#darcy POV

[jomiddlemarch]

in the middle before I knew that I had begun

Every visit to Rosings was a trial. As a small child, it had perhaps been most bearable, Darcy whisked away to the nursery where his cousin Dickon was often already settled, making the most of the hobbyhorse which Anne was too young to mount and which would be of little use to her as she would expected to ride side-saddle as soon as she was put upon a pony. Anne’s nurse was apt to ply them with shortbread to get them to behave properly, unlike Darcy’s nurse at Pemberley who would not have hesitated to box their ears. They were brought down to the drawing room for a quarter of an hour, standing as still as they could, Dickon having invented the game he called living statues to help pass the time. It would stand Darcy in good stead over the years, especially when he was most in company. At Rosings, they would be inspected, praised by Darcy’s mother, criticized by Aunt Catherine, and offered cakes by Dickon’s mother, who was quite plump and fussed least about crumbs and sticky fingers.

Returning every year was an obligation, one which only grew more binding after his mother’s death, though her absence was keenly felt, unblunted by time as Georgianna grew to resemble her. Her daughter was more like her in manner than in coloring, though she had her fair and unblemished complexion. Darcy could no sooner have stayed away from Rosings than gallop to the Moon upon a road of starlight, a fanciful image he’d conjured for Georgianna one night when she was recovering from a childhood illness, still fretful from her fever. If their mother had lived, perhaps he might have visited friends, stayed in London and made a wider acquaintance than that of the Bingleys, however fond he was of Charles. As it was, it was Darcy’s fondness which kept Charles from suffering more than one visit to Rosings, a boon even the sunny-natured Bingley was deeply thankful for. Darcy went, Georgianna accompanying him if her health allowed, the only argument Aunt Catherine would ever countenance, and he sat through dull afternoons and duller dinners, dull vintages and even duller volumes in the Rosings library. He listened to his cousin Anne play endless sonatas competently but without any particular feeling and he did his best to keep from striking the sycophant vicar Mr. Collins his aunt had given the Rosings living to; unlike her, Darcy was not remotely pleased by the man’s obviously intricately planned adulatory remarks, the slavering expression in his rather small eyes every time he uttered the most-esteemed Lady Catherine de Bourgh, an appellation Darcy felt did not need to be mentioned in every third sentence. 

A visit to Rosings was a trial and an obligation, a chore and a burden, until he arrived and found a stranger at the pianoforte, a vibrant, chestnut-haired young woman in a very simple muslin gown, his cousin Anne sitting beside her. Anne had never looked more sallow and sickly, her costly gown and jewels emphasizing her frailty in contrast to the bloom of the woman beside her, whose hair was held back by a plain ribbon fillet, her only adornment a modest little cross of some dark stones. She was playing the piano with more zest than accuracy and Darcy was dismayed to be unsure which aspect was pleasing Anne enough to make her pallid lips curve in a small but entirely genuine smile.

Anne stood when she saw him while the woman stopped playing but remained seated. He walked over to greet his cousin, bowing smartly while she made a gesture akin to a curtsy, the formality due their stations far outweighing any mild familial affection they might have for each other.

“Cousin Fitzwilliam, welcome. If you are here, you must have already seen Mama who have advised you to come. I hope your journey was not too taxing and that you will stay here a while and enjoy some music. My new companion, Miss Elizabeth Bennet, came just last fortnight. She is the cousin of the vicar and Mr. Collins was only too glad to discover he might have been able to in any minute way be of service to me, and by extension, my most-esteemed mother, Lady Catherine,” Anne said. She’d spoken more words than Darcy had ever heard her utter at one time, and though she was still quite pale and her curls rather lank and drooping, there was an unusual animation in her tone. She turned slightly to face Miss Bennet. “That is how he said it, wasn’t it, dear Elizabeth?”

“I believe he was only too glad and most assuredly blessed beyond measure,” Miss Bennet replied. She had the finest dark eyes Darcy had ever seen and her voice was confident and gay, far different from every other companion he’d ever encountered, women most often faded misses of indeterminate age who spoke little and softly, nearly always offering only an affirmation.

“That’s him exactly. He’d pressed his hands together as if he were about to give a homily in the pulpit and Mama gave him her falcon-sighting-prey glare and he only nodded his head several times,” Anne said. 

“He was honest though. I’ve never met someone as delighted as Mr. Collins is to render even the most insignificant service to Lady Catherine and I myself am certainly fortunate to have been offered the position as your companion,” Miss Bennet said. Darcy had never heard a companion speak so frankly to her betters about her role and felt he ought to be disgusted. Instead he was diverted, a condition he experienced rarely.

“I am the fortunate one, as you are far more lively and engaging than I could ever be. I’ve never known the days to pass so quickly,” Anne said.

“They shall pass quicker still when your strength improves and our walks about the countryside are more extensive,” Miss Bennet said, a remark which could have been cutting, as if might have been if Miss Caroline Bingley, Charles’s rather odious sister, had spoken it, but which was only imbued with a gentle, genuine warmth and kindness. “Though you risk a muddy hem three inches deep when you join me and your mother may be as disappointed in your deportment as she was in mine. I must admit, Mr. Darcy, I did not bow my head and offer an apology. Indeed, my courage rises at every attempt to intimidate me.”

“You are singular, Miss Bennet,” he said.

“And you have not even heard me attempt ‘Les deux petits savoyards,’” she countered, moving her hands back to the pianoforte’s keys.

“Oh do play, dear Elizabeth,” Anne said and Darcy inclined his head in agreement, at a loss for words. The melody began, quite spirited, much like the musician herself and Darcy realized this visit to Rosings was itself singular.

For he had fallen in love. With his Cousin Anne’s paid companion. A servant.

Somehow, he’d have to find a way to marry her.

Written for Janeuary 2025 @janeuary-month day 7, prompt: servant.

Posted in the better late than never spirit.

[ayesha-lioness]

What a wonderful book for austen fan to enjoy. That was my great wish to see the well-known story again but from Mr. Darcy's perspective and this precious book is exactly the same I looked for to fulfill it. Highly recommend to read 🥰

When Mr. Charles Bingley rode into Hertfordshire to acquaint himself with Netherfield Park it was on a purely accidental recommendation. The solicitor who took it upon himself to advocate for Netherfield could certainly not be blamed for seeing a very desirable tenant in him. Bingley was at that time not yet two years of age, and unmarried, but he had the sort of good-humoured and generous character that must recommend him to almost anybody. The same could not be said for his closest friend…

Conceit and Conciliation is a full, canon compliant retelling of Jane Austen’s “Pride and Prejudice”, told from the perspectives of Fitzwilliam Darcy and Charles Bingley.

It was written with a lot of love and a lot of help from my sister, and you can download it right now for free (ePub, Mobi or PDF) on my website laurasimons.com!

[lcianhale]

Here's what you missed on Lucian:

A quebra do silêncio dos deuses se provara uma péssima coisa para Lucian. Fazia anos que não saia numa missão oficial e o resultado da primeira missão após o seu retorno foi um tanto... desastrosa. Acabara ferido pelas formigas gigantes enquanto investigava a fenda com Dove e Joseph, encontraram uma segunda fenda e ainda por cima, trombaram com o cão infernal no caminho de volta, fazendo com que Lucian ficasse assistindo enquanto seus companheiros davam conta da criatura. Se não estivesse tão machucado, acreditava que teriam conseguido derrotar o monstro. Porém, seus colegas de missão deram prioridade a sua segurança, deixando que o cão infernal desaparecesse enquanto o carregavam.

Durante o retorno, o filho de Apolo perdeu a consciência diversas vezes, o veneno das myrmekes correndo por suas veias. Só veio dar sinal de vida no dia seguinte, repousando na maca ao lado de Stevie, de Niké, que também havia sido vítima das formigas. Seus comentários trouxeram um breve sorriso aos lábios de Lucian embora ainda estivesse fazendo careta devido a queimadura de ácido que corroera sua braçadeira.

Os dias se passaram e veio a revelação sobre o desaparecimento de Apolo e as coisas começaram a fazer sentido em sua cabeça. O constante tempo nublado vinha lhe incomodando há algum tempo e finalmente ter alguma resposta sobre o assunto era um alívio. Que é claro estava acompanhado de ressentimento. Se não fosse por Veronica, quem sabe por quanto tempo Quíron e o Sr. D. manteriam a informação em segredo?

Lucian fazia suas as palavras que Yasemin jogou na cara dos dois, eram basicamente os mesmos questionamentos que passavam por sua cabeça. Sentia-se traído pela direção do acampamento. O semideus jamais hesitara em compartilhar suas previsões através de desenhos com eles, e fora ingênuo o suficiente para acreditar que a confiança era uma via de mão dupla. Estava terrivelmente errado. Hale não compartilharia o conteúdo de seus sonhos com eles, não por agora.

Apesar da raiva que sentia da direção do acampamento, Lucian fizera sua parte na tentativa de emboscar o cão infernal. Ainda remoía o fato de que a criatura continuava andando por aí depois de terem topado com ela durante sua missão. Seu instinto era o de lançar flecha atrás de flecha no monstro, uma vingança poética para a criatura responsável pela morte de Aidan.

Seus planos foram por água abaixo quando reparou a reação de seus irmãos mais novos. O desejo de vingança era compartilhado por muitos residentes do chalé sete, o vazio causado pelo luto sendo preenchido por uma sede de violência. Já tinha visto aquele tipo de reação antes. Foi a mesma que tivera diante da Batalha do Labirinto e a morte de Lee. Alguém precisava cuidar dos mais novos. Sabendo exatamente como se sentiam, Lucian se voluntariou para o trabalho.

O clima no acampamento tinha voltado a sua "normalidade anormal", enquanto Lucian passava mais e mais tempo na biblioteca tentando interpretar seus desenhos. E aí veio o anúncio o tal do baile de gala. Tinha que confessar que não estava nem um pouco animado para o evento. A última coisa que queria fazer era participar de uma comemoração romântica. Fazia meses que tinha trocado São Francisco pelo Acampamento Meio-Sangue e quanto mais o tempo passava, mais Lucian se arrependia de não ter contado para seu namorado sobre sua herança divina.

Com a mensagem de Dionísio e sua previsão sobre a Rachel, Hale fez as malas e partiu para Long Island com a desculpa esfarrapada de uma "emergência de família". A ideia de procurar um apartamento com James quando seu contrato de aluguel acabasse indo para o brejo pois cá estava, com o contrato vencido e sem poder entrar em contato com o amado. Lucian não estava nem um pouco interessado em sentir o amor no ar quando nem tinha certeza se ainda estava em um relacionamento.

This is what you missed on Lucian.

[mysunfreckle]

One of the funnest Pride and Prejudice POV switches to write so far

From:

When all of the house that was open to general inspection had been seen, they returned down stairs; and, taking leave of the housekeeper, were consigned over to the gardener, who met them at the hall door. As they walked across the lawn towards the river, Elizabeth turned back to look again; her uncle and aunt stopped also; and while the former was conjecturing as to the date of the building, the owner of it himself suddenly came forward from the road which led behind it to the stables.

To:

He rode directly to the stables, where he was welcomed with surprise and immediate inquiries as to whether any assistance was called for. Darcy assured them none was needed and handed off his horse, making his way down the road and towards the house unattended. His mind was fully occupied by his wish for a change of clothes and some refreshment, and his intention to summon his steward as soon as these had been obtained, so that he might have the remainder of the day to prepare for tomorrow. These were tranquil thoughts however; very different from the discomforts of travel, for they were familiar and sure of immediate remedy. Due to this pleasant and practical preoccupation Darcy was at that moment not aware of any person other than himself. That is, until he rounded the corner of Pemberley House and, standing upon the lawn and gazing up at the building, he beheld Miss Elizabeth Bennet.

Poor guy <3

[wistfulwillows]

Me and the bad bitch I pulled by being autistic:

[theromanticartist]

Pride & Blood: Mr. Darcy Vampire

‘Pride and Prejudice’ meets ‘Twilight’

Check out the first 10 episodes for FREE, available only on Kindle Vella US.

In this fantasy retelling of Jane Austen's Pride and Prejudice, Mr. Darcy, a Vampire Lord, hides his true nature behind a stoic facade. Captivated by the sharp-minded Elizabeth Bennet, he finds himself torn between his ardent love for her and his dangerous instincts. When Lady Catherine de Bourgh, an Elder Vampire head of his Coven, learns of the forbidden romance, she vows to eliminate Elizabeth. Complicating matters is George Wickham, a seductive werewolf with a dark past linked to Darcy.

Continue reading for free here.

[avionvadion]

Forest Deep Ch.44 (Sneak Peak) (It starts with another Sess PoV)

Beauty was a senseless notion.

It was something brought forth by fools who desired that which they believed was above them. Fools consumed by greed and lust, they gave into their most base desires and lost control of themselves, and were so pathetic and weak they refused to acknowledge how lowly they’ve become. This has not changed over the last two centuries. Sesshōmaru is convinced this senselessness has only gotten worse.

But… it wasn’t always about greed or lust, he’s discovered.

There was an ever present beauty in the nature around him, one he never bothered to acknowledge until it was finally pointed out to him. Sunlight streaming in through the branches, illuminating the path before him. Flowers in full bloom, surviving the cold and the harsh world, growing on the side of the road. He didn’t really understand it, or how he was supposed to appreciate it, but Irene had been basking in it shortly after her revival.

A woman who died beneath the ominous glow of a red moon, and came back to life in the warm rays of the morning sun…

Reckless, foolish, soft, and audacious, yet also clever and capable.

What was beauty in her eyes? Who was she to even cause him to be curious about it?

The day he had given her the kimonos, she had been delighted beyond reason. Joyous and bright, she walked with a spring in her step and a large grin on her face. Irene had been humming, moving ahead of the group and gazing at the scenery with sparkling eyes. The human woman had been acting completely enamored with the world around her, to the point Sesshōmaru found it ridiculous.

But then… she stopped moving and gazed up at the sky, closing her eyes and breathing in deeply. She had seemed so at peace. A serenity of sorts had taken root in her, and when she looked back at them her smile had softened, her brown gaze warm and misty and all too affectionate.

“Isn’t the world just so beautiful?”

Beautiful. A word Sesshōmaru understood, but didn’t quite comprehend.

He had observed the woman for a moment, watching her smile with life in her eyes and bright red cheeks. “What’s so beautiful about it?”

Irene soon spoke of the sunlight fluttering through the tree branches, and how it illuminated the plants below. Of the birds with their constant singing and the clear blue sky. She spoke of the life and nature that surrounded them, that grew around them, but what was the point? All things die eventually; that was the true reality. Beauty is just a temporary thing, and it will wilt just like the flowers she so adores.

Just like her life- which was taken under the light of the blood red moon.

Irene was a terribly foolish creature… but she was not greedy like the rest of mankind. She was audacious, yes, but she had no ambition, no desire to take that which did not belong to her or what was above her. She simply wanted to be. Irene was a foolish woman who found beauty in the mundane and temporary, and had an existence that was of little to no consequence to the demon lord.

So why… was he so irritated?

Even before having found the bridal hood, an anger has been stirring within him. The heavy scent of blood, the fear that tainted it, and the knowledge that some pest was trying to claim her for their own disgusting wants; it aggravated him greatly. Sesshōmaru wanted to tear his claws through the throat of the person that instigated all of this- and behead the vermin that stole her away.

One does not challenge him without facing the consequences, and finding the hair ribbon in the river stream was the final straw.

He showed no mercy to the lowly demons that got in his way. He ordered them to move, only having business with their leader, but when they tried to intercept him he cut them down. Most of the pests in the castle halls had been slashed to bits by his claws and poison whip, and catching the direction Irene’s scent was strongest- the fear in it spiking so strong it was almost rancid- he began to run. Sesshōmaru melted the door with a fury, furious with Irene for getting herself into another troublesome situation and furious with the water dragon demon for stealing her away.

But… seeing her turn to look at him, dressed in a magnificent shiromuku, cleaned up, and her dark brown hair done up with a flower pin, red rouge on her lips, his rage faltered.

He could only watch as the hood fell from her head and shoulders, cascading around her in a flutter of white-and-pink silk, and as she gazed up at him with teary eyes and a trembling smile, Sesshōmaru knew she was the very picture of beauty that would lead many fools into giving leave of their senses, sacrificing their pride and their minds in favor of something temporary and pointless.

Arrogant fools would tear her apart for their own greed, and their lust would break her sense of self. Adorned in such precious pink silk that was embroidered with lilacs and accented with a soft blue, Irene was undoubtedly beautiful.

She did not wish to be, however, and hearing her call out to him reminded him of his purpose in coming here. He chided her for her recklessness and took out the hair ribbon he found. Rather than attacking Ryūno immediately, Sesshōmaru decided to wait; will Irene truly abandon her pride and ask him, Sesshōmaru, for help, or will she accept her fate in marrying such a pathetic creature?

Did she truly leave the hair ribbon behind for him to find, or was it merely coincidence that it had been lost?

“I-I don’t… I don’t wanna get married!” Irene cried, a hiccup tearing through her throat. “I-I don’t-! I don’t wanna be here! I wanna go back, Sesshōmaru!”

That was all he needed to hear.

Yet that foolish woman still chose to show mercy, forgiving Ryūno for forcing her hand in his. She scolded him, lectured him, and even gave him advice. Sesshōmaru would have slaughtered the man for daring to steal away someone he had taken under his wing, and yet was asked to spare him. Ryūno should realize how close he came to death that day, for if not for Irene’s plea Sesshōmaru would have ended him then and there. He should be grateful, for Irene is far more generous than he, and had it only been Sesshōmaru that Ryūno had wronged he would not have agreed to Irene’s request.

Pitiful demon, so worked up over a human woman…

Just like Sesshōmaru’s deceased father, and just like his miserable half-brother who had been pinned to a tree in a fifty year sleep.

What’s the point of it all?

It just didn’t make any sense to him.

“H-How… do we get out of here?” Sesshōmaru had stared down at Irene as she approached him, watching as she tied her hair back with the ribbon he had given her. She looked rather anxious, nervousness radiating from her smaller form as she stood a few feet away in front of him. The shiromuku hem trailed behind her, clinging to her form and giving off an aura of elegance she normally did not possess. Irene curled her hands close to her chest, fingers hidden beneath her long sleeves. Her deep chestnut brown eyes, though concerned, shimmered with unsaid joy. “Which way’s the exit?”

Sesshōmaru said nothing, realizing upon seeing her smile at him that his own actions today made little sense.

He pulled his gaze away to stare at the door he had melted, wondering if the rage he had felt truly did come from a sense of pride- and why the scent of her blood disgusted him so. She was just another human he had allowed to travel with him. A curious one, perhaps, but a human nonetheless.

Just as she said before, they were neither allies nor enemies. They simply existed around each other. Nothing more and nothing less.

And yet…

“I-I want to stay with Sesshōmaru! I want to help him look after Rin! I-I want… I want to stay.”

To declare such a thing so fiercely, when she had been so hesitant to voice her desires before, made it clear that there was more to it. There was more to it, because Sesshōmaru would not stop her if that was what she wished. She was bound to vanish eventually, but if she wished to remain by his side until then… so be it. Irene would be granted his protection for just a little while longer.

He’d allow her to continue walking beside him.

Nothing more.

Nothing less.

Whatever it was that led to their continuous encounters, this was as far as it would go. His generosity only goes so far. He is Sesshōmaru, the eldest son of the great dog demon general, and though Irene may hold such affections towards him like many fools have before, he is not inclined to such ridiculous notions.

No, it is just as she said.

They exist around each other, and that is all.

He is merely…

[titsthedamnseason]

it actually needs to be studied how little i care about the zodiac academy characters. because usually i am naturally more drawn to characters and plot lines from longer series which makes sense because thinking about it logically, you spend far more time with those characters than with those in standalones or shorter series. its sort of of like comparing tv shows to movies, you might like them both, but youre going to spend more time thinking about the characters you watched the most screen time of (this is almost certainly why i have horrible addicted series brainrot that only multiplies each time i reread it. the time i’ve spent with those characters compared to others is off the charts)

now i won’t pretend to know off the top of my head how long this series was and i don’t really care to check i just know that it’s around 8-10 books probably and after this i am about to log that i finished this book and then NEVER think about these characters again im so sincere they will never cross my mind. the fact that i even got reminded that the last book released was a fluke i genuinely might have never remembered to circle back to it and im not sad about that but its just SO UNUSUAL to read this many books about a group of characters and walk away not feeling at all changed by them or feeling any connection whatsoever. and that is the truest testament to how poorly written this series was. goodbye and goodnight. see you NEVER zodiac academy 🫡 (🥳🥳🥳🥳🥳)

[mostofthingsmostofthetime]

Sorry, still following the serise. Just can't post much right now coz of real life commitments. So have a tier list -

[angeltannis]

I’ve made this exact post before but I can’t find it. Anyway “The mysterious and aloof character who seems like an obvious twist villain is actually just autistic and befriends the rest of the cast by the end” no better plot twist than this, ever

[avirxy]

🌹

“Oh my god,” Darci cries from somewhere nearby. “she’s here!”

Swells of crunching and cracking leaves rebound closer, approaching.

“Hey, hey,” Jim’s voice shakes and trembles as his hands land on either side of her bloodstained face, gently pulling it away from the wet leaves, trying to keep her attention.

All she can register are his warm palms, the roughness that aligns at the edges of his fingers, from gripping his sword a certain way.

[thegroundsofbrooklyn]

i think if darcy was 1950s movie man he would be the type of guy to sing singin in the rain

[melpo-thalia]

New fanfic 🤓📖

[cto10121]

https://tvtropes.org/pmwiki/pmwiki.php/YMMV/MidnightSun2020

Okay, but you need to read this since the entire thing is hilarious.

Does anyone that reviews this books not a raging, nitpicky anti?

…Oh, God, you weren’t kidding.

[ytcomments-archive]

[cderiva]

[ a late birthday present for maria! nanami date ]

Nanami does not recall the last time he had a good evening. One without talk of work passed halfheartedly over an izakaya table gone sticky with spilt beer. One that doesn’t taste like the bland loneliness of a reheated frozen meal. Contentment is a thing deferred, the bed he will crawl into one day when he no longer has to wake up with the sun after so few hours of sleep he can count them on one hand with fingers leftover.

It is too early to assume that this is what that vague future life will feel like. They’ve only been on a few dates, have only known each other a few months, but in the soft glow of the restaurant’s ambient light, he feels like maybe he’s mapping the first tentative edges of something worth holding onto. Tonight, at least, he is not yet ready to see the end of the warm, ease that has settled over them.

They could leave, stretch the ten minute walk to the station into an hour with a languid gait and a few extra turns down blessedly quiet side streets, but Nanami wants to hold onto this moment a little longer. This conversation about nothing important, folded into the spaces between the indistinct complaints and pleasantries of the people around them. So the next time he catches sight of one of the waiters, he calls out a firm, “Excuse me.” And even though no one has ever accused him of having a sweet tooth, he answers the man’s questioning look with a request for dessert, heedless of the two plates bearing the crumbs of a dessert already finished.