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esther-dot · 5 months

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Pride & Prejudice AUs

You Look Like A Movie, You Sound Like A Song 2k @jonsastan

She had met Jon Targaryen there. It was a complete accident and at first, Sansa thought, a complete misfortune. He was drenched from an impromptu swim in his pond, and she was flustered, not wanting him to think she was vying for his attention. But as she had attempted to make her hurried escape, he had found her and invited her parents to stroll with him around the gardens. He had offered her kindness, and thoughtfulness, he had talked with her parents, discussed the present state of politics with her father and chatted knowledgeably about gardens with her mother.

A Certain Step Toward Falling in Love 2k by @comma-splice

Jon Snow returns North after departing abruptly one year ago.

The Bennet Sisters - a P&P AU comic by @melinaillustrations

P&P Gifset by @sardoniyx, P&P Gifset by @dcbicki, P&P Gifset by deactivated

Persuasion AUs

Who Loves Longest, Who loves Best 1k by @ladysaruka

After refusing him years ago, Sansa sees her cousin once again.

Persuasion edits one, two , three by @glueck

Mansfield Park AUs

Half Agony, Half Hope 10k, incomplete by @noqueenbutthequeeninthenorth

After the death of his disgraced mother, Jon Snow is taken in by his uncle's family, the Starks of Winterfell. He grows up alongside his cousins, including the beautiful and kind-hearted Sansa, but knowing he can never truly be their equal, he fears he has little choice but to leave the place he's come to call home. corresponding moodboard

Catch Me If You Can 34k (P&P and Emma inspired too) by @ben-barnes-is-my-husband

Set in the countryside of Regency England, Jon Snow has been in love with Sansa Stark for as long as he can remember. He wants her as his wife, but Sansa is not sure she wants to be a wife at all, and she knows she doesn’t want to marry the pragmatic and boring Jon. She’d rather help Theon Greyjoy come out of his shell and play matchmaker. But then Jaime Lannister comes to town and Jon finds he has some serious competition for Sansa…

Moments Like This (So Few and Far Between) 3k by @lydiamartenism

Mama and Papa left the house to go pick up Jon, the son of her father’s oldest friend. Three weeks ago, the phone rang and their parent’s announced that Jon would be coming to live with them since his mother passed away and had no one else to take care of him.

Northanger Abbey AUs

The Lady in White 7k by @kissed-by-circe

Dragonstone Manor had looked like it had woken only a few days earlier, after a slumber of several years, if not decades, and Sansa had felt like the heroine of a gothic novel, a mysterious, naive girl with a dark past or a dark secret, arriving at the opening scene of the most dramatic story of all times. Or Sansa as Katherine Morland in a Jane Eyre Setting.

Sense & Sensibility AUs

In Such Jocund Company 2k @maybetwice

It would be no matter at all for Captain Snow to return to the north after seven months’ absence, had Sansa’s heart not changed entirely in that time. A remix of Colonel Brandon and Marianne Dashwood from Sense and Sensibility.

Emma & Clueless AUs

if i loved you less 2k by @ladystarks

Her father has, often and fondly, told Sansa that she and Mr. Snow bite at each other like wolves, but he hardly understood that their verbal sparring was as exhilarating as a sport well done, or a match coming together under Sansa’s skilled hands. corresponding artwork

Sansa: A NOVEL in Five Parts 15k by @imagineagreatadventure

Sansa Stark, handsome, clever, rich, hopes to establish herself as her town's foremost matchmaker. After seeing her governess Miss Shae married to the rich and clever Mr. Tyrion Lannister, she feels as though she deserves that title. Her dear friend and cousin, Jon Targaryen, heartily disagrees and is quite proven right when Sansa sets her sights on marrying off her newest and dearest friend Jeyne Poole to the vicar Mr. Baelish.

A Baldwin and a Betty 2k

Jon drives to the Valley to give Sansa a ride home.

Emma AU art by @dcvahkiin and Clueless art by wolvesofspring

Emma Gifset by @dcbicki

General Regency AUs

No Notion of Loving by Halves 2k @darkmagyk

The Stark cousin, Jon, goes home to discuss matters concerning the entail on Winterfell. In which Jon is a really good guy, and I flagrantly disregard how entails actually work.

Manners and Misunderstandings 114k, WIP by @x-winging-it

The Stark sisters have travelled all the way to London to begin their first season, leaving behind the familiar world of Winterfell Hall and a disappointed Jon Stark- with whom the eldest Miss Stark has been convinced to break off a connection. In London they join family friends the Baratheons and the fashionable young Tyrells in a world of romance and balls. Meanwhile Gendry Waters has been plucked out of the life he knew to become his ailing father's heir, Robb, Theon and later Rickon embark on military careers in the Napoleonic wars, and their aunt Lysa makes a foolish marriage. When tragedy hits the family, they must come together, learning how manners may hide monsters and the best people are often those misunderstood by society.

You Could Draw Me to the Gallows 2k by @azulaahai

After having eloped from home with and subsequently been abandoned by wealthy heir Joffrey Baratheon, Sansa Stark refuses to come home. Having caused a scandal that is sure to prevent her from ever marrying, she is adamant not to bring further shame to the family name by returning to Winterfell. Until, that is, a visitor comes to her - Jon Snow, an old family friend, determined to bring Sansa with him back north. He has a solution to offer her - a proposal with the potential to change both of their lives.

A Perilous Dance Indeed & fiercely, tenderly and eternally 27k by @amymel86

He should either look away or interrupt this improper little meeting, he knows. For some unfathomable reason, he does neither. The two look far too intimate for Jon’s liking, although he feels he should have come to expect it to be so. A romantic like Sansa – however proper she is – would simply adore overt flirtations and a secret tête-à-tête. Even from where he stands, Jon can see the way in which she has stars set in her eyes like precious cut stones. He only hopes the man for whom they shine is deserving of it. *** Cousin Jon is to inherit Winterfell Manor and its estate after the untimely death of his uncle leaves a widow and two daughters. Sansa is expectant of an imminent proposal from her dear beau, Harrold Hardyng and everything will be absolutely, stunningly, utterly fine.

Waiting for Your Slippered Feet 49k by @wintry-ritu

Lady Sansa Stark has always looked forward to her come-out season in London, the balls, the rides in Hyde Park, evenings at Vauxhall, the romance and wonder of it all. Never had she imagined that it would happen like this, with her parents gone and her younger siblings underfoot. Now, all Sansa wants is for it all to be over quickly so she can get back to Winterfell. She needs a kind, amiable man who will be brave enough to take on his wife's siblings. That should not be so hard to find in London, should it? And while she is most grateful for Jon Targaryen's help, why must her cousin be so distracting?

To Make You Love Me 16k incomplete and orphaned

When Ned Stark dies, he leaves behind his wife, two daughters, and his family’s estate at Winterfell. What follows is a series of unwanted marriage proposals, houseguests who far outstay their welcome, and Arya parading around in a comically large hat and an oil-paint mustache as she declares herself the new ‘Lord of Winterfell,’ in an attempt to dissuade her sister’s suitors. However, when Mr. Jon Snow — their distant cousin and Ned’s appointed heir to the estate — comes to call, an oil-paint mustache is hardly enough to deter him from courting Miss Sansa Stark. And she thinks, perhaps, that a man could marry her for love more than her claim, after all.

Mine for a Season 101k by @vivilove-jonsa

Colonel Jon Targaryen is a single man in possession of a good fortune who claims no interest in finding himself a wife. With his war wounds, he thinks no young lady would want him anyway for anything beyond the allure of his pocketbook. Fortunately and unbeknownst to him, Fate has chosen to find a wife for him and will even deliver her right to his doorstep. Taking on the responsibility of shepherding a young lady about for a Season in London is not at all what Jon had wished to do but he had accepted out of a sense of familial duty. However, once he meets Sansa again after only having met her years ago as a child, he may not consider it a duty so much as a torment.

a lady of winterfell 185k, WIP by @wandering-scavenger

She bit her lip and exhaled shakily, “If you are so sickened by the prospect of marrying me, we should be able to obtain an annulment easily enough with your father’s connections.” “I will do no such thing.” he snapped, refusing to look at her. Sansa had never felt more rejected than she did at that moment. Her past experiences of being humiliated at the hand of Joffrey did not feel as painful as this. Even so, she could not allow him to see the weakness in her, not now. “I will not be left out, Jon.” she said, tilting her chin up to look down at him. He grimaced. They were silent for longer than she cared to count, but each second that he did not speak chipped away at her resolve and her ability to withhold her tears. Jon did not want her, and she could not blame him. Who could ever want her? It should not have distressed her as much as it did. She was never his favourite sister, she who treated him as a stranger since she was old enough to understand what a bastard was. A tear slipped down to her face until she tasted the salt of it on her lips. “If we marry, we will remain so.” corresponding gifset

moth's wings 47k by @cellsshapedlikestars

Sansa was determined to convince her aunt to let Arya debut, which is how she finds herself in her current predicament. “Who is this secret gentleman who has asked for your hand?” Aunt Lysa asks, and Sansa knows from her tone that she does not believe. (She has every right not to believe, for it is not true.) And then Sansa does something very, very foolish. She says a name. “The Duke of Dragonstone!” Or, Sansa fakes an engagement so that Arya can debut and marry the man she loves. The only problem? Her fake fiance just so happens to be in the city when he was not supposed to be.

An Understanding 2k, WIP by @thewolvescalledmehome

At the start of Sansa Stark's third London Season, she decides it will be her last. She will secure a husband by the end of the final ball. Jon Snow is new to the London Season and high society. He never expected to inherit money or property from an unknown uncle. When they meet at a ball, Sansa gets an idea.

you're in my blood like holy wine 72k

Sansa finds it difficult to look at Jon’s face, with its weathered lines and cragginess. It is the face of the North and a face that northerners trust; the face of Sansa’s brothers and her father, who had been loved and respected by their tenants as their forefathers had been when they were kings. How can Sansa feel anything but resentment, looking into that face and knowing that all of her years of hard work will never earn her the respect that that profile engenders within seconds? But she does. It is a small, burning coal of something that must be smothered.

PRE CANON - WESTERN - FAIRYTALES - LITTLE WOMEN - HOLIDAY - SEASON 6 ANNE OF GREEN GABLES - THE GIRL IN GREY - FREE CITIES - FAIRYTALE PART II - POLITICAL MARRIAGE - SALTY TEENS - POST CANON

#jonsa #jonsa fic #regency au #pride and prejudice au #emma au #northanger abbey au #mansfield park au #persuasion au #dot fic list #marriage of convenience au #arranged marriage au

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linskywords · 1 month

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Hi Linsky, love love all of your work and ‘more than i could ever promise’ is one of my favorite fics ever! I was looking through old tags and saw you mentioned a 1988 Persuasion AU, is that still something that’s in the works?

Funny you should mention that! I was actually just thinking about how I would love to write a story for Jack Eichel and Noah Hanifin now that Noah's been traded to the Knights, and the more I thought about it the more it was obvious that Persuasion is the perfect narrative for them. They fall in love in the USNTDP and stay together when they're both in Boston, but then someone (a parent?) convinces Noah that if they try to stay together long-distance when they're both in the NHL they'll be miserable and get outed and ruin both of their careers. Noah's not sure he'd be able to bring himself to break up with Jack if it was just his own career at stake, but if if staying together means also ruining Jack's...

So he breaks up with Jack, and Jack is furious and betrayed, and they don't speak for years. Noah resigns himself to being loveless in a career that feels lonelier by the year, and he thinks that if he could go back in time he would tell his eighteen-year-old self to forget about caution and practicality and just stay with the person who meant the most to him in the world. But it's obviously too late for that now. They play in different countries, and Jack won't even talk to him.

But then Jack has to talk to him, because Noah gets traded.

#okay yes this is not the 1988 version you were hoping for #tbh that could still happen #it was pretty different #what with meeting when they were 13 and all #but this is so the narrative for these two #tragic austenian separation #jack eichel #noah hanifin #persuasion au #hockey rpf

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cabezadeperro · 3 months

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Chapters: 1/7 Fandom: Star Wars: The Clone Wars (2008) - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy, Star Wars - All Media Types Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: CC-2224 | Cody/CT-7567 | Rex, CC-2224 | Cody & Obi-Wan Kenobi, CC-2224 | Cody & Anakin Skywalker, CC-2224 | Cody & Ahsoka Tano, CC-2224 | Cody & Original Clone Trooper Character(s), Alpha-17 & CC-2224 | Cody, CC-2224 | Cody & CC-3636 | Wolffe, CC-5052 | Bly & CC-2224 | Cody Characters: CC-2224 | Cody, CT-7567 | Rex, Obi-Wan Kenobi, Anakin Skywalker, Ahsoka Tano, Clone Troopers (Star Wars), Original Clone Trooper Character(s) (Star Wars), Alpha-17 (Star Wars), CC-3636 | Wolffe, CC-5052 | Bly Additional Tags: Inspired by Persuasion, Unresolved Romantic Tension, Post-Break Up, Getting Back Together, Mutual Pining, Miscommunication, Worldbuilding, War, Angst with a Happy Ending, Whump Summary: Cody's very good at his job. He's dependable and competent, General Kenobi's right hand man.

He is also perfectly miserable, but he's used to ignoring this fact: war is war, and most of the time Cody's too busy to wallow.

And then, Rex comes back into his life.

Kenobi hums. He’s not done: Cody waits him out.

“You must be excited about seeing Captain Rex and the others again. I know you were close,” he asks, and Cody didn’t quite expect something like this, didn’t expect him to remember.

“He’s a good man. He’s done well,” he says after a beat.

He puts his bucket back on. He can feel Kenobi’s attention on him, sticky and heavy, like a pair of blacks that’s been worn for too long.

it’s finally here!! writing this was very hard, please read it and tell me i did a good job (joking)

#codex #commander cody #captain rex #maría writes #persuasion au

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tomorobo-illust · 2 years

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See hi-res version here: https://www.patreon.com/posts/71909536

Hans/Murphy Persuasion AU concepts and inspired artwork I made for @freckledsaint's birthday (it's super late but better late than never)!!

Persuasion is our favourite Jane Austen novel so this is a concept we've been brainstorming and creating for years now and definitely a story we want to share in the future!!

Hans Westergaard - Anne Elliot Murphy Stabbington - Captain Frederick Wentworth Anna - Louisa Musgrove

The two illustrated images were based on these paintings sent to me for ref:

#hans westergaard #prince hans #stabbington brothers #anna of arendelle #hans/murphy #murphy stabbington #frozen #tangled #persuasion au #jane austen #freckledsaint #tomorobo's art

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bropunzeling · 6 months

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Persuasion anon again, the Hugheses as the Musgroves and Quinn and Brady being very happy together :D maybe this version of the hypochondriac behavior is Brady "having a headache" and "needing to be cared for" by naked Quinn in the bedroom. Loudly. No wonder Matthew suffers. They perhaps take advantage of his babysitting availability a little too often, but raising a family is busy, they need time for themselves and romance, too!

Leon is definitely just here for the fun Hughes brothers and not Aged and Haggard Matthew, who has cut his beautiful curls. Connor is very convinced.

hello this is very delayed but i am still thinking about it!! (a) brady and quinn are definitely deeply insufferable married people because they are so happy (and horny) if slightly less wealthy than they would like. yes, matthew is grateful for the opportunity to remain in the neighborhood and visit his childhood home and see his friends, but he could do without Hearing Everything. quinn at least has some shame but brady is unabashed.

(b) leon would absolutely half-heartedly flirt with the hughes brothers because hey, they're appreciating his jokes, and his sister AND connor both agree he should be looking for someone to marry now that he's a wealthy man, and if he’s mostly flirting only when matthew is within earshot who is going to call him on it? no one! he is just making acquaintances, as one does. and if he’s the only one who seems to notice that matthew is so much more withdrawn and Putting On The Face of Good Cheer rather than actually being happy, well -- clearly matthew has changed in the past eight years, and serves him right. the way leon wishes matthew would smile sincerely again, like he did when they were young, is of no consequence.

#ask #persuasion au #it gets a tag now

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a-gal-with-taste · 2 years

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Yours | Prologue

Or, a saga detailing the complex, and peculiarly prolonged courtship, between a Captain of Zaun, and his Lady of the Isle Promenade.

Silco X F!Reader - Regency/Persuasion AU Slow-Burn

3979 WC - AO3 - Next

Warnings: Regency AU, arranged-marriage, slow-burn, romanticism, courtship, family-dynamics, pining, some humor, some fluff, future angst, slight world-building, captain!Silco

You did not weep at the loss.

What good would it do? Certainly, tears didn't stop anything... it would not stop this rain from the bursting-heavens above, or the wind that allowed every droplet to patter against your skin, drenching your hair and your dark clothes. Unsightly, but the occasion allows some relaxation against common-courtesy, a respite against the properness that a lady of your standing should evermore display in the public eye.

Crying, however expectable it might be in the gaze of those around you, would do no-good against the blasted weather, nor would it bring the last of your family back. It certainly never brought your mother, nor your father home - your tears would not bring your brother back, and so you did not weep at the loss.

The water from the heavens above, thankfully, provided more than enough wetness to scatter across your cheekbones, granting you enough of a cover for the fellow mourners to murmur sympathies.

Murmur in theory, at the very least - in practice, they had to often sheepishly shout over the rumble of thunder overhead.

Eyes downcast, you were able to pass for the despairing younger-sibling of your two-person family with ease - stoic in your grief, hardened by previous agonies, and firm in your conviction to weather this recent tragedy, and this physical-hurricane besides. Truly, you had become a pillar of strength against the tide of life's pain, and death's constant touch.

A pillar that so, so desperately, wanted to return to the manor.

Of course, you held affection for your brother - oafish as he was, and ludicrous he proved often to be while he had been home, you loved him dearly. With a smile like sunlight and a warm, all-encompassing laugh like a hug within sound itself, how could you not?

But you had warned him the sea was treacherous. That a bright spirit, however glorious, could be smothered out by the blackest of waves. Sickness had taken your parents, making you both weary of life’s plagues, but you knew those calm, crystal waters of the Piltovian sea were many times more deadly... They were only playing at an innocent nature. When their nature, in truth, was anything but.

"Sweet sister, you mustn't fret so much!" Edmund had insisted, then reached over to prod at the space between your deeply-furrowed brows. "Wrinkles are the bane of women's existence, or so I am told... and you're younger than me!" He grinned, and you had little sympathy left to tell him he had a smear of food staining his upper-lip. "By the Gods, what will that say about me, if I have a little sister who's already gone gray...!"

You were the younger, true, but you were also assuredly the smarter. Even in youth, the tutors had claimed you to be the brighter of the two, a star pupil shining bright against your brother's, bless him, dull nature. While he collected an education of swords, physical prowess and the makings of a man in this modern time, you carefully cultivated an education of the mind.

But not even your practiced, keen-mind could persuade him from his journey, a path he seemed set to go on despite any warnings, or pleas.

"Fortunate lies in the line between sky and sea, sister!" Edmund had claimed amongst your warnings, protests and finally, pleas. Pointing a finger onto the horizon, and an arm wrapped comfortingly around your shoulders. At the time, the very horizon that had then hosted dark-clouds, was almost as dark as the ones that deliver the tempest onto your brother's funeral, today. "What fool am I, if I do not go to where fortune lies!?"

The biggest fool of them all, you thought, glaring down at the symbolic box before you. It held no remains - wherever its owner was, though, you imagined the coffin, wrapped in decorative-linen in the color of your aristocratic house, would soon find its owner at the bottom of the sea.

The biggest fool of them all, my sweet, stupid brother, who has now left me all alone.

And so, you did not weep at the loss. Not with the passing whispers, or shouts, of tender words meant to inspire comfort from the fellow mourners, nor as you gave a short, firm nod to the group of well-muscled men, who took hold of the copper-handles along the sides of the coffin.

You were surprised - you thought an empty coffin would provide little struggle, but there was some strain in the movements of the carriers. Enough pause given for one in the crowd gathered at the jutting-cliffside, to walk up to you, bending low to catch your ear.

"Mistress..."

"My lord," Tone flat, for pleasantries had been allowed to be bygones, you greeted him with all the properness that was expected, save for your physical attention. You kept your eyes on your brother's coffin. "I do so wish it were under kinder, drier circumstances."

"I agree. Such circumstances call for misery, I suppose... not the jokes," The Lord's voice bordered on a scolding at your dry remark, making your jaw twinge under the dark veil shrouded around your face. A pitiful blanket against the torrent, though it allowed you to eye the man from the corner of your gaze with fewer critiques on your lack in etiquette. "Still... we all must mourn in our own way. You have my sympathies, of course."

"Of course," You murmured in assent, some tension leaking from you when one of the grooms finally found purchase in the muddied earth beneath him, and the lengthy box was lifted from its stand.

A hesitancy, rare and brief, from a good Lord of the Isle Promenade - whose name you couldn’t be bothered to recall, though you imagined it included ‘the Third’ somewhere in his lengthy list of titles - and then he soon speaks again, with that same bland, presumptuous tone you had known all your life. If not from his lips, specifically, then from the mouths of a hundred other men, of his standing and his absurd self-assurance, "You also have my company, at your discretion. We've been neighbors for many, many years, my lady. I implore... I insist you reach out to me, should you ever have such a need for me."

A need. For him?

You didn’t even want him.

Gods be good, you sent a silent prayer above, just as lightning cracked overhead. "Forgive me, my good sir, for a fear I have little understanding. What sort of scenario were you envisioning, that would require me to have need of you?"

You did not have to look to know his face was as dark as the clouds at the flat tone, one you gave without bothering to hide the layer of dryness amongst the rain. The man seemed to despise humor, and despise his pathetically-underhanded attempts being called upon for answers even more so. Particularly, when you do them.

Still, by the time the carriers made it to the cliff's edge, bracing to heave your dear, foolish Edmund’s coffin from earth, and into the endless ocean below, the man softened for you. Just barely, and just enough that the hand he placed at the small of your back was, almost, acceptable.

"Comfort, my fair lady. Companionship, something which I believe is only a benefit for you at such trying-times... something I must insist upon, as you go through this dark, dark storm that is your life, all alone..."

Alone, indeed.

Miserable, you watched as a final shove, a shared grunt between gentlemen, and with a final burst of lightning across the sky, the mortal realm released the symbolic coffin of your brother tumbling down, into the greedy waters far below.

The last of your family, swallowed up by pride and by the waves.

The bones weren't even dry yet, and already, there's a man plotting out your future without a single thought or idea of having your own input - such a fate is far, far crueler than that of a simple ceasing of existence, courtesy by the thoughtless sea. It’s more painful, the idea of a conscious creature capable of thought, decides your future with so little regard to your own consultation, your own expectations and desires.

A common fate, but no less cruel.

You had always been content with the idea of a scholarly pursuit in life, in the familiar comforts of home. Though adventure had always prodded at your mind, a lap-full of pages and words had called to your consciousness far louder, and the presence of home, of Isle Promenade, was so sweet a song, that you shuddered to part-with.

But the good gentlemen beside you, whispers not of your life in decent comforts and familiarity. Much like his own character, he speaks of a stifling, boring existence before you - framed in a manner of suggestion, but the just-polite hand on the small of your back is forward enough for you to understand it’s what he’s chosen to be fact. A fact that you, unmarried, alone and the single remainder of a worthy family, are likely powerless to do anything but accept fact into truth.

It’s a life, methodically mapped out, as per his expectations of a gracious suitor and a future wife, a role he’s unsubtly casting you in as he speaks. Such an existence includes a secondary home in the grand, pointedly remote Piltover, proper summers at court, excellent boarding-homes nearby for children to come...

Misery.

It’s not a life - it’s a woven tale, full of misery , one you have never wanted, one you had never desired, and one that is being forced upon you like a wedding-ring made from a collar of obedience. Never, have you wept for the loss of family.

You could almost weep from this.

"Sister!"

At the sound of your brother's voice - impossible as it was, but the sound of gasps around you proved it was not some phantom or trick of the mind - you very near did weep, as you whirled around, your veiled hat becoming askew. In the wind, it tumbles to the ground in a flutter of dark shadows, but it matters not that the rain now soaks your face freely.

Rain now acts like a balm to your hot eyes, and the chill of an everfree wind now acts like a relief to your heart, and the sight before you, acts as a salvation to your mind.

Because there, at the road leading up the cliff hosting his own funeral, your brother half-hops, half tumbles off the fish-cart that offered him a ride, and grins. A man, bearded now, with a streak of gray near his temple, but a bright gleam in his eye and, oh!

Oh, it's your brother! And he's alive.

He's alive, and you no longer have any need to weep for loss, when you feel you are about to cry from the regaining of your family.

Cry, or forgo all aspects of proprietary and respectably, as you hike up your skirt well-above your needs, and abandon your stuffy-suitor in the pursuit of racing to be at your siblings-side.

A living wind, whipping through the throes of mourners, some of which are on the verge of fainting, others in pure-shock at the unsightly sight of your brother, dearest Edmund, still clad in the messy uniform of a sailor. But like the wind, you care not for a single living thing.

Nothing, except your brother.

You want to laugh as you grow closer, and spot the wrinkles he's gained along with the gray along his temple. The elder indeed, but there's a skip in his step all the same, one you recall far too well, and a gleam in his eyes as he jogs forward to meet you halfway. The boyish charm, the gift of a man who will never, ever truly grow up, is almost a joy instead of a headache to see, now that he is in front of you, yards, and now feet away...

And indeed, the urge to laugh in hysteric relief and unbreakable love, becomes too great to ignore.

"Sister!" Edmund says again, and you brace yourself. Brace to barrel into his body, a hug you'll loath to part from for a long, long time. Bracing, for words of sweet reunion, of family rejoined once more. To be braced for whatever comes your way, and knowing that you can weather whatever your dear brother has to offer, now that you can weather the storm, together...

"Sister," He proclaims, spreading his arms wide, and a grand grin upon his face. It's only until he continues, that his smile isn't exactly warm or loving - it's self-satisfied, like he's prepared for you to thank him upon his announcement, like it’s a fact of your life that he expects you to accept, no, rejoice as truth:

"You are to be married! I have found you a husband!"

Any idea of weeping is gone now.

You freeze, mind growing blank as you stare at your brother. At the sole other remainder of your family, and the man who had already plotted one of the greatest details of your life without any prior warning, nor even consent.

Had you been born first, the common-law of primogeniture, regardless of gender or sex, would’ve made you in charge of your estate, as well as your junior siblings’. Though the cards had not truly been in your favor to allow such coincidence, your brother always had been, and just as you never would have dared to demand his hand be given, you had never dreamed he would give yours away so readily, without warning or even conference from you - the marrying party herself.

And yet, here you stand.

Motionless, as your brother beams, arms-wide and ready for an embrace, and the words of your immediate, and unpredicted state of marriage still echoing in the air between you.

And in that windy sky, separating you from your beloved sibling you come to the terrible realization, that you had not braced for every tempest that had come your way.

But, there is some justice at being stuck off-course. It makes your reflexes quick, and your raising even quicker. And, unlike you, your brother had not braced for anything. Let alone your anger, grief, and frustration. Both at the recent restless-nights, the countless searches, preparations, and the far more immediate funeral in his honor.

Edmund is not braced for your misery, the idea of your life plotted out like a biography of simple facts, regardless of your own input, and dismissing the very notion that you might have the desire to take a quill, and write your own tale in verse.

Your brother, bless his foolish, stupid heart, has no knowledge of any of this. He is not a man that is braced for such volatile emotions to take flight, to unveil themselves before man and the Gods. Edmund, is not braced for any storm that comes his way.

Let alone the living-tempest that you have become at his announcement, with your furious fist, rocketing through the air like a bolt from the Gods themselves, colliding spectacularly, and soundly breaking his nose.

"Whom amongst the civilized wouldn’t want to be informed of their potential, upcoming marriage, through a messenger-party?"

"Whom amongst the civilized would want to send just a messenger?" Countering the snarked-reply with a cheeky-grin, co-Captain V. Houndsmen peered over to his fellow-captain. His gray eyes sparkled with mischief and crackled with the light of lightning in the far northern-horizon as he peered at the smaller, wiry man leaning stiffly against the railing, looking out over a familiar deck that was patched with sunlight that had begun to peek through the clouds. "Dear friend, some would think you a coward, for not going yourself."

He is, expectedly, unimpressed with the teasing. "Some, smarter, would think me considerate.”

Overlooking the bustling deck below, co-Captain S. Shimmerson is assured in the knowledge that those under his command can work without direct supervision, and instead levels his focus onto what lies in the palm of his hand, as a frown carves deeper into his face. A frown that not only spoke of a man knowing full-well he was playing the part of a fool, but also a man too deeply engrossed to play any-other role. "Ambushing her with the... good-news, would do little good. For herself, surely, but I fear for myself too, if I am truthful."

The initial impact would not have fared well - he had conquered a thousand seas, but Silco was wise enough to be wary of a woman’s wrath, over any tempest.

"Thought you lived for a fight, Sil."

"Not with her, Vander."

“In love already, are you?” His friend, partner, and brother in all but blood, smiled something bemused, and still endlessly floored by the circumstances that had led them here. And how swiftly they had arrived to the strange, odd new world, in which Silco wasn’t just admiring - the man was utterly, wholly besotted by a woman.

It wasn’t so much a gender that mattered, but rather that there existed such a creature that had captured the man’s attention.

It was not so far into the realms of the imagination, the idea that his co-leader's mind would forever be undivided, wholly encompassing, and entirely focused on the crew at hand... certainly, command and ship hadn't suffered the last several days. Even distracted, S. Shimmerson was skilled at leadership, and took the reins of command with steady, assured hands.

Such a trait gave many, including V. Houndsmen, the idea that the man could be distracted by very little, and distracted only briefly. But for days, S. Shimmerson had barely looked up from the locket he had cupped delicately in his hand.

It didn't so much as worry Vander, as it did bemuse him to no end. And confused him a bit more, besides.

"Careful, Silco," He teased once more, leaning to jostle his friend with an elbow. "Some will start to think you care. And then where will we be?"

Chuckling to himself as he turned, Vander was eager to get on with his own work, and escape before the piercing glare of the dark-haired man could stab through him like a blade. Only just-missing him, Silco still glared after the back of his friend and partner, before two eyes, the color of the slim space where green-seas mingled and danced with the cloudless blue-skies, returned to the locket at hand.

The locket, with a picture inside.

A picture of you.

Silco's face showed none of the twisting, uncertain and unfamiliar nerves coiling deep inside of him as he gazed at your miniature. Tracing over eyes that are captivating and intelligent, a smile that is faint, reserved in practice and yet earnest in truth...

A face lovelier than any other he had ever seen, and there was no uncertainty in his mind, that this picture didn't do justice to your stunning visage.

What had come over him was nothing short of an enchantment - something of a child’s fairy-tale. Something foolish, but like words of old comfort, it lingered annoyingly in every open-facet within his mind, sneaking in like a stowaway amongst his thoughts.

Unwanted, at first. Certainly, unneeded.

But since the moment the locket was pressed to his hands, a gift in response to the rescue for your quite oafish, quite clumsy sibling, Silco had been loathsomely drawn to the image, as he had once been drawn to water. It was a calling, like a siren to a hapless, doomed sailor - and certainly, with how quickly Silco’s fondness had groomed, he knew that he was entirely, and utterly doomed.

All consequences, thanks to the picture of you.

With great reluctance, and with an even greater necessity, Silco thumbs the gold-piece of jewelry shut. Round and round, the chain becomes wound around his palm as it's secured onto his person... though, in whatever remains of his heart, Silco knows the locket was already secured in his mind the moment he saw it.

Bringing it up to his lips, sighing heavily as he fogs the surface of the plain gold-piece, Silco looks back on a stormy horizon. Both riled and resigned, Silco gazes out into open waters and clouded skies, and tries not to think of the Isle they sail from. More residential than the ports he is used to traversing, but regardless of the lack of experience, the fight against the urge to land had been fierce and, even now, Silco wrestled with the idea of turning the ship back. A stupid, asinine idea, but an idea that tempted him nonetheless.

Closing his eyes, he attempts to wield such thoughts away - the thoughts of you are stubborn, and will remain, but the focus on his ship and its inhabitants must override any thoughts, any temptations, or desires that remain.

He had already been called to sea, tempted by the ocean with a desire to navigate the world by water.

Any other ambitions, even the ones that would lead his path to you, had to be put aside.

You.

Never before had Silco felt a desire for love, nor even affection or infatuation. Such flights of fancy were far-more Vander’s style, and Silco had never before played the part of a fool, not ever, and certainly not enough to give-away his heart.

His heart already had an owner besides himself, and once given, Silco had known that whoever was in possession, was destined to never part with it.

With his heart already belonging to the sea, body to the ship, soul and mind to the Sons and Daughters of Zaun aboard his ship, Silco had not planned to give anyone anything more. Not when he had nothing else he could afford to give.

Nothing but words he hoped would explain, or at least bring awareness to its reader. Privately praying that your witless sibling didn’t come close a second time to drowning, on the row from ship to the Isle Promenade, but also that he spared a thought for the letter that Silco had pressed with urgency into his hands, in equal vigor that Edmund had pressed the locket into his own grasp.

It was all that he could afford to give you, at this time. And he hoped it was enough to explain, or if not, at least free him from what plagues his mind and heart, and release him from his hold the moment you release the wax-seal from folded-paper.

It was all that could be allowed.

Straightening, Silco loops the locket over his head as the wind catches, long dark locks brushing past his face before he smooths them in time with a thumb catching over the smooth surface of the locket -the only act of affection he dares to perform, before duty overtakes his role of the besotted fool, and he strides towards the deck.

It’s not allowed, and unacceptable for him to turn away from his standing as co-Captain - and so, with some great reluctance, greater necessity, he turns from the horizon to face his crew, taking the steps two at a time to begin barking orders onto those populating the deck.

All he has, as ridiculously idyllic and fantastical as it was, was a locket and a desire. A locket he has loathed to part with, and a desire that refuses to leave. Privately, co-captain S. Shimmerson knows he doesn’t really want it to.

Certainly, a resolution is far more appreciated, but an entire fleeting of the foolish, but fantastical notion of his private desire - such was as unacceptable, as it was for him to try to follow the desire.

Desire of you, the desire of chance, the slim and too impossible prospect of being called yours...

Indeed, it is a siren’s song, and a call to his doom.

And one Silco fears that he would go all too willingly.

#silco #silco x reader #arcane #regency au #romantacism #regency #silco fic #arcane fic #arcane x reader #silco arcane #regency silco #slow burn #persuasion #persuasion au

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aurora-boring-alis · 3 months

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#persuasion au #HAHHAHAHAHAHAHHA FUCKKK #raphadetta #chewie draws

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mordoriscalling · 11 months

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Assurance and Authority (4/25)

Post-BOTFA Persuasion Au: Bilbo returns to the Shire after the Quest, having rejected Thorin’s proposal of marriage. For years after, he struggles with regret. When he and Thorin meet again, he knows better than to hope.

Chapter 4 also available on AO3

(Ch 1) (Ch 2) (Ch 3)

The Great Smials in Tuckborough, the ancestral home of the Tooks, was a system of numerous smials connected by a multitude of tunnels, in which the Tooks had been residing for generations. The place was a remarkable piece of construction, which constituted a home to many a dozen families and still allowed them to host guests. Despite that, the Smials were typically rather crowded on normal days, but there were times when the place was nearly packed to the brim with hobbits, which occurred if many guests were visiting at the same time.

Such was the case when Bilbo took Primula up on her invitation. Prior to his arrival, Primula had come to Tuckborough from Buckland together with her husband and son, two sisters Amaranth and Asphodel, her mother Mirabella and her father Gorbadoc Brandybuck, as well as half a dozen of their relatives. The reason for their visit to Tuckborough was both a familial and a diplomatic one - they all wished to see their Took relatives, and Gorbadoc, the Master of Buckland, wanted to meet with his nephew Fortinbras II, the current Thain of the Shire.

With the Great Smials so overcrowded, there was scarcely a chance of not bumping into any hobbit after leaving one’s room. Bilbo, when he passed someone in the corridors of the Smials, more often than not ended up seeing one of Primula’s immediate family. This was not unfortunate in itself, but the problem was that they all liked to confide in Bilbo about their problems and tiffs, which often concerned Primula’s husband Drogo.

"My dear Bilbo,” aunt Mirabella told him one morning on their way to breakfast, "I must say that I did promise myself not to meddle in the affairs of any of my daughters, but bless me, I have no very good opinion of the way Drogo intervenes with how Prim rears Frodo. He always has objections to how she encourages his curiosity and lectures Frodo about what’s respectable. The lad is just a little fauntling, for goodness’s sake!”

"Bilbo, my dear boy,” uncle Gorbadoc said when he and Bilbo chanced upon each other in a pantry, "Since you’re the head of the Bagginses, I wonder if there’s something you you could do to arrange for Drogo to have more earnings? I’m sure he could use more money to indulge his appetite better. Why, he dines with us at least twice a week, and he always eats for three every time! Not that I mind, but I’m sure it would put him at ease to be able to buy more food for himself.”

"Whilst you’re here,” Amaranth murmured to Bilbo while they helped with washing the dishes, "Could you possibly give Drogo a hint that it would be better if he didn’t try to take precedence over papa? We know you Bagginses are an esteemed lot, but Drogo has no authority in Brandy Hall, Baggins or not.”

‘No matter how much Drogo insists on them, papa doesn’t care about proper table manners,” Asphodel said while she and Bilbo were baking lemon cake, "It’s good food he cares about.”

Primula herself had a thing or two to say as well. "I can take care of Frodo just fine without Drogo’s lectures,” she grumbled to Bilbo one evening over tea. ‘I know our boy is a Baggins and with that come certain expectations, but he’s just as much a Brandybuck as he’s a Baggins!” She sighed. "And I wish you could have him assured that nothing would happen to him when boating if only he allowed me to teach him how to swim. Perhaps you could talk some sense to him, Bilbo? Swimming is really something that one should be able to do.”

When Bilbo tried to raise these concerns with Drogo, most of his attempts were futile, as Drogo had just as many issues to complain about.

"Oh, Bilbo, you have no idea how relieved I am!” he said once when they enjoyed a smoke by the Great Door. "To have a Baggins around who understands me! Really, Brandybucks are too strange for me sometimes. How can they go boating, I will never understand. It can’t be safe. And to think Primula wanted to take Frodo boating too! To endanger our boy so! You must try to tell her to be more reasonable, Bilbo.” Another time, he said, "The very thought of going boating makes me feel ill. You have seen Brandywine, you know how wide and deep that river is. Merely being near it makes me uneasy, and living next to so much water makes my joints ache. I swear, it’s all because of that moist river air. I’m so relieved to have come here, I feel better indeed. I wish I had another Baggins with me in Buckland, then I’d be seen and heard. Perhaps you could talk to them in a way that would make them understand me?”

The unsolicited role of a mediator began to tire Bilbo profusely. His only respite from it was being outside of the Great Smials altogether, which was why he took to long walks most eagerly. Often accompanied by Primula, Frodo and many other fauntlings, Bilbo would wander around the green hills of Tuckborough, exploring its colourful meadows, charming groves and little brooks.

When not busy entertaining or watching the little ones, Bilbo found his mind wandering as much as his feet did. He tried his best not to dwell on the past, instead turning his thoughts to the problem at hand. It was not the first time that he bore witness to all the disagreements stemming from Primula’s marriage to Drogo. Since they had been wed six years ago and welcomed their son into the world a year later, the couple had been facing a problem of not seeing eye to eye on certain matters with one another and each other’s relatives. That was not to say they were unhappy together; they were greatly fond of each other, loved their son dearly, and found as much charm as fault in each other’s differences. Rather, Bilbo worried that, because of their financial circumstances, they were too dependent on Primula’s parents and thus, having no prospects of moving elsewhere, they were always bound to living near disapproving family members. Such conditions fostered only conflict and could not be beneficial for their union in the perspective of decades. Bilbo believed that the situation was likely to lead to unhappiness, and Primula’s well-being concerned him greatly; the lass, eighteen years his junior, was one of his relatives that were most dear to him.

She had always been a curious spirit ever since she had been little, and when she had been old enough to speak, she would always seek Bilbo out during family gatherings, at the time when Bilbo had been past his second eleventy birthday and everyone had already labelled him as quite a bit of a recluse. Little Primula, being a tiny fauntling, had not cared about the general opinion of him and befriended him right away. She had stayed constant in her liking of Bilbo for all her childhood, and the two had formed a strong connection, similar to that of siblings. Once Primula grew older, their bond had been nurtured by them both, which Bilbo could not have been more grateful for, especially since it had been Primula more than any other who had helped Bilbo overcome the grief of becoming an orphan.

Due to their closeness, Bilbo worried about Primula’s happiness a lot, so much so that one day he did ask her about it outright.

“Are you happy, Prim?” he said during one of their outings, on a sunny afternoon at the beginning of Wedmath. They had played hounds and hares with Frodo and a dozen other fauntlings earlier, after which the whole group enjoyed a picnic. Now that the children had had their rest, they were up again, playing leaf flutes at the top of the hill, which Bilbo and Primula were slowly climbing.

“Of course I am, Bilbo,” she replied. “I have a family of my own now, a healthy child, whatever else could I wish for?”

Bilbo frowned, displeased with her answer, for he knew far too well what one with family and a child but no place to call their own would dearly wish for. “Primula,” he said, “If you ever find yourselves in need of a different smial to stay, Bag End’s doors are always open to you, for as long as you wish.”

“Why, Bilbo, I could never impose on you so!”

“Come, now, Prim, it’s an invitation freely given. Besides, I’m sure Drogo would find the comforts of Bag End most beneficial to his health.”

At that, Primula laughed out loud. “He would indeed. There would be nothing better for his joints than the ability to run a hot bath at will!” She sobered. “Still, you’re too good, Bilbo. I cannot find it in myself to abuse your generosity like this.”

“It’d be no abuse! It’s simply the least I could do. I wish you to take me up on this invitation.”

“Bilbo, please. You must realise that it’s not easy for me to accept charity.”

“Charity? It’s not charity. I’m much more selfish in my offer than you can imagine.”

“How so?”

Before Bilbo could reply, one of the fauntlings above shouted a question about whether the group could go play in the creek on the other side of the hill, which Primula gave them permission to do.

“My adventure has changed me very much,” Bilbo said once the little ones disappeared from view. ‘Before, I was more than happy to eat my dinners alone. Once most of my grief of losing mama and papa passed, I loved my solitude. Then, my adventure showed me what I had been missing, and now I can scarcely like lack of companionship.”

“I see,” Primula replied, and that was all they said on the matter.

They walked in companionable silence, reaching the top of the hill. Bilbo began to imagine what it would be like to have Primula, Drogo and Frodo live with him and he found the idea exceedingly pleasing. He had always believed that his father had built Bag End for it to be full of laughter; the smial standing near empty seemed to be a terrible waste that had been weighing on Bilbo’s heart and mind for some time now.

When Bilbo and Primula were about to descend the hill to join the fauntlings at the creek, a call from behind them caught their attention.

"Mister Bilbo!”

It was a tween lad, running up to them together with another boy, whom Bilbo recognized to be Hamson and Halfred, the two oldest children of Bilbo’s gardener Hamfast Gamgee. The boys were visibly red in the face even from some distance away.

"Mister Bilbo!” Hamson cried again. "We’ve been looking for you!”

The two lads finally stood before them, panting heavily.

"Papa sends us,” Halfred said. "There were three dozen dwarven soldiers marching through Hobbiton before noon, and a few of those dwarves knocked on Bag End’s door! They even asked him where you were, mister Bilbo. Papa said you’d want to know.”

"Are they friends of yours, mister Bilbo?” Hamson asked.

“I don’t know,” shocked Bilbo replied, as was the truth. “Perhaps.”

Bilbo had indeed invited the Company to visit his smial anytime. He had told them at what time tea was and even not to bother knocking, when he had bidden them farewell. Thus, Bilbo dearly hoped that the dwarven soldiers in question were some of his friends, but at the same time feared the heirs of Durin might’ve knocked on his door, even though the likelihood of that event was exceedingly small. Alas, before he could ask the boys if they knew anything about how the dwarves looked like, Frodo’s pained cry carried in the air.

#myfic #bagginshield #bilbo x thorin #persuasion au

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