a replacement for Mr Falstipp here in America. This was an unusual offer, as his father commented, especially since they would not leave for home until another few days, but that was to be resolved by having the footmen take care of the horses for the time being. Besides, Nicholas was sure his siblings would be more than happy to help with the chores. 

The next day, he returned to the public stables and immediately noted how much cleaner they seemed than any other in town. The horses also looked exceptionally well taken care of and content. 

Mr Munson had just been feeding a colt when Nicholas eagerly announced, ‘Mr Munson, may I offer you a proposition?’ 

This, to no surprise, startled the other man for various reasons. ‘Sir?’ 

‘This must be a peculiar request, but you see, as of recently, my family has found itself in need of a new stablehand and from what I have seen you do, you, sir, would be the perfect candidate.’ Nicholas had the smile of a man losing his sanity, but his words could not be more genuine. 

‘Your family—’ Munson blinked, ‘you mean in London.’

‘Yes, and I understand that this might be a problem, but trust me when I say that you will most certainly find England to your liking, Mr Munson.’

‘Please, call me Eddie.’ 

‘As you wish,’ Nicholas agreed. 

Eddie pondered over the offer for a short moment. It would have taken him no time to decide if it was not for what he was to leave behind, but he knew that his current employer would be able to find his replacement in no time, as jobs in town were hard to come by. 

But what must have been even more challenging to obtain was a ticket out of the wasteland he called home. For years, he had dreamt of an escape, never imagining it to be possible, and suddenly, here comes this stranger offering it to him on a silver platter. 

It would be terrifying to move so far away, he knew that, with many risks, but the further away he could manage to go from where he was now, the better. 

Eventually, after a minute of silence that left Nicholas restless and on the verge of embarrassment, Eddie smiled: ‘It would be my pleasure to work for you, sir.’ And he had meant that wholeheartedly. While it had only been a short few interactions that he had had with the man, the young Mr Byrnwick had already shown Eddie far more kindness than any of his prior employers, or any other man in his life, for a fact. Most importantly, the man knew nothing about Eddie’s past, which must have been the biggest selling point in the life-changing choice. 

‘Marvelous. You will not regret this, Eddie.’ Nicholas leaned in to shake his hand, only to realise that Eddie was still carrying the giant bucket of feed. ‘Well, we shall finalise everything on the boat, shall we?’ And so they did. 

A week later, Eddie found himself still in shock at his circumstances. He could not believe he was really to be leaving for England until the moment he set foot on the boat, and even once the sails had set and the American coast was nothing but a grim line on the horizon, the fact did not seem to settle in his mind just yet. 

Over the next 16 days, he had encountered the Byrnwicks only a handful of times. First, to meet Lord Byrnwick who, as head of the household, wanted a final say on the matter. A bit late, thought  Eddie, as the boat had long departed the harbour by then, but his ticket had already been paid for, and thus, he had little else to complain about. He had quickly made peace with the idea that he could make his new life across the ocean work no matter the circumstances. He had done it before, so what is one more homeless night under a new sky?

But the lord seemed all too happy to have found his staff replacement. Overall, the man was nothing like Eddie had expected a gentleman of English high society to be. From his previous experiences, the type often was rather conceited and arrogant, with a transparent opinion of anyone below their class. His new employer and his son, while undoubtedly lordly, had a modest nature about them. Quickly, Eddie had also gathered that the spontaneity with which Nicholas Byrnwick had called upon him for a job opportunity was not uncharacteristic of him, as the young man was rather energetic in his step and impulsive in his actions. 

But no matter how unassuming the men were, they did belong to a different rank of man and, therefore, stayed on the boat to the upper decks, engaging with the rest of their kind. 

The travel moved on slowly, but in the end, it was also a mere blink of an eye moment, and before he had realised it, Eddie had reached the shores of England. It was another day or two of travel to be done by horse. A carriage had been acquired for Nicholas and his father, but Eddie and the rest of the staff that travelled with the family for their adventure rode on horseback. No matter how much Eddie enjoyed the form of transportation, it was a tiring experience after several hours, but it also allowed him to meet the people he was to work with and, through that, those he would work for. 

‘So, what is the rest of the family like,’ he asked Mr Trowbridge, the lord’s valet. If there was anyone who could tell Eddie something, it would be this man. 

‘Well,’ Mr Trowbridge had a particularly nasal tone about his voice that especially came forward at the beginning of his sentences, ‘I do not believe there is much to tell. They are as any other family, really.’ 

‘My good man, you can hardly expect me to believe there is nothing worth telling about these people,’ Eddie laughed. ‘If it puts your mind at ease, I am only asking for the simplest facts—nothing to interest my fancy.’

The valet pondered over this for a moment. ‘Very well. You have, of course, met the Viscount and his eldest.’ He took a moment for Eddie to respond with a nod in agreement. He then took another moment to consider his following words. The longer he took, the more keen Eddie felt to suggest what to speak of. 

‘What about Lady Byrnwick?’

‘Lady Byrnwick is most amiable and has a very caring character, but you will not find her in the stables often unless she is searching for her children.’

‘Not fond of horses, is she?’

‘Rather the outside—-’ Trowbridge cleared his hair vigorously. ‘In the sense that the sun and pollen often leave her poorly. But the children…’ he punctuated his half-sentence with a heavy sigh. 

‘They are a handful?’ Eddie assumed. To this, Trowbridge searched for another description but found himself lacking the vocabulary, leading to a confirmation. 

‘I have worked for this family for nearly three decades, and I will assure you that each member is as proper a member of society as the next. While boisterous, they have been taught to be independent individuals.’ The valet's tone made Eddie consider how much of their good decorum was in gratitude for the man’s own intervention and guidance. 

‘At 27 years, Nicholas is the eldest, and the responsibilities of this role are one of the few aspects of his life which he takes seriously, I cannot put any doubt behind that.’ Indeed, whilst extremely impetuous, the heir’s son also understood the duties of his position and towards his family. 

‘Then there is Christopher. The boy has immense athletic abilities but not much beyond that. For a young man of his age of five and twenty, one would assume he would be able to compose himself with a bit more propriety, but it is very difficult for him. He is adventurous and rarely can sit still for an extended period of time, including his mouth. It is suggested that people be careful of what they say around the man.

‘The eldest daughter, Annabelle, married just before we had departed for America, thus is now the lady of her own house.’ Something in his tone suggested he was sad to see the young woman leave home. This possibly has to do with the fact that Miss Annabelle (Now known as Duchess Annabelle Ramsbury) was the most dutiful and respectful of the six children. ‘The marriage had been long overdue as she had just turned 22 on the day of the ceremony, but a love match was found nonetheless.’ The valet guffawed with pride. It was clear to Eddie that, while considering them a nuisance, the man cared deeply for the family he served.

‘I must admit, Trowbridge,’ Eddie chuckled in this horse’s trot pattern over the uneven paths. ‘When you began speaking of the family, I had imagined the children to be… well, children.’

‘How old are you, Munson?’ Trowbridge asked, somewhat bluntly. 

‘Twenty, sir.’ Perhaps closer to his next birthday than the last.

‘Ah, just the age of the second daughter then,’ he nodded in agreement. ‘She may perhaps be the most… rebellious of the kin. It is all in good spirit, as you must imagine, and I am sure the interest in such nonsense will dwindle as she matures. She is also the most fond of the family horses; thus, you will see her quite often, I expect. But as her sibling, she has mastered the care for the animals as well as the equipment.’ 

As he spoke of your skills, something about Trowbridge's expression communicated particular dismay to Eddie. ‘Is that bad? For a young woman to know how to carry herself around a horse?’ He, for one, certainly did not see a problem in it. On the contrary, it was an instrumental skill to develop for anyone. 

‘It is not exactly lady-like, is it?’ Trowbridge spoke as if that was the only relevant argument on the matter. Eddie had learned from a very young age that some opinions were better left unsaid, and seeing him as the senior in age and position, Eddie thought it unwise to argue with the valet on his first official day of employment. He instead simply nodded in understanding. Instead, he opted to continue the civil interrogation—

‘What of the youngest two? What are they like?’

‘Fitzwilliam is a dapper fellow. He is but seventeen, but very accomplished, though I cannot say he knows how to put his acquired skills to good use. He has ambitions that cannot be denied; it is just a question of whether these ambitions can ever be met. 

‘And lastly, we have Miss Marjorie. A darling girl, I assure you,’ Trowbridge stated. I can only suggest not letting her size fool you, Munson. She has managed to wrap her family around her little fingers the moment she learned to mumble a word, leaving her to cause quite the ruckus for the past eleven years.’ 

‘I do not see how that involves me, Sir,’ Eddie said. By this time, the sun had begun to set over the fields they passed, and soon, the company would break for their overnight travels at a nearby inn. 

‘It had come to my attention over the years that Mr Falstipp–the previous groom, that is— had been quite lenient on the children and their usage of the horses. This has caused a number of incidents that I would rather not see a repetition of.’

‘Understood.’ 

‘I am unaware of your er– American customs,’ the valet began his lecture, ‘but you must also know that here, ladies are not to ride unaccompanied—something that has been protested in the family to no avail, but it is simply the procedure. There must always be a chaperone nearby to supervise, whether that is a senior member of the family or an entrusted member of the household.’ 

‘I do not expect to have gained that trust just yet,’ Eddie said earnestly.

‘But let us hope you will.’ The smile Trowbridge gave Eddie was kind at first glance, but the movement of his eyes that inspected him told an entirely different story. He knew he still had much to learn about navigating himself around the kinds of people that were the Byrnwicks, even those who worked for them. The moment he set foot on English soil, he knew it would be challenging to fit in if he ever planned to do so. 

The truth is that he did not plan such a change. For you see, Dear Reader, Mr Eddie Munson was also a radical. He did not believe in adapting to society, which was visible in his entire being. One can also imagine the struggle he had to endure when given a uniform to wear. Frankly, the ensemble did not differ much from how the man dressed himself before, but the simple fact that he was told to wear this particular set of clothing upset him severely. 

On the first day after his arrival at Ridlington Park, he had managed to justify himself out of dressing in the required clothing by claiming that the trousers were a smidgen too tight. Without another size available, he was told to wear the clothes on his back until the new, fitted attire arrived.

But the clothes did not even begin to reach the problem of the horses he was meant to care for. 

Turned out, while he had been given all sorts of warnings against the family, what Eddie should have been preparing for was the beasts that homed the stables. The stubborn animals would not let him touch them, and any attempts were met with angry stares and stomping of the hooves. 

‘Easy, there,’ Eddie spoke as softly as he could, taking small steps in any direction that would not enrage the stallion whom he was currently attempting to feed. White Liquorice, a white Arabian, was undoubtedly an animal worthy of a viscount, and from the moment he had stepped into the Ridlington Park stables, Eddie knew that the Kentucky Saddlers and Quarter Horses he grew up with were no match for these and he would quickly have to learn to get on with them if he was to stay here. 

Yes, the first days were hard, but not even one week later, he had gotten used to the rhythm of operations. It helped that, working as the barn manager, he was the one in charge and mostly left alone. Mr Trowbridge had visited him to ensure he was adjusting to the new working conditions, which was kind, but besides that, Eddie rarely saw anyone but footmen requesting the carriage to be prepared for the family. 

That is until one afternoon when he heard the doors open and someone walking inside. He had been around the corner of the stables, cleaning some grooming tools. 

‘Oh, we can both use an escape, I see,’ he heard the intruder speak. It was soft and gentle, most likely referring to one of the horses. Immediately, Eddie was reminded of one of the conversations shared with Lord Byrnwick’s valet. He swiftly got up from his seat and immediately found the culprit. 

He watched you pet one of the horses—Barley Sugar, was it—-petting her in a way he had not yet managed to do confidently. ‘How about I get you out of here, hmm?’ These words triggered him to jump into action. 

‘I don’t think that’s a good idea, ma’am.’ He stepped forward, but his words startled you, causing you to turn around. As you did so, your foot got caught in an old set of bridles Eddie had still planned on detangling and putting away. The surprise coming with the unexpected presence of someone else, combined with the awkward position of your foot, led you to fall over with a shriek. 

Eddie cursed under his breath as he watched you huff on the ground. ‘Let me help you,’ he extended his hand to you, ‘and my apologies, it was not my intent to—’ 

‘Who are you?’ you said in a tone that could only be deemed skittish, if not directly fearful, but not enough to deny his offer to help you stand. Your reaction was validated as you had never met the man standing before you. You eyed him up and down, and the more details you noticed, the more you were sure that you had just stumbled upon a robbery, nay, a kidnapping. 

The man's presentation spoke for itself, truly. His long hair was dark and unkept, well over his shoulders. His clothes were nothing like the workers around your house were meant to dress like, making him stick out like a very sore thumb. The trousers were old and worn, and the shirt was loose over his upper body, revealing—oh god, was that a tattoo?

It was clear this is how you were to die.

‘Are you here to steal my horses?’ you blurted out before you could think. 

‘What?’ He blinked. ‘No, please, listen—’ but you did no such thing. Instead, you did the only thing a lady in distress could do. 

You screamed bloody murder. 

‘Help! Anyone! Help—’  you would have kept on going, shouting over his attempt at reason until he finally shut you up by placing his hand over your mouth, his other hand sturdily over your upper arm. The two of you stood there for a moment, chests both heaving in all forms of panic, listening for footsteps or any other presence, but the only sound was the soft breathing of the animals around you. 

‘I will let go now, miss,’ Eddie said slowly. Both your eyes were wide from the uncultivated situation that had just occurred. ‘And I will explain everything to you, just, please—and I beg you— do not scream.’ You nodded your head beneath his palm in agreement. Eddie counted to three as he stepped back and finally let go of you. Despite him never blocking your airways, you inhaled deeply. 

‘There is absolutely no reason to panic, ma’am.’ His accent was distant, one you had never had the pleasure of hearing before. His eyes, large and dark, locked you in, almost making you lose count of the lingering feeling of his hands on your body. He had given you a moment before he continued speaking, ensuring that you would not resume your screaming or make a run for it.

‘What is your reason of being here?’ You inquired. 

‘I work here. Have been, for the past week. I think it was your brother, in fact, that gave me the position. We met on his travels.’ 

Now, come to think of it, you remembered your family's conversation on the day your father and brother returned. There had been talk of new staff—a young man they had brought along with them from America as an official replacement for the late Mr Falstipp. But that did not explain his attire. 

‘You could be fired for breaking the dress code alone, you know. Not to mention for the, uhm, actions you had just performed.’ You commented.

‘Well, you can always report me, miss.’ Eddie, against all his better judgement, smiled. 

‘Maybe I should.’ Your heart was still pounding, and you felt so disoriented that even a simple smile made your head spin. ‘What is your name?’

‘Eddie.’

‘Well, Mr Eddie—’ you began, just to be quickly interrupted.

‘No, just Eddie.’ Eddie shook his head.

‘What do you mean? Do you have no family name?’ You had heard of men bringing in street urchins to work for them, but surely, this man was too old for such charity. And you could not imagine your brother to perform such acts of kindness anyway.

‘I do.’ His smile only widened in amusement at the conversation. ‘Eddie Munson.’

‘My, is it usual in America to introduce oneself like that?’ Never had you heard of a man introducing himself by only his first name, let alone a byname. 

‘It is usual to me,’ he quipped, ‘And it is more common than not introducing yourself at all.’ The way in which he looked up at you from under his lashes felt accusatory, but you could not find it within you to be upset at the critique, so you gave him your name instead. 

‘Pleasure to meet you, Miss Byrnwick.’ He gave you a small, polite bow that reminded you more of how children play Lord and Lady rather than a gentlemanly act. Next thing you knew, a smile was pulling at the corner of your lips, and a small giggle was ready to escape. 

For some reason, you hesitated to say your following words: ‘It is a pleasure, Mr Munson.’

‘Please, call me Eddie.’ While always respecting the titles of others, Eddie never saw himself as one to follow such formalities. 

‘That is most improper.’ You held back the urge to scoff. 

‘But I insist.’ There was something in the corner of his eye that you managed to catch a glimpse of—this spark that no sunlight or fire could match. It was pure mischief, a spirit of chaos. But still, to call a man you barely knew by his first name was simply not right. Your family may jest as they please about your rebelling attitude to primitive customs, but you had to admit that some things ought to be done in a proper manner. And this was certainly not it. 

However, Mr Munson saw it in another light but did not find enough of an interest in the subject enough to argue it further. Rather, he cleared his throat briefly and observed you for a moment. 

How silly you must look in your fancy dress! Your hair was done up to match, and your shoes were most likely covered in mud. There was also no doubt that he had overheard you talking to your horse about running away. You had good faith that he could connect the pieces to form the complete picture. 

A bird flew past a window, making you glance past Eddie’s shoulder in haste. 

‘I hope I am not keeping you from any other plans, miss?’ He finally asked. Could you be so bold as to admit that he was saving you from other commitments by conversing with you?

‘No, of course, not Mr Munson,’ you persisted. ‘I am simply cautious.’ Come to think of it, your screams must have been heard all around the grounds. If those who heard, in turn, had an ounce of common sense amongst them, they would have called for someone in the house. If that was the case, your mother would be here momentarily, and then it was back to the house for you. All you could do now was hide. 

‘May I ask what are you being cautious of?’ Eddie followed you with his eyes as you walked through the stables, looking for a hiding spot. 

‘If you must know, I am currently on the run,’ you stated while looking over a haystack in the far corner. 

‘Ah, so whilst you had accused me of being a criminal, it was you who had been committing the crimes then? Should I now scream for help?’

‘I’d rather you didn’t, ' you said, attempting to climb the hay to get past it. ‘I have already brought much too much attention to myself.’ Your foot slipped, making you tumble back down to the ground. The accident made you stop for a moment before attempting to climb again, looking over your shoulder at the man. ‘Are you not going to even try and stop me?’ 

‘Oh,’ it was as if he had awakened from a deep thought or had just realised that what you suggested was exactly what he ought to do. ‘Well, would you listen if I told you not to climb up there?’ 

You pondered his question for a short moment. ‘No, I highly doubt it.’ Thus, you resumed your climbing. As you did, you heard the shuffling of his feet behind you. The next time you slipped up, this time from a far higher distance, he had been in precisely the right place to catch you in his arms. 

‘I cannot assure you I will be able to catch you once more, so it is in good conscience that I suggest you stop, ma’am,’ he said as you got back to your feet. 

‘You are right,’ you admitted. Then you realised just how close the two of you stood and quickly occupied yourself by looking for another hiding place. That is when you noticed it. You had spent years in this stable and knew every inch of the space, yet… ‘Have you moved things around?’ You looked back at Eddie. 

‘Only a little. I’m afraid my predecessor did not have a flair for organisation,’ he explained.

‘That may be so, but I would prefer you would put things back as they were.’ 

‘Excuse me?’ Eddie could not help but laugh at the demand.

‘Your new floor plan has completely disoriented me, ' you admitted. ‘It is unbecoming.’

‘My apologies. I will be sure to put things back as they were, then.’ His laugh still echoed his words.

You had not expected him to actually agree to this request. ‘You will?’ But quickly, you regained your composure and tried to hide the surprise in your voice. ‘Very well, thank you. Then, since you have discarded all of my possible hiding locations, what do you suggest I should do?’ 

‘I suggest you run.’ But it was not Eddie who had answered you. 

‘Mother, ' you gasped. What was it, in God’s good name, with everyone sneaking up on you today? Lady Byrnwick stood at the threshold of the stables with her arms crossed. Her lips tightened into a thin line as she took a step inside. You prepared yourself for a disciplinary outburst, but instead, your mother focused on the man standing next to you. 

‘You must be Mr Munson.’ The kindness in her voice was laughable. The overcompensation of her kindness threw both you and Eddie off. 

‘Yes, Ma’am.’ You noticed that he bowed his head in a much more orderly fashion than he had done to you. 

‘I hope my daughter has not been too much of a nuisance.’ 

‘Not at all.’ Eddie politely replied. 

‘Good, good. Well, I can already see that my son did a good job in finding you,’ she stated as she looked around the retouched interior. ‘And I hope that you will grow to enjoy England.’

‘I’ve had nothing to complain of yet.’ Eddie proudly said with that smile of his, and for a moment, you thought to have caught his eyes on you for just a second. Your mother nodded along with his words in satisfaction, but this cheeriness dissipated as soon as she directed herself to you. 

‘Has your headache cleared, dear?’ Her eyes were spitting fire. 

‘Yes, mother.’ 

‘Then we will be on our way.’ She stepped aside, giving you room to walk outside. ‘Goodbye, Mr Munson.’ Eddie had become the unintentional victim of the venom that perferred your mother's words. 

He was polite enough to look away as you made your shameful walk through the aisle between the horses’ stalls, but you couldn’t help but look behind you one final time as you left and catch his favourable grin. What a peculiar man he was, indeed—one whose presence you immediately began to miss. 

Perhaps that was because of the company you were in at the time. 

‘Have you gone completely mad?’ Your mother scowled. ‘Mr Harrington has been waiting for well over half an hour.’

‘He is still here?’ You stopped in your tracks. This day could not have gone any worse. It seemed like everything you had been doing was working in your favour.

‘Yes, so you better come up with a clever excuse for your tardiness as I will not be embarrassed any longer. I swear, have you no shame?’

‘I am truly sorry mother, I had lost track of the time.’

‘Doing what exactly? What were you doing in the stables, exactly? Considering you had told me you were going out for some fresh air.’ Yes, the air around the horses was not exactly to be called “fresh.” 

Unfortunately, you had no satisfying answer to any of your mother’s questions. Come to it, you yourself were unsure what exactly had brought you there in the first place, not to mention what made you stay. It must have been a sense of child-like naivete to think you could hide from your problems the way you attempted. 

Problems that were coming closer as Mr Harrington walked towards you through the aisle of hyacinths that grew all around you in various colours. 

‘What is he doing here?’ you mumbled towards your mother.

‘Considering the lovely weather, I had offered for us to sit out in the gardens.’ Your mother spoke out loud. That is when you noticed the set table and chairs under a large parasol on the patio. 

‘I hope you do not mind. I took the initiative of taking a stroll in your absence.’ Mr Harrington spoke in a cadence that would have been new to you if not for the fact that you had spent the last hour in the presence of a very similar tone. 

‘Of course, not,’ your mother had regained her ability to smile. ‘May I introduce my daughter.’ And so she did. 

‘I am sorry to have kept you waiting, sir. I completely lost track of time.’ You apologised and were ready to offer your hand to Mr Harrington when you noticed how filthy your gloves had become. In a panic, you pushed both your hands behind your back, trying to distract the man with a wide grin.

‘The important thing is that we are all here now,’ he manoeuvred, which you could not help but agree with, then led you to the patio. 

The next hour went by faster than you had ever imagined it would. Mr Steve Harrington turned out to be not only a great conversationalist but a rather fascinating one at that. It was only a fault of your own that you were distracted for a larger part of the conversation. There was simply something about the man’s brown eyes that constantly reminded you of somewhere else. He was very charming and, abiding by your brother’s promises, had a great, though perhaps somewhat awkward, wit. It seemed that his confidence, once clearly overt, had been lowered, causing him to stumble over his words at times and laugh at his own mistakes in a deprecating manner, but never enough to make it a bother in your eyes. Truly, it was all rather endearing.

But you could not, for the life of you, figure out what exactly caused these fumblings in his character, as nothing seemed to be particularly wrong with the man. Though you did not see him as an academic or scholar of any sort, from the way he spoke, you could tell he was one of the more clever men you had the fortune of meeting. And his looks were certainly no topic of discussion either. He was tall and lean, with a wonderful smile and soft brown hair that apparently was more common than imagined, as were those dark eyes and the way he held you in his arms—

You took a sip of the cold water as Mr Harrington expressed his gratitude to your mother for the audience and made sure the message would be conveyed to Lord Byrnwick, too. You nodded and smiled along. Even when he bid you farewell and bowed his head, your mind was elsewhere. As if expecting something to emerge from behind the hyacinths, you could not help but glance in the Eastern direction of the gardens. 

‘See, it was not all that bad, was it?’ your mother immediately said, pulling you back to the patio. By then, Mr Harrington had excused himself and was crossing the patio to the exit from the grounds but had turned briefly for a final goodbye, which you met with a polite wave. 

‘No, I suppose you are right, mother.’ You had persevered against all odds. As you watched the gentleman leave, you felt quite content with the meeting—happy, some would even say. The only problem was that you could not make quite clear what, or rather, who brought on this particular mood.

To be continued...

Thank you so much for reading!! I really do hope you enjoyed this chapter. Remember the best way to support writers is to reblog and share. I love to hear what people think of my stories so feel free to leave a comment or an ask or message.

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson x you #eddie munson au #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson angst #eddie munson smut #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson imagine #eddie munson fic #fanfic #fanfiction #smut #angst #fluff #regency au #eddie munson regency au #regency!au #regency!eddie munson

[bethanydelleman]

New Year's Resolutions for Jane Austen Characters (mid-novel) Part 2

George Wickham: Marry a heiress. Stop gambling lol, as if, that's what marrying the heiress is for.

Lady Catherine: Convince Darcy to follow through with his duty and honour of marrying my daughter Anne. Learn pianoforte

William Collins: Continue in the esteem of my patroness, Lady Catherine de Bourgh in order to secure additional livings. My wonderful partner in life joins me in this goal.

Charlotte Collins: Convince husband to spend as much time in the garden as possible. Secure extra livings in order to gain more Mr. Collins-free time.

Georgiana Darcy: Practice harp at 10am sharp every day until fingering improves

Mrs. Jennings: Marry off every eligible girl within sight, beginning with the Miss Dashwoods.

Fanny Dashwood: 1. Suck up to mom to secure inheritance 2. Keep Edward & Elinor apart at all costs, 3. Hang out with this Steele girl to make Elinor jealous

John Willoughby: 1. Marry an heiress before my entire life explodes 2. Worm my way back into Mrs. Smith's good graces. 3. Marianne???

Sir John Middleton: 1. Go hunting 2. Host parties and balls 3. Make sure my tenants in Barton cottage are happy (Not actually goals, just what he does anyway)

Lady Middleton: Maintain the propriety of my great house and title while spoiling my children

John Thorpe: 1. Marry that rich heiress I so cleverly secured 2. Buy and sell horses for extravagant prices 3. Attend Belle & James's wedding (If I have time)

Isabella Thorpe: ❤️❤️❤️ Marry Captain Frederick Tilney ❤️❤️❤️

Jane Fairfax: *hands back the paper blank and blushes*

Frank Churchill: MARRY THE LOVE OF MY LIFE JANE FAIRFAX um, some girl I know. Don't tell my aunt, please

Mr. Elton & Mrs. Elton: keep being the hottest couple in Highbury *high five*

Dr. Grant: Eat a lot of yummy dinners (same goal since he was born)

Julia Bertram: Catch a better husband than Maria Keep partying with Maria

Mrs. Price: hire better servants, have Rebecca fix that carpet... I really have the worst servants in Portsmouth, it's a tragedy... (we cut off her complaints here)

William Price: MAKE LIEUTENANT

Sir Thomas: Finally figure out how to make Tom stay at home and do his duty as the eldest son. All the other kids are doing very well so I have nothing to improve there.

Sir Walter: There is nothing I would ever change about the amazing person that is myself.

Elizabeth Elliot: Marry Mr. Elliot and reestablish myself as the mistress of Kellynch

Lady Russell: encourage Anne to marry Mr. Elliot, read all new poetry publications

Mr. Elliot: Keep Sir Walter from marrying that vile seductress so I stay in the line of succession

Mrs. Clay: Marry Sir Walter, at all costs

Part 1

#jane austen #mansfield park #pride and prejudice #northanger abbey #sense and sensibility #persuasion #emma #happy new years #new years resolution

[suzannahnatters]

My final Love Like the Galaxy reaccs!!! the tl;dr:  I loved it and it's the sort of show that probably demands to be seen twice because TWISTS and HINDSIGHT so IDK, one day maybe! Anyway it's either on Viki or on YouTube for anyone who wants to see what happens when Jane Austen comedy of manners meets The Count of Monte Cristo, but, like, in Ancient China, featuring an epic romance between a naive sledgehammer engineer girl and the terrifying murder general who cannot help looking utterly besotted with her every time she drifts past: https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLZZZLpfFwcBprNI6msl3NWt3pdX6F-eGs And now: for the reaccs for episodes 43-56, including the famous Murder Party (TM), check under the cut!!!

If Yang Yang ends up with Smug Scholar instead of her sweet little marquis I WILL throw things (thankfully, the sweet little marquis is getting actual screentime with her)

oh I LOVE this: the Empress apologises to Consort Yue for stealing her husband, and Consort Yue points out that if it's anyone's fault it's the Emperor's, and why should the Empress apologise? it's the little things, you know?!

I love that in amongst all this scowly strategising and betrayal and people's families in mortal danger…there's a whole running joke about whether the armour Niao Niao made her beloved makes him look more like a chicken or a mandarin duck

cdramas asking the real questions

wow they really kept like 90% of the action budget for this episode and money well spent say I

once again murder general is rushing off to save our girl, only this time he guesses precisely where she is and what she's doing, and knows she's probably doing a great job of it :')

GASP we are suspicious of Elder Brother Snacks now???

I've got a bad feeling about him and the crown princess turning out to be bad eggs - almost as though we're building up to a BIG BETRAYAL between our babies

Wan QiQi swaggering into prison in a wedding dress is the energy I aspire to

Hmm… Lou Ben feels very very foreshadowy of an obsessive man making a self destructive choice to grab what he wants no matter how it hurts the woman he loves

All the foreshadowing is REALLY mounting up now - Snacks still caring about NN but not wanting to see her after what she's done, NN observing of another couple that they were birds on the same tree but flew apart when trouble came

Anyway we are all headed for a heck of a third act breakup aren't we

is zisheng,,, allergic to almonds

what an absolutely bonkers twist

poor little Wang Ling! how terrible does her family have to be that she is trying to save her murderous traitor of an elderly husband, just because he treated her better than anyone else in her life?

"he even had a flower garden planted in my courtyard to please me, although he has life-threatening asthma! which means that he can't visit me very often! he's the best husband, Niao Niao!" okay Mrs Charlotte Collins

"Cheng Shaoshang, it seems you really don't know anything about Ling Zisheng" OOOOOOHH

Smug Scholar: a voice of reason. a stickler by the rules. an indefatigable drama queen who is quite ready to beg murder general to go right ahead, be his guest, do crime, because then Smug might get to marry Niao Niao instead

torture is always wrong, revenge kids! that said, it's very funny that murder general has been busy with hot iron and boiling oil all night and found out nothing, while NN has put herself fully abreast of the situation armed with nothing more than…a conversation with a female acquaintance

"wait - all that stuff you did in my name was ALSO in pursuit of your revenge plot? who are you really?" this show keeps serving the best stuff

matching bite marks on the arm is a way cooler idea than matching tattoos tbh

why are you not telling her, zisheng, she already knows!!!

she's sworn up and down (with bitten arms!) that she won't mind, it's keeping this from her that she can't forgive, get a clue!!!!!

ooooo - we have been cordially invited to a MURDER PARTY love the gearchange from Jane Austen Romcom to Jacobean Revenge Tragedy

OK LET'S GO, WHERE'S THAT MURDER PARTY I WAS PROMISED

Glad that we were given this scene of Marquis Chengyang being delusional and Chunyu being Justly Terrified that the young man obsessed with revenge has finally agreed to come to his father's birthday party, it doesn't quite explain how nobody realises this is Very Bad News but at least lampshades it

Since filial piety is the norm in this society, I guess it's hard for the elders to realise just how at risk they are from someone unfilial!

I LOVE that Chunyu (sp? the stepmother) gets a whole speech to point out the hypocrisy of HER continually bearing the blame of "climbing into the master's bed" after so many ppl in the show have ridiculed her for it as though it wasn't a decision made by the marquis

oooooooooooohhh this is amazing: Yang Yang is disturbed that NN's farewell before the wedding sounds like she doesn't ever intend to return home. and from NN's response, she KNOWS murder general is about to do something crazy and is fully prepared to suffer the consequences alongside him

it's…really amazing that during the stretch of the cdrama when the male lead traditionally starts Machinating and Scheming and lying to the female lead about it, THIS show keeps the heroine's agency intact, she sees right through his lies, she is still front and centre. Chef's kiss.

she knows where it's happening; she knowns when it's happening; she's sending someone for news. she's amazing and so are these writers.

meanwhile: murder general refusing to enlighten the marquis as to his true identity is Irene of Athens-level pettiness and I love it

the way this show keeps this whole episode focused on the story's main character even though she has little to do with -

oh wait never mind she has decided to involve herself anyway!!! now we get the entire Cheng family charging into battle? with NN at their head on a black horse? EPIC?????

well THAT was the best of Jacobean revenge tragedy

shocked to discover that Zisheng has Always Known who was really behind the fall of the lone city - he's just been quietly, methodically working through the destruction of all the perpetrators, COUNT OF MONTE CRISTO style

I love a protagonist who holds cards so close to his chest that not even the audience knows what's going on

more than that, it really adds nuance to the show's themes about revenge. Sometimes the system is broken, & even in a good system people will sometimes get away with murder. What to do then?

I can't support the vindictiveness of the leads (& I'm not sure I'm meant to) but as revenge plots go, I like the weightiness of the themes - how to fight for yourself in a world where laws and manners tell you you shouldn't? - better than Dumas' more superficial take.

where did these two henchmen come from, because they are NOT being paid enough to be part of this absolute disaster

also WHEE Niao Niao gets to swoop in and save HIM for once! Well done our girl!

oh what an idiot. what an absolute peanut.

I was pulling for you, murder general, but I'm not sure how you'll manage to come back from doing the One Thing (abandoning her) she asked you not to do

she's still calling him by his false name T_T

something something she only ever knew him by his false name and identity not his true one

moment of silence, please, I'm experiencing an emotion

well, duh - of COURSE Third Prince is here to collect NN to go help him plead for murder general, who has obviously been quietly helping him all along. even better: we don't know if NN is just figuring this out now or has known it for months but she understands it perfectly, just like we do, the moment she sees Third Prince's face

!!! murder general has been deceiving everyone in so many other ways too???????

it's not just that he knew all along who was responsible for the lone city's fall and has just been working silently to gather evidence on them: he ALSO has been playing four dimensional speed chess with palace politics, supporting a totally different faction to the one he was supposed to be aligned with?

IT WAS HIM IN THE PAGODA ALL ALONG????

I just love the sort of character who plays certain things SO close to the chest while also being utterly open and vulnerable about certain other things. like, as long as we trust their judgement for hiding the certain things and know it's not for purposes of control. and while NN does interpret his secretiveness as control, due to her upbringing, it's also easy in hindsight to see things from zisheng's POV: he is playing not one but several high stakes political games, treading a tightrope between the prince he is supposed to be supporting versus the prince who would clearly be a better choice, and now suddenly thrown into the middle of all this is a naive and well-meaning sledgehammer fiancee who is an absolute force of nature but who is not yet quite insightful enough to see and understand where the deep waters run; she's simply driven by personal loyalty to protect her empress' son. and she keeps forcing choices on him: protect her, or serve the Third Prince? and he makes tremendous sacrifices, as with the Tiger Tally, to save both of them. so is he going to take the risk and tell her and trust in her, or is he going to keep her in the dark just about this, until the game is over (it's so close to being over) and he can be as candid about these things as he can be about everything else?

but at the same time, he was so frustrated with her for not being candid with him, for not telling him when the mean girls tried to KILL her, for lying to him about choosing to help the crown prince - he should have known better than to reproach her about this when he was doing exactly the same things to her all along.

I love that the show just doesn't support him in this. for two people who both say they want to work as a team, these two both spend an awful lot of time keeping things from each other. and it's only after going away and thinking about it that I start to see his side of the story at all, because she is so totally front-and-centred in the way the story is told.

oh wow - now she gets a whole speech and thesis statement about how just because she's a woman she shouldn't be shut out of her husband's confidence, and ends: "Ling Buyi is my most beloved person in the world. But I am still me."

I love this show so much

It's really wild that murder general, who everyone knows went on a murderous rampage to kill the entire Ling clan, goes from being condemned to death to the apple of the emperor's eye based on his surname changing

no doubt it's historically accurate and murder uncle, at least, deserved it - but for me it's just another sign of how irretrievably this system is broken, that bloodline so clearly outweighs right and wrong.

I'll be chewing over the question of whether this last-minute aversion of filial impiety ("it's ok! he was doing it to avenge his REAL father!") undermines NN's previous point about the right to filial reverence depends on a parent's conduct, or whether it's an author's saving throw to secure a HEA

"but I can never forgive him for abandoning me - he even swore it was for my sake" aha! How To Critique The Break Her Heart To Save Her Trope (Without Actually Using The Trope??????) this show didn't HAVE to hunt down and kill every bad Asian drama romance trope like this but is that stopping it? no

Empress telling NN that whatever decision she makes, she will support her in - hits like a punch because the only person who's told her this till now is murder general. On the other hand it is comforting, and underlines the themes of NN being a whole person without him, bc she still has love and support!

as an aside, I also like how the show has handled NN's terrible parents. by the end of the show, she's fought for, and won, their respect and support, & has come to understand the pressures they are under. but she will never love them the way she loves the Empress, bc they haven't earned that love. I feel this consolidates the filial piety critique.

we finally get to hear murder general's side of the story - and it's fascinating to hear him say that he failed. he did everything to bring ling yi to justice - and couldn't. the murder party was his failure.

I'm finding the murder party less problematic at this point than the Censorate beating

whoah, the empress is sailing in to admit that she spoiled her children until they were useless, so she's not upset about the crown prince being demoted? seems a rather unfortunate theme if children are only ever bad because of bad parenting

NN still taking absolutely no prisoners in the romance, though: "oh, I understand you perfectly. the problem is that you never understood ME" that's quite a burn

The Empress is now requesting to be deposed, and it's a complicated scene - is she blaming herself, or voicing regrets? I think she's regretting not fighting for herself: as she points out, her accepting a menage a trois has not spoiled Consort Yue's life so much as it has spoiled her own chance at love.

while the show has sometimes been finger-wagging, it's saved here bc she also blames the Emperor for going along with the flow, too, and tamely accepting a three-way marriage.

meanwhile at home, everyone's like "Niao Niao is so mature now!" and I'm sitting here like NO SHE'S NOT, SHE'S HAD ALL THE HAPPINESS CRUSHED OUT OF HER and…….along comes Not-Quite-So-Bad-Mum to say that precise thing, and confess to having been wrong all along???? This show just keeps hitting.

Love that NN's 3rd brother is completely on her side at this moment. he understands the assignment ("break up with murder general and send him away with a flea in his ear") and executes it with prejudice.

oh…mum has repented too late. I'm not sorry for her, but I AM sorry for the way NN chooses to spend the next forever - when there were so many things she wanted to see and do!

and now: five years' worth of mutual pining in excruciatingly aesthetic slomo, thank you

meanwhile everyone in the Cheng family is getting married? Yang Yang is getting married? Mum's warrior maid is getting married? Good for you warrior maid!

Smug Scholar, otoh, has remained UNmarried for our girl, and I actually love the choice he's presenting her - NN doesn't much care who she marries if it's a business arrangement; she just won't marry the man she loves knowing he was willing to lie to her and abandon her

is it really weird that I suddenly want to write the story about the coldly pragmatic fake marriage of convenience between NN and Smug Scholar

!!!! she IS going to get engaged to him??? murder general is going to come back from five years of picturesquely scruffy suffering to find her engaged to Smug Scholar??!?!?!!!??!

oh this will be GOOD

"thanks, but I can ride without stirrups these days" I love that this show is allowing the heroine to establish a life of her own apart from the hero - they have to be complete on their own before they can be good for each other.

and now: a break from reality for an absolutely bonkers carriage chase, which, because this is a cdrama, comes complete with one of the parties trying to extort a proposal of marriage from the person chasing them

I swear this is the third time this exact same cliff has cropped up in this show, one would think that people would know better than to gallop madly down the DEAD END CLIFF ROAD

Empress pays her last respects to the emperor: "I know that if it wasn't for Emperor Li's tyranny you would have asked nothing more than to live a simple life" LIESSSS this man requires a constant stream of drama to live, how would he have survived as a gentleman farmer?

"if you are truly filial, don't exchange your life for mine. Live well." while this show has come down in the end in favour of filial piety, I think that for the most part it keeps filial piety where it belongs: subordinate to ethics - and that's something I can get behind.

With NN decided that murder general is not the man for her and murder general determined to accept her decision, I really don't see how this will get believably sorted out in the next…3 eps. Bc she's absolutely right, he had his chance and he blew it. That said, I was really worried the show would blame her for being unreasonable, but only the recent antagonist has done that

even NN's mother is now telling him: we don't need you to perform guilt for us, we also had our chance with NN and blew it, now we can only defer to her conscience AND YOU SHOULD TOO

so, I guess we're headed for an "undeserved grace" ending, and I hope they make it a convincing one and not cheap, bc it's too late to show him doing any work to prove his repentance.

oh I love this scene: she tells him she forgives him but cannot trust him, and he without defending himself, vows to live well and take care of himself (because quietly protecting the people she cares about is the one last thing he can do for her)

and he won't ever tell her that he's been doing this because he knows it would only make her despise him more!!!

time for the bad family to apologise, the grandmother in particular for trying to control her children, and Niao Niao to decide no longer to carry resentment, but to dwell on the people who love her instead

I love that the themes have largely to do with resisting control, even when it's from family members, and fighting for yourself. Even more, I love that the highest expression of this theme comes in the trust there's supposed to be between husband and wife. Sometimes, lack of communication IS an attempt at control - although on thinking it over I'm not sure it always has been that on murder general's side. but if there's one thing the past five years must have taught him, it's that he's going to have to be be particularly open with this particular woman, because her family HAS tried so hard to be controlling in the past, and she can't take even the appearance of it from him.

somehow, yet another of NN's old enemies has an overly complicated plan to kill her sigh

loving how murder general jumps into this trap and promptly becomes useless and it's time for the lil henchmen to save the day

stop shouting his name and figure out how to open the trapdoors Niao Niao, smoke inhalation is no joke

murder general looks amazing for someone who was just blown up

TEARFUL RECONCILIATION SCENE

ahaha Snacks has fallen in love with his wife, we love to see it

Smug Scholar, meanwhile (exact words): are you all done flaunting your love?

EXPLODING PICKLES

flailing I love it NN is deploying her secret weapon….the family Cheng

"you can't be in two places at once, General!"

maybe not, but wifey and he can

"i'd like to see who interferes with my best granddaughter's marriage!"

*smash cut to the emperor having a hissyfit because he can't interfere with the marriage *

it's over? pokes couch cushions for spare episodes

OK I LOVED that murder general's grand gesture in the final ep comes in the form of a dilemma. should he go rescue his beloved as everyone is telling him - or should he stay on task, submit to everyone's ridicule for not protecting his woman, and risk her thinking he's abandoned her again?

his answer shows that at last, he has come to truly understand her (five years after she told him he'd never understood her). it's not physical abandonment she truly fears. what she fears is not being trusted & allowed to act as his equal. So he leaves her to protect Guo village while he stays on HIS task. His grand gesture, after so many rescues, is not to rescue her at all.

SCREAMING at that moment when Third Prince is like, seriously, mate, you'd better not abandon her! she needs help!!! go on I'll be fine!! and Zisheng VISIBLY WAVERS and then pulls himself together and shouts GUO VILLAGE HAS NIAO NIAO! GUO VILLAGE WILL BE FINE!!!

since the root of the contention between them was always him not treating her as an equal, this is probably the best proof of change we could get in the screentime. and the show is very insistent to tell us that if NN bends to take him back, it's because it's what SHE wants, not bc she can't survive without him.

the show does give her that moment of fright during the explosion to rush her past her abandonment issues, but since the real issue was always about control, I can make my peace with it. Similarly, she taught him a 5-year lesson about not consulting her. He knows - & her family makes it explicit - that he can never pull something like this again.

final overall thoughts: I have rarely seen such a well done romance in Asian drama, especially cdrama. The show was long & got repetitive, especially in the 2nd half, even though it had some of my favourite stretches as NN starts fighting for respect & equality within her marriage.

The themes about family, state, and fighting for oneself got fingerwaggy at a lot of points, many side characters were brutally humiliated and many of the numerous female characters became nonsensically villainous just to give NN antagonists. So, I would say the show is quite flawed.

that said, what this show does well, it does SO WELL. I was absolutely invested in this romance to an extent that is very rare for me. I was delighted by the way the show critiques asian romance tropes, there's a wonderful Dumas-level revenge plot, the fight scenes while rare are terrific, the show remains laser focused on its female protagonist all the way to the end, and if you are not delighted by the utterly besotted looks murder general serves up five times per episode, I don't know what to do with you.

#love like the galaxy #lltg #ling buyi #cheng shaoshang #cdrama #asian drama

[merylstreepsworld]

Here are some quirky headcanons about Miranda Priestly:

1. Secret Sweet Tooth: Miranda has a hidden love for sweets, especially chocolate. She keeps a stash of high-quality chocolates in her office desk drawer and indulges in them when no one is watching.

2. Morning Routine: Miranda has a highly regimented morning routine that involves precisely seven minutes of meditation, followed by sipping her favorite herbal tea while reviewing fashion news from around the world.

3. Guilty Pleasure TV: Despite her refined taste in fashion, Miranda secretly enjoys binge-watching reality TV shows, particularly those centered around cooking competitions.

4. Obsession with Punctuation: Miranda is a stickler for proper punctuation and grammar. She's been known to send back documents with corrections, even when they're not work-related.

5. Cat Person: Miranda has an affinity for cats and has adopted several over the years. She often finds solace in their company and occasionally posts pictures of them on her private social media accounts.

6. Sentimental Jewelry: Among her extensive collection of high-end jewelry, Miranda has a few pieces with sentimental value, such as a simple necklace given to her by her daughters.

7. Sketching Talent: In her youth, Miranda had a knack for sketching fashion designs. She rarely indulges in this hobby now but occasionally finds herself doodling clothing ideas during long meetings.

8. Green Thumb: Miranda is surprisingly skilled at gardening and has a lush private garden at her countryside estate. She enjoys spending quiet weekends tending to her plants.

9. Surprise Karaoke: On very rare occasions, after a few glasses of wine and in the presence of close friends, Miranda has been known to surprise everyone by belting out a song at karaoke.

10. Tech-Challenged: Despite her sophistication, Miranda struggles with technology. She often relies on Y/n for help with her smartphone and other devices.

11. Morning Playlist: Miranda starts her day with a curated playlist of classical music, which she listens to while getting ready for work.

12. Shoe Affection: Miranda has an entire room in her home dedicated to her shoe collection, with each pair meticulously cataloged and stored in custom-designed cases.

13. Love for Classic Novels: In her downtime, Miranda enjoys revisiting classic literature and has a particular fondness for Jane Austen novels.

14. Unconventional Hobbies: She has a fascination with collecting antique tea sets and often hosts private tea parties for close friends.

15. Pen Collection: Miranda has an extensive collection of fine pens, each reserved for specific tasks and occasions.

#meryl streep #merylstreep #meryl streep x reader #miranda priestly #the devil wears prada #miranda priestly x reader #headcanon #miranda priestly headcanons

[callsign-bunnie]

Matters Of Love - Chapter 1

This is the Jane Austen AU I said would replace Love and War! Ships: Alerudy, Gazalex, Soapghostroach. TW for general dark topics, but this is another primarily light hearted fic!

Rodolfo, Gaz, and Roach are all three young omegas ready to marry. Well, Rodolfo and Gaz are. Roach has... some apprehension of the idea. At the very least, Gaz is more than ready to marry. Rodolfo has yet to find an alpha he thinks deserves him. Roach has his eyes on a maid, though times mean he could end up in a lot of trouble if they're found out. Enter Alex, Alejandro, and Ghost, three very eligible bachelors. It seems the perfect pairs, and trio, has been set up but... love has... other ideas.

--

It is well known that love can be cruel. She never seems to truly have the best interests of people at heart. Or, perhaps, she is simply frustrated with the demands of humans. She works so hard to make perfect matches, and yet people hardly seem to appreciate them.

Not every romance could be a passionate whirlwind of affection. Nor could they always end in happy, cool settlements. Nor could they all end happy.

Rodolfo Parra was orphaned when he was hardly more than 8 years old. He’d presented early as an omega, and as such, his future was considered to be unknown. Until a kind man by the name of John Price took him in and adopted him.

He’d adopted two other omegas, one by the name of Kyle and another by the name of Garaidh, though due to surviving a number of things a young omega shouldn’t, he was now affectionately called Roach. 

It wasn’t a very feminine nickname, but the boy adored it. 

Rodolfo was the oldest, now 22 years old. Kyle was next at 20, and Roach was the youngest at 18. They were well known in their town as great beauties, though of course, every single one of them had a “it’s just so unfortunate that-” to follow this statement.

“Rodolfo is a great beauty, it’s just so unfortunate that temper… It’s far far too short for an omega of his economy. How does he expect to ever be married with a temper such as his?”

“Kyle is a great beauty, but it’s so unfortunate about his height. He’s so shy, too, that it’s a wonder an alpha would even notice him! Not particularly next to his brothers, either. One of them is sure to stick out far faster than he.”

“Garaidh is a great beauty, but it’s so unfortunate how hyper he is. Young ladies should not be running around fields and climbing trees. They shouldn’t be going by such a crass name as Roach, either. No alpha wants an omega that they'll have to chase around gardens.”

Perhaps people’s judgement could be even crueller than love herself. Maybe she couldn’t even be blamed in the first place, as often people’s judgement impeded her, it impeded her work. 

Regardless, all three were not without suitors, though none of them were to their or their adoptive father’s tastes. They attended balls, they were social in public, they went to luncheons and picnics and parties. It seems love may have her work cut out for her, doesn’t she? 

“Rodolfo- Rodolfo!” 

Rodolfo groaned and tried to remain laying in bed as he heard his name practically screamed through the house by Jen Laswell. She was the closest thing Rodolfo had to a mother and he appreciated her very much, but he would like to remain in bed!

“Oh, Rodolfo! For Heaven’s sake!” She exclaimed as she finally came into Rodolfo’s room. “It is past morning and almost midday! Why are you still in bed?”

“Because…” Rodolfo started, rolling onto his side. “Because I was up late last night chasing around a stray cat that somehow came into the manor and tried to eat Roach’s ferret.”

Indeed, Rodolfo was able to reach to his right and produce the stray cat, or rather kitten, who had drank its weight in milk before passing out in a well fed haze, right on Rodolfo’s bed. “So, if you will excuse me-”

Jen sighed and touched her forehead. “I should have known…” 

Rodolfo had to very heavily resist rolling his eyes and instead turned back to his stomach and shook his head. “We can go to the dressmaker another day. For now, I am tired, and quite wish to rest.”

“No, we cannot go to the dressmaker another day.” Jen came to his bed and pulled the blanket from him. “Because we need to get you new dresses, considering you’ve worn out your old ones. And if you do not go today, the dressmaker might become overrun with orders before you’ve even had a proper chance! Winter is coming, you will not be the only young omega in need of new dresses.”

Rodolfo made a frustrated sound, but he knew she was right. He groaned and sat up. “Are Kyle and Roach already up?”

“My dear, they’ve already had breakfast and are now dressing to go out for the day.” Jen put her hands on her hips. “Up! Up!”

Rodolfo groaned, again, though he knew this wasn’t very ladylike behaviour. He shook his head and stood, going to his dresser and sitting to powder his face and make sure it was clean. He pinned his hair out of his face before letting Jen help him to dress.

“Oh, I wish your wardrobe wasn’t so dark in colour.” Jen murmured, causing Rodolfo to need to resist to roll his eyes again. 

“I like these colours.” Rodolfo defended, making sure the fabric sat right, and then looking at himself in the mirror. A dark sapphire blue which he thought looked nice on his skin. He liked the way dark colours made his eyes look the slightest bit lighter. 

“Well, you are very pretty in them.” Jen agreed and then patted Rodolfo’s hip. “You know how to accentuate your looks better than I would.”

“Exactly.” Rodolfo agreed and then went to slip on some shoes, wearing comfortable ones because he would likely be out for the day. Then, he combed his hair. Since he was one to keep it short, he didn’t have to wear it up, usually just letting it free. Roach and Kyle both kept theirs longer, with the latter wearing almost constant braids, so both of their hair was often up.

He followed Jen downstairs when he was finally finished with everything, unsurprised to hear his brothers bickering. Rather, he heard Kyle bickering. Roach had been rendered mute by an accident when he was young.

Kyle was exhausted from also having been up late and he hadn’t had the mind to sleep in late like Rodolfo had, as he generally tried not to be late to anything! Except, perhaps, to bed. 

“I do not think you needed to wake us for that issue.” Kyle crossed his arms, standing close to the door. “You could have shooed the cat out of your room and closed the door! Then she wouldn’t have tried to eat your ferret.”

‘ That demon was set on eating him! What was I to do??’ Roach signed, angry at the implication that he hadn’t already tried that. ‘ I threw her out of the room twice and she came back, angrier each time!’

Kyle sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose before shaking his head. “Well, regardless, I am very tired now.”

“Boys.” Jen warned as they approached them.

Rodolfo shook his head, amused, and then he smiled. “After we managed to catch it, the poor thing drank milk until it passed out! I think it is still asleep in my bed.”

‘ You let the beast stay in our house?! What if she tries to eat Atlas again?? What if she tries to eat Divinity??’ Atlas was the already mentioned ferret. Divinity was a spider. A big ugly spider that Rodolfo and Kyle both deeply feared, but Roach adored. 

“It’s more likely that Divinity will try to eat her.” Kyle mumbled, earning a harsh glare from Roach. “I am sure it will be fine! You closed the door to your room, right?”

Roach’s eyes went wide and then he scrambled to run off, realising that he, in fact, had not remembered to close the door to his room. Kyle and Rodolfo both laughed as they watched the youngest run up the stairs to his room and then they both laughed even harder at hearing a door slam. 

“Boys?” 

Kyle and Rodolfo winced, suddenly, upon hearing their adoptive father’s voice come down the stairs. Then, John Price, himself, was walking down them, his expression full of concern. “It is nearly noon, why are you three not out getting your dresses, yet?”

“That is precisely the question I asked, John.” Jen shook her head. “Rodolfo was still asleep when I arrived and Kyle and Roach were bickering so loudly that I am sure they could be heard, even in town!”

Price laughed, softly, while Kyle and Rodolfo ducked their heads. “Well, it is fortunate, then, that you have not left. I have news.”

Kyle couldn’t help his curiosity and he immediately moved forward. “What is it, father? What news do you have?”

“This morning, while I had my breakfast, an invitation was brought to me.” Price produced a small red envelope from his jacket pocket. “There is to be a ball in a week. A welcome ball for a young male alpha who has moved into the empty estate just up the road.”

Rodolfo didn’t have much mind for balls. He didn’t enjoy dancing, he didn’t enjoy socialising, and he didn’t enjoy the noise of them. He was much more one for laying in bed and reading a good book, or sitting in the sun while one of his brothers sketched him.

Indeed, both of the other omegas had picked up a talent for sketching, though Roach more than Kyle, but Rodolfo preferred instruments. Poetry. He’d written a few of his own poems that he then put to a melancholy accompaniment from a piano. 

Of course, not many enjoyed the mournful or more often melancholic nature of his poetry and music. His brothers always had, but of course they did. 

Kyle, himself, much preferred art. He especially preferred watercolour painting. What he preferred, most of all, however, was knowledge. He and Price had often poured over atlases and encyclopaedias full of knowledge. They could have great discussions about a great many things.

It was well known that John Price favoured Kyle, but that was alright to Rodolfo and Roach, because Laswell favoured Rodolfo, and Jen favoured Roach. 

“Is this young male alpha unmated, perchance?” Jen asked, amused.

Price nodded. “He is. However, I do say that I think there are quite a few other omegas vying for his attention, already.”

“Our three are still unmated, unwed. Maybe you should do your best to put one of them forward?” Jen hummed. She worried about the three omegas, she worried they would remain unmated forever. Though, she had a feeling the three had convinced themselves that this was a perfectly fine life to live.

She knew that it was best for them to be picky about who they ended up mated to, and she knew Price just worried about them ending up with a truly awful alpha, but Price wouldn’t always be around to take care of them. 

Price appeared to consider, though he hardly was. “I suppose, if one of my boys decides that they wish to put themselves forward for the alpha’s attention, then I will do everything I can to help ensure that they catch him.”

“What is his name?” Kyle asked, though Rodolfo feigned disinterest in the topic. Many an alpha had tried and failed to succeed in courting Rodolfo, as he was a bit more particular in his tastes. He had little patience for most of them. 

Price handed Kyle the invitation and then shrugged. “Colonel Alejandro Vargas, I believe.”

The name was familiar to Rodolfo, very familiar. He took the invitation from Kyle, noticing Roach was finally returning downstairs, and he saw the name on it was, indeed, Alejandro Vargas. He didn’t know why the name was so familiar, though…

He handed the invitation back and then he shook his head. “I’d like to have my dress fitting done before nightfall, please.”

“It would have been done earlier, if you were awake earlier.” Jen sighed, her smile exasperated. She had less and less patience for the omegas in her old age. Old being an exaggeration, since she was hardly older than 37. 

Price laughed, softly, and started back up the stairs. “Be easy with them, Jen! They’re still young and sweet. Allow them to be.”

“I will when it does not impede on social responsibilities.” Jen planted her hands on her hips and scolded Price. “You spoil them! If you had your way, they’d be sweet and rotten.”

“As all omegas should be.” Price said, bowing as he reached the top of the stairs. 

Rodolfo and Kyle shared an amused look as Roach fully made it to them. Jen grumbled to herself about polite young omegas before finally ushering the omegas out of the house and to the carriage, telling the driver to take them into town. 

“Perhaps I can stay home from this ball?” Rodolfo offered, though he knew he wouldn’t get to. As the oldest, it was expected he should marry first, and so he needed to go in order to find a suitor. But, he didn’t particularly want a suitor. 

Jen did not verbally reply, instead only giving Rodolfo a look. Kyle sympathised with Rodolfo, as he knew these events made him uncomfortable. Kyle liked them. He liked dancing and eating and listening to gossip, though he also didn’t really like talking to people. It had gotten him labelled as shy a few times. 

“Oh, I thought your father might have informed you, but I suppose he forgot.” Jen suddenly said, startling Kyle and Rodolfo. Roach, who was always curious, had kept his ear open for any sort of random tidbit of knowledge she might decide to spill.

Often, Jen was like that, dropping knowledge on them and then moving on to the next thing. Once, she’d informed them that their neighbour had died and then immediately moved on to discussing which types of roses she’d like to have installed in the garden! Poor Kyle and Rodolfo had still been reeling from the whiplash. 

Jen continued after making sure she had the boys’ full attention. “Two alphas will be staying with us for a few weeks. Their names are Farah Karim and Alex Keller. They have business here, so Kate asked them to stay with us.”

Rodolfo frowned, swaying to stabilise himself as the cart hit many rocks. “Are they unmated?”

“Oh, yes..” Jen nodded and smiled. “However, Farah is engaged. I do not know about Alex, though. We were led to believe he remains unmated, but I do not know.”

“What does father think about him?” Kyle asked, curious about their guests. He would likely see them very little as he, again, did not enjoy being around new people much. Though Price very often did not enjoy having guests in his home. So they had few. 

Jen appeared to think for a moment before she was then sighing. “I don’t know. I do not believe that he has met him. Kate knew Farah’s father and Alex’s mother, that is how she knows them.”

Both omegas ahhed. Roach became very disinterested with this particular piece of knowledge and so he shook his head, settling back into the cart.

When they arrived to town, Jen rushed them into their dress fittings. Rodolfo was ordered three dresses, Kyle was ordered four, and Roach was ordered three as well. 

Rodolfo had one that was meant as evening wear, and the other two that were more for every day. He caved and allowed Jen to put in for a lighter violet dress, since she expressed lament so many times over him not owning much clothing of bright colour. 

Kyle’s dresses were a bit different. He was given a variety of blouses and then skirts that were only meant as evening wear. That was because, as he was a male omega, he typically wore trousers with his blouses and bodices. As he was tall, it was just better for him.

Roach’s were all evening dresses, as he did not need new every day dresses. He didn’t grow much and he hadn’t worn any of his everyday dresses out, yet, like Rodolfo had. 

When they were finished, they decided to take a nice little walk through town, as it was September, and still had nice weather. Rodolfo enjoyed the feeling of sun on his skin. Soon, Kyle, Roach, and Jen wanted to go into a shop that Rodolfo did not enjoy, so he simply stayed outside, listening to the sounds of the town around him.

As he was standing, someone came by and rudely knocked into him, sending him tumbling into the ground. Trying not to get incredibly irritated, he accepted their hand as they offered to help him up. “My apologies, my lady. I did not mean to knock into you.”

Rodolfo dusted himself off, taking a deep breath. “It’s alright.” He mumbled and then finally looked up at who had knocked him over.

He was met with two alphas, both of whom were much taller than him. The one who had helped him up was smiling, and the one behind him was not. Or… Rodolfo couldn’t tell because he had a mask over the bottom half of his face. 

“He has a tendency to not watch where he’s going.” The one behind the other chuckled softly, though his face hardly changed to show any emotion. 

The first glared at the other before turning back to Rodolfo. “What is your name?”

“I don’t give my name to strange alphas.” Rodolfo said, maybe with a bit too much bite. He hadn’t meant it, that time, but he was already on edge from being knocked over. 

The alpha seemed startled by his answer. “You do not?”

“No, indeed, I do not.” Rodolfo backed away from the alpha, putting a healthy distance between them. “I do, however, accept your apology.”

The alpha seemed almost at a loss, though the alpha behind him seemed amused. “Surely giving your name would be of no harm.”

Rodolfo made a face, now fully irritated. Why was this alpha pushing for his name? “No, I think it might be. In fact, your insistence on my name has made me more and more reluctant to give it.”

“You’re very stubborn.” The alpha behind the first laughed. “It’s sweet. Amusing.”

Oh, that only riled Rodolfo up more and he huffed, softly. “I am glad to be of entertainment for you!”

“You’re very entertaining.” The alpha behind the first shrugged. 

Rodolfo made an irritated sound, especially as the first alpha chuckled, and he decided that perhaps he was interested in the shop. “I was pleased to meet your acquaintances. However, I think I must go now.” He turned to go into the shop, glad when neither of the alphas followed him. 

Shaking his head, he listened for the sound of his dear Jen speaking. However, his attention was soon caught by, instead, two ladies gossiping. 

“Oh it really is so unfortunate… How things went.” 

Oh, Rodolfo hated gossip, but… his curiosity loved it. He inched closer, remaining behind a bookshelf which had a variety of cookbooks on it. “To find out in such a way…”

“Oh, Edith, what on earth are you speaking about?”

“The new alpha who has moved in? I have heard word that he used to be engaged… But that it was broken off because she gave birth to a child! A child that was not his. It couldn’t be him as he was in Spain during her pregnancy!” 

Rodolfo’s eyes went wide and he covered his mouth. Before he could take a moment to think over what he heard, however, they were continuing with their gossip. “Of course, had it been on looks alone, he would have been utterly fooled, as the other alpha was his twin brother!”

A gasp came from Rodolfo before he could stop himself and he immediately ducked back further behind the bookshelf he was behind. Oh, with his brother! How awful! Rodolfo shook his head and finally spotted his brothers and Jen.

Roach was long suffering through his brother’s need to look through every watercolour before he chose one, and he relaxed when he saw Rodolfo approach, gasping as his arm was grabbed and he was yanked to the side by him. “Roach! You will never guess what happened!”

‘ I believe I shouldn’t. ’ He signed before huffing softly and rubbing at his arm, now worried it might bruise. He wasn’t so delicate, but Rodolfo had grabbed him rather hard. 

Rodolfo barely mumbled an apology before he was glancing around and lowering his voice. “When I was waiting outside of the shop, an alpha toppled me over! And then he insisted on hearing my name. When I did not tell him, his friend made a rather snide remark at my expense.”

Roach’s eyes went wide. ‘ How rude!’

“How rude, indeed.” Rodolfo agreed. He shook his head and sat on a nearby bench, Roach moving to sit beside him. “I hope to never encounter him again.”

‘ Why would he insist upon your name?’ Roach asked, furrowing his brows. ‘ Why would his friend tease you when you didn’t give it?’ That sounded the most rude in his opinion. To ask a young lady their name and then insult them when they didn’t give it.

Rodolfo shook his head, sighing softly. “I do not know. But I do know it made me upset. Irritated.”

“A hard feat.” Kyle interrupted, holding a paper wrapped bundle of brushes and new paints. “Father has promised to help me paint a new map. We will draw little towns and name them, too. So, he has asked me to find watercolour that I think will fit the new map. They had paints that were made from crushed clams!”

Roach’s eyes widened and he almost regretted not continuing to look with Kyle, but he shook his head. “Are we to go home soon?” Rodolfo asked, rubbing at his hip which still hurt from falling over. “I think I would like to take a bath.”

“Rodolfo! You’re covered in dirt! What happened to you?” Jen exclaimed as he came over.

Roach and Rodolfo shared an amused look, though Rodolfo looked a little exasperated. “I just fell over outside. A horse rode by and it startled me! That’s all.” Rodolfo answered, standing so Jen could knock dirt off of his skirts. 

“No matter, we will return home.” Jen sighed. “It is already evening and I am quite tired.” 

When they returned home, they sat to dinner, with Price, Laswell, and Jen, of course. As with most of their dinners, this one was quiet. It was like the calm before a storm, of course, as most of the time, one of them was waiting for someone to speak before releasing information to the rest.

Finally, Price cleared his throat and set his silverware down. “I am sure that Jen or Laswell has already informed you boys but… we are to have a Lieutenant Alex Keller and a Captain Farah Karim to stay with us. They served together but have both been discharged for honourable reasons.”

Rodolfo and Roach shared a look, while Kyle just ignored them. “That is wonderful, father.” Kyle said, smiling. “What are they like?”

“They’re both very sweet.” Laswell was the one to speak up, smiling as well. “Farah is engaged to a sweet omega named Malika, they have been engaged for quite a while. Indeed, they should be wed at the end of this year. Farah had a year before she was to be discharged with Alex, so she wished to finish it out.”

“I have heard that both have very lovely estates.” Jen continued for her mate, also putting down her silverware. “Farah has a rather large estate, it has been in her family for many years. Sakhra Manor, it is called. She has since bought and added to it. That, in fact, is where her fiance resides as of right now.”

“I see.” Kyle nodded. “And.. of Lieutenant Keller?” He asked, mostly out of a desire to be polite but maybe also out of a mild curiosity.

“Yes, the most important question,” Rodolfo immediately added on, his tone teasing. “Is he married? Or engaged?” 

Kyle half glared at Rodolfo, but Rodolfo only continued. “I only ask for our dear Kyle and Roach, of course. Surely, if he has no understanding, only a few days with one of them shall whip him into one, no?”

Price laughed, softly, and Jen scolded Rodolfo for his teasing. “If he is engaged, I do not know.” Laswell said, chuckling. “I do not believe that he is. Do not fret, I have talked all three of you up to him in our correspondences. I have no doubts that if he is looking to be married, he will be.”

“How old is he?” Kyle asked, wishing to change the subject. “How old are both of them, more like?”

“Oh…” Laswell paused, a bit surprised by the question. “I believe he is 26 and she is 27. Yes, that sounds right. He has his own estate, too, you know. Echo Delta, I believe it is called. Not nearly as large or imposing as Sakhra Manor, but nothing to roll one’s eyes at. Actually, in fact, he has a rather large library. He and Farah travelled all the way to her home country to fill it. Atlases and globes as well.” 

Rodolfo and Roach did not waste time to share another glance before they both looked at Kyle, who rolled his eyes at the two of them. “Well, I should hope he is educated.” Kyle mumbled, avoiding his brothers’ eyes. 

“Indeed.” Laswell agreed before they all fell into a silence.

Later, while Roach and Rodolfo sat in front of the fireplace in the library, enjoying some pudding that Jen had had the kitchen make for them, Kyle stormed in, startling both. “You two are positively insufferable! What means do you make by making faces at my expense!”

Rodolfo looked up at his brother before laughing softly and gently. “Oh, my dear Kyle, it was not for any cruel or malicious reason. You wish to be married, this Lieutenant Alex Keller is eligible! Why should we not find out if he is well suited for you?”

‘ He sounds like he is. Books and a library. Arabic books, no less. Atlases and globes… He sounds like a catch.’ Roach signed, looking up from where he was sketching an insect from a book, laying on his stomach. 

Kyle huffed and went and sat beside him, getting his coloured pencils from his pocket and handing them over to Roach, who made a happy sound before starting to colour his sketch in. “I am sure that Alex Keller does not wish the fate of any future marriage to be decided by two omegas around a dinner table. He hasn’t even arrived yet and you two are already deciding on the colour of my bouquet.”

“Hmm… Blue. Like water.” Rodolfo teased and laughed, ducking as Kyle threw one of Roach’s wadded up pieces of paper at him. “Oh, Kyle, we are not deciding anything.”

Kyle huffed and then settled fully on the ground, his hands falling into his lap. “I do not even know him.”

“Neither do we. We would never pass you off to someone with whom you have not built acquaintance.” Rodolfo promised, sliding down to sit on the ground in front of Kyle and taking his hands. “You will not believe what I have heard.”

“What have you heard??” Kyle asked, leaning forward. He was also not one for gossip but he’d always eagerly listened to his brothers’. “Who is it about?”

“Alejandro Vargas.” Rodolfo smiled, having been waiting all evening to tell them. “When we were in the shop, after I had just been knocked over, I overheard two women say that he was previously engaged! But that it had been broken because the omega had been unfaithful! She had gotten pregnant and gave birth to a child that was not his! He was in Spain! And… that the alpha who had spited him was his brother!”

“No!” Kyle covered his mouth, pulling a hand away to do it. “How horrible!” Roach’s own eyes were wide and he had moved to sit up, watching them speak. Kyle shook his head. “I cannot imagine… Oh the poor Colonel… No wonder he has moved here.”

‘ I heard… on a lighter note, that he has moved here for a particular reason. Apparently, he seeks someone out. An omega. A childhood friend.’ Roach signed. ‘ He, apparently, intends to find this omega and marry him!’

“What is the omega’s name??” Rodolfo asked, quite surprised by this gossip as well. “Who could be so important?”

‘ I do not know! But, it has quite a few other young ladies upset for his heart is set on this mystery omega! I am sure, if he is here, he will show at the ball!’ Roach answered before he returned back to laying on his stomach and sketching. 

Rodolfo shook his head. “How… romantic.” He softened. Perhaps, if he allowed himself to be fanciful for a few moments, he might find himself wondering if he was the mystery omega, but he doubted it. He didn’t remember much of his childhood before he was adopted. Consequence of the accident which had taken his parents. A capsized ship. 

Kyle laughed, “well now I suppose it is my turn to tease you, my dear brother.” He was given only the response of Rodolfo hitting his shoulder before he stood. “I plan to retire to bed. Perhaps both of you should consider the same, soon?”

Rodolfo rolled his eyes. “Goodnight, mijo.” He said, waving as Kyle bowed slightly before he was exiting the room and retiring to bed.

--

Do you want to be added to this taglist? Reply to this post that you wish to be added to the taglist and I will start to tag you in it every time I post it. You can also use this form!

Ships: @the-pluto-828 @Humanmilkerr @vergilnelosparda @cathsolos @thegodofsleep @lieutenant-storm @roachboy @toasterduck23 @del79jji @thisisthedarknessofmymind @stardust-medic99 @spacedout-ace @ornitorinco @crazy-phan-girl13 @loartacc @cowboyscruffy @lvndr-swtr @green--beenie @idiot_rxxcoon @pandanini @chaotic-pastel-science-babe @wittymanatee @captainsimcoe @thatnerdnamedtj @snootlestheangel

Omegaverse: @arwenprinses @vergilnelosparda @del79jji @thisisthedarknessofmymind @stardust-medic99 @ornitorinco @Loartacc @green--beenie @lieutenant-storm @Pandanini @chaotic-pastel-science-babe

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#alejandro cod #rodolfo cod #call of duty #rodolfo parra #alejandro vargas #alejandro x rodolfo #Alejandro Vargas #Rodolfo Parra #Alejandro x Rodolfo #call of duty: modern warfare ii #Soap Cod #Ghost COD #Macriley #Call of Duty #Gary Roach Sanderson #Roach cod #Call Of Duty Modern Warfare 2 #roach x soap #soap x roach #ghost x soap x roach #Gaz Cod #Alex Keller #Alex COD #Gaz x Alex #Alex x Gaz #call of duty modern warfare #call of duty modern warfare II #gazalex #the gazalex agenda

[heathcliffdt]

The Heroines in L.M. Montgomery’s Books

Anne Shirley - daydreaming, spoken word poetry, childhood best friends, spring flowers, shades of green, enamel necklace, annotations on book margins, boat rides in the summer, pinky promises, pumpkins on October, academic rivals

Emily Byrd Starr - Jo March, windy afternoons, quill and ink, newspapers, purple opal, ink-stained fingernails, little elves in the garden, touch-me-not cottage, amateur poetry, leather-bound diaries, Swiss mountains, Edgar Allan Poe’s stories

Sara Stanley - the vibrant shade of red, boisterous laughters, childhood sweetheart, summer, pastries, golden afternoon, barefoot and grass blades, June weddings, stories told in the dark, sleepovers, bruises in knees, sketches of European cities, nostalgia

Jane Stuart - the moon, crisp salt air, bottles filled with seashells, newspaper clippings, old handwritten love letters, baking, summer holidays, Studio Ghibli films, staying at home, yellow summer flowers, a green thumb, a yearning for the sea, gloomy city rain

Valancy Stirling - roaring 20s, feet digging deep into snow, crackling fire in the fireplace, evenings spent with your lover, rebellion and rage, a string of pearls, wrapping Christmas presents with dainty bows, dinner parties with friends, iceskating, Persuasion by Jane Austen, isolation, streams of light penetrating through the trees,

Pat Gardiner - coming of age, vintage box filled with letters, spring fairies, a witch’s cove, aching pain for childhood, yellow summer dresses, baby’s laughter, dipping feet on streams, an old-fashioned kitchen, early heartbreaks, little stick houses, watercolor hues of blue and green

#lm montgomery #anne of green gables #emily of new moon #happy birthday lucy maud montgomery

[misschanadlerbong]

Chapter 8 - Over You.

Summary: Y/N trying to move on after a difficult breakup and realizing what she really wants.

Warnings: Swear words, teenage drinking, kiss

Genre: a little bit of angst and fluff in the end

Word Count: 1.6k

<Previous | Next>

The winter break went simply fine though it was not how you expected it to go. Jessica’s parents were so kind to invite you to their place for the Christmas eve dinner and they even gave you Jane Austen’s Pride and Prejudice a book you always wanted to read, as a Christmas present. You anticipated having a good family time with both your parents on new year’s eve, but they had different plans. First, they had to attend a wedding in which you were not at all interested to go and your parents never forced them to do something in which you were not interested. Secondly, to celebrate their 20th anniversary they planned a trip to London where they first met.

It was lovely to see your parents still have that spark in their marriage and that adorable romance between them when your love life sucked. It took you the whole winter break to get over Zach and Jessica being the experienced one had all the post-break-up regime to follow. Most of your break was spent at her place, hanging out with her, watching movies, having deep talks, and listening to her relationship drama. You always admired Jessica because she could have spent the holidays hanging out with Justin, but she knew that you needed her, so she was always there whenever you needed her.

As Jessica’s parents were out of town too, she decided to throw a house party before the school reopens for the last term of school life. You were not a party person at all, but you thought it would be good for a change to stay up late and watch a bunch of teenagers get high and talk bullshit. Your only motto to go to the party was to do people-watching.

You wore a floral black dress though dresses were not your thing and you decided to wear a black sweater vest over an oversized white shirt with your favorite pair of ripped jeans. But you were feeling like it tonight, so you decided to wear the dress with a pair of black boots.

The party was going fine but to be honest, you were kind of bored as Jessica was drinking and Justin was taking care of her on the other hand Alex and Charlie were together, so you did not want to interrupt them. You just stood there in a corner observing until a familiar voice broke your focus “Hey Y/N!” said Bryce you looked at him and said, “Hey Bryce.”

He tried his best to initiate a conversation and waste your time but you somehow managed to dodge him.

Monty disrupted your isolation, again. Even after all your efforts he was determined to stay there and flirt with you which was not appealing at all. You started getting uncomfortable and wanted to get out of it. Clay came as a savior. He just came to the party and noticed you being uncomfortable around Monty, so he came to you and put one of his hands on your shoulders, and pretended that he wanted to talk about something serious.

“Hey, Y/N I needed to talk to you about something,” said Clay.

With that, we moved away from Monty and went into the garden outside.

“Clay, did you forget your way to the library? I do not know if you’ve noticed this is a party and people have fun here” you teased him.

Clay playfully rolled his eyes and said, “Actually I do know it’s a party and you are welcome.”

You forgot that this guy helped you get out of that boring, unpleasant conversation with Monty.

“Right, sorry. Thank you so much for helping me, nerdy boy.”

He smiled and said “Was it okay to put my hand on your shoulders? I didn’t have time to ask for consent and stuff because it had to be spontaneous.”

You replied, “It’s completely okay Clay, and also you know I call you nerd just because I think it’s a cool nickname, I don’t mean to bully you or something if you want, I’ll stop.”

“Nah, I like it. It is fine. By the way, you look stunning tonight.”

You didn’t know what to say so you just said thanks and smiled at the ground in shyness.

“You want some beer?” he offered.

“No, I don’t drink. It is bad for my sports.”

He went inside to get a drink for himself, but he returned with two cups.

“So, you want Soda? Or you want Soda?” he asked gesturing at the plastic cups.

“Hmm, tough choice Jensen. I think I will go with Soda.”

“Good choice,” he said and, you both laughed and stood on the porch drinking your drinks.

Clay questioned, “Where’s your boyfriend?”

“He uh, broke up with me,” you chuckled awkwardly.

“What an idiot.”

You glanced at Clay and said, “Thank you, Clay. And I am not a party person either, it’s a page from Jessica’s handbook that says that partying is important to get over your ex, crazy Jess.”

“Seems like we both are graduating high school single” commented Clay.

You were offended and replied with a hair flip “Speak for yourself Jensen, I still have a chance”

A slight laughter erupted between the two of you.

Clay hesitated and questioned, “Umm Uh, would like to watch the meteor shower that is happening tonight? It would be exactly at 10.23 pm”.

Then he explained all about this meteor shower and how it happens, why it happens when it happens, and all that. As you had no plans you agreed to his offer, honestly, you just wanted to get out of the party.

Suddenly you noticed Zach coming inside and he was walking towards you on the porch where you were standing.

“Clay, I want you to kiss me right now,” you whispered to not make it obvious.

“Like right now?”

“Just do it! I want to get it back at Zach.”

Your lips met and moved in complete sync. Eventually, a tension built between you as his hands traced your jawline to the back of your head holding you near with care. You held on tight to his waist pulling him closer. You have kissed Zach a lot, but this felt different, passionate, and kind of warm. Zach saw you guys kissing and he just stood there for a couple of seconds then decided to go inside the house.

Clay broke the kiss by saying “He’s gone now.” You leaned in once more and pecked his lips as the kiss was too good to be broken.

You smiled and said, “I think I’ll get a refill.”

You intentionally met Zach at the drinks counter because you wanted to see that face. He did not say hi or anything and asked “Clay? Really?” You replied savagely “Friends with Bryce? Really?”

“Listen about the breakup…”

You did not let him finish and cut him off by saying “No, Zach I don’t need any justification. You did what you had to and as they say, actions have consequences. I completely understand and respect your decision it was just that I didn’t have my closure properly. But now I do, I am over you.” Saying this you walked away from him and went on to find Clay. You spotted him having a conversation with Jeff.

He glanced over at you and said “So what’s going on between you two huh? Saw you guys kissing.”

You replied, “It was nothing Jeff, just two teenagers fooling around.”

Clay’s face met with disappointment, and he said, “Yeah, it was uh nothing.”

You felt bad for hurting his feelings like that, but your mood was off because you argued with Zach, and all the memories started coming back.

To change the topic and lighten the air you demanded “Clay let’s get out of here.”

Clay agreed and, on your way, out you met Jessica who was drunk as fuck. She insisted on you staying a little longer. For a second you did not think of leaving her alone like that, but Justin looked at you with assuring eyes and said, “Y/N I’ll take care of her, I promise you. You can go if you want to.”

It was hard to trust Justin, but he changed a lot since the last time, so you decided to trust him and as Jessica was insisting further for you to stay you told her about your curfew condition.

You and Clay walked to your place as it was the nearest. You reached your home and unlocked the door. Clay was walking slowly trying not to make any noise. You told him “Clay there’s no one at home, you can walk properly.”

He looked confused and asked, “But you told Jess that your parents were at home. What was that all about?”

“Oh, poor Jensen. Jess was too drunk to remember that my parents were not at home and sometimes you have to lie for your good.”

You suggested watching the meteor shower on your roof and as it was already 10.15 pm, you had less time.

You went into the bedroom upstairs and through the window went outside on the roof. On your way out you grabbed your blue varsity jacket because you did not want to be cold.

You guys settled yourself and it was time for the big show. Clay pointed his finger to help you see. You guys sat there, and the cold breeze of winter night swept past your hair. Even after wearing the jacket, you were feeling cold.

“Should I put my hand around our shoulder? You seem to feel cold?” He asked.

“Yeah.” You nodded.

At that moment you felt warm, protected, and cared for. You had a sensation of happiness. After a long time, you felt delighted.

Shower your love by liking and commenting on the post. Refrain from copying, plagiarism, or posting on any other platform.

THANK YOU!!!

P.S.: I also upload on Wattpad @immafreakingmoonstone, feel free to check out my account :)

#13 reasons why #13rw #13rw fic #zach x reader #clay x reader #zach dempsey #clay jensen #zach dempsey x reader #clay jensen x reader #justin foley #jessica davis #justin x jessica #chapter 8 #13rw imagine #jeff atkins

[tex-treasures]

Hello all! Rebekah here, Xio's entire world (shut up Elijah, xe didn't mention you in this year's f/ovember promo now did xe? 💅🏻). Like many of you lot have decided to as well, Xiomara has let me take over xyr blog to share my thoughts and whatnot as well as a few others.

Well. We all talked about it- Mr. Nygma, Mr. Scamander, Mr. Moriarty (gods alive that man doesn't know how to shut the hell up, he reminds me of Klaus 🙄), Mr. Pennyworth, Mr. Watson, Mr. Stark, and Mx. Moore (now there's a person who doesn't talk much at all!)- and we've decided we'd like to do something different.

We want you lot to let your f/os come over to say hello to us! Whichever one of your f/os feels they'd be friends with one of us and would like to chat is invited to come and send an Ask- it would be lovely to make some new friends!

Some things to know to make it easier for your beloveds to tell if they'd be friends with any of us are mentioned below:

Ed Nygma- trivia games, puzzles, riddles, science (forensic, earth, anything really), cooking, experimenting with chemistry

Newt Scamander- magical and non-magical creatures, travelling, reading, plants, knitting, baking (he's not very good but he loves it anyway!)

Ferris Moore- painting (oils, acrylics), sketching, art history (Renaissance especially), sculpting, photography, reading (mainly dystopia like 1984, Animal Farm, Clockwork Orange, etc), going for walks

John Watson- walking through the city, solving crimes, watching telly (mainly into action and adventure/fantasy), reading, writing

Tony Stark- travelling, chess, hosting parties, mechanical engineering/tinkering/inventing, listening to audio books (mainly offbeat literature like Catcher in the Rye, Catch-22, Animal Farm, etc.)

Alfred Pennyworth- cooking, gardening, baking, swordplay, chess, reading (classic literature like Jane Austen (ESPECIALLY Austen), Bronte, Dickens, Byron, etc.), going on nature walks.

Jim Moriarty- computers, puzzles, piano, walking through the city, fashion, travelling, people watching, reading/listening to audio books (horror / dystopia / classic lit., really fond of Frankenstein, is hyperfixated on Fairy Tales as a genre), chess

Yours truly, Rebekah Mikaelson- Exploring the local city, fashion, reading (Austen is my favourite!), throwing parties, lattes, hiking, photography, dancing (especially swing era), and flowers (chrysanthemums, tulips, and lupines).

Anyway, looking forward to getting to hear from some new people, always a delight!

Ta-ta for now!

#f/ovember #f/o takeover #do you believe in happy endings? | rebekah #y'know Xio since i met you... yes. i do ♡ #also can i just say. love that im the only lady on this year's list. i know the others are free to share their thoughts but i love this ♡

[vixxiu]

March 1815

What a delightful night!

It was an honor being invited to one of the famous Jane Austen balls, and Aziraphale wanted to take advantage of every minute he could spend in the presence of the great writer and her friends. He was in such a good mood, he was ready to perform some miracles if he got the chance to catch some humans pining for each other. He could feel love in the air.

Everyone was wearing their best attire and the whole mansion was decorated in the most exquisitely, and don’t even make Aziraphale start about the buffet! The canapés had been provided by a very talented chef that sometimes cooked even for the Queen of England herself.

Jane was an awesome host and Aziraphale was glad they managed to become good friends, as she walked with him in the big ballroom, whispering rumors in his ear about people Aziraphale never heard about before.

Everything was perfect and no one thing was weird or out of place.

At least until he noticed that his friend got distracted by someone on the other side of the room. He followed her gaze as Jane and a man exchanged a brief nod. One second later, the man had already disappeared, but not fast enough for Aziraphale to miss his yellow eyes.

The angel excused himself and moved quickly, walking in the direction where the man disappeared. Of course, there was no trace of the other, at least until he reached the door that led to the garden.

“Angel…”

Crowley was leaning against the wall. He was wearing a black elegant dress that complimented his slim figure, his eyes were twinkling with mischief and his lips were stretched in a smirk.

“You!” Aziraphale commented, while lightly punching the demon on his shoulder “What the hell are you doing here? I forbid you to tempt my friend Jane in any way”

Crowley laughed “Angel, dear, she needs no tempting…”

It was already weird that Jane and Crowley knew each other, but this reply was even stranger.

Aziraphale was so lost in his thoughts, wondering why two beings that seemed so different from each other could be close (seriously a demon and a writer who was considered the queen of romance and parties) that he didn’t realize Crowley had moved.

The demon was bowing with one of his arms extended, as if he was asking Aziraphale to hold his hands.

“I know you love silly dances, so would you like to give me a dance?”

Aziraphale felt his cheeks getting warmer and redder, and he couldn’t understand if it was for embarrassment or delight. He turned his head around, and only when he was sure all the guests were inside, he took Crowley’s hand and moved closer.

The music could be clearly heard from the inside and soon the angel started performing the right moves without missing a bit, while Crowley, well… Aziraphale didn’t know why he asked him to dance when it was so obvious, he had no idea what he was doing and probably it was the first time attempting at cotillon dancing. At least they didn’t have to be too close and therefore no feet got hurt.

Still, the air of the beginning of spring was chilly and it would have been nice, standing close to someone else…

When the song ended, they were standing one in front of the other, their faces just a few centimeters apart.

Damn it, sure those yellow eyes were nice and expressive. They would have looked strange to every human, but after so many centuries, Aziraphale grow fond of them. They were so representative of Crowley.

Weirdly, when the demon took a step forward, Aziraphale didn’t move. He didn’t want to move. As their faces got even closer, the angel felt his breath stopping, anticipating something that he couldn’t even name.

Crowley moved even nearer, his face almost buried in the other’s neck.

Aziraphale closed his eyes, ready for some kind of contact; any kind of contact was going to be welcomed at that point. But nothing came.

“See you soon, angel” Crowley whispered in his ear, before retreating rapidly and crossing the garden with quick steps.

Aziraphale was left there alone, feeling incredibly silly as his heart beat way too fast for this encounter not to mean anything.  

He let his hand cover his throbbing chest, before letting his finger slide down his waistcoat.

Wait a minute, there was something inside of his pocket. He didn’t put anything there, he was sure.                                                                                                                                                           

He reached inside with curiosity.

A diamond. The biggest diamond he had ever seen.

Damn it, he didn’t want anything stolen!

He knew the other was aware of that. He had to meet Crowley as soon as possible to give it back.

He didn’t even pretend he wasn’t excited about their future encounter.

#good omens #good omens 2 #good omens fic #crowley #aziraphale #aziracrow #ineffable husbands #fics #fanfic #jane austen #my stuff

[ali-annals]

i could be the way forward (i know I'll pay for it) (forever is the sweetest con, pt 2)

Pairing: Jason Todd x Marinette Dupain-Cheng PART ONE Moodboard

Rating: G | Masterlist | Main Masterlist | Ao3 | WC: 1.6k | TW: -

A/N: This is part of a series called The Eras Tour (Jasonette’s Version), a collection of Jasonette-centric fics I wrote for the Maribat discord server Maribat? Get In!’s 2024 Civil War event. Not beta’d.

Years after retiring from Ladybug, Marinette Dupain-Cheng goes by many other names, switching identities as easily as she breathes…until she tries to swindle the wrong guy.

Marinette swirled her olive in the dregs of her martini, forlornly chewing on the other. The chatter of the multitude of people passing through the bar was a welcome background noise for her to tune out as she thought of her ex-partner. 

The news anchor’s voice suddenly cut through her thoughts of dark hair and teal eyes. Had he said-

“Oh, he was the sweetest boy, always so polite,” said a little old lady who had appeared on the stool next to her. She looked harmless, but she wouldn’t have survived this long in a city like Gotham without having something up her sleeve. “We all missed him greatly. He was a ray of sunshine, one that Gotham let through her smog to give us all hope.”

Marinette turned to her. “Would you mind telling me more about him and what’s happening? I’m somewhat new here.”

The party was in full swing by the time her limo pulled up to the event hall. The chauffeur opened the door for her, her date for the night getting out and offering his hand in silent escort.

They entered the hall, fashionably late and thus commanding everyone’s attention without even trying. She knew she looked good, having put her own touch on the off-the-rack dress she’d found in an adorable boutique. 

She took in the crowd as she descended the stairs, using her temporary height to her advantage. So many dark-haired men here, yet the one she wanted to see wasn’t. 

Her date led her to a small group of people by the foot of the stairs, two of which had ‘PRESS’ lanyards over their suit and dress. 

“Clark, Lois, it’s good to see you! How have you been? This is my date, Melody Dupain. Melody, these are my friends, Clark Kent and Lois Lane.”

“Pleasure to meet you,” she nodded. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Melody,” said Lois. “We just talked the other day, nothing’s changed,” she added to her date. 

“Good to hear. Excuse us, the mayor wanted a word.”

Marinette continued on her way, taking the time her date was socializing to scan the room. 

She excused herself from the conversation, heading in the direction of the French doors she’d spotted as she came in.

The cool air was refreshing after the heat of the ballroom and cloying perfumes. She found a quiet spot overlooking the gardens, underneath a garden party tent of some kind. Little drops of rain soon echoed calmingly as they bounced off the canvas top. 

“May I have this dance?”

She startled, the rain having covered anyone’s approaching footsteps.

“Dancing is a dangerous game. Haven’t you read any Jane Austen, where the characters fall in love because they danced?”

She turned, her breath catching. 

He smirked. “Of course I’ve read Jane Austen; I’m not a heathen, what do you take me for?”

“What are you doing here?”

“Watching my ex-swindling-partner attempt to swindle my dad, apparently,” he shrugged. “And just when I thought life was going to be boring again.”

“How…was everything I heard true?”

“Depends on what you heard, but probably. Although the rumours of my death have been greatly exaggerated. I’m fine now.”

“Jay.”

“Look, this isn’t a great place to get into everything. How about we skip the party and go get Batburger?”

She hadn’t even heard the end of his proposition and she grabbed his hand, leading the way out.

“I’ll take you to my favourite gargoyle and we can talk there.”

“Of course you have a favourite gargoyle,” she rolled her eyes at him fondly.

He opened the door to a black Rolls Royce.

She settled in the comfy seat appreciatively, running her hands over the dash. “You finally got your fancy car, huh?”

He chuckled dryly. “Yep. First long con I ever did, and I’m still runnin’ it. Now I’m actually old enough to drive the things.”

“Please just tell me you’re not pretending to be Bruce’s dead son,” she said as they pulled into the Batburger drive through.

“No, I wouldn’t do that…well, maybe. But no, I’m the real dead son. But why are you trying to swindle the guy who has a dead son?”

“Not so dead anymore,” she retorted, waving at him. “Because I had to see if it was really you, homme stupide . I came to Gotham because it’s a wonderful place to hide, and then I found my ex-partner beat me to swindling high society, only it might not be a swindle at all! What did you even need the money for, if your dad is the richest guy in America?!”

He shrugged, paying and collecting their order. “His money ain’t my money. Also, he didn’t know I was alive, and I had some…things to take care of first.”

They climbed up the rusty fire escape to the roof of the building that housed his favourite gargoyle. Jason handed her her burger and fries. 

“Your dress looks really nice, Mar. Did you make it?”

“I restyled it,” she sniffed, biting hungrily into her burger. “Thank you for the compliment.”

“Why are you so mad? I’m not even stopping you conning my dad or giving you away.”

“Because I thought I’d never see you again, and then I did and I wasn’t even prepared for it, and now I’m thrown all off-kilter! And I can’t in good conscience hustle your dad, he’s your dad !”

“I mean, if it helps, I hustle him all the time,” he shrugged, bumping her shoulder with his.

“It really doesn’t…okay, maybe a little bit. But I’m still not stealing from your dad! This was going to be my last con.”

“What? Why?” He looked at her, startled. “Are you in trouble?”

“Not as far as I know,” she bit a fry moodily in half. “I’m tired of it. Constantly looking over my shoulder, switching up my identity, never getting close to anyone. I’ll use what I have to settle down somewhere and set up a sewing shop or something, live a boring life and find a husband and have two-point-five kids…”

“It’ll never work.”

Marinette punched his shoulder for his immediate pessimistic shut-down.

“Ow! I mean, you won’t be happy without the adrenaline rush, the danger. But,” he raised his finger, “I have an idea.”

“Do tell,” she said dryly, used to his ideas.

“Marry me.”

She coughed out the fry she’d been eating. “Excuse me?”

“I’m serious. Marry me. It’ll take care of a lot of problems for us. We can’t legally testify against each other, in case our pasts catch up to us. You’ll be richer than Croesus, you can bug Bruce all the time –and it’ll be great leverage for me: “Bruce, how could you date your future daughter-in-law”--and we can go around long-conning society with a permanent identity and no one to catch us.”

“And just how will we do that?” she asked, getting interested in spite of herself.

“I can only tell you if you agree,” he said mock-solemnly.

She punched his shoulder again.

“Ow! If you’re gonna turn to punching me, maybe I'll take it back!”

“Tell me why we’re long-conning society, Jason,” she threatened.

“Because we’re the Todd-Waynes during the day, but the vigilantes Red Hood and Mrs Red Hood (name subject to change) at night!”

She blinked at him. “That makes so much sense. Wait, why will I be a vigilante?”

He gave her a flat look. “Pixie. You told me you used to be a hero. You need the adrenaline rush, that’s why you’re currently a swindler. You can go back to heroing, get your thrills, and feel good about it while you do it, instead of sullying your conscience by swindling old men grieving the loss of their son-ow!”

“Fine, I’ll do it.”

“Really?”

“Yes. But you have to answer a few questions for me first.”

“Only if you answer three of mine.”

“You’re a horrible negotiator.”

He simply smiled serenely at her. 

She huffed. “Fine, I’ll answer three of your questions, but you have to answer as many as I ask you. You are getting the better part of the deal, may I remind you.”

“Sounds good.”

“Why do you want to marry me?”

“Ooh, loaded question, right off the bat. Well, I like you. I can trust you, we work well together, we know each other well already.”

“Why did you stay so long with me if your dad is a billionaire?”

“To take care of you. Also, it was nice to have someone around who knew me but also didn’t know me, if you know what I mean.”

“Crystal clear,” she deadpanned. “But yes, I think so. You wanted someone to know you without knowing the past you with all the baggage and pre-made judgments. I felt the same way. Why did you want to take care of me?”

“Why not? I like you.”

“Jason! You can’t just say stuff like that!”

“You wanted the truth!”

“Yeah, but I’m gonna fall off this roof in shock!”

“I’ll catch you then. As long as you’re falling for me.”

Marinette sputtered at his blatant flirting. “ You’ll be falling because of me.”

“I already am.”

“Jason Todd!”

The banter and interrogation continued until all the burgers and fries were gone. Jason sighed, leaning back on his elbows, kicking his feet over the side. “There’s something you should probably know before we do anything else.”

She eyed him cautiously. “Okay…”

“I wasn’t planning on partnering with you, but I felt like there was something between us after the first night. We got along so well after that, and it was an easy cover to keep when I had some Hood business to take care of. But we spent more time together, and I started falling for you. It wasn’t the plan, but I couldn’t stop–and I didn’t particularly want to stop, either. I love you, Marinette Dupain-Cheng.”

She bit her lip hard, willing away the tears. “I love you too, Jason Todd-Wayne.”

#jasonette #fic #ali writes #mgi cw 24 #dcxmlb

[shyvioletcat]

Can I send multiple?? I’m nosy. 👀

✏️ The first fanfiction you ever wrote? (doesn't have to be a posted fic)

🌾 A fic you really want to write but you haven't (yet)?

🪜 Tell us a random fact about any fic!

🎨 Show us a sneak peek from a WIP! (if fish are friends is a possibility, I’d happily die but will absolutely be grateful for a sneak peek from any of your works!!)

Multiple are much appreciated and encouraged around here.

✏️ : it’s not posted and it’s possibly lost on my iPad that suddenly died. But all I’ll say is that it was entirely my guilty pleasure and it The Lord of the Rings based.

🌾: ooo, okay. I have a Jane Austen’s Emma au that exists in my brain and some scattered notes. Aelin is Emma, and Rowan is obviously Mr Knightly. Then Elide is Harriet and Lorcan Mr Martin and it just goes from there. Emma is not my all time favourite Austen work but it does hold a very special spot in my heart and the whole “she doesn’t love me” “wait now I love him!” is just too perfect for Rowaelin.

🪜: originally, in Set Up Rowan was going to do a big grand gesture of chasing Aelin down at the airport and then the whole love declaration thing, and then I was unsure if she would stay or just get on the plane. As you can see those plans have changed, and to something I think is infinitely better in my opinion. Also, the fic wasn’t meant to be a smutty, at all. I think that change was made for the better, don’t you? 😂

🎨 : I whipped this one up especially for you:

“This guy is loaded.”

Aelin snorted at her friend's awed exclamation as she eased off on the accelerator coming up the long, paved driveway. The house wasn’t obnoxiously large, but it was well beyond decent with a pretty facade and well kept gardens. And if the price he had offered initially was anything to go by, yes Rowan did have money to burn.

She had waited until she got home to text him back and to say yes to the offer of Ivy’s birthday party, claiming that now she had turned back into a mermaid she could talk mermaid business. The girl was so enamoured with the whole mermaid performance how could Aelin even think of saying no. Rowan had immediately come back with a price just under what her gig at the aquarium paid in a fortnight, she knocked it back, then there was a mildly heated discussion over what the price should be. Rowan was generous, and Aelin helped equate the cost by saying she needed to bring a friend along to help her with her costume so they could split it. That had been fine, of course, and why Lysandra was sitting in the passenger seat.

The car had stopped and Lysandra was still peering out the windows trying to get a better look. “His wife, slash girlfriend, slash whatever must be living the life.”

“He’s divorced,” Aelin said, pushing the gear stick into park.

“That’s awfully weird to find out in a conversation that went for two minutes,” Lysandra added.

Aelin shrugged as she undid her seatbelt. “Well his daughter did demand he kiss me.”

Lysandra paused from where she was checking over her make-up in the sun shield mirror, head turning sharply. “She what?”

Thanks for asking 💜

[bethanydelleman]

Northanger Abbey Readthrough, Ch 1

Welcome to the Northanger Abbey Readthrough, October 2023! I will be posting one chapter per day, which will take us right to Halloween. This readthrough does contain spoilers, because I can't help myself.

We begin with the advertisement from the author, who is clearly annoyed that her first novel was purchased and then not published.

That any bookseller should think it worth-while to purchase what he did not think it worth-while to publish seems extraordinary.

While Jane Austen notes that books have changed, by which I assume she means the popularity of some of the novels referenced, I am pleased to inform you that Anthony Trollope mentioned Mrs. Radcliff and The Mysteries of Udolpho in his 1987 novel, Barchester Towers! Even the veil! So clearly the novels she was satirizing had not yet gone out of style.

On to the story! Catherine Morland is so very normal. The most normal girl ever. She also isn't an orphan, both her parents are living which the narrator points out is very hard for a heroine (lol). She doesn't really like lessons and she likes running around and rolling down hills.

She never could learn or understand anything before she was taught; and sometimes not even then, for she was often inattentive, and occasionally stupid.

Catherine's indifference to flowers will come up later, but this line is also funny in a forbidden fruit way:

Indeed she had no taste for a garden; and if she gathered flowers at all, it was chiefly for the pleasure of mischief—at least so it was conjectured from her always preferring those which she was forbidden to take.

This is a great description of an older sibling (I like to think this describes me as an older sister):

very kind to the little ones, with few interruptions of tyranny

And her family is so good and normal too! Her mom seems to have some good parenting practices:

She learnt a year, and could not bear it; and Mrs. Morland, who did not insist on her daughters being accomplished in spite of incapacity or distaste, allowed her to leave off.

The Morland family seems like a strong contrast to the Bennets, both of them employing no governess. We learn that the Morlands are actively invested in their children's education (unlike the Bennets):

Writing and accounts she was taught by her father; French by her mother: her proficiency in either was not remarkable, and she shirked her lessons in both whenever she could.

And even though the older girls are left to "shift for themselves", Mrs. Morland, who is both poorer and has double the children, can be more easily excused for some neglect. She sounds like a slave to the children's education, unlike Mrs. Bennet!

Catherine, a tomboy, begins to become interested in more feminine pursuits, but she does not transform into a great beauty or an accomplished young lady. Her achievements are similar to those of the ordinary person:

So far her improvement was sufficient—and in many other points she came on exceedingly well; for though she could not write sonnets, she brought herself to read them; and though there seemed no chance of her throwing a whole party into raptures by a prelude on the pianoforte, of her own composition, she could listen to other people’s performance with very little fatigue.

Catherine is just the most relatable heroine ever! She's adequate. She's reasonably intelligent, passingly pretty, a true Every Woman. And really, the whole novel is full of so many small human moments that hit just as hard as the more dramatic ones from other novels (Lucy telling Elinor Edward is engaged to her, Louisa falling from the Cobb, Lydia's elopement) because they are things that might happen to anyone. Really wanting to see your crush and instead having to hang out with someone you dislike; not knowing if someone is angry at you or not; and finding out your friend isn't a real friend... Northanger Abbey somehow explores the most ordinary things without making them boring.

Also, while Catherine may seem unintelligent, the girl must have read a lot of Shakespeare, the quotes in this chapter come from Twelfth Night, Measure for Measure, and Othello. I reluctantly read 5 Shakespearean plays in high school, so Catherine is at about par with my education (I like Shakespeare now! I learned to appreciate him in university when I saw a few of the plays in person).

Catherine is also such a happy, bubbly, character. I can really imagine her being "all happiness" when her parents consent to her trip to Bath. We are told Emma Woodhouse has a happy disposition, but we don't see her dancing in her chair all the way home after a fun evening. Catherine really has joy and she comes back quickly from disappointment. She's a really great character to go on a journey with.

I feel like it must be noted, Catherine has to get away from her family to have an adventure because she has good parents. Good parents are exactly what you want to have, but as the narrator points out, they hardly make a good heroine! So the narrator is forced to remove our nascent heroine from her loving home into the dubious care of the Allens (and really they aren't that bad) for her story to begin. This contrasts again with the Bennets, who manage to supply a good deal of the story's conflict all on their own!

#northanger abbey readthrough #chapter 1 #catherine morland #mrs. morland #the most relatable heroine #The most normal family

[frodothefair]

꧁ The Flowers of Mordor ꧂

Chapter 7 - The Lockholes

READ ALL ON AO3

SUMMARY : Sam knows he cannot tear himself in two, but Frodo's struggles after the quest are worsening. Marigold Gamgee gets a job at Bag End, and grows close to its enigmatic master. J. R. R. Tolkien meets Jane Austen meets Tess of the D'Urbervilles. CHAPTER SUMMARY : Frodo learns about Marigold's time in the Lockholes. PAIRING : Frodo/Marigold Gamgee, Frodo/Sam secondary GENRES : hurt/comfort, angst, slow burn romance, slice of life, girl next door WARNINGS : PTSD, depression, panic attacks, eating disorder, eventual spicy scenes RATING : M

Frodo thought back to that day in November – after the battle of Bywater, when the hobbits imprisoned by Saruman and Lotho had been freed. Marigold had been among them, and she had looked, as expected, very bedraggled – her hair matted, her features smeared with dirt, having lost much of her buxomness. But she had also staggered out propping up another hobbit, and while Sam had wept like a child when the two were reunited, she had also been the one to wipe away his tears, and to ask almost immediately who had been hurt and what help was needed.

They started to read every day, poetry mostly, putting it to song and copying it over into the new leather-bound notebook Marigold had started for the purpose. She was amazed to learn just how much Bilbo wrote, and dismayed to hear that he did not think highly of his own poetry. Sam walked in on them several times, once as Marigold intoned in her diffident, unpolished voice, “Past eyes of pale fire, black sand for my bed, I trade all I've known for the unknown ahead” (1) – and remarked with a laugh that he thought Frodo was teaching her spelling, not singing. Soon, Frodo was looking forward to their lessons each day – a brighter spot on an otherwise dreary canvas. He enjoyed putting his mind to work understanding how her mind worked – differently, to be sure, but not necessarily slower. It was rather that she had more to sift through with any given task, and saw words and texts as parts rather than wholes, which did hold her back at times, but also provided opportunities. And she was a maximalist, too, in all respects. When she found out there could be different meanings to words and poems, she tried to come up with as many as she could.

In the evenings, their conversations were full of “what if” and “how about.” And soon, by the time they had jokingly agreed to disagree whether a composition was about dragons, or garden snakes, or perhaps birthday parties, Frodo would be too spent to reach for his customary cup of New Winyard.

One might have thought foregoing his nightcap would have hurt his sleep – but the first night was not just his imagination. He still could not sleep deeply, and the nights still piled insults on top of injuries – but he was now acutely aware that he was only waking up three or four times each night, and this was quite a bit better than five, or six, or even twelve.

In his younger years, of course, Frodo had enjoyed sleep almost as much as any hobbit enjoyed food. Come what may, it was a respite he could always count on, going back to his days as a young, orphaned lad at Brandy Hall.

Before he and Sam left the Shire, too, he had enjoyed long, beautiful dreams, and was known for a curious ability to fall asleep anytime, anywhere – even in the company of friends when the conversation dragged and no one spoke to him in particular. (He still opened his eyes straight away when addressed, of course, which saved him from accusations of rudeness.) This ability served him well early on in the quest – even as Sam complained of the hard ground and painful twigs in his back, all Frodo had to do was close his eyes, imagine being in bed at home, and drift off to sleep. 

But soon the Ring took hold, calling out to him at night and making it preferable – sweet, even – to stay awake. He would sit up all night watching it, even as his body ached and his mind was so tired he could barely tell what was real. And the dreams! When they did come, they continued long and vivid, but the beauty was gone; there was only terror and pain. He dreamt of dark shadows, tall figures with swords, losing the Ring, and always something seeking – relentlessly seeking him in a darkness where he lay, naked and afraid.

His sleep never really returned. He could lie in the softest bed in Gondor or in the Shire, and still it eluded him. If he slept, it was in hour-long spurts that he started out of, groping for the Ring in the sheets, drenched in sweat like he had been running. In Gondor, the healers gave him draughts that put him in a dreamless haze, but that came at a cost – he felt dizzy and drugged in the morning, and got headaches that lingered long into the day.

Even now, fatigue as heavy as boulders was not enough to overpower the fear that had taken hold in his bones, and that ripped him out of his sleep, surely and methodically as the cruelest executioner.

No – given the sad state of affairs, it would take more than a bright, lively lass, more than engaging conversation, and more than the lavender milk, honey-infused and gently warmed, to bring him peace. But somehow, while his mind was on her and on their studies, his fear of the night did lessen. He wondered how he had never truly noticed her before – she was always Sam’s sweet, unassuming little sister – and yet it was sad to think that such a gem could have languished so long unheeded at Bagshot Row.

If he had to explain why he had not noticed her, it was perhaps that he had started to feel… thin was maybe the word, and it had started quite soon after Bilbo’s departure. He had begun to feel restless, too, and was loth to put down roots, so he stopped associating much with lasses, and did not have the wherewithal – nor indeed the desire – to add to his inner circle.

But now, he found himself wondering why she had quit midwifery – a subject he had not given thought to much before. And he wondered if he ought to do some writing of his own, and to add to Bilbo’s account of the War of the Ring – for even though revisiting some of the particulars still filled him with dread, he was inclined to think that in addition to his friends, there was at least one other who might like to read it: for the more they delved into the epic and the legendary poetry, the more questions Marigold had about what caused what, and who was related to whom, and she even asked if he and Bilbo had made family trees for the elves and the dwarves after the hobbit fashion. She even asked if she could see some of his uncle’s wrinkled old maps.

To say that Marigold liked their lessons would not have been doing it justice. She chided herself for it, but now and again she actually found herself rushing through her work so they could start sooner. She did not only like sitting close to Mr. Frodo – though who would not? Though visibly older and more tired, with new wrinkles framing his eyes and mouth and a thinner, more angular countenance, he was still so handsome that no lass would have been immune. And he smelled nice, too: no longer of pipe weed, for he had done what no other hobbit had done before him and inexplicably quit, but of clean clothes and clean skin – of his own warm, musky scent like cinnamon and cloves, but also – she knew it now, the enigmatic fragrance she’d sensed all those years ago: of books with leather bindings.

She also liked to see him trace the letters, which he did skillfully and with elegant ease, even though he was missing a finger. In fact, watching him do so was still more fascinating for the lack. 

But no, she didn’t just like sitting next to Mr. Frodo, or listening to Mr. Frodo, or watching Mr. Frodo – with whom, whatever her past embarrassing feelings, she felt unashamed to be herself.

She was starting to like reading. It felt less like chewing rocks, or banging her head against a wall. Approaching the material from different angles – speaking, singing, writing, discussing, putting words into categories – it all made it easier to remember and to understand. 

But it was still hard going. And a number of difficulties remained. 

For one, even with the use of a bookmark, her eyes still liked to jump from line to line on their own accord, and if she read too long the lines would start to shake, and she got tired far sooner than she would a year ago – when she was still training under Mrs. Bracegirdle and would revisit her books from time to time.

And she would also get headaches. Headaches that cut down her time with reading and with Mr. Frodo.

One such headache came when they were poring over a poem about a dwarf named Durin, another one of Bilbo’s recordings from his time with the company of fourteen. Marigold was imagining the bright din of hammers, the stately halls and the ponderous columns encrusted with runes. Frodo had drawn her a picture of the Mines of Moria, complete with how small people looked beside the great pillars of stone. Outside, the late summer sun was not yet waning, and through the curtain she could see the outline of apple tree branches, rocking in the breeze. The branches were heavy with fruit – a sight, sadly, that Durin and his folk would rarely see, spending much of their lives underground.

Did they ever get despondent, living so long without the sun?

A pain had begun to form behind her eyes, and the words were starting to dance, so she had hoped to keep it at bay by looking at the distance.

Not so.

In fact, she ought not have looked outside: even with the curtain tempering the sun-rays, they had been too bright for her. When she returned to the page, the words wobbled worse than usual, and the pain began to spread and intensify. It had been a busy day, and when she had eaten and drank, it had been in a hurry, and not enough. 

She closed her eyes.

“Are you alright?”

She kept her eyes closed.

“Yes. Just a headache. I get them sometimes.”

“Do you want to stop? We should stop. You need to rest.”

But she shook her head, pressing her fingers to the corners of her eyes. Her head felt like a bucket, with water sloshing around inside.

“I’ll be alright, Mr. Frodo.”

But she wasn’t alright. The dull fullness, paired with a vice-like grip, grew steadily, and before long she felt like she might lose what food she had eaten. She got up and moved to the couch, and put her face in her hands. 

Darkness. Deep breaths. That ought to set her to rights.

She felt Frodo take a seat beside her.

“Would you like to lie down? Or would you like me to walk you home?”

She shook her head again. Bagshot Row was noisy from dawn till well past sundown, and noise was not her friend at such times.

“No, Mr. Frodo,” she said. Her words came out slowly, like sap from a cut in a tree. “I just need to sit here for a spell, and then I’ll brew some willow bark tea, and I’ll be right as rain. I’m sorry to be an in-con-venience.”

“Oh, you’re no inconvenience, Mari.”

She felt him get up and a few moments later, the cushions shifted again as he sat back down.

“Might you have some willow bark in here?” She opened her eyes to see him holding her bag. “If so, I can brew it for you.”

The pain in her head was spreading and taking a hold in her neck, shoulders, and arms, and she did not have the wherewithal to protest. 

She nodded.

“I’m sorry, Mr. Frodo,” Marigold said, as she sipped the tea. 

Frodo had done well in brewing the bark, particularly for one with no apothecary experience. The brew was thick without tasting like the plant had been scalded or over-steeped, and there was not a trace of dirt or dregs - just warm, thick, golden-brown liquid. It was spreading quickly throughout her body, numbing and relaxing wherever it found hurt, helping her breathe a little easier. 

“I’ve been getting headaches since the Scouring,” she added, not quite knowing why.

Frodo sat by her side, a look of concern over his lovely features.

“But it’s getting better,” she went on quickly. “The first few weeks my head hurt all the time. It’s a wonder I knew what was what from one minute to the next. But now it’s only here and there.”

“Marigold… That’s — not right. Maybe you should go see Dr. Boffin.”

She shrugged, looking at her reflection in the tea.

“I know what it is. My brains got rattled pretty well when I was down in the Lockholes. There’s nothing for it now, except time.”

“Your… brains got rattled?”

Frodo thought back to that day in November – after the battle of Bywater, when the hobbits imprisoned by Saruman and Lotho had been freed. Marigold had been among them, and she had looked, as expected, very bedraggled – her hair matted, her features smeared with dirt, having lost much of her buxomness. But she had also staggered out propping up another hobbit, and while Sam had wept like a child when the two were reunited, she had also been the one to wipe away his tears, and to ask almost immediately who had been hurt and what help was needed. She had even set to work the very next day – even though it was her birthday, and had said that she had no resources for gifts that year, but was happy to give her time.

Come to think of it, he had never asked – did not think it was his place – what she had done to get imprisoned in the Lockholes. As far as he could tell, the Lockholes had been reserved for those who actively resisted Lotho and Saruman’s rule, but it was hard to imagine the docile and obliging Marigold actively resisting anything – though he supposed, just as with Sam, that a stolid and patient nature could have easily hidden a passionate heart.

“Rattled is the word,” Marigold replied matter of factly. The headache was loosening its grip, and so was the moribund, heavy feeling that came with it – a feeling that whispered and lied, sinking invisible claws in, promising no end in sight, no way of feeling well or happy ever again.

“They beat me almost daily in there. It was sure to happen e-ventually.”

“They… what? But why?!”

He knew conditions were harsh – many hobbits could barely walk upon coming out, while some never walked out at all – but this was another order of cruelty. He recalled Sam’s statement that if Lotho had not already been dead, he might have killed him all over again – not that Frodo approved of killing anyone for anything, even still.

Marigold took another sip. The willow-bark was working famously, which made her glad on a number of counts.

She stood up, straightening her skirts, and rolled her head this way and that, stretching her back with her hands on her waist. She looked out the window – thankfully, the sun was going down and a thin blanket of clouds had stretched across the sky. It was no longer bright enough to hurt her eyes.

“Why do you think, Mr. Frodo?” she said dispassionately, shrugging. “Because they could. Because people, if you give them power, like that kind of thing, if you get my meaning.”

Of course, she knew exactly why they did it, though she did not want to say it in so many words. The guards must have been under orders – they did not touch her that way, which was surprising at first, but roughing her up was a daily occurrence. The degree varied depending on the guard and his mood that day – at times it was a cuff to the side of her head, at times she was thrown to the ground and had the breath kicked out of her.

A few of the other hobbits, including the former mayor, Will Whitfoot, had tried to stand up for her at first – “Leave the girl alone, for heaven’s sake!” – the mayor had boomed, when he still could boom – “Whatever is the point of this?!” But it had only garnered him the same treatment, and he was starved for a week into the bargain.

The guards seemed to be under orders to avoid her face, too, and she knew why that was as well.

For those not privy to certain facts, it may have been odd that they targeted her that way. After all, there were many good looking lasses, though her reputation for goodness might have made her a particularly attractive object for defilement. Had she simply refused to do as she was told, she might have been passed around by Sharkey’s men and then discarded. But in a rare moment of righteous passion, and in front of the ruffians no less, she had found her voice and said something so cutting to Lotho — something only longtime residents of the Shire would know — that she earned herself a more elaborate punishment.

Frodo stood up beside her. He looked abjectly horrified, like he could barely keep his own feet.

“Marigold…” He wanted to touch her arm, but refrained with some effort. “How… How can you be so calm about this? Should you even be working? You need to rest, to heal. And those – those –”

He ran in his mind a list of hobbits who had been party to Lotho’s, and “Sharkey’s” regime – those, indeed, who were still alive and had not fled. He had but to say the word, and Sam and the other farm lads would deliver justice of the pitchfork and fist variety. But how would that help Marigold now, and would she even want such things done in her name?

An eye for an eye made the whole world blind. (2)

“But I am almost completely well, Mr. Frodo.” Marigold looked at him earnestly.

And it was true, too – the headache was melting away, and she was quickly coming back into her own, the Marigold that bounced. 

“And I get plenty of rest, as well” – she added – which she did, at night, since waking up from the dreams of getting brutalized was growing less frequent – “And I like work,” she went on. “It makes me feel like all is well in the world, if you get my meaning. Even if I’m hurting all the time, and even if I have to repeat everything to myself twice over, I don’t think I could be happy sitting still.”

Frodo regarded her, quietly, and opened and closed his hand a few times – as if exercising his joints, or recalling the weight of some object.

“But how did you get through it?” he finally asked. “I mean – well, you know what I mean.”

Marigold thought for a moment.

How had she gotten through?

The first thing that came to mind – and she had asked herself the same question, many times – was Mrs. Tunnelly. She was an older hobbit lady from Frogmorton, who had shared her cell, and had been kind. She would hold Marigold, and rock her to sleep and sing to her when she was hurting, and told her she had a daughter just the same age. She offered Marigold her rations, which Marigold staunchly refused, and had died in her sleep only a few days before the liberation.

But it wasn’t just Mrs. Tunnelly, as Marigold had realized with time. There was something else that had made it materially different from the other thing – from well before – that still haunted her and made her ill.

“I got through it because I had to, Mr. Frodo,” she replied. “I knew it would be worse if I didn’t. It was a simple choice, really, as far as choices go.”

And, suddenly, it felt like a simple choice, too, to tell him what had happened — all of it. He looked at her with such soulful feeling in his eyes – with a hint of admiration she did not deserve, but also more: a sort of luminosity and perceptiveness, echoing through each line of his rapidly aging face. Had their relationship been different, their arms might have reached toward one another, and they might have embraced.

“And Mr. Frodo, I could’ve kept company with the enemy, too, if you get my meaning,” she went on. “And I could have been safe that way for a while. But that would have meant I con-doned what was happening, that I con-doned the Shire and the others being ill-used, and people would have spat at me in the streets for it, and would have been right to do it. But Mr. Frodo, I knew it couldn’t go on forever – I knew Sharkey and Lotho would never win. I knew we would be rescued in time – and we were.” She looked at him significantly.

It was simple, really.

Simple.

There it was again. A word not in his lexicon, however comforting it was at times.

Marigold took another breath, and turned from side to side, her arms following her shoulders, her skirt fanning out like a bell.

“Well, Mr. Frodo, I’m feeling better now,” she said, almost joyfully. “Shall we go back to our letters?”

Frodo shook his head in wonderment and sighed.

The Gamgees, it seemed, were made of truly strong stuff. Far stronger than he was, anyway, and perhaps their secret was just that: a pure and simple heart – such a rare thing in this world, but also essential to not fall prey to its evils. 

It was people like them who tended the light, simply because they could not conceive of anything else.

This is from “Wandering Day,” written by Bear McCreary for the TV show Rings of Power, a song that easily could have been part of hobbit oral tradition and passed down to the time of The Lord of the Rings.

“An eye for an eye makes the whole world blind” is, of course, a quote attributed to Gandhi, but Frodo would not know this.

#lotr #lord of the rings #lotr fanfiction #lord of the rings fanfiction #lotr fanfic #lord of the rings fanfic #samwise gamgee #sam gamgee #frodo baggins #frodo fanfiction #frodo baggins lotr #frodo baggins fanfiction #frodo baggins fanfic #frodo fanfic #fanfiction #fanfic #lotr fic #lord of the rings fic #frodo fic #frodo baggins fic #fiction #writing #slow burn romance #slow burn #hurt/comfort

[womansound]

            hi  : )  here  are  a  list  of  plots  i  really  really  want  to  do  !!!  some  of  them  are  plots  i  found  on  tumblr  others  are  stuff  i  thought  up/have  been  mulling  over  for  a  hot  minute  or  so  …  if  any  of  u  are  keen  to  do  any  of  these  pls  ..  !!!  lmk  !!!

i’m  a  big  fan  of  mumus  and  cinematic  universes  so  anything  that  requires  us  to  create/use  more  than  just  one  muse  is  so  exciting!!!  to  me  ..  like  give  me  apartment  complex  scenarios  …  or  like.  a  band  maybe  ??  a  team  of  athletes  +  their  coaches/so’s/family  ??  maybe  even  a  murder  mystery  ..  idk  !!  the  possibilities  are  ENDLESS  !  we  can  come  up  with  so  many  different  dynamics  n  it’d  be  so  much  fun  PLEEK

in  relation  to  the  mumu  thing  i  really  really  want  a  wedding  party  mumu  verse.  like  two  of  our  characters  are  getting  married  and  our  other  characters  can  be  the  entourage  or  wedding  planners  …  !!  maybe  some  of  them  don’t  like  each  other,  maybe  some  of  them  think  the  main  couple  is  getting  married  too  fast,  mabe  others  are  exes  ?  and  we  can  plot  out  bachelor/ette  parties,  going  to  cake  tastings,  whatever  ..  !!!  

this  is  just  my  spiderverse  brain  but  give  me  superhero  plots  actually  JRKGBRJG  can  be  canon  can  be  oc  idc  !!  hero  x  hero  ?  hero  x  villain  ?  hero  x  villain  but  they’re  actually  dating  when  their  mask  is  off  ?  idk.  sounds  delicious.  give  me  more

(  also  related  to  spiderverse  but  not  really  and  this  isn’t  a  plot  so  much  as  a  desire  but  i  need  an  and.rew  gar.field/e.mma  ston.e  ship  thank  u  <3  RVKJRBJKR )

i  also  like  royal  plots  ..  whether  modern  day  or  set  back  in  time,  whatever  works  !  like  royal  x  non-royal  plots  are  always  fun  ..  i  think  arranged  marriage  enemies  to  lovers  is  also  very  fun  ..  honestly  i  just  like  big  ball  gowns  and  walks  around  lavish  gardens  .  is  that  too  much  to  ask  for  .

life  as  we  know it vibes  ..  our  best  friends  got  married  but  we  can't  stand  each other  !  but  they  pass  away  and  we're  left  with  their  kid  to  raise  together.  lots  of  learning  to  work  through  grief  together  and  initially  hating  each  other's  guts  but  falling  in  love  n  .  having  a  small  family  together  .  aaaaah  .

this  .  just  this  .  please  .

also  any  of these. but the second n fifth ones particularly.  

for  hayden  specifically  i  really  like  the  idea  of  something  crazy  rich  asians-esque  ?  he  works  as  a  retail  worker  n  maybe  that’s  how  he  and  your  muse  met  and  hit  it  off,  and  you’ve  been  serious  for  a  while  now  and  he  ends  up  proposing  !  then  you  meet  his  family  and  surprise  he’s  actually  fawking  rich  ?  and  surprise  again  his  mom  doesnt  approve  of  u  ?  lots  of  romance  n  angst  n  anything  in  between  ..  hehe  ..  

this  is  tropey  but  i  am  a  big  ‘  fwb  to  fake  dating  to  make  our  exes  jealous  to  oh  no  i  caught  feelings  ‘  enjoyer  ..  so  something  like  this  please  !  i  would  give  my  right  arm  to  do  something  like  this  no  joke  i’m  obsessed  .  

i'm  an  absolute  jane  austen  stan  so  anything  based  on  her  novels  please  ..  pride  and  prejudice  or  emma  particularly  ??  i  just  think  it’d  be  so  fun  to  have  p&p  style  enemies  to  lovers  ..  or  emma  where  you  have  this  meddlesome  pseudo  matchmaker  n  her  exasperated  but  in  love  bf/gf  ..  ohhhh  please  …

#{ 💌 } ... 𝐟𝐢𝐥𝐞𝐝 𝐮𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐫 ... wanted plots ! #this is messy ! but idc ! #i just like them all ... #queued!

[capricorn-0mnikorn]

After my "Persuasion" deep dive: How I'd adapt it to a visual medium

When I started my Persuasion listen- and read-along, back in August (First post in that series, here), my goal was to provide an alternate introduction to the novel other than the butchering job that Netflix gave us, this year. This was actually my third time reading the novel, but the first time I read it with an eye toward explaining why I loved it to other people, and so it was really the first time I read it in depth, instead of just letting it wash over me.

As I was reading, I couldn't help but play "Movie Director," and imagine what my own adaptation would be like. Most of all, I'd take my cues from Jane Austen's use of Free Indirect Discourse (where the author's voice slips from outside observation to the voice inside a specific character's head), to decide when to show a scene from different characters' points of view:

Especially these bits (contrasting with the these scenes as they were filmed in the two previous adaptations I've watched)*:

From Anne's P.O.V.: from the end of Chapter Three / beginning of Chapter Four. Start with a scene of her walking in the family gardens, fade to a "silent" flashback montage of her first romance with Captain Wentworth, through the moment of her retracting her acceptance of his proposal, so we can see what she saw when she first fell in love with the captain, and also she was when she was happy, and witness her sinking into depression and regret as time passed.

From Anne's P.O.V.: The surprise visit of Captain Wentworth from the middle of Chapter Seven -- after a very brief shot of Captain Wentworth's face (the length of a half-glance), and his automatic nod/bow, shift to Anne staring down at her hands/the carpet, and the voices of the others somewhat muffled by the sound of her own heartbeat, to capture the feeling of:

she heard his voice; he talked to Mary, said all that was right, said something to the Miss Musgroves, enough to mark an easy footing; the room seemed full, full of persons and voices, but a few minutes ended it.

From Captain Wentworth's P.O.V.: The scene at the end of Chapter Seven, where he's talking with his sister Sophie , about the kind of woman he wants to marry -- have him in speaking in voice-over, while showing a flashback of him with Anne Elliot (a reprieve of Anne's flashback, except from his point of view, to show how each of them is haunted by the same memory).

From Captain Wentworth's P.O.V.: the scene of the Country Dance at the Musgrove's party, at the end of Chapter Eight, where he's watching Anne play the piano, and asking if she never dances (have the camera move with him, but keep the focus on Anne).

From Captain Wentworth's P.O.V.: The scene in Chapter Nine, where he comes into the drawing room at Uppercross Hall, and being surprised by finding himself alone with Anne and little Charles on the Sofa, until the moment he goes and stands by the window, awkwardly.

Also from Chapter Nine, where Anne is trying to get nephew Walter to leave her alone, we only see the pair of hands lift toddler Walter off her neck, and then, from Anne's P.O.V., turn to see Captain Wentworth holding and chatting with Walter to entertain him.

From the end of Chapter Eighteen, as Admiral Croft is talking to Anne, and saying:

“Poor Frederick!” said he at last. “Now he must begin all over again with somebody else. I think we must get him to Bath. Sophy must write, and beg him to come to Bath. Here are pretty girls enough, I am sure. It would be of no use to go to Uppercross again, for that other Miss Musgrove, I find, is bespoke by her cousin, the young parson. Do not you think, Miss Elliot, we had better try to get him to Bath?”

Have this be spoken as voice-over, as we see Captain Wentworth enter a carriage, and then see that carriage on the streets of Bath.

From Captain Wentworth's P.O.V.: The scene in Chapter Nineteen, where he enters Molland's, along with the group of men and women acquaintances, and is surprised by the presence of Anne. And again, after Anne leaves with Mr. Elliot, have the camera stay at his spot, but focused on Anne leaving while the women in his group gossip about how Mr. Elliot is spending so much time at Camden Place.

From Captain Wentworth's P.O.V.: The Concert in Chapter Twenty, as Anne overhears her father and Lady Dalrymple discussing Captain Wentworth, establish his position in the room, and then, from that angle, focus on Anne sitting between Lady Russell and Mr. Elliot, while overhearing how Mr. Elliot is flattering Anne.

From a general/omniscient P.O.V.: The scene at the White Hart Inn, in Chapter Twenty-Two,** where everyone is visiting and chatting with the Musgroves, cut to Anne's P.O.V. from the moment Elizabeth personally hands Captain Wentworth her invitation, and she watches him stare at the card with a frown.

[Anyway, those are the key scenes I'd include to show the lasting bond between the two leads, so that the declaration of love in Chapter Twenty-Three doesn't seem to come out of nowhere, you know?]

*(The 2007 TV movie, created for the American TV series Masterpiece Theater, and the two-part 1995 adaptation made by the BBC, and later released to theaters as a feature film)

**This scene is in the 1995 adaptation, but greatly abridged, to cut out the unnamed (but gossiping) friends of Mrs. Musgrove, and also to cut out the moment when Sir Walter and Elizabeth sweep in to invite everyone to their evening card party.

#Persuasion (novel) #The movie adaptation in my head #long post

[synchronousemma]

Thursday, 23rd June (Midsummer Eve; Harriet's birthday): The Donwell Abbey party takes place

Read: Vol. 3, ch. 6 [42]; pp. 234–240 (“Under a bright mid-day sun” to “before the following evening”).

Context

The Westons, the Woodhouses, the Eltons, Harriet Smith, and Jane Fairfax arrive at Donwell. Jane Fairfax leaves early. Frank Churchill arrives late.

This occurs at “almost Midsummer” (vol. 3, ch. 6 [42]; p. 234); the next day is “not [...] above six-and-thirty hours” (vol. 3, ch. 9 [45]; p. 254) before Frank’s return to Richmond on “the 26th” (vol. 3, ch. 14 [50]; p. 289), making this the 23rd.

Lionel Trilling notes that for “English culture” we ought to read “English agriculture” (p. 53). Per Kaythryn Sutherland, “[a]t the time Austen wrote, the older and more recent senses of the word ‘culture’ (as cultivation of land and intellectual work) still coexisted, and the division […] did not yet gape between physical and mental labour” (p. 50).

Note that the sections “Wearied Spirits” and “There’s No Place Like… Swisserland?” contain spoilers.

Readings and Interpretations

A Lecture on the Picturesque

The strawberry party marks the first time that Donwell Abbey is directly described, despite its having been referred to repeatedly in the preceding narrative. We see Emma considering the “respectable size and style of the building, its suitable, becoming, characteristic situation, low and sheltered—its ample gardens stretching down to meadows washed by a stream, of which the Abbey, with all the old neglect of prospect, had scarcely a sight—and its abundance of timber in rows and avenues, which neither fashion nor extravagance had rooted up” (p. 234). Ruta Kaufmann writes that Donwell is “one of the most significant dream homes” in Austen:

Donwell acquires its features of a dream home gradually as the narrative advances, although it never forms such a striking picture as Pemberley or Northanger Abbey. In a way, it is always in the background of the action and comes to the foreground only in a couple of passages. […] [W]e get a proper tour of the domain only in Summer, during the strawberry party, when all the guests get a chance to admire it. Symbolically, it is viewed on the Summer solstice—at the “highest” point of the year—surrounded by ripe fruit, which evokes fertility, self-sufficiency, and dream-house quality. (pp. 113–4)

Alistair Duckworth notes that the “distrust of fashionable improvements” expressed in this first description of Donwell is typical of Austen. It “not only reminds us of the theme in Mansfield Park, but comments, too, on the recent actions and intentions of the visitors to Donwell—especially, perhaps, on Mrs. Elton’s attempt to redefine what is ‘natural’ by coercing Knightley into giving an alfresco ‘gipsy-party’” (p. 175). Janet Todd similarly notes the unabashed old-fashionedness of Donwell, putting it into historical context:

For […] Mrs. Elton, the world has begun its unstoppable shrinkage into a series of described and packaged tourist spots complete with artificial, designated activities. Mr. Knightley’s putdown to Mrs. Elton is the putdown of a whole new manner of being and seeing, which is, despite his momentary power, about to triumph. Mrs. Elton tries to make the strawberry party a tripper’s day out, where Mr. Knightley insists on its being an old-fashioned visit to his country property. […] Mr. Knightley is against tourism, and his land is closed to sightseers. Village folk can have a right of way across it—and he insists that they do even when he has to move his path to avoid damage to the home meadows—, but he makes no effort to provide vistas for them. He is unperturbed by his house’s “old neglect of prospect” (389) and in no rush to “improve” the pleasure grounds; his avenue of limes leads to a wall and pillars framing neither house nor view. (pp. 21–2)1

Critics therefore tend to argue that Donwell presents an image of an idyllic, idealized, or even nationalist England. Alistair Duckworth writes that “the description of the view from Donwell,” coming as it does after the sense of “social disintegration” conveyed by the party’s splintering as they walk through the grounds, “posits an alternative hope in her description of the view from Donwell of the Abbey-Mill Farm, as if to underscore the contrast between the present fragmentation of the party and the enduring possibilities of an organic society” (pp. 174–5). Lionel Trilling argues that Austen presents Highbury as an idyll (a literary genre which presents an innocent and happy humanity), contrasting it with the outside world from which “insincerity and vulgarity come” (p. 58): “we cannot help feeling that ‘English verdure, English culture, English comfort, seen under a sun bright without being oppressive’ make an England perceived—if but for the moment,—as an idyll” (p. 57). For Trilling “Emma is a novel that is touched—lightly but indubitably—by national feeling” (p. 53). Per Deirdre Le Faye, here “Knightley and Donwell Abbey are both synecdochic of a larger national concept of Englishness, which itself carries overtones of provincialism, honesty and integrity” (2005, p. 26).2

Douglas Murray, however, questions whether “the novel as a whole endorse[s] this view of Donwell as metonym for the kingdom,” arguing that the text may “interrogate or even undermine that notion”:

I would like to argue that readers would be naive to interpret this passage as mere unreflective nationalist discourse, as Jane Austen’s unqualified, freestanding ode to post Napoleonic England. This passage, like most narration in the novel, adopts the technique of free indirect discourse and is filtered through the consciousnesses of all the visitors: the party ‘insensibly followed one another to the delicious shade of a broad short avenue of limes’ [p. 235]. […] [T]he primary perceiver of Donwell is Emma herself […]. In fact, almost the entire visit to Donwell consists of Emma’s impressions. (p. 956)

Thus, because it is focalized through Emma, “the description of Donwell Abbey presents a landscape which very much accords with Emma's personality and preoccupations,” including “a compulsive rage for order and, in a semiotic sense, purity”—but the code of values presented here is not Austen’s (ibid.). Similarly, Paul Pickrel argues that here Emma “is beginning to think of Donwell Abbey as her own future home,” which explains in plot rather than political terms why the description of the estate seems “excessive” (p. 305; see also Burrows, p. 108).

The view from Donwell also includes “what [Emma] has previously excluded from her outlook,” namely Abbey-Mill Farm (Duckworth, p. 175). For Trilling, the “almost solemn vision of England’s green and pleasant land” culminates in the “favourably placed and sheltered” Abbey-Mill Farm for a reason: “the little burst of strong feeling has the effect, among others, of pointing up the extremity and the large import of Emma’s mistake” (p. 53). “English culture, English comfort” is thus linked to moral improvement.

Paul Pickrel, however, argues instead that the description “shows how unconcerned with Harriet she has become”:

Trilling does not quote these words from the same passage: “There had been a time ... when Emma would have been sorry to see Harriet in a spot so favourable for the Abbey-Mill Farm; but now she feared it not” [p. 236]. She thinks that she no longer fears calling attention to the Farm in Harriet’s presence because Robert Martin is no longer a threat, but the truth is that by this time Harriet has turned out to be so much more trouble than she is worth that Emma would be glad to get her off her hands to almost anybody. (And by the way, the Farm is not the property of Robert Martin; he rents it from Mr. Knightley). (p. 305)

Delightful to Gather

Emma’s famous ‘strawberry monologue’ occurs in this section. It runs:

The best fruit in England—every body’s favourite—always wholesome.—These the finest beds and finest sorts.—Delightful to gather for one’s self—the only way of really enjoying them.—Morning decidedly the best time—never tired—every sort good—hautboy infinitely superior—no comparison—the others hardly eatable—hautboys very scarce—Chili preferred—white wood finest flavour of all—price of strawberries in London—abundance about Bristol—Maple Grove—cultivation—beds when to be renewed—gardeners thinking exactly different—no general rule—gardeners never to be put out of their way—delicious fruit—only too rich to be eaten much of—inferior to cherries—currants more refreshing—only objection to gathering strawberries the stooping—glaring sun—tired to death—could bear it no longer—must go and sit in the shade. (pp. 234–5)

There is much to notice in this passage. There is the gradual depreciation in the value of strawberries as the party grows tired (“always wholesome” to some varieties “hardly eatable” to “inferior to cherries”); the laconic “Maple Grove,” as though this reference is so frequent that the term may stand on its own in place of the entire discourse which Mrs. Elton must have given; (presumably) Mrs. Elton’s conspicuous show of her employment of and dealings with servants through her presumed knowledge of their temperaments (“gardeners never to be put out of their way”); and then, of course, there is the syntax that is used to relate the discourse, as though we are being presented with an index or chapter heading rather than conversation (e.g. “beds when to be renewed”).

Linda Bree writes that Austen uses “[f]ragmented syntax” such as this “to merge and summarise series of events into a single flow of expression”:

Mrs Elton’s comments at the Donwell strawberry party form a celebrated tour de force of condensed monologue, accounting for her whole strawberry-picking experience. […] The paragraph following this shows the versatility of Austen’s elliptical style for other purposes, as the narrator records Mrs Elton’s efforts to persuade Jane to take on an appointment as governess: ‘Delightful, charming, superior, first circles, spheres, lines, ranks, every thing’ – a tumble of words vividly evoking Mrs Elton’s almost hysterical insistence – ‘and Mrs. Elton was wild to have the offer closed with immediately’ [p. 235]. Wild indeed. (p. 99)

For Margaret Doody, the “wonderfully telegraphic monologue” on strawberries has the effect of bringing “the asinine bride [Mrs. Elton] back with a jolt into the physical” from the “painted pastoral” she had earlier imagined the party to be (see “Making An Ass of U and Me”): she “descends from pretentiousness to frank admission of being too hot.” Thus “[t]he corrective to the mind’s misrepresentation of the world lies in the senses’ contact with the physical realm” (2009, p. 181).

Lisa Hopkins does not read the passage as a monologue belonging to Mrs. Elton, instead calling it a “medley of unattributed indirect speech” with “individual voices […], as in the talk of Maple Grove, occasionally briefly discernible” (p. 66). However, she concurs with Doody’s assessment of the importance of the physical in the passage:

The very impersonality of the dialogue […] serves to emphasise the universality [as opposed to something mediated by cultural preconceptions] and inevitability of the movement it sketches, a cyclical one which takes the characters through a predictable progression from freshness to tiredness, eagerness to satiety, comfort to heat, and activity to rest. The brief interlude thus incorporates the text’s key issues: the wholesomeness of strawberries and their price both find a place in the conversation, linking the episode with the connections of food to health and finance, but this rare hands-on experience of crop-gathering, with its sharply realistic depictions of the pleasures and pains of strawberry-picking, is also situated firmly within the context of the seasonal progression of agricultural life. (ibid.)3

Ripe for the Picking

Margaret Doody argues for a Georgian association between strawberries and sexuality, reading the strawberry party and its surrounding incidents in this light:

Strawberries are traditionally the fruit of Venus. Mrs. Elton’s desire for a strawberry party intimates sexual desire. But it is Mr. Knightley who says suggestively, “Come, and eat my strawberries. They are ripening fast” (III, ch. 6). He is ripening fast and needs to make more haste in the service of Venus—though it is not with Mrs. Elton that he wishes to enjoy strawberries. (Mrs. Elton’s lack of staying power in berry gathering perhaps points to a deficiency in sexual stamina.) (2015, p. 348)

The motif of ripening, fertility, and sexuality runs through this section in another way: Nicholas Preus notes that Mrs. Weston, “by the time of the Donwell Abbey strawberry party, which she attends, is nine months pregnant” (p. 207; see “A Pregnant Silence”).

Bringing the Outdoors Indoors

The guests at Donwell, after picking strawberries outside, are treated to cold meat indoors. Hopkins recalls Mr. Knightley’s insistence that the meal take place indoors, arguing that food is “demarcated and subdivided in Mr Knightley’s terminology”:

[T]here are strawberries outdoors, and cold meat indoors. […] The strawberries belong to the outside world, which is precisely defined here as that which is not natural; inside, in the proper place of gentlemen and ladies with all their inevitably attendant servants and furniture, we find cold meat. This is presented to us, with Mr Knightley’s endorsement, as being in fact the simpler and more conventional of the two foodstuffs, and it is certainly ultimately experienced as such by the wearied strawberry-pickers, glad enough to seek the shelter of the house; and yet the processes involved in the preparation are far more laborious and complex than the mere plucking of fruit. Here, though, they are occluded, rendered invisible by the voice which glosses over the materiality of production in order to present the class structure as “natural”. (pp. 67–8)

Hopkins also points out that this is “the only time in the novel” when Mr. Knightley may “appear publicly as the squire” of Highbury:

Squire of Donwell Abbey but short of ready cash, [Mr. Knightley’s] social position is nevertheless preserved by his largesse with food, even though, as in the case of the apples he sends to Mrs and Miss Bates, it is at the expense of his own consumption and almost, arguably, his own reputation, since he has virtually lied about it: “To think of your sending us all your store apples. You said you had a great many, and now you have not one left” (p. 251). […] Beth Fowkes Tobin suggests that this foregrounding of Mr Knightley’s personal involvement with food production is a politically enabling strategy for Austen: “in linking Mr Knightley’s gentlemanly virtues with his owning land, and Emma’s moral inadequacies with her money and lack of property, Austen, acting as an apologist for the landed classes, was defending the ‘paternal system of government’” [p. 229]. (p. 32)

Wearied Spirits

Later in this section, Jane, “for the only moment in the novel until the dénouement, speaks openly to Emma” (Wiltshire, p. 114): “‘I am fatigued; but it is not the sort of fatigue—quick walking will refresh me.—Miss Woodhouse, we all know at times what it is to be wearied in spirits. Mine, I confess, are exhausted. The greatest kindness you can show me, will be to let me have my own way, and only say that I am gone when it is necessary’” (E pp. 237–8). Howard Babb calls this a “very untypical speech” of Jane’s:

Jane’s generalization about “we all know” makes an almost direct plea, though less for Emma’s sympathy, perhaps, than for the indulgence of a superior. And the major weight of what she says is still borne by the personal “I’s” and “me’s.” Most of the time Jane keeps herself at a much greater distance from her generalizations, characteristically speaking in her own person and reserving them, as it were, for the opinions of those above her. Her first report on Frank Churchill, for instance, is sprinkled with such phrases as: […] “He was generally thought so”; “She believed every body found his manners pleasing” [vol. 2, ch. 3 [21]; p. 109]. Jane talks in this way, I take it, not merely because she wants to hide her interest in Frank Churchill, but because her lack of position makes it improper for her to judge authoritatively. (p. 185)

For John Wiltshire, this passage is “[t]he most telling instance of [Emma’s] conflicted feelings” about Jane Fairfax:

Jane’s open appeal goes straight to Emma’s heart: she responds quickly and kindly, at her best. She ‘sees’ Jane’s situation with an intelligent compassion that breaks free of her ingrained prejudices. ‘She saw it all’, though, is not quite true, even at that moment. What Jane has been suffering is Mrs Elton’s railroading her into accepting ‘a situation, a most desirable situation’—made all the more intolerable because she is anxiously waiting for Frank to arrive—not the company of Miss Bates. Emma is quite ignorant of Jane’s feelings about Frank, but she has overheard Mrs Elton and wondered at Jane’s patience. In attributing Jane’s misery to her home, she is expressing her own feelings at the same time as she is picking up Jane’s. So her kindness doesn’t last—in fact in her reflections a few minutes later it turns into something else entirely. Her prejudices and antagonisms return. Once again, ‘such an aunt’ is the especial target of her dislike. The phrase ‘their just horrors’ is especially confronting. ‘Horrors’? ‘Just horrors’? She is praising herself for the snobbery she feels and momentarily attributes to Jane. So this passage displays Emma at her moving best and her dismaying worst, and the selfhood they each express is entirely coherent. (p. 114)

There’s No Place Like… Swisserland?

Only after Jane’s departure does Frank Churchill finally arrive. Rachel Brownstein writes that Frank’s conversation continues the national theme:

[S]ulky Frank Churchill, looking over views of remote “Swisserland” in the snugness of Donwell Abbey, says to Emma, “I am sick of England—and would leave it tomorrow” [p. 239]. The sour remark damns him as Byronic—he also promises a self-expressive effusion from abroad—before his character is revealed as thoroughly bad; the contrast between Frank the would-be wanderer and Emma’s own home-loving male relations could not be more dramatic. In the England of Emma tourists cut off from the Continent by the Napoleonic wars (they include an “Irish car party”) are pleased to explore the local beauties of Box Hill. The reader is invited to think that only a fool or knave like Frank would want to leave England: we recall that he is said to be “aimable” only in French, not amiably English, having “no English delicacy towards the feelings of other people” [vol. 1, ch. 18; p. 97]. (p. 215)

Deirdre Le Faye points out that Waterloo had occurred before the time period in which Emma is set. “Following the end of the war in 1814 the English were again free to visit Europe after being twenty years cooped up at home”: thus “Frank Churchill is able to talk of going abroad to ‘Swisserland’, a statement he could not have made at any earlier period of his life” (2002, p. 309).

Of course, in evaluating Frank’s statement it is important to remember that his movements, though freer than Jane’s or Emma’s, are at many points circumscribed or frustrated by the influence of his aunt. His poor mood, which Emma attributes to the hot day, has in fact resulted from an argument he has just had with Jane, after she left the party and before he arrived; thus he has just been reminded of what his aunt’s temperament is costing him.

Footnotes

On this passage see also Rehman (pp. 131ff); Wallace (p. 174).

For readings of this passage as nationalist see also Jordan (pp. 35–6); Barchas (pp. 132–3).

On this passage see also Brown (pp. 131–2); Davidson (pp. 23–4).

Discussion Questions

Can the attitude underlying the descriptions of Donwell throughout this section appropriately be called “nationalist”? To what extent does Austen participate in Emma’s ideas?

Who is speaking in the strawberry monologue? Why did Austen use fragmented syntax in this passage?

What is revealed about Emma and/or Jane through their conversation as Jane leaves the party?

What is the narrative purpose of Frank’s frustrated desire to leave England?

Bibliography

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