#colonel brandon

[didanagy]

SENSE AND SENSIBILITY (1995)

dir. ang lee

[deepperplexity]

Prompt 20: Wrongful Perceptions [A5]

Pairing: Colonel Brandon x Fem!OC

POV: First, OC

Continuation of: Prompt 1. December Moon [A1], Prompt 5. Open Doors [A2], Prompt 11. Out Of Reach [A3], Prompt 17. Truthful Longing [A4]

A/N: It’s Christmas time! Well, at least over her. Mom’s arriving any minute now and I’ve done a shift at the library today as well. Tomorrow the first Christmas celebration will go off and I’m super excited - stressed, yes, very much, but excited 😂👍 I hope you’re having an amazing Friday (or whatever day it is you’re reading this) and that you’re ready for some more Brandon love! 😍👏❤

Tags/TW’s: Not really any tags or warnings for this fic, I’m not sure how to tag it but there’s some angst, some mentions of the previous panic attack, some miscommunication (not between MCs) and a wild blurting of feelings 😅

Word Count: 1.4k

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

Wrongful Perceptions

“Are you certain I shall not ready the carriage?” Christopher asked as I adorned a heavy cloak smelling of him. “Marrygold will take me home. I am fond of riding.” “Then I shall ride with you.” “You will?” He nodded at my words and a butler stepped up with his coat and top-hat in hand. “Thank you, Peter.” “Master,” the butler replied as Christopher dressed for the cold. “I shall delay lunch,” the butler continued and Christopher nodded.

As the doors opened, a gust of icy wind whipped across my face. Two stable boys stood at the end of the stairs holding each of our horses. I glanced at Christopher, he had already planned to come with me it seemed. “Do not look at me with such judgement, Calliope.” “You ought to practice on your perception of my, what did you call it, expressive features?” “Is that so?” he asked with a smile as we walked down the stairs. “I am not judging, I am thankful to you…”

We fell into silence after that. The winds howling and Marrygold’s pleased snort took over as I grabbed her reins. A saddle had been strapped to her, not that I needed one, but it was proper. “Which way?” I asked as Delaford had been an unknown location to me before the turn of events that led me here. “North-east,” Christopher said. “North if we take the forest route, which is quicker.” “North it is then.”

The wind dragged my hair loose, my gloved fingers chilled while gripping the reins as we galloped between trees — Christopher and his steed close behind me. He called directions now and then, yet my mind lay not with our destination but the estate we were leaving. It would become my home should father agree to our hasty marriage.

I pulled on the reins while leaning back, halting Marrygold to a standstill with a neighing, and Christopher came to a stop beside me. I panted, my mind raced and that dreadful feeling of panic surfaced.

“Dear, are you fairing?” His words went passed me as hasty as the wind. “Calliope?” he asked, and came up right next to me, laying a hand atop my trembling one. “This is wrong,” I whispered. Shame marring my thoughts as I realised we had no dowry to offer, soon not an estate or coin to our name and it would drag my heart’s treasure down in the eyes of society.

“Summer sky,” he said, squeezing my hand. “The only thing wrong is your lack of enthusiasm at the moment. Have you… Are you regretful of accepting me?” “No! Christopher, lord no,” I said, guilt building within me. “But I am no match worthy of you.” “My heart has spoken, even if you had been a maid I would have asked for your hand. I am too old to trifle with my own heart, too gone in years and too seasoned to give society or propriety any thought in matters they have no say in.” “Oh, Christopher…” “As it is, you are from an esteemed family, with a grand legacy and a name worth something in the eyes of society. None of it matters, but your heart.” “Grand legacy… It will soon be gone.” “No, my dear. It will soon be entwined with mine and you shall want for nothing.”

⁛•⁛

The doors swung open before my feet hit the ground. “Calliope!” Father shouted while running down the stairs. “Where have you been?!” he continued and swept me into his arms. The gaping hole of the open doors held my gaze as I remembered the horrible sensation I had experienced of them wanting to swallow me and the grand room beyond expanding around me before plummeting toward me. A trick of the mind, of course, but no less terrifying.

“Father, I’m alright,” I said as he squeezed me tightly. “Where have you been? Why would you leave in such abandon?” he asked as he stepped back and took hold of my upper arms. His eyes lingered on the golden rope keeping the heavy cloak tied around my neck. Then he seemed to find himself, and propriety. along with etiquette in one swoop as Christopher dismounted his horse with a thud.

“Father, I have great news.” Father looked to my right where Christopher now stood. “Colonel Brandon?” he asked. “Indeed, sir. I had the good fortune of finding your daughter on my estate.” “At Delaford? My Calli, what—” I smiled, wishing to soothe the wrinkles of worry from his forehead. “It is a long story, but we have news, Father. Shall we take up the parlour?” I asked, and Father nodded while muttering a string of agreeing words and inviting Christopher in.

After disrobing, we entered the west parlour on the second floor. Christopher had walked close by my side while Father had led the way two steps ahead. I had paled during the ascent of the stairs. Only yesterday had I bolted down them in a rush of panic. Things were different now, yet the remnants remained.

We were served tea by Miss Abel, then Christopher and I found ourselves seated on the sofa while Father sat in one of the three chairs. “So, news you say?” he asked. I nodded, glancing at the man beside me for a second. “Good news. You will have a wed daughter.” Father spluttered into his teacup. “A marriage? What— When— Who have managed to capture you, my Calli?” he asked; as if the man sitting next to me was not evidence enough. “You have a nephew, Colonel Brandon?” he continued, his eyes going between us both — utterly confused it seemed.

Christopher chuckled. “No, sir.” “Then, I am at a loss.” I nearly rolled my eyes. “Father, I shall marry the colonel,” I declared and Father shot out of the chair as if it had burned his behind. “The what?” “The colonel, Colonel Brandon,” I clarified while laying a gentle hand on his strong thigh, not sure what to make of Father’s reaction. Should he not be jubilant?

Father dropped his teacup. It shattered atop the thin rug. “Father!” I called out, instantly on my feet. “What have I forced you to do,” he murmured, looking at me with an ache in his usually happy eyes. “You are my beautiful Calliope, your mother’s spitting image, a soulful being of joy and poetry. What have I forced you to—” “Father,” I interrupted harshly as the man he spoke so off-puttingly about had risen next to me.

I turned, laying my hands on Christopher’s chest — his heart pounded beneath my right palm. Looking up, I found eyes of sorrow once more looking down at me. “I shall find a solution to your dire situation,” he murmured, his voice held taut by pain. “I am not agreeable, it seems…” He smiled most softly, a half smile, a sad smile, a painful ordering of his handsome features. “No, please,” I whispered. “I shall find a solution for you.” He turned toward Father while grabbing my wrists to lower my hands before he fully twisted himself to slightly bow his head toward the wide-eyed, shocked man. “Lord Haymnick, thank you for your time. I return your daughter in a better state than I found her.”

That was it.

Father blinked, I tried to grab Christopher's arm but he moved out of the room swiftly in harsh strides. “Father!” I shouted, rounding the table and snagging myself on my own dress. “How could you?!” He blinked, seeming dazed. “What? My Calli, you cannot marry a man so—” “So what? Caring? Gentle? Kind? What?! He’s the best man I have ever met and I cannot hide a single thought from him! I cannot lie to him, I cannot stop myself from thinking about him!” “He could be my brother, for goodness sake.” “So? That has never stopped any marriage before. And he could not be your brother, he’s—” “Calliope, please, I have several good suitors for you on hand, you don’t need to—”

I snarled, frustration leaking out of me while I fought myself not to run after Christopher. “I want to marry him! I— Father, my heart is screaming for the man you just spoke so terribly about. You—! I was told to marry before the end of the year, and marry I shall, but I will marry none other than Christopher!” “But, but Calli, he’s—” “Wonderful!” I shouted, stomping toward the door after having lost the battle to run after him. “He saved me, in every way possible and I will marry him. Not because it is necessary, or because of the fraud you’ve spun. I will marry him because I… I am falling in love with him.” I grabbed my dress, and heaved a frustrated breath that had my nostrils flaring, as I glared at my gaping father before readying myself to run after the man I could not lose. Again...

To Be Continued...

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: GAAAAAH - Father, what have you done you nincompoop?! Thank goodness we get the next part of this already tomorrow - hehehe 😘

TAGLIST: @lizlil @snapefiction @darkthought15 @monstreviolet @flowerdementia @marvelschriss @once-upon-an-imagine @ravennight41 @caseydoodles98 @slytherinprincess03 @theconsultingdetectiveswife @grimmyhild @monster-energies @myobscureimaginarium @snowblossomreads @eternal-silvertongued-prince @cherryglossie @setsuna-meiou31 @helena211 @a-queen-and-her-throne @justsaturn0 @turvi @dontwanttobeanamercanidiot @sunnylikesfrogs @dianilaws @snapesno1thighrider @sassanoe @snapesrn @bernadette-peters12 @sammy-13 @smartowl999 @castleofthorns @serenanight87 @leah1243 @cherihan @poetry-and-tea @evans23 @mamawolfsmith87 @snapesrn @severussimp @slyckman @liv2post @clawsthecactus @goldenglowwoman @sunset90 @meliabrandon @snapesrn @theheartwants-what-itwants @slyckman @thatlittlefangirl @sanji-simp @ankhmutes @lessdepressy @snapesrn @theheartwants-what-itwants @slyckman @daddythanatos

Want to be tagged? You can tag yourself HERE! Or tell me and I’ll gladly tag you!

[neick-hitlz]

study Alan Rickman's (my husband) face for my soul ! ฅ՞•ﻌ•՞ฅ

[dirbenaffleck]

ALAN RICKMAN as COL. BRANDON Sense and Sensibility ‧1995 ‧ Dir. Ang Lee

[firawren]

Sense and Sensibility 1995 text posts

[jaeausten]

A good match, for he is rich and she is handsome.

[hotjaneaustenmenpoll]

Third Place Poll

Propaganda...

Colonel Brandon (1995):

Alan Rickman has the sexiest voice. Just listen to him reading poetry to Marianne at the end to witness how hot he is.

Alan Rickman simply embodies the truth of Col. Brandon in a way that no one else every could. It's the perfect merging of actor and role. He brings the perfect combination of honor, decency, sensitivity and passion. He is the ultimate mensch.

Brandon propaganda in which even the film's director agrees that Brandon is sexy.

More Brandon propaganda! This photo could only be published in black and white because it would have been too powerful in color (the original color version is currently being used to provide electricity for a medium sized town in Devon. It's THAT powerful).

The brim of the hat falling over his eye. The casual lean. The hunting rifle slung across his leg. The puppy bestie. The fact you know he could row that boat while you watch and wish you were the boat.

From Emma Thompson's diaries which she kept while they were shooting Sense & Sensibility. Emma Thompson said vote Colonel Brandon.

The man has just heard her sing for a minute and he’s positively awestruck!

also adding his adorable adorable smile just bc i can.

Mr Knightley (2009):

Johnny Lee Miller as Knightley is JUST SO. I mean the way he says "if I loved you less I might be able to talk about it more" IS JUUUST. The dance scene. The tentative shy smiles. The fact you can see in his eyes the entire time " I am completely in love with this woman. She'll never love me back BUT I DO NOT CARE I'LL LOVE HER FROM A DISTANCE ANYWAY" IS JUUUUUUST

We need to appreciate Mr Knightley more for both his snark and for those soft eyes just so full of love for Emma

GIF by dearemma

I was just going to send in the actual dance but the little panic he has when Emma says she knows his secret is just soo charming. There was some thread on twitter a few years ago about how a romcom man's most important quality is knowing how to look at a woman and JLM is just the master of it in this Emma

I really feel like the pictures say it all. He stands there, head tilted to one side. He is listening to you. His posture is relaxed. His gaze open, frank, candid. He's not trying at all. He just is.And that's why he is Knightley.

GIF by night-unfurls-its-splendour

Some propaganda, not just for Jonny Lee Miller, but the general interpretation of 09 Knightley. I have some excerpts here from my review of the 09 adaptation:

What I really think is great about the 2009 interpretation of Mr. Knightley is what an easy and comforting presence he is, without being apologetic when he scolds Emma. I think this is communicated especially well by how often we are actually shown Mr. Knightley taking his almost-daily walks to Hartfield, how smoothly he comes and goes, and how happy Emma is every time she sees him coming up the path (usually, just at the perfect moment when she needs something to put her back to rights.)

64.media.tumblr.com

Here is Emma, feeling lonely after Miss Taylor's wedding. And in the background, walking up to Hartfield--there's Knightley. He's always been there for her, and he always will be.

And also this Mr. Knightley is as understated as ever, but I wanna highlight this outfit and why I love it: This is Knightley’s first appearance in the series and it’s the perfect establishing shot that shows the viewer everything they need to know about Emma and Knightley’s relationship and how it has always been. He sort of materializes, out of focus in the background, but Emma immediately knows he’s there. And to accentuate how much Knightley is part of her home and scenery, his clothes (similar shades of pale tan, white and minty green to the wall behind him) almost camouflage him and make him seem at one with the moulding of her home.

Additionally, Jonny Lee Miller captures Knightley’s playful qualities, and his exasperation is so endearing

GIF by christophernolan

GIF by sashajames

GIF by christophernolan

I can’t be the only one tickled by this Knightley’s frustration with Emma! JLM FTW!

Jonny Lee Miller is mesmerizing in any role he inhabits. It’s 2009 Knightly all the way.

no but can you actually go vote for mr knightley he was FOUNDATIONAL for 16 year old me my favourite portrayal of my favourite austen man cannot fall at this hurdle!!!

He is my ultimate Austen Dream Man, I'm with him until the end. Honestly this adaptation is my very favorite of them all (P&P 1995 is a VERY close second) because it made me fall in love with Emma as a story? Honestly no other adaptation or indeed even my reading of the book made me love it quite as much. My crush on JLM goes back to 1995 and I do think he is one of the better actors of his generation - his range alone is just impeccable. The fact that he can go from Sick Boy to Mr. Knightley to Sherlock to Jordan Chase is really something. Of all the actors I know, his range is the most impressive. But i love how bright and sunny this adaptation is. The colors, it is as vibrant as Emma should be! The Kate Beckinsale Emma is dark and terrifying to me, not at all suitable an adaptation. I like the Paltrow Emma a lot, but it's got the same issue the 2005 P&P has for me -- it's just too short. This is tonally just right, and the casting is lovely, and JLM is just at his dashing best. His face is so expressive, he is so capable of communicating so much without saying a word. His open jealousy of Frank Churchill is delightful to watch. His face when Emma tells him his secret is out at the ball! JLM is maybe the most underrated actor of his generation and I LOVE that he has been multiple Austen heroes. I maintain that in a future adaptation of Pride & Prejudice, an older JLM would make an EXCELLENT Mr. Bennet. He would convey the right amount of grumpy but fond beautifully.

Look. Do people realize JLM hates wearing period clothing AND hates dancing? And yet in Emma he's sashaying around in pink jackets looking amazing and is THAT convincing? That's called BRILLIANT ACTING!!

A tiny bit of Mr Knightley 2009 propaganda but I love that they put in that bit from the book where he looks like he's going to kiss Emma's hand when he's saying goodbye but then he hesitates and doesn't and I just...it's such a tiny detail but conveys so much!

GIF by myforeverworldofmovie

It’s the only Emma adaptation that really hits the romance notes well. Knightley’s crowning moment of awesome really feels like it (when he rescues Harriet from humiliation) and his subsequent dancing with Emma does make you feel a shift in their relations. Love this adaptation. - This Knightley and Emma in particular are equals. They quarrel, not because he’s telling her off, but because they can have an argument because they know each other, trust each other and care about each others opinions, and there is never a sense of domination of one over the other. This adds so much fire to the romance, and it’s so unusual for a romance of that era (or even one written today!!). - Emma is rich, clever and beautiful and as powerful as a woman of her age and situation could be at the time and she married Knightley for no other reason but because he’s her best friend and his company for the rest of her life will enrich her. - He even leaves his house to move in with her!

GIF by elinordash

[thatscarletflycatcher]

"We need more male-female platonic friendships" y'all couldn't even handle Elinor and colonel Brandon

[elsyrel]

I've been reading Jane Austen lately. She has become one of my favourite writers, so I've drawn some of her male protagonists :D (in order: Mr. Darcy, Captain Wentworth, Colonel Brandon and Edward Ferrars)

[didanagy]

SENSE AND SENSIBILITY (1995)

MARIANNE AND COLONEL BRANDON

dir. ang lee

[efarttt]

Some Sense and Sensibility (1995) fanart!

[evans23]

RICKMAS 2024 - DAY 1 - DECEMBER MOON [A1]

Pairing : Colonel Brandon x OC

Summary : During a night on December, Colonel Brandon meets a young woman who captivates him instantly. He then realises that what he had mistaken for love when he met Marianne had never truly been love.

Tag(s)/Warning(s) : Sadness, mention of depression and loneliness.

A/N : Hello dear 😁 I'm so excited to write for my first Rickmas hosted by the amazing @deepperplexity ! I stumbled upon Rickmas last year... after Christmas, but I was in a very bad phase at the time and all those amazing stories helped me so much and I also discoverd the incredible trilogy "Judge and Sentenced" from @deepperplexity that I advise you to read because it's probably the best Turpin's fiction I've ever read ! Anyway, I'm doing my Sinclair by rambling here, therefore, let's begin Rickmas !

QUIET WISHING : Part II

Also read on AO3 - Wattpad

Poor Colonel Brandon was returning from London, exhausted. He, who usually preferred to be perched on his stallion was comfortably installed in the shelter of his carriage. At 38, he had never felt so old and yet, he was still so young.

But a small voice, which strangely had the same intonations as a lady he knew, told him that he was just an old man full of rheumatism. It was not entirely false. He had an old soul since birth, fuelled by the mistreatment of a violent and unloving father and by a protective mother who died too early. As for the rheumatism, it was more a vestige of his life in the army, but also of an accident in India involving an elephant, which had almost cost him an arm and had left him with a painful shoulder, especially in rainy weather.

But beyond his 38 years that he carried like a burden, there was the memory of his sweet Eliza and te one of the mischievous Marianne. Two women who had broken his heart. The first without wanting to, the second on a whim.

Eliza, tender, intrepid and in love with him, this beauty with whom he had fallen in love while still very young and whom his father had taken away from him without scruples before sending him, at only sixteen, to join the ranks of his majesty's army. 

Fortunately, in India he had met John Middleton who had been more than a friend, almost a surrogate father. Indeed, 20 years older than Brandon, he had immediately taken a liking to the young man and his situation, helping him to climb the ranks of the army thanks to his influence.

Later, when he returned to England, he met his mentor's mother-in-law, Mrs. Jennings, an intrusive woman who had an unfortunate tendency to meddle in things that didn't concern her, but for whom he nevertheless had infinite tenderness. Her intrusive nature came from the pain of having lost his eldest daughter, John's wife, while she was expecting a child. A haemorrhage in the middle of the night, an incompetent doctor, and in the morning, the mother and child had gone to join the heavens. Mrs. Jennings reminded him of his own mother with the gentleness she showed him and if she was not known for her subtlety, she had always had the delicacy to never mention Eliza in front of him.

As for Marianne... This pretty devil who had reminded him of her deceased Eliza had hurt him much more than any whipping given by his father for an unimportant misdeed.

He had loved her at first sight, finding in her his first love and it had taken him time and a little too much of a difficult lesson to realize that she wasn't even the shadow of his Eliza. Eliza would never have shown the wickedness that Marianne had shown by letting him hope just after his infectious fever, graciously accepting his gifts and demanding his presence. No, Marianne, full of malice, had felt no remorse in making him suffer as she did with all those around her when she could no longer get anything from them.

She had let him believe that she was his just after this fever that had almost taken her, but when he had asked her to marry him, she had hesitated, giving him an ambiguous answer, a "maybe" more than a "yes". It was during a social event organised at Barton Park that he had understood that the young woman had set her sights on another man of barely 23 years old. A young and dashing high judge of London with a cold and severe look, but rich and powerful, much more than him, much more than anyone in Devonshire.

The next day, he had asked Marianne for an answer to his question and when she had still hesitated, he had told her that he knew and that he was freeing her. He didn't yet know that it was him that he was freeing.

Marianne was now married to this man that all of London nicknamed The Death's Judge, and if she was happily married or not, Brandon didn't know, all he knew was that she was expecting her first child while he was still alone, with no one to love. No loved one and no descendants.

Alone with his heavy thoughts and this feeling that he would end up alone, he who had so much affection to offer, so much love to give, if only a woman with enough spirit but also a certain reserve could make his heart beat again that he now thought would be cold forever, he would cherish her as no man could.

Two years had passed since the injury inflicted by Marianne and with time, his heart had calmed down, and his old governess, full of wisdom, had gently made him understand that what he had taken for love towards Marianne had in fact been only an illusion nourished by this vague resemblance of character that the young woman shared with Eliza.

It was then that the carriage stopped abruptly and Christopher had just enough time to put his hand in front of him so as not to crush his hooked nose against the empty seat in front of him.

"What's going on ?" he asked in his baritone voice as he got out of the carriage.

The icy wind immediately bit his cheeks as night fell gently, promising new frosts.

"A dog, Colonel Brandon, I wanted to avoid a dog," the coachman apologized.

Christopher saw it. A little further away. A dog with a red coat was curled up.

"Is it hurt ?" Christopher asked, genuinely worried.

"No, I avoided him," the coachman replied, "I think he got scared."

Christopher approached the animal cautiously. Medium-sized, the dog looked fierce, ready to bite, but Christopher was reassured to see no injuries.

"Are you lost, little boy ?" he asked the dog, hoping to calm him down.

As if to answer his question, a young woman's voice was heard behind the trees that lined the road.

"Henry ! Henry !" she shouted urgently.

That's when you appeared from behind the trees at the very moment the moon was hitting the night with its first rays. Christopher couldn't take his eyes off that angelic face, fine features that gave off great gentleness and eyes... eyes as deep green as the woods you had just left, green like when summer brought the trees back to life.

You stopped dead when you saw the carriage and your face went from surprise to terror.

"HENRY !" you shouted as you ran towards the dog.

Without even a glance at Christopher or his coachman who had just dismounted, you ran towards the dog who immediately stood up to run towards you.

"Henry, are you okay ?" you asked as if the dog could have answered you.

You examined him carefully, looking for an injury or a trace of blood.

"My coachman avoided it just in time," Christopher reassured you.

You stood up, turning towards Christopher who was slightly disconcerted by your gaze, deep, vibrant, eyes that reflected a thousand emotions at the same time... and who seemed to judge him.

"I promise you it was an accident, the dog rushed in front of the carriage," he felt obliged to justify himself.

You still said nothing, watching Christopher carefully. He did the same, although a little uncomfortable by the sudden silence of this young woman who had been so vocal when she had thought her dog was injured. He too looked at you. He had never seen you before, not that he knew everyone living in Dorsetshire, but he could at least boast of knowing everyone living around Delaford, most of them working for him.

"I am Colonel Christopher Brandon," he finally introduced himself with a bow.

"[Y/N], [Y/N] [Y/S]," you answered in a soft voice, bowing back.

You seemed a little shy, perhaps due to your youth. But the more Christopher looked at you, the more he doubted that you were as young as you looked. A certain seriousness in your gaze, like a deep-seated pain that only someone who has lived long enough to know the true pangs of life could have.

"I have never seen you here before," he said in spite of himself.

"My father was hired as a gardener by the Hawthorns, we arrived a month ago," you answered without trying to appear for what you was not.

Christopher knew this influential family from Devonshire well, John's neighbours. You were far from their home, more than four hours on foot, maybe five if the rain started to fall on the ground that was freezing at full speed.

"You are far from home," he pointed out.

The moonlight prevented him from hiding a slight blush on your cheeks.

"It's Henry, he ran away this morning and I wanted to find him before nightfall. I was afraid he would die of cold tonight," you explained, glancing at the said Henry.

The dog, totally unaware of the fright he had given his mistress, amused himself by teasing Christopher's coachman who was not at ease in front of the animal, much to the amusement of the Colonel.

"You came all this way for a dog?" he asked, surprised.

"Henry isn't just a dog ! He's a full-fledged member of the family," you replied briskly.

Christopher apologized quickly. He hadn't meant to offend you, he had been sincerely surprised. In his world, full of nobility, a woman wouldn't have ventured so far, so lightly covered, to find a runaway dog.

"Aren't you cold, miss ?" Christopher asked, seeing you suppress a shiver.

"I'm used to it," you replied, looking away.

That was all it took for him to understand. He had already understood your modest condition, but he assumed, probably rightly, that your family had probably couldn't afford a proper coat.

Without hesitation, he took his off and before you could protest, he placed it on your shoulders.

"I insist," he said gently but firmly when you wanted to give it back.

A new silence settled between you. Christopher couldn't help but notice your similarities. You didn't speak much, looked serious but you had a certain dignity and you seemed deeply kind even if he guessed a volcanic temperament if you attacked those you loved, as you had shown when he dared to say that your dog was just a dog.

"Henry, that's a funny name for a dog," he finally dared to say.

"I called him that because when I found him, I was reading a book about Henry VIII."

"Found ?"

"Yes, an old farmer had abandoned his dog's entire litter in the middle of the woods. It was in the village where I used to live. Henry was the only puppy still alive. I brought him back and my father didn't have the heart to abandon him when he found him hiding in my room," you said before stopping suddenly, feeling like you had said too much.

But Christopher didn't judge you, not for your modest condition. He found you endearing, refreshing even in your own way.

"Can I drive you and Henry home ?" he offered kindly.

"That's nice, but we're going for a walk," you replied.

Christopher's smile immediately faded.

"Miss [Y/S], I insist, it's already pitch black."

"I don't think it's right for me to sit alone with you in your carriage," you said softly.

Christopher's eyes lit up with a flash of understanding. You had no chaperone to accompany you in the carriage and propriety shouldn't have made him insist, but it was cold, you were far from home, and he would not have been able to sleep properly tonight without being sure that you had returned home safely.

He was about to insist when, without warning, the rain began to fall, hammering the ground severely. He almost pushed you into the carriage before grabbing Henry and making him climb in at the same time as himself.

"You can't go back alone, by foot, in this weather, you will catch your death," he said in a tone that left no room for contradiction.

He told the coachman your destination and the carriage set off again. He wouldn't return home tonight finally, to his estate that he had so longed to return to, he wouldn't find his firm and comfortable bed and his governess's lemon cakes. He already knew that you would arrive home late, but he had no doubt that John and his mother-in-law would welcome him with open arms, even if he was not expected. It bothered him a little to impose himself like this, but he knew that the horse, and also the coachman, would not have the strength to make it all the way to Devonshire, then to Delaford.

The journey took place in comfortable silence. You were shivering slightly from the cold, snuggling in spite of yourself in the Colonel's oversized coat that smelled of cologne and another perfume whose name you did not know but that you had already smelled on your father's employer.

"May I ask you if you live alone with your father ?" Christopher dared to ask.

His intention wasn't entirely innocent. He wanted to know if you had a fiancé.

"Yes," you simply replied.

He wondered how old you were and what you did with your days, but he felt you were reserved and he himself was not a man who spoke easily about himself, he preferred not to bother you any further.

It was almost 10 pm when the carriage finally arrived near the modest cottage that the Hawthorns rented at a ridiculous price to your father. The place was small, modest. There were only four rooms: two bedrooms, a living room and a kitchen as well as a small cold and poorly lit room that you used to take your baths.

Although you didn't know who Christopher really was, you guessed that he was important... and rich, and you couldn't help but feel a little embarrassed by the smallness of your means, but at no time did Christopher seem to be bothered by it. He helped you down before handing you Henry.

"Come inside and get warm, [Y/S]," he said, bowing before adding, "it was a pleasure to meet you."

"Thank you Colonel Brandon, really," you replied before disappearing inside, not without one last look at the man who still had his hazel eyes fixed on you.

Christopher then headed to his old friend John's, his thoughts filled with your face, your soft voice, that strange feeling you had awakened in him but that he tried to stifle at all costs. He didn't want to suffer, not again. He had finally learned his lesson. Love wasn't for him, you wouldn't make him suffer, not you too.

"Brandon ! My old friend, I didn't know we were expecting you !" John exclaimed when the butler announced Christopher.

"I'm sorry to intrude like this..." he began before being interrupted by Mrs. Jennings who told him with her usual joviality that he was always welcome at their home.

John invited him to drink a glass of his best whisky, a Scottish vintage that he particularly cherished, in his office. Christopher hesitated to confide in him about the intriguing encounter he had had, and wisdom made him hold his tongue. Until the next day, when at breakfast, when he ventured a few questions to Mrs. Jennings.

"Last night, as I was heading to your place, I met a young woman. A certain [Y/S]. Do you know her, Mrs. Jennings ?" he asked casually without telling the whole truth about your encounter.

"Oh, Miss [Y/S] ! I don't know her very well, she's a very private young lady, but..."

She knew a lot for someone who didn't know you and she was able to tell Christopher that you were a 28 year old spinster with no known fiancé. You were rather private although often seen with your faithful Henry.

"She sometimes walks on my land," John informed Christopher as he took a bite of bread, "I've never had the heart to tell her she walks on private land, she's so reserved that I don't want to make her uncomfortable," he added.

"Oh, and she seems so respectful and she's not doing anything wrong walking here with her dog. Poor child, she's always so alone." Mrs. Jennings said theatrically. "She sometimes helps out at the Hawthorne manor with the children. I did try to invite her to have tea with me once, but she told me she didn't think a girl like her belonged at my table."

"Nonsense !" John exclaimed, "Any pleasant and well-mannered person is worthy of being part of our acquaintances."

His mother-in-law nodded vigorously before continuing with the latest gossip, but Christopher was already no longer listening, his thoughts lost in a December night where the moon lit up your eyes a deep green.

Finally returning home, Christopher settled into his old worn fabric armchair, a book in his hand, but he wasn't reading. You were still there haunting his thoughts. He had felt this feeling before. Not like with Marianne, no. But like with Eliza.

He shook his head vigorously as if to get your image out of his head. He couldn't afford to have heartbroken, he wouldn't survive it, not when he had finally come to terms with the idea of ​​being alone for the rest of his life, in the comfort of the Delaford, with his dogs. And yet, he didn't see his day go by. Not because he had been busy with his fishing trip and his horseback ride, but because his mind had been busy. Busy with you.

And for no real reason, he found himself visiting his friend John two days later, under the pretext of proposing a hunting trip. John accepted enthusiastically, unaware that his friend's real intention was to see you again. And it didn't take more than two days for him to come across you near the small river that crossed John's land. Recognising him, Henry ran towards him, barking happily.

"Miss [Y/S], what a nice surprise to see you again," Brandon said politely, bowing.

"Colonel Brandon, this is a surprise indeed," you replied, giving him a slight bow.

"You don't have any gloves," he remarked, a little concerned.

However, what he didn't mention, although he noticed it right away, was that you were wearing his coat, the one he had forced over your shoulders a few nights earlier and that you had forgotten to give him back. The fabric still smelled like him, in addition to being of undeniable quality, giving you a welcome warmth. Christopher was kind enough not to say anything, happy that you had something decent to cover yourself with.

"I never wear them," you replied, shrugging, "I can't turn the pages of my book with gloves," you added, showing him the book with the worn cover that you were holding in your hands.

"Can I accompany you on your walk, Miss [Y/S] ?"

You nodded shyly and you walked along the small river together, Henry at your side. The Colonel didn't seem bothered by your four-legged companion who regularly jumped on him, leaving his footprints on his black pants. When you apologised, a little embarrassed by Henry's behaviour, Christopher replied with a smile that he loved dogs and that it didn't matter to him that Henry decided to repaint his pants.

When the sky began to darken in the late afternoon, you politely excused yourself, stating that you should go home before nightfall.

"Can I walk you home ?" Brandon suggested, genuinely worried about letting you walk home alone.

You bit your lip, hesitant. On one hand, you didn't want to risk being seen with a man and having rumors spread about you, but on the other hand, you didn't want to risk hurting the kind Colonel Brandon. You finally agreed, praying inwardly that no viper's tongue in the village would see you two. Your wish seemed to have been granted and it was with the manners of a gentleman that Colonel Brandon wished you a good evening before waiting until you had closed the door behind you to turn on your heels.

In love. He was in love, for sure. And it wasn't an illusion this time. You were nothing like Eliza. You were neither lively nor spontaneous. In fact, you were more like him: thoughtful, calm and sparing with words. But you also had a certain depth, a certain culture and a natural curiosity to feed your mind. He knew that with you, he would always have a subject of conversation, whether it was books, poetry, art, theatre or music. He had understood it when, despite your lack of education on the subject, you had taken an interest in his life in the army and when you had started to drown him in questions not about him but about India, the different cultures and people he had met there, he had found it refreshing.

At no time had you asked a question about his field or made any allusion to his status. But that was where the problem lay in Christopher's mind. His status. He had never really given importance to social class differences. Not with Eliza. Not with Marianne. His father had taught him a first lesson, Marianne a second, more bitter than the first one. What would he do if you were also a dowry hunter?

Christopher wanted to be loved. Loved for himself, not for his wealth, not for the Delaford. Of course, if you were his he would spoil you like never before. You would have the most beautiful dresses, your own coats, gloves, clothes for every season and jewellery to match each dress. 

You would have access to all the books you wanted and he would teach you to draw and play the piano so that you could occupy your time in his big house. But it was not for all that he had to offer that he wanted you to love him in return. It was for himself and a small, vicious voice told him that a girl like you, a girl of little condition, penniless, a gardener's daughter, an old maid at that, could never truly love him for himself. But another small voice, weaker but still there, told him that he must not let himself be swayed by a bad experience. 

After all, Marianne was just a child, a capricious and changeable little girl and he wasn't even sure that her real interest in his love stories was money. With her impulsiveness, Marianne fell in love as easily as one falls off a chair and he wondered if she would keep her promise made before God to be faithful to her high judge. Although he knew the latter well enough not to doubt that he would hold this little demon with an iron fist.

Several miles from the Delaford, your thoughts were haunted too. Haunted by a tall man with dark blond hair and hazel eyes. His eagle-beaked nose that made him even more distinguished and his shy smile haunted you. You knew exactly what you felt for him. You had known it the moment he had wrapped you authoritatively in his coat before forcing you into his carriage to take you home on that December night lit only by the moon.

You loved him. You loved him as you had thought you loved twelve years earlier. But you realized today that what you had taken for love at only sixteen had nothing to do with what you felt for the dark Colonel Brandon. This time, you were experiencing true love, the kind that burns you from the inside, consumes you, haunts your nights and fills your days.

But you had no right to love him. By discreetly asking around at the old bakery, you had learned who Colonel Christopher Brandon really was. A man who wasn't for you. A man too good, too important, too rich. How could a man like him ever be interested in a woman like you ?

But that wasn't all. Even if, by some totally improbable chance, Colonel Brandon could have the slightest interest in you, you were hiding something. A secret that would repel any man, even a man of your status. A secret that only your grandmother knew and that she had taken with her to her grave. A secret that would die with you but that condemned you to remain alone forever.

A few days later, you were alone outside in the middle of the night, frozen to the bone as a pure white snow fell on Dorsetshire. Henry was sheltered in your coat, or at least the Colonel's coat. The little rascal had burrowed away again and now you were both going to catch bluetongue. If it hadn't been for the full moon, you would never have been able to find your way through all that white. Just then, in front of you came a man on horseback, a magnificent black stallion with a fine appearance.

Inwardly, you felt anxiety take hold of you. It was late and you could tell that the rider was a man, and you hoped that he was a man with good intentions.

The closer the horse got, the more familiar the figure on it seemed to you. But it was only when he was a few steps away from you that you recognized Colonel Brandon, dashing in his long wool coat.

"Miss [Y/S] !" he exclaimed in an almost angry tone, "what are you doing out in this weather ? You're going to catch your death !"

"It's Henry, he disappeared again himself again," you replied in a very small voice.

Hearing his name, the dog stuck his head between the flaps of the coat, his tongue hanging out trying to catch the snowflakes that were falling on you.

"Maybe we should build a proper barrier to stop your companion from scaring you to death... and freezing."

Brandon had said this with a firmness that left no room for any kind of humour. You nodded timidly, shivering despite the warmth of his coat.

"Give him to me," Brandon ordered.

You hesitated for a moment but when he held out his gloved hands towards you, you handed him Henry without fear. Deep down, you knew he wouldn't hurt your best friend. Christopher placed your dog inside his own coat, then he held out your hand.

"Ride with me, I'll take you home !"

You placed your hand in his hesitantly and he hoisted you up without any harm behind him before setting his horse into a gallop.

Your hands hooked on his hips, you gently rested your head against his back. You could feel the warmth emanating from his body pierce you and for a moment, you imagined what it must be like to be loved by a man like him.

When the horse stopped in front of the cottage you shared with your father, the snow had stopped falling and it shone like millions of diamonds under the benevolent gaze of the moon.

"Your father isn't here ?" Brandon asked worriedly, seeing no candles lit in your candle, nor the smoke of a warm fire burning in the fireplace.

"No. The Hawthornes are having a small party for the staff and he was invited," you replied as he helped you dismount.

Christopher dismounted as well, Henry still sheltered against his chest.

"Do you need help lighting the fire ?" Brandon asked, genuinely concerned.

"No, thank you Colonel, but I'll be fine."

The truth was that you couldn't start the fire eight times out of ten, but if anyone found out that a man had come into your house while your father wasn't there to chaperone you, it didn't matter that you were already 28, the rumour that you were a girl of easy virtue would spread like wildfire in the village and your father would risk losing his job with the Hawthornes, people of great kindness but who couldn't stand to be the object of mockery, especially at the fault of their employees.

"Good evening, Miss [Y/S]," Brandon murmured, his gaze tender.

"Colonel, I can't go home," you murmured.

"Why ?" Christopher asked in a whisper.

"Because you're still holding my dog in ​hostage," you replied with a slight smile.

Christopher chuckled before handing Henry back to you, but as he placed him in your arms, his fingers lingered longer than necessary on your icy hand.

Gently, he untied the silk scarf that brought a little more warmth to his throat and chest to place it around you, adding a touch of modesty to your fragile form in the face of his imposing stature. The scarf, light and delicate, immediately offered you an additional touch of warmth, a touch of warmth that manifested itself in a delicate blush on your cheeks, a touch of warmth caused by the violent feelings you felt for Christopher Brandon.

"I offer it to you. As well as the coat. They will keep you warm this winter," Brandon said softly, almost as if he were reciting poetry.

"Colonel..." you murmured, too moved to add a thank you.

"Miss [Y/S]..."

He hesitated for a moment. What he was about to say would change the destiny of both of you forever. He wasn't going to offer to be your friend. No, he was going to take a risk, a new one.bet against the reason that pushed him to make you a mere memory, against his heart that screamed at him that he would suffer again, against the love that seemed to refuse him with force, leaving him a little more broken each time.

"Miss [Y/S], do you allow me to court you ?"

A million emotions crossed your gaze and he could not name any of them. Inside, you screamed with joy while your heart beat so hard that you wondered if it would not explode with love. But there was this secret. This secret that could destroy the slightest illusion that you could nourish towards the slightest spark of love between Colonel Brandon and yourself. Yet, if your head told you to say no to him immediately so as not to hurt him later, so as not to hurt this man who seemed sincerely good and kind and who deserved so much better than you, it was your heart that answered.

"Yes."

You said it in a breath, your eyes diving into his. With tenderness, he caressed your face, a slight smile softening his features so often severe while you allowed yourself a sincere smile that hid your fear that he could learn what had haunted you for more than twelve years.

"I promise to always respect you miss [Y/S]," Christopher murmured, confusing your apprehension for what you were hiding with the fear that he was playing you.

"Colonel, please, call me by my first name," you asked him candidly.

"Only if, in private, you call me Christopher."

You nodded with emotion. He squeezed your small hands in his, smiling slightly at Henry's antics who was impatient at the idea of ​​going back to get warm.

"Come back, [Y/N], get warm. I'll come back to see you tomorrow and talk to your father. I'll ask for his blessing to court you properly." 

And without waiting to answer, he placed a tender kiss on your forehead, while on this December evening, only the moon was witness to this hope that you both nourished. The hope of a new chance, of redemption, of finally knowing true love.

[dirbenaffleck]

Sense and Sensibility 1995 ‧ Dir. Ang Lee

[firawren]

Ron Swanson as Jane Austen characters

I did Leslie Knope as Austen heroines, and @obscurelittlebird did Craig Middlebrooks as P&P characters, so let's keep the Parks and Rec crossover going with Ron Swanson as Austen men!

Mr. Bennet:

Mr. Darcy:

Colonel Brandon:

Mr. Bingley:

Captain Wentworth:

Mr. Tilney:

Mr. Knightley:

[underrtheskinn]

Sense and sensibility (1995)