#bride price

[ekechi]

THE UNBEARABLE BURDEN OF BRIDE-PRICE IN MOST PARTS OF IGBOLAND

[An Anecdotal Parable and a commentary on the issues of dowry and bride price in Igboland] [All names of persons and places are fictional. But the story is factual and happens almost every where with slight modifications depending on the place.] My name is Ikechukwu. I am Igbo. From Mba… . My family is a very large yet close with extensions across most part of Igboland by marriages. Ours has been…

[naijanoisemakers]

THE BRIDE PRICE & MATTERS ARISING

When TikTok content maker Prescious Ubani published a 5 minute 33 second video skit on detailing an entire list of items a prospective suitor is expected to provide in order to seek the hand in marriage of an Ibo woman from Abia state in south eastern Nigeria, little did she know that an entire movie will be dedicated to expanciating on the intricacies of this matter she hoped to thrash out.…

[ceilidho]

take me home, country road

[ao3]

prompt: 1800s price/reader…. reader flees to his town where Price is the sheriff after a murder in her previous town only to be mistaken for the mail order bride that Price just sent for ….and he’s not interested in hearing any of her excuses when she tells him that he’s got the wrong girl (part 3) part 1, part 2

-

“Neglecting your husband already?” he asks when you pull away from the arm curling around your waist. It’d migrated there from your back during the walk away from the courthouse. 

“You know I’m not—I’m not some horse that you can just…break in,” you seethe, glaring up at Price. Your arms are crossed tight over your chest, putting the slightest boundary between you and him. It’s more of a mental boundary than anything, a self-soothing gesture; you know it hardly even registers to him because the man still looks down at you with that unimpressed expression, like dealing with a particularly vexing child. 

“I hadn’t noticed,” he says dryly, looking you up and down. It’s a scorching, hungry look and it makes you shift from foot to foot. 

The two of you stand outside the front door of his house, the front door still shut tight. You put up a fuss on the walk from town as the reality of your situation finally sunk in, squirming in his hold until he threatened to just load you over his shoulder and carry you off. His tone leaves little for you to doubt. Nothing about him brooks skepticism; until the end of time, you��ll look at John Price and think, this is a man of action. This is a man that will move heaven and earth. 

You clam up after that, lips pursed shut though turned down at the corners. 

It’s a bigger house than you might’ve expected for a single man, but perhaps it was built with a wife and children in mind. The thought makes you swallow. A wooden two-story thing with a porch out front and an adjacent stable for his two horses with a pen around back. Speckled Appaloosas that look up at the sound of his boots and keys, attentive for all of a few seconds before losing interest. 

You know without asking that Price must have built this house with his own two hands. It’s not shoddy by any means, but his house has that indefinable quality that some places have. Organic. Homegrown, almost. It’s hard to put up against the houses of your youth, but then again, you grew up in the cramped quarters of the city, apartments thick with the scent of sewage on bad days and dust on the good. The two are hardly comparable. It’s even harder to put up against the estates that you’ve spent the better part of the last few years cleaning and learning inside out, but at least his house doesn’t make your stomach turn at the sight. 

There’s a moment when you first turn to him where you wonder if he’ll look for approval in your face, some sign to set him at ease, but when you meet his gaze, it’s steady and impenetrable. Quietly self-assured. It’s incongruent with the machismo you were raised around, the constant need to impress or transcend. It puts you on edge. It makes you almost feel like baring your teeth.

Your comment had come from seeing the horses and the house and the porch with the two rocking chairs, your hackles raising every step closer. Price built his house big enough for children because he anticipated a baby in his future. Children he’d have with his wife, which, though a fuzzy memory as far as memories go, you quietly stepped into the role of not half an hour ago. 

You’ve thought about it before. Motherhood; marriage, domestic living, settling down with a man to start a family. The reality of your life has always made it seem like a problem for the future. Years chipping away like flakes of faded paint off the walls of your bedroom, still living with your aunt and uncle well into adulthood, trying desperately to scrimp and save and stay afloat. Disappointing but not surprising that you’d never been considered the marriable sort, not with scrubbing other people's toilets for a living. 

And now look at you, ring on your finger and whisked home to be bedded. A shiver roles down your spine at the thought and you scowl at Price instead of sinking into the strange thrill. 

When he wraps a hand around your wrist to pull you towards him (his fingers easily overlapping; another thrill), you snap.

“That is quite enough with all the touching!” 

His eyes narrow. “I’ll have more than my hands on you by the end of the night.”

A more proper woman would gasp. You barely hold yours back. 

You know in the back of your mind that you’ve already lost any semblance of an upper hand in this situation. It has long spiraled out of your control. His ring sits on your finger all nice and pretty, and though you signed your marriage license under a different name—your own rather than the name of his actual intended—that Price hadn’t even bothered confirming, you are, for all intents and purposes, his to touch as he pleases. 

“I’m—” your eyes dart around, the urge to bolt a sharp and sudden compulsion lodged in your chest, “—I know I said yes, but I—there’s always the possibility of an a-annulment if we don’t…if…”

You flinch, startled, when he pulls you into his chest only to cup your face again. He has big hands with callused fingers, rough against your skin. Up close, you can see the way his beard is cropped closer than his mustache and mutton chops. It gives him a grim air, almost somber until you catch his eyes staring down at you with an affection that feels unearned, meant for someone else. 

“Deep breaths, darling, there’s nothing to fret about just yet. You’ll work yourself into a state like this,” he murmurs, dropping his head to sip a kiss from your lips again. 

You’ve been in a state since the moment you walked into the sheriff’s office and laid eyes on this man. Turned around and knocked sideways, like you’ve walked into a storybook without noticing. If only it hadn’t all been so sudden, you might’ve been able to approach the situation with a clearer head. You might’ve been able to think up some other way out of it beyond giving Price a fake name and waiting anxiously for your true identity to be painstakingly drawn out over the course of a week. 

“Don’t know why you keep working yourself up,” Price says softly, then slots your lips together for another tender kiss. “Figured you might be a little skittish, but…’m gonna be such a good husband for you, honey. Not gonna want for nothing.”

His slow kisses drag out longer than back in the courthouse, languorous and decadent. As if he has all the time in the world now. In a way, he does, now that he’s helped collect your belongings from the inn and brought you home. When you think of pulling away, the hand wrapped around your wrist lets go and slides to your back, pulling you flush against his chest. Your breasts flatten against his chest, pulse skittering like mad when you feel the hardest of his chest against yours and the muscle holding you in place. 

You can’t help the whimper that escapes your lips when the hand on your cheek slides to the nape of your neck and grips, holding you in place. The kiss deepens, the heat on your cheeks feeling palpably hot, vision swimming until your eyes have no choice but to flutter shut. Your suitcase sits forgotten somewhere in the dirt, toppled over onto its side. You pant low, hot breaths into his mouth when he breaks the kiss, letting his lips just hover over yours.

“There we go, darlin’,” Price mumbles against your mouth, sliding the hand on your low back down to grip the plump flesh of your ass through your dress, lips twitching when you make a broken, affronted sound. “Isn’ that better? Not thinkin’ so hard?”

You can’t think at all, in truth. When he kisses you again, your thoughts evaporate up into the clouds, the tongue licking into your mouth dispelling any ideas or notions you might’ve had. It disappears into the heat and lust and the fingers digging into your backside, groping at the flesh there without shame or compunction. You go with him when he clutches you closer, gasping again into his mouth when you feel something hard press against your low belly. He grunts when you twitch against it. 

“John—John—” you gasp, pulling your mouth away and whimpering when he chases after you, letting him steal another wet, slick kiss before your trembling hands clutch at the fabric of his shirt. “Enough—it’s not—it’s not proper—”

“No prying eyes around here,” he grunts. “‘Sides, who’s going to tell a man he can’t kiss his own wife?”

Trembling all the harder at his words, you dig your nails into his shirt sleeves and hope you pinch the skin underneath. All twisted up inside. The ring on your finger glimmers when it catches the light, brighter even than the sun this close to your face. When Price feels your nails dig into his arms, he groans, fingers pressing harder into your bottom and making you squeak. All the pent up lust finally trickling out of him and into you. 

“C’mon, honey, let’s get you inside.” He finally lets you go after giving your bottom lip one last wet suck, pulling it into his mouth while his half-lidded eyes stare into yours. It’s somehow more intimate than kissing. 

You’re still reeling when he turns around to pick your suitcase off the ground, certain that your knees will give way and send you tumbling as well. Every point of contact on your body sizzles, aches. You watch from outside of yourself as he turns back to you, suitcase in his hand now, eyes still dark and fixed on you. Hungry. Your eyes widen when they flit down to find a thick bulge at the crotch of his pants. 

Like a cold bucket of water has been dumped over your head, you hiss and back up three steps when he takes a step towards you. “Oh no, you don’t take one step closer! I won’t have anything to do with—with that!”

You must look like some feral barn cat, back all puffed up, teeth bared to the man trying to coax you towards him. Price must see it too because he grins, amused. “Still spittin’ mad, huh? Felt those claws in me before, darlin’…gonna love feeling them with nothing between us.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” 

Price doesn’t bother clearing anything up, but you intuit it the second he takes another step in your direction, whirling around and sprinting towards the house. It feels counterproductive to seek shelter in the man’s house, but dusty plains stretch out in every direction apart from back into town, where you know not a soul will lift a finger to help you. His house is the only shelter you’re going to get.

You hurry up the porch stairs, tearing open the door before glancing over your shoulder to find Price not far behind. He advances on you at a walking pace, but each stride of his long legs matches two of yours, making you shriek and scurry up the staircase. You dart for the first open door you see, slamming it shut behind you and leaning your whole weight against it. Glancing down, you perk up at the sight of a lock on the door before flipping it.

It’s not long before the sound of boots clomping up the staircase meets your ears, headed straight in your direction. You shake when you hear him pause right outside the door, then startle when he tries the knob. 

“You gonna let me in, darling?” Price asks, grin in his voice. Even raps his knuckle against the door for good measure.

“No,” you snap. 

“Not even for your things? Got your suitcase right here.” You hear him set it down, a little clunk against the wood floor. 

“I can manage like this. I’ve slept in my dress before.”

He pauses. “Have you?”

You tilt your chin up proudly despite the door blocking his view. “Yes, and I don’t mind doing it again. You can just stay on the other side of that door until you…until you put that thing away.”

“Can’t do much about that thing, darling; it’s sort of grown on me over the years anyway,” Price chuckles. “Well, not much I can do with it behind this door. I’ll go tend the horses ‘till suppertime comes ‘round and then come back to tend to you.”

“Licentious…reprobate,” you hiss through the door. 

He laughs, the sound deep in his throat. Your stomach flips. 

The stairs creak under the weight of his boots as he descends back downstairs. You wait until you hear the front door open and shut behind him, until the house is completely quiet save for the blood pumping in your ears before you hastily unlock the door and dart a hand out just to pull your suitcase in. You shut and lock the door as soon as it passes the threshold. 

It takes a while to settle your nerves and for the trembling to subside. In the meantime, you sit on your bottom at the foot of the door, with your back still pressed firmly to the wood, and take stock. There’s a bed in the room, one you hadn’t noticed in your mad scramble to lock yourself in. A bigger bed than the one you’d slept on back at the inn, but just as sparse, with gray flannel sheets and a blue quilt folded and draped over the end of the bed. 

The rest of the furniture in the room—two end tables, a chest of drawers, a desk, and two chairs situated in the corner of the room—appears so consistent in its design that you have to wonder if Price made them by hand as well. Hardly a reason to question it. You think to yourself that you’ll have to ask him how he finds the time only to quickly shake that thought away. Can’t be getting too chummy, certainly not if you don’t expect to be around in a month’s time. Hopefully less than that. 

You chew on your lip at the thought of fleeing in the night.

It trickles into your thoughts while you open your suitcase on the bed and riffle around for your nightwear. Price will likely keep you under lock and key for at least the first week of your marriage, giving you little opportunity to take off any time soon. If only you’d held your tongue and played the demure bride, he might’ve had some cause to trust you. Certainly not now, after your most recent display. 

Your own stupid fault, as usual. It’s not the first time your temper has gotten the better of you. You’ve faced worse consequences for it. 

Outside the window on the far end of the room, a horse whinnies. You pause, remembering that Price hadn’t gone very far. When you glance out curiously, you see him letting the horses into the pen, giving one a good rub down the bridge of its nose. The horses seem to melt under his touch. 

It’s strange watching him from far away. From a distance, it’s hard to reconcile him with the man that bent you over his desk not an hour ago and tanned your bottom. You cringe at the memory. It’s not that Price doesn’t seem like a man that would take his wife over his knee if he saw fit to do so, but you still can’t imagine yourself as that woman. When you think about it, it feels like a play, something you saw happen to someone else. Not you wailing and squirming like a cat in heat. 

As if feeling your stare, he glances up at the window and winks when he catches your eye. With a squeak, you leap away from the window, scurrying back over to the bed. 

A couple hours pass in restless contemplation, practically biting your nails to the quick. Eyeing the windowsill like you still might go over there just to check on what Price is up to outside. You hear him come back into the house once or twice, tensing up at the sound of his boots, only to be left vaguely disappointed when you hear him leave and the screen door slam shut behind him. 

You spend so long holed up in the bedroom that you miss lunch entirely. Below you, you hear Price puttering around downstairs in the kitchen—the sound of a knife chopping vegetables and then the sizzle of meat on a pan. The hunger pangs nearly make you break, but you’ve gone without food before. 

Your heart skips a beat when you hear him ascend the staircase again and place something just outside of your door. He doesn’t try coaxing you out this time, just heads back down the stairs and out the front door. Again, you ignore the pang of disappointment; ignore the urge to open the door and holler down the stairs for him to stay gone. 

He leaves anyway. 

Curiosity needles at you though, so you open the door up a crack when you’re sure you’re alone. There’s a plate at the foot of the door with vegetables and meat, slightly cooled but still fresh, the plate still warm. He must’ve known you wouldn’t try coming downstairs and fixed you up a plate. 

You eat in silence at the desk, bad mood ripening. Angry at yourself and everyone else. Even John. Especially John. The audacity of fixing you up a plate, of thinking of you in the first place. Irritated enough to stand boldly by the window this time, hand clutched in the curtain, tracking the movement of his shoulders and hips when he moves with the horses and fetches water from the well. You lose sight of him a couple times as he finishes up the day’s chores around the house, but the flutter in your belly always settles when he comes back into view. 

It’s easy to let yourself admire him from afar, somehow less humiliating without his eyes on you. He’s a solid man, body carved into its shape from the rough labor that’s part and parcel of living out on the frontier. A wide back tapering down to lean, narrow hips and thick, muscled thighs hewn from lifting and pulling and all manner of physical work. You bite your lip when you remember what it felt like to cling to that back and dig your nails into his arms. 

You give your head a shake. It’s dangerous to let a thought like that latch on. 

In the few hours between lunch and sunset, you occupy yourself by reading one of the books stowed away in your suitcase. Then get bored and refold your clothes. The horses bray when they’re taken into the stables for the evening. The crickets out in the bushes in the yard chirp as the sun sets pink in the far distance. It’s quieter out here in the plains than back in the city, you think, something you haven’t yet had the time to appreciate. 

When Price comes in for the night, you’re firm in your resolve to keep the door shut. If lunch at the door was just an attempt to butter you up, he has another thing coming. In a house this big, there’s likely a guest room or somewhere else to sleep—a sofa or a sleeping bag tucked away under the stairs. He’ll just have to make do while you take the bedroom. There’ll be no sharing a bed with the man that grabbed your backside like a piece of meat. 

He doesn’t come up the stairs right away. Like before, you hear him rustle up supper, spatula scraping against a pan and knife coming down on a chopping block again and again. Not enough time has passed since lunch for you to feel more than peckish. You’re thankful for that when you hear him sit down to eat. 

The knock at the door startles you. You hadn’t heard him come up the stairs. “Ready to talk now?”

You stare balefully at the door. “No.”

“We have to figure this out sometime, darling.”

“No, we don’t.”

“I’m sorry if I gave you a fright earlier, but, honey, that’s how husbands kiss their wives. Nothing improper about it.”

“I’m not frightened, I’m just not—we don’t need to do any of that,” you huff, embarrassed all over again. “You’ve hardly given me any time to even think. I didn’t know you from Adam this morning and now we’re married.”

Price sighs, the sound muffled through the door. “What am I going to do with you, honey?” It’s said to himself, a fond exasperation that puts you on edge all over again. He has no right to be amused with you, no right to be delighted and charmed by your ire. 

“Well, you can sleep somewhere else for the time being. I’d prefer the bed to myself.”

He lets out a low, dark laugh. “There’s not a chance in hell that I’m sleeping anywhere but with my wife from this point on. You oughta come to terms with that quick.”

“Well then, you can sleep out there because I’m not unlocking the door!”

He lets out a mean sound, almost mocking. “Yeah, ‘bout time I addressed that, huh?”

His words make you frown until you hear a floorboard creak as Price does something on the other side of the door. Then the doorknob jiggles. Horrified, you watch as the door unlocks and the knob turns, your husband’s body filling out the door frame. You’d forgotten how well he could fill one out. He almost has to duck to come inside, mused hair from working outside all day brushing against the top of the frame. 

“Always put a key on the top of the door, just in case,” he explains, pinching the little silver key between his thumb and forefinger before shutting the door. Your heart jumps when he locks it behind him. “Ready to talk now, honey?”

[temeyes]

Price in wedding dress. Thank you

wife him up, anon!!!

[undeadcannibal]

Could you maybe do 141+ Alejandro finding out their 'citizen' partner was actually an ex-mercenary?

Summary: How Task Force 141 and Alejandro would react to finding out their ‘civilian’ partner is an ex mercenary.

Genre: Headcanons, request(s) Characters featured: Price, Ghost, Soap, Gaz, and Alejandro.

Warnings: None!

A/N: Hopefully I didn’t make this like, sadder than wanted lol. It just sorta happened. Regardless, thank you so much for the request, I hope y’all enjoy! ( Gif credit: xxx )

Price―

He’s embarrassed it takes him so long to notice the signs, but when he does, he doesn’t say a word.

He’ll act normal the entire time, playing the part of your lovely partner until he’s got enough information. The proof that he needs before calling you out on it.

When he’s certain of your past, he’s waiting till he’s home to call you out on it. May or may not have the team on stand by as well just in case he needs backup and morale support.

He’ll at least try and hear you out first, ask you many questions as to why you hid it, turning the situation into a sort of soft interrogation with how he goes about things in time.

He wants to believe you have a good reason, so rest assured you better have a damn good one as to why you hid what you hid from him.

Caught between wanting to know every detail of what you did and why, but also worries that he might not like the answer he receives.

Soap―

At first, he tries to convince himself he’s just being paranoid. Imagining things that aren’t true.

Over time, he’s certain that there’s too many instances for them all to be coincidental.

Doesn’t approach the situation alone, definitely trusts Ghost to hear him out, asking him for his opinion on the matter.

The two go about the situation together, but once he’s sure that you were definitely an ex ‘merc’, he’s taking it very seriously.

At first, he’d be livid but slowly come to realize that maybe he should hear you out. He really wants to give you the benefit of the doubt, believe you’ve done what you did for a good reason.

Much like Price, he’ll have a long talk with you before making any rash decisions or jumping to conclusions.

Has many, many questions about what you got up to for a paycheck and why exactly. Especially since he’s heard rumors about how ruthless some can be after some time in the ‘business’.

Gaz―

Much like Soap, I can see him being a bit in denial until there’s too many instances to deny anymore.

However, instead of consulting Ghost, he’s going straight to Price. He trusts him - confides in him - and asks him what he should do regarding the situation.

After Price gives him his opinion on the matter, he’s leaving to be alone to think for a long while on it.

Once he’s made up his mind, he’ll try and act normal, but it’s clear something is bothering him.

If you ask about it before he confronts you, he’ll be upfront about what he’s thinking and how he’s feeling, asking you many questions about why you hid it from him, etc.

Depending on the outcome, it may or may not be a deal breaker for him. He’s unsure what to think, how to feel about your relationship. Just confused and paranoid all around, poor man.

Like Alejandro, he hopes it’s all in the past, and for good reason, too.

Ghost―

Oh, once he notices the signs, he’s feeling all sorts of things: he’s livid, conflicted, and very untrustworthy of you after.

Stewing on the information by his lonesome for longer than he should, he hesitates with bringing it to the team’s attention. Feels ashamed he didn’t know sooner.

Once he’s got information regarding your background, he’s immediately heading home to confront you about your past.

Feels a heavy weight on his heart as the two of you discuss everything. He’s not letting you leave till you’ve told him every detail as to why you hid it from him.

Depending on how the confrontation goes, it could possibly be a deal breaker for him. He doesn’t trust and love easily, so best believe it’ll take some time for him to come back around to you once again. He won’t be entirely cold, but you’ll definitely have to earn his trust back afterwards.

Wants to assume you’ve done what you did for good reasons but can’t say unless he knows what your past work was.

Alejandro―

Much like Ghost, due to personal reasons, once he sniffs out any sort of hints that you're an ex merc, he’s doing his best not to immediately assume the worst right away.

He really wants to hear you out but will struggle with confronting you.

After he’s found every little bit of information of your past that he can, he’s hesitating on making a scene right away.

Confides and wants to know Rudy’s honest opinion no matter how harsh he might think it will be.

Really, unless you’re upfront with him after he finally brings it up with you, he’ll worry about your past depending on what kind of work you’ve done for pay. Hopes to God that you’ve certain limitations you refuse to go against.

[short-for-jules]

VERY rough concept for a 3d modeled statue of Herbert West, just watched re-animator and it did something to me. Ive wanted to make and sell fan statues for awhile and this really lit a fire under my ass, but before i spend the next Several Weeks working on this it would help my motivation a lot if i got a vibe there are people in the world who would pay money for this lol.

I'm not sure how much it will be, since I'll likely be going through a POD provider since posting stl files online freaks me out, so final price will come up to how much production costs, but the ideal price rang is 20-40$ USD, with as minimal up-charge as i can allow myself. fans w disposable income tell me any and all thoughts <3

[oneiriad]

Scum Villain AU, where the end of the novel goes somewhat different. Briefly put, things go off the rails in all the wrong ways and SQQ dies once more.

Only to wake up from the coma his original body's been stuck in for ages (hell, might actually be as many years as he's been living - man wakes from decade long coma headlines and all).

He re-adjusts. Goes to therapists who helpfully help him realize that oh, this was just a dream based on his obsession with this terrible webnovel. He re-adjusts. Leaves the care facility and gets a new apartment. Gets his things from storage and has a breakdown about putting the PIDW merch up in his new place, as you do.

Life goes on, even for a lazy second gen who managed to miss a decade. Our SY might even get a job, who knows.

Might even grow convinced that yeah, it really was just a particularly vivid dream.

And then one night there's a knock on the door, and outside stands a full-blood Heavenly Demon Emperor with Xin Mo dangling from his side, frowning at him. Listen, let's not blame SY for fainting, okay? There's only so many re-adjusted worldviews a guy can handle.

He slowly wakes up on his couch, slowly enough that he's got time to think "oh, this was all another dream" - and then he hears Tianlang-Jun's voice reading aloud from the lovely PIDW hardcover SY had put on his bookshelf, and naturally he's found one of the early, more well-written before it all got repetitive sex scenes...

[evealienne]

Following my request many of you voted for Captain Price to draw so here is a part of the drawing with the meeting of my oc and Price.

[brokehorrorfan]

Fisher-Price has released a Bride of Chucky Little People two-pack for $15. Chucky and Tiffany each stand 2.5".

[homoeroticgrappling]

Watching Danhausen and Taz interact is my favourite thing

[serpentface]

FAMILY TITLES AMONG THE HILL TRIBES

(ft. various linguistic notes and tangents)

In-universe Brakul’s self-given title of ‘Red-Dog’ is Brakul 'ne-Dainh' in his native language (Bict-Urbinnas dialect of the Highland language group) and Brakul 'Chin-Reyla' in Wardi. Ne-Dainh/Chin-Reyla is not something he treats as or considers an actual surname or identity, just a self-styled nickname. He already has a title.

Family names/surnames are not a native practice among the Hill Tribes (though some clans or individual families have adopted this practice), and all traditionally use titles that designate immediate ancestry, clan and tribe. These full titles are officially given when one comes of age and are spoken aloud in ceremony (with the entire direct male and female lines listed by name, with most traditions expecting 12 generations of each being named).

The function is to cement one’s sense of place in the world, and their place in a direct ancestral line, which puts the person under the full watch and guidance of their ancestors. It's also a critical method of recording lineage- the long held practice of each person memorizing at least 24 total direct ancestors allows for very long, largely accurate records of family history to be kept, with some people able to trace their ancestry all the way back to initial settlement of the Highlands (or even beyond).

Brakul’s full title is:

“Brakul virsum Kuligan et Borunil an Briyonis ne-Taig an Bict-Urbinnas”

Which dead literally translates to “Brakul son of Kuligan and Borunil of the Foothills (of) Red-Cattle, of the North (Urbin/Erubin) River Valley” but has a much richer meaning in the original language.

"BRAKUL VIRSUM KULIGAN ET BORUNIL"

The actual meaning here is closer to ‘Brakul, son of Kuligan and his father’s fathers, and Borunil and her mother’s mothers’.

“Virsum” means ‘child (son/daughter) of’ (the gender is contextual), but implies the person’s status as a descendant of a full male and female line of ancestors. A different word is used if you’re just saying ‘I’m so and so’s son”. The title describes him as a son of his father Kuligan and of Kuligan’s male line, and of his mother Borunil and Borunil's female line.

All ancestors (within this particular system of kinship, divided into one direct male line from the father and one direct female line from the mother, and not including husbands from the female line or wives from the male line) are invoked and credited with the word ‘virsum’. Speaking it as part of the personal title is part of the routine and necessary honoring of one’s ancestors, who watch over their descendants from the afterlife and can temporarily return to the land to guide and protect (and sometimes punish, or teach sharp lessons to) the living.

"AN BRIYONIS NE-TAIG"

The actual meaning here would be understood as ‘clan/people of the foothills where cattle are lit red by the setting sun'.

‘Briyonis’ is the word for ‘foothill’, citing his clan’s specific location being the foothills that form the slopes of the north Urbin river valley. He is of a lesser clan within the powerful North Urbin River tribe. His clan benefits from close affiliation to their more powerful ruling clans located directly in the river valley, which grants them access to a greater variety of cultivated foods, but their actual position in the foothills still renders them predominantly reliant on cattle for subsistence. Clan names referencing cattle or horses are very common, given their frequent centrality to life.

The ‘ne-Taig’ literally means ‘red cattle’, but the ‘ne’ color word for red specifically invokes shades of red seen in and cast by a rising/setting sun. This red cast is culturally regarded as a unique beauty and evocative (and part of the name) of the solar god Hraighne. The foothills his clan is physically located on are a vantage point from which the western horizon is not fully obscured by mountains, and they experience very striking sunsets and are directly touched by the light. This is fairly unique to this location, and is invoked in the clan name and identity. ‘Ne-Taig’ here suggests a visual of grazing cattle illuminated red by the sun as it crosses the horizon.

‘Ne-Dainh’ carries the same implication, a dog illuminated red by setting sunlight. The Wardi language does not have a comparable word for a sunlit red and ‘Chin-Reyla’ really does just mean ‘(orangeish) red dog’ (‘reyla’ is specific to orangey-red colors, which is the closest match he could get. There’s no way to impart the meaning of ‘sunlit-red dog’ in Wardi that is non-clunky enough to be appropriate for a name).

"AN BICT-URBINNAS"

‘an Bict-Urbinnas’ is fairly simple, Bict means ‘north’, and 'Urbin' is the name of the specific river that stems from a northern and eastern tributary. This river has a very ancient name (or a derivative of one) that predates settlement by the Hill Tribes, and its exact meaning is lost.

The root -(n)nas designates a river valley, but has strong implications of being an esteemed and bountiful place, rather than solely a literal geographical descriptor (as the river valleys are centers of power and trade in the highlands). It may be a loanword from the Wardi language family, as its usage is VERY similar in form and function to the Wardi -(n)nos, which also suggests a place of esteem and bounty (more specifically having connotations of a kingdom).

’An’ literally means ‘of’, but in the specific sense of describing the place and identity of a collection of people. ‘an Bict Urbinnas’ would be understood in speech as ‘of the north Urbin River Valley (people)’. The clans historically settled in and around the valley of the North Urbin River form the totality of the Bict-Urbinnas tribe.

The ‘Urbin’ word predates the contemporary Wardi name ‘Erubin’ for the river, the latter of which invokes the semi-mythological founding figure Erub, who himself was of a Wardi tribe located downriver to the south of the Highlands. The real historically extant ‘Erub’ was most likely named Urub after the river, with his cited name shifting over the centuries in folklore, and the Wardi name for the river shifting with it.

‘Erubin’ as a corruption of ‘Urbin’ functions very well in Wardi language due to ‘-bi/bin’ denoting something as a ‘gift’, usually in a more metaphorical sense. ‘Erubin’ is understood as meaning ‘(The river that is) Erub’s gift’, and the Erubin/Urbin river is a key tributary to the much larger Black river, one of the key rivers that feeds the region's wetter and more fertile west. This 'gift' meaning also occurs in the name of the southeastern Imperial Wardi city-state Erubinnos, which is understood as meaning ’((The kingdom that is) Erub’s gift’. He is considered to have conquered and taken the land (from the core city's actual founders, the Wogan people) and established a kingdom there in the early days of warring Wardi tribal monarchies.

[ceilidho]

Price, fertility clinic, finding the mother of his children…

He knows he wants kids, he wants the whole picket fence lifestyle but he doesn’t want to have to court someone and get them used to the idea so he goes to all the clinics he can under the guise of looking for information about donating just to scope them out. And once he finds someone he likes he’s all “you’re coming home with me, you’re having my children, you’re gonna be my wife and you’re never leaving me”

the thing about Price is that he's sooooo suited for like a mail order bride au or arranged marriage or that fertility clinic "meet cute" (lmao) idea because he's a very busy man that also desperately wants a family (at least, that's how i read him). he just doesn't have the time to do all that courting stuff, even though in another life he might enjoy it.

he's very romantic and very traditional, so of course he'd love to wine and dine a woman, but he doesn't have time to go through that whole journey only for it not to work out. he needs certainty. he needs to know that his efforts won't go to waste. now if he can indulge in the sensual, romantic stuff with the knowledge that she can't leave him :))

[somepsychopomp]

need an Edling royal wedding where Ling's advisors and officials are all begrudgingly holding their tongues as their Emperor marries a peasant boy from a foreign nation. None of them want to lose their jobs or their heads so they do as ling demands up until they have to organize the bride price.

And Ling suddenly has no idea what to do. Sure, his treasury has heaps of gold to give, or incense or spices or silk or whatever in the world he could possibly want to give... but Ed is Ed. He was a gremlin orphan that was homeless by choice and who genuinely doesn't want for much at all. (Aside from the lasting health and happiness of his loved ones, but Ling can't really give that, you know?)

So his officials pick out a lovely bride price to offer to his betrothed's family consisting of all sorts of lavish items and maybe a few swords... only to realize that Ed's father and mother are super dead.

His next brilliant idea?

He'll just make a show of giving Ed's bride price to Alphonse Elric at the wedding! Problem solved! :D Right, Ed?

[cutiecusp]

Something borrowed, Something blue.

Part two to Something old, something new.

You and John Price have a history, one you miss terribly, will he be able to convince you to leave your groom at the altar for him?

TW. Slight suggestive smut, didn't realise it will be as long as it was, so there will be a part three!!! MDNI, kissing.

You feel the energy crackle around the room as John leant in, you could smell faint cigar smoke and a peppermint he must have eaten on the way in.

Your eyes meet his deep blue ones, and you step back cautiously. This was the secret answer to your prayers, but you couldn't believe this was real.

"John, I.. we can't." You press your hands against his chest, your diamond ring from another man glistening in the light, hoping to push him away. Someone had to take the mature approach and stop it, and you had to ignore the fire in your stomach as you touch him, but all he does is encircle his large hands around yours and pull you back in to him.

"I'm not running this time, love. I want you, and I want you to be mine. Work be damned." He lets out a breath and presses his lips over yours, silencing any doubts you had about his feelings for you.

He tasted like heaven, and you relaxed in his arms, as he took you into his arms and held you tightly, his tongue exploring yours as you both deepen the kiss. After a few heated moments, John pulls away reluctantly. His gaze bore into your soul, and you saw the need and desire in his eyes. There was no doubt in his mind that you belonged to him, and he belonged to you.

"Should have been wearing this dress for me." He says gruffly, gesturing to your white wedding gown. "You look like an angel." He adds. He leads in for another kiss, but you are interrupted by a knock at your door.

"You nearly ready sweetheart? Gotta take you to the church." Your father calls through the door.

Your shocked face looks at John's calm features.

"It's my dad, he will kill you if he found out you were here." You hiss, looking for a hiding place for him.

"C-coming dad!" You yell, unsure if you should even ready to face him. You push John out of the view of the door, and open it, your face flushed and your flowers long forgotten.

"You look beautiful, dove." Your father says, holding an arm out for you. You reluctantly take it, leaning on his frame for support. He looks at you, and you are reminded of how much your father knows about you.

"Now, as your dad, I have to ask... is it too late for you to change your mind.. only I thought I saw John's car, and I know-" he pauses, and looks at his daughters face, all doe eyed and pink cheeks.

"You've seen him already, haven't you." He asks quietly.

You nod, your heart falling to the floor. What were you thinking? Kissing John an hour before you were going to marry your fiance? Shame filled your features as you can't look your dad in the eye. You were a good person, but deep down, you knew you couldn't marry a man you didn't love.

"You still have feelings for John?" Your father asks softly, holding you a little closer, as if he doesn't want anyone hearing your conversation.

"Y-yes. Yes I do." You admit, and you open the door wider to reveal John standing in your hotel room. You unhook your arm from your father's, and stand next to John.

Your dad throws you his car keys.

"Borrow my car. Drive her someplace safe for the night, and I'll take your car to my house. Thankfully you wanted a small wedding, so there's only a few people that need to know today." Your dad turns to John.

"Keep her heart safe. She deserves a good man. I trust that's you. I always liked you, don't fuck this up." He warns in a mock serious manner.

John shakes your father's hand, and pulls you in close.

"I promise, Sir. Thank you."

Pocketing the car keys, John urges you to pack a bag, and hand in hand, you run to the car.

John opens the door for you, as you scramble to get in, your dress hindering your body as you squeeze in the seat.

"First thing I plan on doing is taking that dress off, love." John says with a grin.

"How do you fancy playing Mrs. Price for the night? Honeymoon included?" He winks at you as he peals out of the car park.

Wind in your hair, John's hand in yours, you never felt more alive.

"Lead the way, Mr. Price" you laugh as you drive off in search of a honeymoon suite.

"I'm already dressed for the occasion!"

.................................................................

A/N I totally planned on there being smut, but thought this was a cool way to pause it.

@xoxunhinged @dustycrusty09