#he understands muslins!

[freyalorelei]

Read Northanger Abbey! Sweet Catherine Moreland meets nice guy Henry Tilney, who is polite, witty, and respectful, and they immediately hit it off. The only rival for his attention is Catherine's friend Isabella's brother John Thorpe, who is portrayed as an insufferable braggart and no real threat for her affections--Catherine only tolerates his company for Isabella's sake. Catherine and Henry have instant mutual admiration, bond over a shared hobby (reading gothic novels), and playfully banter together. They're friends first and foremost.

Seriously, it is my very favorite Austen novel, and my second-favorite book ever.

(This has been in my drafts for over a month [<- written in the summer of 2022 lol], let's just finish chewing this thing ...)

Part of the reason I'm obsessed with Our Flag Means Death is the magic of hyperfixation, but there's also something about it that just ... certain scenes, certain gifs, I see them and I absolutely melt. And I'm no stranger to romantic media, especially historical romance, so I had to ask myself why this, so much?

And I think the thing that really gets me about the romance in OFMD is that it's so entirely different from mainstream het romance (and again, especially historical romance) and that mainstream het romance is so often lazily written.

How often do you go to read/watch something where the protagonist and love interest immediately have a positive rapport, understand each other, smile at each other, admire each other, have fun together? And in contrast, how often is the love interest marked out by having immediate hostility with the protagonist, sniping, irrational disagreement, disapproval?

I watch Sanditon and Bridgerton mainly just to be aware of what's going on in them, because like it or not I'm kind of a Regency historian of sorts, but I can't really stand them. In the first season of Sanditon, the heroine, Charlotte was presented with two potential love interests, Sidney Parker and James Stringer. The former was the classic "we act like we hate each other because of our sexual tension," the latter was really adorable and full of smiles and care for each other. And ... Charlotte barely seemed to realize that Stringer was a real possibility, all narrative heft was given to her plotline with Sidney and of course they turned out to be in love. Then the second season rolled this back and brought in two new love interests, again with one having a positive relationship with her and the other constantly arguing and criticizing; the apparently positive one turns out to be a creepy Wickham while the one she initially dislikes turns out to be a good Darcy with manpain to deal with. (Same thing with her sister's love triangle.)

And there are loads of other examples where a potential love interest who is immediately pleasant turns out to be deceptive/meh while a potential love interest who spurs fights is endgame. Basically, this is because you need some kind of obstacle to stop the characters from getting together immediately. In historical romance written in the present day, social class and money aren't acceptable obstacles unless there's a pressing need for them written in (hence the prevalence of "father gambled away our fortune and you must marry well, my dear, to save us from the poorhouse" plots), and "we met in an awkward way and will not get over it" works, narratively, as an obstacle.

In contrast, what goes on in OFMD s1 is so much more complex - the characters liking each other but having internal reasons not to recognize their feelings or act on them gives more room for showing why they actually are good together.

[torchwood-99]

If Faramir was an Austen hero, he'd be Mr Tilney.

[niko-ro]

making a doctor’s appointment for this 63 year old man

[madamechrissy]

Preview for Silent Serenades- an arranged marriage with Duke Gojo- Part Thirteen

Spoiler alert- don't read if you haven't read Part Twelve yet!

Here it is

MDNI- explicit- (Said I'm not writing fics- ahaha but I lied, I was having a moment lol- Imma keep writing what I like to so... enjoy! Sould be out by Monday <3)

“Satoru, stop it. Now.” You cup his face, hating the swirling storm in his beautiful eyes, he clings to your wrists, wrapping them with his long fingers, breaths coming faster and faster.

“She is right about me. I am-”

“She is not right. She is nothing. You have… you have me.” You whisper, stepping even closer towards him, feeling him tremble slightly, tears just sitting on those long white lashes, shattering your heart.

“Look at what I did to you. What if you… I couldn’t blame you if you go for a fucking King.” You shake your head, Satoru takes his hands off your wrists, they find your waist, pressing you against his hard body. “What if I lose you now? I could not go on.”

“I’m not going anywhere. She’s filling your head with lies.” Satoru Gojo leans down, breath sweet and hot against your lips, you feel it, the beat of his heart steady against your breasts.

“Are they lies? I see him, he wants you. Do you think a baker makes up for all the whores I slept with!?” His voice breaks, as it breaks you apart, you feel your own emotions swirling in your soul.

“It’s not a game of getting even, my heart can’t take that again. I only want you, can you understand!? If I did not I would not have chosen you, to stay with you, it does not come with your past.”

“You so easily forgive me.” He scoffs then, stepping closer and closer towards the burgundy wall, barring you with one arm, while the other wraps your waist, fingers stroking your back up and down.

“I will not continue to seek some revenge upon you. As… I know you will not be with her, yes?” He glares, leaning even closer, you ache for his lips upon yours, needing that reassurance.

“Of course I will not. Despite being nearly your copy, you are nothing like her, your heart, your soul. Your…” He drifts a hand down, cupping you then over your muslin gown, you moan softly, having been in this palace and now staying here tonight, knowing the woman that destroyed Satoru is here, you two have been on edge. “Your perfect little cunt.”

“Mmm, is it so much better?” You tease, voice breathy when he presses his palm up, you feel your pussy throb around nothing, your tummy clenching with the desire pooling for him.

“God yes, everything about you is better, your mouth, your cunt, your moans, you are so much better than she could be.” He continues applying pressure, lips just a breath away. “I hate how he looks at you, I want to kill him.”

“I only see you, broody man that you are.” He moans now, slamming his lips on yours, drinking in your every cry.

“Next time he sees you, my cum will be dripping down between your thighs.” You gasp as he lifts you, pressing you against the wall, lips devouring yours, hot, messy, tongues dancing and fighting while teeth click. His kiss bruises your lips when you cling to him, legs wrapped around slender hips, feeling his length press on you.

“Then guess what I want?” You breathe out between kisses, when Satoru carries you to the bed, turning you to your stomach to unlace your bodice, nipping and biting your skin as he does, leaving bruises from his mouth.

“My cock in you, hmm? To be all mine?” You gasp in pleasure, head falling back for his dominant bites, he rips apart your bodice now, dragging the gown off you with frantic movements.

“I am yours, but no, I want to make you mine.” You turn, cupping his face, looking right at his hungry eyes and parted lips.

“I am yours, slutty girl. All yours.”

“If I’m dripping your cum, you’ll have mine all over your lips.” You earn his groan, he’s got you completely stripped, hands gripping your ass, smacking it so hard it makes you soaking wet, you’re shaking with need.

“Need to coat my face with your slutty little cunt?” You gasp out as he runs his fingers on your slick folds, you arch your ass up for more.

“Please.” His breath is hot on your lips, he pulls them apart to reveal your little hole, drooling arousal out of it.

“Mine.”

Are you ready for our Duke and Duchess!?

[hotjaneaustenmenpoll]

Round Three Round Up!

In Round Three we were seeing double as 6 out of our 8 pairs were put against their alternative selves and we asked why not pit two bad bitches against each other ?

In the only match-up where the newer version won out we lost another one of our tournament's Mr Knightleys as you declared that riding through rain, willing to ride through worse was not enough to win your hearts - instead he must have a proper understanding of muslin! And so Mr Tilney (2007) became our first Quarter-finalist.

Mr Knightley (1996) was not alone in taking his leave of us as your votes decided that Johnny Flynn's Mr Knightley (2020) was too blonde badly done compared to Mr Knightley (2009) and must go!

Mr Elliot (2022) will be likely soon spotted in town with a Mrs Clay on his arm as though he may have proved himself the hottest of the Persuasion (2022) men he was no match for Colonel Brandon (1995). Joining him in bad-boy exile is Willoughby (2008) who could not beat the man best known as Emma Thompson's husband leaving Willoughby (1995) as the last libertine standing.

In another win for Sense and Sensibility (1995) Edward Ferrars (1995) proved that while a Wet Shirt scene written by Andrew Davies might have worked once, Dan Stevens chopping wood in the rain was too blonde not enough to prevail against Hugh Grant and the power of being married to Emma Thompson in any universe, real or imagined.

Captain Wentworth (1995) also sailed through against his 2007 counterpart as the voters told us once again that they hated blonde men if it was made in '95 that man was staying alive for another round and so Captain Wentworth (2007) becomes only a gallant Captain Wentworth, in a small paragraph at one corner of the newspapers.

In one of our tightest run polls that went back and forth several times it was Bingley Vs Bingley but in another win for the '95 contingent - the curly hair clinched it and Mr Bingley (1995) proved the victor.

And of course I must end with the biggest poll of the week, breaching the walls of our little tournament to be voted on by 28,987 tumblr users, the poll that ended in a most well deserved 50/50 split, Mr Darcy Vs Mr Darcy. How could anyone vote for THAT Mr Darcy you yelled at each other - HAND FLEX! WET SHIRT! you cried! But when push came to shove despite 14,484 of you declaring that you loved him most ardently 14,503 of you had decided he was the last man on earth who you could ever be prevailed upon to marry and left that wet cat out in the rain. And so, though we offer him a most cordial curtsey we must say goodbye to a very worthy loser Mr Darcy (2005).

Thank you for all the excellent propaganda sent in - I will be taking a days break before putting up the Quarter-final polls, giving you until Thursday to send in any propaganda you want included on the main poll posts and me time to add it! But for now we must once again say...

Farewell Gentlemen!

[elrieldreamer]

My very humble addition to Elain Archeron Week Day 1: Visions. I am not a prolific writer, but I enjoy dabbling now and again. 💜

Precious Sight

As Elain’s eyes came into focus, she found herself snuggled deeply into the soft linens of her bed at the townhouse, with the dusky purple quilt pulled up to her nose. As she stretched, a deep, unfamiliar ache tugged at her muscles, as if she’d climbed all ten thousand steps to the House of Wind. Rolling away from the wall, Elain settled back into the soft mattress, intending to let her body’s clear exhaustion pull her back into sleep.

Just as she felt herself succumbing to the warmth and comfort of her nest, a small snuffling sound alerted her to the fact that she wasn't alone. Peering out into the room, Elain startled as she discovered that Azriel was resting with his wings splayed to either side of a plush, wingback chair that she often sat in to read late into the evening. His head was turned towards her, his features boyishly peaceful in sleep, and shadows lazing along his shoulders. Letting her gaze drop to his torso, she saw that his beautifully scarred hands clutched a small form wrapped in muslin. An even deeper confusion set in as she realized that the bundle was, in fact, an infant. She hadn’t truly spoken to Azriel in nearly eight months, since that accursed Solstice that had changed everything between them. So why, now, had he appeared uninvited in her room? And how had he possibly come to be sleeping here accompanied by a babe?

Gingerly moving herself to the edge of the large bed, Elain swung her legs over the side and lowered her feet to the cold, wooden floor. As she made to move towards Azriel to investigate the child, who was now beginning to make a high-pitched whine, her heightened fae senses picked up on an iron-rich tang in the air. A moment later, a rush of blood bloomed between her unsteady legs. Elain’s squeak of surprise roused Azriel, which seemed to spur the babe’s frustrated whine into a full-blown wail. Truly alarmed, Elain's widened brown eyes sought hazel.

“Azriel, what …” she started, but she was quickly cut off by Azriel as he rose quickly from the chair.

“Lainey, you should still be abed,” he said softly, scanning her from head to toe, “I’ll bring her to you to feed.”

Elain's breasts became heavy, reacting instinctively to his words; an unfamiliar need that she somehow knew only the infant could satisfy building in her chest. Azriel helped her back into the bed with one hand, and then gently lowered the babe to her arms. Peering down, Elain admired the sweet curve of the tiny head covered in wispy, midnight curls. The golden bronze of the baby's skin was so at odds with her own translucent cream, but it seemed right, somehow. Illyrian, she thought. This was an Illyrian infant, like Nyx. But … no wings, and her ears came to a soft point. Elain looked from Azriel to the increasingly angry child and back again, as a rush of understanding came to her.

Somehow, this babe … this babe was hers. Theirs. Tears gathered in her eyes as they also fell from an identical, doe-brown pair on the babe’s face. Untying the top of her nightgown, Elain released a full breast, marveling as her nipple was quickly tugged into the waiting mouth. She fondly stroked one rose petal cheek as it worked hungrily. Azriel bent down and pressed his lips to her forehead, but she couldn’t tear her gaze away from the improbable creature nestled in the crook of her elbow.

Elain whimpered as consciousness slowly found her back in the kitchens of the River House. She was splayed on the floor near the butcher block where she had been kneading dough for cinnamon rolls. Nuala leaned forward and slid an arm behind Elain’s back, helping her to sit.

“What did you see, Elain?” she asked, concern lacing her smoky voice, “Should I get Feyre? Rhys?”

Elain’s heart raced wildly, and an overwhelming emptiness gripped her as she choked back a sob. “Azriel. I need Azriel, Nuala. Please.”

The wraith was surprised by the request after so many months spent helping Elain to avoid the spymaster, but something in her friend’s face told her not to protest.

“Of course, Elain. I’ll send for him now.”

Praying fervently for the Mother to guide her words, Elain waited for Azriel. And for the precious future that she now knew awaited them.

[lit-rants]

Why I Love Northanger Abbey.

Northanger Abbey is my favorite Jane Austen novel and believe me this is a conclusion that I have come to with much deliberation. The novel is a wonderful coming of age novel and is a parody of the gothic novels that were extremely popular. Catherine Morland, the naive seventeen year old heroine is an avid reader with a vivid imagination, so much so that her imagination distorts her sense of reality. The novel follows her while she embarks on her own adventures and meets the Tilney’s whose character and residence become a subject of great fascination for her. 

What set Catherine apart from the other heroines that Austen wrote is that she was simply an ordinary girl. She didn't have the wit and humor of Elizabeth or the faultlessness of Fanny or the beauty of Emma. She was simply a country girl who craved adventure and was too innocent for her own good. She wasn't worldly, she was clumsy and scatterbrained. She wears her heart on her sleeves and is terrible at hiding her honest feelings towards something. But in spite of her flaws she is charming and has good intentions. She stands up against peer pressure and is not afraid to apologize when she knows she has done wrong or stand up for herself and her loved ones.  

Let's talk about the hero though. Henry Tilney is my favorite Jane Austen hero. He is witty, funny and sarcastic and can make jokes. His lightheartedness makes him so endearing and charming and lets not forget his impressive skill in understanding muslin. He is so attentive to Catherine and makes her laugh. He knows when to indulge her in her fanatical ideas and when to ground her when she lets her overactive imagination get the better of her. When John Thorpe dismisses her hobby of reading novels, Henry shows genuine interest in what she reads and even gives his opinion without ridiculing or patronizing her. 

I loved the relationship between Catherine and Henry Tilney. I loved how open Catherine is about her feelings and so devoid of intrigues and mind games in order to attract his attention which is a stark contrast to Isabella. Moreover I think Austen did an amazing job at challenging the general convention of her time where the man is supposed to be the pursuer and the woman is supposed to play hard to get. Catherines transparency and innocence about her feelings is  refreshing and also the reason which makes Henry fall for her. 

I loved hating John Thorpe. Right from the start he is rude, manipulative, and a terrible conversationalist. He is probably the worst character Austen has written in the “men who cannot take a hint” trope (which includes Mr. Collins from Pride and Prejudice and Henry Crawford from Mansfield Park and such). He is boastful and only talks about his carriage and horses and has nothing to recommend him as a good partner. He manipulates and misleads General Tilney into believing that Catherine has a good fortune which when later proven to be false gets Catherine into trouble for no fault of hers.  There is a certain pleasure in knowing that he got what he deserved in the end.

[hanahaki-disease]

AU in which Percy Jackson is a genetic clone of Talia Al Ghul. I love the DC x PJO crossover and I'm absolutely obsessed with how similar Talia and Percy are. Plus "Annabeth is Wayne" and "Percy is Al Ghul" it's absolutely amazing. I mean the quirplatonic, not the romantic Percabeth.

Ras Al Ghul considered his daughter Talia to be an almost perfect child and the most beloved of all his children. He was completely satisfied with her, her abilities, her dedication, her strength, her leadership, by how good she was. But she was still a woman, a daughter and no son.

Therefore, he makes a slightly unconventional decision - to clone his daughter, but create a male version of her and raise the born boy as his son. Talia agrees, as if she has a choice and provides her genetic material, but the father's action touches something in her. Several attempts fail, but in the end a group of specialists succeeds and a viable embryo appears. Male and completely healthy. He is placed in an artificial womb and the child develops perfectly. Ras is completely satisfied, expecting the imminent appearance of his new ideal son, Talia comes from time to time to visit her "future brother".

She reads for him, tells stories, sometimes sings and just talks to him, she doesn't know why she's doing it, she just feels like it needs to be done, she feels connected to this child. Talia is next to her father when Ras gives his son a name - Ardeshir Al Ghul, Heir to the League of Assassins. Talia thinks that this is a good name, it was one of her favorites, later when she is alone with him, she gives him a middle name - Bulbul, her little nightingale, for some reason she was sure that he would have a wonderful voice.

Meanwhile, Sally Jackson is enjoying summer love with Poseidon, she is young, she has just lost her uncle and she feels absolutely happy and alive next to the Sea God. And to her surprise, she wants to have his child, even if he told her that he was expecting a demigod and explained why he couldn't have children now. And Sally herself knows that she is unlikely to even be able to conceive, even if her lover is the god of the sea and fertility himself.

Poseidon loves his mortal lover, he wants to make her a magnificent goddess or at least a beautiful nymph so that she will always be with him, he wants to give her an underwater castle and everything she can want to have. She rejects almost everything and the only thing she craves is a baby. And Poseidon still decides to give it to her, making her happy. On one of the last hot days of summer, Poseidon appears on the threshold of her tiny house, gently holding a neat wicker basket in which a tiny newborn boy, wrapped in several layers of muslin, sleeps peacefully.

Sally accepts the baby with reverent yeast and looks at him with love, he has caramel skin, black hair and big emerald eyes, he does not look like her or Poseidon, but Sally Jackson does not care, she becomes a mother and she is absolutely happy. She hugs the child tightly to her, the boy squeezes her finger, she calls him Perseus Doris - in honor of the only happy hero and the gift of the sea, which he is.

Poseidon is holding a baby in his arms, which does not belong to him, not to his beloved Sally by blood, but is their son. He sings his father's blessing in ancient Greek and gently kisses the baby on the forehead blessing him, from now on He is Perseus Doris Jackson son of the sea god Poseidon and mortal Sally Jackson, a demigod who will destroy or save Olympus.

Far away from them, the head of the demon throws all his strength into searching for the heir who disappeared a few hours after his birth and burns with anger. His daughter, who does not know and to her surprise does not understand whether she is a mother or a sister, prays for him. Let her little nightingale be somewhere else, with people who will love him and who will give him at least a semblance of a normal life.

If you want more or you have any questions, feel free to ask and ask :D

I—

Ooooooohhh, I like that a lot.

Two things immediately come to mind with this: 1) Talia torn between thing of Percy as a son/little brother like you said. And, 2) Damian hating and being jealous of Percy.

When it comes to Talia, she was there the entire time Percy was in utero in the tube. Spending time with him, watching over him, and while she felt a little bit of hatred for the baby who had yet to experience the weight of life and expectation, she had come to love it like a mother would. How the oldest daughter would love their sibling when they had raised them their whole life.

But for Damian, he’d being angry and upset with him. Damian’s whole reason for being alive is because Ra’s needed an heir, someone to take over the throne for him when it time comes. And here was this perfect person who was made to be as exceptional as his mother without needed to have their genetic makeup altered to reach that standard—not even mentioning the divine blessing and favor he received from most of the Greek pantheon (either reluctantly or because they genuinely like him.)

And in this au, which I really like, where would Percy fit in the batfam? Can they trust him because he’s technically Talia? Does he work with the league because of how he’s born? Is he Damian’s uncle or brother or some father-like thing since he’s a clone of Talia?

100/10 absolutely love this

[hum-suffer]

We'll Say Hello Again (Nevermind the chasm between us) 13

Gauri would never wish for someone's death, really. Not unless she had reasons.

She's eighteen when she begins to reconsider the parameters of the said reasons.

In order to win the Rajmata's favour and to become a Prince consort of the realm, many lords have started vying for her attention in frankly unflattering manners. One tried to buy her with gold, another tried to buy her with promises of allowance of other future lovers, and a particularly peculiar one tried to buy her with promise of privacy.

What is she going to do with gold? She's a fucking Princess. Why would she need any lover when she has her husband? She's loyal, thank you. And why would she be enticed with a basically loveless life? She can have her privacy in her own rooms.

Bhalla doesn't often engage with her when she tells him about how irritating it really is to be the center or unwanted attention— he loves all the attention he gets. Amar, while he understands her ire, he surrenders with a shrug and tells her that she can live by his side for all their lives, for all he cares. He says that she'll be happier with him than any of these lords who want her title and perhaps her inheritance. Gauri rolls her eyes at him, he's not completely wrong.

The life of a spinster would be much preferred over the constant pressure to perform wifely duties for someone who did not love her.

As she's adding the final details to the tunic in her hands, Gauri looks over the arena at her brothers, Katappa and Bhairav, all training. She's earned her day off from the training, giving her medical knowledge exam not an hour ago. She doesn't know how well she's done, and doesn't ever want to know.

Gauri already has decided that she's going to be in the cabinet of ministers, preferably for the child development department. The medical knowledge is a background that she needs in order to make her credentials shin even further.

The sting of the needle on her finger brings her back and Gauri breathes in relief when she sees that her blood hasn't smudged on the dark periwinkle of the shirt. It's muslin, rare and gorgeous. And repurposed from a gift that one of the lords who tried to buy her with gold gave her.

Beside her, Yamuna shakes her head. "Your highness, give this work to someone else. You'll only end up with aching fingers, you've been behind this for two days!"

Gauri shushes her suspiciously. "I cannot do that, my friend," she says, holding the urge to lift up the tunic to see her completed work. "I am doing this for a birthday present. I will not pawn off a gift to another to work upon."

Yamuna shakes her head. "At least give it a rest for the morning, now. You've already got to go for your astronomy lessons in three hours. Rest for a couple of hours, you've been over working."

Gauri playfully raises her eyebrows,"Haven't you become much more overbearing since getting married?"

"I wonder what will happen to you, then," she deadpans,"you've been overbearing since you knew how to walk."

Gauri laughs, loud and careless of any officer vying for her hand. "You've become cheeky. I must meet Harihar and thank him for gifting you some humour as your marriage gift."

Yamuna hesitates for a second and lowers her voice,"That's not the thing he's gifted me."

Gauri grins and looks at her friend's mildly scandalous words. "How positively risque, my friend. Absolutely admirable. Why aren't you around me in my waking hours more often?"

Yamuna purses her lips and shrugs dryly. "Your dog doesn't leave you alone in daylight."

"Be respectful," Gauri narrows her eyes but keeps her tone breezy. "As per his position, he is still your senior."

As if sensing that they were talking about him, one of Bhairav's arrows flies towards them and embeds itself in the bark of the tree behind them. Gauri doesn't bother removing it before she turns back to Bhairav with a raised eyebrow.

He shrugs cheekily before he bows, bending low. Gauri waves her hand in dismissal and Bhairav straightens while Katappa shakes his head bemusedly from behind him. "Have better manners than that, boy," he says, lightly swatting Bhairav on his head.

Bhairav turns back to Katappa and Gauri turns her eyes back to Yamuna, who gives her a knowing look.

"I've often heard that dogs get territorial very easily."

This time, a look from Gauri tells her that she's at a dangerous threshold. Yamuna smartly turns the conversation back to her rest.

"Bhairavrath!" She calls him and his attention is instantly on her, so is Bhalla and Amar's. When Bhairav is sufficiently near them, she gestures at Gauri. "Tell her that she can rest for two hours before her next class and escort her to her rooms, please."

"I don't obey you, Yamuna," he says, charming and cocksure. This change isn't too new, he's had a lot of increase in his confidence after Katappa has basically made him an apprentice to become the next Royal Guard Chief. The ability to lead and strategise and to be proven the very best among quite literally hundreds has rubbed off on him.

(Gauri remembers the day that he quietly seethed at her and asked her if she had anything to do with Katappa choosing him to be the next successor.

She remembers coolly regarding him before telling him that if he had been favoured by her especially, it would be obvious enough that he'd have never had to ask. He'd been quiet the whole day before asking her hesitantly if she would wish him luck.

Gauri had gotten him several books on war strategy and commissioned him a bracelet that doubled as a weapon.

It glints on his hand in the sunlight even now.)

Bhairav looks at Gauri, eyes downcast in reverence. "My princess."

"My Archer."

"May I escort you to your chambers to rest for a while?" Gauri knows what he's doing, deciding for her that she will rest, only asking permission to be the one to escort her. She huffs a laugh, he's getting audacious, but that audacity is what makes her days interesting.

"You may," she says at last,"after you put that sword of yours away become more presentable."

»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»

When they're sitting for dinner, Maa asks about their days and Gauri relaxes, tuning out the answers because she knows them already. It's only when she hears her name that she looks up at Maa.

"And Gauri? Mahashivratri is coming up, will you like to take care of all the preparations?"

For a moment, she's speechless."With great honour, Maa. But you will have to guide me, I have not planned something at a large scale yet."

It's true. Gauri has planned their birthdays and monthly Shivratri at the palace, but she's never had anything to do at such a large scale. She knows everything must be flawless— Mahadev may be her friend but she's not willing to risk his ire.

Maa smiles at her,"Of course, daughter. Alongside, can you please help Bhalla and Bahu with the preparations to receive the governor of the West province?"

Dread fills her. She doesn't want to do this. The time for annual reports is two months past and the man had been there already. There were no peculiarities in the West province, as far as the court reports went. She'll have to ask Advait, the court singer she'd come to know, to do some investigations. However, she is fairly sure that there's absolutely no issue with the West province.

And the only conclusion for the governor to come here means that he wants some special boon— which could include a marriage alliance with either of the royal children.

The prospect alone makes her want to bare the dagger that is now always strapped to her calf.

(She's not returned it, hasn't returned it since the day they almost killed a man.

He hasn't asked for it.)

Gauri is more apprehensive about this but she nods with a smile nonetheless, glad to be trusted with the administration of the household.

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Her brothers have no sense of propriety.

It's as they are walking back to the wing that they have been allotted since their very birth, that Bhalla almost snaps at her. "What's gotten your face so down, Gauri?"

"I'm afraid that the Western governor is coming here for my hand," she whispers, aware of Katappa, Bhairav and Veeraraj behind them. Bhalla had him sworn as his guard when Veeraraj somehow built Bhalla a special kind of mace that is now his preferred weapon. He isn't untrusted, but while Gauri would trust Bhairav with her life— she fears Veeraraj to be greedy enough to squash all loyalty for money.

Amar shakes his head,"You are worrying needlessly, Gauri. He doesn't have any children."

"He has himself." Although older than her, the man had married and his wife had died in some disease. He has been a bachelor for half of Gauri's life.

Amar scoffs. "Don't be ridiculous, Gauri. He's thirty! A dozen years your elder, Maa will not agree even if he propositions you."

Bhalla shrugs,"It isn't that big of a gap, honestly. And if Gauri marries him, we can secure the Western banks for better trade." At her betrayed look, he gives her an irritated look back. "Don't look at me like that, Gauri. You thought of the political consequences, too, or you would have been more vehement in your disagreement."

Guilty, she looks down. "I know. And I'm afraid Maa has considered the same."

"It matters not." Amar says, grasping her hand in his. The feel of their hands together has always been the same, rough and grounding. They both have rough hands because of their training, and that only results in holding her anchored when she feels so lost in her own thoughts. "You will not be marrying without your agreement. You are a Princess."

"Exactly," Bhalla says nonchalantly,"You are a Princess. You are not getting married to some lowly governor. I'll find you a King, someone brave and mighty."

But I want someone caring too, she thought, her hand tightening on Amar's. I want to be loved.

She wants a family, yes, but she does not want her children to be born out of duties and not of love. She doesn't know what wants, but it's certainly not a loveless life.

She deserves to be loved too, damn it.

»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»»

Amar raises his eyebrows at her when he finds her studiously completing the embroidery at the collar of a tunic in her rooms.

"That's not mine," he says, presumptuously. Gauri laughs at his forwardness and doesn't reply. He comes to sit beside her, but knows better than to touch anything that is in her hands without her explicit permission. "That's not for me either, is it?"

Gauri shakes her head. Amar has broader shoulders, he's built and built heavily. Bhalla, too, has a more muscle nuanced build.

"It's for Bhalla?"

Gauri doesn't reply, focusing on the embroidery. She's doing the last outline and it needs to be perfect, because if it isn't, Gauri doesn't have the time to make another one. She will, of course, if need be. But it won't be as perfect in one day as it's been in one week.

"You're making this for Bhairav." It's not a question this time but she hears the incredulity. Gauri hums as she stops for a moment.

She looks at her brother and explains,"His birthday is coming up, overmorrow. I have been remiss in the past years in finding his birthday and he has been unnaturally elusive as well. But I found it last year, and I intend to make his birthday happy."

(He has no family. His empty home haunts him. He is haunted. He is my sword. He is my friend.)

Gauri will try her damnedest to make him happy, if it's the last thing she does.

"And you're telling me this now?" Amar asks outrageously,"I want to give him a gift too, now what will I do? It won't be done in time!"

Gauri purses her lips in mild irritation, wondering if she should poke him with her needle. She decides to have mercy and simply says,"Suffer."

"My sister hates me!" He groans dramatically and flops down in the bed. Gauri doesn't pay him any heed until he manages to wiggle himself onto her lap. "Did you see the girl that Bhalla has recently been focused on?"

Gauri hums disinterestedly,"Yes, she was the one I tasked with preparing the Governor's rooms. She's pretty."

"But why is he getting to suddenly befriend the workers of the castle?"

"Perhaps our brother has fallen in love." Gauri says with a shrug, even though she doesn't believe it. Bhalla would never love a simple citizen.

Amar snorts and fiddles with the sleeve of the tunic. "I think not. Do you think he's changing?"

Not for the better, Gauri knows.

"Time changes everyone, Amar," she says patiently and uses her teeth to cut the extra thread once she's finished.

Amar swats her shoulder,"Don't be a savage, you have a pair of scissors!"

"Did I ask your opinion?"

"It's better than yours, for sure!"

"Oh, get back to your rooms, you lazy bear."

Gauri folds the tunic and puts it in the drawer beside her bed. She lays down as well, after putting her sewing kit on the floor. "Bahu?" Amar hums as he sits up, shifting to lay down beside her. "Is it wrong that I don't want to marry for an alliance?"

"Absolutely not, Gauri," he says resolutely. "There's nothing wrong in wanting love. Besides, you're too young for marriage."

Gauri bites her lip thoughtfully and doesn't reply. Amar somehow sounds naive to her ears. Has he remained in the past or has she grown up too quickly?

____________________________________________________

Tags: @alhad-si-simran @vijayasena @voidsteffy

(a shorter chapter because ab aage bohot action hone wala hai and i wanted to publish this before my exams lol)

[bethanydelleman]

Northanger Abbey Readthrough, Ch 3

❤️❤️HENRY TILNEY HAS ARRIVED!❤️❤️

The master of the ceremonies, Mr. King, who introduces Henry Tilney and Catherine Morland is one of the two real people mentioned as characters in Austen's novels (the other being Humphrey Repton in Mansfield Park, a real famous landscaper). Mr. King was retired by the time of publication.

I love Henry's description:

He seemed to be about four or five and twenty, was rather tall, had a pleasing countenance, a very intelligent and lively eye, and, if not quite handsome, was very near it. His address was good, and Catherine felt herself in high luck.

Ah, he is well matched with "almost pretty" Catherine Morland.

Henry Tilney is a lot like a male Elizabeth Bennet, "there was an archness and pleasantry in his manner" and "there was a mixture of sweetness and archness in her manner" (Pride & Prejudice, Ch 10) sound very similar. We also have the descriptions of their eyes being intelligent.

Now because I believe in Henry Tilney Supremacy, let me point out that Henry went to a ball where he didn't know anyone and instead of making everyone else uncomfortable (DARCY!) or just not going and doing his business (Knightley), he uses of the Master of Ceremonies to get a partner and then is just delightful. Darcy begins with insulting Elizabeth and Henry begins by being utterly charming. Just the best guy.

He starts with a hilarious bit, and while Catherine isn't sure if she's allowed to laugh, she's clearly enjoying herself. Then Tilney offers two opposing things for her to write in her journal:

Friday, went to the Lower Rooms; wore my sprigged muslin robe with blue trimmings—plain black shoes—appeared to much advantage; but was strangely harassed by a queer, half-witted man, who would make me dance with him, and distressed me by his nonsense.

or

I danced with a very agreeable young man, introduced by Mr. King; had a great deal of conversation with him—seems a most extraordinary genius—hope I may know more of him. That, madam, is what I wish you to say.

Clearly the second passage is what Catherine would actually write, though maybe not that Tilney was an extraordinary genius. She is having a very good time.

Then they discuss if women or men write better letters. Catherine is unsure that women are superior, and after some gentle teasing Henry basically agrees and says this lovely progressive opinion:

"I should no more lay it down as a general rule that women write better letters than men, than that they sing better duets, or draw better landscapes. In every power, of which taste is the foundation, excellence is pretty fairly divided between the sexes."

And then we get to Henry's most famous attribute, he understands muslins!

Catherine is a bit confused by Henry's behaviour, but she does like it (and him). However, we again have some Elizabeth Bennet vibes with this observation, "Mr. Tilney was polite enough to seem interested in what she said; and she kept him on the subject of muslins till the dancing recommenced. Catherine feared, as she listened to their discourse, that he indulged himself a little too much with the foibles of others"

There are many who think Catherine is too unintelligent to be paired with Henry Tilney, but he clearly has more respect for her than Mrs. Allen, who we are told has, "a trifling turn of mind". She is catching more of his jokes than her chaperone.

She has detected a flaw in Mr. Tilney! (This will apparently be very much forgotten later). Catherine also tells something of a lie, but then is immediately honest about it:

Catherine coloured, and said, “I was not thinking of anything.” “That is artful and deep, to be sure; but I had rather be told at once that you will not tell me.” “Well then, I will not.”

The narrator then points out that it is very bad for a heroine to think fondly of a man before he is known to love her. This is a reference to a ridiculous letter in The Rambler, where it is written: That a young lady should be in love, and the love of the young gentleman undeclared, is an heterodoxy which prudence, and even policy, must not allow. It's pretty nuts, read the whole thing if you are curious.

And we see proof of Mr. Allen's sensibleness, he quickly inquire into Mr. Tilney and finds him to be from a good family and a clergyman. Catherine is being well cared for!

[missfrieden]

Tech as a father Chapter 67

Laptop works now better, the touchscreen is disabled, so yeh. Now I will see how much longer I can push it.

I also realised there are movies about something similiar I think. Saw them on Disney+ once, three men and a baby I think? Maybe I should give it a watch.

Masterlist | AO3

Chapter 67: Deep clean

The next day should have been one of relaxation, but of course a few Kaminoans show up with Gala Ta. Upon hearing Gala Ta's announcement about the deep cleaning of the barracks, Crosshair and Echo exchange knowing glances. The promise of a spotless living space is enticing, but the ulterior motives behind the Kaminoans' actions are all too apparent.

Tech, with his keen intellect, immediately recognizes the potential threat. Aware of the Kaminoans' relentless pursuit of Orion's genetic material, he discreetly glances at the items that hold traces of his son's DNA, the muslin cloth, the baby bottles, and other everyday articles that have become precious objects in their clandestine life. As the Kaminoans begin their meticulous cleaning process, the squad observes with a mixture of scepticism and vigilance. Echo discreetly positions himself to keep a watchful eye on the proceedings, ready to intervene if any attempt is made to seize items that could compromise Orion's genetic privacy.

Crosshair, normally not so happy to the state of the barracks, now pays close attention to the cleaning, his sharp eyes assessing the situation. The tension in the air is palpable as the Kaminoans move about, their actions scrutinized by the wary members of Clone Force 99. Tech, ever strategic, silently contemplates how to safeguard Orion's genetic identity. His mind races with contingency plans, ensuring that even in the face of a deep clean, and the critical items remain beyond the Kaminoans' reach.

As the Kaminoans meticulously scrub the living quarters, the squad remains on high alert. The dance between secrecy and surveillance continues, each member acutely aware of the delicate balance that shields Orion from the probing eyes of those who seek to unravel the mysteries of his origin. Tech and Echo, recognizing the risk posed by the Kaminoan deep clean, exchange subtle nods of understanding. With practiced coordination, they discreetly relocate Orion's belongings to the seemingly unassuming space of Echo's hammock.

Echo, though initially uneasy about sharing his personal space, understands the gravity of the situation. Suppressing any discomfort, he settles into the hammock, providing a concealed sanctuary for the items that hold traces of Orion's DNA. The muslin cloths, baby bottles, and other things are carefully arranged, hidden from the prying eyes of the Kaminoans.

Orion, nestled in his father's bunk, oblivious to the covert manoeuvres, continues to happily chew on his muslin cloth. His innocent fascination with the proceedings adds a touch of levity to the otherwise tense atmosphere. As the Kaminoans diligently scrub and sanitize the surroundings, Tech and Echo maintain a vigilant watch. The hammock serves as an inconspicuous repository, shielding Orion's genetic identity from the meticulous cleaning efforts.

The dance of secrecy unfolds, with Echo subtly adjusting his posture in the hammock to ensure that the concealed items remain undetected. Meanwhile, Tech employs his strategic mind to anticipate any unexpected turns in the Kaminoans' actions.

Orion, the unwitting centre of this clandestine operation, giggles and coos, blissfully unaware of the intricate web woven around him for the sake of safeguarding his genetic privacy. The squad, with unwavering commitment, remains resolute in their efforts to shield Orion from the ever watchful eyes of Kamino. Hunter, observing the Kaminoans' meticulous cleaning, finally decides that it's time to address the elephant in the room. Stepping forward with a stern expression, he asserts, "That's enough. We know exactly what you're after."

Crosshair, standing beside Hunter, adds his own assertive remark, "Clean all you want. It won't change anything." The Kaminoans, momentarily taken aback by the squad's direct confrontation, exchange glances but continue their cleaning procedures. Hunter, however, stands firm, a clear signal that their attempts to manipulate the situation won't be tolerated. “This is merely to make sure this room is u to standard” Gala Ta states while motioning in a fluid movement his arm.

Tech, maintaining a watchful eye on Orion, discreetly communicates with Echo, ensuring that the concealed items remain secure. The tension in the room escalates as the Kaminoans persist in their efforts, seemingly unfazed by the squad's resistance. Orion, in the midst of the commotion, continues to amuse himself with his muslin cloth, oblivious to the underlying tension. The Kaminoans, determined to complete their task, proceed with the cleaning, but the squad's unwavering unity hints at a deeper resolve to protect Orion's genetic identity.

As the stand-off ensues, the barracks become a battleground of silent resistance, with the squad silently conveying that their loyalty lies with each other and, most importantly, with safeguarding Orion from the relentless pursuits of the Kaminoan agenda.

Tech, ever attentive to Orion's wellbeing, reacts swiftly as he hears the coughs escalate. Moving with practiced efficiency, he retrieves the muslin cloth from Orion's grasp and secures it in his pocket. With a worried expression, he scoops up Orion just in time to witness a gag reflex. The Kaminoans, seizing the opportunity, exchange glances that betray their hidden motives. It becomes evident that they hope Orion's discomfort might lead to an unexpected sample for their genetic analyses.

Tech, however, is undeterred by their speculative looks. Holding Orion protectively in his arms, he shoots a pointed gaze at the Kaminoans, silently warning them against any interference with his son's wellbeing. Orion, though momentarily distressed, finds comfort in Tech's soothing presence. The barracks, caught in a tense atmosphere, becomes a stage for a silent struggle between the squad's determination to shield Orion and the Kaminoans' relentless pursuit of genetic information.

In this pivotal moment, as Orion's coughs subside and he snuggles against Tech, the unspoken defiance of Clone Force 99 remains unwavering. The Kaminoans, despite their attempts, are met with a resilient wall of loyalty that shields Orion from their invasive intentions. Tech letting his son pull on his hair and goggles, is standing by his bunk, not wanting his creators come to close to it.

Later, after what felt like a whole rotation, Tech, feeling the weight of tension slowly lift with the departure of the Kaminoans, releases a breath he didn't realize he was holding. He removes the safety railing, reclaiming a semblance of normalcy in the barracks. Sinking down onto his bunk, Tech wearily sits, cradling Orion in his arms. The little one, seemingly attuned to the change in atmosphere, responds with a delighted series of smacks and grabs at Tech's face. A tired but genuine smile forms on Tech's lips as he allows Orion's small hands to explore, finding solace in the innocent joy of his son.

The squad, though fatigued by the constant scrutiny, shares a collective glance that conveys their solidarity. Echo, Crosshair, Hunter, and Wrecker subtly acknowledge the unspoken bond that binds them together against external threats, especially those posed by the insistent Kaminoans. In this moment of relative calm, Tech relishes the simplicity of connecting with Orion, the laughter of a child serving as a powerful antidote to the complexities of their circumstances. As they navigate the challenges thrown at them, Clone Force 99 remains a steadfast shield around Orion, determined to safeguard him from the invasive reach of Kaminoan interests.

Echo, meticulous in removing the items stowed in his hammock, breaks the silence with a firm statement. "This is going too far. They can't just invade our personal space like this." The sentiment is shared among the squad, each member nodding in agreement. Crosshair, typically terse, adds, "It's a breach of privacy. We're soldiers, not specimens."

Hunter, the unofficial leader of the group, gazes at Orion, still nestled in Tech's arms. "We need to find a way to put a stop to this. We won't let them use Orion for their experiments." Wrecker, flexing his massive arms, grumbles, "Yeah, we should tell 'em to leave us alone or else."

Tech, carefully observing the camaraderie of his brothers, acknowledges Echo's concern. "Echo's right. We can't let this continue. We have to find a way to push back without risking Orion's safety." Crosshair, ever the realist, interjects, "Just saying 'no' won't cut it. We need a plan. They won't give up easily."

Tech, focused on the dilemma, replies, "We have to exploit their regulations. Find a loophole that allows us to retain our privacy while adhering to their rules." Hunter, contemplating the situation, suggests, "Maybe we can request a designated storage area for personal items. That way, they won't have an excuse to rummage through our stuff. No… makes no sense asking them that. Maybe we need to store more things in the Marauder."

Echo nods in agreement, "And we need to establish boundaries. Let them know that certain areas are off limits, especially when it comes to Orion's belongings. He is not theirs, we maybe be, but not Orion."

Wrecker, always direct, adds with a grin, "If they mess with us, they mess with the whole squad. And we're not an easy bunch to mess with." Tech, appreciating the collective effort, concludes, "Agreed. We present a united front, assert our rights within the confines of their regulations, and ensure Orion's well-being is protected."

As the family deliberates on their strategy, a shared determination emerges to safeguard their personal space and shield Orion from unwanted interference.

Chapter 68

Reblogs are very welcome and I am open for feedback, as english is not my first language, so maybe my sentences may be weird sometimes, or I write a word wrong even with google, or I use a wrong word for an item.

Tag: @spectacular-skywalker @neyswxrld @clonethirstingisreal @sleepycreativewriter @moonwreckd @sskim-milkk @heidnspeak

[tortoisesshells]

fmk: darcy, tilney, wentworth. gl

Oh, this is difficult.

As much as I'm on record as being weak in the knees for doomed (and not so doomed) mariners, I'm not sure I can handle Wentworth's sincerity. If someone sent me The Letter, I'd laugh nervously and scuttle for the exit. For an evening? Sure. My middle name's even Anne; I can be magnanimous about being called by the wrong name under the circumstances. Absolutely a fuck.

Marry Tilney: he understands muslin, he has dogs, he enjoys a good joke - I think he'd enjoy a good hike, and I'm sure I'll never be the most pious preacher's wife there ever was, I can do an excellent impression. Day to day life with him seems the most appealing, honestly?

I'm chiefly sorry to Georgiana for this but: I've got to kill Darcy.

Sleepover Asks!

[redwolf17]

Olyvar/Sansa are both wholesome AND deranged and I love them

Olyvar, 5 seconds after meeting Sansa: sure why not risk my life for her that’s totally normal EVERYONE should volunteer to defend innocent maidens who verbally annihilate Tywin Lannister to his face so what if I’m just a squire and secretly Aegon Targaryen nope don’t think about that

Olyvar: promptly almost dies fighting the Mountain

Sansa: accidentally saves his life by summoning attack birds

Sansa the next day: my unexpected champion has barely survived his trial by combat with the Mountain! I’m gonna try eldritch song magic that I barely understand to heal his crushed arm

Olyvar: has a violent nightmare

Sansa: flees

Olyvar: does not notice his suspiciously fast healing

Olyvar: it is extremely normal to have a marriage proposal be my ONLY idea to save this helpless child from Cersei

Olyvar: EW I’m not going to deeply kiss her at the wedding, that’s a BABY why does everyone think this is a love story??? Also let me make terrible puns to try to comfort the terrified bride NO we are not doing a bedding?!?? drags Sansa to his rooms

Sansa: starts to strip

Olyvar: NONONONO flings cloak over her uhhhh if anyone is listening I’m too drunk to consummate we’ll do that uhhhh never later BYE BYE *flees*

Sansa: …..

Sansa: okay, so, rather than flee my unwanted and possibly a pedophile husband the instant we’re out of the city and I smell Brienne nearby, what if I COME OUT OF THE WEREWOLF CLOSET AND THREATEN HIM WITH A PACK OF WOLVES

Olyvar: 😳🥺 oh wow she’s scary and cool and justified tbh, if she murdered me she’d have a point too bad I can’t tell her my secret, nope, don’t blab, don’t blab —*immediately blabs*

Sansa: wait you’re ELIA’S SON?!?!?

Olyvar: … oops

Olyvar: doesn’t tell ANYONE about the werewolf revelation because that is Sansa’s secret

Brienne: SO. Time to flee north, yeah?

Sansa: no Brienne I’m not going home to Robb, I gotta meet Princess Elia because WTF

Olyvar: okay so my baby wife is just another sister. Clearly that means I gotta watch over Sansa night/day, make sure she’s properly fed/protected from sunstroke, comfort her with lullabies when she has trauma nightmares

Sansa: oh no he makes terrible puns, why am I laughing??? Mmm citrus and blithely sharing my heinous trauma whilst being confused when Olyvar goes 😨😳

Elia: so yeah my son needs to go on a mission to Daenerys, claim a dragon if he can, Sansa should probably stay here

Olyvar: excuse me that’s up to HER

Sansa: uhhh, well clearly I can’t go home rn, I gotta go to Meereen to serve as Olyvar’s dragon translator even though it’s unclear skinchanging will let me do that

Elia and Meria: wait serve as his what

Sansa: … he didn’t tell you??? I’m a werewolf and I can talk to animals no big deal

Elia and Meria: ?!!?!?!?!?!!!!!??

Robett Glover: Sansa is clearly being held in Sunspear against her will despite her apparent freedom and good humor. I shall break into her rooms to rescue her and carry her away!

Gilly: oh no 😱

Olyvar, sleeping in a chair on nightmare duty: oh NO 😳

Sansa, seeing Robett threaten to kill Olyvar: OH NO 🤬

Sansa: turns into a direwolf and tackles Robett before shifting back so she can yell at him for not believing her

Robb, receiving letters from Robett and Sansa explaining she’s going to Meereen: ….. wtf is happening

Sansa and Olyvar in Meereen: wow, what an amazing friend/partner who supports me and balances my strengths/weaknesses. Too bad we can’t stay married

Olyvar and Sansa: … UNLESS

promptly fall in love

spend 3 years openly pining and angsting over the political implications

Dornish retinue: drop constant hints that are less and less subtle

Dany: gives Sansa a sheer muslin negligée

Aegor: gives Olyvar a Yunkish Kama sutra

Olyvar and Sansa: still refuse to have sex

Olyvar: Sansa is my closest confidant, of course she will come with me on a dragonback road trip to track down Drogon. NO we’re not gonna do THAT whilst we’re alone and unchaperoned come on it’s not like we’re deeply in love

Everyone: deep sigh of frustration because they actually believe him

Sansa: falls off Viserion

Olyvar: leaps into the Rhoynar from dragonback to save Sansa from drowning

Sansa: I am literally BEGGING you to join me in bed 🥺

Olyvar: WHOOPS look at the time goes to sleep with Viserion instead

Olyvar to Deziel: goes on about his love for Sansa at length, rather poetically But we can’t consummate the marriage, what if Robb Stark is mad??? What if our love is a political disaster like that of Jaime and Cersei???

Deziel: dude, you’re a fucking moron

Several months later, Sansa to Brienne: but what if Olyvar is right???

Brienne: my lady, you’re a moron

Sansa: …

Sansa: goes to yell at Olyvar

Olyvar: escapes being yelled at by being knocked overboard by a sudden squall

Sansa: is terrified of falling and drowning

Also Sansa: turns into a wolf, leaps off a ship into the Narrow Sea to save Olyvar from drowning

The next morning: Olyvar and Sansa wake up naked together because she cuddled him in wolf form to prevent hypothermia and no other ulterior motives. Sansa puts on the negligée and reads him the riot act. Olyvar gets on his knees to pledge his love by saying wedding vows again. They FINALLY have sex, only to find out the crew was placing bets on when they’d bang and Gilly won.

… they shrug it off and have sex 24/7 for a week

—————

*art of our beloved weirdos by @ohnoitsmyra

[stray-kaz]

Oh Dear, Baby : Lockwood and Co x f!reader oneshot

A/N: This involves the found family as a whole, but heavy on George x f!reader. Sorry, this is probably quite OOC for everyone, I love babies.

The Gist of This: Flo brings an abandoned baby to Lockwood so he can turn him in to DEPRAC safely and without getting her arrested, but Barnes invokes a little known law allowing agency heads to be legal guardians of children under their care until a suitable adult can step in to take over. Barnes drags his feet, simultaneously paying Lockwood and Co, and keeping them out of trouble while they look after the infant.

Warnings: Mention of female chemical sterilisation. Fluff and some sadness.

Thank you, @the-biscuit-agreement​ for giving me “custody” of this idea! I love it and hope I can do it justice.

It was Lockwood’s name being voiced loudly from the other side of the door, but you answered, pulling it open and raising your eyebrows at Flo, standing on the doorstep and awkwardly cradling a bundle wrapped in muslin. Your heartbeat skipped and you pointed at the small package.

“Florence Bonnard, is that a baby?”

“Yeah, sunshine, it is. An abandoned wee boy. Where’s your boss?”

You rolled your eyes at Lockwood being called that and gestured for the baby.

“Give him to me” you said.

Usually, Flo would have waited for Lockwood and would have ignored your order, but something in your tone and in your eyes gave her cause to obey. She passed the sweet, warm weight into your arms and you tugged back the edge of the muslin cover to see his face. A thatch of dark brown hair and impossibly blue eyes peeked up at you.

“Hey” Flo said gently. “This isn’t your first time, is it?”

You met her gaze sharply, but there was no judgement, no malice, just a hint of understanding and sympathy. You shook your head.

“No” you murmured. “It isn’t.”

Flo sighed.

“Look, sunshine, the deal is I can’t take him to DEPRAC because I’ll be detained, at best and at worse, arrested. But Lockwood can do it without blowback. ‘Kay?”

You nodded and backed up into the house, slowly closing the front door. You were just turning, still staring down at the baby, when George paced into the hallway, calling your name. He hesitated when he saw you holding what was plainly a new human child. He glanced beyond you at the closed door and then returned to studying your face.

A year into loving you, George knew three things without a doubt, and one of them nobody else did. One: you loved him. Two: you wanted nothing more out of life than to live long enough to eventually be a mother. Three: when you were fourteen and showing some interest in boys, your agency head had you chemically sterilised.

You looked up and saw him standing a few feet away from you, and felt the colour drain out of your face and your eyes widen.

“Georgie...” you said softly, fearfully. “He can’t be more than six months old! You know what they’ll do. He’ll get shoved into an orphanage and eventually the Talented ones will be weeded out and taken away, and if he isn’t one, he’ll get booted out.”

George pinched the bridge of his nose above his glasses and sighed heavily.

“I’ll get Lockwood and Lucy” he said quietly, and then without thinking about it, he strode towards you and cupped your face in his hands, lowering his head to press a kiss to your forehead. “We’ll do the right thing.”

You bit your lip and nodded, and walked quietly into the sitting room, standing in the farthest corner and gently swaying with the little boy, your eyes flickering between his face and the open doorway opposite you.

Five minutes later, a wide eyed Lockwood burst into the room, Lucy and George hot on his heels. George pushed between them to stand at your side, his attention distracted by the baby’s blue eyes, which were now locked on his face.

“How do you have a baby?” Lockwood demanded, staring hard at you.

“Flo left him here because if she turns in an abandoned baby to DEPRAC, she’ll likely go to jail. You, on the other hand, won’t.”

He sighed and rubbed at his eyes.

“This is true” he admitted, resigned. 

He glanced at his watch.

“But, it’s too late to do it now. Should be time to get supplies, though!”

He said this last brightly, and winked at you.

“You and Luce go out to do that and George and I will cobble together a cradle.”

George arched his eyebrows at Lockwood and snorted.

“Oh, we will, will we?” he muttered.

“Having three engineers in the family must have rubbed off somehow, right, George?” Lockwood replied, entirely too cheerful.

“Just shut up, Lockwood, and come help me.”

When you and Lucy arrived at Portland Row, Lucy’s arms held down by shopping bags bulging with nappies, bottles, formula, dummies and clothes. Lockwood swung open the door before you could get to it and beckoned you in with an exaggerated sweep of his arm.

“Come on in, ladies” he said. “Come and see!”

You and Lucy exchanged weighted glances before following him into the bedroom you shared with George. The carpet had been cleared and sat in the middle of the space was an empty drawer lined with a soft blanket, its corners and edges sanded down to smooth roundness. You looked up at George, something stuck in your throat, and he shuffled uncomfortably on the spot, thinking you were disappointed.

“It’s the best I could do on short notice” he mumbled.

You handed the baby carefully to Lockwood and stepped to George, stretching up on your tiptoes to wrap your arms around him, your fingers sinking into the curls at the nape of his neck.

“Thank you, Georgie” you whispered, just for him. “It’s just right for Theodore.”

George’s hands landed on your hips and he pulled you away slightly to look you in the eye. Lockwood moved around the room so he, too, could see your face.

“Theodore?” they repeated together.

You smiled over your shoulder at Lucy.

“We named him on the way home” she said, shrugging while staring the boys down as if daring them to argue. “We can’t just keep calling him ‘the baby’ or worse, ‘it’. We decided he needs to have a name. He’s a human, Lockwood, not a Source or a relic. He’s flesh and blood, not plasma.”

George raised an eyebrow and looked over at Lockwood.

“She’s right” he told him. “They both are. He’s a person. Theodore. Strong name.”

You grinned and leaned on his chest, arms around his waist.

“I thought so.”

You woke in the middle of the night and shuffled on your knees to the edge of the bed, only to discover that baby Theodore wasn’t sleeping in his makeshift bassinet. Panic propelled you from the room, socked feet almost slipping on the stairs as you made it to the kitchen, where there was a dim light.

You pulled up short, breathless at the sight before you of George pacing the kitchen, baby nestled in one arm, a half full bottle of formula in the opposite hand. You must have made a sound, for he stopped and glanced in your direction, eyes wide until he saw it was you.

“Sorry if I scared you” he said quietly. “He woke up hungry and I didn’t want to disturb you.”

You padded across the floor, leaned down and kissed the sleepy baby’s warm forehead. His eyelids flickered and lips pursed. George watched you closely, knowing that when Inspector Barnes took this baby away, you would be heartbroken.

The next morning, you handed Theodore to Lockwood as he settled himself in the backseat of a cab. You bit your lip hard as you gently stroked the soft dark cap of hair before George grasped your hand and pulled you away from the edge of the curb. He wrapped his arms around your middle and rested his chin on top of your head, hugging you tightly as the cab disappeared, taking Lockwood and your dream with it.

He was back two hours later, carrying both the baby and an official looking document. He didn’t miss the light in your eyes as you jumped up off your chair in the kitchen and took Theodore out of his arms.

“What happened with DEPRAC?” Lucy asked Lockwood, surprised.

He passed her the paper and the three of you gathered together around her to read over her shoulder. You muttered parts of it under your breath as you read.

“...law invoked...infant or young child...under care of agency head...more permanent solution...”

You raised your head and stared at Lockwood, hope fluttering wings inside your chest.

“We get to keep him?” you asked, eyes wide.

He hesitated, then nodded.

“For now, yes. He’s ours” he told you.

You let out a triumphant squeak and flung your free arm around George’s neck, pulling his startled face down to kiss him, your mouth ecstatic and open over his.

“We have a baby!” you stage whispered in his ear.

George nodded, but when you pulled back from him and turned away, he watched you go with dread settling down upon him like an unwelcome visitor. This wasn’t likely to end well for you.

It took a week for Barnes to arrive at 35 Portland Row to check on the home environment the abandoned baby was living in, and when he knocked on the door, no one came to answer it. But he could hear voices from inside, so he tested the door, found it unlocked, and let himself in.

He tracked the voices, steadily getting louder, to the warm kitchen, where he found all four members of Lockwood and Co standing around the Thinking Cloth, all hands pressed down onto the table, and the six month old baby boy rocking gently in a bouncer on the floor, curious blue eyes gazing in the direction of the familiar voices.

Barnes almost laughed out loud when he realised what they were arguing about.

“Theo!” you were insisting, a faint dusting of red in your cheeks.

George’s hand came down on top of yours, covering it entirely.

“I love you, babe, but Teddy is pretty cute” he added, wincing when you glowered at him.

Lucy pushed her hand into the air.

“I agree with George!” she announced.

Next to her, Lockwood shook his head vehemently.

“No, I think Theo is better” he agreed with you.

“So you’ve named him then, have you?”

Barnes finally spoke and all four stopped to stare at him. He noted how you stepped away from George to stand in front of baby Theodore. You crossed your arms over your chest, but still looked small. Small but ready to go to war.

“Yes, we’ve named him. We feed him, change him, cuddle him and wake up in the night to him.”

Barnes eyed you, nodding slowly. 

“Want a baby of your own someday, kid?” he asked.

They all watched you stiffen, but only George knew the reason why. Neither of you bothered to respond, you instead choosing to crouch down and lift Theodore out of his bouncer, tucking his soft head underneath your chin.

“Well, don’t mind me” Barnes continued eventually, trying to bypass the tension. “I’m just here to have a look around and make sure Theo is safe with you four.”

He winked at you and you smiled back, turning in triumph to face the others.

“See?”

It was another whole month before Barnes returned to your home, and when he did, he almost tripped over the largest stuffed zebra he had ever seen, just sitting in the middle of the hall. He looked around him, surprised and a little amazed, to see dozens of polaroid pictures of Theo and his little oddball family stuck to the walls on either side.

Lockwood and Co had experienced a quiet number of weeks at home together, paid comfortably by DEPRAC, Barnes ensured, to keep them away from the dead and keep them safe, them and their ward. Because of this, the house was quiet as he trekked calmly through it, no plans being pawed over on the Thinking Cloth, no chains being oiled, no George nose deep in a book.

Curious, he followed the trancelike sound of white noise coming from behind George’s bedroom door. It was ajar, so Barnes gently pushed it open a little further, leaning against the jamb so he could soak in the image in front of him for a while more.

George and you were facing each other on the double bed, sound asleep, his glasses already leaving indents on his skin. You were both curled like fiddleheads, leaving space in between you for Theo, lying asleep on his back, his head turned toward you. The fingers of one of your hands were loosely tangled with George’s, you having fallen asleep holding his hand, while your other hand was resting lightly on Theo’s tummy, rising and falling with his every breath.

Barnes heard a footstep in the corridor behind him and turned to face Lockwood, who was watching him with a half worried, half determined look on his face.

“You’ve seen them” he said solemnly.

Barnes nodded slowly, and waited.

“Are you going to let us keep Theo?” Lockwood asked quietly.

Barnes took a deep breath in, taking time to hesitate. Then he released it and nodded again.

“Yes, I believe that I am” he said simply, and then turned and left.

Lockwood suppressed a grin as he tiptoed to George’s bedroom door, glancing in at you. Theo shifted a little in his sleep.

“Sweet dreams, Teddy” he said softly. “You’re home now.”

[almondcup]

Identity and Truth in Alias Grace

Although I haven't finished reading this book yet, I felt I needed to put some notes down unless I forget and before I procrastinate.

All the same, Murderess is a strong word to have attached to you. It has a smell to it, that word - musky and oppressive, like dead flowers in a vase. Sometimes at night I whisper it over to myself: Murderess, Murderess. It rustles, like a taffeta skirt across the floor. Murderer is merely brutal. It’s like a hammer, or a lump of metal. I would rather be a murderess than a murderer, if those are the only choices.

In one of the most elegant, violent, poetic quotes in the novel, we find Grace trying to adopt a word for herself. Murderess is how she has been described, at the time of judgement, and throughout history. Here she tries to identify with it, and make it her own. It demonstrates her attempt at maintaining some limited control over her identity, and her perception of herself, when society has already assigned her one.

And I wonder, how can I be all of these different things at once?

The quote refers to Grace’s musings regarding the various descriptions of her transcribed in the papers. From conflicting descriptions of "inhuman demon" or "innocent victim", to even basic misconception of physical attributes such as green eyes or blue eyes. She struggles to keep pace with an image of herself which is beyond her, and which she does not see in herself.

You should ask the lawyers and the judges, and the newspaper men, they seem to know my story better than I do myself.

A lot of this difficulty in maintaining control over her own story is as a result of how her case was sensationalised in the newspapers. Grace’s story is one that everyone believes they know themselves, thoroughly, as if they were present. We see this even in modern cases today, and perhaps it is even exacerbated as a result of social media, where even those completely detached from the situation claim to know the ultimate truth from the comfort of their homes.

When others are vehemently confident that their opinion of you (and your case) is correct, you begin to question what you know of yourself.

And that’s what it was like at the trial, I was there in the box of the dock but I might as well have been made of cloth, and stuffed, with a china head; and I was shut up inside that doll of myself, and my true voice could not get out.

However it was not merely the media who sculpted Grace’s persona for the sake of judgement. The lawyers too told Grace what to say, and how to behave. In this case, the lawyers also sculpted Grace’s identity, either to paint her as a manipulator or as a mislead fool - both being extremes in order to convince others of her supreme darkness, or else light. Identity in the eyes of the court was a picture to paint, more than a given truth.

Now, many years in the future, we follow Grace recounting her story before Simon. In this instance, Grace has full control over her own portrayal, and as a reader we are reminded of this multiple times. She continuously shapes her own identity in his mind based on what she chooses to show or say.

But I don’t say this. I look at him stupidly. I have a good stupid look which I have practised.

Because he was so thoughtful to tell my story, and to make it as interesting as I can, and rich in incident, as a sort of return gift to him

But in Grace’s power, we also must understand that her portrayal may also be biased, according to how she wishes to portray herself. We must accept there is no singular known truth in retelling.

Today when I woke up there was a beautiful pink sunrise, with the mist lying over the fields like a white soft cloud of muslin, and the sun shining through the layers of it all blurred and rosy like a peach gently on fire. In fact I have no idea of what kind of a sunrise there was.

I wouldn't describe identity as inherently fragile, but it is certainly elastic. It can be moulded, sculpted, and stretched. It can transform into unrecognisable shapes when travelling from mind to mind, story to story. It is an adaptive thing, and an uncontrollable thing. It is not always possible to choose how we are presented to others, and even when we present ourselves we do not often do it honestly. The theme of identity is in the name of the book: Alias Grace. Identity can be an alias we assume. There are many of them, and we can choose which to adopt, but be frustrated by the ones that are given to us.

[elenion-et-al]

Northanger Abbey thoughts and summary

Chapter 3

What on earth is a Pump Room? I looked it up and it seems to be a fancy public sauna or bath? Someone kind enough to explain?

Anyway. We're introduced to Henry Tilney this chapter and he's just soooo ✨️✨️✨️ he knows how to converse with a young lady. Ugh his intro shows his charm, wit, humour and sarcasm. Hello?

Okay this whole passage though??? I'm always seeing other more popular lines of Henry but this here is also telling of his knowledge and appreciation for conventionally feminine activities. Yass.

Also this! Our proto feminist Austen man!

He understands muslin 😏

You're both so adorable. Stop it! We're only at chapter 3!

She liked him first 🥰 and that's very modern of Austen... to have your heroin narratively like the hero first before any declaration were made on his end. In our particualr culture, it's still very much the norm that the guy approaches the girl first. And if a lady does, the older titas and titos will definitely have something to gossip about, mostly a disservice to the woman.

‐-----------------------------

Okay, as the story goes on, I don't think I can do this chapter by chapter. It'll ruin my reading momentum. So I'll just do it when possible. As much as I can hehe