#bennet even admired her

[bennetsbonnet]

I find it interesting that in fanon Elizabeth Bennet is widely held up as an avid bookworm when, in fact, there isn't a great deal of textual evidence to support that particular headcanon.

Perhaps it's because Mr Darcy comments on her reading at Netherfield or thanks to certain adaptations, but I frequently see her depicted as a voracious reader when we have the benefit of her view of her relationship to books from Elizabeth herself:

'“I deserve neither such praise nor such censure,” cried Elizabeth; “I am not a great reader, and I have pleasure in many things.”'

This is supported by the text as when Elizabeth reads in Chapter 8, it's only when she briefly ventures downstairs after attending to Jane for much of the day because Jane has finally fallen asleep. She picks up a book because the rest of the party are playing cards and, she suspects, gambling on the outcome:

'On entering the drawing-room she found the whole party at loo, and was immediately invited to join them; but suspecting them to be playing high she declined it, and making her sister the excuse, said she would amuse herself for the short time she could stay below, with a book.'

The fact that Elizabeth reads as almost a last resort makes Darcy's infamous 'improvement of her mind by extensive reading,' line all the funnier as it's further proof that he really doesn't know her and was only looking for superficial commonalities, rather than getting to know her on a deeper level.

There is one other time where she possibly reads, towards the end of Chapter 12, when she is briefly alone with Darcy. While he reads, there is no indication that Elizabeth does too:

'Steady to his purpose, he scarcely spoke ten words to her through the whole of Saturday, and though they were at one time left by themselves for half-an-hour, he adhered most conscientiously to his book, and would not even look at her.'

Actually, there are far more instances of Elizabeth picking up some needlework and sewing which perhaps point to that being her preferred method of passing the time...

In Chapter 10, when Caroline gives a running commentary on Mr Darcy writing a letter:

'Elizabeth took up some needlework, and was sufficiently amused in attending to what passed between Darcy and his companion.'

In Chapter 11, when Jane ventures downstairs and Bingley is fussing over her:

'Elizabeth, at work in the opposite corner, saw it all with great delight.'

In Chapter 59, after Mr Darcy returns from speaking to Mr Bennet to seek his consent:

'In a few minutes he approached the table where she was sitting with Kitty; and, while pretending to admire her work said in a whisper, “Go to your father, he wants you in the library.”'

In my opinion, I think most of us that adore Pride and Prejudice are likely bookworms ourselves and want to have something in common with a heroine we adore. It's far nicer to think of yourself as an Elizabeth Bennet than a Mary Bennet... though perhaps, unfortunately, such a sentiment is not supported by the text...

[buddyhollyscurls]

Finished my re- reading of Pride and Prejudice and I absolutely adore the ending it's so sweet and satisfactory and something I want to mention that we've all talked about before is that obviously Eliza had kept so many things from her family (referring obviously to her love for Darcy but also how she GOT to that point in the first place) but something that I think is so funny is that even after she opens up to them about things there are still things they do not know. Most notably Darcy's first proposal.

Jane is the only one who knows and I'm just imagining her parents finding out.

Like imagine her parents visiting her as Misstress of Pemberley for the first time after their I'm sure LONG honeymoon and Mr. and Mrs. Bennet are admiring the estate telling Lizzy how lucky she is, and she inadvertently lets it slip like, "I know. I remember thinking how lucky I would be to live here after I rejected him the first time."

And her parents just halt you can hear a pin drop until her mother looks at her and is like, "What..."

And Elizabeth tries to play it cool by going, "Y - yeah, he proposed to me once before I accepted him. But we don't like to talk about it."

And her father quips, "Yeah, because I can imagine how seething u were in your rejection."

Eliza and her husband exchange a look, "N - no... no, I wouldn't say SEETHING... maybe... a little... impolite... right, Darcy?"

Eliza pleads with her eyes for him to help but unfortunately for her given their time together he has in FACT learned to laugh at himself and he knows he's going to pay for it dearly once the in-laws leave but he doesn't know when he will ever have the upper hand against his wife again so he smiles at her and she just knows what's coming

"I believe your exact words were, my darling," he begins slowly, "I was the last man in the world whom you would ever be prevailed upon to marry."

It takes Mr. Bennet to keep his wife from attempting to bludgeon their daughter to death, and you can see that while he's doing so he's trying to contain his own laughter and there may even be a gleam of pride in his eyes. Meanwhile Elizabeth's stare would be enough to eviscerate her newlywed husband however she knows she can't be too mad bc this is the monster she herself has created.

[buttercandy16]

UNTIL YOU'RE MINE

PAIRING: Teacher!Agatha Harkness x Student! Reader

SUMMARY: When your teacher becomes your nightmare.

WARNING(s): Dark Themes, Yandere, Kidnapping, Blood and Murder, Stockholm Syndrome

A/N: Been a while 😚🔪

You were sixteen the first time you saw her.

It was the start of the second semester, and you were assigned to a new English class—Advanced Literature. Room 207. A class meant for seniors and the academically gifted. You didn’t feel like either. You’d only gotten in because of your high reading scores and a transfer from your last school. A quiet, bookish girl who kept her head down, who blended in easily. You’d always preferred the silence of pages over people.

The bell rang as you stepped through the threshold. That’s when you saw her.

Ms. Harkness.

She stood at the front of the room, chalk in hand, already halfway through writing a quote on the board:

“We are all fools in love.” —Jane Austen

The first thing you noticed was how still she was—like a painting. She held herself with a kind of effortless elegance, tall and commanding in a dark plum blouse that hugged her figure, her black slacks sleek, polished boots clicking softly against the floor as she turned.

And then she looked at you.

A subtle flicker of her violet eyes over her shoulder, and the second her gaze met yours, your breath caught. There was something unreadable in her expression—something sharp and silent, like the moment just before lightning strikes.

Her stare wasn’t just a glance—it was assessing you, stripping you down to your bones and memorizing each one.

You froze in place.

She smiled.

“New student?” she asked. Her voice was smooth, honeyed, but there was something underneath it—a weight that felt too intense for a simple greeting.

You nodded. “Y-Yes.”

“Name?”

You told her, feeling like the sound of it no longer belonged to you.

“Lovely,” she murmured. “Why don’t you sit here?” She gestured to the front row, third seat from the left. Right in the center of her field of view.

It wasn’t a request.

You obeyed without question, feeling her eyes on your back the entire walk there. The other students were chatting, oblivious, but something inside you had already shifted. There was a tremble in your chest you couldn’t name.

You sat down, took out your notebook, and tried to focus. Tried to steady your breathing.

But Ms. Harkness didn’t look away.

The lesson that day was on Pride and Prejudice. You’d read it before. Knew all the characters. But the way she spoke about it made the book feel entirely new. Her voice was slow, deliberate, and she never once glanced at her notes. Every word she spoke felt chosen. Purposeful.

“Love,” she said, strolling between the desks with her hands clasped behind her back, “is often mistaken for admiration. Or obsession. Or control. But real love… it transforms you. It consumes you.”

She paused by your desk.

Her hand rested lightly on your shoulder. You froze again.

“Sometimes,” she continued, looking down at you with eyes like wine, “you don’t even realize you’re falling until it’s far too late.”

A few students chuckled. You didn’t. Your skin was burning under her touch, but her grip didn’t move. Not until you shifted uncomfortably in your chair.

Only then did she withdraw.

At the end of class, you were the last to leave. Your pencil case had spilled open, and you were scrambling to gather everything when her shadow loomed over your desk.

“You’re quite bright,” she said, crouching to help you collect your pens. “Your analysis earlier on Elizabeth Bennet’s pride… It was insightful. Very mature for someone your age.”

You gave her a quiet “thank you,” cheeks flushing. She was too close. You could smell her perfume—something floral, but dark, like night-blooming jasmine.

She handed you a pink gel pen you hadn’t noticed was missing.

“Don’t be afraid to speak more in class,” she said gently, brushing a stray lock of hair behind your ear. “I want to hear what’s in that pretty little head of yours.”

You nodded, almost dizzy from the attention.

She smiled.

You left the classroom feeling… strange. Not quite flattered. Not quite afraid.

Just noticed in a way you’d never been before.

That night, as you sat on your bed journaling, your thoughts drifted back to her. The way she looked at you. The way her fingers had lingered too long. You tried to tell yourself it was nothing—that you were being silly.

But deep down, something about that first glance stuck with you.

What you didn’t know was that hours later, Ms. Harkness was still in her classroom—alone, the lights dimmed, your name written over and over again in the margins of her notebook like a chant.

She didn’t go home.

She stayed there long into the night, whispering your name under her breath with a smile so soft it could be mistaken for love… if not for the madness shimmering beneath it.

The days passed quietly at first.

Ms. Harkness kept her distance, at least in the way most teachers did. No inappropriate comments. No touchy-feely gestures like that first day. But her attention never strayed far from you. She called on you often—always asking the most difficult questions. She said it was because you were “capable,” “gifted.” But her gaze never felt like it belonged to a teacher admiring talent.

It felt like a secret. A claim.

Every time you looked up, she was watching you. Not always directly. Sometimes through the reflection of the window. Sometimes from behind a book, her violet eyes just barely visible. But it was constant.

And soon, subtle things began to change.

Your essays always received glowing praise, even when you knew they weren’t your best. She began to write notes in the margins—not just about the text, but about you.

“You have such a sensitive soul.”

“Your mind is beautiful. I hope others recognize that.”

“This reminds me of a line I once underlined when I was your age—‘She walked through life as if the stars were her only companions.’ That’s you.”

You showed one of the notes to a friend once, laughing it off. But even as you smiled, something inside you twisted.

Then came the gifts.

Small things at first. A new journal left on your desk. A ribbon tied around it in your favorite color. A paperback book—The Bell Jar—with a note tucked inside the front cover:

“For when the world feels heavy. You’re not alone.” — A.H.

You never told her your favorite color. Or that you suffered from the occasional panic attack. But somehow, she knew.

When you brought it up after class—trying to politely return the journal—she merely smiled and said, “A teacher’s job is to nurture their brightest. I see you, sweetheart.”

She said it like a blessing. Like a vow.

You started to dread English class.

But skipping wasn’t an option. She always noticed. And the one time you were late because you had a nosebleed in the hallway, she showed up at the nurse’s office ten minutes later, eyes blazing with concern.

“She’s mine,” she hissed at the nurse when she tried to escort you. You saw it. Heard it. A quiet, deadly whisper she thought no one else caught.

You pretended not to.

Later that day, you found a packet of tissues and a bottle of herbal tea left inside your locker. No note. But it didn’t need one. You knew it was from her.

You started double-checking that your bedroom blinds were drawn at night. You couldn't explain why. It was just a feeling.

And then came the dream.

You were walking through a library alone. Shelves stretched up into the darkness like pillars in a cathedral. Every book you touched had your name on the cover.

And then she appeared behind you.

Her hand slid down your back—slow, warm, possessive. Her voice against your neck.

"Do you know how many versions of you I’ve read? How many I’ve rewritten in my head?"

You woke up sweating. Shaking.

Something was wrong.

The final straw was the email.

It came late—well past midnight. You checked it while lying in bed, groggy and half-asleep. The subject line read:

“My Dear Girl.”

Your heart thudded before you even opened it.

I know it’s not appropriate to write this. But I can’t help myself anymore.

You’re in my mind constantly. Every word I speak in class is for you. Every book I assign is because I want you to feel seen. Heard. Loved.

When I look at you, I don’t see a student. I see a soulmate who hasn’t yet remembered me.

Please don’t be afraid.

This is destiny.

Yours, always.

Agatha

You stared at the screen for what felt like hours. You didn’t breathe. You didn’t move.

The next morning, you didn’t go to school.

Your parents noticed your silence. You brushed them off. Said you were tired. That it was just “school stress.” But your hands kept shaking.

When you finally worked up the courage to show them the email, they both went pale. Your father called the school. Your mother held you tightly as you cried, whispering, “It’s okay now. We’ll protect you.”

The school promised action.

And for once… they followed through.

Within a week, Agatha Harkness was fired.

The official story was “boundary violations.” No charges filed. No police involved. The school didn’t want a scandal. They swept it under the rug with the efficiency of a place terrified of lawsuits.

But the day she was dismissed, she stood in the hallway outside your class.

She was wearing the same plum blouse from the first day you met her.

And she was smiling.

You stayed inside, heart pounding as you watched from the window. She didn’t yell. Didn’t weep. She simply placed a small envelope on the floor outside your door, turned slowly, and walked out of the building.

You never opened the envelope.

Your father burned it in the fireplace that night.

But even as the flames consumed the paper, and your parents held you in their arms, something inside you whispered:

It’s not over.

_-_-_

You didn’t sleep much after she was fired.

Even with the locks changed, even with your father installing motion-activated floodlights outside the house and your mother insisting you carry pepper spray, you couldn’t shake the feeling that she was close. Watching.

You’d flinch at the sound of tires on gravel. You started checking behind you in hallways, in parking lots, in the mirror. Every shadow stretched too long. Every stranger in the corner of your eye became her.

You kept telling yourself it was over.

But you knew better.

And so did your parents.

Because two weeks after she was fired, you found a bouquet on the front porch. Black dahlias. Tied with the same ribbon she once wrapped around the journal she gave you.

No card. No name. But you knew.

Your mother screamed when she saw them. Your father threw them in the garbage with shaking hands. That night, he filed for a restraining order.

The hearing was short.

You didn’t have to attend in person—just a signed statement. Your parents sat before the judge and presented the emails, the gifts, the testimony. The envelope. The flowers. It wasn’t hard to prove inappropriate conduct.

Agatha didn’t fight it.

In fact, she didn’t show up at all.

But as you would soon learn, that wasn’t mercy.

It was calm before the storm.

The order was granted. Agatha Harkness was forbidden to come within 500 feet of you or your home. She was not allowed to contact you in any form.

But that didn’t stop her.

It began subtly again.

You started seeing your name carved into things.

A bench at your bus stop, freshly etched with careful script: Y/N + A.H.

Your Instagram account—private—somehow had a new follower with no posts, no icon. The account’s name? ForeverHarkness.

Blocked.

Then came the voicemails.

The first was just breathing. A soft, almost lullaby-like hum in the background. You deleted it, hands trembling.

The second was worse.

“You’re confused right now. I understand. But I forgive you. I forgive your parents too… even though they’re trying to poison you against me. They don’t see you the way I do. They never did. You’re mine, little one. And I’ll wait. As long as I have to.”

You never gave her your number.

Your mother found you sobbing in your closet that night, curled into yourself like a frightened animal.

The next morning, you transferred schools again.

But it wasn’t far enough.

Agatha sent letters. Somehow she found your new campus. She started leaving gifts in your locker—no longer with love notes, but with old poetry torn from books:

“I cannot live without my soul.” – Wuthering Heights

“She is all things holy and unholy, and I will drink her like sin.” – Scribbled over in red ink

At this point, police were called. But the letters stopped before they could catch her. No fingerprints. No footage.

She was careful.

Too careful.

Your parents considered moving out of state. You begged them to. You begged.

But your dad insisted, “We can’t let her drive us out of our lives.” He stood firm.

You wanted to believe him.

But deep down, you felt it coming.

The night it happened, it rained.

You remember that detail more than anything. The sky split open like it was mourning before you even knew why.

You were in your room, headphones in, buried beneath a blanket, trying to disappear into music that didn’t remind you of her. Your parents were downstairs. Your little brother was watching cartoons in the living room.

Then—

A bang.

Not thunder.

A scream.

Then another.

You ripped off your headphones and bolted upright just as the lights went out. The entire house plunged into darkness.

You called for your dad.

No answer.

Called for your mom.

Nothing.

Then—footsteps.

Not heavy like your father’s.

Heels. Sharp and slow.

You panicked and ran—not outside. There wasn’t time. You ran into your closet and pulled the door almost closed, holding your breath.

And through the crack, you saw her.

Agatha.

Drenched from the rain, hair clinging to her face in wild strands. She wore black leather gloves and carried something long and gleaming—a knife. Her face was calm. Serene.

Like she was finally home.

She stepped over your father’s body first.

His blood stained the carpet. His eyes were still open.

You didn’t scream.

You couldn’t.

Your entire body had gone cold.

Your mother’s sobs came from the kitchen. Pleading. You heard a single word: “Please.”

Then—silence.

Followed by the sound of slicing.

Wet. Slow.

You wanted to close your eyes, but you couldn’t. You were frozen in a nightmare where you had to keep watching.

Your brother never even screamed. He was the last. You watched Agatha cradle his head like a mother might soothe a sleeping child.

When she finished, she stood in the center of your living room, slick with blood, and smiled.

“I told you,” she whispered to the dark. “They were in the way.”

You bit into your sleeve to keep from making a sound. You tasted blood—your own—where your teeth broke skin.

Then, suddenly, she stopped.

She tilted her head… as if listening.

Her gaze turned toward your room.

Your closet.

And she started walking toward it.

You never remembered how you escaped.

Not really.

The trauma split your memory in half, like a photograph soaked in bleach—faces smeared, sounds muffled, colors all turned gray. But pieces of it stayed with you. Forever.

The smell of blood.

The sound of wet footsteps squelching across your bedroom carpet.

The closet door cracking open just a few inches…

And her face.

Agatha's eyes had been wild with something almost… joyful. Like she’d finally peeled back the last page of a long-awaited story. There you were. Huddled inside the closet like a trembling paragraph she’d always known was hiding between the lines.

But something stopped her.

Maybe the distant echo of sirens. Maybe the sight of your tear-streaked face, paralyzed and bloodied from biting your own sleeve. Maybe it was enough, for now, just to see you watch her.

She didn’t pull you out. Didn’t speak.

She knelt slowly.

Placed her gloved hand on the closet door, just above your head.

And whispered.

“You’ll understand someday. I did this for you.”

Then she stood, turned—and vanished into the house.

By the time the police arrived, she was already gone.

You were the only one left alive.

The only one who saw everything.

Your parents.

Your little brother.

Slaughtered.

And you—

The hidden, haunted witness.

The courtroom was cold.

Almost too clean. Too bright. As if no evil could possibly exist in such a sterile space.

But when they brought her in—hands cuffed, orange jumpsuit too neat on her body—you felt the oxygen drain from your lungs.

She looked beautiful.

Not bloodstained. Not mad.

Beautiful.

Her hair was neatly pinned back. Her makeup light, tasteful. She looked like a version of herself you hadn’t seen in a year. The composed teacher. The poised intellectual.

But when she saw you…

Her lips parted into a soft, delighted smile.

Like you were a long-lost lover walking down the aisle.

You couldn’t look away.

You wanted to, but your body didn’t obey you anymore.

She mouthed two words across the courtroom.

Deliberate. Slow.

“My darling.”

Your hands trembled. A court officer touched your shoulder gently and whispered, “You don’t have to look at her.” But it was too late. Her image was already burned behind your eyes like a flashbulb.

You testified.

Through a locked jaw and a throat full of knives, you told them what happened. You told them everything.

The emails. The stalking. The flowers.

The night you saw her kill your entire family.

The jury never even debated for long. The evidence was overwhelming. The restraining order violation. The blood on her gloves. The flowers matched to the same rare nursery where she bought the black dahlias. Everything lined up.

She was sentenced to life in prison with no chance of parole.

And yet…

That final moment—before the guards dragged her away—unraveled everything.

She leaned forward as the verdict was read, her hands trembling with something between ecstasy and rage.

And she stared right at you.

“This isn’t over,” she said aloud.

“You’re mine. One way or another, I’ll have you.”

Court officers restrained her. The judge slammed the gavel. Your therapist cried. The newspapers printed your face under headlines like “Teen Survives Family Massacre” and “Killer Teacher Obsessed with Student.”

But none of that mattered.

Because her words stayed with you.

They grew roots in your chest. Coiled around your spine.

You weren’t just a survivor.

You were a promise.

Years passed.

You tried to move on.

You changed your name. You changed schools. You changed cities.

You stopped writing. You stopped reading. You stopped anything that made you remember her, which meant almost everything. You drifted through therapy like a ghost. Some days, you felt human again. Other days, you weren’t so sure.

And then… finally…

You met someone.

A girl named Elara.

She was everything Agatha wasn’t—soft-spoken, gentle, uncertain in her own way. She kissed you like you were made of glass, and you kissed her like you were trying not to shatter.

She never asked about the past.

Only the future.

You smiled when she called you hers.

You believed her when she said you were safe now.

You even agreed to go on that vacation with her and your friends. A quiet cabin, upstate. No signal. No noise. Just trees, water, sky.

You almost felt alive again.

You never expected the nightmare to crawl back from the grave.

The cabin was supposed to be an escape.

Nestled beside a glimmering lake in the woods, hours from any major city, it had no reception, no internet, and no past. Your friends insisted it would be healing. A clean slate. A few days with people who made you laugh, drink, dance, and forget.

And for a time, it worked.

Elara held your hand without expecting you to explain why your grip trembled. She knew enough to understand your ghosts had teeth. The others—Mika, Jules, and Aaron—respected the space around your silence.

There were s’mores. Laughter. Music that filled the trees.

The stars looked like diamonds that had forgiven the night sky.

You let yourself believe it was over.

You let yourself breathe.

Until the first night.

The first sign was the carving.

Aaron found it etched into a tree near the dock while looking for firewood. Letters carefully gouged into bark.

Y/N + A.H.

Forever. Even Death Can't Stop Me.

At first, they laughed. Said it must’ve been someone messing around. A coincidence. A joke.

But you froze.

Because you’d seen that same phrasing before. In a letter. In her voice.

And the carving was fresh.

Elara noticed your stillness and led you inside. “It’s nothing,” she whispered. “It’s someone else. It has to be.”

But that night, you barely slept.

The woods felt too quiet. Too aware.

The second sign was the phone.

Your old phone—the one you’d discarded years ago—was sitting on the windowsill the next morning when you woke up.

Dead. Cracked screen.

The wallpaper still the same: a photo of your family. From before.

And taped across it was a single line:

"You changed your name, but not your soul. I still know where you live."

You dropped it. Screamed. The others came running.

Jules wanted to call the police, but there was no service. Mika searched the woods. Found nothing. No footprints. No sign of entry.

“We’re miles from anything,” Aaron argued. “No way someone just walked up here in the middle of the night.”

But you knew better.

This wasn’t someone.

This was her.

That night, Mika didn’t come back.

She said she was going to the car for extra blankets. She didn’t answer when you called. The guys searched until dawn—up and down the dirt road, into the tree line, calling her name.

At sunrise, they found her.

Or what was left of her.

Face down by the lake. Throat slit. A flower in her mouth—black dahlia.

Just like before.

The rest of the day was a blur.

Jules vomited. Aaron wept. Elara held you like you were breaking in slow motion.

You wanted to believe this was a nightmare. You wanted to believe it was anyone else.

But you knew it was her.

Even after prison. Even after life without parole.

She had escaped.

She had found you.

And she was taking everything back.

You wanted to leave. But the car keys were gone. So was the gas can. Someone had sabotaged the tires—sliced clean through. And with no service, no signal, the woods may as well have been the moon.

Jules didn’t want to split up. Neither did Elara. But Aaron insisted they had to try hiking to the nearest ranger station—six miles through dense forest.

They left.

Only one of them returned.

Jules burst through the front door just before dusk, screaming, soaked in blood.

Not hers.

He collapsed in the living room, babbling nonsense, face pale, mouth open wide in a soundless scream.

Aaron, he said, had been hung like a puppet between two trees, his stomach carved open. Above his corpse, written in his blood:

“Tell them to stop taking what’s mine.”

You didn’t sleep that night. No one did.

You locked the doors. Nailed boards across the windows. Sat in the dark with a kitchen knife in your trembling hands.

Elara didn’t speak much. Her eyes kept flicking toward the window, as if she could feel her out there. Watching. Waiting.

When she did speak, it was a whisper against your skin.

“We should have stayed home.”

The next to die was Jules.

It was quick.

A scream from the bathroom. Then silence.

You and Elara ran in.

And all you saw was blood.

Every wall sprayed red. His body hanging over the tub, mouth full of teeth that weren’t his.

Your knees gave out.

You couldn’t scream anymore. Your throat was raw.

Elara pulled you away. Clutched you tight.

“We have to run,” she said. “Now. Before she gets you.”

You tried.

Together, you ran through the woods barefoot, clothes soaked from the storm, rain blinding your vision. Every snapping twig felt like a gunshot. Every rustle a whisper in her voice.

You didn’t know how long you ran. Minutes. Hours. Time unraveled.

And then, without warning—

Elara’s hand was ripped from yours.

You turned.

And saw her.

Agatha.

Drenched in mud, eyes glowing with madness, arms outstretched as she dragged Elara back by her hair, knife glinting between her fingers.

Elara screamed your name once—just once.

And then there was only silence.

You collapsed.

There was no fight left in you.

No running.

And that’s when she found you.

Agatha stepped into the clearing like a storm finally making landfall. Calm. Controlled.

Her hair was matted with rain. Her shirt soaked red. But her smile…

That smile had never changed.

“I told you,” she whispered, kneeling before you.

“One way or another, I’d have you.”

You sobbed. Not because of fear. Not anymore.

Because there was no one left to save you.

And she knew that.

You stopped counting the days.

After the fiftieth mark on the bedpost, it felt pointless. Time had lost shape. There was only before her… and after.

She was still careful with you. Still patient. Still obsessed.

But the madness had softened its claws. She no longer chained you with violence or threats. She didn’t have to.

Because your world was her now.

Each day followed the same pattern.

A soft knock. Breakfast. Books. Talks. Walks around the tiny greenhouse she’d grown just for you.

She sang sometimes. Old songs, lullabies, things you recognized from your childhood—though you never told her that.

Because the way she looked at you when you smiled…

It was terrifying.

But also… safe.

The outside world began to feel like a dream. A cruel one. Where your family died. Where your friends screamed. Where love was sharp and always out of reach.

Here, at least, you were wanted.

Here, you were the center of someone’s universe.

Even if that someone was deranged.

Even if it meant your past had to rot quietly in your mind.

It started with letting her touch your hair.

She asked, always. Gently. As though even now, she wanted your trust more than your submission.

And after so long in silence, so long buried in the cold tomb of your own isolation… you whispered, “Okay.”

She wept when you let her braid it.

Kissed your forehead.

Called you her girl.

The locket stayed around your neck.

You stopped trying to tear it off. Stopped staring at it with disgust. It became another part of the world you now lived in—just like the clean sheets, the soft music, and the quiet meals where she held your hand across the table.

One night, you whispered, “I don’t want to feel like this anymore.”

And she pulled you into her lap like a child.

Held you. Rocked you.

“Then don’t,” she said. “Let me do it for you. Let me be your anchor. Your only thing. You don’t have to remember pain anymore. Only me.”

And in that moment, something broke.

But something else… settled.

Months passed.

You laughed once.

A real laugh.

She was so stunned she nearly cried.

You read books out loud to her. You started sleeping beside her without needing her to ask. You dressed in the things she picked out for you. Let her call you sweetheart without flinching.

You never forgot what she did.

You never truly forgave.

But slowly, gently, the horror dulled. The grief hollowed into numbness. And her voice—always soft, always praising—became the one constant you could rely on.

One morning, she woke to find you standing over her.

Not in defiance.

Not in fear.

But with a question:

“Do you love me?”

Agatha sat up slowly. Studied you like you were something divine. Something she never deserved.

“More than my soul,” she said.

And when you crawled into her arms and whispered, “Then don’t let me go,”

she broke.

Cried into your skin.

Promised you would never be alone again.

Years passed.

The cabin became a home.

No one ever found you. She made sure of that.

And even if they had—you wouldn’t have left.

You didn’t know how to exist beyond her anymore.

The girl who once screamed in the dark was gone.

Replaced by someone who wore white for her.

Smiled for her.

Loved her the way she always wanted to be loved:

Completely.

Unquestioningly.

Forever.

In the end, she didn’t have to take you.

You gave yourself to her.

And that was all she ever needed.

_-_-_-_

Please don't forget to like, follow, reblog, and comment! 💜

[groovytigger-blog]

Forgive me if I don't state this as clearly as I might.

I'm watching pride and prejudice 1980, when lizzie visits pemberley. This is where it seems that she first truly realizes her feelings for darcy, as she later admits.

We see through the housekeeper that darcy is respected and respectable, his house is well run, his servants and tenants like and admire him.

This responsibility must be especially attractive to lizzie after the way she had grown up with her father - call it "daddy issues". Mr Bennet routinely shows he cannot handle his finances wisely, has little control over his household, and puts in little effort to manage anything in his or his family's life.

It is my supposition that it is not necessarily how grand the estate is, or even darcys marked improvement in gentlemanliness, that truly impacts lizzie. Rather, it is his abilities in contrast to her father, to be a responsible landlord, brother, friend, and potential husband, that first turns her feelings.

She realizes he is truly dependable, and it is that which makes him lovable in her eyes

Thoughts?

[bethanydelleman]

One thing that I've never understood is how after everything that happened in the book, Mr. Bennett claims Wikham as his favourite son in law.

“I admire all my three sons-in-law highly,” said he. “Wickham, perhaps, is my favourite; but I think I shall like your husband quite as well as Jane’s.”

The man that eloped with your daughter, with no real intention of marrying her until money was thrown at him? Even if you don't like your younger daughter as much as your older ones, and are happy to no longer deal with her(which is still insane, she is your fifteen year old child!) how can you so quickly reconcile with what happened enough to call him your favourite? Tolerance or even acceptance I would understand better. Do you have any insight to this?

It's sarcastic. Here is another quote that may help:

“He is as fine a fellow,” said Mr. Bennet, as soon as they were out of the house, “as ever I saw. He simpers, and smirks, and makes love to us all. I am prodigiously proud of him. I defy even Sir William Lucas himself to produce a more valuable son-in-law.”

Mr. Bennet loves absurdity. He finds Wickham funny because he's pretending to be a great husband despite everyone knowing the truth. He directly compares Wickham to Mr. Collins here, whom Mr. Bennet enjoys because he's ridiculous.

Mr. Bennet actually likes Bingley and Darcy, he enjoys mocking Wickham, which is his favourite activity. So it's both sarcastic (Mr. Bennet is fully aware that Wickham is scum) and true (Mr. Bennet puts his own amusement above almost everything else, including his daughters' happiness most of the time).

[charminglygrouped]

An under-appreciated detail in Pride and Prejudice is that, right before Mr. Bennet is like "Mr. Collins thinks that Mr. Darcy wants to marry you! Isn't that hilarious?" and Elizabeth has to be like "ha ha. yeah... hysterical," Elizabeth thinks that the letter might be a proposal from Mr. Darcy himself. So she goes from "he's proposing again" to "I'm expected to laugh at the very idea that he might propose to me" in 0.2 seconds:

“I have received a letter this morning that has astonished me exceedingly. As it principally concerns yourself, you ought to know its contents. I did not know before that I had two daughters on the brink of matrimony. Let me congratulate you on a very important conquest.” The colour now rushed into Elizabeth’s cheeks in the instantaneous conviction of its being a letter from the nephew, instead of the aunt; and she was undetermined whether most to be pleased that he explained himself at all, or offended that his letter was not rather addressed to herself, when her father continued,— “You look conscious. Young ladies have great penetration in such matters as these; but I think I may defy even your sagacity to discover the name of your admirer. This letter is from Mr. Collins.” “From Mr. Collins! and what can he have to say?” “[...] Mr. Darcy, you see, is the man! Now, Lizzy, I think I have surprised you. Could he, or the Lucases, have pitched on any man, within the circle of our acquaintance, whose name would have given the lie more effectually to what they related? Mr. Darcy, who never looks at any woman but to see a blemish, and who probably never looked at you in his life! It is admirable!” [...] Elizabeth had never been more at a loss to make her feelings appear what they were not. It was necessary to laugh when she would rather have cried. Her father had most cruelly mortified her by what he said of Mr. Darcy’s indifference; and she could do nothing but wonder at such a want of penetration, or fear that, perhaps, instead of his seeing too little, she might have fancied too much.

poor baby

[warrioreowynofrohan]

@bethanydelleman Here are my musings on the question I asked – I was thinking more in terms of which characters could like and respect each other and how well their personalities would mesh, more than their likelihood of necessarily falling deeply in love. Mr. Knightly does deeply respect and admire Jane Fairfax, though he isn’t in love with her, and many of the people I’ve shipped with him (Elinor, Fanny, Jane Bennet) have personalities similar to hers.

Who Else Could Austen Characters Marry?

If Austen characters didn’t marry their canon spouse, who else would they be good with?

Elinor Dashwood: I think she mostly values a man who has sense and principle, from what we see of Edward Ferrars, and who doesn’t stand too much on dignity. I think she could be happy with either Mr. Knightley or Edmund Bertram, and they could be happy with her.

Marianne Dashwood: I could see her and Wentworth falling for each other. They’re both passionate and romantic, and for most of the time between his breach with Anne and the midpoint of Persuasion Wentworth wants a woman who is firm and determined in her opinions, decisions, and loves, which is definitely Marianne! I think this would lead to both of them being somewhat less mature than they end up in canon – they’d reinforce each other’s impulsiveness and passion, and they might also have some trouble budgeting – but on the whole it would work. Marianne would have a lot of trouble keeping it together when he was away at sea, or might decide to go with him on his ship.

Jane Bennet: Jane’s kind and generous of spirit, I think she would like any warm, personable, and good man. Mr. Knightley is again a good choice.

Elizabeth Bennet: I could see her with either Mr. Knightley – she and Emma have the same liveliness and some of the same flaws of over-trust in their judgement, and I think he’d be good for her and they would be happy, as he has all Darcy’s good points without the haughtiness – or with Henry Tilney. In the case of Henry Tilney, I think that (like Wentworth and Marianne) they’d both end up less mature than they do in canon: Elizabeth and Henry would both reinforce each other’s satirical tendencies, rather than them being leavened by Catherine’s innocence in one case and Darcy’s stability in the other. But they would be happy, and make a good deal of sport of their neighbours.

Another possibility – I don’t know how well it would work out, but I could see it happening – is her and Henry Crawford. He’s intelligently, lively, active, with a lot of ideas, and I think that would appeal to her. She was initially drawn to Wickham, after all, and Crawford his his charm along with more intelligence. Would Henry Crawford fall for her or just leave her “crossed in love”? If the latter – she’s pretty resilient and I think she’d get over it. If the former, I’m not sure how it would turn out.

Fanny Price: I’m being repetitive, but I do want her with Mr Knighley, she deserves him and he would be kind to her and she’d be, honestly, a really good Lady Bountiful with the capacity for helping those around her that his estate gives, and with the support of a husband who is thoroughly and non-ostentatiously charitable himself. Mr. Knightley and Jane Fairfax is my fanon ship, but honestly this is even better.

Emma Woodhouse: This is more difficult, especially as I don’t think there’s anyone but Mr. Knightley who would be willing to move into her house with her father and be as patient with Mr. Woodhouse as Mr. Knightley is. But she’s also the Austen heroine I can see as the most happily single – she’s independently wealthy, and even when she realizes her feelinfs for Mr. Knightley it’s more about not being superceded and excluded from his confidence (“being first with Mr. Knightley”) as anything romantic. Her level of happiness would somewhat depend on who else Me. Knightley married – I feel like she and Elizabeth would get on like two cats.

Jane Fairfax: Bingley has Frank Churchill’s liveliness and friendliness amd is, I think, a better person; they could be happy. Caroline Bingley would be so mad about him marrying a governess, though, so that would give Jane a harder time.

Anne Elliot: It’s hard to tell with her. Would she ever love anyone but Wentworth? She turned down Charles Musgrove, who’s a good guy on the whole and personable, probably because she was still in love. She and Colonel Brandon, who are both older and have lost loves (and he’s a military man as well) might bond and make a match of it.

Catherine Morland: The main challenge here is how young she is (17) compared to most of the male leads. She could be happy with a lot of different people (Edward Ferrars? Bingley?).

I’m finding it more difficult to work out who else would be a good match for some of the men. For example, Darcy: there’s no one else with quite Elizabeth’s combination of liveliness, defiance, intelligence, and goodness, that would have the defiance and fire to deflate his pride and make him reconsider his attitude, the wit to make him take himself less seriously, and the boldness not to be intimidated by his haughty reserve. I do not think he and Fanny Price (a pairing I have seen suggested) would work at all – he might feel compassion towards her, but if Elizabeth’s family are embarassing, Fanny’s are not even genteel: he’d never lower himself so far as to marry her. And if he did, the girl who’s browbeaten by Mrs. Norris would be ready to sink into the floorboards at the contempt of Lady Catherine.

[arcane-vagabond]

By Its Cover: Chapter Three

By Its Cover: Chapter Three

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x Reader (Last Name: Sinclair)

Summary: The frivolity of high society has never much interested in you. You preferred to spend your time reading, something your sisters couldn't fathom as they spent their time shopping the latest dress styles. The youngest of five children and the fourth daughter, not much was expected of you. You knew you might be married one day, but you hoped beyond hope that it would be to someone that might understand your intellectual pursuits. You begin exchanging letters with a mysterious stranger, and what's more, your older brother's rakish best friend seems to find himself in your path more and more as the season goes on. What's a girl to do? (Regency!AU)

Content Warning: Historical inaccuracies probably, Promenading, Lingering looks, Stolen glances, Yearning, Gossip, Disregard for personal space, General anxiety, General self-esteem issues, Mean words. I think that's it, but please let me know if I missed anything!

Word Count: 3.4k

Series Masterlist || Moodboard || Playlist

Promenading was a terribly boring affair as far as you were concerned. Or at least, it was when spending the time with your overly zealous older sister. Georgie had insisted on sticking close to Lord Seresin, relegating you to the back with your mother and brother. The two of them conversed amongst themselves, leaving you to your thoughts, your hands itching to find a shaded spot where you could continue to read.

You found the book to be quite riveting so far, admiring the Elizabeth Bennet’s wit and bravery as she traversed the unknown landscape of the upper class. You had laughed at her sly remarks to Mr. Darcy, and envied her close relationship with her older sister. You imagined that Lydia and Theodosia were much like them, the way they were always giggling between each other. You had wanted something like that with Georgie, but you were quick to understand that your feelings were not reciprocated. No, Georgie preferred her gossip and shopping to your books and painting.

You caught Lord Seresin’s eye as he glanced back at you. His eyes twinkled as his lips curled into a smile before giving you a quick wink. Your cheeks heated, eyes growing wide at his boldness. He grinned at your reaction, lips pressing into a firm line as he tried to hold back a laugh, instead choosing to make it appear that he was laughing at one of Georgie’s—positively awful—jokes. You shook your head, ridding your mind of any lingering thoughts about the man in front of you. You glanced around the park, noting several newly presented ladies already chatting with suitors. The pairings thus far weren’t very interesting or gossip worthy as far as you were concerned.

Your eyes continued to flit about the garden until they met deep brown ones. Your mood perked up immediately upon sight of Natasha, an eager smile breaking out across your face as she hurried towards you.

“Oh, thank God you’re here,” she breathed as she saddled up to you, linking your arm with hers. “I was beginning to think I would die of boredom.”

“It would appear you and I share one mind,” you laughed, squeezing her arm as the two of you fell in to step just in front of William and your mother. Natasha’s eyes flickered back towards them, a coy gleam in them as she looked at your brother.

“I saw that,” you whispered, a knowing look on your face as she blushed, shushing you quickly before promptly looking forward.

“I haven’t the faintest idea what you’re talking about, Bug,” she stated, fighting the smile that threatened to break out across her face. You hummed, not believing her in the slightest when she peered over at you with a knowing look of her own.

“Although, I have heard some interesting tidbits about you and your sister this afternoon,” she teased, smirking as your eyes shot to hers.

“What on earth could they possibly be saying about us?” You scoffed. “The season has hardly even begun.”

“Well, what a beginning it’s been then,” she said. “The word around the Island is that a certain lady has her eye on the Duke of Austin.”

“That’s hardly newsworthy,” you sniffed, looking at your sister before shifting your gaze back to Natasha. Her eyes danced with amusement as her smirk grew bigger.

“Ah, but you haven’t heard the rest of it,” she grinned. “As it would turn out, the Duke of Austin appears to have his eyes pinned on another.”

You frowned, already not liking where this was going.

“No,” she continued. “He, in fact, has his eyes set on her sister if the whispers are to be believed.”

Your stomach did a flip, your skin suddenly feeling slightly clammy.

“That’s simply just not true,” you muttered, eyes cast toward the ground. It couldn’t be true. You weren’t nearly as good a prospect as Georgie. Sure, Georgie was prideful and snobbish at times, but she was beautiful, elegant, and sure to make a most wonderful bride to some eligible bachelor. You were none of those things. You were opinionated, stubborn, and much too quick to anger. You weren’t the type to be a graceful lady of an estate. No, you knew deep down in your heart that you would grow old in age living as a spinster on your family’s estate. Although, a secret part of you always hoped for more.

“Bug,” Natasha scowled, leaning in further as she lowered her voice so only you could hear. “I’ve seen the way he looks at you.”

“Looks at me how?” you muttered.

“Like you’re the most divine creature he’s ever had the privilege of beholding,” she smirked. You frown, irritated that you were even entertaining the, quite frankly, foolish notion that a man such as Lord Seresin, a duke no less, would ever feel anything but muddled curiosity for someone like you.

“This is ridiculous,” you hissed, moving to pull back, but Natasha stopped you with a hand on your arm.

“Is it?” She questioned, eyes glancing in front of the both of you before looking back at you. “Because from where I’m standing, the man has hardly been able to stop looking at you. Perhaps the notorious rake of the Island is ready to settle down.”

You glanced over just as Lord Seresin’s head whipped back forward, a twinge of pink to his ears as he smiled at something your sister just said. You felt a pang in your chest, uncertain and unable to pin the emotion that suddenly filled you. You pressed your lips firmly together as you continued your walk in silence.

“Excuse me, Miss Sinclair.”

Your little party stopped as Mr. Darnstead came up to stand in front of your sister. You saw the way Georgiana’s lips curved coyly, the glance she cast to her right as she greeted the man in front of her.

“Hello, Mr. Darnstead,” she purred. “How are you enjoying the weather this fine day?”

Natasha squeezed your arm once more to get your attention. You turned your head to see her apologetic smile as she stepped back with a sigh.

“My mama is calling for me,” she frowned, gesturing to the woman in question who stood by the pond with a young man. Natasha’s mother had a look of eagerness as she waved for her daughter, and you gave your best friend a sympathetic nod.

“Good luck,” you whispered, squeezing her hand before watching her go. You startled as William stepped up beside you, a furrow to his brow as he watched Natasha’s retreating figure.

“Is that Lord Anson?” He asked, sparing you a glance. You scrunched your nose at him before shrugging.

“I have no idea,” you answered, a sly smile curling at your lips. “Why do you wish to know?”

William turned to you with an owlish blink that had you snickering into your hand. He scowled down at you, bumping your shoulder with his as he fought the smile that threatened to spread out across his face.

“That’s enough out of you,” he admonished playfully, earning a giggle from you.

It was quieter by the fountain that stood guarded by the giant hydrangea bushes and green hedges. You were the only one to venture to this part of the park, most everyone keeping closer to the main walkway where they were sure to be seen by all of society and any potential matches.

You enjoyed the quiet, truly you did. The chirping of birds and hum of insects complimenting the steady trickle of the water in the fountain. It was a nice, little corner that offered you some semblance of privacy while still being in full view of your ever watchful mother, though she seemed more preoccupied with Georgie and her many suitors that had come flooding out of the woodwork than her youngest daughter. You were grateful for the reprieve, sneaking away quietly to try and find some time to continue reading your book. You were making steady progress, admiring Elizabeth Bennet’s refusal of Mr. Collins when accepting would have been not only beneficial, but expected.

Your mother and brother seemed determined for you to marry, but you knew it was a lost cause. No respectable man of the Island would want to marry the strange, youngest daughter of the noble Sinclair family—especially when there seemed to be constant whispers about her ineptitude as a lady.

You sat perched on the edge of the fountain, feeling the mist from the water on your skin, a shiver running up your spine at the coolness of the water. You set your book down, standing to make your way towards the last remaining blossoms of the hydrangeas. You were happy to see them given how late in the year it was. Your family’s estate had a couple of bushes in its garden, but they were kept pruned short unlike the plants before you. The bush toward over you, making you feel small by comparison.

Your hand rose to cradle one of the last group of blossoms, smiling at the bright, blue petals. The ladies of the Island seemed to favor the bright pink and noble purple blossoms more, but you had always had a fondness for the blue. You leaned forward to sniff the sweet smell, humming with a smile.

“There you are.”

You jumped, whirling around to come face to face with Lord Seresin. He put his hands up, an amused smile on his lips as he looked at you.

“Woah,” he chuckled, letting his arms fall back to his sides. “Easy. I didn’t mean to frighten you.”

“You didn’t,” you lied, frowning and looking away.

“Right,” he said quietly, shoving a hand into his pocket. “I thought I might find you over here.”

You hummed, fingers toying with the hydrangea blossoms once more. You weren’t sure how to talk to him. He was just a boy you had once known before last night, a friend of your brothers who used to carry you around on his back across the fields of your family’s estate. A boy who always indulged you, much to the annoyance of William. He always had a smile for you or a treat of some kind. You had been sad when he stopped coming around.

Now he was a handsome, young Duke of marrying age. You were not blind to the stares he received from the ladies of the Island—and even some of the men—as he had walked through the park with your family. He had become sturdier since his youth, and the very thought had heat rising to your cheeks.

As if he could read your mind, his lips curled into a smirk, and he took several steps towards you, bridging the gap that had kept your nerves at bay.

“You always did like the flowers,” he mused, his fingers coming up to rest against the same blossoms. He was so close, you could feel his body heat radiating off of him, the smell of his cologne competing with the sweet perfume of the flowers. You took a deep breath, lips parting as you took in his scent, eyelashes fluttering as it overwhelmed you.

“You used to bring them to me all the time,” he continued, eyes softening at the memories.

“Did I?” You asked, cursing how breathy your voice sounded.

“Oh, yes,” he grinned, plucking a blossom off the bush and handing it to you. “That and whatever creature you managed to dig up.”

You took the flower from his hands, cheeks becoming hotter at his teasing and the way his fingers brushed against yours.

“Your grace,” you started, but Lord Seresin frowned.

“Jake,” he corrected.

“Jake,” you sighed, grimacing. “Perhaps we should rejoin the others.”

“Why?” he asked with a frown. You pursed your lips, eyes flickering down to the flower in your hand. Anything to escape his intense green ones.

“I think it would be wise in order to avoid scandal,” you murmured, eyes darting towards the main pathway where several of high society’s elite strolled.

“I didn’t know you were so concerned with the thoughts of high society,” he smirked, leaning closer. You leaned away, eyes wide as his breath fanned over your face.

“Why would I not be?” You challenged, brow furrowing. “I am a lady of one of the noble families. To ruin my reputation is to ruin all of theirs as well.”

“You think I’m out to ruin your reputation?” He asked, smirk faltering. You stared at him for a second, mind reeling at his proximity and unsure of how to respond.

“What are your intentions with my sister?” You blurted out. Jake balked, confusion spreading out across his face.

“What?”

“Your intentions with my sister,” you continued, meeting his eyes with faux confidence. “You have quite the reputation, Lord Seresin. I would hate to see her caught up in it.”

All traces of mirth were gone from his face by the time you finished speaking. A dark glimmer in his eyes had you hesitating, but you stubbornly stood your ground, waiting for his answer.

“And what, pray tell, is my reputation, Miss Sinclair?” He challenged, a growl in his voice that most certainly did not make you feel flustered. Your mind raced back to the words Natasha and William had both spoken to you.

“They say you’re a rake,” you declared, lifting your chin. “Rumor has it that you’d rather spend your time with a different lady every night than settle down. That you spend your nights drinking and gambling until the sun rises. If you mean to court my sister, that will have to stop.”

Hurt flashed in his eyes. It was gone as quickly as it appeared, replaced with a cold veneer, his jaw clenching.

“I’m surprised you of all people would listen to the wretched gossip that everyone seems so fond of,” he said coolly, standing up straight and taking a step back from you as he adjusted his jacket. “Given how you yourself are the subject of some. Just a silly little girl with her head in the clouds and no understanding of the world around her. You’ll be lucky to find a match at all is what they say about you.”

The hot sting of tears prickled at the back of your eyes. Of course you weren’t a stranger to the things people whispered about you, only a fool would be. But in that moment, the image of the sweet boy who entertained you all those years ago is shattered.

You felt your lower lip wobble, and the cold look in Jake’s eyes crumbles as it’s replaced with one of regret.

“Lady Bug, I-” He started, reaching a hand out to you, but you jerked back. You gave him one last look, schooling your features as you rushed past him.

“Excuse me,” you sniffled, cursing as your voice trembled. You didn’t look back, making a beeline towards where your mother stood.

“Mama,” you called, the older woman turning to face you. Concern pulled at her brow and lips as she looked at you.

“Whatever is the matter, dearest?” She asked, cupping your face in her hands as she looked you over. You cleared your throat as you glanced to the ground.

“I’m suddenly not feeling well,” you lied. “Might I take the coach home?”

Your mother hesitated, and you could feel his eyes on you as she glanced up at him.

“I suppose that’s alright,” she said slowly, her hands coming down to rest on your shoulders. “Just have the driver come straight back once you’re home.”

You gave her a tight-lipped smile, ducking your head as you scurried away towards the entrance to the park.

You heaved a sigh as you stared out your window. You hadn’t stopped thinking about your exchange with Lord Seresin. Why had he been so upset with you? You were protecting your sister from heartbreak, warning him that the opinions of him will affect her too should he choose her as his wife. Was he angry because they had come from the lips of a woman all considered to be strange? Or perhaps it was because they were spoken aloud at all.

A knock sounded on your door, and you turned at the sound.

“Come in,” you called, thoughts still swirling inside your head. Your maid, Nora, poked her head in, a small smile directed your way.

“Good afternoon, miss,” she greeted, stepping into the room and closing the door behind her. “I wanted to let you know that dinner will be served in about one hour.”

“Thank you, Nora,” you smiled, but the action seemed forced. She hesitated for a moment, flinching as you gave her a puzzled look.

“Your mother wanted me to remind you that the Duke of Austin will be joining your family this evening,” she twittered nervously.

Your heart sank, the thought of seeing him again so soon filling you with dread. Perhaps you could feign illness and stay in your room with your book-

You lurched to your feet, Nora giving a startled cry at your sudden movement. You scurried around the room, moving piles and throwing pillows in a bid to find it.

“What are you looking for, miss?” The maid asked, coming up behind you. You turned to look at her, despair coloring your features.

“My book!” You exclaimed. “The one Mr. Mitchell let me borrow! I must have left it at the park, oh no.”

“You might still have time to go back and get it,” Nora offered. “You could be back with just enough time to get ready for dinner.”

“I’d be cutting it close,” you murmured, chewing on your bottom lip. The sky was beginning to darken, and you huffed out a breath.

“We must go quickly,” you decided. Nora grabbed your cape as you hurried out of your room. She chased after you, wrapping the cape around you as you exited the house. The driver was blessedly still by the stagecoach, and you signaled to him that you were in need of his services.

“I need to get to the park,” you told him, clambering into the coach. “As quickly as you can.”

The ride was quick, but silent, the coach jostling every now and then. You thanked the driver once you had stopped, gathering your skirts and running towards the fountain. You were out of breath by the time you reached it, panting as you looked to the spot you had set it down at earlier. Your stomach did a flip as you looked, the book nowhere in sight. You did two laps around the fountain before letting out a groan.

“Blast it all,” you cursed, hiding your face in your hands. How were you going to explain this to Mr. Mitchell?

With a sigh of defeat, you trudged back to the coach, your driver giving you a sympathetic look as he helped you inside. The ride back felt slower despite using the same route as before. When the coach stopped in front of your home, you thanked the driver once more before trudging inside. You heard voices coming from the parlor, and you knew you’d have to move quickly unless you wanted to hear another lecture from your mother about minding the time of others.

The family butler, Mr. Stevens, approached you.

“Miss,” he greeted with a slight bow of his head. “A parcel was left for you earlier this evening.”

“A parcel?” You frowned, shrugging off your cape. “Whoever from?”

“I’m not sure, miss,” Mr. Stevens grimaced. “It was left at the door with a note on top of it.”

Mr. Stevens gestured toward the end table pressed up against the wall. You walked over to it, brow furrowed as you lifted the wrapped package, the note falling to the side. You tore at the paper, eyes lighting up once you saw what was underneath.

“My book!” You exclaimed, relief flooding you as you clutched it to your chest. Your eyes darted towards the note that lay on the table, your name in neat scrawl printed across the front. You set the book down, picking up the paper gingerly as you flipped it open. Your eyes darted across the writing, widening before you could fully process what you were reading.

What on earth?

A/N: A big shoutout to not only Ruthie, but @sorchathered for helping me make concrete decisions on this story! My works wouldn't be what they are without the help and ever present ears of my friends to help me through and bounce ideas off of.

As always, reblogs and comments are greatly appreciated. If you would like to be notified on when I post updates, please follow my side blog (@arcanevagabond-library) and turn on post notifications! My work is cross posted on AO3 under the username sailor_aviator. Until next time!

[funnuraba]

My review of Most Ardently as A Transmasc (not the worst recent transmasc YA book, but not great or even good):

I didn't care for this? The dysphoria is well-described, but I didn't get anything else out of the experience. I thought at one point that Bingley might get fleshed out a bit more than the original book, and Oliver could enjoy being one of the guys in a way that strengthened all their characters, but then it was mostly just Oliver and Darcy after that.

Firstly, there are three or four scenes where the author was clearly feeling it and putting in effort--the fair, Oliver's dream about going swimming with his ideal body. Those are fine. All the other prose is so turgid and dull that rereading it for this review was a chore. There are at least four scenes where Collins/Wickham/Mrs Bennet/Lady Catherine says something outrageous, and Oliver stares at them thinking, 'Bwahh? Are they seriously saying that (PREMISE OF SCENE)? They can't be serious. It's almost like (OTHER CHARACTER'S FATAL FLAW).' Not funny. Not fun. The support Oliver gets is boilerplate "I love and support you always." Everyone else is constantly saying, "Wow, you're so feminine and should be more feminine, I love women and you are a woman and women are feminine, do you have dysphoria yet or should I start over?" Please trust your audience a little bit, even if you're writing YA!

One guy bothering Oliver at a ball comments that he admires women who can embroider, because it's such a feminine art. This is an inanity worthy of Mr Collins. In this time period, it's like saying that childbirth really reminds him of women. Fire hot. Snow cold! What he would say is that being good at embroidery shows a woman's class and good breeding: she's been educated well and has a talent that speaks to her overall character, because that's how they saw things back then. "Feminine" was not a quality that some women possessed, or one end of a sliding scale. It was what a woman was.

Beyond that, I don't feel like this was Pride & Prejudice in any meaningful way. It doesn't engage with the characters or setting except that the plot is vaguely "hot rich guy might hate you, and someone spreads rumors about him?!?" It felt more like Disney's Beauty and the Beast if Belle (or Beau) had a sister and the Beast had a friend. Collins and Wickham might as well be two halves of Gaston, because they're not Collins and Wickham. Nobody is the same as the original: Mr Bennet isn't witty but lazy and passive-aggressive, he's just the smiling kindly father who accepts Oliver instantly, and takes decisive action to protect him. Crazy old Maurice! Jane is supportive but sassy, not at all the Jane Bennet who refuses to think or speak ill of anyone down to the man who runs off with her sixteen year old sister. She's Oliver's Generic Sister. Oliver himself has no wit, no spark, no pride, no prejudice. No growth or flaws to overcome except being closeted. Collins isn't one of the most famous comic figures of English literature, he's just a dull guy who complains about modernity and tells Oliver he has beautiful child-bearing hips in public (what?!?!). (Collins in the original book has a very distinctive way of speaking that usually vanishes in remixes; as usual it's gone here. I'll grant that it's exhausting to replicate!)

Now, Wickham had unbelievable potential to explore in this remix, because how does Oliver, who likes men, react to being charmed by a handsome, charismatic man whose charm is predicated on addressing him as a woman the whole time? That's never addressed, because Oliver can simply sense the child molestions radiating off Wickham with his built-in Geiger counter, and dislikes him immediately. And Wickham is like a real sad sack here and has no game at all. Just straight to "Darcy is a bastard man, mean to my cousin. Maybe gay 🤨??"

There's very little engagement with any of the social mores of the era, even the ones that only require an annotated copy of P&P to research, because they're already in the original book. Oliver says "arse" at a public ball while presenting as a woman. Jane says "bastard"!!! Oliver is addressed regularly as "Miss Bennet" in situations where his elder sister is present. Later, Mr Collins calls him "Miss Elizabeth" and he's shocked at being deadnamed, but has a whole little moment explaining in his head that oh, that makes sense, because there are other Miss Bennets in the room. ....Except Oliver Bennet wouldn't have that thought, because there was a basic etiquette rule to deal with the surname problem, which he should know. He would always have been Miss Elizabeth unless Jane was totally absent.

Furthermore, the Bennets' financial and class situation seems to have been completely altered, except I don't think the author realizes it. Oliver mentions that they can only afford books on special occasions, and he dreams of having a library--but Mr Bennet in the original book has that very library, because they have a good income that they've spent rather than saved. They wouldn't be in their social circles otherwise. In Most Ardently, the Bennets don't live on a countryside estate with tenants who pay them rent. They live in a London townhouse that supposedly has servants, but in practice nobody acts like they do. Oliver has regular chores, Mrs Bennet brings food out to their guests, and Oliver offers to bring a broom for a dropped teacup. Mr Bennet is vaguely mentioned to have "work". Is he in trade? This is a pretty major change to their class, and it makes them into a family that would be excluded from every ball and gathering that the Bennets attend.

Except none of that matters, because the author wasn't trying to write anything but a modern single-income family that has to scrimp and save on some fronts. So Most Ardently just doesn't take place anywhere or any time in particular.

Charlotte, meanwhile, is now Charlotte Lewis for some reason. Her father isn't wealthy, he was never knighted, and the rest of her family doesn't exist, so it's just her and her hardworking father with no servants. We're told that they can't afford servants. Again, this is a worldshaking alteration to her class. Oliver Bennet, if we assume he's in Elizabeth's position from the book, would never socialize with a woman this poor. Not ever. They wouldn't be friends. He wouldn't go over to her servant-less house. Not even if his father were in trade. Charlotte Lucas helping out in the kitchen sometimes is already an object of derision from Mrs. Bennet in P&P; to have zero servants at all was the sign that your family was itself in the servant class.

(While I'm here: Charlotte Lewis was renamed from Charlotte Lucas, and her girlfriend is named Lu, which makes me feel like she's dating a gijinka of her original last name? Is that why Lu has no discernible personality? There's a lot of Oliver going over to their homes, talking to them alone in private, being in their bedrooms. It would've been interesting to see how a trans man from this time period would feel about all that, given that men weren't supposed to do any of those things--how does this alter the pre-existing friendship from before he realized he was a man? Does he feel invalidated that he has to break the rules of being a man in order to talk to the people who will treat him as a man, or does he find the rules don't matter as much to him now? Nothing like that is ever addressed, though.)

Lady Catherine (who is somehow OOC despite doing the same things she does in canon) is now Darcy's former guardian, because Darcy was aged down. I don't know if a widowed aunt could even be made legal guardian of two underage relatives when Darcy's mother still has a living brother--an earl, no less. But again, there was no consideration of how things might have been different in the past. Anne de Bourgh doesn't exist, which, fine, you can pare down the cast for a shorter story. But we still have to have the famous shades of Pemberley confrontation, so Lady Catherine wants Darcy to marry...... Wickham's cousin?! In the original story, this would be the niece of her brother-in-law's steward. That's not happening! Wickham doesn't seem to be in a different class here in Most Ardently. In fact, I'm not sure what he does, besides stalking Oliver and socializing with Mr Collins (?). I don't think the army is even mentioned. So why on earth would his cousin be a candidate to marry the incredibly rich nephew of an earl? This universe has no anchor in reality!

I guess my issue here is that all the social commentary and character detail from P&P is erased, and replaced with the singular conflict of being gay and trans. However, it doesn't even address that fully, because it might as well be 1990. It feels dishonest and cheap to ignore the actual concerns a trans man (who's white and in a certain social class) would have in this time period, precisely because many of them are IN the original book. Why is Oliver acting like it's solely a question of "living alone" if he refuses to marry? As an unmarried person perceived as a gentlewoman, he won't be able to earn any income, and he'll have to live an unpleasant life of poverty and dependence; not even dependence on his sisters, but on the mercy of their husbands. And when Darcy proposes to "Elizabeth" at the Collins', Oliver just goes "Ummm well first off you're gay" while refusing him. Darcy doesn't know this is Oliver, whom he'd been flirting with previously and knew he was gay. To him, this is a random woman who blurts out that she knows he's attracted to men, while he's trying to acquire a beard to hide that very fact. His response is completely inappropriate. He's somewhat put out and asks where she heard this. In no way does he react like someone whose life could be turned upside down if this fact got into the wrong hands.

Also, why in god's name is Oliver so insistent that everyone needs to Live Their Truth openly instead of hiding it? He comes across like a spoiled little brat with no idea what danger or suffering look like. He goes around demanding this of people as if it doesn't endanger them and their loved ones. Of course Darcy wants to marry a woman! He has wealth and property that need to be passed on, and a little sister who needs to make a safe marriage to a man who can support her. Rich people could get by with a little deviance, but only as long as they played the game in other respects. How would Oliver not understand this?

Then there's Charlotte. She and Oliver quarrel over their respective life plans: she wants to hide herself, marry a man, and go on with her secret relationship with Lu. Oliver wants to be recognized by the world as a man. So, Oliver could be planning to abandon his original identity and live stealth as a working man. There were trans men doing this back then; he could have heard stories about men being discovered "as women" after their deaths, and have a romantic dream of doing this, which Charlotte finds unrealistic.

But instead Charlotte tells him something completely true for the vast majority of queer people back then: that he'll most likely have to hide who he is and marry a man. Oliver gets mad at her for this. They somewhat make up, and Oliver sees things in a more nuanced way, and Charlotte tells him that Collins is actually very sweet to her. But then at the end, Collins turns out to be a blackmailing transphobe.... and not even a smart transphobe, because he finds out from Wickham that Oliver, whom he knows as his female Cousin Elizabeth, is wearing trousers at home. And Collins inexplicably thinks this could be a legal threat to him inheriting Longbourn. Why? Who in this time period would think that? Also, why are they friends? I'm choosing to believe that Wickham seduced him off screen, because it's never explained. They have nothing in common.

So, Collins is so scared that he offers to pay Wickham to coerce Oliver into marriage as a woman, and of course Oliver, who had never considered inheriting Longbourn before they tried to disenfranchise him, is like, "🤨 wait a minute. That's a good idea." And it turns out Mr Bennet was secretly working on having him legally recognized as a man all along. Through the means of... well, it doesn't make a lot of sense, but I'm not gonna quibble with this part, because people did get away with some surprising things back in the day. That part was fine.

So Oliver is declared legally a son, and good for him and all, but as a Charlotte fan, it feels like her arc is just, okay fuck you girl! Woman can't judge people for shit. Enjoy your shit asshole husband while Oliver openly lives as a man, you stupid bisexual(?). (A lot of reviewers call her a lesbian, but Lu says that the two of them aren't repelled by men like other "women who love women", so, bisexual? Or... I don't know?)

I don't want to be tearing down #ownvoices writing, and I do feel like there's a good story about dysphoria and parental acceptance in here. But everything else is so confusing and distracting that it doesn't work. This feels like it was forced into a very narrow shape by having to be a Pride And Prejudice Retelling. (Just like your waist in a fictional rib-crushing corset, huh?! Huh?! 🤣) There are plenty of modern-day P&P adaptations where the writers can write what they actually want to write around a much vaguer core story, while excising or altering subplots and characters they don't want to deal with. That would've eliminated nearly all of my problems with the story.

For example, a reimagined Mrs Bennet could accept Oliver as a man without the baggage of acting like the canon Mrs Bennet for the entire preceding novel. That was just unbelievable! She's been sulking and taking swipes at Oliver ever since he started wearing men's clothing at home, but suddenly he says, "I'm a boy!" and she not only understands immediately, but says, "Of course! That explains why you hate dresses!" What?! It was even set up perfectly for her to be consistent and say something like, "I don't know what that means, but if Mr Darcy's courting you, you can do whatever the hell you want!"

Good lord, there were some clunky moments. Mr Collinsbot at one point says, "All Of Your Sisters Are Of Marrying Age," and Oliver all but forms a T with his hands so he can timeout, look at the camera and think a full paragraph about how Actually, while it's technically legal for my youngest sister, 14, to marry, it would be highly irregular and unexpected, dear readers from the 21st century with ethical concerns. I swear at one point they're talking about Robinson Crusoe, and Darcy pauses to say that "some of the depictions are... questionable"--and that has to be about the racism, right? I'm sorry, but I don't need your wealthy white 19 year old in whatever-year-this-is to be meaningfully anti-racist, because you know what? I just don't believe it. Devote a little time to explaining why he'd feel that way--is his family involved in anti-slavery efforts?--or don't bother.

You know what, even if Darcy himself were an anti-slavery activist, I still wouldn't believe that he's conversant with the dehumanizing effects of colonial stereotypes against indigenous South Americans. Sorry.

The Lydia thing doesn't happen here, because Wickham would rather scheme to force Oliver into marrying him so he can gain..... nothing, really..... but it turns out the Georgiana thing did happen. We never see Georgiana, so don't worry that there might be a character who has anything going on in their life beyond their thoughts about Darcy and Oliver being gay and trans. Original Darcy is deeply concerned with his sister's feelings, and with period-specific worries about her marriage prospects; this Darcy just drops You Groomed My Sister in front of like five other people. No Ragrets. Hilariously, Mr Collins is horrified to learn about this, even though he came here to blackmail his own 17 year old cousin into marrying this same man, so it comes across like he's only upset because a relative of Lady Catherine was inconvenienced. Most in-character he's been so far. In conclusion, fuck you, Charlotte.

{EDIT: I wrote this a few months ago, and just now, a more recent review has made me aware of something I missed from the audiobook and a second look through the text, because it's so completely stupid: this Wickham is of an age with Darcy and Oliver, 18 and 17. So his attempted elopement with Georgiana took place between two people who could conceivably be in a modem high school together. .....Yeah, well, I can't even think of something to say about that. Wow, nobody, but nobody, has anything happening in their life except for Darcy and Oliver's epic love, huh? The review I learned this from says that Wickham and Georgiana were schoolmates in this book. Now, what co-educational school facility are they attending in the grand old years of 1790ish-18whatever? Be serious, Most Ardently.}

One scene in a molly house (a wholesome one, serving young adults and teens) makes me think it was literally written to take place in a modern club, with someone sitting down to play a brief waltz. A few couples stand up and waltz around in the molly house for a short while, Oliver and Darcy kiss... off the basis of two conversations.... then they all sit back down to keep reading. Why is Oliver so casual about kissing Darcy in semi-public? He only realized he was a man about a year ago, and already he's thrown everything he ever learned about physical relationships out the window? Is anyone in the downstairs establishment wondering where all that hidden waltz music is coming from? And why does Oliver casually say that people with no gender at all regularly come to this molly house, then add as an afterthought that he's EVEN heard tell of one or two trans men like him going there? Wouldn't that be way more common than nonbinary people? Just statistically?

Another issue I can't ignore, pursuant to the Charlotte Problem: this is just kind of a sexist book. I hate to be furthering the narrative of trans men being misogynistic, but it simply can't be overlooked in light of the original P&P having multiple flawed, but developed and memorable female characters. There are none of those in this book. Everyone is an accessory to Oliver. Elizabeth Bennet worries a lot about her sister Jane and counsels her, reassures her, acts as her rock. In Most Ardently, Oliver is the one getting all the support and being told that he's valid and wonderful by Jane, who has no personality beyond which men she likes. Charlotte lets Oliver use her home as a base to change his clothes and presses his pants for him--what kind of asshole is he for letting her do this, instead of resting for a few minutes? She has no servants! There are no dishwashers or washer-driers! She's cooking, cleaning, doing the laundry by hand every day all by herself! She's emptying the chamber pots too! Oliver needs his secret sets of pants pressed?? He can do it his damn self!

Darcy casually reveals to multiple strangers that his sister was groomed and nearly eloped with Wickham, with seemingly no thought that Georgiana might be hurt by this. Oliver is the center of everyone's universe. On top of that, Darcy's unpleasant behavior is put down to the fact that he doesn't like women and can't be polite to them. Because he's gay. This is never addressed at all. He's just gonna keep acting like that, and it's apparently not a problem.

Anyway, as I said, Charlotte gets some lip service towards having a valid point about having to live in the closet, but it's all undone by showing us that actually, she's a stupid idiot who shackled herself to an actively malicious man for the rest of her life. Meanwhile Oliver was completely right, and he gets to live his life out of the closet as a man while she spends her life with Collins. The original book lets the reader decide whether or not Charlotte made the "right", or at least workable, choice. Here, she's unequivocally wrong, and her life is going to suck, and she doesn't even get to inherit Longbourn someday. Oh, and she's only nineteen, so why did she jump at Mr. Collins anyway? She has no reason to be desperate yet. Her entire basis and motivation has been erased and invalidated.

And, we cannot forget the main thing mentioned by critical reviews: Oliver thinks of himself and Darcy as "boys" roughly 250 times in this book. (I joke, but Libby's word search shows 99 uses of the word as of chapter 17, at which point it gives up.) Does he know any other words? Young man? Youth? The dreaded male, even? It gets so irritating. The other boy, he's a boy, boys kissing boys, everyone's a boy, we're all boys. Fellas, sometimes we are grownass men and that's okay.

Wait, I just realized Oliver's kinda screwed as a future gentleman at the end, because he has none of the formal schooling boys were supposed to get, and his dad obviously has no money saved up to send him to a good university out of nowhere. Why weren't Darcy and Bingley at university in the book? This is where all that widdle baby shit gets you. Oliver Bennet: Child Left Behind.

I did laff at the author trying to write a straight man in Mr Collins though. Okay diva... We'll go queen out at Rosings...

[taradactyls]

Elizabeth Overestimates her Ability to Tie a Cravat

Prompt for @janeuary-month 2005 Day 8: Cravat

Over the period of their engagement, Elizabeth and Mr Darcy take many long walks. During an unseasonably warm late October day, Mr Darcy loosens his cravat and removes his jacket. Elizabeth finds this a very educational experience. But when it comes time to put them back on, she cannot for the life of her figure out how to knot the cravat properly after insisting she do the honours.

“My dearest, and loveliest, Elizabeth,” he gently began. “You have no idea how to knot a cravat, do you?”

3,421 Words, Rated G, Elizabeth Bennet / Fitzwilliam Darcy

Tags: Fluff, First Kiss, Love, Sickeningly in Love, Canon Compliant, I cannot express how absolutely besotted with each other these two are, The tension is palpable but it goes no further than g-rated touches banter and a few chaste kissies, Sweet, One shot

Read a snippet below the cut, and the entire work on Ao3

Elizabeth Overestimates her Ability to Tie a Cravat

For all her family’s joy at her engagement to Mr Darcy, escaping them at every opportunity was one of Elizabeth’s highest priorities. Thankfully, there were plenty of lanes about in which she may lose her way accompanied by her dear Mr Darcy. They had managed to flee Longbourn today by proposing another long walk, and though initially possessing the companionship of Jane and Mr Bingley the couples had collectively decided, without a word being spoken, to travel different paths.

The harvest was in, the landscape awash in colour, and the sun unseasonably hot. Elizabeth was delighted, and yet she looked at her intended with concern. After studying him a few moments, she asked “What is that furrowed brow for, Mr Darcy?”

“I feel I ought to be sitting with your father in the library,” said he, “but it has been two days since I have been alone with you for any length of time and so I must be selfish.”

“The correct choice, in my completely unbiased opinion,” Elizabeth smiled, nudging his arm lightly with her own to punctuate her point. He responded by capturing her hand, and raising it to give the back of it a kiss.

He did not release it once it was lowered.

Mr Darcy was too deep in thought to notice her blush. “I do not want to appear lax in my duty towards him, nor fail to prove that I deserve the honour of your hand.”

“Oh, you must not trouble your mind about that! The latter is already accomplished, and for the former – well, as sweet as your sentiment is, I assure you my father shall be very pleased to have a day free from respectful sons-in-law. After spending all yesterday with you and Mr Bingley hunting, followed by dinner with the Lucases, there is nothing he wants more than silence and solitude in his library.”

“So long as you are certain he shall not find my avoidance of his company for a whole day selfish.”

“He shall view it as a kindness to himself – and everyone else for that matter.”

“I fail to see how anyone else factors into it?”

Leaning into him with a smile, Elizabeth archly replied “It saves them all from having to endure my forlorn sighs as I stare longingly at you from across the room.”

Mr Darcy gave a short laugh as he looked at her in surprise, the rare sound and the amusement in his face ample reward for Elizabeth’s efforts. Her smile turned softer as she admired him and his own gaze did not stray from her.

For a fleeting moment she wondered if he might finally kiss her, for he had remained entirely proper so far over the fortnight of their engagement.

“Well then,” he said instead, “I shall take that as his tacit approval to wander about the countryside with you for at least another two hours. Even if it does grow hotter every moment.”

“Poor Mr Darcy! Pity there are no lakes here-abouts for you to jump into to cool down.”

Elizabeth was jesting, but within another half an hour it became clear that perhaps such an action would not be fully unwise. She had foregone a sleeved dress that morning but the gentleman was not so fortunate in his coat. “I know I claimed your presence outdoors for the next few hours, but I am afraid, dearest Elizabeth, that I near my limit for exercise in the present circumstances,” he said, tugging at his cravat to allow some air to slip within.

“You are looking a bit flushed – shall we turn back?”

“Not until after I have recovered somewhat. The lack of trees on our return path for the next mile shall only worsen my state.”

Elizabeth frowned at Mr Darcy in consternation. “You are not feeling dizzy, nor any worse symptoms, I hope?”

“No, just uncomfortably hot,” he reassured her. “A break to sit down in the shade shall quite restore me.” Yet despite professing himself mostly fine, he did not at all fight Elizabeth’s insistence on putting her arm around his waist, and draped his own about her shoulders. It was perhaps unnecessary, as he did not lean any of his weight on her, but the feeling of Elizabeth against him made him almost forget the heat for a moment.

Though there may not have been a lake to jump into (the small pond in a cow paddock featuring said animals wading through it to cool down was far too dirty to even contemplate) there was a copse atop a low hill not far from the road. Elizabeth led Mr Darcy to it, pleased to see it was free from grazing animals and other people, and open enough that sitting there with her betrothed could cause no scandal even if they were a little hidden from the road once they found the most sheltered spot. He took a few steps from her, and in some desperation, untied his cravat and ripped it from his neck, seeking the relief of cooler air.

Continue reading here

[anghraine]

It's kind of fascinating to me that towards the end of P&P, Elizabeth has become protective of Darcy and either a) actively tries to insulate him from Situations or b) wishes that she could and gets stressed that she can't.

Darcy deeply loves her and is very ready to do whatever he can to secure her happiness, but narratively, I think the emphasis at the end is very much more on Elizabeth's protectiveness towards him.

It's like:

When Bingley and Darcy first come back to Hertfordshire, Darcy is very quiet and Elizabeth can barely bring herself to say anything—until Mrs Bennet insults Darcy. Then Elizabeth speaks up.

Mrs Bennet enlists Elizabeth to separate Darcy from Bingley with another insult to Darcy. Elizabeth finds this both convenient and enraging.

That day, Elizabeth decides to privately tell Mrs Bennet about her engagement to Darcy, specifically so that Darcy will be spared Mrs Bennet's first unfiltered response.

Elizabeth fiercely defends Darcy's character and love for her, as well as hers for him, to Mr Bennet. She not only says she loves Darcy but that it upsets her to hear Mr Bennet's criticisms of him.

Elizabeth is both relieved by Mrs Bennet's ecstatic reception of the engagement and a bit disappointed by how completely shallow she's being about it, and 100% sure she made the right call in keeping Darcy away.

Elizabeth defends Darcy against Darcy himself, repeatedly.

There's a period where Elizabeth seems to unwind and laugh, but this passes, especially after Charlotte and Mr Collins show up. Darcy manages to stay calm around Mr Collins (I think this is framed as a significant and admirable achievement for him), but Elizabeth does not like him being in a situation where he has to deal with Mr Collins in the first place.

Elizabeth tries to shield Darcy from being noticed by Mrs Phillips and Mrs Bennet, who do seem to make him pretty excruciatingly uncomfortable.

Ultimately, Elizabeth ends up trying to keep Darcy to herself or to shepherd him around to relatives he can handle more easily, and is so stressed at this point that she just wants to get married and escape to Pemberley.

After their marriage, things are actually great at Pemberley and in their married life, despite the occasional complication.

Lydia writes a congratulatory letter to Elizabeth, asking for Darcy to get Wickham a promotion unless Elizabeth would rather not bring it up with him. Elizabeth really does not want Darcy to have to deal with this and handles it by privately setting aside a Lydia fund out of her personal expenses. (IIRC, it's not clear if Darcy even knows about this.)

Elizabeth also is the driving force behind Darcy's reconciliation with Lady Catherine.

This could read as an unsettling, unbalanced dynamic and a very odd ending point for the arc of a woman like Elizabeth, but in the context of the overall novel, it doesn't feel that way. Or maybe I'd see it more that way if I interpreted Darcy (and for that matter, Elizabeth) + their arcs differently? But as it is, I do think that by this point in the story they are genuinely doing the best they can, independently and for each other, and they've both come a long way. They shine in different contexts and support each other as much as they can in the circumstances that do arise.

It seems very them, in terms of their temperament and abilities, that Elizabeth would put all this effort into shielding Darcy, while at the same time, Darcy completely cuts off Lady Catherine for insulting Elizabeth and only ever speaks to her again because Elizabeth wants him to.

[thegreeks]

MASTERLIST: Mr. Darcy x You

A Winter's Love at Pemberley:

admiring your two children playing in the winter snow

A Dance Beneath the Stars:

enjoying a day with your busy husband and ending it with a loving dance with thanks to his sister Georgianna

A Most Unexpected Surprise:

• Part 2

telling your husband you are to be expecting a second addition to your family

A Love Beyond Time:

your lovely wedding day with your Mr. Darcy

A Dance of Words:

your friendship with Georgianna Darcy leads to the beginning of your courtship

A Heart All Their Own:

due to encouragements from friends and family, you and your husband realize it's time to expand your family

The Dance of the Swan:

playing piano and dancing to Carnival of Animals XIII The Swan with Mr. Darcy at his ball

The Heart's Awakening:

an unknown bitterness sparks when an acquaintance makes a move on your close friend Mr. Darcy

An Affectionate Rebellion:

Lady Catherine de Bourgh comes to Pemberley to scrutinize the unity between you and her nephew

• Prequel- The Warmth of Home:

the joys of an aristocratic life with your husband and son Edward

An Undisclosed Love:

Bingley!Reader; You and Mr. Darcy confront the tension of the inexplicably drawing connection, marking the quiet beginning of a romance

Love and Tenderness:

your gentle, intimate wedding night with Mr. Darcy

Confession of Broken Hearts:

you cannot bear to see the one you love show tender affection to another, thus you urgently confess

Whispers in the Storm:

• Part 2

• Part 3

an urgent calling for you and your husband to Longbourn amidst a terrible storm

Tremors of Betrayal:

• Part 2

grappling with the haunting presence of your husband's past love

The Cost of Pride:

Mr. Darcy reflects on pride that caused the greatest loss

Tender Moments: Home with Darcy:

loving moments at home with your dear husband as you reflect on your union

Gentleman's Restraint of Yearnings:

coming across you on a walk, he realizes he is not at liberty to comfort you though he wants to be

Melting Hearts:

"I felt as if I were melting inside, and I might go on and on melting" - Joanna Glenn

Between Love and Grief:

• Part 2

"Love and grief, joy and pain. They're very close together. Or perhaps sometimes they're not even different things." - Joanna Glenn

A Fevered Return:

Mr. Darcy returns home to Pemberley to find his wife has taken sickly

A Visit to Longbourn:

Bennet!Reader; shortly after your marriage, you receive an invitation to your family in Longbourn

Jealousy and Devotion:

"Such is my life; A minute ago I was happy, immersed in a book. Now I feel a misery only violence could cure." - Kim Addonizio

Ripples of the Lake:

finding yourself in an unexpected lakeside encounter, revealing a surprising side of Mr. Darcy

A Family Announcement:

Bennet!Reader; telling your dear friends and family you are to be expecting a child

A Tour to the Lakes:

a journey to the Lake District with your dear husband

Tormented Love:

"- You don't love me? - Yes, but in torment." - Marina Tsvetaeva

Whispers in the Dusk:

"It is dusk. I want to know how to be close to you. Closer." - Else Fitzgerald

A Night at Netherfield:

"I was oversensitive. I'd been told this my entire life. It was a liability, my sensitivity, but it was also a power," - Suzanne Scanlon

In the Stillness of Night:

with footsteps in the unease of night, your husband Mr. Darcy protects you from any danger

Ink and Affection:

Part 2

"Writing to you is like kissing you. It is something physical" - Simone de Beauvoir

Damnable Eyes

"Eyes are full of language." - Anne Sexton

Threads of Duty and Desire

"I've been looking after people my whole life. Holding it together. Holding everyone together. And I've stopped. And I'm exhausted." - Joanna Glenn

The Quiet Observer

"Speak to me aching heart; what / ridiculous errand are you inventing for yourself / weeping in the dark" - Louise Glück

Unspoken Years

“‘You talk as though I’ve had an amputation.’ ‘I think you have. I think someone has cut out your heart.’” - Jeanette Winterson

Candlelight and Confession

a masquerade a Netherfield, who ever could this enchanting gentleman be?

---

[misspermitted]

The funniest thing about the “accomplished woman” scene and the fallout therein is that Elizabeth shows, in her response, the exact opposite of the fault that Caroline accuses her of: that is, “Putting down other women to make herself seem better.”

Darcy means to compliment Elizabeth with the exchange, quite obviously I might add. Elizabeth, minutes before, was mocked for preferring reading to cards. Now, after Caroline lists a myriad of traits that a woman should have to be accomplished, all which she herself has, Darcy immediately dismisses these as not substantial. What is substantial and worthy of admiration in a woman: the improvement of her mind through reading. Which Lizzy was just mocked for, by Caroline. Literally anyone with a brain, even Mrs. Bennet, would’ve caught this as a compliment.

But at this point Elizabeth is in absolute denial to the point of being ridiculous (he’s staring at me because he hates me so much, he asked me to dance because he wants to mock me). So it’s likely she didn’t clock this as a compliment. But she certainly didn’t see it as a personal attack.

When Lizzy reflects on her and her sister’s education she says that it was focused on one’s drive to improve themselves. And that she had read almost every book she could get her hands on due to this drive. Darcy’s statement is a very good description of Lizzy and how she passes her time. She is self aware enough to know this.

But she calls Darcy out for being arrogant and having high standards anyway. Why? Because one shouldn’t put down women and compare them to others. It’s goddamn rude and elitist. One should be like Mr. Bingley: appreciating women for the effort they put into different things. No woman can be perfect, nor should she be.

In Darcy’s eyes it even more clearly shows how not a pick-me Elizabeth is. He compliments her, and she not only doesn’t accept it but has a go at him for putting down other women. She won’t be complimented like that! (Honestly I would’ve fallen for her to, damn.)

And then Lizzy leaves and Caroline says that she was putting down other women to make herself appeal to men, and Darcy essentially responds “Someone was definitely doing that.” And I think this is an important moment for Darcy: where he realises that Caroline is mean about other women and that’s not okay (he hasn’t actually gotten there about himself yet but hey).

So essentially Caroline calls herself out. Which I think is hilarious.

(This is also a really long meta of me saying that Elizabeth is not a pick-me that hates other woman who aren’t as smart as her, and I don’t like it when adaptions do that (*cough cough* pride prejudice and zombies). She has sisterly rivalry because siblings, but aside from her sisters the only women she mocks is Caroline (and only lightly) and Lady Catherine. Which is really not a lot considering she mocks literally every man she comes across (including Bingley).)

[bennetsbonnet]

If a man I was vibing with abruptly disappeared without explanation or even a goodbye and, shortly afterwards, it transpired that I was in the same city as the same time as him and he likely knew that I was close by but he never made an effort to see me... when he eventually returned almost a year later and explained his absence by claiming that he thought I wasn't into him🥺 after being persuaded so by (presumably) his sisters😠 but really he loved me all along🥰!!

... then I would call immediate bs and tell him to get away from me posthaste.

Which is why I could never be a Jane Bennet (too good for this world, too pure) because I wouldn't believe Bingley for a single second. What do you mean you didn't want to check how I felt first?! And that you can be so easily manipulated by people due to your trusting nature?

Bingley is very much Not My Type. I don't think he's a bad person, I do feel sorry for him, to some extent. He's got many good qualities, but he's a bit too much of a pushover for me.

While, as an outsider, Darcy and Elizabeth's dynamic seems exhausting to be part of, the way they are mutually obsessed with each other, and are unable to stop thinking about each other and bringing each other up unprompted in the presence of others after a brief acquaintance even months later... yeeeeah. That's my cup of tea.

I mean, Darcy is indisputably awful and selfish when it comes to expressing his feelings, he doesn't even pause for a second to consider how hurtful his words may be before making his first proposal... but he never really gives up on Elizabeth (though he immediately would have if she said no for a second time). Throughout the entire novel, he can barely contain his passion for her.

He goes about it entirely wrongly, but I can't help feeling like I'd rather enjoy bewitching a man so much that he strolls around like a distressed wounded animal for several minutes before confessing how ardently he admires and loves me...

[ladythomasina]

Jane Austen's last words

a study of dialogue at the conclusions of her novels

so I recently completed a reread of Mansfield Park, and among the many reasons I think people find that novel unsatisfying, or difficult to love, is its final exchange of dialogue:

in the penultimate chapter, Edmund Bertram goes on for several pages (it's really more of a monologue) about his final encounter with Mary Crawford and how disappointed he is in her, as Fanny "watch[es] him with silent, but most tender concern"

I know Austen doesn't write lengthy love scenes and enjoys ending her novels with a kind of summing-up chapter that contains no dialogue, but this is just too much! There is no conversation to indicate Edmund's eventual change of heart toward Fanny—the last we really see of him, he's making Fanny listen to him yap about how another woman broke his heart!

so then I thought it would be interesting to do a little comparison of the final words of spoken dialogue in all 6 of Austen's full-length novels and see if there are any other notable patterns.

Northanger Abbey

final words of quoted dialogue: "Your Ladyship!" -- spoken by the General, words of pride that his daughter Eleanor has married well and earned a title. In ch. 31, the final chapter

final words spoken by the heroine: "Mr. Henry Tilney" -- Tilney has showed up unexpectedly at Catherine's house and she is introducing him to her mother. This is in ch. 30, the penultimate chapter

my thoughts: there is a lot of summary and indirectly quoted dialogue in these chapters, courtesy of the tongue-in-cheek narrator--I love Henry Tilney and wish we got more from him, but that's not the tone Austen is going for. I also feel like giving the high-and-mighty General the last word is Austen being playful. Interesting that both these short lines of dialogue are concerned with names & titles (and marriage)

Sense & Sensibility

final words of quoted dialogue: a paragraph-long speech (175 words) from John Dashwood, beginning "I will not say that I am disappointed, my dear sister" and ending "In short, you may as well give her a chance: you understand me." In between, he tries to persuade Elinor that it would be an excellent thing if Marianne and Colonel Brandon fell in love. In ch. 50, the last chapter

final words spoken by the heroine(s): "And when she has forgiven you, perhaps a little humility may be convenient while acknowledging a second engagement, almost as imprudent in her eyes, as the first" (Elinor to Edward, re: his mother) and "And if they really do interest themselves in bringing about a reconciliation, I shall think that even John and Fanny are not entirely without merit" (Marianne). Both toward the end of ch. 49, the penultimate chapter

my thoughts: it's a little annoying that John Dashwood gets the last word, but hey, he's not wrong about Marianne and Brandon. The sisters' final speeches are well-expressed and fit their contrasting personalities (prudent, proper Elinor; bold, sassy Marianne). This works for me.

Pride & Prejudice

final words of quoted dialogue: "And if I had not a letter to write myself, I might sit by you, and admire the evenness of your writing, as another young lady once did. But I have an aunt, too, who must not be longer neglected" -- Lizzy to Darcy, in ch. 60, the final chapter

final words spoken by the heroine: Same as above! Lizzy gets the last word!

(we also get the letters written by Lizzy to her aunt and Mr. Bennet to Mr. Collins after this, but letters are not quite dialogue)

my thoughts: Just lovely. Lizzy is engaged and still bantering playfully with Darcy, and so we can imagine them going on like this for the rest of their married life. (She expresses further brilliant happiness in her letter, too!)

Mansfield Park

final words of quoted dialogue: A long speech (700 words) by Edmund Bertram to Fanny, beginning "Now, Fanny, we shall soon have done" and ending "How have I been deceived! Equally in brother and sister deceived! I thank you for your patience, Fanny. This has been the greatest relief, and now we will have done.” In ch. 47, the penultimate chapter

final words spoken by the heroine: "How long were you together?" -- Fanny to Edmund, earlier in the conversation in chapter 47 re: Mary Crawford. Preceded by about 800 words of Edmund's monologuing, followed by almost another 1000 words.

my thoughts: UGHHHH

Emma

final words of quoted dialogue: "Very little white satin, very few lace veils; a most pitiful business!—Selina would stare when she heard of it." -- Mrs. Elton, in the final paragraph of the novel, being judgy about Emma's wedding

final words spoken by the heroine: "Very beautiful, indeed" -- Emma to Frank Churchill, agreeing that Jane Fairfax will look lovely in the jewelry Frank plans to give her. In ch. 54, the penultimate chapter

my thoughts: At first it surprised me that Emma doesn't get the last word (especially since Lizzy did), but I like this! Emma has become less meddlesome and self-centered, and can be wholeheartedly happy for Jane and Frank (we are told that she says this "so kindly"). But Mrs. Elton comes through in the last paragraph to remind us that not everyone grows and matures like Emma does; some people will always be small-minded and judgmental.

Persuasion

final words of quoted dialogue: A paragraph-long speech (150 words) from Captain Wentworth, beginning "Good God! You would!" and ending "Like other great men under reverses, I must endeavour to subdue my mind to my fortune. I must learn to brook being happier than I deserve". At the end of ch. 23, the penultimate chapter

final words spoken by the heroine: "Would I!" -- Anne to Wentworth, immediately preceding the speech above (and in response to his question "if I had then written to you...would you have renewed the engagement?")

my thoughts: ❤️❤️❤️

[bethanydelleman]

My lit studies professor said that in the 2005 movie, she's not sure if Elizabeth really married Darcy because she loved him or because she wanted to be the mistress of Darcy's mansion after seeing it. Thoughts?

Huh. I don't agree. This movie was my first time engaging with the story and that's certainly not what I thought, but also, this little moment is one of the things 2005 got right:

For me it's a great representation of the line, "They were all of them warm in their admiration; and at that moment she felt that to be mistress of Pemberley might be something!" Given that Elizabeth is more likely to laugh then wallow in disappointment, for me it fits.

P&P 2005 firmly established that Darcy was extremely rich before the proposal (half of Derbyshire). By the time Elizabeth visits Pemberley, she has received the letter and knows that she was wrong about Darcy, so to me her reaction was like, "He's a much better person than I thought and this is what I turned down!" which is the same vibe as the book.

However, there are a lot of people who have never watched P&P 2005 who take this line in the book way too seriously:

“It has been coming on so gradually, that I hardly know when it began; but I believe I must date it from my first seeing his beautiful grounds at Pemberley.” Another entreaty that she would be serious, however, produced the desired effect; and she soon satisfied Jane by her solemn assurances of attachment. When convinced on that article, Miss Bennet had nothing further to wish. (Ch 59)

even though Elizabeth is clearly joking. So I would say blaming P&P 2005 for this idea in general would be wrong.