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fataleliebe · 1 month ago

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𝐇𝐀𝐍𝐃𝐒 — ♥︎ a jackson!Ellie & fem reader story. (Part II)

This work is +18. Minors and ageless blogs will be blocked.

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Content Warnings: smut, top!Ellie, angst, mentions of alcohol & weed, tension, subtle jealousy, cheating, if you close your eyes you might feel the concept of fluff! (You literally will not!), word vomited & now this is way longer than anticipated. Oops! Enjoy! #FirstFanfic #Sorry

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Ellie can’t escape you.

She discerns the faint melody of your voice in her guitar. You haunt her mind whenever she glances at the dusted, piled collections of her interests—those nights replaying like a film she never should’ve lived. She’d go off on awkward tangents, talking without a moment of breath when Dina and Jesse would fade off into the background. Your eyes would never leave hers.

You’re in the poems she writes. The curve of her letters always, without fail, morphs into the delicateness of your irises, the curve of your nose, the mercy your lips never dared to spare. All consuming, intense and sickening.

She was selfish for keeping you in her life for so long.

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“Come on. It’ll be fun.”

She knew Jesse was just trying to be a friend, tossing around the idea of a party for the past week. And yeah, Sure, maybe sitting in the isolated corner of her garage until kiss of the morning glow invited a new, unwanted day—articulating every thought and fucked-up feeling as scribbled poetry and unfinished songs, only to tuck it all away like she did with everything else—was not an ideal way to spend the night. Especially when she’d need to get ready for patrol the moment her eyes started to feel a little too heavy.

“Ellie,” Jesse’s voice was low, a small smile playing on his lips. “Listen,” he started, taking the joint from her. “If you wanna ditch after a while and just go smoke, we can do that. But you, me, and Dina? With alcohol? Don’t really see anything wrong with that.”

Ellie looked down, her eyebrows furrowed, lip caught between her teeth. She didn’t need to—couldn’t—think about it; she knew Jesse would not let up until she gave in. She sighed, ran a hand down her face, and glanced at him—his smile all pearly whites. “If I go, will you please shut the fuck up?”

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She hated Jesse.

You stood with Dina at the bar, drinks in hand, eyes wide and bright as the two of you caught up. The soft strains of music and laughter surrounded you, but withdrawn from the groups and brashness, it was just the two of you.

“So…” Dina tapped her fingers against the mahogany, eyebrow arching slightly. “How’s it going with… you know who?” She gave a knowing smirk, gently swaying into you.

With a titter and a nod, you looked down at your half-filled glass, swirling the liquid absent-mindedly. “I mean… y’know… It’s good. It’s really new,” you said softly, the remnants of whatever smile you had managed now faltering.

“Yeah,” you exhaled, setting your glass down after a numbing sip. “She’s nice to me… and, uhm… she gifted me a bracelet yesterday. I like her.” The words came out frigid, awkward—not at all how you’d anticipated. But Dina, the angel she was, didn’t make anything of it. Her hand moved to squeeze your shoulder, a small gesture filled with an understanding you refused to acknowledge.

“That’s good to hear,” Dina hummed, attention focused on the lively gathering. “I mean, I’d call myself a pretty good matchmaker.” She hesitated, then her expression shifted. “Does she—uhm. Oh shit… Ellie?”

Ellie?

It took everything in you to not follow Dina’s eyes—to not turn your head. Even stealing a glance, you knew that whatever this was, was not good for you. That every time you saw her in passing, for the past six months of sidestepping unspoken words and assumptions, it destroyed you.

It was harmless that night. When Dina and Jesse had decided to turn in, yawning loud and stretched in ridiculous fashion. And then it was just the two of you, sat at a comfortable distance on her bed—shy eyes refused to meet one another. It was harmless when she pulled out the joint, smirk tugged on her lips. She waved it in the air with all its glory. It was harmless.

It didn’t hurt anyone when you both laughed at the dumbest things—you remembered gossiping about your coworkers in heated passion, while she nodded along. Ellie lazily cracked jokes, just to shut you up about people that weren’t her. Paired with that lopsided smirk and the tease of teeth, she played the fool until you were nudging her shoulder and snorting. And Ellie? She invited those touches. Craved them. And you? When her hand lingered a little too long on your thigh. You burned with desire.

When the laughter had eventually died down and the taut eroticism in the solitude of her garage—ensconced to her bed—grew feverish, she didn’t pull away when you started to lean in.

You were distraught.

“What’s up, guys?” Jesse said, arm slung around Ellie’s shoulder as they walked over, using his limb like a leash. “Hope you guys don’t mind, but we had a few drinks before we came,” Jesse said to Dina, giving her a quick peck on the cheek. Dina chuckled, rolling her eyes with a playful ease. “Mhm, sounds like fun,” she started, eyeing you before looking between Jesse and her.

“We were actually just talking about how,” she stretched it out for dramatic effect, taking a quick sip of her drink, then pointing the glass towards you. “Well, how I got my dearest friend here, a girlfriend.”

It grew too quiet much too quickly, the air heavy with Dina’s admission.

For the first time since that night, she broke the silence between you.

“Congratulations.” What the fuck?

When you finally looked at Ellie—and really looked at her—she wasn’t smiling. Her eyes were heavy with intoxication, gaze intense and unrelenting despite being completely unreadable. Her shoulders were tense, carrying baggage drenched in caramel whiskey. Her flannel was smoothed out, de-wrinkled, adorned by black ink that stretched up her arm to where she’d rolled the sleeves. She looked so good it made you angry.

But you knew Ellie, you really did. She was your favorite read. You’d known her since Dina first introduced her to you and Jesse years ago, and you had slowly read every page of her—sometimes rereading just to make sense of her.

But what you didn’t get? Was this. Was her, fidgeting with her fingers as she looked off to the side as if you were a damn afterthought.

“Thanks,” you murmur. Jesse and Dina must have been sick of the two of you, because when the song faded into something that wasn’t a melancholic country tune, they abandoned their drinks to dance. They walked away hand-in-hand, sharing awkward smiles and concerned glances.

You had almost forgotten that this was a party.

“Who is it?” Ellie asked after a silence that stretched on, torturous as hours. Both your backs were pressed into the polished wood, your glass refilled while Ellie finished hers. Her voice was low, sensuous with a rasp that made you shift on your feet. She was electrifying, and you hated her for that.

You parted your lips with a disbelieving scoff, turning your head to glance at her. She kept her gaze forward, eyes darting around the room as teens danced and drunken old men laughed.

“No one,” you whisper, eyes shifting back down to your glass.

Ellie nods, lips twitching into an empty smile. “Right.”

You swallowed down the thick feeling in your throat, your stomach aching, the questions you couldn’t voice attempting to claw their way out. Too scared to ask, too afraid to live with the answers.

With another sip, you decided to bite back, welcoming the burn that emboldens. You’re blaming Ellie’s impact on the glass in your hand, turning away your affection. It wasn’t Ellie. The whiskey-warmth that flushed your cheeks wasn’t her.

“Why’re you suddenly so curious about me? As if I were your friend? I mean, it’s not like you completely shut me out for no reason… oh right, you did.”

Maybe that was too much. Maybe, just maybe, it was too mean. It felt deserved. God, did it feel good to say, too—the pulse at your wrists thumping with excitement as you down the burning liquid that was therapeutic to your heavy heart.

“For no reason?” Ellie queried, the question lingering, challenging you. Her shoulders shook with a lazy, hollow laugh. She took the last sip of her drink, setting the glass down with abandon, the clink loud with her growing irritation.

Ellie was disgusted with herself for knowing you were right. You were so painfully right—but also, in a way, so fucking wrong. All she needed was to protect you from herself, from the curse of who she was. But fuck, you got too close, and that was her fault; she knew that. However, if she could avoid destroying you, she would. And she did, because you were alive and okay.

She knew she wasn’t a good person—not after what she had done to you, what she had failed to do for others. Because of him.

She was damned to suffer the consequences, forcing out every breath she wasn’t supposed to be taking—because Joel made that choice for her. And Ellie? She would have to live the rest of her life knowing that with every death, with all the suffering that bedevils this world, it would be her fault. It was her fault, because she wasn’t dead.

She knew it.

But God, there was a part of her that wanted to ruin you. Just for being you, Ellie needed you in ways that terrified her—that left her powerful and powerless. It was selfish, and maybe a part of her could empathize with Joel. To crave and claim the greed of wanting to make decisions for others while simultaneously taking those choices away. She was infected with it: the sickening desire that bubbled beneath and burned into her soul. And she couldn’t give in.

She could keep you safe. That was it. Nothing more.

Your skin burned with the ache of absence, your eyes downcast as you chewed on your bottom lip. Time ate at you and spit you out. Days, weeks, and months of Ellie refusing to look at you the way she used to. Months of only speaking to you in sentences of three words or less, if she even bothered to entertain you at all. She abandoned you; left you to lick at the emotional wounds she’d inflicted.

She acted as if nothing about you mattered—as if every moment you got to see Ellie Williams, every chance to delicately map the labyrinth of her heart with patient hands, simply became a memory. And eventually, those memories became myths.

“I didn’t… nothing happened that night? I don’t get it, Ellie.” It sounded pathetic.

“If Jesse hadn’t walked back in,” Ellie starts slowly, before letting out a frustrated exhale. “Yeah, I'm not doing this…”

Silence ate at you the same way time did. Time, space, silence. She left you to pick up what she broke on her way out. For six months you begged and clawed for revelation. You didn’t know you were stumbling through the crowd until Dina called your name from the dance floor, your eyes stinging and breath shaking.

The darkness of the night greeted you with empathy, and the frost of Jackson’s winter kissed at your skin—inviting goosebumps to clash with the liquor’s heat that ran through your veins. Mindless and broken, desperate to escape yourself and your heart, you walked.

It wasn’t long before Ellie called out your name, but you walked faster, hugging yourself for a sense of reprieve. “Shit, just listen to me!” You stumbled, your pace faltering. When she caught up to you, you shook your head, laughing in bewilderment. “You can’t do this! Ellie… Ellie, you can’t…”

Her eyes were wide, lips slightly parted. Taking you in, analyzing you. It was a sobering sight. “Did I—did you not…?” You didn’t realize you were crying until the shake in your voice cut off your incoherent pleas, until your throat closed and the words got stuck. Ellie’s eyebrows knitted together, her movements hesitant and unsure.

“Let me… dammit. Let me walk you home, okay?” You shake your head, letting out a small sob. “You’re drunk. Let me walk you home.” It wasn’t a question.

The walk back was silent. Time. Space. Silence. It itched beneath your skin and gutted you, leaving you high and dry. The faint crunch of the snow beneath your feet threatened like a ticking time bomb.

You watched the back of her head, gaze drifting down to the expanse of her neck, where baby auburn strands—free from her bun—danced gently in the breeze. Your chest felt heavy with the change Ellie insisted upon your being. How she had completely altered your life. You felt each shift, leaving you alone with your hands up.

And for all that you needed, it was having her back in your life.

Somehow, along the way of surviving, she made it feel like living. That living was worth it. That it wasn’t out of spite for the dead who roamed like roaches. Your face twisted at the realization, guilt sitting low in your stomach—because, goddamnit, you have someone now. Someone who isn’t Ellie.

But when your hand finally lands on the door handle, you force it all away. “Come in,” you whisper, eyes meeting hers. “Please.”

Ellie should say no. Oh, she really fucking should. She should draw the line and respect the person who calls you theirs. But her legs move, and she comes inside anyway—the small house always a sanctuary amid the chaos, a place Ellie knows too well.

The door shut you away from everything—everyone else. Just you and Ellie. You were lightheaded. Silence expanded the room. With silence came distance.

Ellie’s back pressed against the kitchen wall across from you as you leaned against the sink. “If Jesse hadn’t walked in,” you start, and Ellie’s breath hitches. “If he didn’t come back because he forgot the joint we smoked…” a weak smile gracing your lips, but you’re not looking at her.

“You don’t know,” Ellie decided.

You look at her, hurt and confusion adorning your features. She stares back, eyebrows furrowed, mirroring the hurt. There’s a distant gleam in her eyes that keeps you out, though, and longing clashes with frustration. “What do you mean I don’t know?”

She huffs through her nose, arms crossing over her chest. She says your name as if it’s an answer, as if it’s a ‘you know.’ It’s a ‘you know’ as to why you shouldn’t know.

“No, Ellie. Tell me. Why don’t I know? Why don’t I know that I would’ve kissed you? That I would’ve wanted you to kiss me?” As silence expands, the eruption—accusatory and heated—shrinks. You’re standing in front of her, finger pointing at her chest, so close you could count her freckles, smell the whisky on her breath, feel the ghost of her breath. And she’s quick to get away, create that distance that’s been haunting you. Uncrossing her arms and stepping away from the wall, Ellie moves past you, walking toward the door.

“I can’t do this.”

“You can’t do what? Give me fucking answers? Finally recognize that you hurt me?”

Ellie turns to face you, raising her hands in both defense and defeat. Her cheeks are flushed, the tips of her ears red. “I fucking know!” You flinch at her tone—loud and breaking. It pitched with desperation, filled with regret and impatience.

She hesitates, hands falling to her sides as she shuts her mouth and looks down, collecting herself before speaking in a hushed tone. “I know what I did. And yeah—shit, yeah, it wasn’t okay. But you don’t… you don’t fucking get it.”

“Then explain to me,” you whisper, begging. “Please, Ellie. Please tell me what I don't know.”

She looks wrecked: strands of hair loose from her bun, skin flushed, eyes glossy. The emotions flashing across her face represented more than words ever could. She walks back to you slowly, stopping right in front of you, so close she can see the details of your irises—the eyes that she’s immortalized in the pages of her journal more times than she would ever dare to admit.

Her eyes flick from your nose to your lips, your eyes, your cheeks. And your breaths mingle, the first time you’ve been this close since the night you got high. Her voice was a low murmur, as if she was wary of being heard by her heart. As if she shouldn’t even acknowledge it.

“You don’t know what you do to me. You don’t know…” Her hand moves to her face, fingers pressing away unshed tears. She looks away, biting the inside of her cheek. “It wouldn’t—I would never be able to stop with you. You don’t understand that. A kiss? If Jesse hadn’t walked in? Fuck…”

“I don’t want you to stop,” you whisper, and she looks back at you, shaking her head. “Ellie…”

“No.”

“Ellie, I would never want you to stop,” it’s breathless, painfully true—and Ellie is fucking dizzy. She blinks as if hallucinating you, unable to trust herself. Her breath is heavy from her outburst, from you—and God, her hands are on you.

The burn of skin on skin is maddening. You bite your bottom lip to keep yourself together as her fingertips ghost along your wrists, moving slowly up to the cuffs of your sweater. “You can’t,” The words are warm, fanning against your lips, teasing you.

“I don’t want you to stop.” Ellie has to look away, at her wit’s end, her fingers twitching against your wrists. Her chest falls up and down with broken breaths, with shaky exhales. She shuts her eyes—fuck. She can’t do this. You look at her, taking her in as she fights a war in her mind. Your own breaths come fast, lips parted, and you think you’ve forgotten how to breathe. Ellie’s jaw clenches, and she opens her eyes to see you as she’s always imagined during sleepless nights—perverse thoughts of drawing you like this eating at her.

“Fuck,” she rasps, and your lips are so close. It’s hard for her to not take you apart with her eyes, admiring every movement and twitch—every second of it. Of you. She mutters your name, strained and thick. “What about ‘No One?’” And the fact she’s even asking, even considering staying, is enough to have your knees weak.

“She’s not you.”

And, shit—maybe you’re a horrible person, but no one else is Ellie. She’s always had you. That’s something you’d have to think about tomorrow, not when you finally have her.

Ellie almost breaks. The pressure builds up inside of her. And it has been for years, quiet and quick; she feels like she’s going to crack, to explode. But Ellie knew this. She should have realized that the burning desire bubbling inside her for so fucking long, far too long, would eventually erupt. “Yeah?”

You’re quick to nod, letting out a small and needy ‘mhm’ that went straight to Ellie’s cunt. It was heated, confronting months of pent up demand from one another that left you both messy and aching.

You lean in, impatient with a need that has your heart pounding. Her lips softly brush against yours—chapped and plump—and your eyes flutter shut at the touch. It was hypnotic, a divine marvel, as your lips grazed against each other. Teasing each other with taste. “Tell me to stop,” Ellie begs, and you swallow her words. “Please.”

“I don’t want you to stop.”

Your eyebrows upturn at the sound she makes against your lips, a quiet moan that reflects her turmoil—her hunger and greed.

Her hand cups your cheek, and she finally presses her lips against yours. It was something that satiated a deep hunger within you, something you always knew you’d need. And you needed her like air, like she was the only thing that gave life in this hell of an earth. She was a fucking life source. And Ellie? She was breathing you in, consuming you.

She ripped noises from you that further frustrate her, her chapped lips rough against yours. You grip her flannel only for her to pull away, shrugging it off. Her eyes are intense, deep with unspoken feelings, ones you reflect; your eyes doe-like from the sheer depth of longing that shucked you.

She was on you again, your back pressed into the wall, her body caging you in. Ellie kissed with fervor. It was wet, hungry, sloppy, and reckless. It was Ellie. When she pulls away for air, your lips are left tingling, the room filled with heavy, short breaths.

“I need you,” you say, breathless and whiny, and Ellie can’t think straight. She has her hands on your sweater, gripping the fabric as she pulls it over your head. It’s hard for her to think she shouldn’t do this when you’re looking at her like that—when she finally has you in the position she’s always craved. Her lips meet your jaw, trailing gently down your neck. Your skin burns beneath her fingertips, her hands gripping and pulling at your hips.

“Ellie.” It’s a plea that’s broken, that shakes when she bites your shoulder. And Ellie can’t hold her own noises back—muffled against your skin. Her hands move to the button of your jeans, undoing you slowly, then slips her hand beneath the fabric that tests her will—plays with her moral compass. Fuck it.

Ellie needs you.

It was that first touch that had you arching off the wall. Ellie’s fingers slid between your folds, her digits soaked in you, your need, and fuck—her own breath is catching. Her hips press forward, as if she could feel it all. And she swears she feels it, your pleasure in her own skin.

She braced her free hand against the wall beside your head, anchoring herself to the moment. Her gaze flicked up, taking in every shiver and gasp that sang the prettiest of songs; every crease of your brow and tremble of your lips. When her fingers found your clit, circling in slow and sloppy movements, she kissed you to steal the sounds that slipped out. Ellie’s ministrations were disorganized, but she was mapping the shape of you. She was memorizing you. “Fuck,” she whined against your lips.

You nearly blackout when her knee slips between your legs, forcing them further apart for access. The stretch of two fingers slipping inside of you left you dazed, your hands grabbing at her wrist for a sense of reprieve. “Oh, my God—” the words tumble out, your eyes fluttering shut and head tilting back. You felt feverish, your legs suddenly feeling insubstantial beneath the weight of your sensation. “Shit—oh… You…” the words fall short from a moan, gets lost with an open-mouthed kiss to your neck, and completely forgotten when you hear her voice.

“D’you want me to stop?” She asks, fingers pressing deeper when you fist at her shirt instead—knuckles whitening as you clench the flimsy fabric. No, you want to scream, but could only manage a weak head shake. Ellie’s exhale shudders against your jaw, mouthing at the skin without intent. To just feel you, to taste you; have you on her tongue and revel in it long after you’ve slipped from her hold.

She curls her fingers inside you, slow and deliberate, before sliding them out—just enough to make you ache for more. Your eyes fly open, and she pulls away to meet your gaze. Only then do you actually see it, and it’s afflicting. The unadulterated captivation, the way she looks at you like you’re the only thing in the world that matters. Like she is simultaneously the most powerful and powerless woman who has ever lived, and you’re irrevocably bewitched.

And yet, there’s still the gleam. The one that keeps you out—leaving you at arms length despite holding her in your own. Your mouth falls open in a whine when she presses deep and her pace quickens, her eyes searching and serious and disconnected. She won’t let you in.

“Please,” you beg, but it’s for more than just lust. “Please—Ellie, I… Ellie, I lo—“ Her hand covers your mouth, gentle but insistent, fingers trembling against your skin. She won’t let you, refusing to hear it. The words she aches for, yet fears in equal measure. The pace of her fingers didn’t stop, technique disjointed with conflict. “Shhh… I’ve got you, okay?” She whispers, nodding slightly. She ignores the way your eyes gloss over, trying to focus on the rhythm. Ellie didn’t love herself. Fuck, she couldn’t. How could she let you love her?

Her forehead pressed against yours, cheeks flushed and stomach aching with regret. “You don’t get it,” Ellie whispers between the two of you, her vulnerability a confession of her self-condemnation. It was impossible to stop the tears from falling, your eyes squeezing shut as you moaned against her hand.

“C’mon, baby.” It was unrelenting, the power she held over you—and Ellie molded you effortlessly beneath her touch, her fingers pressing in all the right places. The heel of her palm ground against your clit with enough pressure to have you trembling.

Muffled moans and broken sobs vibrated against her hand, each noise a confession that she’d pleasure herself to for months. She was selfish, finally understanding—empathizing with him. The hand over your mouth was replaced by the burning collision of Ellie’s lips, pulling a deep groan from her throat, all teeth and mess.

She fucked like she felt. Kissed like she was running out of time.

She poured every ounce of frustration into it—the tunes of her guitar that sounded like you, the poems that felt like you, and the nights where you’d be the only one who listened. Mind-bending, in a sex-fueled haze, was her—it was her touch and her lips, her voice and her gaze. She bent and twisted you and your heart like a puppet on strings, and you were at her fingertips willingly.

And Ellie knew she wasn’t a good person—not after what she had done to you, what she had failed to avoid giving in to.

Her lips ghosted against yours, breathing each other in, eyes downcast and avoidant. You’re shuddering—tears still wet and skin burning—the touch of her scarred your soul, insisting upon your being. Your lips move but nothing can come out, hesitant. The silence was a revelation that sat low in your stomach as Ellie began pulling away.

It was a moment that stretched into an echoing reminder of what had led to the end of what could have never began. Silence expanded what was. You almost wanted to laugh, bitter and broken and bare. You and Ellie, it was the catalyst for both of your destruction. But no one was Ellie. No one was you. She picked up her flannel, avoiding your eyes, knees weak and shoulders heavy.

She was at the door, back facing you—her hand flexing at her side, to be torn like a handheld from its first love. “I really fucking hope she treats you good.”

Time. Space. Silence.

It’s a strange, cruel thing. When one moment, she could have her hands up, then on you. And the next, she’s gone.

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krems-chair · 7 months ago

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I'm always interested in analyses that portray a romanced Solas as a predatory hee hee trickster god manipulating a young and impressionable Lavellan into falling for him and if that's your world state go ahead and live your truth b/c it's frankly none of my business, but I sincerely think there are those who forget that for a lot of people, a romanced Lavellan is (with all due respect to my own Solasmancing Inquisitor Rielle Lavelllan) batshit crazy. Having her boyfriend turn out to be a wolf god is honestly the least of her problems but oh boy is she unafraid to become one to fix this mess.

This is a woman who woke up in a dungeon with a glowing hand, figured out she could fix the world, and thought "fuck it, it's not like I'll have anything else better to do if Corypheus sticks around. Also. Everyone here kind of looks like they want to kill me, so maybe I'll stick with the protective powers that be for a minute." And then all of five seconds later she gets her hand snatched by a sketchy elven apostate who knows exactly what to do with her shiny new powers and cannot stop himself from having a Mr. Darcy level hand-flex after he lets it go (in my heart and soul this happens just out of the camera's gaze) and goes "hmm maybe there's something to be said for this world saving thing."

This is a woman who brought an entire fucking avalanche down on herself and three of her closest friends (and I do mean closest as in physical proximity, she doesn't know these people who are looking at her like she's Thedas' Next Top Idol) because even if it killed her it was the proper middle finger to send to the wannabe god bringing his army tap-dancing down the mountain pass towards her on the one night she had scheduled off to celebrate finally taking a W.

This is a woman going Take 2 Electric Boogaloo on waking up with no idea where she is and learning she was successful in spite-dragging herself up a different fucking mountain in a blizzard. Except now everyone is fighting wait nope now they're Kumbaya-ing a song Andraste's Herald should really probably be familiar with whoops, oh thank God, time for a side convo with the same apostate who's been trying to turn her entire life into a history class only for her to dive in headfirst (much to his initial abject horror) and get that good good discourse she needs since she can't go around arguing with everyone else like she wants to. "The orb is ours." You know what? Of course it is. But if they need the world saved from an elven oopsie, who better to right things than an elf? Fuck it, we ball.

This is a woman who misses being close to nature and goes positively feral at Skyhold, yeeting herself over balconies and banisters and turning the ancient fortress into her personal parkour playground because she's got energy to work off and shit to do, and if the path of least resistance to hunt down everyone she needs to talk to is coincidentally the same path that will absolutely wreck her knees by the time she's sixty, that's just how it has to be.

This is a woman who finds herself back at Haven with a man she's found it possible to be unfetteringly unabashedly herself with and thinks, "hey, maybe there could be more than the flirations we've exchanged over heated discussions and philosophical deep-dives, maybe I can have just one smooch as a treat." And when she feels her slowly unfurling passion reciprocated only to be shut down? She resolves herself to fight for this fledgling love and all the fade tongue that comes with it. This is a woman who gets the tiniest glimpse of what a retirement plan might look like after this whole saving the mortal world thing and buys all the way in.

This is a woman who has Grey Wardens to save from themselves, an empire trying to self-cannibalize, and still finds the time to go rescue a spirit because she, as a fellow comrade caught up in this mess, knows damn well that no innocent deserves to suffer if she can help it while she's got this insane amount of power she never asked for. And if that happens to lead to the man she feels safe enough to nap on the library couches with confessing at last the feelings she knows he's been smothering beneath his all-too-collected surface? Yeah, she'll take that W.

This is a woman who gets absolutely blasted head-over-ass into the fade and goes "honestly things were going a little TOO well." This is a woman who sneaks a peak at the closest fears of the companions she's come to know and love and goes "not on my fucking watch." This is a woman who sees that the man she forces herself to learn the old language for, her vhenan, fears being alone more than anything in the entire knowing world and resolves herself to ensuring it never comes to pass.

This is a woman who gets the opportunity to shape the government of a straight up country and runs around collecting wooden fucking halla in a palace full of elven servants with no time to dwell on that particularly cruel irony because out here it's scheme or be schemed. This a woman who collapses against a balcony railing after putting out some of the sickest literal and metaphorical dance moves The Game has ever seen, resigned to bear her ever-increasing burdens alone, only to find her heart and his horrible horrible hat extending a hand, promising her that if he is not alone, then neither is she.

Like, do you feel me here?

And then he dares to think something as sudden and damning as the truth is enough to keep her away? The queen of tough conversations and tougher choices? No, no, dear readers who have made it this far into my descent into madness.

Inquisitor Lavellan is a master-class in encouraging the odds against her to fuck around and find out. She is a rift-mending false-god-bashing politcally savvy terror upon all of Thedas. Solas (and all of the living breathing world) is lucky she took time out of her busy schedule to notice the way his smile softens when talking about spirits or appreciate the fluidity of his form when they're obliterating venatori out in the field. This man cradled her cheeks in his shaking hands, looked into weary and wide eyes and called her beautiful, and had the audacity to steal her heart before trying to peace out and take it with him.

If she's got to track down a real god this time and frog march him into the fade to reclaim both her heart and the future she fought for because all he wants to do is launch himself like a meteor towards achieving his greatest fear, if she has to spend hours lecturing him on the sheer audacity of his ass while spirits float by and realize they're grateful they never had the chance to take on a body and subject themselves to a verbal lashing this brutal, if she has to do cartwheels around him while dropping all sorts of sweet nothings in the language she is now quite proficient in until he gets it through his luminous gleaming skull that when she said "var lath vir suledin" my girl meant it? Then that's what she's going to do.

"I wish it could, vhenan."

Oh it's going to, buddy. Buckle up to get wrecked, to get absolutely loved and cherished you fool, because Inquisitor Lavellan is not the Dread Wolf's prey, she's his hunter.

#sure Solas is a god but she's the woman crazy enough to love one #solas #dragon age inquisition #inquisitor lavellan #solavellan hell #solavellan #solas dragon age #solas x lavellan

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hotjaneaustenmenpoll · 1 year ago

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Semi-Final One

Propaganda...

Colonel Brandon (1995):

Alan Rickman has the sexiest voice. Just listen to him reading poetry to Marianne at the end to witness how hot he is.

Alan Rickman simply embodies the truth of Col. Brandon in a way that no one else every could. It's the perfect merging of actor and role. He brings the perfect combination of honor, decency, sensitivity and passion. He is the ultimate mensch.

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Brandon propaganda in which even the film's director agrees that Brandon is sexy.

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More Brandon propaganda! This photo could only be published in black and white because it would have been too powerful in color (the original color version is currently being used to provide electricity for a medium sized town in Devon. It's THAT powerful).

The brim of the hat falling over his eye. The casual lean. The hunting rifle slung across his leg. The puppy bestie. The fact you know he could row that boat while you watch and wish you were the boat.

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From Emma Thompson's diaries which she kept while they were shooting Sense & Sensibility. Emma Thompson said vote Colonel Brandon.

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Mr Darcy (1995):

Colin Firth (1995) is book Darcy brought to life. He uses tiny gestures and looks to communicate with us and Elizabeth… his struggle is so subtle but so palpable. A beautiful asshole with a creamy nougat center. Just perfect.

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Those heart-eyes right up above☝️? Hot!

Passive-agressively drinking tea? Hot!

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The way he rushes over to see Elizabeth at Pemberley on those delicious long legs of his with that slutty wet curl hanging over his forehead? Hot!

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Fencing? Hot!

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The way he is so concerned about Elizabeth crying and takes her hand even though he shouldn't? Hot!

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This dimple-y smile of pure joy because he knows he's married to Elizabeth freaking Bennet? Hot!

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Colin Firth Darcy is simultaneously immaculately put together and entirely falling apart internally. The wet shirt scene is so iconic not (only) because ‘oooh almost-shirtless sexy man’, but because it’s a metaphor for how he’s absolutely falling apart!!! This is a private moment, when he doesn’t think anyone can see him. And then he bumps. into. Lizzie. At his house!! And the entire sequence that follows with him rushing out still doing his jacket up to catch her before he leaves. They are both on the back foot and it’s THAT moment of confusion that opens a more honest dialogue between them.

Without Firth in a lake you wouldn’t get Macfadyen in a downpour!

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There's a reason why Colin Firth is forever known as Mr. Darcy above all other roles he's had and will have! Even ignoring the wet white shirt, which has become A Thing now, he is so hot with his curly hair and his little half smiles and his intense looks of longing and his legs that go on for milessss.

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This cannot be real. My fellow Jane Austen people. Without Colin Firth’s Darcy we wouldn’t have 90% of modern JA content. He opened a door and there was no turning back for modern culture. There would be no MacFadyen standing half undressed in a field at dawn without Firth jumping into a lake first. There would be no hand flex if there hadn’t been Firth doing his best impression of a man undressing Elizabeth Bennet with his eyes and hating himself for liking it. There would be no Bridgerton without Bridget Jones. Let’s face it people. We wouldn’t be here having these arguments if Colin Firth had not been Mr Darcy.

Colin Firth understood Mr. Darcy in a way no other actor ever has. He is awkward as fuck in a way that comes across as snooty and judgmental on a first watch-through, then can be read as awkward and longing on a second time. His performance had such depth while looking extremely shallow at first glance. This man WAS Mr. Darcy. (I love 2005, as well, and I love Matthew McFayden, but he was awkward for awkward sake.) Colin Firth made Darcy's awkward look snooty and aloof.

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THE socially awkward Darcy is the 1995 Darcy - look at him coming and sitting in awkward silence with Elizabeth pointedly asking her if she wants to live a long way from her family (to obvious relief) and then abruptly leaving - vote for him please 😭😭😭😭

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GIF by my-little-random-world

Colin Firth served so much as Darcy that when they did Bridget Jone's diary, they brought him back.... AS DARCY. The smoulder. The angst. The man is the quintessential Darcy.

“Firthing” is an actual term that is used now to describe someone yearning intensely. It is named after Colin Firth’s Mr Darcy performance.

Colin Firth all the way. He's known in our household as Owl Eyes because in every frame he's mooning over Elizabeth Bennet. Unsurpassable, unmatched, golden television (and some of the worst dancing you've ever seen).

Colin has beautiful, touchable curls.

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My high school English teacher was very into using movies to teach alongside literature, which was a great teaching tool. When we read Pride and Prejudice, he used both 2005 and 1995 for various scenes. What stands out to me all these years later was when it got to the part when Lizzy went to help Georgiana after Caroline dropped Mr. Wickham's name and Darcy gives Lizzy this look:

My teacher stopped the film and pointed at Darcy's face and said, "See that? That is THE look. If someone ever looks at you like that, you know they're in love." And what is hotter than that?

Also this teacher had two cats named Lizzy and Darcy. Not relevant to the poll but I wanted you all to know about them.

Colin Firth dazzles and amazes in the nuanced performance that just blows all other attempts away.

The best thing about the Colin Firth wet shirt scene is actually the scene that follows where him and Lizzie are both just dyinggg of embarrassment but Darcy pulls himself together refuses to lose his advantage and runs to get dressed and chase her down before she leaves - just the mix of cringe and hopefulness at seeing her again is so well done and so attractive!!! (this is just the bit where he's running after her but I love it all!)

#hotjaneaustenmenpoll #semi finals #mr darcy #colonel brandon #pride and prejudice 1995 #sense and sensibility 1995 #pride and prejudice #sense and sensibility #jane austen #colin firth #alan rickman

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nerdierholler · 2 years ago

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Scenes I love in Pride and Prejudice 2005 that aren't the hand flex, rainy proposal, or foggy morning walk:

Charlotte telling Lizzie she's marrying Mr. Collins: "Don't you dare judge me." Yes Charlotte tell her! This drives home the reality for someone in her situation. She's an old maid at 28, the clock is ticking. Mr Collins may be an obnoxious fool but he's unlikely to treat her poorly, run up debts, or cheat on her so he's not a terrible choice at the wire.

Lizzie staring into the mirror when Darcy leaves the letter: Listen, I think we've all had the moment in our lives when everything seemed to be going wrong and all we could do was stare into space and dissociate a little. But also, ya know, cause when Darcy shows up he's looking a little more casual. I see that loose shirt without a vest or cravat sir.

Lizzie on the rocky overlook: The music, the scenery, the fact that it's the DVD menu screen and I woke up to it looping in the background after falling asleep more times than I can count. I know I'm not alone in this.

Lizzie in the sculpture gallery: Weirdly, this was the scene that took my breath away the first time I watched the movie. That statue of the veiled vestal virgin is just fucking breathtaking. Plus the general vibes of the whole scene with the music and everything as Lizzie begins to soften towards Darcy.

The scramble to look suitably engaged when Bingley shows up: It's a little moment of comedy . Overall about this movie I just love the messiness of the family and how lived in everything feels. Is it historically accurate? No. Do I care? Also no. It's about the vibes. And I just like the family not entirely being terrible people and hating each other. Not what Austen wrote but I think the softened edges work well for a movie adaptation, especially to appeal to modern audiences. Follow up along the same lines is the bedtime "I know she could not be so beautiful for nothing" scene.

#I could go on but I think I'm done for now #pride and prejudice #pride and prejudice 2005 #jane austen #life at nerdy holler

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cryingwriter · 8 months ago

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Romantic Tension

As a romance writer and reader, here are the four things I love that authors add to their work (and that I add to mine as well) to increase Romantic Tension!

••• Sensory Details •••

You should be putting sensory details into your writing already but this is ubber important when it comes to romance. So much of our understanding of how a character feels comes from how their body reacts and how they address things emotionally.

Use the senses when writing your characters together! Does one character notice the other’s cologne? Does one of them remember the feeling of the other’s sweater beneath their fingertips? Do they start to question everything they’ve thought about love and this person because of it? Does their face get hot when they hear the other characters voice? Keep in mind how your character is thinking and feeling about the potential love interest. Saying “she thought he was hot so she wanted to bang him” isn’t very interesting. Give your characters specificity. Maybe they rub their neck when they’re nervous and the other character notices! It shows they get flustered when the other person is around.

••• Mini Moments •••

One of the most well loved and memorable scenes in Pride and Prejudice is the Hand Flex Scene. If you’ve seen the 2005 version with Keira Knightley, you know!

Why is this scene so well known and liked? Because of what happens before it. Mr. Darcy had just helped Elizabeth Bennett into her carriage. He touched her in a way that felt significant and we see that when he flexes his hand.

We want to do this in our writing! Having moments where the characters fingers brush together or one character puts their hand on the small of the other characters back is key to building anticipation in a romance story. It doesn’t always have to be touching, this can also mean a character sharing a secret with another character that they haven’t with anyone else, this could mean a character remembers the other characters favorite drink order. Show us that they’ve noticed each other, that they think “hey, this person is …making me feel something!”

••• Interruption •••

When things start to heat up, interruption is the perfect way to build tension. You characters begin to kiss but someone walks in, one of your character is about to confess some feelings but the phone rings. It can be that simple. Maybe your characters were about to go on a date but then one doesn’t show (this could happen for various reasons). Find moments where you can prolong a big event (meaning a love confession, a kiss, a proposal, a sex scene) from happening!

Side note: be sparing with where you use this, some readers can find it repetitive and annoying if you interrupt a big scene too many times.

••• Obstacles •••

The easiest way to find your romantic obstacles is to look at your tropes. If it’s an enemies to lovers story the characters may be from different kingdoms, different gangs, different walks of life. This is going to make it hard for your characters to be together. This can also be a character flaw like not believing they’re worthy of love so they push the other character away. You can also use multiple relationship obstacles to keep the tension going. If there’s nothing stopping your characters from being together, you have no tension.

•••

All readers really want when reading a romance is to experience the build-up! The butterflies, the expectations, the tension. 🖤 these four things keep me and many other readers turning pages and staying up way past our bed times to know what happens next!

HAPPY WRITING!!

#romantic tension #writing romance #romance writers #romance novels #romance books #spicy romance #amwriting #writeblr #smut #fluff #writing tips #writing inspiration

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acourtofthought · 1 year ago

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Sjm didn't make elucien mates and then change her mind. She knew she's going to make elriel endgame from the get go. Even when she had Lucien say, "you are my mate". If you reread the series, acosf comes of as a filler. It was Nesta's healing journey but it was also used to set some of the vital plot points for Elain's book, with Azriel. And she's not going to change the direction of such a solid overarching plot for gwynriel. GA a mediocre ship with an over done couple dynamic. And sjm doesn't have history of bending to the readers whim. As for Lucien, she's already introduced Vassa and laid the foundation of Lucien and Vassa's story. Pairing Lucien with Elain would be a waste of a great story and a great female character (Vassa). She's not going to do that. If eluciens and gwynriels think the time magazine article was a random mention of Elain and Azriel that has nothing to do with sjm or BB they are sorely mistaken.

You mean SJM thought Nesta would be with Lucien only to change her mind with how toxic they'd be together just to pair him with Elain knowing Az was her endgame? Weird.

I really enjoy how you take a journalists own words over that of the author herself.

Somehow the journalist saying that fans speculate about Az and Elain is a bigger deal to you than SJM being quoted as saying because she has it in her own life, she can write about men who are the females biggest supporter, cheering her on and supporting her growth and we then have the author herself writing it so Az gets SCOLDED for not believing in Elain.

And VASSA is a greater female character than Gwyn who became one of the first Valkryie in how many years? Yes, Vassa's many many pages of dialogue clearly prove your point. I think Vassa says a total of 10 sentences throughout the entire series.

Vassa will still be important, but as a side character in Elucien's journey as their friend who will end up with Jurian.

But you got us, E/riel is up there with the greatest love stories of all time.

ACOMAF

And Mor backed away. Step by step. "What a prize," the kind said, that black gaze devouring her. Azriel's head lifted from where he was sprawled in his own blood, eyes full rage and pain as he snarled at the king, "Don't you touch her." Mor loked at Azriel - and there was real fear there. Fear - and something else. She didn't stop moving until she again kneeled beside him and pressed a hand to his wound. Azriel hissed - but covered her bloody fingers with his own. (oh....just so you know, Elain was kidnapped and is currently bound and gagged, with the King preparing to put her into the Cauldron but Az is a little too busy focusing on Mor to care).

ACOWAR

And somehow had to guard Elain, though I certainly wasn't about to tell Lucien that. Cassian, swearing and pissy, got the short stick, and Azriel only clapped him on the shoulder before heading to the house to prepare. (Here we have Elain depressed but Az is happy to leave her).

Throughout it, he was quiet - removed. Even by his standards. I made the mistake of asking if he'd spoken to Mor since he'd left last night. No, he had not. And that was that. Even if he kept flexing his scarred hand at his side. As if recalling the sensation of the hand she'd whipped free of his touch during the meting. Over and over. (I think you might want to rethink that fanart scene that's floating around of Az flexing his hand for Elain a la Mr. Darcy).

"It's worth a try," Mor sniped. "You're needed here," Cassian said. Azriel looked included to agree, even as he kept quiet. (Elain had a vision with her Seer powers, something Az claimed "We need"......yet he did absolutely nothing about it. He did did not fight for what she was seeing, he did not offer to go. How incredibly supportive!).

ACOMAF

"Are we supposed to get the sisters presents?" "No I said, and I meant it. Az seemed to loose a sigh of relief".

Az, to his credit, gave Mor a smile of thanks, a blush creeping over his cheeks, his hazel eyes fixed on her. I looked away at the heat, the yearning that filled them.

ACOSF

Nesta said to Feyre, "Did you tell Elain?"

Before Feyre could reply, Azriel said, "What about Mor?"

"Where's my beautiful Mor?" Az said tightly, "Away."

Azriel stiffened, an outright sign of temper from him as he said quietly, "There is an innate darkness to the Dread Trove that Elain should not be expose to." / She threw a nod toward Azriel. "Including Elain, who is more than capable of defending herself against the darkness of the Trove, if she chooses to." Don't underestimate her."

Rhysand blinked, "What of Mor, Az?" Azriel ignored the question.

Azriel said nothing. He hadn't gotten that far with his planning, certainly not beyond the sexual fantasies he pleasured himself to.

HOFAS

"We defeated Hybern," Azriel confirmed. A glance toward Truth-Teller at his side. Then at Nesta. "Nesta beheaded the King of Hybern by herself."

There you go. That's your beautiful, romantic, SJM planned from the start love story of Elain and Az.

It doesn't matter how many sweet moments you have for E/riel the fact remains that shortly after each scene, Az was written to still be hung up on Mor (funny how his longing glances only became few and far between in the book where Mor WAS NO LONGER IN THE NIGHT COURT FOR A MAJORITY OF THE TIME), where he still disrespected Elain, where he never once gave her credit for the brave things she did during the war, where he never once addressed her depression or the things she lost like her father, her humanity, her fiance.

And the overarching plot already lends itself to an Elucien and Gwynriel endgame. There's no mental gymnastics or changing the characters personalities to make it fit.

Pairing Elain with Az would be a waste of Elain's character. If you cared for Elain as you say you do you'd ship her with Amren more than Az considering Amren had to reprimand Az for underestimating her.

"But it's what Elain wants!"

Sometimes young girls that just experienced trauma are foolish thinking they know what they want even though the adults in the room can clearly see it's not healthy 🤷. Elain is working through it all but once she comes out on the other side, she'll see things a bit more clearly. I think we got our evidence of that when she returned Az's necklace and I can't wait to see if in the next book she finds out about the bullshit he said about her and Lucien.

I have never heard of a more delusional comment than claiming SJM used SF as filler for an E/riel endgame. SJM is on record of saying how Nesta felt keenly alive to her early on, how she feels emotional rereading SF because of her own journey with mental health issues yet you're turning into E/riel fodder.

HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA

#anti e/riel #pro elucien #gwynriel

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marinosno1fan · 5 months ago

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Mr Knightley vs Mr Darcy

So, don’t get me wrong, I love Pride and Prejudice as much as the next person, but can we all stop talking about how much of a dream boat Darcy is and instead look at Austen’s arguably more romantic and better hero, Mr Knightley.

From the beginning of Emma, he is seemingly a kind hearted and charismatic gentleman, who like Darcy, is very wealthy, however he doesn’t flaunt his wealth about; he rarely uses his carriage to take him places and he is incredibly humble in working with Robert Martin.

He is also incredibly accomplished, as seen by his musical talent, and shows so much kindness it’s actually unbelievable. In fact his kindness towards Harriet is exactly the reason that she falls for him. This isn’t to say that he is incapable of sarcasm though and his constant banter with Emma is what makes him so endearing and what makes their love story so interesting. Since this is one of the most compelling reasons for peoples love of Mr Darcy, I wonder why they don’t give Knightley as much recognition. He has all of the sarcasm and banter that Darcy has, combined with true kindness and humility. An example of this would be how unashamed he is to berate Emma for her unkindness towards Miss Bates, ‘that was badly done Emma’, despite his obvious feelings for her at this point.

Let us also not forget the achingly beautiful and romantic speech he gives Emma when confessing his love to her,

“My dearest Emma, for dearest you will always be, whatever the event of this hours conversation, my dearest, most beloved Emma….. I cannot make speeches, Emma. If I loved you less, I might be able to talk about it more. But you know what I am. You hear nothing but truth from me. I have blamed you and lectured you and you have borne it as no other woman in England would have borne it. Bear with the truths I would tell you now, dearest Emma, as well as you have borne with them. The manner, perhaps, may have as little to recommend them. God knows, I have been a very indifferent lover. But you understand me. Yes, you see, you understand my feelings and will return them if you can. At present, I ask only to hear your voice.”

I think that this speech would make me swoon much more than Darcy’s ‘you have bewitched me body and soul’ speech, especially considering how badly his initial proposal went down. He essentially told her that he tried to battle his feelings for her because of her status. Like don’t get me wrong I do definitely think that Darcy is great and has some epic romance speeches, but I just think that Knightley’s takes the cake, especially since he was such a kind and humble person from the beginning.

And yes, I understand the cultural impact of the 2005 hand flex, and we can all agree that it is one of the definitive best romantic gestures ever, but that doesn’t entirely make up for the fact that Knightley is just an overall better character and romantic interest.

Before anyone comes at me though, I would just like to remind you all that this is just an opinion and you can take from this what you want, whether you agree or not.

#please Darcy fans don’t come for me!!#pride and prejudice #Emma #Jane Austen #mr darcy #mr knightley

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justallihere · 1 year ago

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Do you remember me thinking the snippet with tairn was funny? I cried at 7am this morning. For reference: I didn’t cry when Liam died but I cried when the grumpy dragon called his rider being tortured “unpleasant”.

No but for real :

And it was unpleasant, yes, to not be able to get to you, and to not know if you would die alone.

Fuck me- that did it !!!!!!

Brilliant 🫶🏻

I love that tairn is back, he was so quiet (probably to give her time?). And I loved that you included that very very realistic thought Violet has about thinking she doesn’t have the time to recover but on the same hand being just du exhausted to deal with so much, but then pulling through again!! I think you balanced the brilliantly and it feels so authentic ❤️❤️❤️❤️

AND THE HANDS TOUCHING I just had a flash of Mr. Darcy’s flexing hand in my head and let me tell you I GIGGLED 🤭

I told you the full context was much more heartbreaking 😭 you should know better by now

Tairn was just chilling, letting her find her feet again. He knows Violet so well that a couple days of quiet doesn’t mean anything for them. He’s still there all the time if she needs him.

The hands 😩 god the hands. Hand holding soon I swear because I’m a whore for hand holding

#storm in the quiet

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phantomdialogue · 5 months ago

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˗ˏˋ. ݁₊ ✶ ˖ 𝐰𝐢𝐧𝐠𝐬 𝐨𝐟 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐫𝐥𝐢𝐠𝐡𝐭 𝐛𝐲 𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐬𝐨𝐧 𝐬𝐚𝐟𝐭 - 𝟓/𝟓 ☆ . ݁ ˖ˎˊ˗

premise: princess clarion’s coronation is only a month away when nightmare-ish creatures attack pixie hollow. tracking their movement down to the border of spring and winter leads her to meet the warden of the winter woods, milori. he asks for her help in protecting his people from the nightmares and trapping them back in their icy prison, but things aren’t quite as they seem, and as the two grow closer, the differences between the winter and the warm seem less and less important in comparison to matters of the heart.

couple(s): princess clarion and milori

tropes: forbidden love, opposites attract, red string, bound by duty, grumpy x sunshine ish

content warnings: no HEA

review below!

review:

i went into this knowing it was going to hurt. i knew it. it still managed to hurt me profusely beyond my expectations though. this is my first book of alison saft's and i doubt it will be my last. her writing served a magical world like pixie hollow so beautifully and it was so immersive. you really felt the love for the world that she possessed while writing for it and as someone who grew up with pixie hollow, it was the perfect way to return.

while the pacing felt a bit uneven at times with the main conflict, it still was gripping and you were on the edge of your seat to know what came next, especially toward the end. coming up to those last chapters and knowing what had to happen was so sad but, despite my protests, i do love that there is no happy ending. i love the bittersweet ending we got in return. it fits the tragic nature of their love and the tropes of the book so well.

princess (later queen) clarion truly is such an amazing character and you read this and immediately understand so much of her relationship with tinkerbell and how she governed among the stories we already know. this felt like such a wonderful look into her character and understanding the weight of her role as queen. on that note, i loved what alison saft did with elvina. when you start the book, you don't fully understand her or her motives and when you reach the point where it's all revealed, you can't help but be nearly devastated by it.

milori... oh milori. you are THE fairy book boyfriend. he went to the school of yearning with mr. darcy (i loved the use of the hand flex here) and immediately stole my heart. his sacrifice for clarion just made me profusely sad. the love he has for her is so overwhelming and you feel every bit of it as you read (and vice versa with clarion's love for him). i loved this couple when i was 10. i love this couple even more 12 years later.

this felt like such a beautiful part of my childhood come back to greet me in a whole new time of my life. i will love this book for a very very long time. i'm sure of it. alison saft did an amazing job with this couple and the world and i will think about it for the next 400 business days.

my ratings:

characters - 5 ☆ - believable, change and grow, memorable, multilayered, unforgettable protagonist

plot - 4.5 ☆ - addictive, satisfying conclusion, uneven pacing, slow start strong finish

setting - 5 ☆ - atmospheric, beautiful, evocative imagery, immersive world-building, magical, otherworldly

writing style - 4.75 ☆ - beautifully written, descriptive, flowery/lush, whimsical tone

favorite quotes (some spoilers here, of course, but minimal):

Sometimes, Clarion wondered what it must be like to feel as though you belonged somewhere—to have so many others to turn to, who all understood you so completely.

Perhaps they had no respect or love for warm-season royalty in the Winter Woods, but she would gladly take impertinence over reverence.

What must it be like, she wondered, to be so certain of your path? What must it be like to share it?

His gratitude—and the knowledge that someone was counting on her so deeply—felt like a precious thing, indeed. She wanted to hold it close.

She and Milori could never be anything resembling friends. But here in the twilight, the space between them as good as a solid wall, nothing felt wholly real. What did it hurt to pretend?

The shape of his pain matched her own. Milori was just as lonely as she was.

He flexed his fingers as if working out a cramp, then took a single step back from her.

“It’s just… you seem different here. It suits you.”

“I’ll wait for you.”

When she allowed herself to dream, she thought of Pixie Hollow, united and safe. She thought of the warmth of Winter, where respect did not mean distance. She thought of Milori.

When he spoke, his voice was low and full of wonder. “You’re incredible.” For perhaps the first time, she believed it.

“It isn’t Nightmares that keep me awake, Clarion.”

It felt cruel, to meet him just before she would have to let him go. Gone would be her days of sneaking into Winter. Gone would be whatever this was between them.

A glimmer of bittersweet yearning lit his eyes, and Clarion knew then and there that she had crossed a line she might never recover from. Perhaps it would have been better not knowing what she was missing. Perhaps it would have been better to pine than to mourn.

Through the clamor and seething of battle, she found her true north: Milori.

“Did you know that I saw your star fall?”

“Clarion.” He said her name like a plea. “Weighed against your life, they are nothing to me. I would make that trade every time.”

Instead, he’d ensured Pixie Hollow would have her, in all her imperfections, for the entirety of her long life.

“You stole my owl,” he said, with a touch of amusement. “Who else but the queen would dare do such a thing? It wasn’t particularly difficult to figure out where you might have taken her.”

There was nowhere else she would rather be crowned: here, where she’d learned to believe in herself. Here, where she’d met the one who had both mended and broken her heart.

#⊹₊ ⋆ᯓ★ book review #book review #bookblr #review #wings of starlight #alison saft #wings of starlight alison saft

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m34gs · 1 year ago

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hi meags!!! I had to tell you that i finished reading pride and prejudice! the ending was just lovely <3! it just kept looking up and up. i totally adore mr darcy and elizabeth! they are so adorable, and they are so good for each other. i can see why you love this book!!

Awwww yeah!!!! I'm so glad you enjoyed it. Isn't it just so fun?

Not gonna lie, one of my absolute favourite parts is when Lady Catherine confronts Lizzie and tells her not to marry Mr. Darcy; and then Lizzie does what she wants anyway. We stan a queen! Lol.

Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth are both wonderful examples of character growth and development, and the changes in their relationship and respect for one another always gets me giggling and kicking my feet hahaha. And, if you have a chance to watch the 2005 film, there is a scene where he helps her into the carriage and then flexes his hand after; that scene is pure fucking gold and gets me pterodactyl screeching every time. Such a small thing, but so perfect. Also, we get rainy confessions and early morning sunrise confessions. And a lot of humour at the expense of Mr. Collins :D I highly recommend it, and if you do watch it feel free to come scream about it with me!

What did you think of Elizabeth's family? Honestly, I love reading about them as well. I personally think that while I find Mrs. Bennet frustrating in the ways she tries to go about setting up her daughters and what she prioritizes, I can fully understand her anxiety and desire to see her daughters safely taken care of. On the flip-side, while I love the sarcasm and dry humour of Mr. Bennet, I think at times he should have taken things a bit more seriously and major things, such as Lydia running away with Wickham, could have been avoided. In that regard, I kind of think Lizzie's parents complement each other's personalities and help to balance each other out. I also have a lot of opinions on her sisters, and I'd love to know what you think!

#asks #mutuals #lovely to hear from you as always dear #pride and prejudice

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unsociableandtaciturnbarbie · 1 year ago

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Here we have a Tik Tok which I randomly scrolled upon two nights ago (whether it got added to my favorites collection is between me and whoever is monitoring my Tik Tok activity). This Tik Tok is fairly simple, but it’s really funny to me. It starts with a picture of a bunch of nurses/doctors running with a stretcher captioned, “she’s losing blood what’s her type?!?”, then the next slide is a collage of nine photos of Matthew Macfayden’s Mr. Darcy from the 2005 Pride and Prejudice movie (1 of the 9 photos being the Hand Flex itself). The joke here is that the doctors were asking about the patient’s blood type and instead we are provided with the patient’s type in men (Type, according to urban dictionary, is “a preference or what you look for in a significant other”). This is accompanied by lyrics from the song Soaked by Shy Smith (feel free to look up the lyrics, but I’m afraid of Tumblr’s moderation). This template with the play on the word “type” is used across Tik Tok for all sorts of characters and celebrities both real and fictional (Please read “all sorts of characters” as “I’ve seen a Simon from Alvin and the Chipmunks one under the same sound”). I’d categorize this template as one of the many varieties of thirst traps which the internet has to offer and just thinking about Mr. Darcy in the context of a thirst trap is incredibly funny to me. This thirst trap in particular was really good, I think, in its use of the song Soaked because two of the included photos are of him obviously having just come out of the rain (part of what I like to call the Wet Darcy Effect) and even though I don’t think that’s what the writer of the song was going for I like to imagine it was. The fact that the Hand Flex got its own picture in the collage also really made this Tik Tok complete for me. Side note: When I first watched the 2005 version I didn’t really care about the hand flex, but my mom pointed out that it’s probably the only time in this era that a man and woman would be making skin to skin contact except for maybe dancing (even then they should technically be wearing gloves). So, the hand flex is meant to be a sort of reaction to sparks Darcy is feeling just by helping her up into a carriage…I was soon converted to a Hand Flex fan. This is a really good example for me though of what we started to get into at the end of class today with “Darcymania”. What is it about Mr. Darcy that makes him such an object of internet fascination? Jane Austen wasn’t exactly writing him to be some sort of incredibly hot heartthrob with crazy sexual appeal; he’s just described as a handsome rich man with a tendency to be incredibly awkward and possibly even proud in social situations (which during regency times made him a catch for sure, but modern standards tend to be raised past money). And yet, the Wet Darcy Effect has spread its ripples of staring at soaking wet regency men through popular media from TikTok thirst traps to Bridgerton (see image below).

I think there’s definitely a level of adaptations having influence here, especially with something like Mr. Darcy in the rain or in a pond that never actually happens in the book. But, there’s also something to be said about Mr. Darcy the book character. As an avid romance consumer, I do think there’s something incredibly romantic about falling in love with someone you’re determined to hate, as Mr. Darcy does in the book. Even in the first few chapters we’re getting lines that are certainly making my heart melt like, “Darcy had never been so bewitched by any woman as he was by her.” Additionally (as we’ll get into later so I don’t want to spoil it too much) he’s willing to accept the consequences of his actions and rectify them for her. If we’re thinking about Mr. Darcy with a sort of “I can fix him mindset”, then I’d argue he does the fixing by himself by the end of the book. I wish I could come to a conclusion on why the internet has made the jump from “Mr. Darcy is a good romantic interest” to “Let’s make thirst traps and put him half-dressed on candles like you would with religious figures (see below)”, but I cannot. As someone who has personally made the jump from “Hey, he’s kind of an intriguing character” to “my roommates buy me things with his face on them”, I can kind of see the appeal, but crossing the line to sexualizing him and making thirst traps has never once occurred to me so there’s definitely still some missing pieces.

Here's the Tik Tok link for crediting purposes:

#pride and prejudice #fitzwilliam darcy #jane austen #mr darcy

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shewhowas39 · 1 year ago

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chapter 12 sneak peek

in case you missed it, i posted chapter 11 of Junipter & Starlight this weekend - and it might have been my favorite chapter yet. (complete with a Mr. Darcy hand flex from Astarion - IF YOU KNOW YOU KNOW). but anyway, here's a little preview of chapter 12, which should go up later in the week.

***

“June?” Astarion calls again, looking around. “Where have you gone?”

He searches the nearby foliage, thinking perhaps she had gone off the path to relieve herself and gotten lost. Though, admittedly, that doesn’t sound like her. From what he has seen, the woman’s sense of direction is good enough to rival a ranger’s. When there’s still no sign of her, he climbs a nearby tree, hoping to get a better view of the woods from above. No luck there, either.

Scratch whines at Astarion as he climbs down from the tree. The dog circles the area he’d been barking at before, pawing at the dirt path over and over.

“I’m not a druid,” Astarion snaps at the dog. “I don’t know what you’re trying to tell me.”

Scratch growls at him and then continues pacing.

Astarion is beginning to get concerned. Not about June or her wellbeing. Of course not. Not because he’s starting to actually enjoy spending time with her. Not because she, in the past seven days, has shown him more kindness and understanding than anyone else in the last two centuries of his unlife.

More kindness and understanding than he deserves.

No. It’s just that she is useful. She’s intelligent and good in a fight and willing to support him when dealing with the others.

Astarion’s unbeating heart drops into his stomach when he thinks about their companions.

“I’m going to be blamed for this,” he mutters. He’d just been unmasked as a vampire spawn that morning. The timing absolutely could not be worse.

But he has no idea where his mad mage could be. It’s as if she vanished into thin air.

#bg3 fanfiction #astarion x oc #astarion x durge #astarion x female oc #astarion ancunin #durgestarion #bg3 #astarion x the dark urge #baldur's gate 3 #juniper & starlight

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hotjaneaustenmenpoll · 1 year ago

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Quarter Final One

Propaganda...

Edward Ferrars (1995) :

Edward gets a bad rap because he's quiet and the whole lucy steele situation but he doesn't get enough credit for how honourable he is! It's easy to have honour when it costs you nothing he knows he'll be miserable with lucy but he knows it's the right thing and to do so he sticks to his guns and does it anyway despite the opposition from his family and to me that is hot! Also yes he makes mistakes but his family are vile - he grew up with Fanny and Robert and is still a good man! Also he looks like hugh grant and plays fun games with Margaret and he understands Elinor in a way no one else does - Hot!Hot!Hot!

youtube

Mr Darcy (1995) :

GIF by sunsetboulevards

Those heart-eyes right up above☝️? Hot!

Passive-agressively drinking tea? Hot!

GIF by jaeausten

The way he rushes over to see Elizabeth at Pemberley on those delicious long legs of his with that slutty wet curl hanging over his forehead? Hot!

GIF by didanagy

Fencing? Hot!

GIF by greengableslover

The way he is so concerned about Elizabeth crying and takes her hand even though he shouldn't? Hot!

GIF by greengableslover

This dimple-y smile of pure joy because he knows he's married to Elizabeth freaking Bennet? Hot!

GIF by didana

Without Firth in a lake you wouldn’t get Macfadyen in a downpour!

youtube

Colin Firth served so much as Darcy that when they did Bridget Jone's diary, they brought him back.... AS DARCY. The smoulder. The angst. The man is the quintessential Darcy.

“Firthing” is an actual term that is used now to describe someone yearning intensely. It is named after Colin Firth’s Mr Darcy performance.

Colin has beautiful, touchable curls.

Link

My teacher stopped the film and pointed at Darcy's face and said, "See that? That is THE look. If someone ever looks at you like that, you know they're in love." And what is hotter than that?

Also this teacher had two cats named Lizzy and Darcy. Not relevant to the poll but I wanted you all to know about them.

#hotjaneaustenmenpoll #quarter-finals #edward ferrars #mr darcy #sense and sensibility 1995 #pride and prejudice 1995 #pride and prejudice #sense and sensibility #hugh grant #colin firth

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bebethsas · 6 months ago

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@foundtherightwords lol, he did? when??

"such a boy back then" sir that 'closing-the-shutters' moment in the hotel room has been compared to the Mr.-Darcy-hand-flex moment from the Pride and Prejudice movie in its intensity and ability to make people swoon--don't sell yourself short!!

("such a boy--" he was what, 22, 23 when he shot this?? ...also wow I just remembered that Leonard is canonically 20-21 in this, so Joe was actually in a role that was close to his IRL age for once--I know it's not the only role he's played whose age was close to his age when they filmed, but still)

2nd gif's caption: "what d'you want to have me in there for??"

also: man, I think this is my favorite scene in the entire show. I swear, every second is great;

there's Leonard getting upset--and trying very hard to leave--for multiple reasons: -he thought that Helen and her sister invited him to tea b/c... (...b/c I thought that you liked my company? That you were interested in discussing art with me again? That maybe you liked me (as a person)? He doesn't finish the statement, but the look on his face... only 22, only 22 and already so talented, what am I doing with my life...) ...when they actually just invited him over to warn him about his job most likely going belly-up (cough convince him to leave his position b/c they're convinced that they're right, and that their source for this info--(through gritted teeth) Mr. Wilcox--is infallible cough). -(I suspect that he's also upset b/c now he knows that they're on friendly terms with the Wilcoxes--Mr. Wilcox and his daughter dropped by in the previous scene, and Leonard's polite smile dropped with it--and I'm pretty sure that he knows who Mr. Wilcox is) -he feels like they only invite him 'round b/c...I'm struggling with how to describe this. It's like they don't care about him as a person with a brain, they care about him as a human for them to talk at. He feels like he can't discuss art with them, and he feels like they're judging him based on what he wants to talk about, and they unintentionally dismiss the way he interacts with art as well as his emotions about it; their way of viewing art is the only thing that is discussed, and his way isn't encouraged? I'm trying to explain it...It's like...imagine that they're three children, and they've each brought a toy to their gathering; only the Schlegel sisters' toys are allowed to be played with, while Leonard's toy is purposefully ignored since the sisters aren't interested in it. -they're not interested in his interests and don't want to talk about them, and only want to talk about what they want to talk about (gaaaaah and as a person with ASD I felt that line on a spiritual level)

then there's Helen desperately trying to diffuse the situation--all the while not knowing why there is a situation to diffuse in the first place and becoming visibly distressed

and then Tibby pops up out of nowhere and inadvertantly makes things worse with his blunt way of speaking (and being damn funny the entire time too; he literally enters the scene by suddenly leaning out of a doorway and saying "does anyone actually like [Dostoyevsky]...you can't go a single page without someone collapsing on the floor," in response to something his sister had said in her private conversation with Leonard) (note to self, look into reading Dostoyevsky, it sounds like his work would appeal to my ✨Dramatic✨ taste.) Tibby, literally 2 seconds later with zero tact or intended malice: "I say, are you that poor devil of a clerk they have debates over at the Chelsea Women's Political Club?"

and Annie the maid, popping up twice while trying to look for Leonard's hat, and becoming increasingly more stressed and upset from the stressful situation and Helen's rising stress levels (which she is unintentionally taking out on Annie), which puts more unspoken pressure on her to find that hat.

it's a boatload of tension, mainly between Helen and Leonard, with Annie off camera in another room, and with Tibby on the side (looking rather nonplussed and completely unphased by the thick-and-stressful tension in the air--love that for him 😂).

you can tell that Helen feels bad (and confused) that Leonard's upset and wants to make it right (even as their conversation goes farther and farther downhill as they speak), and Leonard is upset and disappointed and just wants to leave (but he can't because he can't find his hat--and no he can't just leave without it, not just b/c it's not The Proper Thing To Do, but because if he left it behind, that means that he would have to come back and fetch it; and he also can't replace it b/c he and Jackie are already struggling to make ends meet as is, so he's literally stuck standing awkwardly in the hallway with Helen as he waits for Annie to locate and return with his hat, while uncomfortably enduring Helen's questions) and it's just...aaaaaaaauuughhhhh!!! It's great :3

It's a very human scene, and I've lived similar situations before, so it feels VERY realistic.

i pray that linking this doesn't lead to yt finding this vid and deleting it:

youtube

(yes I backed up a bit b/c the preceding scene is also good, goddammit, it's so subtle but you can see the minute way his face falls when they tell him that the reason they wrote him was b/c they wanted to warn him about his job. I swear, you can see the brief flash of disappointment in his eyes.)

...literally so talented that when Anne Rice (yes, Lestat's mom) watched the miniseries, she noticed it and tweeted about it.

JOSEPH QUINN as LEONARD BAST in Howard's End

#jfc I swear #every time I come on this site #I learn that there's yet still *more* stuff that I haven't heard before XD #...also wow this reblog grew #sorry for the juggernaut of a response Sal!#this was supposed to end after “don't sell yourself short”!#leonard bast #joseph quinn #Youtube

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