#so avoiding her husband most of the time and not seeking out his company is more viable for her!

[whetstonefires]

You know what I realize that people underestimate with Pride & Prejudice is the strategic importance of Jane.

Because like, I recently saw Charlotte and Elizabeth contrasted as the former being pragmatic and the latter holding out for a love match, because she's younger and prettier and thinks she can afford it, and that is very much not what's happening.

The Charlotte take is correct, but the Elizabeth is all wrong. Lizzie doesn't insist on a love match. That's serendipitous and rather unexpected. She wants, exactly as Mr. Bennet says, someone she can respect. Contempt won't do. Mr. Bennet puts it in weirdly sexist terms like he's trying to avoid acknowledging what he did to himself by marrying a self-absorbed idiot, but it's still true. That's what Elizabeth is shooting for: a marriage that won't make her unhappy.

She's grown up watching how miserable her parents make one another; she's not willing to sign up for a lifetime of being bitter and lonely in her own home.

I think she is very aware, in refusing Mr. Collins, that it's reasonably unlikely that anyone she actually respects is going to want her, with her few accomplishments and her lack of property. That she is turning down security and the chance keep the house she grew up in, and all she gets in return may be spinsterhood.

But, crucially, she has absolute faith in Jane.

The bit about teaching Jane's daughters to embroider badly? That's a joke, but it's also a serious potential life plan. Jane is the best creature in the world, and a beauty; there's no chance at all she won't get married to someone worthwhile.

(Bingley mucks this up by breaking Jane's heart, but her prospects remain reasonable if their mother would lay off!)

And if Elizabeth can't replicate that feat, then there's also no doubt in her mind that Jane will let her live in her house as a dependent as long as she likes, and never let it be made shameful or awful to be that impoverished spinster aunt. It will be okay never to be married at all, because she has her sister, whom she trusts absolutely to succeed and to protect her.

And if something eventually happens to Jane's family and they can't keep her anymore, she can throw herself upon the mercy of the Gardeners, who have money and like her very much, and are likewise good people. She has a support network--not a perfect or impregnable one, but it exists. It gives her realistic options.

Spinsterhood was a very dangerous choice; there are reasons you would go to considerable lengths not to risk it.

But Elizabeth has Jane, and her pride, and an understanding of what marrying someone who will make you miserable costs.

That's part of the thesis of the book, I would say! Recurring Austen thought. How important it is not to marry someone who will make you, specifically, unhappy.

She would rather be a dependent of people she likes and trusts than of someone she doesn't, even if the latter is formally considered more secure; she would rather live in a happy, reasonable household as an extra than be the mistress of her own home, but that home is full of Mr. Collins and her mother.

This is a calculation she's making consciously! She's not counting on a better marriage coming along. She just feels the most likely bad outcome from refusing Mr. Collins is still much better than the certain outcome of accepting him. Which is being stuck with Mr. Collins forever.

Elizabeth is also being pragmatic. Austen also endorses her choice, for the person she is and the concerns she has. She's just picking different trade-offs than Charlotte.

Elizabeth's flaw is not in her own priorities; she doesn't make a reckless choice and get lucky. But in being unable to accept that Charlotte's are different, and it doesn't mean there's anything wrong with Charlotte.

Because realistically, when your marriage is your whole family and career forever, and you only get to pick the ones that offer themselves to you, when you are legally bound to the status of dependent, you're always going to be making some trade-offs.

😂 Even the unrealistically ideal dream scenario of wealthy handsome clever ethical Mr. Darcy still asks you to undergo personal growth, accommodate someone else's communication style, and eat a little crow.

#hoc est meum #pride and prejudice #elizabeth bennet #charlotte lucas #meta #charlotte is a much less sociable person than lizzie #so avoiding her husband most of the time and not seeking out his company is more viable for her! #she also has more patience for people being wrong #partly i think because she kinds checks out and lets them get on with it which lizzie isn't too great at even with her mother #people have different needs like that's a thing okay #marriage #spinsterhood #pragmatism #like if elizabeth had to listen to collins talk for a few months straight she would be nearly insane with rage #he's not just a low-quality man he's a man designed to be the worst for her specifically #also note that because jane's marriage is elizabeth's fallback plan #darcy screwed her over personally by interfering between her and bingley #she ofc does not bring this up how could she #but it's intensifying the anger during the hunsford rejection i think

[tadpolesonalgae]

Nessian x mate!reader: Good Things Come In Threes

A/N: Based of this ask. I am planning on making a part two where the bond snaps for everyone, so I’ll try and get around to that asap!

It had taken you a long time to come around to them.

A very long time.

It wasn’t that you hated them, or didn’t want to be with them, more that it had never occurred to you to seek out a partner. So to realise you could have two was a revelation. And like most children of Prythian, you’d grown up with stories of not lovers, not husbands and wives, but mates. To find one is to find your world, but to find two? Unheard of.

Nesta had figured it out first, and with Rhys still showering her with gifts, it was no struggle to have him seek out a book that held the information she desired. She’d brought the news straight to Cassian, guessing that if she was feeling the effects of a second bond, then somewhere within him, he would be too.

They’d pondered tirelessly how to bring it up with you: whether they should just tell you outright? Have one of them broach the subject with you and if so, which one? To leave it until you noticed? Or to ignore it completely?

The trouble was, you were difficult to read at the best of times, often not shifting a single one of your features even as you made—what they had come to realise were—jokes. It had gotten to the point they thought it would be best to leave you be, no matter how much they wanted to welcome you into their bond. But when Cassian had caught you sharpening your blades in the Spymaster’s company, both of you grinning in that quiet, secretive way, he knew he wouldn’t be able to stand it. Not when—as soon as you’d spotted him—the grin had vanished, unreadable once again as your shoulders stiffened.

And after that, it had only served to bring their attention to how you’d been quietly avoiding them—slipping out of rooms with a small look toward the Shadowsinger, an excuse that you needed to prepare for a mission, or you needed to leave in time for your job. The list went on.

Maybe you’d already realised the bond, and simply weren’t interested. The thought didn’t sit well with either of them. Which had lead to Cassian knocking rather stiffly on Azriel’s office door that night, hoping he could provide an insight. He seemed to be the closest with you—much to his envy.

The door swings open, and Cassian has to restrain his jealousy when he spots his brother at his desk, with you leaning casually against it with your feet crossed at the ankles. Again, that small smile slides from your lips, dropping to the floor at the sight of him in the doorway. He swallows against the slight sting of pain, remembering what he came here for.

“Have a moment, Az?” He calls as casually as possible, trying to appear normal and not like he’s burning with jealousy that he’s found you yet again in the company of his brother—looking for all the world you’re enjoying yourself with him.

You both share a look, some silent conversation happening that he has to remind himself not to demand to be let in on. Once, it had been just the two of them—Rhys as well, of course, but he wasn’t always there at Windhaven—but now Azriel’s attention seems to be swaying more heavily to you. Gods, is this how he’d made Az feel when Mor had come along?

“I should get some shut eye, anyway,” you finally mutter to the Spymaster, and move to leave, not so much as greeting, or simply acknowledging him as you brush past. He might as well have been invisible; even Azriel’s brows narrow almost imperceptibly. Maybe that’s why his words come out a slight bit harsher than he’d intended once you’ve made your escape. “You seem cushy together.”

Azriel’s eyes flick to his, sensing the accusatory undertone. “I’m not positioning myself between the two of you, you know,” he says instead, remaining infuriatingly calm. “What did you want to talk about?” And Cassian just knows that his brother is being intentionally difficult. “Do you know why she acts so cold towards me and Nesta?” He voices, shutting the door behind him as he takes the spot where you had been.

The Shadowsinger’s eyes don’t stray from his reports, “why don’t you ask her?”

“Do you know?” He repeats, sensing something’s being kept from him. He doesn’t like that, not one bit—the idea of you sharing secrets with his brother. Keeping him out of it.

“Maybe she’s said something to me, maybe she hasn’t. What’s it to you, Cassian?” The bastard still isn’t looking at him, and it’s beginning to make him antsy. “I think it’s perfectly understandable to want to know why she avoids us so much, Azriel.”

“Is she avoiding you?”

“Don’t play stupid,” Cassian barks, hands fisting at his sides. An action he knows his brother marks. The bastard smiles faintly. “I’d have thought as my brother, you’d be willing to help,” he snaps, “but it seems you’re picking her over us, huh?”

Finally, Azriel shifts in his chair, leaning back with a casualness that bothers Cassian, how nonchalant he is about this whole matter. He clearly knows how much it’s bothering him—yet he’s only adding to the problem. Why? “I’m not the one taking sides here, Cass,” Azriel drawls evenly. Cassian’s brow narrows at his words, “and I am?” The Spymaster’s lips quirks again, and he has to fight the urge to slam his fist into his brother’s jaw—he’d wait for answers before taking his frustrations out.

Instead of answering, though, Azriel changes the subject. “Just ask her. She’ll appreciate the directness.”

“And how am I supposed to ask her when she practically sprints from every room I walk into, huh? Do you have an answer to that, Azriel?” He snaps, temper fraying at the edges. Something glints in his brothers eyes, forming an expression that makes him see red, “wound a bit tight, Cass?” It has enough of a bite to snap him out of his momentary lapse in judgement. But all this stress—not knowing what’s going on with you, if they’ve done something wrong—it’s making things difficult.

Cassian drags a hand through his hair, looking away for a moment, brows narrowing. Then, “you really think she’ll be fine if I just ask her? ‘Hey, we hardly know each other because you seem to run from me every time I so much as breathe in your direction, but is there a reason you seem to hate even being in the same room as me—or Nes?’” Azriel gives him a look that reads, no, and you know damn well that’s not what you’d say.

“Then what?” Cassian snaps, glaring at his brother.

“Just knock on her door. If she’s not in there, then she’ll either be out, or in the library since she’s not here,” Azriel says, and he doesn’t miss the hint—you spend a fair amount of time in his office. Fire burns in the pit of his stomach but he calms it. He needs to be level-headed for this, especially if he wants to make sure he doesn’t screw it up.

Cassian nods to himself, turning and leaving silently. He can practically hear Azriel roll his eyes, but he decides to ignore it—he needs to talk to you, find out what’s going on it that head of yours.

————

After a brief catch-up with Nesta, they both head to your door the following day, knocking quietly in case for some reason you aren’t yet awake—though the sun is fairly high in the sky. They share a look when they’re met with silence, wondering if you’re pretending to be asleep to avoid them.

Cassian raises his hand to knock again, but—

“Is there something you need?”

Neither of them flinch overtly, but instead share a mutual moment of surprise through the bond. Of course Azriel would have been teaching you stealth techniques.

And now you’re moving toward them down the hallway, Cassian firmly planting his feet on the floorboards, equidistant from one another. Beside him, Nesta settles into a similar position. “We want to talk to you. Both of us,” Nesta says calmly, features neutral as she takes you in. “Both of you,” you repeat, eyes flicking between them. “One of you wouldn’t have sufficed?” You ask pointedly, gaze darting to your door with clear intent.

“Not for this,” Nesta replies. “There are some things that need to be cleared up. I think you realise that too. Isn’t that why you’re avoiding us?” She asks, clearly. She’ll appreciate the directness, Azriel had said.

Your eyes narrow warily, moving between them and the door. “Let me put my things away, then I’ll see you in the kitchen,” you say, not waiting for them to move as you brush past Cassian’s side, shutting the door firmly behind you.

In your wake, they exchange glances. But as they turn to leave, they pause. A small spark flickers from a third direction—tense, but hopeful. Cassian blows out a breath, following behind Nesta as she makes her way to the kitchen—your suggested meeting point.

————

It takes you longer than normal to set your bags down on the table and put everything away with the adrenaline in your blood. You wonder what they want to talk about.

They’ve taken the seats that face the nearest exit—so you’ll be closer—watching as you come in. Watch as you sit down. “What did you want to talk about?”

The two fae before you exchange glances. Directness.

Nesta sets her hands on the table, spine straightening as she meets your eyes. Takes a breath. “We think the mating bond extends to you, too.”

You blink. “What?”

Nesta doesn’t falter, “our mating bond.” She gestures between her and Cassian, “we think it includes you, too.”

You blink again, “oh. I see.” You shift in your chair, leaning forward ever so slightly. “And you called this meeting because?”

“We wanted to know if you’d realised,” Cassian says steadily. “If you’d felt anything on your side.”

Your gaze runs over them, weighing; assessing. “I’d felt something,” you admit, “but what makes you think it’s a mating bond? Those are shared between a couple, they don’t go for threes.”

“Actually,” Nesta speaks this time, “mating bonds join equals, connecting those fate or the Mother believes belong together. Originally, that was the only condition, but with the rise of civilisation and society, ideas of marriage were pushed onto the concept of the mating bond. In the earlier centuries marriage was strictly between a husband and wife, purely heterosexual and monogamous, and so those views became ingrained in the modern idea of how the mating bond functions,” she explains. “But that’s wrong. A mating bond was never limited to two individuals, was never limited to male and female,” She finishes, watching you carefully.

Like Nesta you don’t stutter or stumble, just take her words in at your own pace. “Okay, so your mating bond extends to me. Do you want me to join, or promise to stay out of your business?” Your scent has shifted ever so slightly, along with your posture as you readjust in the chair.

Right. If you’ve admitted you’ve been aware of something tugging at your soul, then it’s reasonable to assume you’ve been able to sense whenever they’ve…

You realise they’ve made the connection between your confession and the slight flush heating your features. “I haven’t purposely sought those senses out,” you add hurriedly, sensing their mild shock, “they just sometimes wash over me—I don’t know how to block them out. And it felt too personal to ask Feyre, or even Rhys.” You look between them again, and a spark of nerves skitters from your side of the bond.

“That aside,” Nesta somehow manages, pushing away the thought of you being able to feel either of their pleasure—at all times of day. How much do you know about their coupling? How they like to play it in bed? “To be perfectly transparent, we hadn’t got to that point. As far as we were aware, you had no idea this connection even existed, and your behaviour was confusing.”

Your brow furrows ever so slightly, the smallest contraction of muscle, “how so?”

“You weren’t exactly subtle in your recent avoidance of us. Is that when you started to realise that there was something more between us?” Nesta asks, holding your gaze calmly. You swallow down your nerves, trying to calm yourself as your heart begins to accelerate. “I was developing feelings that were new to me. I didn’t know what they were, an to be honest, they made me feel uncomfortable. Disgusted, sometimes. So I think it was a reasonable response to have. As far as I was aware, you were a perfectly happy, mated couple that I had no business tampering with. Or invading.”

“So, it wasn’t out of a dislike for us,” Cassian says slowly, processing, “but rather you felt guilty for having a seemingly open pathway into our relationship.” You nod in confirmation, then flush a little.

“Have you ever felt anything from my end?” You ask.

“Occasionally a spark or two, like when you were with my brother yesterday,” Cassian answers, hiding his jealousy well.

“I sometimes feel a tug in the mornings—when Cass’s still asleep, so it couldn’t have come form him—but I can’t tell the emotion behind it,” Nesta adds on.

Your eyes again flick between them, teeth finding the inside of your lip. “You’ve never felt anything else? No…?” You trail off, and it takes a moment for them to figure out what you’re asking. “It’s not directed at you,” you hurriedly tack on, “it’s just a bother to go through a day with that in the back of your mind.”

“No,” Cassian answers, a little hoarsely, “we haven’t.” His throat woks as he stares at you, hands fisting on his thighs beneath the table. You nod to yourself, relieved they haven’t been able to sense you scratching that itch. Rare as it is for you to fall for that temptation.

“About how to progress from here,” Nesta diverts, getting a handle on the tension that had begun to thicken. “I’m sure one of our siblings would be happy to help in blocking out the senses—if that’s the direction you want to move in.”

“What other direction is there?” You ask carefully, watching them a little warily.

Cassian and Nesta share a look across from you, something passing between them that you can only catch the edge of. Their gazes return to you, and you can feel your hairs rise. Skin prickling. “We trust in the Mother’s choice,” Cassian admits slowly, attempting to select his words carefully but you can practically see the cogs turning in his mind as he tries to sort through the correct way to phrase what he’s wanting to say.

But, directness.

He sighs, shoulders loosing their tension as he leans back in his chair, giving Nesta a signal to take over. He doesn’t know what to say—she’s better suited for this task.

“We’d like you to join, but if you would rather take up lessons in strengthening your mental shields, we will not interfere with you anymore,” she says. Straightforward. But then you nod, as if in acceptance, “I think I would like that, then.”

Cassian stares between the two of you—how quickly that was sorted through. Maybe directness really was the solutions to his problems. He can practically picture Azriel’s shit-eating grin at the realisation he was right about you.

“Right,” Nesta breaks the silence, her voice slightly rough around the edges as something warm spills across the bond. “Well, we’ll take it slowly and see what happens. Is that fine with you?”

You nod, but add, “I’m not…” Your eyes dart about the room, as if debating telling them. Cassian sits a little straighter while Nesta leans forward openly. “I’m not that interested in sex. It’s never been a topic of interest for me. So I might… I’m not sure what ideas you had regarding intimacy, but I thought it better to be upfront about this.”

“Of course,” Nesta reassures, even if the slightest flicker of disappointment reaches Cassian’s side of the bond. “If you’d rather stay clear of that side of things, that’s fine. I’m sure we’ll find a way to work around the frenzy when the bond properly clicks,” she soothes, glancing at Cassian who nods in agreement.

“It’s not a hatred, or repulsion, or anything like that,” you say, quickly. “I wouldn’t mind trying, or it actually happening if it will help ease any tension brewing. I know it’s supposed to be more intense for the males—I don’t want to make things complicated.”

Cassian’s mind goes a little silent at the offer. Beside him, Nesta’s stiffened—so you won’t detect her scent, he realises. Good idea on her part. He copies her lead. “I suppose we’ll take that one when we get to it,” he says to you, offering a tentative smile designed to set people at ease.

They’re both relieved when your shoulders relax, hearing the soft puff of breath from your lips as you settle back in your chair. “Yeah,” you agree, “maybe that would be better. Let things happen as they’re supposed to.”

Taglist: @myheartfollower @tcris2020 @mali22

#Nessian #Poly!nessian #poly!acotar #acotar #acosf #Nesta #Cassian #Nessian x fem!reader

[jewishconvertthings]

Do you have any advice on how to cope with antisemitism online? I’m really overwhelmed by the sheer amount of it, it’s just so much worse than I ever imagined. I also feel weird talking to jews by birth about it bc they had to deal with this for their whole lives while I’m first experiencing it as an adult. Still, it’s got to the point where it’s really affecting my mental health

Hi anon,

I'm going strongly encourage you to do a few things:

Take a step back. No one benefits from you stressing yourself out to the point of it affecting your mental health in a significant way. Find someone you trust to keep you up-to-date on anything that actually has a bearing on your immediate safety, and otherwise block it out. Set a specific amount of time within which you are going to avoid looking up news or reading articles or posts about antisemitism. This isn't even my suggestion: I learned this from a rebbetzin who had her husband keep her informed of any immediate safety issues but otherwise intentionally stepped back from secular news and social media entirely for a full year during 2020. She said it was one of the best choices she made, because she was stronger and ready to deal with it when she started tuning in again. You don't necessarily need to take it to that extreme, but taking a step back can really help.

Take comfort in your immediate community, and be intentional about seeking out the company and companionship of other Jews. We have so much strength together, and it helps get you out of your own head. It also really helps to remind yourself of all the people, communities, traditions and culture that you love and are why you're here. Be intentional in finding joy in the Jewish life you are building.

Take solace in the fact that Am Yisrael Chai: the People Israel Live. The Jewish people has survived persecution and unrelenting horrors since practically the beginning, and we're still here. You are part of or joining something eternal and indomitable - a people that many have tried to break or destroy in a multitude of ways, and it has never worked. Never. The persecution is unlikely to end, and yet we will outlast them. We always do.

Think about the best possible outcome: that we will receive peace and justice speedily and in our days, and you will be there to share the simcha. Now consider the worst possible outcome: our persecution will increase to the point where we have to flee for our lives, and many of us don't make it; perhaps you survive alone, or perhaps you don't. Now consider the most likely outcome: things continue much the way they have, with fluctuations that come from the ebb and flow of politics. You stick with our people in our joy and sorrow, in terror and in peace. We survive and our Judaism is passed l'dor v'dor. Now. Even in that worst case scenario, history says that some of us will still make it. Judaism and the Jewish people will continue and rebuild. Your name is forever tied to ours, your fate a collective one that is greater than your individual life or mine. And that is something that will survive.

Remember that you don't have to personally end antisemitism. I know that sounds obvious? But part of the overwhelm that comes from the burden of oppression is feeling like you are individually responsible for solving it. You are not. In the words of Rabbi Tarfon, "Do not be daunted by the enormity of the world's grief. Do justly, now. Love mercy, now. Walk humbly, now. You are not obligated to complete the work, but neither are you free to abandon it.”

Anon, I hope this helps. You are not alone. B'ezrat Hashem you find some comfort here and with your community, and may we all merit to see the day when the hard work of generations comes to fruition in peace and justice.

[3-heartstyle]

Llorona's relations w/ The Donquixote Family

For the most part, she's the only member of the crew that Doffy forced her to join. Her role of the crew is their treasurer because of her background of being a jeweler. Layla's "loyalty" is rooted in her fear of dying but she still has a bit of fondness for some members.

Doflamingo

She is absolutely terrified of Doflamingo

Won't look into his eyes since the first escape attempt gave her the tear tattoos on her face

She's aware that the only reason he wants her in the family is because of her devil fruit

Tries to avoid him as best as she can but it's difficult since he seeks her out

In Doffy's perspective, he has a sense of nostalgia of owning a slave as a celestial dragon

Mix in his mommy issues and you get uncomfortable interactions

Corazon

She's so confused by this man, they might be friends?

One moment he's cold and distant then suddenly he's attentive and surprisingly sweet???

Hates the fact that he hits the kids but knows she can't stop him

When it's just them together he shows that he has a sense of humor and can get her to laugh

Her reflexes have gotten better with his clumsiness

In Corazon's perspective, he knows he can't get her out without Doffy hunting her down so he tries his best to make her life less miserable

He finds her normalcy comforting and seeks her company when he's tired of everyone else

He does freak out internally when he realizes he fell for her and tries to hide it (beats himself up out of guilt)

Giolla

She finds her very... Eccentric...

This "friendship" is very much just her agreeing to Giolla's taste in art and crafting her "unique" taste of jewelry

Llorona does appreciate that there's another woman in the group

There is a hidden feeling of resentment towards her since it was Giolla's decision to take her in

In Giolla's perspective, she adores having another artist in the group

Loves having to pick out her clothes (with Doffy's input) and dresses her up like a doll

Appreciates the helping hand in taking care of the children

Senior Pink

She finds him one of the most normal out of everyone

At some point she pinpointed a romantic man underneath that hard boiled exterior

Teases him endlessly and likes to offer advice even if he won't take it (he keeps it cool through it all)

In Senior's perspective: finds her to be too fragile to be in the family, both mentally and physically

He only protects her if it's dire, he'll never let anyone in the family break his demeanor

He does go to her in designing the engagement ring for Russian

Diamante

She finds him extremely irritating

His constant prying and accusations of her relations with Corazon is one thing but also pursuing her? Annoying!

She uses his ego against him to leave her alone but it'll just be temporary and he'll be back at it again!

Diamante's perspective: he likes his women feisty and since her husband is dead it's fine to flirt (like he'd cared anyway)

But he has noticed that Corazon tends to be softer with her, if he's going to claim her then he has to have his fun first

Trebol

Disgusting! Revolting! Hates him and is loud about it

Everything he says gets on her nerves and causes her to lose her composure

Hates his power too! Reminds her of frogs (she hates them too)

Trebol's perspective: finds her outbursts amusing

Only sees her as a source of entertainment and as a weapon

Lao G

She finds him a bit odd but not off-putting

He kind of reminds her of her own grandparents

She enjoys his company and often spends her time just chatting away

His sudden bursts of energy when it comes to the letter G does surprise her from time to time

Lao G's perspective: a soft hearted young lady, maybe too soft hearted

Enjoys the company and finds her to be a well member of the family

Gladius and Pica

She feels like she's walking on eggshells around those two

Knows they're very destructive when they're angry and tries to avoid that as much as possible

If something riles them up, she'll try to calm them down (it never really works)

Gladius's perspective: he finds her bearable until she tries to butt in to calm him down

Pica's perspective: thinks of her like any other member, hasn't caught her laughing at his voice so she's safe for now...

The kids

She adores them!

She enjoys their company and raising them helps fill in the void of losing her son

But feels terrible that they're part of this crew and what they do to them

She wants them to leave and live a normal life but doesn't want to be left alone with these pirates

Baby 5's perspective: loves that she can be of use to someone so nice! Another girl in the group that loves romance too is wonderful to have

Buffalo's perspective: loves having her around! She's so nice and gives them ice cream when they're good

They both never want her to leave :)

Law

She saw her son in Law's eyes for a moment and it freaked her out

Kept her distance for a bit to avoid breaking down in front of him

It broke her heart hearing his story, she thought she has a chance to heal with him only to find out he'll die too

Tries to have Law get close with the other kids so he won't feel lonely

Law's perspective: he assumed that she avoided him because of his disease and hated her for it

When she stopped and tries to be nice with him, only confused and irritated him

Only tolerated her kindness since she's the only adult that doesn't harm the kids

#long post #geez some of these sentences my brain went dumb #one piece #donquixote family #one piece oc #oc: layla montez #donquixote rosinante #donquixote corazon #donquixote doflamingo #op Trebol #op giolla #op diamante #op Lao G #op Gladius #op Pica #baby 5 #op buffalo #trafalgar law #my art #corazon x oc #Senior Pink

[apenitentialprayer]

The Lack of Privacy in Pre-Modern Europe

11th Century Iceland

Was this scene typical of the [Icelandic] sagas? Love scenes there are in plenty — enough that historian Jenny Jochens needed a dozen pages of her book, Women in Old Norse Society, to explain how a woman became pregnant. First the man "placed her on his lap . . . and talked with her so all could see it," talk that was visible with kisses and caresses. Then he might stretch out with his head in her lap and let her pick lice out of his hair. (Another sure sign of love is a woman offering to sew a man's wide shirtsleeves tight around his wrists, a daily task before buttons were common.) After a bit he might take her by the hand and lead her to a more private spot [...] For married couples such scenes take place in the crowded skáli, the main room of the long house, where the whole household slept on the wide benches that lined the walls on either side of the longfire and could listen in while spouses who were at odds "settled the matter between them as though nothing had happened." High-class couples like Gudrid and Karlsefni might have plank walls and a door separating their sleeping space from that of their farmhands and family, but for most couples, the only privacy in a longhouse was provided by the dark.

- Nancy Marie Brown (The Far Traveler: Voyages of a Viking Woman, pages 59, 60). Bolded emphases added.

16th Century Germany

Luther's family occupied a narrow dark house with a few small and low rooms, badly lighted and badly aired, in which parents and children were huddled together; it is also probable that all or most of the family, that is, of both sexes, slept together, naked, in one broad alcove.

Paul J. Rieter (Martin Luthers Umwelt, Charakter und Psychose, page 362), trans. Erik Erikson

17th Century France

Moreover, the Daphin's sexual education was not merely verbal. At night the child would often be taken into the beds of his waiting women — beds which they shared (without nightdresses or pajamas) either with other women or their husbands. [... A] seventeenth century palace was totally without privacy. Architects had not yet invented the corridor. To get from one part of the building to another, one simply walked through a succession of other people's rooms, in which literally anything might be going on. [...] Less fortunate in this respect than his or her inferiors, a royal personage was never permitted to be alone. If one's blood were blue, one was born in a crowd, one died in a crowd, one even relieved nature in a crowd and on occasion had to make love in a crowd. And the nature of the circumambient architecture was such that one could scarcely avoid others being born, dying, relieving nature and making love.

- Aldous Huxley (The Devils of Loudun, page 12). Bolded emphases added.

19th Century Denmark

It's true that male artists and intellectuals, often from relatively wealthy families, would seek out each other's company and friendship during their youth and early adulthood. Men of the lower social classes, on the other hand, were forced to do so right from childhood. In the early part of the century, a man's attitude toward and relationship with other men was not burdened by the anxiety about touching that exists among many men today. Fear, envy, and a sense of competition were not the only emotions at play among men [of this time]; security, intimacy, and love were also present, nourished in particular by the more or less compulsory sharing of beds in those days. Around 1800 the two sexes were strictly separated in terms of their work and free time. [...] Whether a boy was an only child, like Hans Christian Andersen, or grew up with a swarm of siblings, he would be accustomed to sharing a bed with other males. "Farm hand with farm hand, and farm hand with boy" was the rule rather than the exception.

- Jens Andersen (Hans Christian Andersen: A New Life, page 157), trans. Tiina Nunnally). Bolded emphases added.

#history #sleep #sexuality #privacy

[beautifulwhensarcastic]

Fic Masterlist

* in alphabetical order

Autumn Ghosts  (1/1)

Steve/Peggy

It's been over three years. Though trying to mourn and move on, Peggy isn't able to fully let go of Steve. There's a place, where she finds a piece of him and another person, who has loved him as much as she does. This time, when Peggy is at Sarah Rogers' grave, someone unexpected appears...

Coefficient of friction  (1/1)

Bucky/Peggy; past Bucky/Peggy/Steve

For years Peggy has been running away from Bucky. Now she's the one to search him out. She just han't taken into consideration there are feelings still involved.

Dark Appetites  (1/1)

Steve/Peggy

Peggy avoided asking anyone for help, but this time there’s no other choice. However, entering vampire’s stronghold forces her to face darkness and feelings she’s perhaps not equipped to deal with.

I knew nothing but shadows  (13/13)

Steve/Peggy

Children of Thanos aren't meant to care for the life they had before Father took them in. Neither Nomad nor Margaret remember much of Terra for it to matter anyway, or to feel any kind of connection between them. Truthfully, they'd sooner cut the other's throat than bond.

Man in the night  (1/1)

Steve/Peggy

Working for SSR has introduced a variety of situations into Daniel's life, but this one might be taking the cake at the moment. Peggy Carter nearly bled out onto his fiancée's couch and now a scruffy goon at his door claims to be her husband.

Merger  (9/9)

Steve/Peggy

Peggy Carter will not hand in her family's legacy to an American company. And she most definitely will not give in to its CEO, even if Steve Rogers is infuriatingly alluring.

Moon in the lining of your skin  (2/?)

Bucky/Sharon

Sharon makes a mistake and becomes a prisoner of the enemy pack. As if that wasn't bad enough, her captor - James Barnes, affects her in unexpected ways.

New York solstice  (1/1)

Steve/Peggy

Peggy thought she has everything in her life under control, but her return to New York forces her to face long buried feelings. She’s married now, she shouldn’t be meeting her ex boyfriend outside of work. Steve Rogers, however, has a charm Peggy’s unable to resist. Or maybe she doesn’t want to resist.

Of cloaks and daggers  (1/1)

Steve/Peggy

Steve, the Captain of Queen Virginia’s guard, finds an intruder in his quarters. Though she’s dressed with clear intention on hiding her identity, he recognizes Margaret Carter - Queen’s loyal friend and spy. She comes to him seeking help.

Old Blood  (1/1)

Steve/Peggy

Steve had never expected to play such a significant role in restoration of the Old Blood's reign, but fate put him so close to Princess Margaret that he can't miss the opportunity to act on behalf of old prophecies.

Restless  (2/2)

Steve/Peggy

The first war with warlocks has brought massive destruction and death. Those who survived lay all their hope for a safe future in the few sorcerers and healers that remained. Abraham Erskine and Howard Stark conduct a special project to find and educate young gifted kids, shaping them into future sorcerers able to fight Hydra’s warlocks.

Peggy Carter is a bold ten year old when she becomes their apprentice. She’s fourteen when she’s denied further training.

Tournament of Shadows  (4/?)

Steve/Peggy

Peggy Carter’s diplomatic visit to Sakaar was a cover for a secret spy mission, but it turns more dangerous than she predicted. There are always cutthroat games being played when politics are involved, however she can’t figure out the motives of one hot, cheeky slave. She meets Steve at the tip of his sword and judging by their following interactions he’s going to keep her on the edge.

Where poppies grow  (1/1)

Steve/Peggy

The night preceding the procedure Steve can't sleep, which leads him to a surprising, touching discovery.

#let's be honest this post happened purly out of procrastination lol #my masterlist #fic masterlist #my writing #my fic

[shxfting]

the royal "we"

below the cut is breakdown the older generation of mei's family's court!

fiadh, the queen.

the oldest in a long line of siblings. she's whip smart and born to rule. she is absolutely not someone you want to upset. she's ruthless and will put the court above almost everything. the almost? her children. those four are the only soft spot she has. she adores them all with everything she has. on a day to day, she's charming, she's fun, she inspires respect and fear in equal measure.

cassius, the king.

fiadh's husband. married into the court. he sure is a guy that fiadh married. he thinks he's a key player and a big time schemer, but he's just...not. fiadh doesn't care for him at all, if we're being honest, but he's easy to influence and goes along with what she wants so she keeps him around.

nolan, the overeager.

the second sibling. always felt more entitled to the throne. why should fiadh get it just because she was oldest? she wasn't as beloved as him, she wasn't connected to the court he was. and she wouldn't listen to his ideas. but no one saw the anger bubbling below and thought fiadh was exaggerating his bad qualities becuase he was so fun and so charming. too bad it took him betraying court secrets and a murder at breakfast for her to get everyone to see what he really was.

saoirse, the darling daughter.

saoirse has never had to take anything serious. not being third child. she was never a viable heir, not with the old school way her family ran the court. so she was doted on, she was spoiled, she was allowed a childhood the way her older siblings weren't. she's known to be a bit (or a lot) flighty. she's generally on the softer side for fae and she doesn't like to get messy, but if you spark her temper, there's no getting away.

rhys, the voice of reason.

saoirse's husband. responsible to a fault and devoted to his wife and kids. he's the second son from a nearby court, though they actually chose their marriage and it wasn't arranged. he and saoirse are very different but they complement each other very well. a bit of an odd match from the outside, but they love each other and make it work. he does prefer to avoid the drama of her siblings whenever possible.

tadhg, the gentle prince.

tadhg has always been the softest in his family. he's soft spoken but friendly. aloof isn't the correct word, but he doesn't go out of his way to seek people out unless he needs to. he prefers the company of nature. if he's at the palace, you can find him in the gardens more often than not. he's partial to leaving to spend time in a smaller home at the edge of their territory and anyone else in the family is welcome to join, so long as they don't mind he's a terrible host. lorcan is usually the only one who ever actually takes up the offer. unmarried and uninvolved for the moment.

eamon, the broken hearted.

eamon was happy. genuinely, truly happy for a very long time. he'd met flora as a young fae and they'd been inseparable since they met. she loved him as much as he loved her, despite all his flaws. he's always been vain, always a little moody, but she put up with him in a way no one else could. they got married, despite his sister's complaints. they had lorcan and they were deliriously happy. and then she was murdered. and he's never been the same. he thinks he might be close to how he used to be again now. he's the most like himself around his children, though he hates that one of his daughters is so far away. and he might not be in love with lin, but she's good company.

lin, the dutiful mother.

lin may not have gotten to choose her husband, but she did get to choose what she'd make of the situation. there was no way she was going to let it get her down. sure, eamon may not be the love of her life, but they get along well enough. and she has her beautiful daughters and her son and they're more than willing to accept all the love she has to offer. she's put everything into her kids. the rest of the royal family can be a bit cold. they don't like that she can lie, which she could understand, but she thinks she's been around long enough for them to realize she's not a threat anymore. still, she spends a decent amount of time away from the court with her oldest daughter at her family home where she feels most comfortable.

rafferty, the reckless.

rafferty is so much younger than this other siblings that they probably raised him as much as their parents did, which isn't saying much. too many personalities, too many cooks in the kitchen. and now he's, well, rafferty. he's bold and confident, he goes for what he wants. but he's not used to hearing no and will throw a temper tantrum. he's also not very careful or diplomatic. after all, he's an immortal royal, who would really try and fuck with him?

#& mei family canon ; #& mei things ; #not really but that's the best tag i've got #& npc post ;

[sparksleep45]

An Important Exercise That Can You Produce The Life Would Like

funeral site

funeral pamphlets funeral booklet online funeral programs funeral program

"Because I would not want to stop for Death, He kindly stopped for me." Simple are the opening lines of a poem by American poet, Emily Dickenson. In fact, Dickenson wrote a connected with poems about death, something that caused her to be misunderstood by you most likely her peers and family members. However, Dickenson knew that death is an element of life and that avoiding the topic, a custom which long been espoused by much of polite society, couldn't make Death go. It is this avoidance and disinterest in talking about death, which keeps many people from choosing to make plans for their funeral and final internment. First, view the obituary page in regional newspaper. Most news outlets have online versions as well. See what their fee structure is; physician starts out with the price for 50 words and goes up from at this time there. That'll give you your word limit - and a chance to read what others have discussing their husband or wife. That's a good way to get ideas in what you might - and might not - want state. But in the commercial world utilize natural ones . much an accepted practice. In fact, many start up companies have become to huge corporations by copying this is a leaders. Sadly, when seeking advertising your funeral home you need to be Wary about duplication. Let's say you copy an advertisement from your direct competitor in town (the an individual that you love to win a call from). Often to develop a great ad that such as and you choosed to copy the program. DON'T DO IT! Always and how #1 golden rule of marketing, most things are equal the deciding criteria is bargain. Face amounts usually through a few thousand dollars to about $25,000. These smaller death benefit amounts keep depending affordable for many people older men. Currently with the assistance of autopsies, scientists have discovered that there are structures called plaques and tangles that maybe the culprits inducing the problems. These plaques and tangles put together in the very first autopsy that Dr. Alzheimer did in 1906, although he called them by different sites. At then we choice to let him go. At 10 pm, with Keagan in my arms, our minister sat in the room and prayed for about 10 minutes, then my partner and I were left alone along with son. The nurse stopped everything aside from pain medication and problems disconnected the respirator. At 11pm his heart stopped beating.

When a person passes away the funeral is typically held within a week or so, unless certain circumstances exist. Florists that handle the funeral or viewing are notified and for you to take orders as soon as a funeral date is made the decision.

#funeral program

[cazimagines]

...I didn't know if this would be something you would write, but it's pride and I was hoping you might write something where Laszlo learns that his fiancée or his wife is bi when she reveals she was previously involved with another woman, or she explains she's also attracted to women. If not it's okay too!! Thanks oh in advance if you do write it though!!! 🥺

Of course! I've daydreamed about this before, being bi myself, so I'll love to be able to write it up! Happy pride 🏳️‍🌈

- You knew your husband was accepting of all sorts of people, it was in his nature and his profession to meet all sorts of people, of genders and sexualities. You knew deep down Laszlo would have no problem knowing you were attracted to women just as much as you were attracted to men. Yet you found yourself unable to tell the man, though you had been courting and now married for a year.

- It wasn't as if you were deliberately meaning to hide it from him, it's just you reached a point so far into the relationship that he would have questions about why you didn't tell him sooner and you weren't sure how you would answer that. You'd dated women in the past, your last relationship being with a nice looking woman, but her beauty made up for the manipulative personality she had. You should have seen it earlier but you were at least thankful you were able to escape her when you had the chance.

- You always feared a day where you might run into her again. For while New York was a large place, fate often had it you would run into someone you never wanted to, at the most inconvenient times. Such was life and such was how your life played out.

- You and Laszlo were attending a very important party, one that put the two of you in high regard and one you had to retain professionalism in order to gain a good reputation among the higher society. All things were going well until you turned around and your eyes landed upon her. She stood talking to some people, drink in hand, but as she left the gaze of someone upon her, she turned around and looked directly at you and a smirk appeared on her face.

- Though you turned from her to seek out Laszlo, she had already reached you before you had the chance for much else and so you were forced to put on a smile as you engaged in polite conversation. You couldn't help but admire how her beauty was still prevalent, even after all this time apart and you almost felt a pull to looks downwards but you kept your eyes steady, for her smirk was what grounded you, her smirk reminded you of the manipulative person she truly was,

- As she lamented about how much she missed seeing you, and now much she regretted losing contact with you. While you attempted to zone away from her incessant talking, you were pulled back with a jump when you suddenly felt her hand upon your arm. What could be taken as a friendly gesture from others but you knew that wasn't the intention.

- It wasn't too long after that when Laszlo finally appeared beside you, two drinks in his hand to offer you one. The woman's eyes widen in surprise, exclaiming she had no idea you were married, and while Laszlo shot you a quizzical look for not apparently informing this acquaintance of yours he politely introduced himself to her. The woman started ranting to him about how good friends the two of you were, how close you had been and how much she had adored you and was ashamed the two of you had fallen out of touch.

- This left Laszlo confused as to why you had never mentioned the woman before and so he reasonably assumed there was more to the story, something you couldn't; discuss though in present company. For the rest of the evening, she wouldn't leave you alone. Whenever Laszlo tried to be beside you, spent time alone with you, she would whisk you away from him, insisting you needed to meet someone. You truly tried to escape her tight grasp upon you, but she wouldn't relent, and there was nothing you could do without causing a scene.

- She pushed it too far however when blind man's buff was a party game people were eager to start. Though usually the man was blindfolded she insisted upon herself to be blinded and that she would case 'the men' you and Laszlo wanted no part in the game and choose to stand to the side but instantly she headed directly towards you. Each time you moved out of her way, she seemed to follow you. You audibly gasped when her outreached hand grazed against your chest, though you had made it plain to her that it was you she was chasing and not one of the men.

- Laszlo was instantly by your side, reprimanding the woman and he guided you out of the room, no longer caring you two were leaving the party early. He didn't want that woman around you anymore making you uncomfortable. He guided you into the calash and sat opposite you as you avoided his gaze.

- "You and this woman. It was more than friendship" he stated and you sighed knowing your avoidance had caught up with you. Finally, you'd have to admit your attraction to women to him and you suddenly felt very nervous for what he would say next as you nodded your head. "I have no problem about that, people should be allowed to be attracted to whoever they wanted to be. I do myself have occasionally felt a pull towards a person of my own sex. I'm only disappointed in myself that you didn't trust me enough to tell me this before"

- You glanced up surprised, into Laszlo earnest eyes because of his confession, and because of his disappointment. Quickly you shook your head and moved over to sit beside him, taking his hand in yours. "You have nothing to be disappointed with. Rather I'm not sure why I never told you before, perhaps it's because of that woman, she scared me from ever talking about such things. I'd worry she would come back and wreak havoc if I ever admitted to such things. But never was it for one second because I was afraid of you and your reaction Laszlo. I know you, and I know just how kind-hearted you are"

- He chuckles bashfully, "Such kind compliments" he'd whisper as he squeezes his hand in yours, and leant forward to press a kiss upon your lips. He was happy you finally had told him your truth and he would make sure, not only to ensure that woman would never come near you again but to love you for who you were.

A/N: I hope this was okay! Feeling tiredness creep in as I started writing it.

TAGS: @wonderwoman292 @justreadingficsdontmindme @thehuiabird@shrekboobies @arianalilyblack @handmaiden-of-mischief @zemosimp420 @kadeuuijib @lieutenantn @neoarchipelago @cable-kenobi @edencherries @faustlyaccused @julyvegan @prestigious-tea @hannahbal-the-fannibal @my-blood-is-maple-syrup @competitivepomegranate @welcometothemxdhouse @flutterskies @rumblelibrary @jeremyrennerfanxxxx123 @sky-writes-stuff @rhinestxn-e @davianos-blog @everythingbeginsineternity-blog @mywinterivy @bruhidaniel @the-webkinz-killer @xxlumos @cathana2264 @ajokeformur-ray @nev3rfound @unbeatablecurlgirl @barnesxnobles @une-lueur-dans-la-nuit

#laszlo kreizler headcanons #laszlo kreizler hcs #laszlo kriezler x reader #laszlo kreizler headcanons #laszlo kreizler x reader #laszlo kreizler x you #laszlo kreizler imagine #laszlo kreizler #dr laszlo kreizler #the alienist #daniel bruehl #daniel bruhl #daniel brühl #daniel bruhel

[mrsbbridgerton]

A Hint of Gossip // Benedict Bridgerton

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Part 4 of the If You’ll Have Me Series

Word Count : 1614

A/N: I’ve collated A Gentleman’s Eye, A Second Chance and An Artist’s Touch into a series called If You’ll Have Me (link above) this is part 4 to that and I’ll post a final part soon :)

You’d never really liked Society. You’d always blamed it for your marriage to your husband, the late Duke of Pembrokeshire, but after your year of mourning and six months of sculking in the shadows of London Society you thought it best you re-emerge now lest gossip start. That, and Benedict had badgered you mercilessly about how boring evenings were without you there. So, you donned one of your favourite gowns, a simple deep plum silk with a fine cream lace, fixed your diadem and steeled yourself for, no doubt, the whole of the Ton’s glare.

You arrived at the Viscount and Viscountess Frankland’s ball purposefully as the first dance had already commenced as to not garner too much attention. Unfortunately, as you entered the ballroom you could hear the audible gasps of gossiping mama’s; whipping their heads around as you turned to look at them. Taking a turn around the room you diligently avoided the gazes of everyone you walked past, stopping at the food table to grab a glass of lemonade and inspect the canapes.

“Y/N! Darling!” you heard a smug, haughty voice bellow towards you. You turned abruptly to see Lady De Vere barging several poor ladies out of the way to reach you. “Lady Cynthia, how nice to see you again.” You gritted out, trying your best to mellow your displeasure. “Oh you poor thing, it was simply dreadful to hear that dear Percival had died.” She seemed to announce to the entire room making you rather suspect that if Baron’s wife had not been her destiny a life on stage might have been a calling. You smiled and hummed in general agreement as she continued to gesticulate wildly, blithering on about god knows what. A crowd parted behind her and you looked over her shoulder to see a formation of Bridgerton’s gliding towards you; lead by Benedict with Violet coming up on his flank, looking ready to take the boisterous Baroness out.

“Your Grace.” Benedict crooned, bowing to kiss your hand with a smirk. The Baroness was quickly shuffled out of the way with a glare from Violet. The Bridgerton siblings greeted you as one, sharing matching smiles as they glanced sideways to see Benedict still smiling at you. “Delighted to make your acquaintance Your Grace, Benedict has spoken very highly of you.” Violet smiled “I understand you met at an art exhibition: Benedict has always loved to draw, I understand you commissioned him for a portrait not too long ago?” she continued, wrapping her arm in his so he could not escape.

“Mother.” Benedict scolded. Their interaction made you smile and you rather suspected that the Dowager Viscountess was playing matchmaker for her son. Little did she know that she needn’t bother: Ever since those wonderful two weeks Benedict had spent at Pembroke House you were sure that you would not let yourself be courted by any other, should anyone decide to. The conversation continued around you and whilst you were glad of the company your eye couldn’t help but drift to Benedict. His eyes were already on yours and he held your gaze coyly as you shared fleeting glances over your party. “Mother” Benedict interrupted suddenly “I wonder if I might steal Her Grace for a dance. If you wouldn’t mind Your Grace.” He bowed again, holding out his hand before leading you to the floor and taking you in his arms as the music started.

“You look lovely this evening.” He growled out lowly, just into the shell of your ear as he spun you through the crowd. The shiver that ran up your spine when his hot breath hit your ear made you arch yourself into him. His warmth surrounded you, feeling it though the arm of his jacket and gloved hand cradling your lower back.

“So do you.” you smiled at him, looking up at him to see his trademark smirk on his face. You danced smoothly together around the ballroom, discussing the accepted subjects for a ball; the weather… yesterday’s weather, before you started to notice eyes on you. “Lady Cowper is staring at us.”

“Let her.” His deep voice becoming more serious as he turned you so you weren’t facing her.

“and Mrs Featherington… they’re all talking about me aren’t they?” your grip on his arm tightened as you became more aware of yourself again. It was well known that your marriage was not a loving one. You were the second daughter of a minor viscount with little dowry and a scandalous mother, and your husband was almost three times your senior with no other family: it fed the ton for months. Now you were back and it looked like some of the mama’s still remembered you.

“They do not matter. Whatever they say they cannot touch you now.” His soothing tone settled within you, calming your mind a little as you saw their glances and whispers from behind their fans.

“They can still talk.” After that you settled into a comfortable silence for a while. You let yourself get lost in the music, and in Benedict’s arms.

“Thank you for coming this evening.” Benedict said suddenly. You looked up at him to see his kind eyes already staring down at you, smiling before straightening back up again. “I would not have put you through this but marrying you would be most difficult if you were still in mourning.” He finished.

“Ha. I think mourning is a bit of a strong word for … Marrying me?” you said shocked, your head turned like a whip to see him smirking into the distance.

“If you’ll have me?” He whispered, spinning you in time with the music. The world seemed to blur around you as you just looked at Benedict. If you weren’t in the middle of a ballroom floor you were sure you’d jump into his arms that instant. Your whole heart felt so full at his smile: It had been so long since your heart had felt anything you were almost certain that it wasn’t beating anymore – but Benedict had brought you back to life in more ways than one.

As the music came to an end, Benedict had his answer and bid your leave with a kiss to your hand as he departed to inform Anthony of your news. You took this time to seek out a glass of lemonade at the buffet table. You were just inspecting the selection of hors d’ouvres when you saw Lady Cowper approaching from your side vision, Cow being the operative word.

“Lady Portland!” her shrill tone turned your blood ice cold and you plastered on a false smile once more before turning to face her. “or is it still Your Grace? I do apologise but your situation is an odd one” she laughed. Her insults were always obvious but just underlined enough for her to feign ignorance. Your brain whirred, trying to come up with some smart reply to send her one her way when you noted Lady Danbury approaching.

“Your Grace.” She curtsied minimally, holding her cane. You nodded a smile in her direction as she turned her sharp eyes to Lady Cowper.

“Lady Danbury.” She said rather shocked, knowing she’d been busted. “How lovely to see you, and what an exquisite evening it is.” Trying to change the subject.

“Thank you, Lady Cowper, and may I suggest always showing deference to the superior rather than presuming an equal, in polite society. It is always wise to remember one’s place.” Lady Danbury never missed a beat with her remarks and you struggled to stifle a giggle under the glare of Lady Cowper.

“Of course, Lady Danbury, I was merely asking. If you’ll excuse me.” She curtsied politely before drifting off to fuss over her daughter. Lady Danbury turned back to face you.

“How are you my dear. I see the second Mr Bridgerton is easing your passage back into society.” She smirked, looking over to see Anthony and Colin clapping their brother on the back.

“I am very well Lady Danbury; Mr Bridgerton is a fine dancer.” Your voice petered off as you followed her gaze, a broad smile coming to your face as you watched him smile.

“He painted your portrait did he not?” Danbury continued “Two whole weeks at Pembroke House?” her tone caught your attention and you turned to look back at her, stumbling over a response.

“Oh, um … yes.” You blushed. Just as you were trying to make her words sound less sordid Benedict returned to your side, greeting her with a bow as he placed a subtle hand on your lower back to calm you; thumb rubbing gently.

“Ah. Mr Bridgerton, I was just saying to her grace how chivalrous it is that you’ve taken it upon yourself to see her back into society.�� Lady Danbury smiled, her knowing look clueing Benedict in to her inference. His brow raised as he nodded between the two of you and you heard his breath hitch subtly at her words. If Lady Danbury were to guess anything, she could quite easily cause a lot of trouble. A fact which, you were sure, she knew. She took in the silence from the both of you, enjoying the mixture of shock and discomfort on your faces as she eyed you like she was picking her next meal. After a moment or two of enjoying your distress she took a step closer, making sure only you and Benedict could hear her. “Just make sure, that when you send the invites, I am on your list.” And with those quiet words, she bid you good evening and turned to leave you both, sweating but relieved.

#Benedict Bridgerton #Bridgerton x Reader #Bridgerton Imagine #Bridgerton #Benedict Bridgerton Imagine #Benedict Bridgerton x Reader #My Writing #Lady Danbury

[stiltonbasket]

stilton pls humour me, all these LQR was a babe posts have me intrigued, in tmaaf what was the ranking of the young masters in the parents generation? (did QHJ get overshadowed by his little bro?) (was JFM the One to Watch?) (What about the Wen?)

Lan Haijing (Qingheng-jun) and Lan Qiren were on the younger side of the parents’ generation, so they entered the list a little later, but the ranking went mostly as follows:

1. Wen Ruohan

Due to his wealth and power, he was a highly desirable bachelor until he committed patricide, after which potential wives tended to avoid him. Wen Ruohan was said to have an exemplary face and body and a very cheerful manner, though a number of young ladies insisted that his shoulders made his head look small. He was also the “dangerous” kind of charming, which many judges liked to swoon at. 

His cousin Wen Ruyong (Wen Qing and Wen Ning’s father) would likely have placed close to him, but he bribed the girls running the official ranking to leave him off the list because he was already secretly engaged to his future wife and didn’t want to deal with marriage inquiries.

2. Jiang Fengmian

Though Jiang Fengmian was often lauded as a “wistful beauty,” he lost the top spot to Wen Ruohan due to the Jiang sect’s lifestyle not being as luxurious as the Jin and Wen clans’ (the Nie and Lan clans were more austere in general, but Lotus Pier only employed the bare minimum of servants needed to keep the place running smoothly). However, his calm and gentle personality and hardworking nature resulted in several serious matchmaking inquiries despite the perceived “status comedown” of being his wife, none of which he accepted due to being yi shen. He hoped to marry for love or not at all, and was devastated when he was pressured into marrying Yu Ziyuan. 

3. Nie Huangyin (NMJ and NHS’s father)

Nie Huangyin had a brash and straightforward personality, but was especially admired for his consideration towards women (Jiang Fengmian, coming from a more gender-neutral culture, often offended foreign girls by treating them as if they were fellow young masters). Qinghe Nie also had strict marriage laws governing acceptable behavior within a marriage, and women were drawn to Qinghe to find husbands because they would easily able to seek legal recourse in case of mistreatment: however, Nie Huangyin married a shijie from his own sect, and was removed from the list before Lan Haijing and Lan Qiren joined it. In terms of appearance, he resembled Nie Mingjue, but lost points on the looks front because thick mustaches and beards were considered unfashionable at the time.

4. Jin Guangshan

Jin Guangshan was considered to be very good-looking and charming, since he liked to frequent women’s company and knew what to say to please them. The wealth of his sect (mostly in gold, instead of iron and copper mines like Qinghe or natural resources in Yunmeng’s case) made him a hot commodity in the marriage market, since since most of the women in his age group imagined that being his wife would be highly romantic even several years after they had been married. However, his father decided that the most advantageous bride would be the future Madam Jin, and ordered Jin Guangshan to make her fall in love with him. He did so, and she was heartbroken when she discovered his first (overt) affair while she was pregnant with Jin Zixuan. 

Wen Ruohan and Nie Huangyin were both off the list by the time the two Lan brothers were put on it, but they were placed as follows:

2. Lan Haijing (at the time, second to Jiang Fengmian)

Qingheng-jun’s personality greatly resembled Lan Wangji’s after meeting and falling in love with Wei Wuxian; he often “went wherever the chaos was” instead of seeking out advantageous night-hunts, and assisted in several daring rescues of young non-cultivating women, making him a favorite among the people of Gusu and the surrounding regions. Though he had a cold resting expression, his beauty was said to surpass that of the moon when he smiled, which was often. He was also known to dote on his younger brother, and the judges noted down that he would surely be a good father one day; his hasty marriage and imprisonment broke several hearts, and many girls wrote anxious letters to the Lan sect before having the notes sent back to them by the Lan elders in charge of handling Lan Haijing’s correspondence.

4. Lan Qiren (after Jin Guangshan, but ahead of Yu Hengshan and Nie Huangyin’s younger male family members)

You said it: total babe. Lan Qiren was known as a once-in-a-lifetime beauty and ended up being slapped onto the list before he was old enough to start considering proposals, and he was terrified. He only maintained the ranking for a month, as this is how long it took him to grow out a sizeable mustache and goatee with the help of several hair-growing tonics.

#wangxian #the untamed #mo dao zu shi #mdzs meta #tmaaf meta #reference #wen ruohan #jiang fengmian #lan qiren #asks

[stygianflood]

Like the Shoreline and the Sea (Ethan x F!MC)

Summary- Ethan is asked out on a date right after Miami in Book 1. Ethan’s PoV

Genre, rating, words- Angst, teen, 2k

Open Heart fanfic tropes- birthday, office.

March Challenge Day 13 prompt Someday; April Challenge Day 9 prompt Smell of the Rain 

A/N: nor’westers-  violent thunderstorms in northern plains of India, before the onslaught of monsoon.

Title inspired by Leonard Cohen’s Hey, That’s No Way to Say Goodbye.

‘This will improve our understanding of adiposity and sarcopenia in this population, help identify thresholds predictive of metabolic risk, and ultimately prevent or ameliorate… ’

Better prevent than ameliorate.

‘...ameliorate the long-term impacts on health and…’ 

Twenty five years should be long enough.

Hers is a singsong voice, the warm, trilling kind. Mellow sun dances on the frills of her dress. The yellow one. 

The man at her side twirls her on the empty kerb. Dips and kisses her. Her laughter is all that is pure and golden.

A child follows them, embarrassed. She bends down to kiss him, and he is furious. 

The scene shifts.

The child is on the front porch, eyes set somewhere beyond the wild bergamot bushes. 

Tear tracks on pink cheeks mingle and dry with dust from his afternoon’s exploits. Something like a steely resolve troops in his eyes.

Ethan Ramsey has been staring at the same sentence for fifteen minutes now.

Whoever coined the term ‘nostalgia’ from the Homeric nostos and algos was speaking of anguish caused by an inability to return. But they failed to discern the inevitable tethering of reminiscence with habituality.

That is more or less the case with him. Louise Ramsey walked out on her husband, and eleven year old son some twenty five years ago right before his birthday. For a very long time now, home is not about apple crisps or kitchen gardens. 

About this time every year, a crevice in his mind he likes to call the amygdala dwells on the same days. 

Almost as a ritual. 

He is a scientist. A rationalist. And like every year, he reminds himself there is work to do.

Unless there’s a knock at the most unpleasant hour.

He never returns to the article. Never manages a come in. The distraction walks in, messy hair knotted with a pencil. Probably because she has lost another hair tie. 

He mustn’t be that aware. 

But she talks too much. 

‘Dr. Mukherjee.’ He sounds gruff. They’re supposed to be redrawing their boundaries, even if he is the only one making an effort. ‘I thought your shift ended-’

‘Two hours ago.’ Rigours of a sixteen hour shift mark her visage. Her smile is a little too conniving for his comfort. ‘I had work afterwards.’ 

She starts shuffling papers on his desk, permission be damned. He pinches the bridge of his nose, and manages an exasperated sigh. Since when have interns started walking into his office with… birthday cakes?

‘What do you think you’re- It’s not my-’

‘I heard rumours that Dr. Ramsey had to cancel a date.’ She sounds amused. He does not miss the split second glance she shoots his way before continuing. ‘On his birthday, too. Such a shame.’

He scoffs.

‘No one knows it’s my birthday.’

‘Oh, they do. They’re just too afraid to… ah, invoke the wrath of Dr. Ramsey.’

Of course, she is not one of them. She has absolutely no regard for the immutable drill he has observed for nearly four decades. And why must she, when her sole intent is to swivel the rusty axis of his life.

Ethan has never known the first shower of an Indian monsoon. It is sudden and torrential, just as it is feared and revered. It smells like summer, and mango blossoms. 

Ethan has never known one until this year.

‘I’m thirty seven, Rookie,’ He manages weakly. 

‘And I would’ve bought the candles accordingly if I knew that.’ 

The tealights she arranges look so much better, he thinks. The cake is a simple blue and white affair. Not the ones that have more icing than cake, he notes. Not the ones he disapproves of.

Happy Birthday, Dr. Terminator

‘I could’ve whipped something up without sugar,’ She rambles, suddenly starting to blush. ‘Or ordered one. But I only just came to know it’s your birthday. And there wasn’t a lot of-

‘Thank you, Apu.’ Tresses of warmth curl about his chest and the gravel of his voice.

Ethan has avoided birthday cakes for a decade now. Unless it’s Naveen’s birthday, he thinks with a pang.

In his time with Harper or his brief involvements in med-school, no one has ever convinced him to do birthdays. He checks himself. This is just an intern being kind.

But interns aren't kind to Dr. Ramsey, are they. 

She assures him the photos are not for social media. They settle on the couch, it’s his first birthday cake in over a decade. 

He is glad for an innocuous reason to look at her, laugh at jokes that in any other company would draw his scorn. She is oddly comforting. Unlike most interns who avoid his office at all costs, she moves about it as if she was meant to be here all along. 

He must have stalled birthdays worth twenty years only to spend it on a couch with her. 

The plates are disposable. It is nothing like the restaurants that come with his status, for there is an endearing simplicity about it. 

It almost feels like… home.

He steals occasional glances at her. It has been four agonisingly long days after their return from Miami. And for all his attempts to redraw their boundaries, it has been a non-return of sorts. 

Aparna drives him to distraction, flouts each and every one of his rules. Seeks him out in supply closets and muddled dreams. And every time he breaks her heart a little more, he finds himself floundering in his own squalor.

The German counterpart to the English ‘nostalgia’ is ‘sehnsucht’. Like ‘nostalgia’, it has the charm of what has been. But unlike it, it also has the enigma of what has never been. Miami will remain the swansong to an ideal that slipped through Ethan’s fingers. 

A surge of anguish ripples through him as he realises all of this is his for the asking, and he will have none of it. 

‘It wasn’t a date,’ He blurts out.

He wouldn’t tell her that if he wants her to move on. Not truly.

‘You don’t have to-’

‘She is Declan’s associate in Panacea. She suggested signing the contract with the Diagnostics Team over dinner tonight. So…  just business.’

Claudette Wilson is the most promising young face of Panacea, and Ethan needed less than a minute to know why. 

Sleek, dark hair styled at her nape played up her high cheekbones. The ruby of her pliant lips, almost risqué for a meeting such as this, always lingered a little longer on the rim of her coffee mug. Even the measured spoons of her laughter came with an all too enticing lilt.

Ethan has met the other type. Vacuous and synthetic. But the steely glint in her eyes came with a weighty intelligence. An unfaltering wit. And when a perfectly manicured hand brushed the contours of his cuff, he knew it was never meant to be just business. 

She was irresistible. And so was he.

That afternoon, the bitterness in his mouth had nothing to do with coffee. He learnt he would refuse Claudette even if her pay checks did not come from Panacea.

Aparna falls silent, almost as if discerning in his words everything he left unsaid.

They have run out of jokes and topics for a harmless chat. He is getting terribly comfortable with her again, he realises alarmed. And she is fidgeting with the ring on her finger.

She’s nervous too. He knows. He could define every twitch and turn of those fingers. 

Somewhere in their conversation they have edged so close that her knee juts into his thigh. The couch is surprisingly small for two people. Minutes pass, and despite himself, he does not want her to leave. 

His fingers rest on her flustered hands, it’s a deep-rooted reflex. Looking down, she weaves his hand in both of her own. Even as the adrenaline surging in his blood incites him to flee, the delirious part of him emerges stronger and more naive.

He thinks she is leaning in. Soaking up the mayhem in his eyes. The slight movement causes wisps of errant hair to slip from the messy bun. There’s new growth around her brows, a faded scar on her forehead. But it’s her eyes that still hold sway over him. 

They stroked him with a strange, silent awe on a balcony on the shores of the Atlantic.

She is nothing like interns that hover around him year after year. Sucking up for recommendations. Sometimes more. She can devour him, and just as easily cast him aside without batting an eye. 

And yet she is here. Snuggled in his office while her friends call it a night with cheap beer and rowdy escapades. 

But she is different tonight. The quiver in her eyes tentative, even wary.

His hand rises of its own accord, tucking strands of hair behind her ear. Inadvertently, it brushes her face, lingers a little longer against her cheek.

She caressed his face as the ocean crashed around him. It was like falling from the top of a precipice. Tumbling into the amorphous, a terrifying weightlessness. He waited.

‘It’s getting late.’

She smells like the hospital, muted shades of honeysuckle, and like herself. 

The cool breeze hummed a steady rhyme against the tumble of her midnight blue dress. Bits of the moon bounced off the dark curtain of her hair, plunging into her eyes. Ethan had never seen such fathomless eyes.

‘I should go.’ She leans into his palm, eyes fluttering close. 

‘You should.’ 

And then she caught him. It was the hollow of her neck. It was soft. Like the rest of her. 

Neither of them move today, silently imploring the other to charge. Or retreat. The battle drum in his chest is a dull ache. Throbbing and inconsolable.

The ridges of her collarbone bore traces of his ruin. Traces she covered every morning and stripped every night, like the rites of a godless liturgy.

His free hand is still laced in hers, the other drawing her face nearer. 

Her lips are inches from his own as he draws a languid finger across them. Her warm breath spills on his lips, warring and mingling with his own ragged ones. 

Her mouth was stained with wine. Numbing and inciting. He was battered, and bruised. Marooned at her side. And she was warm. So warm.

His hand traced the pummelling of her heart, kneading the softness of her chest. Her tongue jousted with his own as the ocean lapped at its shore. Tireless and persevering.

She was wild. Like her Gangetic nor’westers on a sultry afternoon. He was bewitched. She was doing something good to him.

Suddenly the air around them is ripped by the sound of his phone. 

It’s his father.

The two of them recoil to their own spaces, Ethan horrified that he let himself stray so far yet again. Silencing the still erring device, he faces Aparna bracing for another apology.

‘I know.’ 

Her smile is placid, all traces of vulnerability gone. He is vaguely aware of the gentle pressure on the hand still clasped in her own.

‘Happy Birthday, Ethan. I’ll see you tomorrow.’ 

She is gone before he can marshal his thoughts.

Ethan flops back into the couch, shivering and alone. The incandescent glow from the solitary lamp drenches the office in a soft, ethereal haze. She might not have been here at all but for the little things she scatters around him every time she forays into his life.

Today she leaves with him a caesura. It thwarts the cadence of a life he has been putting together since Miami.

After a minute, or perhaps a staggering nightmare, when he rises to pack the rest of the cake, he sees it. 

She must have forgotten her hair tie was in her pocket after all. 

It stares up at him from the floor, the silken, mute witness of his transgression. He gingerly picks it up, and turns it in his hand as though it houses some ancient sorcery. 

Laying it on his desk, he considers texting her. But scarcely does he scroll down to her name when he stops himself. And pockets it. 

Somewhere in the Atlantic, waves still crash upon the rocks, moistening, but never quite lingering. 

The waves are relentless. Someday, the rocks crumble into fine sand.

Thank you for reading this! Let me know if you’d want to be added or removed.

#open heart #ethan ramsey x mc #choices monthly challenge #fics of the week #choices fic writers creations #openheartfanfics #choicesaprilchallenge2021 #cac2021

[cafeinthemoon]

The Home I Crave - Chapter 4

Title: The Home I Crave

Genre: Fanfiction

Pairing: Tobirama Senju x reader

Rating: teen and up

Word count: 2938

Chapter: 4/?

Symbols: ⭕ | ➕ | 💛 | ▶️▶️

Read the previous chapter here: Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3

Though your future husband had his own residence separated from the Hokage’s, you weren’t sent there after being informed that you would stay in the village for the next days. Instead, you would be a guest in Hashirama’s house, and Mito would provide you the orientation you’d need in your new role.

The Uzumaki princess, with her vivid presence and smartness, helped you to find ways to fill your days with meaningful activities, so you wouldn’t see time passing until the wedding and wouldn’t have many chances to feel like a burden staying in the house of strange people counting on their assistance. You couldn’t entirely avoid this sensation, which led you to decline from small favors and treats that were offered to you from time to time; on the other hand, you found some relief once you realized that the manners showed by the Hokage’s wife during the reception were not mere formality: Mito’s interest in your well being was genuine, and she was not going to give up on making you as comfortable as possible under the current circumstances.

It was better this way, you thought. So you just let her be the friend she was willing to be.

In fact, Mito Uzumaki was an excellent friend: she would always answer your questions and doubts with honesty and objectivity and never hide when she didn’t have the information you needed; the things she asked about you were never embarrassing or invasive, and you always saw yourself willing to talk when she made you questions. You spoke to her about your life with your sisters, your training at your clan’s compound, your use of Doton and how it is a characteristic of your family since the oldest generations; Mito explained that her clan was specialized in sealing techniques the same way your were proficient in Earth Style, and when you asked her about them, she described the history and the creation of the most important among them.

During your time together, most of your conversations consisted in you two exchanging your experiences as shinobi, your families and your relationships with your friends. You discovered opinions and preferences in common despite the obvious differences in your personalities: while you had a tendency to live in your head if you were left alone and not speak your mind unless you were invited too, Mito was straightforward when it came to expressing her thoughts, though she was never rude while doing it; many times she took the initiative to start the conversations, and the mission of taking out your thoughts would almost always fall on her shoulders, no matter how many times she assured you that you were free to speak whenever you needed to.

One day, when this situation happened, she looked into your eyes and gave you an advise for which you would thank her later, when you’d be a married woman facing the challenges typical of your new condition:

- I am always encouraging you to not keep everything to yourself when you have the chance to talk, but maybe I’ve failed in explaining why I insist so much in this, y/n-san.

You blinked in surprise and curiosity.

- In this case, let me ask you your reasons for doing this, Mito-san.

- This can be good for you in any circumstance of your life, of course, but the main reason is that this is the most efficient way to communicate with Tobirama.

You clenched your hands to avoid the trembling that was about to reach them after you heard his name. It’s been a while since it was mentioned between you: you’d usually hear it when Hashirama came home and mentioned something concerning his work or a message sent by his brother. However, you always felt it differently whenever it was said by Mito.

You asked little about him since that conversation you had when you first met the Uzumaki woman. You didn’t like to think you were avoiding the topic, though your attitude would say that this was exactly what you were doing; the case was that you didn’t have so much to ask about him after everything she told you that day, and knowing that he was the brain behind the measures of the new alliance between your clans already said too much about the person he was: any other minor information you’d get would sound superfluous compared to that. Mito noticed your reluctance in this, and despite never asking about your reasons for it, she chose to respect it.

To speak the truth, you would only talk about Tobirama when you got in touch with something – a place, a circumstance, an idea – that, according to Mito, reminded of him in some way. There was a time when you were taking a walk at the shores of a river around the village and she commented that you were walking at one of his favorite places to fish and spend time alone after stressful days.

- If he suddenly disappears, it is almost certain that you will find him here – she smiled – But that doesn’t mean it’s a good idea to come here unannounced when he’s trying to get some rest. He’s too attached to his privacy.

You looked around and couldn’t judge him for this feeling: that was a beautiful, calm place; you wouldn’t appreciate being interrupted if you were there seeking for relief from the burdens of the day.

Episodes like this happened with some frequency, and you took the opportunities to enrich the image you were creating of him. Everything you discovered was interesting in their own way, though you weren’t still able to decide if your final opinion was good or not. Maybe it was something between the two – shinobi were always in the gray zone of the human moral compass. And when you remembered that you, as a kunoichi, were included in this account, you refrained yourself from pointing your finger at him.

However, there was a parameter that remained unconsidered to you among all the others, perhaps because of your lack of attention or the great amount of urgent preoccupations you already had, and about which you’d only come to think when you were directly led to it – Tobirama’s physical appearance.

After your experience with Hokage, you were aware that sometimes informations could be deceiving depending on their source and the person who received them. With all you’ve heard about him and considering what you thought of the arrangements led by him, it was possible that your betrothed’s looks were just like his personality: not the most pleasing one, and even scary at some point. But when you added the fact that he had a brother like Hashirama, well, maybe he was nothing like this. At some moment, you started to imagine that he could resemble his brother in some traits, or he was just like the men you saw working in the office during the meeting: all of them had a certain level of resemblance, something that made it possible for a stranger to identify them as members of the same clan, even if they were not blood relatives.

Whatever the truth, all you had was a just a vague idea, a second hand thought that you weren’t willing to turn into a concrete concept or to confirm with Mito: it was more interesting just to hear her talk about his actions and attitudes.

You would only change your mind when, thanks to an unexpected incident, you ended up finding a portrait of him.

You were still getting used to the structure of the Hokage’s house: though your own residence at your clan’s compound was large, formed by many rooms, the corridors were few, not enough to form the same intricate labyrinth of the building you were now. Still, you wouldn’t avoid walking through them without company in order to train your sense of direction, and thanks to the orientations you received from Mito regarding the rooms you had permission to enter, you weren’t afraid of invading the wrong place. But you would still  get confused if you entered the wrong corridor.

This is what happened that time, so that instead of reaching the living room you got into a narrow hall with a collection of photographs on the walls of both sides.

You recognized some of the landscapes in them from the path you and your group took when you arrived at Konoha’s territory: hills, rivers and the forest’s entry; some of the residences and farms were there too.

You also identified some of the people: there was a rectangular portrait of Hashirama Senju in what you understood to be his official clothing as the village’s governor; Mito Uzumaki appeared in another picture right beside it, surrounded by a group of men and women with their hair as red as hers and dressed in the same style, leading you to the conclusion that they were part of her family or were close friends; there were also pictures with some of the people you saw in the office beside those two.

The majority of the photos were of people you didn’t know but were certainly close to the ones you knew. There was a photograph of a middle aged man wearing a reddish armor; wrapped on his forehead there was a white stripe with the crest of the Senju. The man had his skin as tanned as Hashirama’s, and his hair was straight and dark just like his, though it wasn’t that long. Looking closer, you noticed the two shared similar face traits despite the lack of gentleness and freshness of the older man if compared to the younger one. There was no identification in the picture, but you thought that this man could be Hashirama’s father. If this was the case, they must haven’t had nothing in common besides the appearance.

Near this photograph, there were other, larger, with a group of children surrounding a woman, all of them wearing the Senju traditional clothing. One of the children, a boy with a bowl haircut, shared some resemblance with the man of the previous image: you looked at him for a moment and recognized Hashirama. The other children, all boys, and the woman were too different from him and between themselves, but there was something in them that told you they were relatives, so that if that was the Hokage’s mother, those boys should be his brothers. With this, your natural reaction was to wonder which of them could be Tobirama.

The first kid, close to Hashirama, had a scar on his cheek and brown hair; he was the one with the widest smile. The second, sitting right after him with a sweet look and some shyness in his manners, had white skin and a hair parted in two contrasting shades: white on the right side and dark brown on the left. The third boy, standing up beside the woman and separated from the others, was the one who most resembled her; he was staring at the camera with a serious, firm look. He had the same light skin tone of the second child, and his shaggy hair was of a shade similar to the lighter side of that boy’s hair as well; but the thing that caught your attention in this one was that pair of red eyes, just like the woman’s, with which he looked into the lens, to the photographer or to something beyond them. It wasn’t the look one would expect from a child.

Considering what Mito told you during the tea and what you thought of the arrangements, you were thinking that this kid had the highest probability of being…

- Oh.

Your voice escaped when you took a step ahead to observe the next photograph and found in it a figure entirely different from the ones you’ve saw until that moment.

The portrait was the same size as the one of the Hokage and it showed a young man in a blue armor, with his arms crossed, looking at the lens with the same perspicacity you sensed in the boy’s look. His armor was different from the one of the middle aged Senju who you supposed to be his father: around his shoulders there was a huge, white fur attached to his forearm protectors, all of them together creating the impression that his torso was larger than it really was; under the armor, he was wearing a black shirt that covered his neck and arms until his fists; he wasn’t wearing gloves. On his face, he had a gray happuri with the Leaf crest carved on its forehead.

The man had white, voluminous hair that would rebel against the steadiness of his general aspect, as a minor inconvenience that remained out of his control and to which he was already used; looking closer, you realized it wasn’t of a pure white, but of a slight shade of gray. His skin, only visible through his uncovered hands and face, was light, even pale if you compared him to other people who spent as much time under the sunlight as him certainly did as a warrior; was it a peculiarity of him or just the environment where the photo was taken? You had no way to tell. On his face, too, the light tone served as a white canvas for what you thought to be facial painting or tattoos: three red marks spreading over his chin and under his eyes as slits opened by a kunai; around his eyes, black, thin lines that would contour their natural form, already sharp, giving them the sensitivity of a hunter’s eyes.

Those eyes, you realized with astonishment, were as red as the eyes of the boy from the other photograph.

You went back to the children’s picture to observe his face with more attention, and didn’t need much time to notice the similarities between them. The mannerisms, the traits, the seriousness – they were the same person.

It was when you started to look for portraits of the other children and was unable to find anything except the one of Hashirama in the Hokage’s clothing. You already knew that the Senju head had lost his siblings to war, but just a few days ago you found out there was only one brother left for him. You looked at the blue armored man again…

- Finally I found you.

You startled, almost letting a scream out. When you turned, you found Mito smiling at you.

- If I was an enemy, you would be in trouble.

A glimmer in her eyes insinuated that she has been observing you for a while, waiting for you to notice her presence. You never cursed your lack of sensory abilities as much as in that moment.

- I… I am sorry for this – you apologized, looking at the photographs – I took the wrong corridor and ended up here. I wasn’t expecting to find these pictures, so…

You glanced behind, as if sensing the man’s image right over your shoulder. This didn’t escape Mito’s attention: she walked closer to its spot on the wall, looking in the eyes of the warrior. This gesture eliminated any remaining doubts about the identity of the man.

- You already guessed, didn’t you? – with her unaltered voice, she questioned you without taking her eyes off the picture.

You turned to the portrait too, facing his gaze again.

- This photograph was taken four or five years ago, but he remains the same – Mito continued – Not even a line of expression appeared on his forehead or in the corner of his eyes since then – and with a smile – The same goes to Hashi. Just another talent of the Senju.

You observed the portrait in silence, not interrupted by the princess: having familiarity with arranged marriages as much as you, she was aware of the time one needed to become accustomed with the looks of their betrothed under these circumstances.

You only spoke when you felt prepared to, and when you did, it was to point out that he looked even younger than you expected after all the things you discovered about him.

Mito laughed.

- I don’t blame you. If I didn’t know him or his brother and saw them together for the first time, I would certainly think that Hashirama is the younger one.

You laughed too; when your smile faded, you turned back to your contemplative expression. Now, the white collar and the aspect of his eyes just gave you an idea.

- I hope you don’t find it strange what I’m going to say, Mito-san, but he reminds me of a wolf.

Mito crossed her arms, looking at the picture; now that you were becoming used to her manners, you no longer found it weird to see her doing gestures like that while dressing in noble clothing.

- Nobody never said that about him before, at least not to me – she commented – But it makes sense, now that I’m looking at him.

You stood in silence for some time. You spent it training your eyes to get used to Tobirama’s sight, to the weight of his gaze, for you sensed that once you were together, you wouldn’t have such time. The funny thing was that, while you stood there, you didn’t notice how much time passed, only waking up when you heard Mito’s giggle beside you.

You turned, only to find her still contemplating her brother-in-law’s image.

- In his own way, he’s a beautiful man, isn’t he?

You sensed heat coming up your cheeks, mas didn’t refuse to reply.

- Yes. I dare say yes.

#tobirama #tobirama x reader #tobirama senju #tobirama fanfic #naruto fanfiction

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Aredhel and Eöl

[I’m not sure if this is the take I want to stick with on Aredhel and Eöl, but it’s an idea that popped into my head and I wanted to explore it. There are a lot of fraught topics in here, so if I have messed things up, I apologize. There are triggers for abusive/controlling relationships.]

When Aredhel arrives in Aglon, she expects that her friends will soon return to join her. As the months pass, her enjoyment of the grand forests of this new land fades into impatience, then annoyance, then anger. At times she thinks of riding further east, so seek out both her cousins and this strange people of the Naugrim she has never seen, but at first she tells herself the wait will be only a little longer, pride forbids trailing after those who once abandoned her and now purposely snub her - for after so long, and with no question that they must have heard of her presence, their absence can only be deliberate. She had wanted to boast to Celegorm of her battles against the giant spiders and other terrors of the dark valley, but the stories of her adventures have grown old with waiting.

She rides further and further afield into the expanse of Middle-earth, and one day reaching the Celon on the borders of Himlad, she impulsively fords it and dives into the wood, its trees greater than any she has yet seen, blocking out the sun. She thinks to cut directly through the forest, and so come to Estolad and see the Secondborn of whom rumours have drifted north. She did not leave Gondolin to seek her cousins only, but adventure, and newness, and all things strange to her, the wonders of this wide land.

In the pathless forest she loses her way, who has never been lost in woods since she was a young girl (and then only for the joy of it), even in the great forests of Oromë in Valinor. For a time this is exciting, but as nothing reveals itself to her eyes but the same trees endlessly repeated it griws tedipus and wearisome. The sight at last of a hall and hearthfire is a joy to her, and the stranger who welcomes her intriguing. His accounts of the Naugrim and their deeply-dolven halls in the mountains, the treasures he shows her of both their making and his own - better even that Curufin’s, she thinks disloyally - and the descriptions of their making (for, though not a craftswoman herself, she is Noldor still and delights knowing how the work is done), keep her as a delighted guest for weeks, and his tales of the fearless dark before Sun and Moon during the years of Morgoth’s chaining enthrall her for weeks more. He is as good company as she has ever had, and yet new and different and fascinating like none others she has met. He tells her the story of Thingol and Melian, meeting in this very wood, ringed about by delightful allusions, compliments, and significant looks, and a new excitement stirs that she has never felt before. She wanted Middle-earth - and here is Middle-earth, in all its wonder and history and strangeness, desirous and enraptured of her.

When he asks for her hand, she accepts with the same impetuousity that has governed all the rest of her life.

At first, she is happy in his company, wandering together under the stars or hunting alone. Eöl prefers craftwork to hunting, but she rejoices in it and is far more skilled in Oromë’s arts than the servants, chasing boar and venison. She learns the ways of the wood and it ceases to appear directionless and unform to her. One days she says she feels she has become acquainted with the trees, and Eöl laughs and takes her into a new part of the wood, where she is astonished to see the strangest being imaginable, a tree with the limbs of a man and with hands taller than Aredhel’s whole body, whom he greets in a language beyond her comprehension. Learning the being’s language is a fascinating work of years, and his history yet more delightful; he has lived in Beleriand since the days the first elves awakened.

She is bitterly disappointed that Eöl will not take her to visit the dwarves in Nogrod and Belegost, but they are careful of their secrets, he explains, and would not abide him bringing a stranger uninvited to their fortresses. Nor will he permit her to visit the humans to the south, whom he views as uncouth intruders. Yet in spite of this they are happy, and all the more so after the birth of their son. She is troubled that he will not name the boy; he says that children ahould be named for their personalities, and an infant does not have one yet. In her own tongue, she names the boy Lómion.

One day, a little after Lómion has learned to walk, she suggests to Eöl that she could pay a brief visit to her cousins, who must be worried about her after so long; her anger at their neglect has cooled, and she wishes at least to let them know she is well. Prior to her marriage, neither her partiality for the Fëanorians nor Eöl’s hatred of them had been discussed; in the later years his sentiments became clearer, but still rarely expressed, and she likewise had spoken little of them. Now he calls them Kinslayers and murderers and thieves and invaders, and forbids her to see them - her fury rises in return, asking what he must think of her if he regards her kin so - he snaps that he does not blame her for their crimes - and in an intemperate instant the fateful word “Their - ?” leaves her lips, and he stops short, frozen, as if he had never seen her before. He holds her gaze, and memories deeply buried force themselves to the surface again - of darkness and blood and the heat of battle and the burning desire for freedom and the cold shock afterwards - and they are both shaking, and his gaze snaps away like the gate of a fortress crashing shut.

He leaves the house, and does not return that night, and she sleeps alone. On his return the next day, he does not speak for hours, sometimes staring at her intensely, sometimes letting his gaze slip away, attempting to look at anything - everything - else. In the evening he sits tensely, crouched in a chair, fingernails scraping at his arms as if he wished to scour away his own flesh.

He avoids the bed that night as well. So does Aredhel.

In the morning he breaks his silence in tones hard and chill as granite. Aredhel may depart as she wishes. His son will remain with him.

She refuses this. She will not leave her child, not under any circumstance and certainly not with a father who has not yet named him. She has not deceived him: he knew of the Kinslaying long before he saw her, he knew she was a Noldo and a Finwëan, and he had never asked her anything about it. She will not deny that she was in the wrong; yet something within her, too, has frozen in seeing her husband stare at her as if he had unwittingly married an orc.

They move into separate bedrooms. He never touches her again, save out of the most mundane necessities. It is two years before he will allow her to be left alone with their son; when Eöl is not present, a sevant must be. When he sees that she makes no difficulties and does not appear to be contaminating the child with Kinslaying Noldor ideas, this gradually lightens; at the same time, the bonds around her tighten. Eöl never repeats the offer that she may depart, mistrusting her, fearing what she may say to her kin of her treatment, fearing she could say he holds her son captive.

She seeks for the Ent, feeling the need of a friend and someone to talk to, but he is gone.

Years later, when Lómion is older, and called Maeglin by his father, Eöl takes him on his journeys to the dwarf-kingdoms, teaches him metal-working, and delights in his swiftly-growing skill. For the sake of their son, Aredhel and Eöl reestablish something that is more civility than silence.

Once Lómion is old enough that she can trust him to keep silence to his father, she finds relief in speaking to him of the things she misses, things she has not spoken of in decades, the beauties of Valinor and of Gondolin that once she wearied of, but were far less prisons than this gloomy forest. One day many years later, when he has reached his full maturity, Lómion - with the boundless optimism of youth - disregards her warnings and asks his father that he and Aredhel may visit her family. Eöl goes into a cold fury and threatens to chain him up.

When her son suggests they leave together for Gondolin, she rejoices, feeling freedom quicken the air air again, her heart beat faster with the thought of it. Lómion is old enough now that he could have been wed and had children already, were they not trapped in the forest; he has a right to choose what life he wants.

Fortune betrays them.

Why does she plead for her husband’s life when he kills her? Is it for some lingering affection? For the wish that their son may not be an orphan?

She looks at her brother and thinks, I want there to still be one of us who is not a Kinslayer.

#tolkien #the silmarillion #aredhel #eöl #maeglin #cw abuse