#mother mary i have many things to say

[flea-palace]

not to defend madeleine oftheopera but. can we talk about her being only nineteen years old !! at the beginning of the book

[ominouspositivity-or-else]

one of the reasons i like kate chopin so much, especially through a catholic lens, is that one of her main themes is that there are so many ways to be a woman. there are so many ways to be a mother. there are so many ways to be a wife. there are so many ways to be the person God wants you to be. don't let anyone tell you who you should be. don't let anyone make unrealistic demands on your heart. don't let them kill you. don't let them get you down. they don't know you. they don't need to. you know you. do what God put you here for. he is asking you for right now. that's all you need to give to be the person you're meant to be.

[becausegoodheroesdeservekidneys]

Hey. Hi. Hello. Today I learned about the existence of 15th century Welsh poet Gwerful Mechain and that she apparently has a surviving work of erotic poems.

Please. For Christmas. For Yule. Please tell me more because I can't read Welsh.

Heh heh. Oh, Gwerful Mechain is the absolute best.

(Quick housekeeping to keep the post manageable - I previously wrote about things like cynghanedd and cywydds and englyns and such here, so check that if you need an explanation.)

What's fun is that we don't know a ton about her, because not a lot got written down about people in her time. Her surviving work covers a 40ish year span at the end of the 1400s to just into the 1500s, but we don't know when she was born or died or anything like that. We know her parents' names? And that she was from Mechain, hence the bardic name. And that she married a guy and had a daughter, something which actually does mark out her body of work as different from her contemporaries; being a wife and mother, she couldn't do the usual bardic role of travelling the country to spread news and play at courts. This means she doesn't have any of the praise poetry that a lot of male bards produced about the lords that hosted them.

But, there's stuff we can piece together about her. For one thing, she was not just literate (not a universal skill for anyone at that point, but especially for women), but she was astonishingly well-read and had what appears to be a classical education, given her poetic references and traditional Welsh meters. For another, her work often had recurring themes of religion, sex, and women's rights, sometimes all at the same time.

At the point Gwerful was active, Welsh bardic culture heavily featured ymrysonau. An ymryson is like... well, I hesitate to say "sort of like a rap battle" after the way everyone and their dog now thinks that's what the Mari Lwyd does, but they were like a cross between a rap battle and the publication war between two rival academics. A bard would write an englyn and publish it in the local parish newsletter. Another bard would see this, and write their own englyn about how stupid the first bard's englyn was, and publish it in the same newsletter. The first bard would see this and retaliate. The second bard would retaliate to that. And on and on it would go, like a printed tennis match for all the parishioners to enjoy, until someone wrote a conclusive verse OR until someone went "Lol, you got me good there" and bowed out with dignity. Sometimes, these things were fucking vicious; but other times, they were just banter between two bards who knew each other and were enjoying the chance to keep their poetic skills in tip top condition.

Now, Gwerful was an active and enthusiastic participant in ymrysonau. We have many examples of her work from these. There are two of particular note that I'll list here, each against a different bard:

Dafydd Llwyd o Fathafarn. Mathafarn and Mechain are not so distant from one another, so no real surprise that these two locked horns a lot, but the impression I always got from their ymrysonau is that they were good mates, actually. These fell into the 'banter' category more often than not. Dafydd was a Welsh Nationalist who was hoping for a Welshman to rise up and throw off the yoke of English oppression, and most of his work is about that, but he turned up the filthy erotic shit for any ymryson with Gwerful because BOY HOWDY was that her specialty. IIRC she did occasionally poke fun at his Welsh Nash leanings, especially his obsession with Mab Darogan (OLD Welsh idea that translates to the Son of Prophesy - the Arthur-style figure that will one day drive out the English overlords), but mostly their ymrysonau were incredibly beautifully-written odes that could be summed up as "Dafydd, my man, my good friend, I mean this sincerely: suck my entire clit".

She often won.

Ieuan Dyfi. God, what a fucking asshole. This one was not banter. Gwerful played for blood with this prick.

We actually would know nothing about Ieuan Dyfi if not for Gwerful Mechain, because it was her poetic response to him that meant his only surviving poems made it to the modern day; that, and the record of him being brought before a church court where he admitted adultery with Anni Goch, a married woman. Oh, and the record of him being brought before the law courts at Liverpool, accused of domestic abuse and gambling? If I remember right?

Two things to know that set the scene for what came next:

One of Gwerful Mechain's surviving poems is an englyn considered to be possibly the oldest extant poem about domestic violence written by a woman: I’w gŵr am ei churo (To the husband who beats her)

Dager drwy goler dy galon - ar osgo I asgwrn dy ddwyfron; Dy lin a dyr, dy law’n don, A’th gleddau i’th goluddion.

There are a lot of translations for this one to try to keep its poeticness, but this one is pretty good:

Through your heart’s lining let there be pressed, slanting down, A dagger to the bone in your chest. Your knee smashed, your hand crushed, may the rest Be gutted by the sword you possessed.

She has others, too, that deal with sexual assault, and something scholars often note about Gwerful is her remarkable knowledge of the law as it pertained to women's issues. So she was not, you see, a woman with a high view of a man accused of domestic violence anyway.

But then Ieuan Dyfi wrote five poems about Anni Goch, the married woman he'd fucked, each more "Wow dude, she said no" than the last, culminating in I Anni Goch; a full cywydd of misogynistic Medieval-incel bullshit about how false and evil women are, which listed all the false and evil women of history including classical and mythological figures.

And. Well. Gwerful had some views.

Her responding cywydd - I ateb Ieuan Dyfi am gywydd Anni Goch - basically blasted the guy back into his own impact crater and disintegrated him. What she did with it, essentially, was to mirror his cywydd. Where he'd gone "Isn't it so true how great men throughout history have always been brought low by women, amirite lads? Here's examples", Gwerful went "Isn't it so true how 'great men' throughout history have behaved appallingly and fucked up through their own actions and then somehow managed to blame women, amirite lads? Here's examples." Where his examples had been historical figures, so were hers. Where his had been classical, so were hers. Where he went Biblical, so did she.

And what's so interesting about that last one is how pointed she was with it - for some reason, in his big list of evil women, Ieuan Dyfi did not go for the most obvious and low-hanging of fruit (no pun intended) - he doesn't cite Eve. In response, Gwerful also sidesteps the most obvious and low hanging of fruit - she doesn't cite Mary. In so doing, she makes it clear that she doesn't even need to.

There is no record of him responding to her. IIRC, there is a record of him doing three years in prison.

But! Outside of all of that, the big thing Gwerful was known for was her erotic poetry. You'll be unsurprised to hear that it wasn't written for shits and giggles - much like today, women of the time were told that most of their value was in their looks, and they had plentiful insecurities about their bodies. Gwerful wrote her erotic stuff to confront those insecurities and shine a light on the issue. There are so many examples of this, but far and away the most famous is definitely Cywydd y Cedor - roughly translated, 'Ode to the Vulva'. Though I have also seen it titled Cywydd y Gont - Ode to the Cunt. It's such a shame that the English language is literally, physically not capable of cynghanedd, because it means unless you learn Welsh you will never understand the beauty and the lyricism of the piece, and how it elevates and undercuts the content at the same time; but it's a joyful, masterful, irreverent work that uses the fancy language male poets were forever dedicating to the rest of a woman's body and applies it squarely to the vulva. In fact it basically opens with "Men are cowards, describe more cunts or gtfo" before launching into its main subject matter. The last line is pro-pubic hair, too, like I really must stress how much Gwerful Mechain would have to offer Tumblr if you could speak Welsh. This is probably her most widely translated piece, though, you can definitely find English versions. Although you can tell how blushing and reticent the translator is - and therefore how sanitised their translation is - by whether they've called it Ode to the Vulva/Cunt, or Ode to the Pubic Hair.

Needless to say, the original is not sanitised.

(Actually, I should also say - this one is also a response piece, probably, but in this case to a bard who lived a century earlier - Dafydd ap Gwilym, the absolutely legendary and uncontested king of Welsh romance poetry. He wrote a poem called Cywydd y Gal - Ode to the Penis. I have only just put two and two together on that.)

As a final note, I should say that my personal favourite Gwerful Mechain poem on this subject, mind, is actually I'w morwyn wrth gachu - to the maiden who is shitting. It's an englyn written in Gwerful's customary high poetic form, but it is what it says - it describes a woman taking a shit, and farting as she does. Beautiful and magical and disgusting and banal, all in one go:

Crwciodd lle dihangodd ei dŵr - ’n grychiast O grochan ei llawdwr; Ei deudwll oedd yn dadwr’, Baw a ddaeth, a bwa o ddŵr

Funnily enough, it's hard to find a good translation for this one lol.

My attempt:

She crouched where her water escaped - creased From the cauldron of her heat; Her two holes were arguing, Shit came, and a bow of water

Eh. It's so bland in English. Honestly, if you could read Welsh...

Anyway, if anyone reading this can read Welsh and wants to read some of Gwerful Mechain's stuff - including some of the pieces she was responding to in the ymrysonau - you can find a load here. Otherwise, I hope you enjoyed!

[moonlightcycle571]

Lantern Corps and a 10 year old Child

In a last post, I said the Lantern Corps would love Captain Marvel because he’s omni-lingual (and there’s so many different species so it makes sense that they would feel comfertable around a guy who can speak their mother tongue, no matter how obscure it is).

And then it came to me in a glorious vision, the Cores would LOVE or absolute HATE Billy Batson, be it as a kid it as Captain Marvel.

First on the Love Captain spectrum:

Red Lantern: that’s the corps that’s the most insistent. Man’s fights littéral Wrath and demons alike on a weekly basis. Man’s go to weekly poker night with Satan and other Wardens of Hell. Why? Because he has his own prison dimension in th Rock of Eternity, who also holds the strongest demons.

Yellow Lanterns: as champion of magic, he holds a lot of weight. Especially for magic users. One flick of a wrist and boom, your magic is gone. The whole concept of ‘The Champion’ is enough for most to fear him. That and one does not play poker with The Devil from The Bible and other figures from various religions, and just have a normal presence. He’s terrifying when he wants to be. In his Cap form, he needs to actively tamp down to appear more family friendly, and not the eldricht horror he knows he could easily look like.

Green Lanterns: Homeless Child Superhero dealing with horrors must adults can’t handle. That takes willpower. Even before Captain, I’m pretty sure off willpower alone he could qualify. But what’s the real ringer is his imagination. The Rock of Eternity has access to magical dimensions that no amount of crack could dream up. Man’s had to learn how to use Looney Toones Logic irl and it works. Man’s got a while Disney Dimension with Ballerina Hippos with their Croc partners. Mans has debates about files with littéral walking talking dinosaurs. Billy is hella creative, and who knows what would be made with a ring.

Blue Lanterns: do I … do I need to explain? There are the lantern corps of Hope, I think the rest is pretty self explanatory. I will say though, he was close to accepting when he found out they got a Corgi. Even closer when Dex Starr, the red lanterns cat got a

Orange Lantern: bro fights the physical manifestations of the Seven Deadly Sins , including Greed on a regular basis. By right of conquest, he really should be wearing the ring rn. They be trying to put a ring on it for ages.

Black Lanterns: he once revived Freddy and or Mary by reconnecting them to the rock, and since then is considered a ‘nécromancer’. Also (similar to the Avatar State) he has memories of past champions, including death, so one can argue he’s in a life and death loop.

White lanterns: same reasons as the Black Lanterns. They’ve been trying to get Billy to also out-do said Black Lanterns (who in turn try to recruit him some more). It’s just one vicious snowball effect now.

Now for the Hate Captain spectrum:

Star Sapphire Corps: The thing about Billy is that he’s AroAce. Very Aro and Very Ace. So those who draw power from love and try to flirt are met with the disgusted face of someone who’s famously nice. It was a devastating blow to the whole corps. At some point Hal decided to hide behind Cap to escape another Star Sapphire who fell inlove with him, and they just, lost their power. No longer had the ability to fly and everything. He’s Ace-ness is crippling. And it did bring memes. The Ace community was winning.

Indigo Tribe: he’s too autistic for them. And while being the warden of multiple dangerous beings fits their MO and all, they ain’t touching the bullshit magical logic with a ten foot pole. That, and the first time a ring was sent to him to recruit him to keep the evil ones in line, he roasted their whole system, their ugly ass uniforms (that particular shade of indigo clashed with his Hero Outfit way to much) and ended with a comparison to them with a guy called ‘King Kid’ and the fucking ‘Easter Bunny King’ that somehow did a much better job at Machiavellic while also being uhly. They never sent a second one. The red lanterns sent more.

Ultraviolet lanterns: again, man’s fights the Seven Sins on the regular, is their warden along with other sick evils, lies to the Justice League on the regular and plays poker with Demons (and wins) despite being one of the most honest people there is. That and he’s so dad shaped, it counters their power of daddy issues.

Bonuse:

It’s not uncommon for various JL members to receive lantern rings. They just don’t want to. So the standard procedure is to find your local lantern, and give them rings. At some point all the Corps made a lantern offers chart (and maybe the JL got a bit competitive).

Problem, that screen was using old alien tech that didn’t have colour. So they knew Cap had the most lantern offers, but they didn’t know which colours. Until it got fixed.

J’le looking at the rainbow that’s Captain Marvels Ring List: …

Batman: Captain, why is there so many red ones?

Billy, sweating: …

Hal, not comfy with the amount of yellow: I… I need to make a few phone calls.

John, the one who’s been receiving all of his rings: Uh, don’t remind me. I’ve been getting cramps with the amount of times I had to input the different colours.

Dinah: I don’t think even I’m qualified for the amount of therapy everyone is going to need.

WonderWoman: How to you have Negative Pink Rings??? You can’t get a negative number in a list

Billy, inputing the Zeta Tube: haha, it’s so weird

John: … do I need to add AroAce as a weakness for the Sapphires???

Bonus points if the results are open to the galactic public, and just wonder who tf are and ‘Billy Batson’ and Captain Marvel and why they are dominating the top ranks. What is in the Terra city Fawcette.

Extra Bonus Point if the JL go: Who tf is Billy Batson, and why is he ranked above Captain Marvel.

I’ve been waiting to do this one for a while. But never got the motivation. Let me know if I missed any, and feel free to write fanfic (please tag me if you do, I wanna reeeeead).

Final note, I want to give a certain someone a comment of appreciation.

@wonderjanga you are my favourite person on this app. You are the reason I decided to get out of my procrastination slump. Thank you for you content, it’s always so creative and I deeply enjoy it.

For those who don’t know them, I recommend checking out their content. It’s genuinely inspiration for me to start writing again. I don’t think I’ll be writing on ao3 soon, but maybe one day.

[wonderjanga]

Marvel Lying

One day, Billy realizes he can just lie. To press, to the JL (only when they really ask about his identity), and to world. And the best part is that almost no one can prove him wrong, because what’s Black Adam or someone else going to do? Prove him wrong? (I kinda already talked about this but meh) Like here’s something I can see Billy maybe doing because one time and one time alone, a reporter asked and he quotes:

Reporter: “Captain, I’m sure many people are speculating, and I’m sure it’s a question asked often, but who is your Missus Marvel?” *holds mic to Billy’s face*

Marvel: “…Huh?” *Has confused expression* “Can you repeat that?”

Reporter: “Who is your Missus Marvel?”

Marvel: “Uh… Ma’am, there is no—” *Does air quotes* “—Missus Marvel.”

Reporter: “Then who is the mother of Captain Marvel Junior and Mary Marvel?”

Marvel: “Uuuuh… Me? Technically? They’re both made from parts of me, but not parts *gestures to his lower region* of me, no.” *He shook his head.* “If I remember correctly Mary was made about 10000 years ago when one of my arms were chopped off. (He’s lying through his teeth right now. The only reason he hasn’t been caught is because of Achilles allowing him to bullshit his was through without blinking.)

Reporter: “I- I see.” *stunned*

Marvel: “And then Junior’s a…” *snorts* “…leg.” *Muffles a laugh into his hand not realizing no one will get his joke besides Freddy and Mary*

Reporter: *confused by Billy laughing but doesn’t say anything* “Interesting… Are Mary Marvel and Marvel Junior your only children? Spawn? Wards?”

Marvel: “Oh, yeah. I could more though. Like, watch this.” *Literally breaks off his ring finger, splintering the bone and everything without a single flinch. Then drops the finger on the ground and it morphs into what looks like a four year old Marvel. Billy picks him up and holds him like a parent would their toddler.* “It’s super easy.” *He’s even doing the slight bouncing that parents do when they hold their kids.* “But I don’t know… now that I’m holding this one, I’m starting to get attached. We might keep him.” *looks down at the mini Marvel, who in turn looks back at him.*

Reporter: *still horrified she watched a man, if he even is one, snap one of his fingers off like nothing. Said man’s finger nub is also still exposed to the world in all its disgusting glory. Safe to say she’s looking a little green* “O- Oh really?”

Marvel: *moves Mini Marvel around in his grip, and then suddenly throws the toddler like a paper airplane. Thankfully, instead of falling on the ground and splattering like meat pie, Mini Marvel takes to the skies is flying over the nearby crowd and such. Marvel turns back to the reporter.* “Yeah, but before that happens, he’ll have to develop a consciousness and personality. It took a bit for Mary and Junior to develop their own. Now they have their own likes, dislikes, and feelings. Who knows how long it’ll take the little guy.” (Again, he’s bullshitting this completely. He’s mishmashing Solomon’s wisdom on golems with things he makes up on the fly)

Reporter: “That’s… amazing.” *looks greener now. Looks to cameraman and motions for him to cut the feed. As soon as he does, her hand moves to her mouth.* “Oh my god, I’m going to be sick.” *runs over to nearest trashcan*

Marvel: “I guess that’s my cue to leave.” *starts to float off the ground* “Thanks for having me, miss!” *Marvel then whistles and Mini Marvel immediately stops entertaining the crowd and flies over to Billy and they fly off into the sunset.*

Elsewhere… Mary’s working an odd job for some money when she sees a tv on the news channel. She nearly has a heart attack because for three brief seconds she thought her dad was holding a young Billy in his arms like he used to. Then she blinked a couple times and realized it was just Billy as Marvel with four year old dressed like him. Fawcett kids really love Captain Marvel, huh?

(Oh yeah, and as for how he made Mini Marvel, he’s my hypothesis. When he broke off his finger, he destabilized its form and it reverted back to a part of living lightning for a brief couple of moments. Then, in an effort to not return back to the rock, as it could sense part of itself still nearby, it stabilized itself once more and forced itself to take the form of a miniature Marvel) (and if anyone makes sense of that, I’ll be darned)

[m0chisenpai]

Louis x reader x Armand

The reader is a witch and she meets Armand and Louis and Claudia when going to watch a vampire play. They are mesmerized by her enchanting presence, wondering what and who she is

superstitious

˚｡⋆ louis de pointe du lac x black!fem!reader x armand

˚｡⋆ platonic!claudia x black!fem!reader

in which the missing piece fills the gaps

author note: We're gonna play with the idea that Louis has somewhat integrated into coven life

Another night of plays. And a new role for Claudia. A nod to the past, Claudia plays the maid to Marie Antoinette who witnesses both affairs and murders of the king and queen.

The role is silent, but it is better than falling out a window every singe night in that godforsaken blue dress. At least she could be a woman for the many nights to come. She'll give Louis that little credit due.

As always, Louis assumes his usual spot, watching his sister perform while his companion sits above. There is peace between all three. And at the same time, a feeling of lonesome resides. Like there is something missing. He assumed Madeline would fill it, a fledgling that he felt such pride and dare say love.

But the loneliness remained. She could feel it in him. But Louis would brush her curious gaze aside.

Until that evening when she enters.

Armand smells her before she even steps foot into the theatre. It is rich, it is new. It almost smells familiar of his previous years abroad. Whoever is here, their blood sings to his dead heart. It begs for him to consume it, to be bathed in it.

Had an ancient one found their way back? He looks down into the seats. Soldiers, husbands and wives, students fill the house. But he sees nothing.

Louis catches Armand's gaze, he sees his gaze, 'what is it?'

'Something is here. An ancient thing or being. I do not know what it is. But there is power in it.'

His gaze shifts to Medline, 'keep watch over yourself and your companion.'

"One ticket please!" The dressed up vampire hands the young woman her ticket which she holds between gloved hands. She felt out of place in her softer colors against the dark theatre, but she always did stick out. Perhaps the vampire assumed her to be a child, she certainly exuded such child like excitement as she skipped into the theatre

"Vampires pretending to be humans pretending to be vampires," you whisper to yourself in awe finding your seat. "How dramatic, Prudence was right. But when is she never?"

The act begins. Murder marks the end of all the scenes and your laughter is like a bell in the vampires ears. Armand searched but can not find you nor can Louis pinpoint your presence. But a magnetizing feeling washes over their bodies.

Then the final act happens. The vampire troupe feast on the woman and silence fills the theatre. But you stand in loud applause shouting your praise in French. And it is as though the world ends when all three look upon you. Even though the applause thunders over your praise, they hear it so loudly.

How your eyes shimmer in praise, how your pearly white smile lights the room. Claudia freezes with the blood dripping along her lips. Trying to remember your face as the curtains pull shut. Armand watches as you look up, nodding your head giving your applause to him now.

But Louis, oh he wants you then and there. But the crowd keeps him from meeting you in the aisles as you quickly move out.

You may appreciate the arts, but you know not to engage those much farther up the food chain. Especially without the protection of your mother and sisters.

"Oh sisters it was wondrous as you said!" You whisper in awe as you tie your scarf looking in to the mirror of your flat. Though it is not your reflection that stares back, but fragmented visions of each one of your sisters.

"Did I not tell you it was a delight, though in their early days they were more Shakespearean. I suppose they choose to cater to their English crowd now."

"And times are changing sister dear. Some of us have not graced this land as long as you have," you smirk as she gasps at your retort.

"And did you see the leader? Is he not handsome!" Your fellow sister Urydice exclaims appearing from the lower part of the mirror. Her milky white gaze grounds you as she press forward closer.

"He was..beautiful." you shyly whisper and the girl squeals.

"Oh you must approach them! you must! if not for you then for romance my sister!" She was always the most romantic of you all. Each of your sisters had their areas of the arts they adored. And your dear sister favored love above all. She dabbled in charms of love, predicting marriages, helping restore some and even blessing marriages.

"Enough girls return to your chambers."

"Yes Mother." You whisper your goodbyes to all the girls until she sits in front. Your leader, the mother of your group. She is old and wise from the many lifetimes she has survived, but no age touches her complexion. Her hair large and thick is braided back and you realize how much you miss your mother.

You were the youngest of your sisterhood. This would be your third year adjusting to being apart from the group. she could tell it was hitting you the hardest, but you desired to show her you were worthy of bearing her mark. You felt a desire to prove you could be just as strong as her daughters.

"My darling," she whispers with a smile on her lips "I see you are adjusting well to the city of love." You quickly nod, folding your hands tight in your lap. "Be safe. These vampires hold great power. And they have numbers. Until we have arrived you are to not engage them, please my dear."

"Yes mother," you bow your head and press a kiss to your pointer and middle finger pressing it to the glass. And as soon as she does the same all that is left is your reflection.

You should listen to her, but you don't. You ponder and mull over the many protection casts that could offer you a chance to possibly approach. But in the end you toss any ideas aside and blow all the candles out and raise a hand to dim the lamps as well.

And as you shed your robe to slip into your bed. The ruby eyes that watch from your balcony disappear into the night.

That next night you sit at a cafe writing letters to your scattered sisters. Some in English, three in French and the one in Italian you work on slowly, whispering your thoughts to yourself.

"You're not from here ma'am? Don't hear Italian around here too often," the young girl sitting in front of you startles you, but you keep your face neutral. The younger ones are far more dangerous. Quick tempered, more fierce.

But you remind yourself you are in the public eye. There is not much she could do now.

You smile at her and shake your head. "No, I am not. But Italy is not my home unfortunately." You sip from your glass of coffee. "I must say you are an exceptional actress. The breath was taken right out of me, especially at the end."

"Thank you, years of practice led me here."

"From...America?" you guess, no you know.

Her eyes widen as does her smile, "how'd you know?"

"Southern accent. Heard it growing up when I was a bit younger than you, course till we moved and such."

"Claudia, what'd I tell you bout disturbing folks?"

You hate to admit how the man who joins you both at the table makes your eyes widen. The way he places his hand on the back of her chair, appearing from the entrance inside the cafe to sit beside her. Your cheeks feel hot as his gaze settles upon you. You seem to have some affect as well because he is no longer chiding at the girl.

"No, she is fine sir. Just some simple conversation is all" you tilt your head, "your daughter I am assuming?"

"Ah well...yes" he fumbles his words. "Lost her mother and wound up here for some time."

"How sweet," you smile at the two now bundling your letters to drop at the post hoping the tremble of your hand is unnoticeable. "I should be taking my leave now. It was lovely to speak to you both."

"Claudia," she quickly shakes your hand when you step to her.

"Louis."

They wish you could stay. But you toss the necessary amount by your cup and leave the two behind to watch you walk down the stony path. You move slowly, hoping the urgency in your leaving goes unnoticed. Where two are gathered surely a secret third will try and interceded. To make you a meal.

One night turns into two, then three when you return again it has been a challenging week. A week of you trying to avoid that theatre, but they call out to you in the night. "Come, come to us." It's as though they sit by your windows whispering, begging for you. But the leader requests your presence tonight.

One of the women leads you to where he sits. The only empty seat beside him is where you situate yourself.

"When did he turn you?"

"Don't have a creator." You whisper, eyes remaining on the stage. They flicker to Louis who looks up, giving you a smile which you quickly return along with a small wave.

"You know we are not human, yet you yourself are not one of us," now his head turns to look at you. "But you do not smell mortal. And your presence...it is unusual."

"I smell?"

"Nothing like the boys of war I can assure you, it is not unwelcoming" Armand can not help the smallest of smiles when he hears your sigh of relief. "But I must ask you again. What are you if not human?"

You hesitate, remembering the words of your mother. "We are not human. In the past humans maddened by thoughts of God and Satan killed us one by one. They stopped it from being publicized but they still hunt us to this day running us into the shadows of the night and to all corners of this world."

"You are a witch?"

"We refrain from calling ourselves that," your hand rests against a necklace. The very one all of you share engraved with an ancient sigil, the metal untouched by the years you have owned it. "We are scattered across the world to avoid any more unnecessary murders."

You pause to clap for Claudia, smiling as she grins up at you at the end of her act.

"Will you be in France for long?" Armand asks once you sit back down.

"I would like to be. Rome was for a moment. And I am not sure I wish to return again to Greece, though I miss the waters." Armand returns his gaze down to Claudia and Louis both steal glances at him.

"If you stay here, I can gurantee your safety."

Claudia adores you and spends any moment she can to hear about your travels. Taking you to Madeline's shop where the young fledgling happily dresses and styles you and around the city while Louis walks around the city with you. Taking shots of you facing the moonlight or along the river. They are some of his best work.

Armand shows you artwork from the world. And some of his older works of plays dating back to the theatre's founding days.

Each of them can not help but feel you fill the gap in their hearts.

They feel dizzy just being in the midst of your presence.

Then one night, as you sit atop Armand's lap. Louis' hand settles at the back of your neck, squeezing it gently to pull your head to look up at him. Your bare chest heaves as Armand lays kisses upon it. There is something electric in the air, something magical in your eyes.

The candles burn brighter with each kiss. Flickering with your breathing, as though they are breathing with you.

"Stay with us," his voice a whisper. Your eyes remain on his. He whispers it again, "join us."

Your mothers words are drowned from the two. Their warnings are nothing but a fly in your ear which you swat away.

"Yes, please." Armand lets a soft hiss as he bites into the juncture of your neck while Louis bites into the other side. And it is like liquid fire fills your vein and fills theirs.

The candles flicker out at that very moment.

It is as though you are bonded to them in that moment.

Theirs for an eternity.

[destinedfordiapers]

The Bare Necessities

This caption is for @jsolano318, who wanted a blushy party all for herself. Hope you enjoy it! It’s also set in the Little’s Program™️ Anthology universe.

You watch the adults running here and there, ensuring everything was perfect for the party.

This was, after all, a very special occasion.

Hosting a party this time of year wasn’t unusual for your family.

By sheer happenstance, you, your mother, your older sister, your younger brother, and even your cousin all had birthdays within a few weeks of each other.

Tired of hosting back-to-back-to-back-to-back parties, your Mom decided to throw one big party for everyone. One day to go all out and celebrate all the birthdays at once.

It may have started out of convenience, but over the years, it morphed into one of your great family traditions. Everyone looked forward to it.

This was the first time the party was devoted to a single person in years.

You.

As you take in the decorations, your tummy squirms with nerves. Your mom added her usual elegant touches, but there was an unmistakable difference from the normal vibe.

“Emily, dear, would you mind checking Julia’s diaper? I could have sworn I saw her making some silly faces.”

“Sure thing, Mrs. Smith,” Emily answered your mom.

Two months ago, Emily was your girlfriend.

“Hiya Juju!” Emily coos, “Let’s check that diapie of yours. Did you make a stinky?”

Without waiting for you to answer, Emily pulls back the waistband of your diaper and inspects it.

Ever since you got back from the Little’s Program™️, she’s been your Nanny. Part of you was glad you still got to spend time with her.

The other part was mortified. She was now your authority figure, responsible for checking and changing your diapers and spoon-feeding you your meals.

“All clean, Mrs. Smith,” Emily says, “Just a little soggy!”

This was no ordinary birthday party. A better description would be an Unbirthday Party.

The guests, due to arrive at any minute, aren’t here to celebrate your 22nd birthday; they’re coming to celebrate your first of many birthdays as the regressed Little you now are.

The doorbell rings.

Another knot forms in your tummy. Your immediate family was the only people you’ve seen since the Little’s Program™️. And Emily, of course.

But this was different.

There’s no hiding your status—or your diaper—dressed like this. Emily convinced your Mom it was the perfect outfit to introduce the new you. Some old, some new.

What better way to show your transition to your second babyhood?

As happy as you were to wear one of your old, mature tops, it did absolutely nothing to cover your diaper. Everybody could see just how soggy you were.

You heard a cacophony of voices erupt from the living room. Voices you knew all too well. They weren’t your family—they were your best friends.

“She’s so excited to see everyone!” your Mom says excitedly, “She’s right outside waiting for you!”

Ugh, you didn’t expect this. At least, not today. But the voices were getting louder. There was no escape.

“AHHHHH!!!” your best friend Kate shouted the moment she saw you, “You look adorable, Jules!”

Kate, along with your other gaggle friends immediately surrounded you, cooing and complimenting your new look.

“H-hi…” you blubber, “I didn’t know you girls were coming…”

“Jules, we wouldn’t miss it for the world!” Mary answers.

“Yeah, don’t be silly, Jules! Just because you’re a cutie patootie Little now, doesn’t mean we can't be friends! I wasn’t your friend just because you were potty trained!”

You blush violently. It did mean a lot to hear—losing your friends was one of the things you feared most—but hearing the infantile tone of voice they used didn’t make it any less embarrassing.

“F-fank you!” you say, much more confidently than before, “Itth justh…justh embawassing to be theen wike this, that’s all.”

“You have nothing to be embarrassed about!” Lucy juts in, “Littles need diapers. You’re a Little. And besides, look how cute that diapie is! And it even matches your top!”

The doorbell rings again.

A stampede of aunts, uncles, and cousins storm outside, looking for the guest of honor.

Your friends step away, letting your family get a better look at you. A frenzy of voices ogling at you, to you, and about you fill the backyard. Before you can respond to any one person, another takes their place.

Even if you wanted to say something, you’d have trouble between all the cheek-pinching and hugs.

The last person to see you was your grandma. She’d never admit it to anyone else, but you were always her favorite grandchild.

“Well, hello, Miss Julia,” she says with a loving smile, “So good to see you again, dear.”

“Hi Gammy!” you say running over to her and giving her a hug.

You were so lost in the moment, you didn’t hear any of the “awwws” and “ohhs” at your droopy diaper swaying with each step.

Grandma pats your diaper playfully. “Karen, dear,” she says sternly to your mother, “Her diaper is soaked! I raised you better than to let Julia run around in a drenched diaper.”

Your mom blushes profusely. “These diapers aren’t the old ones you’re used to. That diaper can hold a few more wettings. Besides, these are designed to wick away the wetness so she won’t get any rashes.”

“If you say so, dear.” Grandma says disbelievingly, “I just want what’s best for Julia.”

She winks at you.

Clearly desperate to change to subject, your mom speaks to the party at large. “Now that everyone is here, why don’t we open presents? I’m sure Julia is dying to open them before I put her down for a nap!”

“M-Mommy!” you whimper, “Don’ needa nap today!”

Your Mom chuckles, “We’ll see about that, honey.”

“Julia, dear, come sit on Granny’s lap while you open your presents.”

“Okay, Gammy!” you say, waddling over to her. She lifts you up and sets you on her lap. The group forms a semi-circle around you.

“Let’s see, how about this one?” your Mom says, grabbing a present and looking at the tag, “It’s from Kate, Lucy, and Mary!”

Your friends all perk up, excited to see you open their present.

“We all pooled our money for this! We think you’re gonna love it!”

The package was lighter than you expected. But you tear into it anyway.

It’s a card and a few pieces of paper, the words making no sense to you. All you see are some pictures of pandas, elephants, and tigers.

“Th-thank you!” you say, trying not to make it obvious you got the Tiny Scholars Package™️ and can’t read anymore.”

“Let’s see,” Granny says, taking the paper from you, “Oh my girls, you shouldn’t have! This is too nice!”

“What is it, Gammy?” you whisper.

“It’s a one-year membership to the zoo! And look, it even comes with an all-exclusive meet-and-greet with the animals!”

“Yeah!” Kate shouts, “We know how much you love animals and the zoo, so we figured what better place for Littles than the zoo?”

“Plus,” Mary adds, “You get to meet your favorite animals! You get to go into the panda and penguin exhibit! And after, you can feed the elephants and parrots!”

“And it gets better, Jules! You even get to PLAY with the otters!”

“W-weally?!?” you squeal in excitement, “Pway wif otters?! FANK YOU!!!”

“Awww, you’re welcome, cutie!” Kate says.

“That was very nice of you girls!” your Mom says, “You’ll have to let us know when you have some free time from college and come with us!”

“We’d love to, Mrs. Smith!”

As your Mom looks for another gift, you feel a twang in your stomach.

No, no, no!

“What’s wrong, sweetie?” Grandma asks, feeling you squirm.

“How about this one from your cousins?”

Your Mom stops short, recognizing your face.

“Mom, I think—,” your Mom starts before a loud toot interrupts her.

“Oh, dear, I think someone needs to poopoo!” Grandma laughs.

Before you can even move—your mind begging you to run and hide—your face scrunches up. Your body leans forward as you grunt.

It was one thing to make a boom boom in the privacy of your crib. But this…this was much worse.

There you were, surrounded by family and friends—sitting on Gammy’s lap—making a stinky. You could feel all their eyes on you.

Watching you prove to be the infantile Little you are.

“Mgphfff,” you grunt, pushing a large mass into your diaper.

Your Grandma shifts you on her lap, trying to give your diaper space to accommodate your mess.

“Looks like we might have to postpone presents until after her nap,” your Mom tells everyone, “I’ll put her down after I change her diaper. There is champagne and rose in the fridge!”

“I’ll take care of Juju, Mrs. Smith!” Emily says, “That’s what a Nanny is for. You entertain your guests!”

“Mgphfff,” you grunt again, feeling your tummy start to relax.

You look up at the crowd of enthralled family and friends, covering your face.

“Does Julia have a binky? If she’s anything like she was as a baby, she’s gonna need her binky unless you want a fussy girl.”

“Right here,” Emily says, grabbing your binky from your diaper bag.

“Thanks, dear,” Grandma says, taking the binky and offering you the nipple.

You accept it, needing to calm your nerves and feeling your eyes tear up.

“Let me take her,” Emily says, reaching for you, “I’ll get her into a clean diapie and tuck her in for a nice nap.”

“B-bu!” you whine.

“Don’t worry, Jules,” Kate says, patting your diaper, “We’ll be right here waiting for you after your nap.”

You shove your face into Emily’s neck as she carries you to your nursery.

As much as you want a clean diaper, needing a nap at your own party makes you feel even smaller than your very public poopy.

But as Emily lifts your legs to clean you, your eyes grow heavier and heavier.

Maybe your Mom is right. You are pretty tired…

You don’t even remember Emily tucking you into your crib. Or hear all the coos as your Mom shows the crowd the baby monitor watching over you.

[buttercuparry]

There is just so much dissonance in seeing the world light up around me, while knowing that there are thousands of people in Gaza who won't be able to celebrate the New Year. There is nothing to celebrate when you are living in a tent and have to spend the cold winter nights out in the open, there is no joy when you and your loved ones have not had a proper meal in almost a year. I have been talking to my friend Alaa Amsse ( @alaa-mari-hamza ) and she said that her little children, Maria and Hamza, are very fond of chocolates and possibly during the New Year's Eve, she would have bought them some sort of treat to celebrate. But right now, when people cannot even buy sugar, a piece of chocolate is a luxury. This is not how Alaa ever imagined her children's life would be. No one in Gaza ever imagined living under an accelerated genocide.

I have no words left to say. There is no way to repeat the same things over and over again to however many people who maybe following the tags here. I only request you to keep talking about Palestine; to keep boycotting, and protesting and please, please keep boosting and donating to Alaa.

Verification by @/90-ghost

[mustelidsinlove]

Dramione one shots that are never far from my thoughts

[in no particular order; mind the tags — some of these are dark]

As Sharp as Any Thorn by Argosy [E, 8.8k]

The road to redemption is a winding one. Christmas at Grimmauld Place, Post HBP.

Art: Night and Her Daughter Sleep (detail), Mary L. Macomber, 1902

Scenes from a Marriage by hiddenhibernian [T, 5.4k]

They say love isn't about what you say, it's what you do. If you see it that way, Hermione doesn't have any reason to complain.

Art: The Lovers, Akseli Gallen-Kallela, c. 1907-1917

Grit by witchsoup [T, 4k]

Hermione attempts to diagnose a secretive patient suffering major curse damage.

Art: Hands Grasping 7, Susan Manspeizer, 2018

remedia amoris by magneticwave [M, 14.7k]

The most amazing thing about Malfoy is not that he managed to build a successful Ministry career out of the total disgrace of his family, but that somehow Hermione only despises him half of the time that they work together.

Art: Circe Offering up the Cup to Ulysses (detail), John William Waterhouse, 1891

Inside by onebedtorulethemall [M, 7.5k]

Something is wrong with Draco Malfoy.

Art: Illustration from The West Wing, Edward Gorey, 1963

With Teeth by provocative_envy [M, 5.4k]

Albus Dumbledore had been wrong about Voldemort’s horcruxes.

Art: Escape Before the Dawn, Devinez, 2023

On the Virtues of Inexhaustible Burning by PacificRimbaud [T, 5k]

In which Draco Malfoy wrestles geology and Hermione receives several gifts.

Art: Saint Augustine (detail), Philippe de Champaigne, c. 1645-1650

I am Sleeping on a Time Bomb by i forgot to blink [M, 4k]

The war is over, and they go to Antarctica.

Art: Barne Glacier, Herbert Pointing, 1911

Tromp as Writ by a_rum_of_one's_own [E, 7.2k]

‘Merlin and Morgana, what’s that?’ he breathed. ‘Muggle underwear. We’re beyond chemises, you know.’ ‘Granger,’ he said. ‘Granger. You can’t. This isn’t fair.'

Art: Saturnina Canaleta de Girona (detail), Federico de Madrazo y Kuntz, 1856

Reset by provocative_envy [M, 4.5k]

And the fear—the fear that he’s learned to swallow, choke on, bury the crushed and fragmented shards of—it's turning the space between him and her and the last six weeks, the last six months, into a gaping yawning brutally invincible chasm; a wall to scale and a cliff to jump and a step he’s never quite been brave enough to take. She takes it for him. Of course she does.

Art: Joan of Arc, Dante Gabriel Rossetti, 1882

Chiaroscuro by ifyouwereamelody [T, 5.1k]

Draco Malfoy returns to Hogwarts for sixth year a changed man. Marked, dangerous, and tasked with something terrible, he finds himself haunted by memories of the year before — a bright spark of connection that now he's got no choice but to douse.

Art: Vengeance is Sworn (detail) from the Revenge Triptych, Francesco Hayez, 1851

The Street Where You Live by scullyvasan [T, 10.5k]

Muggle childhood AU. Single mother Narcissa Malfoy co-parents her son Draco and functionally parents the little girl down the street. Light homages to Books 1-4 but no wands, no wizards, no Hogwarts — just human magic and the passing years at work.

Art: Daydreams, Thomas Couture, 1859

The Running Club by winterwells [E, 10.4k]

Hermione returns to Hogwarts for the "Seventh Year Was A Cluster F*** So Let's All Do It Again!" year. The war has left its mark, and she copes in the best way she can. Running. And she might pick up some stragglers along the way...

Art: Stripes of Silence, Lu Guada, 2012

Whistle by witchsoup [T, 1.5k]

Hermione spends the majority of her time on the tube, or dashing around Sainsbury's hunting for the last of the vegetarian wraps for her two-thirds-complete meal deal. Though it would be somewhat off-brand, she feels that it's well within her rights to ask David Cameron to lower the price of a meal deal, while he's at it. Possibly her rent, too.

Art: Untitled, Isabel Bishop, c. 1940s-1960s

Lights Out by Phoebe [E, 10.2k]

She smiles, and it enrages him further. Granger is afraid of many things. She's afraid of what lies outside Hogwarts, what could be lurking within the walls. She's afraid of Voldemort, and probably of his father. And she is inexplicably, illogically afraid of the dark. But she's not afraid of him.

Art: The Woman with the Candle (detail), Cornelis Visscher II, c. 1643-1658

Salvage by storycat9 [T, 1k]

Who is Hermione Granger when there’s no one left to protect?

Art: After Igor Svyatoslavich's fighting with the Cumans, Viktor Vasnetsov, 1880

The Object Lesson by Fleurizel [M, 13.6k]

When Hermione is forced to spend a weekend at the Bulstrodes’ country estate glad-handing for the Ministry, she finds an unlikely ally in the only other house guest who hadn’t fled the country when the war broke out: Draco Malfoy.

Art: Hands of the Puppeteer, Mexico City, Tina Modotti, 1929

i think i've seen this film before by magneticwave [T, 24.8k]

It doesn’t occur to Harry until supper that night, while Luna makes a Spanish tortilla with pink and blue potatoes from her garden, that Granger might actually be his friend now. Not just a transferable friend, comfortable with him because she’d grown up with a strangely domestic alternative version of him with short hair, but a real friend. Since he’s not sure how to feel about it, he eats his half of the tortilla in a silent daze and then helps Luna go over the last of the proofs for next week’s Quibbler. 

Art: Still Life with Orange by Süleyman Seyyid Bey, c. 1900

Party Lines by PacificRimbaud [E, 10k]

As the dust settles in the 2000 United States Presidential election, Ivy League student Hermione Granger goes to three different parties, in an effort to think about something- anything- other than the state of Florida. So does that argumentative trust fund prick, Draco Malfoy. A college AU all about enemies who...aren't.

Art: Jasper Johns, Edisto Beach, Ugo Mulas, 1964

i have gone at dusk through narrow streets by i forgot to blink [T, 4k]

Draco, Hermione, and what came before and after the end.

Art: Interior Strandgade 30, Vilhelm Hammershøi, 1901

Breathe by Argosy [T, 14.5k]

The war is over and everyone wants something from Hermione. But that's nothing new; she can handle it. Really.

Art: Cupid and Psyché (detail), François Gérard, 1798

[warrioreowynofrohan]

Character Analysis – Edmund Bertram

I have a better opinion of Edmund Bertram than much of the Jane Austen fandom has, and I am going to try to explain why. It comes down to several things:

1) He probably makes more sacrifices for people other than a woman he is in love with than any other Jane Austen hero.

He has to sacrifice a great deal of the economic condition he would normally expect in order to enable Tom’s debts to be paid, and Tom doesn’t even care about this or feel guilty for it. At no point does Edmund show hostility to or resentment of his brother over this, nor does he ever bring it up to Tom to guilt him, not even when Tom is doing something Edmund considers immoral and disrespectful to their father; Edmund makes his arguments against the play on the merits, as best he can. Nor does he bring it up to Tom when the (relative to expectations) small income he can expect is one of the principal barriers to him marrying the woman he loves.

He goes out of his way to be kind to Fanny from the start (seriously, how few 16-year-old boys would take the time to listen and be kind to and help a ten-year-old girl? Most 16-year-old boys are dreadful, from my experience of high school.)

He sells one of his horses to buy one that Fanny can ride, when riding is recommended for her health. This is no small thing, given how frequently-used horses were in that time. This isn’t like, say, selling one of your three cars; it’s more like choosing to give up either your computer, tablet, or cell phone, and never (or, well, for many years) have a replacement again. Lending the horse to Mary Crawford for a couple days is a fault, but to me a fairly minor fault in light of this.

He is determined that he will live in his parsonage rather than – as would be done by many members of the clergy in that day – live at Mansfield Park and ride over once a week to preach. It is important to him that he do his job well and live among the people he is ministering to, and he is not tempted to try to modify his parsonage into a much fancier house when Henry Crawford tries to talk him into it. Nor is he willing to pursue a career that Mary Crawford would be more favourable to. He genuinely cares about his vocation as a pastor, and is willing to make sacrifices both of love and of comfort in order to do so. I don’t generally have a high opinion of the 19th-century Anglican clergy, Edmund is genuinely dedicated.

He tends to Tom gently and fairly continuously when Tom is sick, despite Edmund having plenty of worries of his own. The book says, “when able to talk, or be talked to, Edmund was the companion he preferred.” Edmund put off a proposal to the woman he loves in order to tend to Tom – and that tending is a duty that would, I think, usually have been considered as one for the women of the family. It really highlights how Edmund is the only Bertram with real feeling and care for his family members.

In light of this, I think that some of the things readers heavily criticize him for, like losing track of time one afternoon when he’s on an outing with his girlfriend, are comparatively minor and forgiveable. Edmund seems to me to put more concerted effort into doing the right thing than most other men in Jane Austen.

2) His ability to act is constrained relative to most other Austen heroes by the fact that he is a younger son, living at home, with two parents and an aunt still living. He does not have the authority to spend Sir Thomas’ money, and filial duty means he cannot outright denigrate Mrs. Norris to Fanny. The only other Jane Austen heroes who do not have their independence are Edward Ferrars and Henry Tilney (and both of them have rather different relationships with their family).

This means anything he does for Fanny, he has to do at his own expense – as when he sells one of his horses to buy one for her; as when he offers to stay with his mother while the others go to Sotherton so that Fanny can go. It’s the most effective way he has of addressing the way they treat her: oh, so you think it’s okay if this happens to Fanny? Well then, it’s happening to me instead. In the case of the Sotherton expedition, it quickly flips people to seeing that as unacceptable, making them bother to find another (fairly simple) solution that they hasn’t cared about finding before.

In a few ways, Edmund is placed in a more feminine role in the story than any other male leads: his principal good qualities are a strong moral sense and the provision of emotional support and care; he’s the bedrock of his family in the same way that Elinor Dashwood is for hers; he’s held back from the person he loves by economic precarity; and he seems to have a limited social circle outside his family (the drinking-and-gambling habits common in young male society among students of his class and time likely didn’t suit him).

In short, Henry Crawford does not care for and value Fanny Price more (or nearly as much) as Edmund does; his financial and familial position simply make it easy for him to do things, at insignificant cost to himself, that Edmund cannot do without behaving in a way that would, in his time, be deeply disrespectful to his parents and aunt. Edmund knows Fanny far better, understands her far better, and when he gives her gifts (like the necklace) it’s ones she likes and appreciates.

3) I don’t blame Edmund for being in love with Mary Crawford for much of the book because, frankly, she’s an appealing person, especially given Edmund’s narrow social circle. The combination of wit, liveliness, comsistent good humour, interesting conversation, and beauty (plus harp-playing) that she beings are not something the Bertrams encounter every day. He wants to think better of her than she is because her other characteristics are so appealing. I think that’s a very human reaction when in love. (Elizabeth Bennet falls for Wickham and makes excuses for him based on little more than good manners, good looks, flattery, and a mutual dislike of Darcy, and people don’t criticize her nearly as much.)

By the same token, I don’t blame him for being oblivious to Fanny’s love for him because absolutely everyone is and Fanny is very deliberately and determinedly concealing it. And given that, liking to spend somewhat more time with your girlfriend than your bestie is also, I think, quite forgivable in a young person.

4) On one area of frequent critique, that Edmund doesn’t listen to Fanny on several notable occasions (mainly about the Crawfords), I think their dynamic over several years is an important consideration. It’s somewhat a flipped version of Emma in that you’ve got a mentor-mentee relationship between the leads, but in this case it’s the mentor who is mistaken and the mentee who is right. Edmund has been supporting and advising and encouraging Fanny for many years, and many of those times he was right. For example, she was afraid of learning to ride when she first started with a pony, and Edmund encouraged her and comvinced her to do it, and she came to love it.

“Ah! cousin, when I remember how much I used to dread riding, what terrors it gave me to hear it talked of as likely to do me good; – (Oh! how I have trembled at my uncle’s opening his lips if horses were talked of) and then think of the kind pains you took to reason and persuade me out of my fears, and comvince me that I should like it after a littl while, and feel how right you proved to be, I am inclined to hope you may always prophesy as well.”

Fanny also, in another conversation, describes herself to Edmund as “foolish and awkward” and he insists “you have not a shadow of either, but in using the words so improperly.” The narrative is clear about how consistent and important his care, sympathy, praise, and advoacy have been for her, for many years:

Edmund’s friendship never failed her: his leaving Eton for Oxford made no change in is kind dispositions, and only afforded more frequent opportunities of providing them. Without any display of doing more than the rest, or any fear of doing too much, he was always true to herinterests,and considerate of her feelings, trying to make her good qualities understood, and to conquer the diffidence which prevented their being more apparent; giving her advice, consolation, and encouragement.

Kept back as she was by every body else, his single support could not bring her forward, but his attentions were otherwise of the highest importance in assisting the improvement of her mind, and extending its pleasures. He knew her to have a quick apprehension as well as good sense, and a fondness for reading, which, properly directed, must be an education in itself…he recommended the books which charmed her leisure hours, he encouraged her taste, and corrected her judgement; he made reading useful by talking to her of what she read, and heightened its attraction by judicious praise.

The nature of this relationship also helps explain some of Edmund’s reaction to Henry Crawford’s proposal: while Edmund is very much at fault for disregarding her doubts about Henry Crawford’s morality, he is very used to Fanny being nervous and anxious about things that, once she is used to the and no longer afraid of them or uncertain of her abilities, she enjoys. (Such as riding.) So he is seeing her reaction in part through that frame.

The basic difficulty in Mansfield Park that affects perceptions of Edmund is that it is occurring at a moment of transition: the first time Fanny has been eclipsed in Edmund’s life, combined with a transition from him being a mentor and guide to them becoming equals, and her in fact surpassing him in perception and being willing to go against even his opinion in her choice to reject Henry Crawford. It’s the story of Fanny growing up, whereas Edmund (the mentor) is put in the place of Emma (the mentee) in Emma, in being mistaken in key assessments of people, and biased into seeing what he wants to see. This reversal is what allows them to be on equal footing, and for Edmund’s benefit from Fanny’s companionship to be as apparent or more apparent, to everyone, as his from her.

However, this means that for most of the novel we’re seeing Edmund and Famny’s relationship at the weakest point it’s ever been, which can’t help but affect readers’ attitudes to him; and I do think it’s a flaw that we don’t get an actual conversation at the end between Edmund and Fanny that deals with his recognition of his errors in judgement and the value of her perception and principle.

[opalblade]

29 MARCH 25.

𓂀 HASTA: THE DEMONISED SEDUCTRESS .

the point of this post is to combat the hate hasta women receive en masse. there are other placements and nakshatras that receive a ton of unwarranted hate, but i noticed this pattern with hasta women pretty quickly.

🌗 THE HASTA WOMAN COMPLEX .

the hasta woman complex is essentially the madonna-whore complex. i have found that it is exemplified quite strongly by hasta women and the way the world interacts with them. i spoke on the nun/madonna archetype that hasta women embody in my hasta themes post, so this post will be exploring the other side of the axis.

due to hasta's desire "may the gods place their faith in me", hasta natives tend to become vessels of god in various ways. typically and most obviously, we see this as hasta women becoming nuns. virgo, the rashi hasta is placed in, is also associated with the virgin mary and mothers in general - including demeter, mother of persephone.

claire nakti has mentioned hasta women portraying mothers that keep their children trapped in a virginal state and dependent upon them, which could be compared to the persephone myth.

however due to the inherent duality of virgo, hasta women also portray temptresses or seductresses. these are insanely beautiful women that arouse people around them and attract lot of attention. they either enjoy and encourage this lustful attention or abhore it, but it's there regardless.

to me, the hasta woman complex can be described as the nun-seductress complex.

so, how does the seductress axis play out in real life?

people tend to project onto hasta women a LOT. they're held to severely high standards and are practically crucified and receive tons of public criticism when they don't live up to these standards of perfection.

now... hasta women do actually have a tendency to be controversial! they say and do highly controversial things, some of which i do not agree with.

alabama barker (hasta moon) has received a lot of hate due to being in the public eye since she was a child and is now at the center of a public argument with danielle bregoli aka "bhad bhabie". alabama barker is the "villain" in this situation, whilst danielle is seen as the "victim" or "winner" of it. she is also accused of copying black women and race baiting, something ariana grande has also been accused of. i explored this in my first hasta post as it relates to hasta natives' fluid and trickster identities.

brigitte bardot (hasta sun) is extremely racist, xenophobic, sexist and has been convicted for her racism - recieving six fines for it.

zoë kravitz (hasta ascendant) received a lot of backlash - once for saying she admired roman polanski's work, another time for criticising will smith's slap, and again for her unearthed post where she wrote suggestive and inappropriate things about the underage jaden smith.

many hasta women do not fit in any cookie cutter view of how a woman shoukd express themselves and break many stereotypes of their times. they tend to feel stifled by these expectations.

brigitte bardot stuck her head in an oven to protest her controlling, upper class parents trying to control her and her relationship. she was also described as a "sex kitten" after her role in "and god created woman", in which she plays a sexually liberated and carefree young woman. her carefree nature and disregard of social conventions attracts the men around her and earns her the disappointment of her parents, who try to control her.

monica bellucci (hasta sun) portrayed malèna, a beautiful woman who attracts the lust of the men and the hatred of the women in her village.

yoko ono (hasta ascendant) is seen as the reason the beatles broke up and was also seen as emasculating john lennon - see: *that* annie leibovitz photo.

rubi rose (hasta sun) is seen as hypersexual amd stupid, especially recently in contrast to halle bailey as they were both involved with ddg.

🌗 THE SEX KITTEN ARCHETYPE .

A sex kitten is a woman who exhibits a sexually provocative lifestyle or an abundant sexual aggression. The term originated around 1956 in articles in the British and American press and was originally used to describe French actress Brigitte Bardot. Sources believe Bardot's role in And God Created Woman was what inspired the term in the mid-1950s.

SOURCE

i've noticed hasta women have a connection with catwoman (post coming soon!) and also the sex kitten archetype. obviously, brigitte bardot is the first sex kitten and she is a hasta sun.

@saintfelina is known for her love of felines (see: the username) as she constantly posts about them and even has a blogspot post about sex kittens and how to achieve the look. her blog and blogspot is amazing btw, you should all check it out. she has a hasta ascendant.

i, myself, look like a cat and have all the "feline features", according to saintfelina's post and the themes in this hasta post are something i relate to. i have hasta ascendant.

ariana grande is a modern sex kitten and is well-known for that image. she used it to break out of the child star mold and forge her own identity. she has hasta moon.

🌗 MORE HASTA CELEBRITIES .

amber heard (hasta moon) was the recipient of enormous hate and was the victim of a media circus due to the depp v. heard trial.

meghan markle (hasta moon) was also the recipient of enormous hate after calling out the british royal family for racism and leaving the establishment with her huband, prince harry. she still receives a lot of hate to this day and lots of judgement and scrutiny.

mia khalifa (hasta moon) is a renowned pornstar and recieves a lot of judgement, hate and scrutiny for this.

taylour paige (hasta sun) portrayed a stripper in zola - a great movie.. you should all watch!

. *     .     　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　　    ˚ . *     .     　⁺ 　 .⁺ 　

© 2025 opalblade. do not copy, repost, or translate my works to any other platforms.

[luckykiwiii101]

“SPOTTED: ANONYMOUS F*CKERS LOSING SOMETHING NOBODY KNEW THEY EVEN HAD…THEIR COMMON SENSE.”

XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GRL

XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GRL

ﾟ blah blah blahhhh ࿐

Hey Upper East Siders.

Pardon me for the time I took to write this, but I wasn’t sure whether to write a gossip post, or a eulogy, for some people’s common sense, that is.

Want to hear a story? Once upon a time, Mary had a little lamb, then the lamb grew up, gave birth, and that explains some people on this app. They follow each other, like sheep, one by one.

and that’s exactly what some of you are doing.

But when there’s so much smoke, who cares if there’s fire? Liars, Liars, Liars. I’m running out of fingers here, there’s too many to count!

But who’s talking? Oh wait, the lack of belief some people have in themselves. Like the great gossip girl I am, I decided to open my inbox to answer some pending success stories that have been sent to me. Instead, one anon said “slit your wrists”. I don’t usually like being told how to do things but if you’re going to tell me to do something, at least give me a physical demonstration. Maybe a…tutorial? Funny that you give me advice in a field you’re so specialised in…at least we have one thing in common. Someone give this one a pay rise. Since everything else in their life seems to be at an all time low.

As usual, it doesn’t end there. Another desperate lower east sider sent me: “You write things to yourself in your anonymous messages, come on, they're already realizing it.” Darling, just because you would, doesn’t mean I would. My blog runs on authenticity, not so-called tumblr “fame”. But of course, that’s just one concept your head’s too thick to wrap around.

Anyway, let’s move onto the bigger picture here. But…you might want to wear a gas mask. I’m afraid there are too many pants on fire! Allegedly. I’m sorry, that wasn’t clear? Let me say it again. Allegedly. Maybe if you listened as much as you’d spoke, you’d hear me, and I wouldn’t have to say it again.

It’s funny to say, but usually I’M the one gossiping, not the one gossiped about. But somehow, people have magically found a way to drag me through the dirt. No that’s not a tear in my eye, it’s disappointment. Disappointment that Mary’s little lamb turned out to be the mother of such…fuckers. Motherfuckers.

But back to the point, just found it flying right over your head. Listen closely so it doesn’t happen again. SPOTTED: A few lower east siders attempting to create their own little success story debunking club. They’re running in…circles? If there’s two things we know about circles, it’s that one, they are pointless (literally), and two, running in them, gets you nowhere (also literally).

Unluckily for them, a conclusion is something they’ll never come to, but to picture proof? They might just.

Picking and choosing which success stories are fake, and then asking them to send picture proof when you don’t believe? Please, there’s only so much laughs the upper east side can hold. Since your common sense seems to be searching for the divorce papers, i’ll break it down for you. Nobody owes you picture proof of their manifestations. But just like the many previous and countless times, people would just find a way to accuse them of getting their photos/videos on Pinterest, or the good old photoshop. Well I know a shop where you can’t buy photos, and it’s called your imagination, and when you use it, not only do you find your common sense in there, but you also get exactly what you want. Not such a difficult concept to grasp is it? Keep talking and i’ll see your head peeking over the empire state building soon enough.

Now once again, onto the next idiotic attempted claim. “These success stories have such similar desires”. Oh i’m sorry? But we live in a generation full of trends. And with trends come followers. And we call those followers sheep. I’ve counted sheep so many times so far, I might just fall asleep. This might sound crazy but…people get inspired…wait for it…by other people’s…don’t scream just yet…IDEAS! I know, it’s hard to believe. Crazy right.

But in my lovely consideration of not hurting your ego, I do acknowledge the rare valid points some of you’ve made. Like bloggers suddenly having each others accounts. Like bloggers saying they’ve manifested their dream lives, yet still staying on tumblr to argue with anons who call them liars. That doesn’t really make sense, honestly, even to me. But what gets me is the idea of picking and choosing certain success stories that have common desires, similar “typing” styles, and not enough enthusiasm. Apparently that’s the criteria you need to meet, in order to have a “fake success story”…Who the actual fuck are you to decide what’s not enthusiastic enough? So just because someone’s success story doesn’t sound like how you imagine your own to turn out, therefore it’s fake? If someone isn’t freaking out and smashing their keyboard whilst writing their success story then it’s fake? Are you fucking dumb? Let me answer that for you, first of all yes, you are fucking dumb. Second of all, you look for YOUR idea of success in THEIR success stories, so when you don’t see your ideal version of success, and your ideal reaction to success, you immediately assume it’s fake, because you cannot relate to it because “it’s not how you would react or what you would manifest”. Because your dumb fucking arse cannot comprehend the world beyond your own perception. Why? Because you’re a fucking dumbarse.

Call me crazy, but if one word comes to mind, it’s projection. And yes there are liars here and there, but the struggle to believe in others successes is just the struggle to believe in yourself. If you were reading those success stories from your mansion, with your desired appearance, in your desired city, with everything you could possibly want, reading other people’s success stories wouldn’t be so difficult would it. Why? Because humans learn from experience. But some of them are just too ignorant to consider, that with every person, comes a different experience. “Oh I didn’t succeed, therefore there’s no way they could have, they’re lying!!!!” Poor babies, may I ask where this desire to look for inconsistencies in success stories came from? I think we ALL know…it’s pretty easy to disbelieve in something that you believe you can never have. What was that word again…projection.

Yet again, I can’t believe I have to remind you that it’s not you against the world. Nobody is out to get you. Loablr is not some plot to make you believe in something that isn’t real. I don’t know what level of delusion that takes but usually it’s enough to put you in a straight jacket. Get off the app and touch grass. No one will notice if you leave, trust me. But in all fairness, I’ve read a few success stories that have seemed ingenuine to me. But do I have proof of that? No. So do I make a blog “calling them out” when I have no way of 100% knowing that, or do I move on with my life and focus on my own successes instead of their alleged fake ones? You think it hasn’t occurred to people that other people could be lying? If you think otherwise, boy have I got news for you. And most IMPORTANTLY, like I said before, YOU cannot define what ingenuine is, because YOU cannot predict other people’s reactions, nor can you see them from behind their screens. And since some of you are so obsessed with “real life” proof, you still decide to ignore success stories OUTSIDE of tumblr. Especially, Celebrity success stories. So CLEARLY there’s not much we can do for you here. You claim to believe in the law of assumption, then go and fucking apply it, instead of thinking you have some valid point to “prove”. You’re not as “woke” as you think you are. I don’t care if you can’t control your suspicions of others, i’m not telling you to stop feeling suspicious, but it’s the way you go about it that matters. And the way some of you do it, is disgusting.

If there’s anyone who is currently reading this who has lied about any successes whatsoever, you’re pathetic. And I hope you feel ashamed. And yes, no one actually knows who you are, but that’s not where the consequence lies honey, the consequence lies in the fact that you don’t have anything you want. Think about that for a second. Bitch. Instead of louboutin red bottoms, you literally have a red bottom. Don’t break your knuckles trying to get the extinguisher out.

Anyway. There’s so much more I could say about how unfathomably stupid some of you are but if I were to, then I’d be here all day. So i’ll leave it at that. And keep in mind, when I don’t reply to you, or when I block you, it’s not because i’ve got nothing to say or that i’m “defeated”, it just means that you are not worth my time and that i’ve probably already made a point that yet again flew over your head that you therefore missed.

As if some of you haven’t embarrassed yourselves enough already, you’ve decided to dig your holes even deeper. Maybe a little too deep. I think i’m starting to feel the earth’s core, maybe the heat wasn’t coming from the liars fiery pants after all…

I guess success is just harder for you to believe when your self concept is buried almost as low as you, when you debunk, insult, and argue yourself to death. Ofcourse someone who’s so used to failing sees nothing but failure. Can I even blame you? You know who you are. Pathetic.

- gossip girl

XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GRL

XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GIRL | XOXO | GOSSIP GRL

[shisabun]

Before I start, I just want to say thank you to the husbands, brothers, and fathers who voted to support their daughters, sisters, and wives. What I'm about to say doesn't include you.

To the women who voted for Trump, you are a disgrace. Thanks to you, your children and grandchildren will be forced to fight the war that was won by your grandmothers.

You sit content and joyful while others mourn. You laugh in the face of their fears when there's a knife floating above your head poised to fall. You have no idea what's coming, but any woman with half a braincell does.

Let me tell you a story. My great aunt was basically my grandmother. She was born in the 1930s in Spain. Right after their revolution. Right after Spain became a dictatorship. She told me so many stories in her final years that I'll keep with me for the rest of my life. But I'll give one example.

One of her closest friends married young. Her husband claimed she was unfaithful and literally beat her to death. He was never arrested. He was never convinced. He walked away free and remarried in less than a month. Catholicism wouldn't allow divorce back then. He wanted to get remarried and simply got away with it because he was a cop. Franco gave cops full impunity. So does Project 2025.

I know some people reading this are rolling their eyes, and you know what?

Fuck. You. You are trash.

That girl was murdered at 20, and her killer walked free after openingly admitting it. My Tia never told me her name, but she carried her in her heart until the day she died at 98. And so do I.

To my fellow women who are mourning and scared right now, I'll give you the same advice my mother gave me. "Have your cry. Then get up and get things done. You're strong enough not to have this break you."

You are Mary and Esther. You are Caterina Sforza. You are Princess Diana. You are Anna May Wong. You are the living legacy of every woman who has come before you. You carry their strength, their courage, and their determination.

This shit is going to suck. Pure and simple. But we'll do what we've always done. We'll bite and claw our way to a better future. We'll tear down every obstacle so our children and grandchildren will have an easier path to walk.

We are dragons in human form. Steel your heart and give them nothing. Do not give them your affection, your care, or your bodies. Fuck being demure and mindful. When they spew hate, you spit fire. When they ask for your smile, you give them your fangs. Become a walking inferno that they have no choice but to take note of. Do not yield.

You are powerful, and you are not alone. You are a sister in a coven that is millions strong. You are the daughters of the witches they couldn't burn.

To my fellow Millennials. I know you're tired. Our young adult lives were stolen from us, and we've been struggling uphill ever since. But do what the previous generation never did for us. Fight. Fight for the ones that are entering adulthood. Fight for the children who have no idea what they're about to grow into.

They called us snowflakes for pointing out their flaws. Fine. Let's give them a fucking blizzard. If they try to build momentum, we stop them. We are at the age where we need to be both shield and anchor. Let. Nothing. Pass.

We're about to face an orange shitstorm of epic proportions. But we'll do as we've always done. We fight, we endure, and we win. In the words of Samwise Gamgee, "There's good in this world, and it's worth fighting for."

[dragon-kazansky]

Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

The Viscount is set on finding a wife this season, and you are trying again for your second season. While Anthony is dealing with trials between Edwina and Kate Sharma, you are dealing with trials of your own. Benedict Bridgerton is ever present in your life, but your pursuit to find a husband must come first. Society is ever so exhausting.

{Masterlist}

{Previous Chapter} - {Next Chapter}

Season Two

Chapter Twenty - The sisters

You step out of the carriage and look around you. The first ball of the season was always a grand affair. This one in particular as the queen had not yet chosen a diamond.

Last season, Lady Whistledown called Daphne Bridgerton a diamond of the first water, which made her stand out in the ton. Now, the queen was expected to choose a diamond every season. One lucky debutant would sparkle among all the others.

You take your mother's arm and head inside. Many were already present. Lots of lovely young ladies looking for partners for the evening. Your mother leaves your aide to go speak to some of the other mama's.

You stand alone near the entrance and look around. You couldn't spot anyone you knew. You decide to take a walk around the room.

Nerves were setting in. It was strange. You felt like you were doing all of this for the first time again. A few gentlemen glance at you as you pass by. You smile. They smile back. You keep walking.

As you make a turn about the room, you spot the Bridgertons arriving. You see Eloise dressed in a beautiful gown, yet looking uncomfortable. Violet looks very proud and excited. Then there's Benedict. Handsome and smiley.

You move quickly out of sight to avoid him. The way he had sketched you yesterday and what he had said had caused butterflies to rise in your stomach. You're not sure what to make of him right now.

While you try hard to avoid the gaze of the Bridgerton family, you do not escape the sight of Lady Danbury. As she sees you loitering around corners, she calls your name. Startled, you turn quickly in her direction. With a beck of her finger, you make your way over to her.

"Lady Danbury."

"Allow me to introduce you to my guests this season. Lady Mary Sharma and her daughters. Miss Kathani Sharma and Miss Edwina Sharma."

"Delighted," you smile at them.

Mary smiles politely at you. Her daughters do, too. Edwina, in particular, shares a striking resemblance to her mother. You take a look at the two sisters. Kathani is taller than Edwina, who is rather petite. Both of them have eye that sparkle in the lights of the ballroom. Their smiles are kind, though you sense a little nervousness from Edwina.

"A pleasure. You must call me Kate," the eldest of the two says, stepping forward ro greet you properly.

"Kate. I am looking for friends this season, I would be delighted to help make you both feel more comfortable this season if Lady Danbury agrees?"

Lady Danbury gives you a nod with an amused glint in her eye.

"I would be delighted. As would my sister, I'm sure." Kate turns to look at Edwina.

"Very much so." Edwina smiles.

Edwina's voice is higher than Kate's. She speaks softer, too. There are clear differences between them, but at the same time they are rather alike.

You smile at them both.

Lady Danbury comes up beside you and leans in rather close. "Avoiding your friends?"

"Not exactly."

"No? It looked to me like you were hiding." She chuckles.

"I was merely taking some time to myself. I need to get back into this. Last year did not quite go to plan." You avoid looking at her.

"Good things come to those who wait. I recommend branching out and growing your social circle. Miss Penelope Featherington could perhaps use another friend."

You look in the direction Lady Danbury is looking. Penelope stands among mamas gossiping, no doubt. You get the hint and make your way over there, hoping to spend time with the Sharma sisters again soon.

Perhaps this year is, in fact, a good time to make mkre friends. It gives you an excuse to avoid Benedict for a while, too.

"Penelope," you greet her softly.

"Oh, hello." She smiles shyly.

"May I keep you company a while?" You ask.

"Would you not prefer being among the others?" She asks in return.

You glance around the room and then back at her. "For tonight, no. I think I would much prefer to be a wallflower."

Penelope smiles slightly.

"How are you?"

"I am well." She nods. "Just... biding my time, I suppose."

The truth was that Penelope was watching and listening. Though she couldn't quite tell you that, or for what purpose. You would never believe her anyway.

"Is that Lady Mary Sheffield Sharma?" Portia asks, watching the Sharma family walk by. Kate smiles at you as she passes. You smile back at her. "I can't believe she would show her face here again," Portia continued.

"A scandal, mama?" Cressida asks her mother.

"Lady Mary was the incomparable of our season, until she fell in love with and married some kind of clerk, I hear. The two of them absconded to India, thereafter."

"A maharajah I would have understood, but the man was no more than a common worker who already had a child." One of the other mamas chimed in.

"That must be her. The older one," Portia points out toward Kate. You look at her from beside Penelope. There was no denying Kate was gorgeous.

"Lady Mary's parents, the Sheffields, never lived down the shame, did they?"

"Too ashamed to show their faces in London."

"If only every family could be as respectable as ours. Yes, Lady Featherington?" Lady Cowper chuckles softly.

You don't see Portia's response, too focused on watching Kate and Edwina.

You turn to Penelope. "No luck for you either?" You ask softly.

"Hm? Oh. No..." Penelope looks down shyly. "Excuse me." She leaves your side and walks away. You sigh softly. You ignore the chuckle of Cressida behind you and walk off in the other direction.

You have so far managed to successfully dodge Benedict, and for that you feel great relief. He must be preoccupied elsewhere. As you walk about the room you spot Edwina being asked to dance by Lord Corning. He's a tall handsome fellow with a good background. Edwina dances elegantly with him.

"Do you know him?"

You turn to find Kate looking at you. You smile and shakes your head. "Not personally. I know of him. He's very kind."

Kate watches her sister quietly.

"Are you not dancing?" You ask.

"I am here for my sister. Hers is the only match I care about. What about you?" She asks in return.

"Oh, no. I don't think I fit into society. It's too busy, too wanting. I don't think there is a perfect match for me. I got close last season, but it did not work out."

"What of him?" Kate nods across the room. You follow her gaze and find Benedict looking at you. He makes his way over once you spot him.

"I must go," you excuse yourself and flee.

Kate watches you go, and then watches Benedict follow the path you have taken. She wasn't sure what that was about, but she felt inclined not to intervene.

You find refuge in a dark corner behind some flowers. You sigh as you lean against the wall. Dodging Benedict all night was going to be harder than you thought.

"Are you hiding from me?"

You jump and turn to see Benedict looking at you. "No."

"It seemed like you were."

"I just need some space. All that dancing..."

"I didn't see you dancing." Benedict reaches for your dance card. "Your card is empty."

You take your hand back and sigh. "I'm sorry. I was just... confused."

"About that?" He asks.

"Forget about it. Why aren't you dancing?" You ask.

"I'm avoiding the mamas."

You chuckle softly.

"Dance with me?" He asks.

Your heart skips a beat. He offers you his hand and you know you can't really say no without making him worry. You take his hand and let him guide you to the floor. You join in with the dance.

Benedict looks at you as you both dance. "So tell me, why have you been avoiding me?"

You know he's not going to let this go. "I was embarrassed, I suppose."

"Embarrassed? Why?"

"Can I ask you something?" You ask softly.

"Of course."

"What do you see when you look at me?"

Benedict is struck into silence. He wasn't expecting that question from you. He has to remind himself that you're both dancing and take care not to step on your toes.

"You're beautiful, kind, honest, smart. You brighten up a room just by being in it. Your smile is genuine. You worry a lot, but I like that about you. It shows just how much you care about things and people. If I like you, other shall surely adore you."

You feel breathless. Benedict always knows just what to say to send you into a tizzy, but his last few words stung. He likes you, but not like that.

You put on a brave smile.

"Thank you, Benedict."

You both finish the dance, and he escorts you over to the refreshment table. He grabs you a glass and takes one for himself. You both sip your drinks. Before either of you can pick up the conversation, Violet comes over and leans into Benedict's other side.

"Have you seen your sister or your brother?" She asks, looking rather flustered.

"They managed to escape you? Good for them." Benedict smiles.

You nudge him harshly with your elbow. Benedict lets out a quiet ow and walks away, leaving you with Violet. You turn to her with a soft smile. "I'm sure they're not far."

Violet smiles softly and nods. "Have you two made up then?" She asks, referring to you and Benedict.

"Made up?"

"I was under the impression something happened." She looks a little confused.

"All is well. Your son has helped me see something in me I hadn't noticed before. That's all."

Violet smiles and then shifts her gaze as Lady Danbury approaches. You greet the other woman and she nods at you with a pleasing smile.

"Lady Danbury. Splendid evening," Violet comments.

"For the most part. There are a few guests whose absence I might not have regretted."

Lady Bridgerton laughs. "I do hope I'm not one of them."

"You and I have common interest this season, it seems." Lady Danbury tells her.

"I heard. Your wards, I look forward to meeting them."

"I met them earlier," you chime in. "Two very beautiful ladies."

Violet seems pleased by your words.

The two ladies talk away, and you find this a good opportunity to sneak away. You miss Kate and Edwina leaving rather quickly from the ball, unaware what had occurred between Kate and Anthony in the garden.

Benedict finds you again rather quickly. He comes up beside you and looks around. "Has my mama ended her pursuit?"

"I don't know why you're worried. She has her hands full with Eloise and Anthony. I don't envy her position with those two."

Benedict chuckles. "Is my mama not helping you, also?"

"She has offered her assistance, yes. Yet, I do not expect to come first. Her own children are her priority, and for that, I understand. I think I shall push the subject to the back of my mind for now."

Benedict regards you quietly and then nods.

The rest of the evening passes in quiet company with the second eldest brother. He sees no reason to leave your side when he's finding himself enjoying his time so much.

He even escorts you outside at the end. Everyone is too occupied with themselves to pay any attention to you two.

Benedict sees that you get in your carriage safely and bids you farewell. You wave as the carriage leaves. He watches you go before joining his family again.

Another season, another opportunity for chaos to arise.

@callmemana - @lilscast - @imgondeletedis - @benedictbridgertonss - @clownsdiehard - @wxnterwidow333

@sillynilly27 - @autumn-slaves - @ben-has-arrived - @ajdelilah - @aadu2173

@booknerdlife - @tamlinrose - @sarahskywalker-amidala - @cheryyluv - @louschan - @lou-la-lou - @cultish-corner

@hopshusushi - @katherinejess - @nannabug - @afunkyfreshblog - @f0x33 - @dd122004dd -

@jupitervenusearthmars - @orchiidflwer - @bespinnn - @captainlunaxmen - @winchestersimpalababy - @acupnoodle

@ms-fandomgirl - @fablesrose - @anyaisinyourcloset - @meowzerzstuff - @orchiidflwer - @crazymar15

@cosmixstar - @bree3parchen - @berrnuu - @charmainemaclendon - @pinkpantheris - @krismdavis

@biancamde - @ifgslsofbsodbf - @kniselle - @berarenado - @grassclippers - @bwormie - @avengersgirllorianna

[sagelasters]

Imagination was always considered the opposite of reality, we learnt to distinguish the two at a young age. Even though imagination and reality are really twins of different faces in the same coin, made from the same flame. Say, we use the limited logic this world has taught us; even imagination is the mother of creations, and this is most likely because someone had to envision how to make an air conditioner. The only thing that comes before imagination is consciousness, which is something you and I both have, and it’s a tool that’s not utilized as often. 

Philosopher Mary Shepherd emphasized on the idea that there must be a start to everything, a sudden movement in nothingness before something can truly “exist”. Which is a vague point but really, it made sense in this context – imagination is the start to everything. Just by painting a picture in your head, it breathes life into the knowledge that your imagination exists in another realm.  If we combine that with the law of assumption, it makes an incredibly powerful mixing pot. What exists in your mind can and will reflect into physicality, the self is the first movement and starting of an existence, but only if you allow it. 

Lack is an illusion but it is there to help you realize what you want, therefore is the first act into actual manifestation. When you stop perceiving lack as something negative, you’ll start to observe it as a beneficialness, thus you won’t put it on a pedestal. Unfortunate circumstances can be bent to our will, if we so much as imagine that we’re living a completely different life. Neville had to experience yearning for return, for him to realize that he didn’t want to fight in the war. 

Lack → Realization → Imagination → “Reality”

In Law of Assumption and Dualism, the mind and body are two separate matters that can be distinguishable. Emotions do not affect the process of manifestation, it can influence imaginations but with little effect, unless you (the self, the soul) allows yourself to be caged in your own body. This is why many loa bloggers tell you that it is okay to feel negative emotions, as long as you don’t let it dictate what your reality looks like. Stick to the inner-self perception of reality and keep persisting till the birth of physicality. It doesn’t matter what the body senses and sees, it is no longer your reality, a completely separate nature. Although do what you must while also keep sticking to the inner reality. 

With such an incredible tool in your possession, why not cultivate it?

[enwoso]

grumpy | alessia russo x child!reader

grumpy masterlist

people always liked to comment on the fact that they could tell you were alessia's daughter, not because of the obvious reason of the fact that you looked like your mother but for the way you were a ray of sunshine, always a smile on your face and always giggling away at the smallest of things.

however today you were being the total opposite and nothing anyone seemed to do could cheer you up, not even grace could get a smile from you by pulling funny faces at you or beth telling you silly jokes.

you were just being grumpy but that came with a good reason.

you had spent all of yesterday travelling, from london to st george's park and then to marbella meaning that with all the excitement of seeing your aunties after a few months and then the excitement that followed from going on a plane and being in a new place meant you were no rush in wanting to have your usual nap much to your mum's distaste.

she thought you would have crashed out early however that was not the case, you had eventually fallen asleep but after many attempts of putting you down to sleep. you waking up a few times before falling into a deep sleep.

and then this morning you had woken up earlier than what alessia was expecting and your tiredness from yesterday had carried through to today and alessia knew she was in for a hell of a day.

"lovie, you need to eat your breakfast!" mummy said as she pushed your plate back in front of you for what felt like the hundredth time in the past 10 minutes.

"no" you said, arms held across your chest turning your head away from the plate. a hand pushing away the plate away once again.

"if you eat just half of your toast, then we can go in the pool with the flamingo floaty" ella smiled hoping that may try to persuade you as all last night it was all you talked about however you didn't budge only moving your head further away from ella.

"y/n, don't do that, it's rude!" alessia scolded as you moved your head back to where it was however your arms stayed present on your chest and the scowl remained on your face.

georgia then came along with lucy and keira and they both tried there best to cheer you up, as alessia sighed head hitting the wall behind her. "less don't worry she's just overly tired, just after lunch put her down for a nap" mary smiled squeezing the blondes shoulders in reassurance as the blonde nodded.

"i should have just made her go for her nap on the plane yesterday"

"no, you just didn't want to ruin her fun and excitement yesterday" mary said as she bumped her shoulder into alessia's as her head turned back to you as you were now beginning to fuss, throwing your arms around and kicking your legs against the high chair you were sat in.

"hey, hey, stop that. remember we don't hit, it's not very kind. say sorry to auntie lucy" your mum said lifting you out of the high chair and facing you towards lucy as she caught you lifting your hands to lucy.

"sorry lucy" you said a frown now appearing on your face as lucy smiled, "it's okay kiddo, we just wanna see your cute little smile, not that sad little frown" she said tickling you under your chin a little.

everyone was beginning to file out of breakfast and you were sat on chair your mum had sat you on while she put everything you needed into your small backpack which went pretty much everywhere will you.

“come on then lovie” your mum smiled holding out her hand for you to grab as she had her training bag and your backpack in her other hand, but instead of bursting up in a ball of energy like you usually would - you didn’t move a muscle.

staying exactly where you had been sat for the past five minutes. you didn’t even make an effort to move. “we need to go, everyone’s gonna beat us there!” the blonde tried, knowing that even though you were small you were very competitive, you didn’t like to loose. alessia had her brothers to thank for that.

“no” you said simply, alessia sighed having enough of trying to bargain with you and instead just gave up and walked over to where you were sat, picking you up so you were sat on her hip as she walked a little faster trying to catch up with the rest of the girls.

“what do we have to do to cheer you up today?” alessia asked as you rested your head on her shoulder and hummed.

since you hadn't ate much of your breakfast, alessia sat you down in the shade away from the hot sun of marbella but still so that you were within close proximity of her with a fruit pot and some colouring to do as well as some of your toys. after lathering you in factor 50 sun screen and making sure she had put put your pink bucket hat on your head.

"right mummy's gonna go and train now, if you need anything shout me over or ask one of the trainers to get me, okay?" alessia told you as she sat you down on the your blanket, you nodded reaching out to grab your green pencils.

"i'll be back soon to check on you, i love you" she cooed kissing you on the forehead as a small smile quickly came but as quick as it came it left. "love you mummy" you said quietly but still loud enough that alessia heard you, as she walked off to sit next to ella and put her football boots on.

training had never felt so long, you had quickly gotten bored of your animal colouring in sheets and everytime your mummy was sitting on the sidelines during the small sided games you were tucked away in her arms.

when alessia was due to play in the small sided games she would take you back to your little play area she had set up for you and jog back to play in the training game and then the cycle repeated every time you saw her sat down on the sidelines you were in her arms.

finally when training was over you were stood next to your mummy clinging onto her leg as she spoke with millie and maya. "what's happened to our little giggle box?" millie asked as she looked down at you.

"she's a little grumpy today" alessia sighed picking you up and placing you on her hip. "grumpy? well we can't be having that!" maya said as the four of you began to walk back into the hotel for lunch.

"she's going to have something to eat and then it's nap time!" your mummy said as you whined, "no! me not tried" you frown, pushing your head further into her shoulder. 

"oh, of course your not!" your mummy chuckled along with millie and maya.

“well i hope grumpy turns happy because otherwise who is gonna cheer us on, on friday?” millie said as she looked at you, the little pout that had been on your face all day growing deeper.

“oh yeah we’ll have to see if georgia will help you practise your chants again” your mum said, knowing that you and georgia would sit usually for a while going through each players chant and sometimes making your own up even if sometimes they never made any sense— they did to you.

“oh that’ll be fun won’t it, y/n!” maya smiled as you groaned and moved your head so that your face was no longer visible to millie and maya by tucking it into your mummy’s neck.

“definitely needs a nap” the blonde whispered however you still heard her as alessia then fell back into talking with millie and maya about boring adult things.

lunch was finished and you had spent the time watching your mums phone with a side of eating your pasta that had been given to you but realistically you just pushed it around the plate. you hadn’t said a word the entire time during lunch so much so beth had asked alessia if you were having your afternoon nap.

now the girls had the rest of the day off to have some down day, now alessia was praying she was going to be able to get you down for a nap considering you were getting more and more clingy and grumpy.

"do you want a bopbop?" mummy asked you as she slowly nodded again resting your head on her shoulder as you watching from behind mummy all of the other girls begin to slowly leave the lunch room.

mummy got your bottle and asked one of the kitchen staff if they could put some warm milk in it, but not a lot as alessia was trying her best to wean you off it — but for circumstances like this, you could have as much as you needed in order to get you to sleep.

alessia made her way to where the sun loungers were and the rest of the girls hoping to soak up a bit of the sun while you were hopefully napping in the shade.

you were dressed in your pj's which were pink and had little hearts spread all across the shorts, while the top was just a pale pink colour.

alessia sat herself down next to ella who was trying to do her puzzle book which alessia had brung although with you being a little difficult today the blonde hadn't had time to pick it up.

"she still not asleep?" ella asked turning to the blonde who shook her head, "give me twenty and with a bit of luck she will be" alessia smiled as she got herself comfy as well as you, as you hugged your bunny stuffed animal.

"here" mummy said as she handed you the bottle of warm milk and you began to drink it laying on your mummy's chest. a quiet chatter of ella and alessia was all to be heard as they discussed some of the answers to the puzzle.

alessia thought you were nearly asleep but you sat up on her tummy, bottle which was still half full hanging from your mouth.

"mummy?"

"yes baby?"

"too hot" you mumbled your eyes heavy and almost fluttering shut. "c'mere and you can take this off" mummy whispered as she took your pj top off feeling the cool air hit your back as you flopped back down onto your mummy's chest as she begins to play with the ends of your hair.

minutes pass and which each one your body relaxes that little bit more, the grip on your bottle gets a little slacker and before long a deep sleep is taking over you.

your body fully relaxing and becoming limp as your bottle falls from your grip and mouth landing sideways on the sun bed.

"and finally the long awaited nap has came!" alessia sighs still playing with the ends of your hair. "let's hope she wakes up a little more like her usual sunshine self!" ella laughed slightly placing the puzzle book to the side having given up on the one she was trying to do.

"hopefully, as long as nobody wakes her up!"

liked by stanwaygeorgia and 681,502 others

alessia sleeping angel

comments -

ellatoone always an angel👼🏻

1h 308 likes     reply

-> alessia she has her moments!

stanwaygeorgia when she wakes up i wanna practise my chants with her!

27m 213 likes     reply

-> alessia yeah, give her time to nap first g!