#such a charming and considerate young man- I CAN IMAGINE IT!

[equitatus]

" (...) He is surprisingly popular among the elderly of M.ondstadt, even earning himself the title of 'top candidate for grandson-in-law.' "

[drgnflyteabox]

Imagine you're a sheltered woman from New York in the 1850s. By the time you're a young lady both your parents are dead, so you have no choice but to leave your cushy little family home, get on a train and meet your only living relative. You're kind of useless, bookish and naive. You've never experienced anything but comfort. Your uncle tells you he doesn't want you around, but as a woman you can't do much on your own, and what could you do? You're as helpless as a lamb.

Your uncle betroths you to a man in Oregon, and ships you off to travel the oregon trail with all your treasure (jewelry, bonds, antiques, etc). The only thing is that he can't just send you on your own- you've only been in the real world the past few days to travel to him!!! You've been an anxious little hermit, and who's gonna carry your trunk full of romance books?

Your uncle hires security company 141 to escort you through the grueling journey, and you're none the wiser that company 141 doesn't exist, but outlaw gang Ghost team does...

Anyways I neeeeeeed more western and cowboy 141 and I've been playing rdr2 lately soo

This could work for any of the boys :')

Gaz who's just like your fairytale men. Kind, considerate, kisses your hand. He gives you a little extra bacon in the morning when you whine and picks wildflowers for you when he sees a pretty one (like you). You're defenseless against his charms.

Price who's...... the embodiment of your daddy issues. Spoiler? But you grew up so sheltered because your dad believed your family was cursed, and made you scared to be in the world. Price is so big and solid and comforting, older and bearlike... you definitely could call him daddy :')

Johnny who's got you flustered and blushing the entire way, even when you're miserable, when you're beyond travel weary. He's carefree about touch and space, and for someone who grew up locked in a single space for so long, you're like putty at the simplest touches from him

Simon's a wildcard. He wears a bandana, which makes everyone but the company nervous, and he's always riding off. You rarely see him, but you're mesmerized by his pale eyes and pale lashes, his scars and his story. He kind of hates you for how you don't seem to know like... anything. He let's the others care for you, counting the days until they can meet up with Kate and abandon you for dead with all your ma and pas jewelry and valuables and onto the next robbery... unless (0)o(0)

Also the guy you're meant to marry is graves LOL. Your family is deep in the railway industry and filthy rich and graves is buying up land and planting vineyards. Hes getting rich off of wine :') that's the story in my head

Plsss forgive me if this has already been written!!! I had a dream about it and I couldn't remember if it was something I'd read, or something I thought up. I looked around tumblr and ao3 for anything but couldn't find anything. Pleaseeeeee contact me if its your idea, I'm terrified of accidentally plagiarizing lol

[flammentanz]

“Sherlock Holmes und das Halsband des Todes” (“Sherlock Holmes and the Deadly Necklace”) (1962)

Christopher Lee: Sherlock Holmes Hans Söhnker: Professor James Moriarty Thorley Walters: Dr. Watson

Holmes: “Aha, our famous archaeologist.” Moriarty: “And our eminent criminologist.” Holmes: “It is already in the Times that the necklace of Cleopatra will be auctioned at Mosley's on Monday. It will be priceless.” Moriarty: “I assume so. To be honest, Mr. Holmes, I had doubts as to whether you would accept my invitation.” Holmes: “My dear Professor, I do not like to forego - how do you say - the pleasure of your company.” Moriarty: “It is mutual, Mr. Holmes. It is a real pity that you have such a bad opinion of me.” Holmes: “I have nothing against you personally, Professor. On the contrary, the inventiveness of your imagination has often impressed me deeply. Just today at Scotland Yard. A brilliant comedy. Masterful. And now, Professor?” Moriarty: “Once again you have guessed my thoughts, Mr. Holmes. I really intended to make you a proposal.” Holmes: “Really? Take a seat.” Moriarty: “Thank you. A partnership, Mr. Holmes.” Holmes: “A partnership, Professor?” Moriarty: “Let’s say 6,000 a year, and a share of the profits, of course.” Holmes: “In my experience, murder is not profitable.” Moriarty: “You underestimate me, Mr. Holmes. We are both men of logic and of considerable ability, but we have wasted our abilities fighting each other. And that, my dear Holmes, is illogical. We should combine our talents. Such a partnership would be irresistible.” Holmes: “Quite right, dear Professor.” Moriarty: “You accept my offer?” Holmes: “It all sounds very tempting indeed, but all I can say is, regrettably, I must continue to waste my energies. At the moment I have only one ambition - to see you hang.” Moriarty; “A most regrettable decision, Mr. Holmes.” Holmes: “This is yours? It looks so familiar.” Moriarty: “Pretty clumsy, isn’t it? Excuse this little toy. Just a minor defect.” Holmes: “It can happen, Professor.” Moriarty: “Your choice, Mr. Holmes?” Holmes: “Would you also like to whistle, Professor?” Watson: “Oh dear! I hope we don’t get into trouble with the police, Holmes, because of the whistles. Still a good idea, eh?” Holmes: “Stunning, dear Watson.”

Notes:

Christopher Lee is dubbed by Harry Wüstenhagen (1928 - 1999) who had a very successful career from the fifties to the early nineties. He was particularly popular through several appearances in the very popular Edgar Wallace films. Wüstenhagen worked extensively as a voice actor. Inter alia he dubbed three other Sherlock Holmes actors: Ian Richardson in “The Hound of the Baskervilles” and in “The Sign of Four”, Nicol Williamson in “The Seven-Per-Cent Solution” and John Neville in “A Study in Terror”. He even dubbed the title role in “The Great Mouse Detective”.

Hans Söhnker (1903 - 1981) had a very sucessful career on stage, film and theater that span five decades. In his early films he was often cast as charming young man - mostly very loveable but sometimes also a philanderer. In his later years Söhnker played loveable father figures and was very successful in various television series.Only after his death did it become known that he had given refuge to Jews on his property during the Third Reich. For this, he was honored as a "Righteous Among the Nations" in 2018.

[pearlywritings]

okay but can you imagine christmas shopping with the ragnvindr family???? the twins go from store to store trying to find the best gift for everyone (of course diluc wasn't grumpy as they started looking for gifts for uncle kaeya) THEY WOULD BE SO ADOREABLE ASHAKDSG BUT im not finished- IMAGINE DILUC TAKING KIDS TO A JEWELER (reader was suspicious but decided to not say anything about it) months ago diluc ordered a special charm bracelet for his wife: four beautiful charms decorated with red gems, each one is in different style and represents a family member IM NOT OKAY RN GOODBYE

I'm so sorry it took so long. I tried really hard, but the mood for a full fic just didn't strike, though I had so many ideas... So I decided to organize those in bulleted headcannons and show how I imagine the preparation for the New Year (since I believe it'll be more accurate for Teyvat than Christmas) would go. I hope you'd still enjoy!

The holiday is right around the corner

synopsis: just the Ragnvindr family spending their time getting ready for the New Year.

pairing and characters: Diluc x fem!reader, their twin sons Rufus and Lucas, Kaeya + his family and Dawn Winery maids are mentioned

tw: pure fluff, domestic moments, mention of pregnancy

word count: 1.3k+

Family AU Masterlist

The kids are very excited to visit Mondstadt and see the fair with their own eyes. It is officially their very first properly celebrated New Year, since last year they got so excited about snow, that they overdid their time playing outside and got sick.

They are six already, which they do not forget to brag occasionally to vendors, happily giggling when the young and elderly coo at how adorable the redhaired pair is. They have hundreds ideas and thousands things to see and choose from, and the both of them are determined to find the most perfect presents for everyone: their parents, their uncle and his family, the maids back at the winery and anyone else they deem a dear person to them shall receive their considerate gifts!

Diluc keeps a close eye on them, knowing perfectly well how energetic they are, walking from store to store, glancing into every booth they take interest in and helping them with their choice and payment. There is only one rule - the four of you go anywhere together. Your husband doesn’t want splitting this year and refuses to leave your side for long, always having his arm or his whole broad body to lean into, when you get too tired. Back during your first pregnancy you learned that arguing with him is a futile case, so you simply smile and let him support you whenever he feels like you need it.

Ah, yes, you are pregnant again! So technically this is the outing of five. You can feel the curious gazes cast on you by the passersby, but pay little attention to it, fully dedicated to spending the family time.

Somewhere along the way you bump into Kaeya, who greets you with a wide grin and crouches down to let his nephews latch onto him in a tight hug. As he is kept in that position, he tells you and Diluc how despite the holiday season beginning he still has much work to do and today he is assigned to patrolling around the fair. His wife found it a perfect opportunity to join him and go shopping. Sure, the man has his route, but the major part of it lies directly through the fair so it’s a win-win scenario. You laugh when he puts on the most dramatically assured facade and declares that surely his lovely girls use his moments of absence to buy something for him. Well, you do not doubt they do, it’s just the look on his face.

As you are chatting Diluc suddenly touches your cheek and tsks disapprovingly. Under your surprised gaze he looks at Kaeya and asks him to accompany you and the boys to Angel’s Share so you could rest and warm. Despite your sons’ protest, he insists and tells Kaeya he is allowed to order any drink on the house as a reward. He himself has one more thing to wrap up.

As his brother leaves with you leaning on his arm and ushering your sons to come along, Diluc quickly walks to Marjorie's jewelry shop and disappears inside. He had to admit, Kaeya’s appearance saved him extra hassle.

The bracelet shown to him is marvelous. Silver band would wrap perfectly around your wrist, loose enough to dangle prettily, yet not as much as to slide off of your hand. The small box next to it became home to four equally beautiful silver pieces, each one representing a member of the family. Upon Lucas’ suggestion all four were made in the shape of an owl with ruby shiny eyes, yet with distinguishing features. The one with open wings and a sword tightly clasped in its claws is undoubtedly your husband. If one looks closely they would be able to see a small carved sign on its chest matching the one on yours. Rufus’ owlet look especially fluffy, resembling the elder twin's love to walk around with untied hair, with also a small pendant wrapped around his neck and Lucas’ birdie has a book in its beak and a feather stuck out of its head. When Diluc is running his gloves fingers over the small masterpieces he thinks of adding one more maybe in a year, and his heart bursts with joy and so much love for you that it's hard to hide. Marjorie could swear she’s never seen the softer look on Master Diluc’s face before.

When Diluc joins you again, Kaeya is nowhere to be seen already and you three can be found on the second floor in one of the few guest rooms being in the tavern just in case. He makes a note to himself to thank Charles when he sees food and non-alcoholic beverages on the table, as the twins munch on their respective portions. You on the other hand are resting on the bed, with your coat and boots abandoned, waving at him and prompting him to ruffle his sons’ hair and then join you.

His gaze is so warm when his big hand presses against your stomach and gently rubs, while asking if you are alright to continue after the break. You want to assure him that you can, but your babies hear the conversation. They suddenly start begging to go home, because they want to help the maids decorate, but when they say that you can come back to the city tomorrow you know that they are doing it out of concern for you. And who are you to deny their genuine help?

When the carriage stops in front of the Winery, your boys don't wait long to swing the door open and jump out into the knee-high snowbanks, sprinting to the front doors of the manor. You don't even have time to reprimand them, sighing in defeat, when Hillie opens the door to let them in and yells to you that she’ll take care of their clothes. Diluc is the next one to jump out of the carriage, pointing at the bags to the approaching servant, and then effortlessly grabbing your waist to get you out as well.

The next couple of hours you watch from your rocking chair the most epic scenes in your life. How Rufus wraps tinsel around himself and gives the ends to Lucas as the reins, the two running around like a horse and a coachman. How the baubles get stolen and the maids have to chase their young masters to either get them back, or convince the boys to put those on the fir tree on their own. Or how Rufus ignores your warning and jumps into the box full of soft wadding which is to be used as fake snow on the branches and at the bottom of the tree all the while Lucas is happily sitting next to Moko, helping her with cutting snowflakes.

You leave the room only when Adelinde peeks out of the kitchen and asks if her Lady wants to assist with gingerbread decorating. This woman always knows what you want and need, especially now, with Ru and Lu completely absorbed with decorating and Diluc busy with completing the last papers of the year. He assured you there is going to be no work during the next few days, and that’s such a great relief.

You know that tomorrow it will start all over again. First the fair - kids do not shut up about going to the square before church after one of the younger maids mentioned the sisters singing carols and offering sweets - Rufus being particularly interested in seeing the ‘badass sister Rosaria’ Callie didn’t stop talking his ear off about. Ah, yes, you'll have to send the invitations to the Alberich family soon, to see if they'd like to come over to celebrate together. And then it’s going to be the bedroom decorating, more mess and more tapping of running feet, but you know you would not trade it for anything else, making this New Year for your family as special as any other after it.

[voylitscope]

Someone (who is not me) should use this Irish Folktale I stumbled on as the basis for a Stucky AU.

Because listen, it's weirdly perfect?

Very Abridged Version: There is a prince. He is noble, kind, smart, strong, tall, beloved, and known for heroic acts. Then his mom dies. (Are you guys already following me? Can I just call the prince Steve for the rest of the post?)

The villain of the story uses magical cheating to force the prince Steve to go on a yearlong quest to retrieve three items. It will be nearly impossible, and the most likely scenario is that Steve will die trying.

Steve goes to see his friend the druid — because this is a folktale — who tells him there's a slim chance he won't die if he seeks the guidance of a bird with a human head. The druid also tells Steve that he has to take the druid's horse on his quest.

Fun turn of events! The horse can talk! Steve and the horse (definitely an actual horse and not how Bucky has entered this story) bond in their three-day journey to the bird. The folktale doesn't tell us what they talk about on their journey. So you can decide that in your heart, I guess. They clearly became very close friends.

Steve talks to the bird. Then Bucky the horse guides/saves Steve from multiple dangers. Steve doesn't get eaten by serpents! Steve doesn't catch on fire!

But then Bucky the horse is like, so hey, now that we've arrived outside this castle that holds one of the quest items? I need you to murder me.

And then this ridiculously dramatic back-and-forth happens. Absolutely not Bucky the horse says he has to die before Steve can get inside the castle. (There's a complicated explanation here about wearing horse skin so Steve can bypass things, but I'm skipping that.) Steve says he'd "never sacrifice a friend for personal interest!" The horse? Bucky? says that if Steve murders him, and then puts a special healing ointment on his corpse when he returns, things will work out better than Steve thinks. He says things will be much worse if Steve doesn't. He pleads. He asks Steve to just trust him. Steve eventually agrees.

Steve sobs while stabbing the — Bucky. He sobs the whole way into the castle. Like, the man is a wreck, okay? He can't think. He can't even appreciate the beauty of the castle/town because he's so distraught. ("It held no charms for him [...] the thoughts of his loss were paramount over all other considerations.") Please remember they've known each other for three days at this point.

He gets the item. He makes it back outside. He sobs more. He starts to apply the ointment to the corpse. Steve thinks about how doing this is "an act of love." And then!

Bucky? turns into "the handsomest young man imaginable," throws his arms around Steve, and starts repeatedly kissing him ("smothering him with kisses"). They stand, "locked in an embrace," for a while. Bucky! calls Steve the "best sight he's ever seen," and himself the luckiest person ever for having met him!

So, hey! Surprise! Bucky! Is also a prince! He was cursed! He was trapped! Steve saved him! He broke the curse with his act of love! And his trust in Bucky! They both cry more! They have joy! This section uses the word joy like nine times!

And! The castle belongs to Bucky's older brother, the king! All the items Steve needs are actually right inside, and Steve can just have them now! Also, he can just stay with them in the castle for his quest year! So, Steve does! And then there's something in there about their "mutual joy" and "enjoyment of fascinating pleasures." Good for them. I'm so glad they had a whole year of fascinating pleasure. (Look, I know the text I'm quoting here was written down in 1851. Different times and all that. But, I also feel like that's the kind of quote you could definitely include in an AU. So.)

They are very sad when Steve eventually goes home. "Filled with regret," even. Steve promises he'll visit at least once a year. The villain is so mad about Steve's victory that they throw themselves out a window and die (no, really), and then Steve is king and rules his kingdom. Heroically! The end!

And, okay, I mean, there is nothing in the story to say Steve doesn't have a long-distance relationship with his boyfriend, who is also royalty. Or that, since Bucky is a younger brother, he never, you know, moves three days down the road. In fact, I really feel like this would be a great ending. (I kept waiting for this story to have a part near the end where Bucky was like, hey, since you're a hero, meet my sister! Marry her! Unite our kingdoms! Because that is how every other fairytale/folktale I've ever read has ended? But no. Instead I got, spend the year with me! Fascinating pleasure! And no one got married! This story is really something.)

Anyway: This is about an Irish prince dramatically rescuing another prince from a curse he's been trapped in, through his faith in that prince and with an "act of love." Also, the two of them are obsessed with each other. It's begging for a Stucky AU. Someone please write it.

(Update: @raven-writes-fanfic is writing a fic based on this!)

[vivacissimx]

have you ever thought about the dynamic of viserra and baelon if they were genderbent? jahaerys would probably care for viserra bc she would be a man, and alysanne would have some weird overbearing complex over daughter-baelon, but young, gallant masc viserra and older milf, dragonrider fem baelon could be very interesting !!

I certainly have thought about it, anon. It's complicated! Girl Baelon would have been Aemon's wife. Aemon's heirs would have come from a bawdy, lustful Baelon and, as Vhagar's rider, I am inclined to think Jaehaerys might like her very much. Different, yes... but very much an offshoot of his and Alysanne's relationship. Boy Viserra, on the other hand, would have been Saera's younger intended. So Baelon and Viserra would be the chosen spouses for Jaehaerys's favorite children. While Baelon would provide strength, charm, and a vigor for having children to Aemon, I think Viserra in this scenario would be a person who Jaehaerys wants to "toughen up" such that he can be a successful husband to Saera. So Viserra is brought into Jaehaerys's consideration in a way that canonically she never was.

My headcanons for Boy Viserra are basically just: adept at his training (she's so graceful it's eerie!), charming (derogatory), ridiculously pretty but as a boy that carries verrry different connotations. In contrast to Saera who is sexual, a libertine, Viserra is a person who weaponizes her his chastity.

With Alysanne, it's a matter to think about, like would her mistrust of Saera carry over to Viserra? Would she be more protective of Viserra in this scenario because of how Saera might configure her far-too-young betrothed as a plaything of sorts? I do think that in any universe Baelon would be Alysanne's favorite-- as a son, he and Alyssa are her greatest success, he is dutiful and affectionate, a perfect son. As a daughter, she's directly the Alysanne of her time, perhaps not quite as clever but happy to learn and collaborate on Alysanne's ventures.

Viserra desiring Baelon in this scenario is kind of funny but to me it would have to be... he is surrounded by these women with power over him (Alysanne, Saera) but Baelon is his ideal woman: a teacher, a mother, a dragonrider. Total medieval dommy mommy material. Aemon is boring, Saera feels too entitled to Viserra, Alysanne doesn't Get It, Jaehaerys is clueless. Baelon the only bitch he respect in that house :) And Baelon just finding Viserra's crush sweet, perhaps slightly unsettling in his quiet intensity, but indulging him because he's close enough in age to Daemon and Viserys that they love having him around.

idk there's a million possibilities! Usually when I imagine boy!Viv it's with Baelon still as a man, but Queen Baelon could be sexy. Could be

[i-did-not-mean-to]

H - Horses

Written for @laurfilijames who is stuck at work :( I hope you're okay, friend <3

Words: 1.4 k

Characters: Éomer x OC, Éowyn, Finna the horse

Warnings: mild fear, lots of horse cuddles

Éowyn stared at the man for a long time without saying a single word as he stood there, head bowed in shame, awaiting her verdict concerning the embarrassing reason he had come before her to ask for her help.

She had grown up around horses and could not imagine being afraid of them. Nonetheless, she was too kind to deride the elderly nobleman and his skittish daughter when they had come—in secret—to her for assistance.

Apparently, the young lady, utterly terrified of horses since her earliest childhood, was resolute in her determination to overcome her irrational fear of the beasts and to learn how to ride properly. Only, to achieve this daunting victory over her mind, she needed guidance from someone who knew horses well.

As this family was an important one in the realm, Éowyn could truly appreciate how much of an impediment it would be if it were to become known that this young woman—heiress and one of the most valuable pawns of the generation—was unable to be in a saddle without nearly fainting.

“I can assure you,” the shieldmaiden promised, “that my brother will be able to help her. Éomer is the single-most reliable person in the whole world when it comes to those things.”

By “those things”, she meant both the handling of equines and of young, skittish maidens.

A fond smile spread over her face at the recollection of how her brother had taught her to ride when she had been little more than a babe in arms. Éomer had never once let her fall and he had been most displeased when—upon riding on her own—Éowyn had promptly attempted some truly daring feats.

Nonetheless, he had also always picked her up and tended to her injuries—yes, she had utter faith in Éomer when it came to this particular part of their lives.

The man thanked her, bowing low in his reverence, and walked away with a last, hard stare at his daughter—there was disappointment and incomprehension in his gaze, Éowyn could see and this realisation made her empathy and goodwill towards the young lady deepen considerably.

“I mean it,” she promised, “Éomer is an excellent rider and he is a master of horses; nothing bad can happen to you as long as he’s by your side.”

Just as she held the frail, smooth hand of the other woman, the door was flung open and her brother stormed in. “You called for me, sister?” he exclaimed raucously, his delighted grin sobering into a less exuberant and much more charming smile as he caught sight of their guest.

“Éomer,” Éowyn greeted calmly, “would you take this young lady to the stables and introduce her to the kindest, gentlest horse we have? She is a bit uneasy around them and her father trusts us to help her overcome that…discomfort.”

A minute frown rippled over Éomer’s handsome face as well, but—just like his sister—he was too well-bred and kind to so much as scoff at a stance that seemed entirely unreasonable and inexplicable to him.

“Sure, follow me, my lady,” he said courteously after bowing again to their esteemed guest and giving her a reassuring smile. “We have some very nice beasts who would be delighted to make your acquaintance, I am sure.”

Walking slowly so as to not lose the young noblewoman, Éomer led her to the stables—in his mind, he was going over the available steeds methodically before settling on a gentle light-grey mare that was often used to teach children.

“Someone named her Finna, after some elven maid who died tragically,” he explained; he was not entirely sure that this was truly the provenance of the name, but it sure sounded credible enough. In truth, they had so many foals to name that inspiration and genius were hard to come by at times.

“She’s a very calm animal and a steadfast friend even to the most nervous of our riders,” he assured her and, taking her pale, slender hand into his own, placed it carefully on the silken neck of the patiently waiting animal.

Finna was indeed used to insecure or outright hesitant visitors and so she did not move her massive head even though she much desired to investigate whether Éomer had not perchance brought a treat along with him.

The young lady swallowed thickly; she was dressed in riding clothes that were blatantly new and had clearly never been put to use before which made Éomer smile.

“I shall bring you a bucket of feed and a few brushes. Today, you may feed Finna and brush the mud off her back and hindlegs. Tomorrow, you shall come back, and I’ll show you how to clean her hooves and tend to her saddle.”

Astonished, both ladies—equine and human—looked at Éomer with wide, wet eyes.

“You’ll learn to do the work before I’ll introduce you to the joys,” Éomer declared kindly. “Do not be dismayed; the king and his whole household have started by mucking out the stables. To them, titles and rank matter very little and it shall teach you the humility and faith that you’ll need before you can feel at home on the back of a horse.”

Seeing the sense in his sober words, she nodded and—with tiny, trembling steps—she entered the box Éomer opened to her. “Have fun you two.”

As the days passed, Éomer was delighted to report to his sister that their new friend was getting along great with Finna—the young woman now moved confidently through the mare’s box and lavished scratches and pats on the welcoming beast.

“She’s brought an apple from her own orchard,” he said, brushing his hands against his leggings absent-mindedly, “and now the blasted beast seems to have grown used to be given only the best and sweetest fruit.”

Pride tinged his voice as he intimated that the young lady was almost ready.

Éowyn merely smiled enigmatically; she knew that the way to her brother’s heart was a dirt path marred by hooves and she sincerely hoped that the frail but brave lady would find the courage to go down that road.

It did not surprise her that her brother had made good progress with her—she trusted both Éomer and their horses intrinsically to overcome whatever fear someone might harbour for they were eminently reliable, kind, and charming.

A few days later, as she mused about taking a walk in the sun, she heard her name called loudly.

“Look,” Éomer cried, leading a very placid Finna down the square. On her broad, comfortable back sat the young lady, grinning blindingly and even going as far as to wave at Éowyn.

“Ah, good seat!” Éowyn praised. “Before long, you’ll be racing Éomer through the meadows. Be advised though—he is a cheater. Whatever steed he chooses, insist on swapping.”

At that, her brother gave a snorting laugh and shook his head. “The same goes for my sister,” he whispered conspiratorially at the lady who stared down at him with bulging eyes. “Come to think of it, rare are those who would challenge her—she’s dangerously reckless.”

“I doubt that I shall be up to that any time soon,” the lady muttered miserably.

“You don’t have to. Let’s work on you holding the reins and steering good, old Finna here. If you manage to do that and run a few errands for me—getting off and on the horse on your own—I shall take you to a lovely patch I know, and we shall have a picnic.”

Again, she blinked owlishly while Éowyn rolled her eyes in annoyance—it was just like Éomer to send the poor girl to do all the chores he wanted to avoid and pretend that it was for her own good and out of selfless goodwill on his part.

“Give me those reins,” the lady said resolutely and—with a last defiant gaze at Éomer’s self-satisfied face—she turned Finna around and rode off.

“Ah, brother…” Éowyn hooted, “it seems to me as if you had to run your errands yourself and—while you’re at it—I shall give you the household list as well. You’re the best; I knew I could count on you!”

@fellowshipofthefics: Here, have some more Éomer-bullying haha

Lots of love from me

-> Masterlist

[filmdesque]

CHARACTER TRAITS .

in the lists below, select all of the traits that you believe your muse embodies. for each category, bold, italicize, enlarge, & put in all caps (if you'd like) 2-3 of the most prominent characteristics of your muse. OPTIONAL DEEP DIVE STEP: under a cut, describe why you picked the 2-3 terms from each list for your muse.

positive . active. adaptable. adventurous. agreeable. alert. articulate. athletic. benevolent. calm. capable. caring. charismatic. charming. cheerful. clear-headed. clever. compassionate. confident. conscientious. considerate. contemplative. cooperative. courageous. creative. curious. daring. decisive. dedicated. deep. dignified. disciplined. discreet. dramatic. dutiful. dynamic. educated. efficient. eloquent. empathetic. energetic. enthusiastic. fair. faithful. flexible. focused. forgiving. freethinking. friendly. fun-loving. gallant. generous. gentle. good-natured. gracious. hardworking. helpful. honest. humble. humorous. idealistic. imaginative. INDEPENDENT. intelligent. intuitive. kind. leaderly. logical. loyal. mature. modest. observant. open. optimistic. organized. passionate. patient. perfectionist. persuasive. playful. practical. principled. protective. rational. reflective. resourceful. respectful. responsible. romantic. selfless. SENSITIVE. serious. sociable. spontaneous. stoic. studious. sympathetic. tolerant. trusting. understanding. vivacious. warm. wise. witty.

neutral . aggressive. ambitious. casual. competitive. deceptive. determined. emotional. intense. mellow. moralistic. obedient. outspoken. predictable. preoccupied. PRIVATE. proud. quiet. reserved. sarcastic. self-conscious. SKEPTICAL. strict. stubborn. unpredictable.

negative . ALOOF. angry. anxious. apathetic. argumentative. arrogant. assertive. blunt. boisterous. callous. careless. cautious. childish. clumsy. cold. conceited. conformist. cowardly. crass. crude. cruel. cynical. demanding. dependent. destructive. devious. dirty. dishonest. disloyal. disobedient. disorganized. disrespectful. disruptive. distractible. domineering. egocentric. envious. erratic. excitable. faithless. fearful. fiery. foolish. forgetful. frightening. greedy. gullible. hateful. hedonistic. hesitant. hostile. ignorant. impulsive. inconsiderate. indecisive. insecure. insensitive. intolerant. irrational. irresponsible. irritable. lazy. meddlesome. messy. miserable. moody. naive. narcissistic. neurotic. obnoxious. obsessive. opinionated. passive. pedantic. perverse. petty. power-hungry. presumptuous. pretentious. procrastinating. repressed. resentful. rowdy. sadistic. secretive. selfish. shallow. shy. slow. submissive. superstitious. SUSPICIOUS. tactless. tense. timid. troublesome. uncaring. uncooperative. unreliable. unstable. vindictive.

positive .

independent . call it the result of having to become the man of the house at a young age due to having an abusive father who became divorced from his mother, but jonathan learned how to advocate for himself and the people he loves at a very young age. a peacemaker at heart, he tends to try to deal with things privately, spending so much time in his head that it unfortunately can morph into a force that can weigh down on him and reinforce his depression.

sensitive . if there's one person in st who i think absorbs the energy around them like a sponge, it'd be jonathan. he is hyper-cognizant of the emotions of the people around him, and if they're someone someone he cares about he goes the extra mile, checking on them & asking if they're okay. something else jonathan does is reassure others even when they just appear to be distressed/anxious/etc, even if they aren't talking. he just assumes that they need reassurance - 99% of the time they do - without verbal prompting. he reads people like they're goddamn novels and really learns to understand them and what they need from him.

neutral .

private . call it a result of him being both aloof and independent, but jonathan is incredibly hesitant when it comes to actually sharing things with others. he regards his inner world and the workings of his mind something to be protected with every fiber of his being, and will only let that cage door open during moments of extreme emotional distress or where it's absolutely warranted to protect someone he cares about. it takes a lot of time, patience, and showing jonathan you're someone he can trust before he lets you into that inner world of his. he only has so much time to internally protect the people he already cares about, but if he's willing to put that energy in for you, you've found yourself a very close, very loyal friend with a bond that cannot be easily broken.

skeptical . it's pretty safe to say that jonathan is not an easy believer in things that can't be proven. he didn't believe his mom when she said that will was in the lights, and wasn't willing to extend the benefit of the doubt to nancy when she became curious about the potential connection to the upside down that billy and mrs. driscoll had. if you want to convince jonathan of something, you need to prove it to him, ideally with sensory information that he can directly and objectively experience and measure. in this sense, jonathan is extremely practical, grounded in real-world affairs and how things actually operate around him, instead of engaging in the comfortable imagination of theoretical matters. his skepticism is also very likely the byproduct of his fears of letting new people and new information into what often feels like an incredibly fragile existence, especially given everything he and his family had been through. as we've established, jonathan is extremely protective of his inner world, and he is not very kind to new information that can be a threat to that inner world, especially if that information hasn't directly been proven to him yet.

negative .

aloof . it's no secret that jonathan is incredibly introverted and somewhat awkward when it comes to social interactions, particularly (sudden & unplanned) one-to-one interactions with strangers. he tends to be moody with a lot of newcomers, especially if they've shown they may somehow be a threat to him or the people he cares about, and isn't particularly skilled when it comes to navigating social interactions. he tries to keep a cool head, only resorting to aggression and/or violence when it comes to self-defense and defending the honor of people he cares about or when he's faced with a difficult decision. but overall he's a huge introvert who prefers to indulge in his hobbies rather than become involved with social matters, moving along grumpily and with haste whenever he's forced to.

suspicious . this trait of jonathan's is very much connected to his skepticism; if something can't be empirically proven or demonstrated to him, he immediately regards that something as something to be suspected, never something to be trusted. his lack of trust in others also often manifests as him being suspicious of them and of their motives; he's so used to being seen as a social outcast, withdrawn from the rest of the world, that someone else couldn't possibly want anything to do with him unless if it means getting something out of him. it all stems from his desire to keep himself safe, not wanting to involve himself with something if it can easily turn the hurt around on him. it can take a while to prove to jonathan that you can be trusted with your motives, and that trusting relationship can be sparked if the process works the other way around - specifically, if jonathan finds something in you that he can use to benefit both of you and your relationship. in a sense, he strongly prefers symbiotic relationships than parasitic, or even commensalistic, ones.

[sephicircle]

Inverted: Chapter One

A fictional story based on bridgerton

Dearest gentle reader,

As the season unfurls its petals with the promise of new alliances and courtships, it is with a flourish of my quill that I, Lady Whistledown, bring to light the latest commotion stirring the hearts and ambitions of our illustrious ton. The arrival of the Duke of Clarence, with the avowed intent of seeking a bride, has set the wheels of rumor and matchmaking into a frenetic whirlwind.

The Duke, a gentleman of considerable charm and position, has not only captured the imaginations of our city's young ladies but has also sent their matriarchs into a flurry of strategizing and scheming. The air is thick with anticipation, and the salons and ballrooms of London buzz with whispers of potential matches. Yet, it is not solely the Duke's eligible status that has the ton in a tizzy, but also whispers of a most magnificent gemstone necklace in his possession—a bauble so exquisite, it is rumored to rival even the resplendence of the royal jewels themselves.

This tantalizing tidbit has added fuel to the matrimonial fire, with every mama of marriageable daughters dreaming of seeing such a necklace grace the décolletage of her offspring. The fervor has reached such heights that the modistes of our city find themselves besieged by a veritable army of matriarchs, each more desperate than the last to commission gowns that will render their daughters irresistible to the Duke's discerning eye. It is a scene of such comic desperation that one cannot help but be amused at the lengths to which these ambitious matriarchs will go to secure a match.

In this grand game of matrimonial chess, where mothers maneuver and daughters dazzle, the Duke of Clarence remains the most coveted prize. Yet, as every seasoned player knows, the outcome of the game is as unpredictable as the English weather. Will the Duke find his bride among the bevy of beauties vying for his attention, or will the allure of the gemstone necklace prove to be the most decisive matchmaker of all?

As the season unfolds, rest assured, dear readers, that I shall keep a vigilant eye on developments, ready to share the latest gossip and intrigue. For in the world of high society, where fortunes can be made or lost with a single dance, the next twist in the tale is but a heartbeat away.

Lady Whistledown

In the quiet hours of the morning, when the world outside the Hawthorne estate was still cloaked in the soft embrace of dawn, the young Miss Amelia Hawthorne found herself ensconced in the comforting confines of her bedchamber, a frown marring her usually serene features. Her faithful lady in waiting, Grace, moved about the room with the silence and efficiency that had always characterized her service, but even her gentle presence could not soothe the tempest brewing within Amelia.

"Mama insists I must look 'just so' for the Duke of Clarence," Amelia lamented, her voice a blend of frustration and resignation as she sat upright in her bed, the luxurious quilts pooling around her waist. “As if the right gown or the perfect hairstyle could sway the heart of a duke!"

Grace, placing a carefully selected array of dresses upon the chaise for Amelia’s inspection, offered a sympathetic smile. "It's not just the gown or the hair, Miss Amelia. It's the grace with which you wear them, and nobody can rival your grace when you set your mind to it."

Amelia sighed, her gaze drifting to the window where the first light of day began to erase the shadows of the night. "And now, with Lady Whistledown's latest issue, the entire ton will descend upon our home, each lady dressed in her very best, all vying for the Duke's attention. It is absurd! I must compete in my own house for the affections of a man I do not even want."

Grace continued her tasks, her movements graceful and measured. "Miss Amelia, if I may be so bold, it's not a competition if your heart is not in it to win it. Perhaps this is an opportunity to show not just the Duke, but everyone, that you are more than just a beautiful face to be admired. You have wit, intelligence, and kindness—qualities that far outshine any jewel or gown."

Amelia’s frown deepened, the corners of her mouth turning down in thought. "But what of my parents' expectations? They so dearly want this match, or any advantageous match, really. It feels as though I'm trapped in a play where I know not my lines nor the plot."

Grace approached Amelia, her expression earnest. "Your parents want your happiness above all, Miss Amelia. Perhaps it's time to have a frank conversation with them about what truly makes you happy. Besides, who's to say the Duke won't see and appreciate the real you, beyond the silk and satin?"

Amelia chuckled, a brief respite from her worries. "Imagine that, Grace. A Duke who looks beyond the surface. Lady Whistledown would have a field day writing about such a novelty."

The moment of levity between Amelia and Grace was abruptly interrupted as the door to the bedchamber flew open with a burst of youthful energy. In tumbled Amelia’s younger sisters, Lily and Rose, their faces alight with excitement and curiosity, a stark contrast to the contemplative mood that had enveloped the room moments before.

“Mama was trying to stop us, but we simply had to know!” Lily exclaimed, her eyes wide with the thrill of the forbidden interruption.

Rose, barely catching her breath from the excitement, chimed in, “Is it true, Amelia? Will you really be marrying the Duke of Clarence? Will we truly be sisters to a duchess?”

Their bombardment of questions was closely followed by the appearance of their mother at the doorway, her expression a mix of exasperation and apology. “Girls, I told you to wait. Amelia needs her rest before tonight’s ball,” she scolded gently, yet her eyes held a softness that spoke of her understanding of their excitement.

Turning to Amelia, she offered an apologetic smile. “I’m sorry, my dear. They’ve been quite beside themselves since hearing the news of the Duke’s attendance tonight. You know how children can be, always dreaming of fairy tales and grandeur.”

Amelia, despite the earlier tension and her own reservations, couldn’t help but laugh at the infectious enthusiasm of her sisters. Their innocence and excitement momentarily lifted the weight from her shoulders, reminding her of the joy and wonder she herself had felt at their age.

“Lily, Rose,” Amelia began, her voice laced with affection and a hint of playful reprimand, “there’s no talk of marriage yet. Tonight is simply a ball, a chance for us all to enjoy the company of friends and perhaps make some new ones. And as for becoming sisters to a duchess, well, let’s not get ahead of ourselves.”

The young girls giggled, their imaginations already running wild with the possibilities that the evening could bring. Their mother, taking advantage of their brief distraction, ushered them towards the door, promising more details later if they behaved and allowed Delilah to prepare in peace.

As the room quieted once more, Amelia turned to Grace, a small smile playing on her lips. “Thank you, Grace. For everything. No matter what tonight brings, I’m glad to have you and my family by my side.”

Grace returned the smile, her eyes warm with affection. “Always, Miss Amelia. Now, let’s make sure you’re ready to dazzle them all, not for the Duke or for Lady Whistledown, but for yourself.”

[notmuchtoconceal]

Juliane Moore was the only Clarice who was man enough to turn Hannibal into Will, and this first of many revisionist takes is far more offensive to heterosexual men than than the version where they're gay lovers, for in that one at least Hannibal is still the top. The pussy, you understand, is the formative wound from which all life springs, and men only have organs suitable for fertilization. To even contemplate the anus as pseudo-pussy, it seems, requires considerable imagination, which is strange, as I had always thought the definitive quality of heterosexual men was to see pussies everywhere, but perhaps this was my own projection, the pussy being first and foremost a wound.

Maybe the quality which makes women charming, vivacious and smart is that everything men regard as a wound, they regard as the head of a potential spring :-- some women loving men so purely, as their love of men can remain purely theoretical, as some men can love women purely, their love of women remains theoretical. Theoretically, it would be calamitous for the state of the human species if every member of the opposite sex only theoretically loved each other, but in truth, this would take such a considerable degree of brainwashing, the only reason I'm willing to humor it is as even a remote possibility is some incidental late onset bisexuality which I'd realized eclipsed me from my primal instincts through circuitous rationalizations.

Fear avoidance can become so extreme it absolute induces repressions and splinters in the personality. I think many young men are highly enticed by the idea of MK Ultra brainwashing for they deeply identify with being trauma programmed. It's a bit like the cute wrestler boy in the Breakfast Club's line about being a winner being conditioned like a racehorse. Fine physical specimens of either sex are high in demand, because they're high potential revenue. That's all it is. Our natural empathic capacities to sensually bond are a liability in an ostensibly post-imperial Neoliberal order where impure thought needs to be weeded out by corporate dictate because we simply don't have the time or the resources to give working people the time to talk or heal or do the self-work they would need to survive in an atomized crumbling republic where they're constantly being conditioned by advertisers and the media for we've come to collectively value the profit motive as most important and only. More important than family, but we can't say that, for we need family to uphold business relations. Why would our family be our family if they knew we valued money more than them, unless we too valued money more than family? What family could you be with someone who refuses to value family? Simply put, you must eat them alive. Have no guilt when you kill, for I deem you will kill only justly, it not being worth the years of torture if you did it for fun. Anyway, women are pleasant enough, but I fear I suspect all women are businesswomen at heart, and in fact that mother is the key link between Italians, Catholicism and the Mafia. Everybody does what mama wants done, and mama wants her boys to run cartels for her. Every Mafioso, you know -- he's ultimately a good man, for he loves his mother. The Mother is always right there with the Devil, for she is the only one who can love him. The only one who can truly enable him, and truly be his Most Perfect Instrument. A mother -- if she can't think rationally, why she's liable to incite men to world religions, she really thinks he's the best! Anyway, women are interested in material affairs like resources and family, and serving them is a part of one's manhood, but if one's heart does not belong to the material, one's heart cannot belong to a woman, unless she is a woman who forsakes her fertility, in a sense, by preserving it.

This is the paradoxical allure of chastity. To always have it, but never. It's so much fun. It stirs one to all manner of intriguing diversions. When two people know well enough to leave each other alone, they're irreversibly prone to all manner of theater and subterfuge. If one fucks all the time, I find it either gets old, or requires increasingly byzantine elaboration. The foreplay is the best part, and only gets better the longer, the stranger and the more elaborate it comes. Why, I think is simple truth isn't only why people write spy novels, it's why they become spies!

Juliane Moore is a ballbuster, for she's a clever girl, you see. When you squish the ball, it makes the cum come out. Stupid boys never seem to realize that, because they don't like it when their goo-goos hurt. This is a man, you understand, who right along with H. R. Giger took one look at James Cameron and the Alien Queen and went exactly. Hmmm-hmmm. Yes. Yes, this is exactly where I was going with this. Excellent work.

Remember when he had Tim Curry embody Darkness Itself? Darkness Who Announced Itself Brother? Tim Curry who we know well As The Transsexual Self-Generative Intellect? Why, we love Tim Curry, but we of course -- recognize that Tim Curry is both a man, and a vehicle for something more. Ridley Scott recognizes that a complete man is a woman and a woman is a complete man, and he's not so covetous of this, but openly admirable. His most classic films -- Alien, Blade Runner -- show a fascination with technologically generating artificial life, in one sense as othered monstrosity, in another as empathic mirror (you will think always of Harrison Ford in the rain, mutely committing to memory Rutger Hauer's improvised closing monologue.) A mania for co-opting the womb is core to the Frankenstein complex, and so a part of any technological-oriented man's self-development. When I think about it in this way, I wonder if heterosexual men are constantly resolving things for each other, and so if one wishes to retain a definitive auteur aura, one needs to be a particularly sharp self-promoter or else maintain some air of exclusivity. (The goal here is in pinpointing the source of fascination. What makes one truly distinct? Another seemingly common, when all men are irrefutably unique?) Men who appear totally opaque are often far more intriguing once you've had some time to parse their influences and see the ways in which -- while undeniably themselves -- still remain a part of vibrant traditions, working from the same sources. It humanizes them. To see the component parts gives you some semblance of the structure, and you can see learning is so much easier than scaling a monolith, for you are taking it one brick at a time. The DNA always remains the same. It takes considerable adapted incompatibilities to become no longer viable.

joe

[scribblertown]

Fates of the Fateless Ch. 3: But Second Impressions are What Really Matter

How’s about a proper hello without a pistol in the face.

ao3

wattpad

“Remind me of yer name again deary?” Asked Bessie, the sweet older blonde woman.  

 Your response is utterly pathetic and small, exhaustion was evident in your voice.

 “Oh of course! What a lovely name it is. Suits such a pretty young woman such as you.” The two of you wound up sharing a wagon alongside her mutually charming husband Hosea. Both incredibly chatty and total jokesters. The second you set foot on their wagon she swooped in to chat you up. “Believe me, I’m the one named after a Heifer! Ahahah!” she had such a strong and jovial chuckle she’d let out at her wise cracks, slapping her leg and throwing her head back every time she did.  

 “Well, I’ve never seen a bovine as lovely as you Bess.” Hosea piped up to the left of his wife, both seated on the wooden stage in front leading the line of wagons to what Dutch had called a semi-permanent residence. “In fact, your appetite for alfalfa is what made me fall for ya.” he grabbed her hand and brought it to his lips before grinning up at her.

 “Well, I fell in love with yer money.” She brought his hand to her lips this time. “And you ain’t all that ugly to look at either.” She gave him a dazzling smile that reached her eyes. Holding each other’s gazes with a fit of giggles before a kiss was shared between the couple.

 “You got a sweetheart dear?” Bessie called back to you, eyes forward and hand interlocked with Hosea’s.

 Your eyes roll before you can think not to. “No…”

 “Really?!” she turned to look at you, her eyes wide and eyebrows raised considerably. “Lovely thing like you should have suitors lined up for miles!” she had longer lashes on her top lids compared to her bottom ones, fanning out at the ends extending the length of her eye.

 “How long until we get to… Where was it again?” diverging the conversation to anything other than dating. Especially the same damn conversation you’ve already had with every old woman you’ve encountered trying to save their grandsons love life.

 “Surssparilla peak. Nice little patch of rock overlooking the local town. Got a good water source too.” Your pretty sure Hosea meant to say sarsaparilla, “should be there by tomorrow afternoon. Morning if we’re lucky.” You guessed by the time everyone had packed up and set out after your little fiasco it was well into the afternoon that you actually departed.

 “Gonna be a long ride then…” you rested your chin on your arms that in turn rested on your knees. Gaze wandering out the back toward the wagon following you while Bessie and Hosea got caught up in their own little conversation.  You recognized the two drivers as the same men you had stowed away with on your escape. The dirty blonde had the reins while the dark-haired kid sat appearing to be ranting about something. His face a scowl, hunched over with one hand on his right thigh while his left took to emphasizing whatever he was saying every once and a while. He looked pretty young, if you had to guess he must have been 18-19 years old. His hair was greasy looking and long, reaching to his shoulders. You imagined if you touched it your fingers would come away with oil. He was a lanky kid, skinny and small. At least compared to his companion.

Your eyes then drifted to the absolute beast of a man that sat next to him. He was intimidating, even when just sitting. You could make out two little scars on his chin, in contrast with the darker stubble that was just long enough to be considered a beard. Your eyes traveled the expanse of his face the best you could from 15 feet away, another scar over his nose. Slowing coming to meet his eyes, shaded by his hat. You felt yourself stiffen. Thick eyebrows furrowed slightly; his gaze focused on you. Still just as intense. Studying you in such a way you began to feel self-conscious, only managing to hold his stare for so long before you broke, switching your attention to the surrounding desert terrain that passed slowly.

  You’re pretty sure his eyes are blue.

 -------------------------------------------------------------------------------

“Over here is where you’ll be sleeping along with me and the other girls. Claim your spot and don’t move from it.” Susan Grimshaw, or Miss Grimshaw to you as she so eagerly corrected, began showing you around the camp the group managed to set up in the early hours of morning you all managed to arrive. One you embarrassingly slept through, but Bessie insisted you needed the rest. It was set on the same red colored sandstone the majority of this country seemed to be made out of. Shaded by an array of very old and big Juniper trees that seemed to flourish here. Probably because of the nearby creek that brought an array of green to such a desolate land. Beyond the hills edge a town could be seen settled at the base.

“Over there is Pearson’s kitchen, you’ll be given your share of food in the mornings, evenings, and nights. But don’t get greedy, we all have to eat. Here Strauss is the doc of the camp, try and keep injuries to a minimum. We only got so much supplies.” She walked at such a rate that you could barely take in what you were seeing trying to keep up with her. You almost didn’t return the wave Pearson casually made in your direction.

“You’ll be expected to carry your own weight around here, there are always chores to be done, especially the cookin’ and laundry.” She had made a full circle around the little set up they’d made, briefly pointing out the difference in the water for drinking and washing before you found your attention drifting.

 Some of the men had built a little firepit where they’d made themselves comfortable, sipping at coffee just outside of their own sleeping area. Including Dutch and Hosea who were chatting happily with the rest of the boys. Mr. blue eyes and lanky kid of course were there, and then the other two men you had yet to really encounter. A dark-haired man who seemed transfixed on his cup. Next to him sat Uncle. His name is just Uncle as far as you knew, laughing his ass off at whatever Dutch had said. Face red and plump. He reminded you of a hobo Santa clause.

 The ring of your name quickly pulled you from your head finding Dutch smiling warmly, waving you over.

 “Come meet the boys!” Hosea piped up next to him.  

 You turned your sights back to Grimshaw who simply waved you off.

 “Off you go. Put you to work when yer formalities are done.” Leaving your side to join the other women. You approached the campfire at a brisk walk, not too fast but not too slow. Their eyes all transfixed on you. Hosea reached for your hand as you soon as you were close enough, giving it a squeeze and a reassuring look.

 “How are ya today my dear?” gentle and calm, like he was afraid of spooking you if he was too loud.

 You gave a slow shrug, eyes focused on where your hands met. “Better I suppose…” Another pause before you spoke again, “Thank you for asking.” You brought your eyes to his, they were filled with pity.

 “Good to hear, now how’s about we all get better acquainted, hm?” he stood from his seat hand now on your shoulder to gently turn you to the other men. “The dandy in the fancy pants is Dutch Van der Linde, he’s my business partner and long-time friend of many years.”

 “Hello my dear, just know if you need anything you can come to us two old coots.” His hand found yours in a brief handshake, his grip strong and the cold metal of his rings pressed into your palm. “I apologize for the distasteful greeting you received on our first meeting.”

 “No worries Mr. Van der Linde. Can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same.”

 “This troublemaker,” Hosea wound his way behind the next fella, hands gripping his shoulders in a playful manner. “Is little John Marston.”

 “Hey! Quit it!” John’s distinct gravelly voice confirmed you’re suspicions in his place as the other driver. “I ain’t a kid no more!” he shoved off Hosea’s grip with a scowl and a red face. He briefly gave you a look before looking away. “Hi…” was all you got out of him.

 Before Hosea could speak up for him, blue eyes stood and removed his hat from his head. “Arthur Morgan, nice to meet you ma’am.” He gave a slight bow of his head. His eyes were indeed blue, complimented by green.

 “Arthur is the muscle ‘round here, so if anyone gives you trouble, he’ll knock some sense into ‘em.” Hosea gave him a good smack on the arm. “Yeah, he may look scary, but he’s a real soft-hearted fella.” You didn’t quite believe that. “So much so I have to wonder what lovely poems you write in that little journal of yours. Will we ever get to hear you recite just how much a romantic you are?”

 “Hosea please…” Arthur rolled his eyes, only slightly annoyed by Hosea’s teasing. They must do this to him a lot.

 “Only teasin’ Arthur. You make it too easy for me!”

 “The mopey fellow there is William O’brien. Don’t let him talk your ear off.” Dutch spoke in a sarcastic manner, clearly pokin’ fun at his quiet demeanor.

 “Ain’t much ta say. Got a ragin’ headache.” His hair was dark and short, a matching beard that covered just the lower half of his face leaving his upper cheeks and lip clean shaven. His eyes brows were unruly and wild. Eyes hazel in color and framed by hooded eyelids. The right one a drift slightly. “Nice ta have a new skirt around. Tired’a lookin’ at dese fairies.” He gestured to the rest of the men.

 “Well ya’ll are such charmers aren’t ya?” Uncle stood next “Don’t know how to act in the company of such a fine lady.” He brushed his shirt off before going for your hand. “The names uncle madame.” he attempted to bring his lips to the back of your hand before you quickly snatched it back.

 “No no no! A simple hello is FINE.” He was caught in his pre hand kissing position for a moment before he just shrugged and he returned to his seat.

 “Don’t listen to anything this bum has to say. It’s usually to free load off ya.” Dutch clearly amused at the little scene. “Oh! That reminds me.” He dug into his vest pocket before pulling out some money. “I believe this belongs to you.”

 You ponder taking it for a moment, “Keep it, not like it’s all that much anyway.”

 Dutch made a double take at you, shocked and somewhat amused. “Not much? Well, we must have quite the aristocrat in our midst!” He chuckled.

 “I-I don’t want to be a burden to you all, so if it’ll help you out, it’s yours.” You rubbed the back of your neck slightly debating whether or not to confess the origins of the cash. “It’s.. not exactly mine to begin with��”

 “Stolen money hm? And pray tell where it came from?” He sounded interested, intrigued. But not angry.

 “The sheriff. Back in Redrock where I stumbled upon you lot.” You met Dutch’s gaze. “It was an impulsive action, a-and I feel awful about it…” To your surprise Dutch gripped your shoulder, giving it a tender squeeze.

 “My dear, we have a saying around here.” He looked like he was relieved to hear your confession, as if he’d had a weight lifted off his own shoulders. “Shoot fellas as need shootin,” you stiffened at such an utterance. “save fellas as need savin’ and feed ‘em as need feedin’.” His voice was gentle and eerily calm. “I believe you took this money ‘cause it was what you needed.”

 “And last we saw the sheriff; he was doin’ fine.” Hosea chimed in, giving you a similar look of relief. “If anybody had done him harm, it was those O’driscoll boys.”

 You remained quiet for a moment before breathing out a long sigh of air. Partially from relief, partially from the guilt pressing down on your chest. Taking the bills in your hand you pulled out just the one. $10, the smallest amount donning the face of a man you didn’t recognize, returning the two $20’s back to Dutch. “You keep the rest.” You didn’t wait for him to argue, simply turned to return to Grimshaw.

 “If she doesn’t want it, can I have it?”

 “Shut it Uncle!”

[animehideout]

Hi! Love your writing! (◔‿◔) And I wanted to ask if you could do a reaction where the Tokyo Revengers boys (Mikey, Draken, Baji and Chifuyu. You can put anyone else if you want.) Where their s/o is similar to Nezuko from Demon Slayer. You don't have to do it but if you do, thank you! (ﾉ◕ヮ◕)ﾉ*.✧

A/n : thank you so much for requesting. This is the first request so I really hope you enjoy it ❣️.

Nezuko is so cute, innocent and small yet so caring and strong. She takes a good care of her family and friends.

Tokyo revengers boys reaction to s/o similar to Nezuko.

Draken:

• You know how big and tall Draken is. So having a small cuddly s\o would make him really protective of you.

• He thinks that your height is super cute comparing to him.

• He likes to rest his arm on the top of your head to tease you and see your cute pouty face.

• Draken is a tough guy feared by many but when he’s with you, he tends to be childlike.

• He has a soft spot for you, he cherishes you the most. Likes to cuddle with you anytime, anywhere the most important thing is you being protected in his embrace.

• Sometimes you catch him staring at you with heart eyes, there’s something about you that’s charming.

• He likes your skin, he always tells you that your skin is soft like marshmallow. He leaves sweet kisses all over you arm, shoulders up to your face.

• He also admires your caring and motherly side. You take a good care of him especially when he’s injured or just exhausted after a fight.

•He likes to call you kitten or babygirl.

• He likes giving you backhugs , his hands travelling to rub your stomach.

• Wants to marry you as soon as possible.

Mikey:

• The cutest couple to ever exist.

Both of you goof around a lot.

• Mikey has a lot of enemies so expect him to be extremely protective.

• He's aware of how strong you actually are and that you can protect yourself, but he can’t help it because he sees you as a soft delicate young lady.

• Another thing he appreciates about you is how attentive and thoughtful you are .

•You remember small details about him like his favorite snack his favorite food , his favorite type of motorcycles…

• You treat him very well, and you’re the only one that can take the burden off of his shoulders.

• Both of you are always sleepy especially after eating. Most of the time you spend your date at home taking a nap after eating a lot of delicious food.

• Both of you would sleep in each other’s arms . warm and nice ( imagine cuddling with Mikey uwu ).

• He likes to call you lowkey cheesy names like sweet cupcake or honey ( hopeless romantic ).

• Mikey loves pecking your lips. They’re pouty and adorable which makes him want to taste them.

• Trust me both of you are just made for each other.

Baji:

• This man loves how determined and committed you are.

• He admires the fact that despite your small and delicate figure you’re in fact a strong powerful woman.

• He just brags about having you as his s\o.

• He lives for your duality. He loves your soft side as much as your sharp side.

• Sometimes he teases you and tries to make you angry just so he can enjoy you cute angry face.

• It drives him crazy when you act protective of him and sometimes it turns him on. He thinks it’s hot.

• Baji forgets to take care of himself sometimes ( doesn’t get enough sleep , skips meals , gets injured ..) he sometimes does that on purpose so you can take care of him.

• He knows how responsible you are, so he enjoys himself when you shower him with your acts of services.

•He loves it when you offer to give him a massage , he melts under your touches, and he always tells you that you have magical hands that are able to take all the pain away.

• When you’re in your badass mode he likes to tease you and call you ‘my little devil ’ however when you’re being all cuddly and goofy which is 98% of the time he calls you ‘love or darling' .

• He loves kissing your neck and likes poking your sides he thinks it’s cute and funny when you jump because you’re a ticklish baby uwu.

Chifuyu:

• This soft boy omg.

• Chifuyu loves everything about you. He always tells you how flawless you are.

• Everyone calls you the vanilla duo.

• He appreciates your selfless and considerate nature.

•You’re just so caring and ready to sacrifice yourself just for your family and friends.

• He’s really grateful of the small acts that you do to please him.

• You always leave cute little notes for him, it just makes his whole day.

• He believes that you’re an angel who was sent to make him the happiest.

• He praises you a lot, he tells you how beautiful, strong and special you are.

• You’re just different and unique in his eyes.

• This man LOVES your hair . his face is always buried in your hair inhaling the delicious smell.

•He makes cute comments like “ babe your hair always smells really good it smells like candy” “I can stay like this forever” “did you change your shampoo?” . he pays attention to the smallest details.

• He loves kissing your cheeks and booping your nose.

• He often calls you cute pet names like princess , babe , sweetheart .

• Aah he’s so romantic.

Note : gifs are not mine, credits to the owner.

[kiillerqueen]

❝ You're not wrong I do have a lot of work ahead of me to restore something that should have never been tarnished in the first place. I want you to know Luis that I have great respect for you and I do appreciate the offer in helping me if needed. Which I am not going to shy away from being honest that there is a great chance that is going to have to be an option. You're right , and like my wife likes to say I can't blame myself for being fooled by a snake like him. It really is a shame that not many men not only in our world but in the world in general listen to women when they try and help. Believe me my sister will be the first person to tell you if something is wrong or share information she probably shouldn't but will be beneficial the end. Somehow she gets in tell on things you wouldn't even imagine. There was this guy's son that was basically sent to charm my sister , and of course she knew he was a family enemy because our father always let her in on information he shouldn't have. In this case it worked out in his favour. Not that this is something she does often but she played the stereotypical dumb blonde and convinced him she didn't know anything of how business works. This moron hand fed her his father's plan on how he planned to take him out. of course she relayed this information to him and he still here today. So my advice is if she tells you something doesn't feel completely right it'd be a good idea to take it into consideration. ❞ Declan knew that his sister would hate that he shared such a story about her to Luis , but in his mind it was to help him feel comfortable with trusting his wife to be. ❝ Amelia is a hard person to crack her shell , and being vulnerable with you isn't going to come easy for her. Just make sure you let her know you're there for her in whatever way you can. ❞ Declan isn't concerned that Luis won't be capable of taking care of his sister. It is more of the fact that he worries that she is going to guard herself from him due to the past failed relationships. It does make him nervous about giving the responsibility of taking care of Amelia to someone else , but he knows that he and Violet are wanting to start a family and his priorities will need to be on them and not his sister anymore. ❝ I trust my sister will be in good hands with you , and I mean it if you need my help with her on anything don't hesitate. ❞ The last part is more of him still trying to hold onto his baby sister as much as he could. Even though he does know that it isn't possible. She isn't a young girl anymore , she is a grown woman that is getting prepared to marry the man before him. ❝ I am sure that she will at some point , but there is no promises that she will realize it right away. It may not seem like it yet but something tells me that you two are going to be perfectly fine once you figure each other out. ❞ Declan gives him a smile in hopes that the male believes his words. //@thewcllingtons

❝ You have hard work ahead of you if your aim is to impress, but luckily for you, I can help with that if you need it. Hey, sometimes you don't know, and it's better late than before it's too late— And good thing you listened to your wife. I know a lot of people just ignore that information. You seem very lucky to have her. I can only hope that Amelia and I end up in a similiar place. ❞ Luis hadn't spent too much time with the femme. From the way that she grilled him during their meeting, he knew she meant business. She put a lot of effort into finding out what his values/morals are which was refreshing to see. That conversation along with Declan's line of questioning is why he felt comfortable with this marriage in the first place. He took mental note of what he said. He wanted to be prepared for anything Amelia might try to throw at him. ❝ Alright... I've been pretty clear about communication, and I'll get that point across to her. ❞

Luis knew that this would be a big responsibility for him to take. Still, he wanted to make sure that he brought some value to this family outside of monetary/political reasons. They seemed like good people. He loved how much her family seemed to care about her. In a way, it made him jealous. He knew their parents didn't make it easy, but they all obviously cared about each other. He wanted a piece of that for himself. He'd even take a sliver. ❝ I know... Thank you. I know it's not an easy thing but it will be easier knowing that I have you for help. ❞ Giving the older male a small smile. He liked having this level of responsibility even though he knew it is difficult. ❝ I don't care if she makes it difficult. As long as she can understand where I'm coming from, I'll be able to work it out... Thank you, and I wish the the same for you as well. ❞ //@kiillerqueen

[ddarker-dreams]

Yan Childe, Diluc, Kaeya, Zhongli, Beidou & Ningguang / Courting Darling.

Warnings: Stalking, implied blackmail, kidnapping, and gaslighting. Note: this is a bit of an amalgamation from different asks i’ve gotten, put into one thing bc i thirst for these six characters so hard .

Childe:

“What’s life without a little adventure? You can stand to miss work for a day or two, it’ll still be there waiting for you when we get back. People have even gone so far as to say I’m an absolute joy to be around. You want to know who said that? Sorry, that source is staying a secret.” 

Childe is an erratic whirlwind of highs and lows. You never know what to expect from him, and he likes it that way, always keeping you on your toes. He doesn’t bother with having his friendliness appear genuine. If you want to doubt his goodwill, then so be it, he won’t stop you. It just makes it all the more interesting to keep you around should you be wary of his presence. 

He doesn’t care for the traditional conventions surrounding romance. It isn’t his thing, and he’s used to being considered the odd one out of every crowd, so why stop now? Childe doesn’t tone down any aspects of his bloodthirsty personality in your presence. It’s difficult to tell how serious he’s being since most of it takes the form of jokes or other lighthearted jests. In his mind, the fact he’s even spending so much time with you should make it obvious he’s interested. Whether that’s good or not. 

You’re going to be dragged all over the place. Childe’s stamina is seemingly an infinite well, as he takes you from activity to activity. By the end of the day, you’ll be exhausted. Unfortunately, he doesn’t take no for an answer, weaseling his way into your schedule despite your protests. Childe is particularly fond of getting into situations where a fight is inevitable, purposefully taking you to areas with monsters to show off his combat prowess. 

“Did you get a look at that, [First]? Aha, I haven’t had this much fun in ages! You already want to head back? Hm, I don’t know, the night is still young. Stop dragging your feet or I might just have to carry you. Not that I’m complaining, should that be the outcome. It’s up to you. Oh! Now that’s the spirit! I’ll try not to be hurt by how fast you’re moving now.” 

Diluc: 

“Ah, [First], I take it you’re doing well. I couldn’t help but notice you eyeing this book at the market earlier. I’ve had a copy of it for ages, but with how busy things are, rarely do I have time to read. I’d be appreciative should you accept this and give it a better home.” 

Diluc is self-assured in many areas of his life, romance is not one of them. He knows how to carry himself in the company of businessmen, staying polite and vigilant, but this rigid method doesn’t work in his favor when it comes to wooing you. To soften the blow on his side, Diluc tells himself that it was never about a relationship anyway. That his main priority was and will always be to ensure your safety. He tells himself this, but... isn’t sure if he really believes it. 

He’s a perfect example of pining from afar. Subconsciously, he’ll drift towards areas you tend to linger around, hoping to spot you amidst the bustling crowds. Each time he tells himself that this’ll finally be the time he approaches you. The opportunity is set before him, waiting to be taken advantage of, but he rarely follows through with his desire. 

It frustrates Diluc to no end how easily others flock to you. He’ll stand there, still as a statue, eyes boring into whatever pest currently holds your attention. This would be the push to finally send him your way. It’s a surprise to you both when Mondstadt’s wine tycoon materializes by your side, politely asking to speak in private. Truth be told, he just can’t stand the thought of another person holding your attention that isn’t him. 

“I apologize for my abruptness back there. There’s something I’ve been meaning to ask you about for some time, and well... would you consider having dinner with me tonight? I’d appreciate your company.” 

Kaeya:

“It’s a funny thing, really. How we keep bumping into one another like this. Ah... that suspicious expression, it wounds me deep, sweetheart. When did you start looking at me like that, I wonder?” 

There’s no doubting Kaeya’s interest in you, from the first time he sauntered over to you and started a conversation. The problem you have is deciding how genuine his advances are. While Kaeya might not be the textbook definition of a heart-wrenching playboy, you’re familiar enough with the many rumors surrounding him to be wary. It doesn’t help that he’ll point this out to you when guessing the source of your apprehension. 

His methods are, oddly enough, effective. Kaeya balances the various aspects of seduction with ease. He reveals just enough about himself to draw out your attention, before focusing the conversation back onto you. You’ll never get to stop and realize how little you know about the man sitting in front of you, he makes certain of that.

Kaeya might hide certain aspects of himself, but his dubious morality is never concealed. He has you entirely wrapped around his finger, words validating his actions falling from his lips with the utmost ease; he’s a force to be reckoned with. You’ll start a conversation heated about something you’ve learned, only for it to end wondering why you were ever upset in the first place.

“Now, now, there’s no need to get all riled up over something like this. Don’t you trust me by now? When have I ever given you reason to doubt me? You need to take a look at the bigger picture. Hey, take a seat. I’ll sit here all night explaining to you if it’s necessary.” 

→[More underneath the cut].

Zhongli: 

“There must be something that I can assist you with. It may not look it, but I’m familiar with many fields of work, even obscure ones. Please allow me to lend a hand.” 

Zhongli, despite having been around for many centuries, is somewhat clueless in romantic pursuits. He’s aware of his fondness for you, but doesn’t know what to do with it. This leads him to becoming your shadow for some time. He focuses on what he knows best: observation and processing new information. Your every little movement will be analyzed and tuck into the back of his mind for later usage. 

Zhongli’s soft over the idea of you coming to rely on him for everything. He prides himself on his wealth of knowledge and work ethic, believing it a strong appeal, one that he puts on full display when you’re around. It’s not rare for you to overhear neighbors and friends speak highly about Zhongli. They’ll mention in passing how they were having difficulty with something, only for Zhongli to come around and help without asking for anything in return. 

This is exactly what he’s been hoping and waiting for. Zhongli has patience and sets himself up to be a desirable partner in your eyes, the efforts from his labor coming into fruition. Before you even speak to him for the first time, you’re likely to think highly of him, having heard all the ways he’s helped people close to you. Now that the stage is properly set, he’s ready to make his interest in you more evident. 

“I’ve heard a lot about you, [First]. Oh? You can say the same for me? Well, I hope I can live up to your expectations. I had just been on my way to Yanshang Teahouse, would you care to join me? My treat, of course.” 

Beidou: 

“You haven’t lived until you’ve experienced a voyage with my crew and I. I’ll set up a nice cabin just for you, how does that sound? Hm? Special treatment? Don’t worry your pretty little head about that, lass.”  

Beidou’s attention is overwhelming and oftentimes dangerous. Traditional social conventions are nothing but a waste of time for her, meaning that common courtesy is disregarded in favor of always speaking her mind. Which might not be so bad if she wasn’t so amorous. Even the most oblivious person couldn’t miss Beidou’s overt favor towards you.

This reverent display of affection is only exacerbated when she’s drunk, face flushed and an arm swung tightly around your shoulder. She doesn’t care who sees, who’s judging, or what gossip will be born from her actions. Beidou makes a point of showing everyone in the vicinity that even if you aren’t officially partners yet, a claim has been staked on you. 

Whether it be coercion or some other unsightly method, Beidou is intent on bringing you on her ship at least once. Or that’s how she initially phrased it to you. Imagine your surprise, that when you finally caved so she’d drop the subject, her crew was untying the ropes keeping the boat at port. 

“The fun’s just getting started, you haven’t seen anything yet. Don’t get all teary-eyed yet, sweetheart, I know you’ll come around. This’ll be a story sung by sailors for generations to come.”

Ningguang:

“If I’m being honest, not many are given the opportunity to speak to me outside of business-related ventures. I never thought I’d find it this... pleasant. I hope you’ll continue to entertain me as you do now.” 

Ningguang starts off her wooing in a subtle, almost coquettish manner. She is confident in her charm and brilliance. Not many have been gifted in the art of conversation to the same extent Ningguang has, her silver tongue paired with quick intellect making it difficult for you to escape. She’ll corner you verbally without you even noticing it. 

Ningguang finds amusement in how you stumble over your words, pure of heart and not chained down by special interests. Your forthright but considerate demeanor intoxicates her. She’s used to people cowering in her presence or trying too hard to pursue their goals. You might even earn a rare compliment or two, disguised as politeness, that doesn’t register for hours. 

She is a lady of fine taste. The sky’s the limit when it comes to her wealth, which is unrivaled throughout Tevyat, and you’ll be quick to notice this. Ningguang is most partial to sending you traditional Liyue adornments, believing the rich culture behind each piece suits your beauty. She’s also fond of the fact that when you wear her gifts, everyone in the vicinity will know it’s from her, due to its extraordinarily high cost. 

“Do you like my latest gift, little dove? It was made custom with you in mind, an unrivaled display of craftmanship, if I may add. Wear this and carry me with you... always.” 

[jayflrt]

im the description anon!! like a guide yes (you don't have to if you don't want to #2)

oh okay gotcha!!! <3 no dw i was down to, i just wanted to make sure that's what you wanted :') okok so i will put them under the cut LOL

heeseung - on the quiet and shy side at first, but he's also Not Shy if that makes sense?? no that was not supposed to be an itzy reference but his confidence really comes out on stage and he's definitely gotten a lot more comfortable in front of the camera. the rest of enha coined him as the funniest member and he's sort of like the "fake maknae" of the group bc he messes around a lot, but i think he's also very sincere and considerate when he takes care of the others. he's also extremely hard working and if you watch iland you can see how his insecurities played into that D;

jay - LOL omg i gush over this man so much. he's very honest and vulnerable at times, which i think leads to his "embarrassing" moments that he never intends to create LMFAO but jay is actually like. so sweet 🥹 he really cares for them so much (when they visit home for the holidays, he brings riki along because his family's in japan sob) and he has so much passion and charisma that it reeally shines through. i think he tries to put up a cool image, which he is!! he is cool. 😡 but he's also rlly cute HAHAH he's just such a sweet guy i feel like he doesn't give himself enough credit for being so doting!!

jake - omg icon of growth :') jake had the shortest period of training out of all the members i believe, so he joined iland with 9 months of training! can be pretty soft-spoken at times and shy but he has a personality that makes it rlly easy to get along with him and talk to him, considering he was such a hot commodity with the ilanders LOL and during the show he got very close with sunghoon, who used to be very very shy <3 i think he has a rlly chill personality and that's what makes him get along with people so well

sunghoon - okay a lot of people see sunghoon as awkward and reserved and i think he can be like that sometimes, but i also think he's like. in my opinion. the funniest member in the group LOL his humor is very unexpected but he unintentionally is just rlly funny sometimes :') i think he grew a lot with enha bc he was super shy in iland (jay became friends with him as trainees bc hoon was v shy) and i think bc of ice skating he wasn't able to experience a lot of things that "normal" teenagers get to. also i think a lot of ppl saw him as a pretty face at first but i rlly admire that his talent really shone during iland, and he improved even more afterward. he was a super hard worker to begin with but i think iland helped push him to be more ambitious

sunoo - was so sad bc he seemed so insecure about his talent after iland :(( he is SOOO good tho, like his vocals and dance improved so much and he's just able to pull off any concept :') the members sometimes treat him like the maknae because he's just so cute and charming HAHAH but i think he's also secretly a mastermind strategist >:) i think someone once said he's the glue of enha or something, and i whole-heartedly believe that bc he brings so much energy to the group

jungwon - jungwon was always capable since iland but i was so shocked when they gave him leader bc he's so young! but he's so diligent and hardworking that i can't imagine him Not being the leader now :') initially i think he was pretty frazzled trying to balance such a heavy role while trying to let every member have their time to shine, but now he's seemed to have gotten the hang of it and is a lot more comfortable now <3 his sarcasm and remarks literally never cease to make me gasp LMFAOO he can be FOUL

riki - the initial vibe that i got from riki was that he is SOOO ambitious. like when he walked into iland, he knew exactly what he wanted and he worked his ass off for it. i thought that was such an incredible quality for someone as young as him to have :o again, he is so young, so i think it's so funny and cute that he wants to be a grown up. but i think he means it more in the way that he wants to take care of the members and provide more support. he's spoiled too much by the members to do that tho 😭 ofc he still has a playful side and teases the members a lot. he's also a huge perfectionist and it shows in their performances because his dancing his incredible :o

[laurasimonsdaughter]

The Counterfeit Marquise

A literary fairy tale published in 1697, presumably by Charles Perrault and François-Timoléon De Choisy (who spent a considerable amount of his life in drag, just like the protagonists of this story).

Translated by Ranjit Bolt, featured in Warner’s Wonder tales: six stories of enchantment (1996).

Cw: gender disphoria.

The Marquis de Banneville had been married barely six months to a beautiful and highly intelligent young heiress when he was killed in battle at Saint-Denis. His widow was profoundly affected. They had still been very much in love and no domestic quarrels had disturbed their happiness. She did not allow herself an excess of grief. With none of the usual lamentations, she withdrew to one of her country houses to weep at her leisure, without constraint or ostentation. But no sooner had she arrived than it was pointed out to her, on the basis of irrefutable evidence, that she was carrying a child. At first she rejoiced at the prospect of seeing a little replica of the man she had loved so much. She was careful to preserve her husband’s precious remains, and took every possible step to keep his memory alive. Her pregnancy was very easy, but as her time drew near she was tormented by a host of anxieties. She pictured a soldier’s gruesome death in its full horror. She imagined the same fate for the child she was expecting and, unable to reconcile herself to such a distressing idea, prayed a thousand times to heaven to send her a daughter who, by virtue of her sex, would be spared so cruel a fate. She did more: she made up her mind that, if nature did not answer her wishes, she would correct her. She took all the necessary precautions and made the midwife promise to announce to the world the birth of a girl, even if it was a boy.

Thanks to these measures the business was effected smoothly. Money settles everything. The marquise was absolute mistress in her château and word soon spread that she had given birth to a girl, though the child was actually a boy. It was taken to the curé who, in good faith, christened it Marianne. The wet nurse was also won over. She brought little Marianne up and subsequently became her governess. She was taught everything a girl of noble birth should know: dancing; music; the harpsichord. She grasped everything with such precocity her mother had no choice but to have her taught languages, history, even modern philosophy. There was no danger of so many subjects becoming confused in a mind where everything was arranged with such remarkable orderliness. And what was extraordinary, not to say delightful, was that so fine a mind should be found in the body of an angel. At twelve her figure was already formed. True, she had been a little constricted from infancy with an iron corset, to widen her hips and lift her bosom. But this had been a complete success and (though I shall not describe her until her first journey to Paris) she was already a very beautiful girl. She lived in blissful ignorance, quite unaware that she was not a girl. She was known in the province as la belle Marianne. All the minor gentry roundabout came to pay court to her, believing she was a rich heiress. She listened to them all and answered their gallantries with great wit and frankness. My heart, she said to her mother one day, isn’t made for provincials. If I receive them kindly it’s because I want to please people.

Be careful, my child, said the marquise: you’re talking like a coquette.

Ah, maman, she answered, let them come. Let them love me as much as they like. Why should you worry as long as I don’t love them?

The marquise was delighted to hear this, and gave her complete licence with these young men who, in any case, never strayed beyond the bounds of decorum. She knew the truth and so feared no consequences. La belle Marianne would study till noon and spend the rest of the day at her toilette.

After devoting the whole morning to my mind, she would say gaily, It’s only right to give the afternoon to my eyes, my mouth, all this little body of mine.

Indeed, she did not begin dressing till four. Her suitors would usually have gathered by then, and would take pleasure in watching her toilette. Her chambermaids would do her hair, but she would always add some new embellishment herself. Her blonde hair tumbled over her shoulders in great curls. The fire in her eyes and the freshness of her complexion were quite dazzling, and all this beauty was animated and enhanced by the thousand charming remarks that poured continually from the prettiest mouth in the world. All the young men around her adored her, nor did she miss any opportunity to increase that adoration. She would herself, with exquisite grace, put pendants in her ears – either of pearls, rubies or diamonds – all of which suited her to perfection. She wore beauty spots, preferably so tiny that one could barely see them with the naked eye and, if her complexion had not been so delicate and fine, could not have seen them at all. When putting them on she made a great show of consulting now one suitor, now another, as to which would suit her best. Her mother was overjoyed and kept congratulating herself on her ingenuity. He is twelve years old, she would say to herself under her breath. Soon I should have had to think about sending him to the Military Academy, and in two years he would have followed his poor father. Whereupon, transported with affection, she would go and kiss her darling daughter, and would let her indulge in all the coquetries that she would have condemned in anyone else’s child.

This is how matters stood when the Marquise de Banneville was obliged to go to Paris to deal with a lawsuit that one of her neighbours had taken out against her. Naturally she took her daughter with her, and soon realised that a pretty young girl can be useful when it comes to making petitions. The first person she went to see was her old friend the Comtesse d’Alettef,11 to ask for her advice and her protection for her daughter. The comtesse was struck by Marianne’s beauty and so enjoyed kissing her that she did so several times. She took on herself the task of chaperoning her, and looked after her when her mother was busy with her suit, promising to keep her amused. Marianne could not have fallen into better hands. The comtesse was born to enjoy life. She had managed to separate herself from an inconvenient husband. Not that he lacked qualities (he loved pleasure as much as she did) but since they could not agree in their choice of pleasures, they had the good sense not to get in one another’s way and each followed their own inclinations. The comtesse, though not young any more, was beautiful. But the desire for lovers had given way to the desire for money, and gambling was now her chief passion. She took Marianne everywhere, and everywhere she was received with delight.

Meanwhile, the Marquise de Banneville slept easily. She was well aware of the comtesse’s somewhat dubious reputation, and would never have trusted her with a real daughter. But quite apart from the fact that Marianne had been brought up with a strong sense of virtue, the marquise wanted a little amusement and so left her to her own devices, merely telling her that she was entering a scene very different from that of the provinces; that she would encounter passionate, devoted lovers at every turn; that she must not believe them too readily; that if she felt herself giving way she was to come and tell her everything; and that in future she would look on her as a friend rather than a daughter, and give her such advice as she herself might take.

Marianne, whom people were starting to call the little marquise, promised her mother that she would disclose all her feelings to her and, relying on past experience, believed herself a match for the gallantry of the French court. This was a bold undertaking thirty years ago. Magnificent dresses were made for her; all the newest fashions tried on her. The comtesse, who presided over all this, saw to it that her hair was dressed by Mlle de Canillac. She had only some child’s earrings and a few jewels; her mother gave her all hers, which were of poor workmanship, and managed at relatively little expense to have two pairs of diamond pendants made for her ears, and five or six crisping pins for her hair. These were all the ornaments she needed. The comtesse would send her carriage for her immediately after dinner and take her to the theatre, the opera, or the gaming houses. She was universally admired. Wives and daughters never tired of caressing her, and the loveliest of them heard her beauty praised without a hint of jealousy. A certain hidden charm, which they felt but did not understand, attracted them to her and forced them to pay homage where homage was due. Everyone succumbed to her spell and her wit, which was even more irresistible than her beauty, won her more certain and lasting conquests. The first thing that captivated them was the dazzling whiteness of her complexion. The bloom in her cheeks, forever appearing and reappearing, never ceased to amaze them. Her eyes were blue and as lively as one could wish; they flashed from beneath two heavy lids that made their glances more tender and languishing. Her face was oval-shaped and her scarlet lips, which protruded slightly, would break – even when she spoke with the utmost seriousness – into a dozen delightful creases, and into a dozen even more delightful when she laughed. This exterior – so charming in itself – was enhanced by all that a good education can add to an excellent nature. There was a radiance, a modesty in the little marquise’s countenance that inspired respect. She had a sense of occasion: she always wore a cap when she went to church, never a beauty spot – avoiding the ostentation cultivated by most women. At Mass, she would say, One prays to God; at balls one dances; and one must do both with total commitment.

She had been leading a most agreeable life for three months when Carnival came round. All the princes and officers had returned from camp, and everywhere entertainments were being held again. Everyone was giving parties and there was a great ball at the Palais Royal. The comtesse, who was too old to show her face on such occasions, decided to go masked and took the little marquise with her. She was dressed as a shepherdess in an extremely simple but becoming costume. Her hair, which hung down to her waist, was tied up in great curls with pink ribbons – no pearls, no diamonds, only a beautiful cap. She had dressed herself, but even so all eyes were fixed on her. That night her beauty was triumphant.

The handsome Prince Sionad was there, dressed as a woman – a rival to the fair sex who, in the opinion of connoisseurs, took first prize for beauty. On arriving at the ball the comtesse decided to go and sit behind the lovely Sionad. Chère princesse, she said as she drew near and introduced the little marquise, here is a young shepherdess you should find worth looking at. Marianne approached respectfully and wanted to kiss the hem of the prince’s dress (or should I say the princess’s) but he lifted her up, embraced her tenderly and cried delightedly: What a lovely girl! What fine features! What a smile! What delicacy! And if I’m not mistaken, she is as clever as she is beautiful.

The little marquise had responded only with a bashful smile when a young prince came up and claimed her for a dance. At first all eyes were fixed on him, owing to his rank. But when people saw her answering his questions without awkwardness or embarrassment; saw what a feel she had for the music; how gracefully she moved; her little jumps in time; her smiles, subtle without being malicious and the fresh glow that vigorous exercise brought to her face, total silence, as at a concert, descended on the hall. The violinists found to their delight that they could hear themselves play, and everyone seemed intent on watching and wondering at her. The dance ended with applause, little of it for the prince, popular though he was.

The acclaim that the little marquise had received at the Palais Royal ball greatly increased the comtesse’s affection and concern for her. She could no longer do without her and she offered her rooms in her house, so that she could enjoy her company at her leisure. But on no account would her mother agree to this. The little marquise was almost fourteen and, if the secret of her birth was to be kept, it was vital that no one should be on intimate terms with her except her governess, who got her up and saw her into bed. She was still quite ignorant of her situation and, though she had many admirers, felt nothing for them. She cared for nothing and no one but herself and her appearance. People spoke to her of nothing else. She drank down this delicious praise in long draughts and thought herself the most beautiful person in the world; the more so since her mirror swore to her every day that the praise was justified.

One day she was at the theatre, in the first tier, when she noticed a beautiful young man in the next box. He wore a scarlet doublet embroidered with gold and silver, but what fascinated her were his dazzling diamond earrings and three or four beauty spots. She watched him intently and found his countenance so sweet and amiable that she could not contain herself, and said to the comtesse: Madame, look at that young man! Isn’t he handsome! Indeed, said the comtesse, but he is too conscious of his looks, and that is not becoming in a man. He might as well dress as a girl.

The performance went on and they said nothing more, but the little marquise often turned her head, no longer able to concentrate on the play, which was The Feign’d Alcibiades. Some days later she was at the theatre again in the third tier. The same young man, who drew such attention to himself with his extraordinary adornments, was in the second tier. He watched the little marquise at his leisure, as fascinated by her as she had been by him on the previous occasion, but less restrained. He kept turning his back on the actors, unable to take his eyes off her and she, for her part, responded in a manner less than consistent with the dictates of modesty. She felt in this exchange of looks something she had never experienced before: a certain joy at once subtle and profound, which passes from the eyes to the heart and constitutes the only real happiness in life. At last the play ended and, while they waited for the afterpiece, the beautiful young man left his box and went to ask the little marquise’s name. The porters, who saw her often, were happy to oblige him; they even told him where she lived. He now saw that she was of noble birth and decided, if possible, to make her acquaintance, even if he went no further. He resolved (love being ingenious) to enter her box by accident.

Ah, madame, he cried, I beg your pardon: I thought this was my box. The Marquise de Banneville loved intrigue and made the most of this one. Monsieur, she said to him with great frankness, we are indeed fortunate in your mistake: a man as handsome as you is welcome anywhere.

She hoped in this way to detain him so that she could look at him at her leisure; examine him and his adornments; please her daughter (whose feelings she had already detected) and, in a word, have some harmless amusement. He hesitated before deciding to remain in the box without taking a seat at the front. They asked him a hundred questions, to which he replied very wittily. His manner and tone of voice had an undeniable charm. The little marquise asked him why he wore pendants in his ears. He replied that he always had: his ears had been pierced when he was a child. As for the rest, they must excuse these little embellishments, normally only suitable for the fair sex, on the grounds of youth.

Everything suits you, monsieur, said the little marquise with a blush. You can wear beauty spots and bracelets as far as we’re concerned. You wouldn’t be the first. These days young men are always doing themselves up like girls. The conversation never flagged. When the afterpiece was over he conducted the ladies to their coach and had his follow it as far as the marquise’s house where, not daring to enter, he sent a page to present his compliments.

During the days that followed they saw him everywhere: in church; in the park; at the opera and the theatre. He was always unassuming, always respectful. He would bow low to the little marquise, not daring to approach or speak to her. He seemed to have but one object, and wasted no time in attaining it. Finally, after three weeks, the Marquise de Banneville’s brother (who was a state councillor) called and suggested that she receive a visitor – his good friend and neighbour, the Marquis de Bercour. He assured her that he was an excellent man and brought him round immediately after lunch. The marquis was the handsomest man in the world; his hair was black and arranged in thick, natural-looking curls. It was cut in line with the ears so that his diamond earrings could be seen. On this particular day he had attached to each of these a pearl. He also wore two or three beauty spots (no more) to emphasise his fine complexion.

Ah, brother, said the marquise, is this the Marquis de Bercour? Yes, madame, replied the marquis, and he cannot live any longer without seeing the loveliest girl in the world.

As he said this he turned towards the little marquise, who was beside herself with joy. They sat and talked, exchanging news, discussing amusements and new books. The little marquise was a versatile conversationalist, and they were soon at ease with one another. The old councillor was the first to leave, the marquis the last, having remained as long as he felt he could.

After this he never missed an opportunity of paying court to the girl he loved, and always made sure that everything was perfect. When the good weather came and they went out walking to Vincennes or in the Bois, they would find a magnificent collation, which seemed to have been brought there by magic, at a place specially chosen in the shade of some trees. One day there would be violins; the next oboes. The marquis had apparently given no instructions, yet it was obvious that he had arranged everything. Nevertheless, it took several days to guess who had given the little marquise a magnificent present. One morning a carrier brought a chest to her house which he said was from the Comtesse Alettef. She opened it eagerly and was delighted to find in it gloves, scents, pomades, perfumed oils, gold boxes, little toilet cases, more than a dozen snuff boxes in different styles, and countless other treasures. The little marquise wanted to thank the comtesse, who had no idea what she was talking about. She found out in the end, but reproached herself more than once for not having guessed at once.

These little attentions advanced the marquis’s cause considerably. The little marquise greatly appreciated them. Madame, she said to her mother with admirable honesty, I no longer know where I am. Once I wanted to be beautiful in everyone’s eyes; now the only person I want to find me beautiful is the marquis. I used to love balls, plays, receptions, places where there was a lot of noise. Now I’m tired of all that. My only pleasure in life is to be alone and think about the man I love. He’s coming soon, I whisper to myself. Perhaps he’ll tell me he loves me. Yes, madame, he hasn’t said that yet; hasn’t spoken those wonderful words: I love you, though his eyes and his actions have told me so a hundred times. Then, my child, replied the marquise, I’m very sorry for you. You were happy before you saw the marquis. You enjoyed everyone’s company; everyone loved you and you loved only yourself, your own person, your beauty. You were wholly consumed with the desire to please, and please you did. Why change such a delightful life? Take my advice, my dear child: let your sole concern be to profit from the advantages nature has given you. Be beautiful: you have experienced that joy; is there any other to touch it? To draw everyone’s gaze; to win all hearts; to delight people wherever one goes; to hear oneself praised continually, and not by flatterers; to be loved by all and love only oneself: that, my child, is the height of happiness, and you can enjoy it for a long time. You are a queen, don’t make yourself a slave: you must resist at the outset a passion that is carrying you away in spite of yourself. Now you command, but soon you will obey. Men are fickle: the marquis loves you today – tomorrow he will love someone else.

Stop loving me! said the little marquise. Love someone else! And she burst into tears.

Her mother, who loved her dearly, tried to console her and succeeded by telling her that the marquis was coming. There was a lot at stake and this incipient passion caused her considerable alarm. Where will it lead? she asked herself. To what bizarre conclusion. If the marquis declares himself – if he plucks up courage and asks for certain favours – she will refuse him nothing. But then, she reflected, the little marquise has been well trained; she is sensible; at most she will grant such trifling favours as will leave them in ignorance – an ignorance essential to their happiness.

They were talking like this when someone came to tell them that the marquis had sent them a dozen partridges, and that he was at the door, not daring to enter as he had just returned from hunting.

Send him in! cried the little marquise. We want to see him in his hunting clothes. He entered a moment later, all apologies for powder marks, sun burn and a dishevelled wig. No, no, said the little marquise. I assure you, we like you better dressed informally like this than in all your finery. If that is so, madame, he replied, next time you will see me dressed as a stoker.

He remained standing, as though about to leave. They made him sit and the marquise, kind soul, told them to sit together while she went to her study to write. The chambermaids knew what was what and withdrew to the dressing-room, leaving the lovers alone together. They were silent for a while. The little marquise, still flustered after her talk with her mother, scarcely dared raise her eyes, and the marquis, even more embarrassed, looked at her and sighed. There was something tender in this silence. The looks they exchanged, the sighs they could not contain, were for them a form of language – a language lovers often use – and their mutual embarrassment seemed to them a sign of love. The little marquise was the first to awake from this reverie.

You’re dreaming, marquis, she said. What of? Hunting? Ah, beautiful marquise, said the marquis, how lucky hunters are! They are not in love. What do you mean? she rejoined. Is being in love really so terrible? Madame, he replied, it is the greatest happiness in life. But unrequited love is the greatest misfortune. I am in love and it is not requited. I am in love with the most beautiful girl in the world. Venus herself would not dare put herself before her. I love her and she does not love me. She has no feelings. She sees me, she listens to me, and she remains cruelly silent. She even turns her eyes away from mine. How heartless! How can I doubt my fate? As he spoke these last words, the marquis knelt down before the little marquise and kissed her hands – nor did she object. Her eyes were lowered and let fall great tears.

Beautiful marquise, he said, you’re crying. You’re crying and I know the reason for your tears. My love is irksome to you. Ah, marquis, she answered with a heavy sigh, one can cry for joy as well as pain. I’ve never been so happy. She said no more and, stretching out her arms to her beloved marquis, granted him the favours she would have denied all the kings of the earth. Caresses were all the protestations of love they needed. The marquis found in the little marquise’s lips a compliance that her eyes had hidden from him, and this conversation would have lasted longer if the marquise had not emerged from her study. She found them laughing and crying at the same time, and wondered whether such tears had ever needed drying.

The marquis immediately rose to leave, but the marquise said to him pleasantly: Monsieur, won’t you stay and dine on the partridges you brought? He needed little persuading. What he desired more than anything else in the world was to be on familiar terms in this house. He stayed, even though he was dressed in hunting clothes, and had the exquisite pleasure of seeing the girl he loved eat. It is one of life’s chief delights. To watch at close quarters a pink mouth that, as it opens, reveals gums of coral and teeth of alabaster; that opens and closes with the rapidity that accompanies all the actions of youth; to see a beautiful face animated by an often repeated pleasure, and to be experiencing the same pleasure at the same time – this is a privilege love grants to few.

After that happy day the marquis made sure he dined there every night. It was a regular affair and the little marquise’s suitors, who had had no cause to be jealous of one another, took it as settled. She had made her choice and they all admitted that beauty and vanity, however powerful, are no defence against love. The Comte d’****, one of her most ardent admirers, had a keen sense that his passion was being made light of. He was handsome, well built, brave, a soldier: he could not allow the little marquise to give herself to the Marquis de Bercour, whom he considered vastly inferior in every respect to himself. He decided to pick a quarrel with him and so disgrace him, thinking him too effeminate to dare cross swords with him. However, to his great surprise, at the first word he uttered when they met at the Porte des Tuileries, the marquis drew his sword and thrust at him with gusto. After a hard-fought duel they were parted by mutual friends.

This adventure pleased the little marquise. It gave her lover a war-like air, though she trembled for him nevertheless. She saw clearly that her beauty and her preference for him would constantly be exposing him to such encounters, and she said to him one day: Marquis, we must put an end to jealousy once and for all; we must silence gossip. We love one another and always will. We must bind ourselves to one another with ties that only death can break.

Ah, beautiful marquise, he said, what are you thinking of? Does our happiness bore you? Marriage, as a rule, puts an end to pleasure. Let us remain as we are. For my part, I am content with your favours and will never ask you for anything more. But I am not content, said the little marquise. I can see clearly that there is something missing in our happiness, and perhaps we will find it when you belong to me entirely, and I to you. It would not be right, replied the marquis, for you to throw in your lot with a younger son who has spent the bulk of his fortune and whom you still know only by appearances, which are often deceptive.

But that’s just what I love about it, she interrupted. I’m so happy that I have enough money for us both, and to have the chance of showing you that I love you and you alone.

They had reached this point when the Marquise de Banneville interrupted them. She had been closeted with her agents, and thought she would refresh herself with some lively young company, but she found them in a deeply serious mood. The marquis had been greatly put out by the little marquise’s proposal. Ostensibly it was very much to his advantage, but he had secret objections to it, which he considered insurmountable. The little marquise, for her part, was a little annoyed at having taken such a bold step in vain, but she soon recovered, deciding that the marquis had refused out of respect for her – or that he wished to prove the depth of his feelings for her. This thought made her decide to speak to her mother about it, and she did so the following day.

No one was ever more astonished than the Marquise de Banneville when her daughter spoke to her of marriage. She was sixteen and no longer a child. Her eyes had not been opened to her situation, and her mother hoped they never would be. She was careful not to agree to the match, but to reveal the truth would have been a painful solution both for her daughter and the marquis. She resolved to do so only as a last resort. Meanwhile she would prevent, or at least postpone, the marriage. The marquis was in agreement with her on this, but the little marquise – passionate creature that she was – begged, entreated, wept, used every means to persuade her mother. She never doubted her lover, since he did not dare oppose her with the same firmness. Finally she pushed her mother to the point where she said these words to her: My dear child, you leave me no choice: against my better judgement I must reveal to you something that I would have given my life to conceal from you. I loved your poor father and when I lost him so tragically, in dread of your meeting the same fate, I prayed with all my heart for a daughter. I was not so fortunate: I gave birth to a son and I have brought him up as a daughter. His sweetness, his inclinations, his beauty, all assisted my plan. I have a son and the whole world believes I have a daughter. Ah, madame! cried the little marquise, is it possible that I …? Yes, my child, said her mother embracing her, you are a boy. I can see how painful this news must be for you. Habit has given you a different nature. You are used to a life very different from the one you might have led. I wanted you to be happy and would never have revealed the sad truth to you if your obstinacy over the marquis had not forced me to. You see now what you were about to do? How, but for me, you would have exposed yourself to public ridicule?

The little marquise did not answer. Instead she merely wept and in vain her mother said to her: But my child, go on living as you were. Be the beautiful little marquise still – loved, adored by all who see her. Love your beautiful marquis if you like, but do not think of marrying him. Alas! cried the little marquise through her tears, he has asked for nothing more. He flies into a rage when I mention marriage. Ah! Could it be that he knows my secret? If I thought that, dear mother, I would go and hide myself in the furthest corner of the earth. Could he know it? In floods of tears now, she added: Alas, poor little marquise, what will you do? Will you dare show your face again and act the beauty? But what have you said? What have you done? What name can one give the favours you have granted the marquis? Blush! Blush, unhappy girl! Ah, nature you are blind: why did you not warn me of my duty? Alas! I acted in good faith, but now I see the truth and I must behave quite differently in future. I must not think about the man I love – I must do what is right.

She was uttering these words with determination when it was announced that the marquis was at the door of the antechamber. He entered with a happy air and was amazed to see both mother and daughter with lowered eyes and in tears. The mother did not wait for him to speak but rose and went to her room. He took courage and said: What’s the matter, beautiful marquise? If something is distressing you, won’t you share it with your friends? What? You won’t even look at me! Am I the cause of this weeping? Am I to blame without knowing it?

The little marquise dissolved in tears. No! No! she cried. No! That could never be, and if it were so I would not feel as I do. Nature is wise and there is a reason for everything she does.

The marquis had no idea what all this meant. He was asking for an explanation when the marquise, who had recovered a little, left her room and came to her daughter’s aid. Look at her, she said to the marquis. As you see, she is quite beside herself. I am to blame. I tried to stop her but she would have her fortune told, and they said she would never marry the man she loved. That has upset her, Monsieur le Marquis, and you know why.

For my part, madame, he replied, I am not at all upset. Let her remain always as she is. I ask only to see her. I shall be more than happy if she will consider me her best friend.

With this the conversation ended. Emotions had been stirred, and would take time to settle. But they settled so completely that after eight days there was no sign of any upheaval. The marquis’s presence, his charm, his caresses, obliterated from the little marquise’s mind everything her mother had told her. She no longer believed any of it, or rather did not wish to believe. Pleasure triumphed over reflection. She lived as she had done before with her lover and felt her passion increase with such violence that thoughts of a lasting union returned to torment her. Yes, she said to herself, he cannot go back on his word now. He will never desert me. She had resolved to speak of it again, when her mother fell ill. Her illness was so grave that after three days all hope of a cure was abandoned. She made her will and sent for her brother, the councillor, whom she appointed the little marquise’s guardian. He was her uncle and her heir, since all the property came from the mother. She confided to him the truth about her daughter’s birth, begging him to take it seriously and to let her lead a life of innocent pleasure that would harm no one and which, since it precluded her marrying, would guarantee his children a rich inheritance.

The good councillor was delighted at this news and saw his sister die without shedding a tear. The income of thirty thousand francs that she left the little marquise seemed certain to pass to his children, and he had only to encourage his niece’s infatuation for the marquis. He did so with great success, telling her that he would be like a father to her and had no wish to be her guardian except in name.

This sympathetic behaviour consoled the little marquise somewhat – and she was certainly distraught – but the sight of her beloved marquis consoled her even more. She saw that she was absolute mistress of her fate, and her sole aim was to share it with the man she loved. Six months of official mourning passed, after which pleasures of all kinds once again filled her life. She went often to balls, the theatre, the opera, and always in the same company. The marquis never left her side and all her other suitors, seeing that it was a settled affair, had withdrawn. They lived happily and would perhaps have thought of nothing else, if malicious tongues could have left them in peace. Everywhere, people were saying that, while the little marquise was beautiful, since her mother’s death she had lost all sense of decorum: she was seen everywhere with the marquis; he was practically living in her house; he dined there every day and never left before midnight. Her best friends found grounds for censure in this: they sent her anonymous letters and warned her uncle, who spoke to her about it. Finally, things went so far that the little marquise went back to her first idea and decided to marry the marquis. She put this to him forcefully; he resisted likewise, only agreeing on condition that the marriage would be a purely public affair, and that they would live together like brother and sister. This, he said, was how they must always love one another. The little marquise readily agreed. She often remembered what her mother had told her. She spoke of it to her uncle, who began by outlining all the pitfalls of marriage and ended by giving his consent. He saw that, by this means, the income of thirty thousand francs was sure to pass to his family. There was no danger of his niece having children by the Marquis de Bercour whereas, if she did not marry him, her notion that she was a girl might change with time and with her beauty, which was sure to fade. So a wedding day was fixed on, bridal clothes made and the ceremony held at the good uncle’s house. (As guardian he undertook to give the wedding feast.)

The little marquise had never looked as beautiful as she did that day. She wore a dress of black velours completely covered in gems, pink ribbons in her hair and diamond pendants in her ears. The Comtesse d’Alettef, who would always love her, went with her to the church, where the marquis was waiting. He wore a black velours cloak decked with gold braid, his hair was in curls, his face powdered, there were diamond pendants in his ears and beauty spots on his face. In short, he was adorned in such a way that his best friends could not excuse such vanity. The couple were united for ever and everyone showered them with blessings. The banquet was magnificent, the king’s music and the violons were there. At last the hour came and relatives and friends put the couple together in a nuptial bed and embraced them, the men laughing, a few good old aunts weeping.

It was then that the little marquise was astonished to find how cold and insensitive her lover was. He stayed at one end of the bed, sighing and weeping. She approached him tentatively. He did not seem to notice her. Finally, no longer able to endure so painful a state of affairs, she said: What have I done to you, marquis? Don’t you love me any more? Answer me or I shall die, and it will be your fault.

Alas, madame, said the marquis, didn’t I tell you? We were living together happily – you loved me – and now you will hate me. I have deceived you. Come here and see.

So saying he took her hand and placed it on the most beautiful bosom in the world. You see, he said, dissolving in tears, you see I am useless to you: I am a woman like you.

Who could describe here the little marquise’s surprise and delight? At this moment she had no doubt that she was a boy and, throwing herself into the arms of her beloved marquis, she gave him the same surprise, the same delight. They soon made their peace, wondered at their fate – a fate that had brought matters on to such a happy conclusion – and exchanged a thousand vows of undying love.

As for me, said the little marquise, I am too used to being a girl, and I want to remain one all my life. How could I bring myself to wear a man’s hat?

And I, said the marquis, have used a sword more than once without disgracing myself. I’ll tell you about my adventures some day. Let’s continue as we are, then. Beautiful marquise, enjoy all the pleasures of your sex, and I shall enjoy all the freedom of mine.

The day after the wedding they received the usual compliments and, eight days later, left for the provinces, where they still live in one of their châteaux. The uncle should visit them there: he would find, to his surprise, that a beautiful child has resulted from their marriage – one to put paid to his hopes of a rich inheritance.