#colonel brandon fic

[deepperplexity]

Prompt 11: Out Of Reach [A3]

Pairing: Colonel Brandon x Fem!OC

POV: First, OC

Continuation of: Prompt 1. December Moon [A1], Prompt 5. Open Doors [A2]

A/N: It's time for Brandon!!! 😍 Now, this is going to be frustrating, just hold out darlings (she says as if it isn't something we enjoy when done right which I hope I have 😂) and we'll get through this together despite omissions of feelings being near miscommunication between our pining lovebirds unwilling to take a leap of faith 👀

Side Note: The electricity is RIDICULOUSLY expensive today - as well as yesterday - going up to 6.28 SEK when the more common price is 1SEK (1 SEK being about 10 cents) so I'm currently bundled up under double blankets with a warm wheat bag around my feet to keep warm as we've turned off all heat and everything but the freezer and fridge is unplugged 😂 I am beyond fed up with the idiocy of the economy - with all that entails - and I hope everyone else are toasty warm and not needing to turn of the heat ❤  

Tags/TW’s: Miscommunication by Omission, Mutual Secret Pining, Half-Confessions, Dire Situation Admitted, WHY WON’T THEY JUST SAY WHAT THEY’RE FEELING?!, Asking For Assistance/Pleading For Silence, Physical Attraction, Emotional Attraction, Desperation, Longing

Word Count: 2.7k

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

Out Of Reach

It had to be a dream, there was no other way. “Stay awake. No, allow me views of those eyes of summer skies, Miss,” he said harshly but the roll of his voice was a deep caress to my lulled senses. “Open your eyes,” he continued as he squeezed my ribs and thighs with his large hands. It took more strength than I wished to admit to do such a small thing. I managed to blink them open only to lose my breath at how close he was.

Colonel Brandon watched me intently, those inviting eyes shielded by layers of history, yet the crease between his brows softened as our gazes held each other. “Miss Haymnick,” he began in a quiet roll of a rumble. “Keep those eyes open for me.” “I… shall try,” I whispered between chattering teeth and full-body trembles from his closeness and the cold. “Your horse, she’s a calm one, yes?” I nodded. “Good.”

He held me tighter for a moment then manoeuvred me to lay on Marrygold, asking several times if I was fairing as he tugged on my dress and moved my arm before untying his cloak. The golden string around his throat ripped loose in a tug and my breath faltered as he draped it atop me. The smell of wind once more infiltrated my nose as he lay the cloak half atop my head and tucked it under my chin.

His finger graced my chin, the chill of his glove-free hand had me sucking in a breath but my cheeks warmed as his finger lingered a second longer than necessary. “No reins?” he asked as he looked the horse over. “Nor saddle. Miss Haymnick, what are you doing riding through the winter in such a state?” he asked but he was no longer by my side. His hand gripped Marrygold’s harness, he was leading her toward his own horse. “She is my horse,” I whispered, forcing the words out. “My best friend,” I continued, gripping her mane a little harder for a short moment before my numb fingers lost their strength. “Stay awake,” he urged, his voice a bit more frazzled than before as my words had turned quieter with each syllable. So tired… “Hold on,” the colonel said and I wanted to laugh for a second at the request. “We must get you warm.”

Marrygold began walking, slowly, down the slope of the hill and when I managed to tilt my head I found Colonel Brandon atop his horse with Marrygold’s harness looped through one of his reins. He viewed me with delicate worry in the harsh lines of his face. His regal nose had reddened from the cold as well as his cheeks, the top-hat held his slightly golden locks in place despite the wind. His straight back and decisive hold of the reins had a flutter break out in my stomach but it was his eyes that had my pounding heart in their grip. Eyes of poetry, I thought as my mind began to drift toward the loss I had secured by foolishly chasing him away with my thoughtless, detrimental mood all those days ago…

He urged the horse to go faster as my eyelids drooped. “A little further, Miss.” “I lost you,” I mumbled in my haze. “I was… foolish… it is… hopeless, now…” “Stay…” I heard him say yet my mind drifted before the rest reached me.

⁛•⁛

“Miss,” came the rumble from my dreams. “Wake up, wake up,” it continued as the steady breaths of Marrygold had me rising and sinking. “Sir, we ought to move her,” came the shrill yet worried voice of a woman. “She is not injured,” came a second male voice. “My lord, she needs—” “I am aware.” After those words, whatever lay atop me was stripped away and I shivered from the sudden chill.

I blinked, regaining some of my strength as wakefulness slipped in. “Miss Haymnick,” he said as my eyes found those which made me think of poetry and depth. “Can you hear me?” I nodded. “Yes…” “Oh thank heavens,” said the woman. “Come on, let’s get the lady inside, my lord.” “Come,” he said, focusing solely on me to my heart’s utter thrill. “Let us get you warm, miss.”

I groaned, pushing against Marrygold’s neck to get myself upright. Everything ached, each muscle and limb straining against any movement from the lack of energy and the bone-chilling cold, and before I could grasp the mane beneath my fingers the world spun and I fell to the side.

“Goodness me!” shrieked the woman as sturdy arms caught me up. My feet had hit the ground but I was unharmed with his arms around my waist. “Miss?” he asked as I tilted my head back, black dots lined my vision yet he remained clear as day. “I— I’m alright,” I managed to force out yet my feet would not stand flat against the ground, my legs bending and yielding — no matter how I tried to stand. “I have you,” he murmured while bending and manoeuvring his arms to lift me bridal style. “Let us get you inside, get you warm.” Those words had me in shambles when he viewed me with such scrutiny in his eyes — not of the judging kind, but the caring one.

⁛•⁛

He had left me atop a grand bed, with mahogany posts and a canopy of thick, green velvet tapering off into curtains that could fully shield the bed I lay in. The woman, who I now knew carried the name Hatchfield, had been ordered to remain by my side and help care for me. The man who had captured my heart with so little as a look and a few words of possibilities had left the room with only one glance back at me.

“There, miss. Let us get you dressed.” Mrs Hatchfield was fluffing up my dress which had been cleaned and sorted during the night. “The master awaits you for breakfast.”

I glanced at her, then the dress of deep red not unlike the ruby of blood or the shade of half-wilted roses. A muted yet bold red. A red designed to make a statement. How can I meet him after the trouble I have caused him, yesterday as well as the first day I encountered the man? I had no thoughts to help me come up with any form of plan for the upcoming encounter. Guilt, shame, even dread lingered in me yet the man had gone above and beyond for me yesterday and I would not sully my mother’s legacy or the brittle fraud of my family’s current state as affluent and important. I shall beg his forgiveness and plead for his good graces, plead for him to keep my state and actions a secret. I have already lost any chance at his hand, at his heart… I shall not lay more waste to the man’s life or peace…

Mrs Hatchfield helped me dress, lacing the corset swiftly but harshly — while whispering and murmuring about my beauty, from blond locks to hourglass figure. I was accustomed to such praise, no matter who said it the compliments meant little — either they held no sway or they were spoken with want for me in a manner not befitting (my heart, or my mind).

I looked around the room while she flustered about. The room had a soft sense to it, a strong but gentle energy filling it. The smell of books hit me as my eyes landed on a large bookcase filled to the brim with what appeared to be a large collection of poetry, legends, and… romances. I squinted to make out more of the letters along the spines of the books but my guesses seemed correct. “The Master has a cultivated collection, miss Haymnick,” Mrs Hatchfield said as she caught me looking. “This room is not usually one he allows visitors within. It is his second bedroom, when the master bedroom feels too big for the man. Or, when he requires solitude one can find him in that chair with a book in his hand.” She nodded toward an armchair dressed in green velvet much like the drapes.

“Is he a good master?” I asked, still studying the spines with great and insignificant names of poets. “A wonderful master, miss.” She looked over her shoulder at the closed door leading out of the room. “He would be a wonderful husband, too. For a lady with a gentle heart and appreciation for the quiet and calm life the master is always in pursuit of.” I scrunched my brows. “I heard he is never home, always travelling the world?” Can Mrs Hilliard have her gossip wrong? “Oh, indeed, that is the pursuit, miss. He searches for the right reason to remain here, but I do not believe he will find it out there in the world any longer.” She glanced up at me with a slightly mischievous, almost knowing smile.

Mrs Hatchfield had ordered my hair, patted down my dress, and now showed me to the colonel who sat in an intimate tea parlour. The shiny floor and dark walls soothed and calmed — the fabrics in shades of dark blues and deep greens paired well with the dark wood of the furnishings and framework. My eyes saw it all for but a moment, and then they found the colonel at the very end of the room.

The large windows showcased the white landscape beyond and the light framed him perfectly as he stood with his back to us, turning swiftly as Mrs Hatchfield announced my arrival.

Colonel Brandon walked up, meeting me by the table able to seat six people in delicate chairs, and my courage faltered. He was marvellous. From his clothes in hues of brown and black to his features set in softness despite the harsh lines of his face. The strong jaw and regal nose matched perfectly and yet again his eyes arrested me fully. They held my gaze for a moment before etiquette took over. He bowed, and I curtseyed.

“Miss Haymnick,” he said, and by the lord, his voice had me shivering. Hearing it so clearly, with no background noise or whistling wind had me appreciating it on a deeper level. “Colonel Brandon.” I tried to smile but my insides were corded so tight I struggled to move my muscles accordingly. He arched a brow. “You have quite the expressive face, my lady…” I lowered my gaze, heat burning my neck and cheeks. “Sir… I— Sir, I apologize for the trouble I have caused and the harm done to your evening yesterday.”

Looking up, I found him peering at me with a tilted head. “You have caused no harm, nor trouble.” “I—” He interrupted by taking a step toward me. “Are you fairing? You were in quite a disorderly state when I found you.” There was no animosity in his voice. “I am well, sir. Thank you, for your consideration—” “Then, if you would, explain to me why on earth I found you half frozen to death out in the winter cold?” His words were direct, but his mannerisms and eyes spoke of worry.

What do I say? I must plead for his good graces… “Sir—” I drew a shallow breath as the intensity of his gaze nearly snatched my breath away “—I must beg of you to not speak of… what happened. I… I have caused harm to my family’s reputation and find myself in a situation where such a thing cannot slip into the gossip mills of society. Please, sir,” I said with as much regret and pleading in my voice as I could portray without fully begging in desperation.

I lowered myself in another curtsey, looking down at his polished shoes while my back and shoulders stiffened. “Please, sir, I beg for your grace and silence regarding the matter of my actions and state. I cannot make a dire situation an impossible one with my—” “Dire situation? Are you coming to harm, miss?” he asked, alarm in his voice and he moved above me but I couldn’t see what he was doing. “I—” What do I say? Yes, but also no? I am coming to harm but not in the manner he believes. Oh, what a sordid mess… “—I am not in harm's way, sir. Not in the manner you are imagining.” “What, in your mind, am I imagining?” he asked. “Miss, please stand. I do not enjoy this view of you.”

I winced. Hearing that he did not find the view of me to his liking hurt. All my life I had been told of my beauty, of my looks, of my handsome features and beautiful shape. It had mattered little to me, my beauty a curse and blessing that had yielded nothing. The man I would have wished for it to affect now disclosed he did not enjoy the view of me despite previously having stated he found me beautiful. Perhaps all truly is lost. For a moment, I had to stop tears from forming in my eyes before I could rise and straighten.

I kept my eyes lowered, focusing on the golden chain hooked to his waistcoat and attached to a watch hidden from view in his pocket. “I apologize, sir.” “Miss,” he began quietly and I watched his hand move toward me for a second before he stayed it and fisted it by his thigh. “You are quite the conundrum.” “Sir?” I asked, looking up out of pure shock. I had never been called that before. “There you are,” he said with a smile and soft eyes holding mine. “Now, tell me what this dire situation is. I cannot have a lady such as yourself be in any situation of negative consequence. Those eyes of summer skies should not be dulled by clouds, miss.” I sighed, my shoulders slouching and my insides softening at his poetic words of my eyes. It was not a new compliment, nor a particularly innovative one, yet when he spoke it… my heart soared.

“Come, sit. We shall talk over breakfast. You must be famished,” he said, breaking me out of the saddening thoughts that had begun to encroach upon realising I had offended him and lost my chance days ago — in one day I find and ruin what my heart seems set upon… “Thank you, sir…” “I have not forgotten about your dire situation,” he said as he pulled out my chair. “A beauty such as you must have many protectors. Forgive me for what I am about to say, but you appear in no need of the services of an old colonel yet I find myself desperate to have your confidence—” he helped me sit and my skin burned as he held my hand gently “—and I am seasoned enough to know it is a fool’s wish that has occupied my soul.”

He gave a contrite smile and released my hand while my breath faltered and my ribs seemed to constrict my insides more than ever before. “Sir?” I asked, not daring to hope fully yet unable to restrain the wishful thinking. “I shall not ask for what it wishes, do not fret, my lady. I will assist in any manner I can in your dire situation, my lips sealed and my expectations diminished to none but your confidence and temporary seat at my table.”

My heart pounded, my breaths came shallow and rushed through my nose as my lips were held tightly closed to keep the words from spilling out. Was he implying that I had stirred his heart as well? That his soul had been caught in wishes of me as mine had been of him? I must be delusional, surely he means some form of monetary compensation or alliance between our estates will not be requested for keeping my secret?

“If you view me with such harsh eyes much longer, I must retreat like a wounded soldier, miss…” His voice was sorrow-filled and deeper than before. I gasped a breath and straightened while trying to school my features. I had never before failed to truly hide my inner thoughts or reflections, my emotions or sensations but in his presence, my heart wreaked havoc on my control. “I am not accustomed to men such as you… I apologise,” I whispered while clasping my hands atop my dress and clenched them tightly. “I believe you accused me of being just like all others.” “But… you are not,” I whispered as tears welled. “You are so much more, sir. And far out of my reach now…”

To Be Continued...

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: Oh my word 😩 What kind of Rickmas is this?! Why am I doing this to us? Ugh, the suspense, the longing, the pining, the miscommunication by omission is just killing me (yes, yes, I know I'm the one writing this but still) and I cannot wait to get these two together and stop this nonsense of not speaking out about one's feelings 😭 Then we gotta get old daddy'o on board too of course, but I mean the colonel is everything he wanted his daughter to find, no?

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!

[galbalmuhet]

Yes, yes, yes! ❤️

[justafairytailofinnocence]

Hello how are you?~ What writings are you currently working on or will start working on? Requests and your own plans? I'm just curious because I really like your blog and your works~ 🍃

Hello deary ❤️,

Thanks for asking, currently I'm working on the following down below

Pirates of the caribbean headcanon, how they would react if you're a mermaid.

What it would be like if the goblin king took fascination in you

A mermaid chaptered fic within the potc universe.

Ballet Thranduil chaptered fic x anxious reader

Dancing willows, colonel brandon x reader

Colonel brandon x mermaid reader

Severus snape x mermaid reader

Currently, I have a lot in the works, and I'm working on them vigorously 😁. My job has me busy, but I often try to work on my breaks with them. I love writing, and I'm going to try and get through as many requests as I can ✨️💕😁

[lea-andres]

Award for biggest mistake made in my fic goes to Maru for introducing Lillianna and Penny. Truly, truly a bad move on her part.

They're both romantic dreamers, Lillianna's just much louder and gives negative fucks about causing a scene. So they're just enabling and encouraging each other's shit and poor Maru's just along for the ride.

The only good that comes of it is Lillianna encourages Penny to talk to Sam more and helps her get that ball rolling. There is encouragement from Penny to Lillianna too but unfortunately that just turns into more Harvey bullying.

Harvey: Maru... do you know why Lillianna and Penny were laughing at me this morning?

Maru, letting out a tired sigh: We watched Sense and Sensibility last night. Comparisons between you and the Colonel were made.

Harvey: ...I see...

(Maru reports to Lillianna and Penny later that week that she caught Harvey reading Sense and Sensibility while it was slow in the Clinic and the two die laughing all over again lmao)

[notmoreflippingelves]

Krisnix - Jane Austen's Sense and Sensibilty AU, for the prompts, please? 😉🌹

"You do not suppose me capable of real feeling-- do you, Klavier? I will admit that I do not wear my heart upon my sleeve as you do, but you are wrong to assume that it does not beat and burn and long just as fiercely as your own does. I have known of Mr. Edgeworth's prior claim for months now, and for those months, I have thought of little else than Phoe--than Mr. Wright and the regard that I still hold for him. But the family needs my strength and my resolve--not least after your own romantic disappointment--so I remain ever the sense to counterbalance your own sensibility."

Klavier said nothing in reply but placed a steady hand on his brother's shoulder, until Kristoph covered the hand with one of his own.

Send me a prompt and I'll write a 4-5 sentence drabble about it

[beautifulchaosinourminds]

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: AUSTEN Jane - Works, Sense and Sensibility - Jane Austen, Sense and Sensibility - All Media Types, Sense and Sensibility (1995) Rating: General Audiences Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Colonel Brandon/Marianne Dashwood (Sense and Sensibility) Characters: Marianne Dashwood (Sense and Sensibility), Colonel Brandon (Sense and Sensibility), Margaret Dashwood, Mrs. Dashwood (Sense and Sensibility), Sir John Middleton, Lady Middleton (Sense and Sensibility), Elinor Dashwood, Edward Ferrars Additional Tags: Tooth-Rotting Fluff, I Will Go Down With This Ship Summary:

Two letters going to the wrong people. A happy accident.

(Or, another Brandon/Marianne fluff piece).

(NEVER let it be said that I won't die on the Brandon/Marianne hill...)

[deepperplexity]

First, I gotta get this out...

I'M SO HERE FOR THE MARIANNE SLANDER! BUT WHY BE SO CRUEL TO OUR DEAR JUDGE?! 😂 He doesn't deserve such a faith as to marry that flimsy girl.

Now, this was wonderful and so well written - absolutely love how you've written this darling and the amount of effort put into this is just amazing! I love Henry - he's so cute - and pets in stories are just so so so sweet! These two deserve all the happiness and calmness of loving stability together - they fit each other so well! 😍👏

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 !

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.

[severus-simp]

I made a new - sorta fluffy fic called Sense and Sensibility and Snape - and of course art had to be created to mark the occasion! It's a short Snarriet AO3 fic of a fangirl Harrie Potter for Colonel Brandon, if you're curious the link is in the title. :)

[rosebudfics]

~PLEASE READ BEFORE REQUESTING~

Minors DNI or lerk in the shadows

Hello fellow snape lovers! This is a new blog however I am not new to writing! I have a separate blog specifically for writing but I will not let anyone know what it is due to the fact that I am afraid I will receive hate/threats because I enjoy Harry Potter. And before anyone comes at me, no I do not condone to the actions that JK Rowling has done!!! I simply just enjoy the series because of how much comfort it brings me.

Request Rules:

I WILL write: fluff, angst, suggestive, female and sometimes gender neutral, and domestic stuff!!

I will NOT write: Smut, incest, pedophillia, rape/no consent, racism, homophobia, abuse, professor x student, daddy kink, piss/shit fetish or anything related to those!!

As for the characters I will write for, I will mainly write for Severus Snape however I am open to recieving requests for Colonel Brandon from Sense and Sensibility, Sheriff Nottingham from Robin Hood: Prince of Thieves, Hans Gruber from Die Hard, and David Friedman from Judas Kiss!

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

I will write head canons, drabbles, and short fics! Possibly full length fics if an idea that i really like is either requested or i think of!

Masterlist Below the cut!

Severus Snape

New Professor - Snape x Professor! Reader

Sick Days - Snape x Wife! Reader

Girl Dad - Dad! Snape x Mom! Reader

Secret Lovers - Snape x Wife! Reader

Colonel Brandon

Your Last Night - (ANGST) Colonel Brandon x ill! Reader

Sheriff Nottingham

Nothing yet!

Hans gruber

Nothing yet!

David Friedman

Nothing yet!

[cypanache]

I love love love your obidala fic!! Is it still going or are you taking a break from it? :( I really hope you write more, I love regency and I love obidala, this is like the best thing ever. I'm assuming they get attached and then anakin comes back and causes yummy drama, but who was that butler guy in the end? C3po? I hope so, he's my favourite star wars character lol. But also, much as i love anakin whoooo would go for angsty teenager over obi wan like hello. He's nice, he's mature, he's calm, he won't strangle you like the pros are endless. Obidala for lifeeeee

(Ps if you have any regency book/fic recommendations that you mightve gotten inspo from pls do tell I am STARVING and so sick of rakey stories like I hate rakes I hate manwhores YUCK. Thank you 💖)

Hi Anon!

I'm so glad Unintended has brought you some joy! As far as am I still writing, the answer is a qualified yes. Yes in the sense of I definitely have not moved on from these two, and I am actively thinking about and working on Unintended as well as all my other obidala fic (was in fact doing it this morning). Qualified in the sense of I am a mom who works full-time and this particular season of life is demanding a lot of me, which is leaving less energy and time for my creative pursuits, so the progress is slow. But I am still around.

The footman at the end of chapter 3 is actually my wink and a nod to Jar Jar. I tend to seed my AUs with lots of little references to canon throughout so expect more of that.

I obviously empathize with your preference for the quiet hero. I am very much of the Colonel Brandon, Captain Wentworth, Professor Bhaer camp. Unfortunately, they are not a common kind of romantic hero (I honestly don't know why), so I don't have a lot to offer on that front, hence the fic writing.

Maybe others can chime in with their favorite quietly decent male romantic lead?

[fanfictionismyaddiction]

omg those AI images of Alan and your OC are so cool! How do you create them? Is there a particular AI image generator you recommend and do you have any tips?

Hey, first of all thank you. I just found it today too. It’s called bing image creator. I had to sign up with my Microsoft account and then had like 15 Lightning bolts which apparently generates your images faster. But after you have used all of them you can still generate some it only takes longer. Your “boosts” reset after a week.

This ai is powered by Dall e 3. I don’t know about you guys but when I use open AI to generate pictures I only can use Dall e 1 so I’m really happy that I found this today.

So for the prompts for Snape I just said that it should give me an image of Alan rickman as Severus Snape and it worked. Bevor I just said Snape and it looked nothing like Alan so maybe it used the book as reference. After that I described the oc and the background. I found the more in detail you say what you want to see the better the images.

For the one with Alan and the girl in the field I tried using Alan rickman as colonel Brandon (that’s how I imagine him in my fic “The new lady at Downton Abbey”) but it did not work quite as right after that I put Alan rickman in the style of 1915 and that worked better. So basically trial and error.

Sometimes when I put a prompt with many celebrities it said that I am violating the guidelines. Haven’t read them so I’m a bit confused there but after deleting some of my sentence it worked fine again. Also I tried to do some Pedro pascal images it didn’t work.

That’s what I found out today. Have fun trying it yourself;)

For those that would like to read the fic:

[deepperplexity]

Prompt 21: Heartfelt Confessions [A6]

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], Prompt 20. Wrongful Perceptions [A5]

A/N: WE HAVE OUR FIRST BIG ENDING! Today, we’re wrapping up Colonel Brandon’s story and I am so happy for this man, and for Calliope of course. They are so good together and I hope you’ll absolutely love this!

We've been hosting the first of two Christmas celebrations today and I'm here with about 30 minutes left of today - I MADE IT 😂😂😂

Tags/TW’s: Declarations Of Love, JUSTICE FOR BRANDON, Marriage, Christmas Wedding, Love Wins, Explicit Smut, WE GET OUR FIRST HEA OF RICKMAS2024

Word Count: 3.8k

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

Heartfelt Confessions

Once again I was bolting out of a room — only this time, I did not come far. Christopher stood right by the stairs, a few steps from me. His eyes were alight with warmth and the depth of them seemed endless.

“Christopher, please,” I whispered as my throat got snagged by the beauty he was in the shimmering light of candles and lanterns granting a warm glow to the hallway and landing.

He smiled softly, his shoulders relaxed. “You find me wonderful and kind?” he asked.

I nodded. “I do…”

“And you are falling in love with me?” he continued, the rumble of his voice a caress to my senses.

“I am…” My voice was weak compared to his, yet it held the same volume.

“And you will marry only me?” he asked quietly, gently, softly, while taking a step toward me.

Tears blurred my vision as I nodded. I could not stand the distance between us and in a flurry of red fabric, I ran toward him. He caught me in those strong arms and held me tightly against his wide chest. His heart beat harshly under my cheek, in tune with my rapid pulse. Flashes of Delaford mingled with flashes of him in my head. The bookcases, the soothing energy, the welcoming colours and the warmth that seemed to permeate all who lived and worked at the estate under him — all things told of how wonderful he was.

A man who was kind to those below him was a good man. A man with bookcases filled with arts of the heart and soul was a warm man. A man who would care for a stranger and ride through the harsh winter for one was a caring man. A man, like Christopher, was always what my heart had desired — that he was grander and warmer, kinder and more caring than any man I could ever dream up had made my heart his without my saying being needed.

He kissed the top of my head, dragging a deep breath through that hooked nose of his I wished to trail my finger along the ridge of. I shivered, goosebumps travelling along my spine, and he chuckled against my scalp.

“I have travelled the world, yet the one I have searched for was but a horse ride away. How… poetic.”

“You ought to have listened to Mrs Hatchfield,” I commented while leaning my head back to find him arching a brow at me. “She said as much this morning.”

“To you, I assume. I do not listen in on private conversations.”

“You did just now.”

“No, my dear. You screamed the words for all to hear, had I been at the end of the stairs I would still have been privy to them,” he said with a smile as his hand came up to stroke away a strand of hair from my cheek.

“Calliope!” Father called and the sound of footsteps came after. I turned but refused to part from Christopher even as he made to step back out of decency — or propriety, perhaps.

“Calli—” Father halted in the doorway “—is this what you truly want?” he asked while his eyes went all over us. From the hands at my waist to my own atop Christopher’s shoulders.

“Yes. This is the man, the only man that shall ever be prevailed upon me to marry.”

Father sighed and then smiled. “Well, I shall see to it happening, then.” I smiled at that. Seeing my father’s eyes turn happy while feeling Christopher's hands tighten around my waist had me suffocating a squeal of joy. I would marry, but I would marry the man my heart had been captured by — not out of necessity, not to a man seeking only my looks, not to a man without depth, and not to a man who would leave me loveless.

I would marry out of love. I would marry one whom I loved and was loved by in return.

“Well, I better start preparations, a Christmas wedding…” Father mused. “You hear that, my love? Just like us,” he continued quietly while looking toward the sky beyond the ceiling above. I followed and thought of my mother, her smile and kindness ever-present in my mind. Just as you wished, I will live a life of love and poetry, Mother.

⁛•⁛

It had been sixteen days since we declared our wedding to be impending. Sixteen hectic, bustling, manic days with not a spare moment for thought or calmness. I had not thought Father serious when he had declared we would have a Christmas wedding, but I was quickly proven wrong.

Waking up on my wedding day with nothing but longing in my heart and warmth in my gut must have been a miracle of some sort. Wedding jitters did not rear their head, doubt did not spread its wings, and no wish for time to slow down presented itself. I only wished for it to move quicker, so I could be with the man who had captured me so fully.

The door glided open, and Mrs Marble along with Miss Abel strolled in while wishing me a good morning — their faces were bright with smiles as I had confessed to them how my heart pounded for the colonel they had worried was forced upon me.

“Good morning,” I replied and flung the cover of myself. “Is he here?” I asked, dragging on my robe.

“Oh, look at you, miss. A bundle of joy today,” Mrs Marble said happily while opening up the drapes. “We shall have breakfast and then it is time to prepare for the ceremony. Oh, to think, in a few hours you shall be a colonel’s wife.”

“Mrs Brandon… It has a nice ring, miss,” Miss Abel said brightly.

“It does, doesn’t it?” I smiled and tied the sash around my waist while Mrs Marble went through my closet for a dress to wear during the morning.

It did not take long before I was dressed, prepared, and seated by the table with freshly baked bread on my plate and a soothing tea in my cup.

“Ah, Calliope, good morning!” Father positively beamed as he entered the breakfast room.

“Good morning, Father.”

“Wonderful day, wonderful day,” he said while sitting down and grabbing the morning paper. “Now, let us hope nothing goes amiss today. My daughter, getting married, to a colonel whom she loves. Ah, wonderful day indeed!” he exclaimed and I smiled at him.

It had been a long time since I saw him so happy, not since Mother lived had he beamed in such a manner during the morning hours — or any hours of the day for that matter. I was perhaps too occupied with my own thoughts and feelings at that moment to truly appreciate it, but I did enjoy the warmth it filled the air with as I ate and drank despite wanting nothing but to get ready to become Christopher’s wife.

⁛•⁛

I held the white flowers wrapped in a green silky string along the stems. My enormous dress flared all around me, it was not exactly my choice, but a pre-made dress that had been fitted to me. There had not been enough time for the traditional planning, or shopping, or anything of the sort with just above two weeks of time. I did not mind. It was beautiful, despite not being perfect. The only thing that needed to be perfect was the man at the end of the aisle beyond the chapel's doors — and that he was.

I drew a deep breath as Miss Abel fluffed my dress and then flipped the veil over my face. My hands shook with excitement.

“Ready, miss?” she asked and I nodded. “I’ll tell them.” With that, I was left alone to wait for the music to play and the doors to open. Hurry up, my mind whined as I felt as if I had waited an eternity for this day. I had waited all my life, I just never really knew it before this moment came.

The music began and the doors swung open. The crowd gathered rose from the benches as I began my walk down the aisle. None of the decorations or faces around me mattered when my heart soared at the sight of Christopher. He wore his colonel attire — complete with gleaming sword and all the extra decorations in gold attached to the coat — and I swooned. He was perfect, proud and strong, but with a kind heart and gentle soul I would spend the rest of my life finding harmony with.

He smiled as I took my place next to him, taking my free hand in his before we turned toward the pastor who indicated for all to sit. I barely heard a word the old man droned out. My pulse raced, my heart hammered, my fingers were squeezed by Christopher’s and through it all I had to force myself not to giggle with jubilant glee at the luck I had found — or, rode into perhaps.

One minute I was Miss Haymnick, and the next, I was Mrs Brandon. Mrs Brandon. Mrs Brandon, wife of Colonel Christopher Brandon… I may have to pinch myself at some point. And then the veil was lifted, stopping my thoughts and arresting my breath as the man who was now my husband leaned in to seal our commitment with a kiss before all who witnessed our union.

I kissed him, leaning into him and stalling the departure of our lips as the crowd broke out in shouts and claps. Warmth swirled in my gut, heat pooled in indecent places and a flush crept along my cheeks like a warm summer breeze.

“Mrs Brandon,” he whispered against my lips and I finally allowed the giggle to escape. It made him smile in the warmest, most adoring of ways — I giggled again as he took my hand and then I beamed at him. A smile so wide my cheeks hurt bloomed, but the joy was too great to diminish even when I attempted it.

We walked, hand in hand, down the aisle and out to the waiting sleigh pulled by two white horses. The sleigh and animals were adorned by green ribbons and golden bells — in the white landscape, it could not have been more Christmas-like. As Christopher helped me into the sleigh with a sturdy grip on my hand, snow began to fall in a soft sprinkle. I laughed and he smiled as he elegantly climbed up and sat down next to me, drawing a fur across our legs before I looked back at the crowd.

Father had tears in his eyes and a great smile across his lips, he seemed younger at that moment and more relaxed than I’d seen him in the past six months. You worried about me, my future…

“Toss it!” came the shout of Miss Able, whose smile was another great one. I laughed, looked ahead, and flung the bouquet up in the air to a chorus of female shouts of excitement. When I looked back as the sleigh pulled forward, it had landed in the hands of Mr Hilliard — who looked frightened as the women glared at him. I laughed again and cuddled up to Christopher, his wide biceps nice to wrap my hands and arms around.

“Let us head home, Mrs Brandon,” he murmured, kissing the top of my head.

“Home,” I whispered. Our home.

It only took a few minutes for the sleigh to arrive at the gates, and when we came to a halt the doors opened wide and smiling faces met us as Christopher climbed out of the sleigh and offered his hand. As soon as my feet hit the ground he swept me up in his arms. I laughed and wrapped my arms around his neck as he marched us up the steps and inside the estate.

The servants all said their congratulations, but he did not stop to allow me to greet each of them. No, he headed up two flights of stairs and eventually stepped into what I could only assume to be the master bedroom.

My throat worked on a swallow, my nerves entangled themselves at the sight of the massive bed dressed in white linens. The room was beautiful, the bed an incredible piece of craftsmanship and the man it belonged to the picture of perfection for me. Yet, now, it frightened me to know what this room would become. I was innocent. I had kissed none but my husband, had been with none until he came into my life and now this masterpiece of a man would be the one I’d share everything with — body and mind. At the moment, the body part worried me.

He sat me down, not having broken a sweat carrying me so far, and turned me to stand face-to-face with him.

“Beautiful,” he whispered and the compliment had never before sounded so wonderful.

“Christopher,” I whispered.

“I cannot wait to wake up each day to you,” he confessed, his ears taking on a reddish hue to my complete enjoyment.

“And I you,” I replied, placing a hand atop his chest where his heart thumped steadily for me. “You are a dream come true, darling,” I continued in earnest.

“My summer sky,” he whispered, grabbing my hand and lifting it so he could kiss my warm palm.

“The wedding party shall commence in a mere hour. The crowd will begin to arrive soon, yet…” he began, his voice darker than ever and deeper than I could remember as he watched my eyes intently.

“And yet..?”

“I cannot stand the thought of not having you fully, before I take another breath I wish to have you, my Calliope…”

I blinked, heat coursing through my veins and muting me. I could feel his longing, his want, his love and it was reflected in my own core. I nodded, unable to say a word when the tension rose and my fear of the unknown mingled with the desperation to know him in every manner possible.

He kissed me. Softly, at first, and then ardently as his hands moved to grasp each side of my head. I moaned into his mouth, surprised by my own sounds and desperate move to grasp at his coat. Something inside me pushed and prodded, had me wanting something I couldn’t term.

“Christopher,” I whispered against his lips and he groaned, and he deepened the kiss.

“You—” kiss “—are—” kiss “—everything,” he said as my body seemed to catch fire in my thick dress.

“Too warm,” I murmured before whimpering as his lips abandoned me.

“Say yes to me,” he urged. “Please, Calliope, I cannot hold off a minute longer, my dearest,” he pleaded with honesty in his voice and eyes.

“Yes, please, please, yes,” I said, almost begging myself.

We clashed. He turned quick and rushed, turned desperate. Strings were tugged, buttons jerked free, fabric ripped off, and skin revealed. I gasped as he tore off my last remaining garment, I was bared for him as he was bared to me. In the early afternoon light and only the fire sparkling in its hearth the light cast a wondrous glow on our bodies.

My mouth watered while my throat dried. His wide shoulders that tapered off to a narrowed waist connected by a chest dusted with soft-looking hair had me gulping. My legs shook as my body refused to bend my neck to look further down. I found his eyes roaming all over my body with a yearning so visceral it stole my remaining breath.

He took a steady step toward me and I took half a step back, I wanted him yet I was frightened of the overload of emotions and sensations coursing through me at the sight of him — at the sight of his yearning for me in those deep eyes.

“My summer sky,” he murmured as he stepped up to me. “You are more than I ever dreamt of.

“C-Christopher,” I whispered. “I…”

“Allow me to adore you,” he said, kissing me once more and my worry dwindled.

He moved me to the bed, laying me down gently. The soft linen beneath and the warmth of his flesh above had me pinned in an influx of sensations. Then I felt his manhood against my pelvis. I gasped at the heat it emitted.

“I will not harm you,” he whispered into my mouth. “Discomfort may arise at first, but I beg of you to trust in me, my wife…” His words were softly spoken, a caress to my ears much like the caress his hand offered my ribs and then my hip before he grabbed my thigh and moved my leg to the side.

I gasped as he repeated the movement on the other side and suddenly he lay snuggled between my legs, his cock pressed against my core — I pulsed and warmed, tension strung itself through my body while an unknown need flowed through my veins.

“Please, I-, I-, please,” I whimpered as he kissed my throat and caressed my side with one hand — holding his weight with the other next to my head.

“Slowly, I will not take you too swiftly,” he said before his hand slipped up and toward my breast. I gasped as his thumb smoothly flicked over my hardened nipple only to return and circle the bud most gently. His lips never left my skin and my legs folded around him instinctively.

He moved his hips, my back arched as his cock pressed against a most sensitive spot at my core.

“That’s it, my darling wife. Soften for me, warm for me,” he murmured in a rumble that vibrated from his chest to mine. “I need you soft and pliable, so I may be gentle with you.”

“Christopher, p-please…” I gasped and grabbed at his back when his lips stroked along my neck, his cock sliding along my slicked core, and his thumb kept rolling my nipple in the most sensational manner.

I hissed a moan as he pressed himself harder against me, forcing my legs wider and the contact against that spot to be heightened. Moisture pooled inside of me, I could feel it lubricate him as he moved back and forth at a measured pace. His grunts and breaths turned harder by my ear and he whispered of his love for me as I ached for him.

“You are beautiful, my wonder of a wife,” he praised with a deep groan as I moaned his name. “I will be gentle, I beg of you to trust me in this,” he said before rising and kissing me deeply. The hand at my breast disappeared and I savoured the taste of him.

Then I felt him prod at my entrance and I stiffened. He broke the kiss only long enough to ask me to relax and trust in him. I did. I did trust him, with my heart and body. He kissed me again while the head of his cock pressed against my entrance. I moaned as my body pulsed, wanting the connection he offered yet still feeling trepidation about the unknown.

He pushed, and I whimpered against his lips. He began slipping inside and my body both wanted and fought the intrusion.

“Breathe with me,” he urged. “Breathe with me, my dearest.”

I looked up at him hovering above. “I— Christopher, love, please,” I moaned, nearly whining as he pushed further into me.

“I love you,” he said and my breath faltered. “I will only ever love and care for you,” he continued and our eyes locked. Our breaths mingled and he jerked forward. I gasped and tensed as he slipped all the way in.

“Calliope,” he groaned and stilled. Then his hand kneaded my breast and his thumb flicked my nipple as his mouth found mine.

I whimpered and he groaned before he began to move. Each pull and push had my body yielding a bit more to the intrusion and he offered soft encouragement and gentle compliments as he slowly upped the pace and my body fully caved to him. I felt full and warm, the sting had lessened and my insides shaped themselves to accommodate him.

“Oh, god,” I whimpered as he rose a little and upped the pace. Our bodies made sounds I’d never heard before.

“You are perfection,” he groaned, panting hard as his hips jerked forward and I was melting beneath him.

My eyes sought his and were met with an intensity incomparable to any I had seen before. It was the look spoken of in poems, in heartfelt romances, in fairytales and songs of love. He viewed me with all the love in the world, and I felt it well in me in return.

He strained, a vein popping in his neck and his muscles stiffening all around me. I moaned as he kept the pace and steadied himself on only one hand. The other slipped down my ribs, over my hipbone and found its way to my core where his thumb had me shrieking out a call of his name. Bolts shot through me as he circled the bud there, eliciting the most core-tensing and desperation-fuelled sensations through my entire body.

“I shall have you fully,” he groaned, switching his motions until I whimpered and tensed beneath him. “I need you,” he continued and the need to cry out overwhelmed me into silence with my mouth open as my back arched. Something was happening to me, I desperately climbed toward something and it terrified me. My body was rendered out of control under his ministrations.

“Let go, my darling,” he ground between clenched teeth. “Let go, let go, darling,” he urged and as my eyes closed stars flecked the blackened view. Something coiled inside me and as he flicked his thumb and upped the pace of his hips I spiralled.

I called his name in abandon as he groaned mine and praised the heavens. I convulsed, I shook, my body was shattering and mending all at the same time while I felt him still and pulse between my trembling legs. My hands had gripped his forearms, my nails embedding themselves in his skin as I cried out during the final wave of ecstasy.

I sank into the mattress, a heaving mess of uncoordinated limbs and sweat-misted skin. Then he lowered himself, leaning over me, and kissed me deeply while his nose had his breaths fanning over my cheek in harsh rushes.

“Perfect,” he whispered. “You are perfect, and I love you, Calliope.”

“I… I love you, Christopher,” I whispered as my heaving chest made it hard to speak. “You’ve stolen my breath, literally…”

He smiled cheekily. “I shall endeavour to do so every evening for the remainder of our lives, my darling.”

I cannot wait to live such a life with you… “Please do, my love,” I whispered as the sound of my own heart rejoicing filled me from within.

LINKTREE // AO3 // MASTERLIST

A/N: I LOVE THEM AND THEY ARE HAPPY!!! 😭👏

Oh I hope you loved the first ending of our long serials for this Rickmas, darlings 🥰 These two have been such a roller-coaster to write and I just adore how perfect they are together, how they value each other and are equally in love with one another ❤❤❤

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[galbalmuhet]

Alan... my perfect love ❤️

[snowblossomreads]

Day 10: Snow Prints

Pairing: Col. Brandon x Fem!Reader

Summary: In where something/someone is lost and found to the relief of everyone in Delaford Estate.

Tag(s)/Warning(s): fluff, missing family member 😌, worry and relief

Word Count: 1.4K (A tiny blurb!)

A/N: This story came out of nowhere tbh! I didn't have a Brandon fic planned but he showed up and was like I'm on this picture you can't just not write me. And he was correct and then suddenly showed me which prompt he would like. So everyone say thank you to the Colonel!

"Colonel Brandon sir! We've found her! We've found the poor darling! She was all covered with snow but she's safe now!"

The boisterous voice of his stout housekeeper rang through his drawing room where he had been pacing all morning worried to death, yet unable to do anything but wait until news of her return.

So this news that his little beloved was back had his heart pounding in both relief and joy, as his housekeeper appeared in front of him. Her cheeks were rosy, and she wore a large smile on her face as Brandon rushed up to her with so many questions about what had happened.

"Oh thank heavens is she well? Where is everyone? Please take me to them Martha!"

"Of course sir! Everyone is in the foyer, she is alright just warming up in front of the fire! Come sir! Oh goodness! how wonderful and such luck," Martha exclaimed with great energy as they both made their way in a rush to the foyer. 

When they arrived, they were greeted with the sight of two maids that were beside [Y/n] who was crouched down near the fire.

"Christopher!" [Y/n] cried, popping up from the floor in front of the fireplace, her husband's worried features, turning into relief when they saw each other.

A high pitched whimper came from her arms as the tiny, fluffy animal that was still damp from its sudden adventure outside was disturbed from the movement, still attempting to dry off and recover its energy.

"My love where was she? I thought we had lost her forever. Oh you silly little pup," Brandon chastised gently, kissing [Y/n] before stroking the poor animal who had been lost in the snow all day, after being accidentally let out by one of the farmhands.

The tiny thing whined and whimpered at the warm touch before snuggling close to [Y/n] and her layers of clothing for warmth.

"The silly girl somehow made it to the dove cote near the lake," [Y/n] spoke as she sat back down in front of the fire to help warm the puppy. Kneeling by her ,Brandon listened tentatively to her speak as he stroked the tiny animal who they had thought was lost to the snow. "Peter, the little farm hand, he saw her paw prints in the snow when they went searching, and there she was covered in snow and exhausted. Oh my poor thing don't ever frighten us again like that!"

The puppy whimpered in what seemed like agreement, and both [Y/n] and Brandon seemed to get a laugh of it.

"Shh, hopefully you’ve learned a lesson you mischievous little thing," Brandon cooed, his voice rumbling with emotion that most would find strange when it came to such an animal. "You nearly put your poor mother in an early grave," he added, as he watched [Y/n] cuddle the shaking pup.

"Oh she did she really did," [Y/n] agreed, eyes teary as she pressed her lips to the top of the dog's head grateful that it was alright.

Her little Tulip was okay. It may be strange, but the little pup was her favourite as it had been the runt of the litter, always fighting to get milk from it's mother's teets. Her litter mates also seemed to be keen on stepping all over her and [Y/n]'s poor heart couldn't take the squeals that she would let out.

And maybe because she too had always been treated as less by her family and others that she had begged Brandon to let her keep her. And Brandon, with a soul as soft as his, allowed her to, seeing how desperate she was to care for the sweet pup.

So he knew, when one of the servants had told him that the animal had run off that they had to find it as soon as possible. Not only because snow had begun to fall quickly and the little thing was too young to survive. But, he knew how devastated [Y/n] would be if something happened to the animal as she was never the one to blame others, but to shoulder it herself. And he could not have his darling one do that.

The relief they tasted was sweet, as the little animal let out a little yawn and cozied itself up into [Y/n]'s bosom, and they both let out a small laugh at how comfy it looked now.

"Mayhap she's learned her lesson that the snow is not quite to her liking," [Y/n] whispered, smiling at the little thing that she cradle just as one would a child.

As one would a child. She bit her lips at that thought. The thought of cradling a child  that was both hers and Christopher’s making. It had her heart fluttering a bit.

"Yes, hopefully she will not try to give us a scare again, though it seems that she just as her mother, ]has a mischievous side," the older man teased as she looked up at him with a small smile, yet she said nothing for a moment as she stroked the dog in her arms.

Just as her mother.

His words echoed in her mind, and while they were said in jest she couldn't stop thinking about the phrase. There was only silence and the crackling of the wood in the fireplace before she spoke gently and hushedly only wishing for her husband to hear.

"Christopher I-." Pausing, [Y/n] looked up to search for the maids who had been in the room with her along with Martha, but they were all gone. Which left the Brandon's alone to their little reunion.

When had that happened? No worries though, it was actually perfect timing.

The older man looked at her with a little raise of an eyebrow, yet his gentle gaze was steady as he watched her shyly look down at the animal who was snoozing away now.

"I wonder whether or not we would make good parents?" She whispered, averting the gaze of her husband's for fear that his eyes would tell her the opposite of what she wished him to say. "Of course, considering this little one tried to get it self lost in a snow storm today, mayhap I think I may not be too fit for it."

"Darling stop! Do not say such a cruel thing about yourself," he pleaded, fully sitting next to her and wrapping an arm around her shoulder, bringing her to lay her head on his own shoulder. "One can hardly measure their aptitude for motherhood based on a young dog running away. It was not you who let this silly one out in any case."

"Yes I know but-."

"No, I will no hear of you speak cruelly about yourself," he interrupted sternly, turning and leaning down to kiss the top of her head. "You would make a wonderful mother, I am sure of it. It is me who I think am too old for fatherhood."

"You too old?" [Y/n] asked, flabbergasted with eyes going wide like saucers because it had to be the most incredulous thing she had heard. "Chirstopher my love, you have more life in you than men with less winters on them. You are the sweetest, gentlest, most generous soul that one could ever meet. And you say you are not fit to be a father? Mayhap we both need a lesson on being less cruel towards oneself."

"Mayhap we do…but my words they are true, you would make a wonderful mother my love a wonderful mother indeed."

"And you a wonderful father Christopher." She responded softly.

They turned to face each other, a smile on their lips and eyes full of warmth as the fireplace in front of them warmed them as well. Brandon's arm opened to embrace his wife, and as she leaned in to his hold they were both startled by the high pitch and sudden,

"Awoo!" From the little dog that was being held. It startled them and caused them to look at the dog who had woken up suddenly.

Its beady eyes stared at its parent's as if it was asking them what they were doing and they both couldn't help the laughter that flowed through them.

"And you shall make the children a wonderful companion when they arrive." [Y/n] giggled, patting the dog who let out another playfully bark before cuddling in the arms of its mother who went to cuddle its father.

A/N: heheh i know it was short but i hope it was still a nice read! the colonel is such a soft man and i love that!

Tag: @deepperplexity

[muiitoloko]

Will you be writing again for colonel Brandon? I first read your Turpin fic Love? because another author talked about it on a post and after I found all your other titles and now I cannot stop read 😅 Brandon is my favorite of all Alan characters.

Yes, I definitely plan to continue the Brandon fanfic soon! I just took a little break because, well, my brain decided it can only handle one series at a time 😅. So I’ve been focusing more on *Difficult Woman* (because, you know, multitasking is clearly not my thing). Once I wrap that up, Brandon will be back in action, I promise!

[bethanydelleman]

Hello! I'm a somewhat new follower and I've really appreciated the posts you share about JAFF and characterization. I'm writing my own at the moment and I thought to ask you about the first names of Mr & Mrs Bennet. I'm seeing Thomas and Frances in a lot of fanfic but no set names in canon?

Do you know if these were names that got enshrined in fanon because of one particular fanfic, or if there's some Austen letter somewhere where she suggests these names? Thank you for your help!

Firstly, why do you need to name them? Jane Austen never did, Mr. and Mrs. Bennet rarely interact with anyone who would be socially able to call them by their first name, and when they do they are called either "sister" "brother" or "Mrs./Mr. Bennet". They call each other by their formal title even at home or use "my dear".

In my mind, you only need a first name for either Mr. or Mrs. Bennet is they are going to have scenes with a social equal who uses their first name to address them (even friends don't always do this) or if you are writing lengthy scenes with them alone. It may be annoying to us to use formal titles, but it's in keeping with Jane Austen.

Also, I saw this once in a fic, but there is no older man who calls his friend, "Lastname", this seems to be a young man nickname thing. But then Jane Austen doesn't get into the older folks lives that much.

I mention this because often in JAFF, Mrs. Bennet is introduced as "Mrs. Firstname Bennet" and then her name is never relevant to the plot or even used by another character (or if it is, it breaks rules of decorum). So I tend to avoid naming any character Jane Austen didn't name except in dire need.

Now, here is the can of worms that is JAFF naming conventions:

Fanny as Mrs. Bennet's first name annoys the crap out of me, because she most likely shares a name with a daughter (and even if their firstborn died, people would rename with the same name until one lived if it was an important passing-on-name). Her name is most likely Jane, second likely Elizabeth. "Fanny" comes from P&P 1995, I believe it is said by Mrs. Gardiner. I think it's used so widely because people find the name "Fanny" funny (butt/vagina depending on where you live) and because people find the frequency of first names in Jane Austen annoying (It can be tricky when you write crossovers let me tell you!)

Thomas is commonly the name of Mr. Bennet but if you choose something else no one will be mad.

Mad? Oh yeah, check reviews of published JAFF, people get ANGRY if you name Colonel Fitzwilliam anything except Richard. Like they say it pulls them out of the story and they hate it. They take off stars. If you are planning to use Colonel Fitzwilliam, either avoid naming him (my method) or call him Richard because people are dead set on that name.

Which is silly because his first name is clearly Darcy 😉

People will also find it strange, but probably won't be to mad if you call the earl anything but The Earl of Matlock (1995 again). I follow Austen and use Earl ----. I think that's all the P&P naming tropes. Colonel Brandon is most often called "Christopher"

Why?

The JAFF fandom has existed for a long time, long enough to create very pervasive fanon versions of the characters. Fanny Bennet is shrill, Richard Fitzwilliam swashbuckles and is Darcy's best friend, Mary Bennet is usually secretly Elizabeth once she comes out of her shell, and Caroline is a Screaming Bag of Evil. These fanon versions are so dominant that I often get negative feedback for going back to the book and writing them as close to canon as I can.

People hate when I married Colonel Fitzwilliam and Caroline, even though Caroline isn't that bad and Colonel Fitzwilliam straight up said he would marry for money in the darn novel. I also refused to name him in that fic.

So what you need to do is decide if you are going to carry on the tradition of Jane Austen or JAFF. Either is fine, people love both in most cases, but there are established norms and conventions in JAFF fanon versions that are wildly different than what is actually in Pride & Prejudice. So just be aware of that and pick which version you like.

Edit: also thank you question asker for your appreciation. I got too caught up in answering your question.