#portia appreciation week

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Could I get hc for where the M6 find MC badly injured?. Not like on deaths door but like they'll need a strict week of bedrest to recover.

How they would react to finding MC?, how they would react knowing someone out there hurt MC on purpose? and how they would spend the week looking after MC?.

Mainly curious for Asra/Nadia and Muriel but all the m6 would be appreciated.

The Arcana HCs: When M6 find MC badly injured

~ @fox-daddy oh, I hope you're ready for some bittersweet angst while I run with this classic romantic moment :3 hope you enjoy these, friend! - brainrot ~

CW for brief descriptions of violence, physical pain/injury, and the M6 being very, very upset

-- to set the scene --

You had spent the afternoon in the forest gathering more stock for the shop, and lost track of time in the process. By the time you were ready to leave the sun was already setting and it was getting harder to see where you were going.

The first sign you had of an attacker was the feeling of being slammed harder than you thought possible on the back of the head. Everything that followed was fuzzy - being hit a few more times around your torso and face, a figure with its face hidden, and eventually being thrown against a wall while your bag was yanked away.

You don't know when you fell asleep, but when you open your eyes, you're back in your shop with your beloved bending over you.

Julian

His hands are steady on your bruises, but when you meet his eyes you can hear his breaths and see the curls around his face shaking

"MC?" He asks worriedly, "Can you tell me where it hurts?"

He doesn't leave the house while you're recovering. He's grateful for any help Mazelinka, Portia, Nadia, or Asra offers, but he insists on treating you himself and does so with total care and devotion

It's one of the moments when you're grateful for his cold hands, because they're so soothing on your tender skin

As you recover enough to be more aware of your surroundings, you start to realize just how the incident is affecting him

You can hear him pacing and muttering and swearing when he thinks you're asleep, trying to figure out how this happened and who did it and how to bring your attacker to justice

And at the same time, you know that no matter how many times he apologizes for not being there and you tell him that it's not his fault, he's going to blame himself

At one point Mazelinka gives you both bowls of soup laced with sleeping medicine

When he's able to forget your attacker, though, he's in his element

He's willing and able to give you everything you need: healing, company, laughter, love, and devotion, all without limits

Though he's very relieved when Nazali catches the assailant lurking outside your shop as they bring their apprentice more supplies and knocks them to the ground

Asra

The first thing you see is their hair twice as fluffed out as usual because they've been running their hands through it

As soon as he sees you're awake, he's gently skimming a thumb across your cheek and putting on a strained smile. "Oh, my love. Everything's going to be alright."

Salim and Julian, who have both studied medicine, are already in the shop helping Asra heal you while Aisha keeps you comfortable

As soon as you're recovered enough, Asra's offering you all kinds of safety options after layering the building in protective magic

Would you feel safer in the Palace? In the woods? In Nopal? Say the word and they'll take you anywhere you want to go

Is very gentle and cautious about how he asks you what happened

Stays so extremely calm and unruffled while you're healing that you know they're feeling some pretty awful things and that they have no intention of letting any of them show until you're better

Behind the scenes, he's stealing away whenever you're asleep to pass all the information he has about your attacker on to Nadia, who is determined to bring them to justice

They're not the type to try to restrict you in the name of safety, but they're teaching you every kind of defense magic they know

Nobody does comfort like Asra does. You won't have to go through a moment of pain or fear without him right there to pull you into his arms and hold you as long as you need him to to feel safe

Nadia

She's putting on a brave face but you can tell from the wrinkle between her eyebrows that she's very, very shaken

"Don't fret, my darling, you're safe now. Don't move. I've summoned our best physicians. Is there anything you desire? Anything I may fetch for you?"

As soon as you're cleared to move she's relocating you to the Palace where she can keep you safe and stay by your side

She is so dedicated to staying available to you, in fact, that she moves all of her meetings into the room next to yours so that she can hear you if you so much as cough

And if she does hear you in any kind of discomfort, she's dropping everything and rushing over

She'll move your head to her lap, bring food and water to your mouth, call for blankets and soup or ice cream and fans depending on your temperature, and trace your face with her fingertips until you fall asleep or force her to go back to work

You are her absolute priority

She's not going to tell you until later, but she is very, very angry

The cold kind of angry, that makes it difficult for her to be fair in her dealings. She has every connection both in and out of Vesuvia on a manhunt for your attacker

As soon as she hears that they've been apprehended, she has them detained until you're recovered enough to get out of bed

She wants justice, but she wants closure for you too, and the opportunity for you to obtain both for yourself

Muriel

As triggered and panicked as he is, Muriel has unfortunately gotten enough combat experience to have in-depth knowledge of how to care for someone who's been attacked

When you open your eyes, his expression is shifting between angry and terrified and deeply, deeply hurt, but his touch is gentle and safe and feather-light and he has water and painkillers already out

He doesn't want to overwhelm you with noise so he won't start talking until you do

He'll lock up the shop and carry you back to the hut as soon as possible, where he knows it's safe for you and for him

He's used to living with his own pain, but now he's becoming angry on your behalf and it's making him conflicted because he hates doing anything that could cause violence

So he sends Inanna with a note to Asra, explaining what happened briefly and asking them to pass the message on to Nadia so they can help

The two of them are quick to send everything you could need your way, and Muriel finds it much easier to accept help when it's for you instead of for him

Julian even makes the trek out once or twice to help you, and in the process tells everyone he meets about what happened and the state you're in

With the whole town on the hunt for whoever hurt their heroes, it's a matter of days before the attacker is caught. It's a miracle they make it to jail in one piece

Portia

The first thing you see are her tear-filled eyes, and the second thing you feel (after the aches across your body) are the steady drip of them falling onto your chest

"MC! Oh, I'm so glad you're awake. I'm so sorry - I'm so sorry!"

It's only a few more minutes before Julian and Mazelinka burst through the door, Julian carrying his doctor's kit and Mazelinka brandishing an honest-to-arcana pirate cutlass

Portia doesn't hide her determination to get justice for you as she carries you into Nadia's carriage to take you back to her cottage

She's holding your head and torso in her arms, helping you give Nadia a description of what happened while she presses her handkerchief to her eyes to keep her tears from dripping on you

She's the best nurse you could ask for

Whatever you can stomach, she'll cook it. If you're too hot, she's throwing open the windows and fanning you. If you're too cold, she's snuggling next to you and sharing her body heat

And if you're scared or hurting, she's cradling your face in her hands and crying all her tears for you. She develops a habit of kissing you right next to each injury every morning and night

When you're asleep, she's talking to every person she knows (which is a lot) and recruiting them to catch your attacker

By the time Nadia hears that they were found, it's almost too late to get them safely into custody

Lucio

His lips are white. All the blood has left his face, and his jaw is clenched so tightly to keep from chattering that you're worried it's going to crack

"MC? MC, are you awake? Does it hurt? What do you need?"

You notice that he's keeping his metal arm angled far, far away from you, where the metal can't bump any of your injuries, and his regular hand is fluttering all over your body like he's scared that he'll make it worse if he touches you

You quickly notice that there's several neighbors in the shop as well, and you learn that Lucio was so loud when he called for help that half the town already knows what's happened

He doesn't want to hurt you, so he guards you instead

He stays watchful at your bedside, sword resting by his hand, so that you know you're safe enough to fall asleep and heal

He'll only sleep if it's on the floor next to you, or in the same bed after you've told him multiple times that it won't hurt you

He'll happily tell you all kinds of tall tales to keep you distracted, and he practices all the patience he's developed with every friend and doctor that stops by to help instead of blowing up at them out of fear

All his anger has to go somewhere, though, so when an old connection from the heart district tells him that your attacker's been spotted, well

The only reason he doesn't kill them is because he thinks it would be too kind

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana angst #the arcana fluff #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson

[marcus-junius-brutus15]

annual breaking character

Senators, this has literally been an absolutely crazy week, last Thursday I thought it would be funny to start a brutus RP blog after seeing @julius-caeser 's blog and also falling intot the wormhole of shipping Brutus x Cassius. Anyway, this was so much fun!!!

Also, thank you to @gaius-cassius-longinu5 and @portia-wife-of-brutus for creating their accounts, this was literally so fun and I appreciate you both so much for joining in! It wouldn't be the same without you guys!!

Anyway, with the end of the holiday comes good news and bad news, good news is it, like this blog, will happen again next year (different plot I promise), the bad news is, however, that I won't be around as much as I've been after Monday (the 18th). If you want to find me, I have my personal blog linked below :)))

Thank you so much for tagging along, and I hope to see you next year :D

that guy,

@blorbusshmorbus

(PS: I've also interacted as my other account with this blog earlier, I'm the Collusem spam bot because I didn't know what to post, and i needed filler lol)

#ides of march #brutus #julius caesar #hail caesar #et tu brute #caesar #unreality #marcus brutus #cassius

[arcanarubinaito]

What are your thoughts on how an extroverted, confident, energetic MC would be with Muriel as an LI? (🪶)

Thank you for the ask, Feather Anon! I’ve been itching to do some creative writing outside of my story, so I hope you don’t mind that I’m writing this more like a short story/narrative style post.

Summary:

You command the room when you walk in, and everyone takes notice. He loves that about you; being riddled with constant social anxiety himself, it’s nothing short of a relief for Muriel to see that you don’t have to deal with it yourself. (Besides, it doesn’t hurt that it takes the attention off of him.)

He’s just worried that you’ll feel isolated and alone if you move in with him.

It’s exactly a month after the defeat of Lucio and The Devil, and everyone had gathered to celebrate together in the Rowdy Raven. He tries to stick to a corner in the back, but he is far too large and conspicuous to avoid the attention for long. Some people stare, others are braver and approach him to exchange a few words and express thanks. Muriel wants nothing more than to melt into a puddle. He appreciates not being looked at like he was still the Scourge, thankful that people weren’t afraid of him anymore. But the only reason he was here was to see you. You had been busy helping with repairs in the city while Muriel helped those still lingering in the camp outside his home, and hadn’t had much time to really talk or interact for the past week.

“You all didn’t start without me now, did you?” Your voice rings out as you stride in, and Muriel slumps back against the wall with relief. He watches some of the crowd clamor to get your attention as Julian passes you a beer stein, giving him room to breathe.

You look a little tired, he notices, but your face is practically glowing. Your eyes meet across the room and you light up even further, drawing a slight smile from Muriel’s otherwise stoic expression. He loves your smile. Immediately you chug your drink and begin pushing through the crowd, exchanging short words with a few other people before you finally reach him. He doesn’t even have the time to say ‘hello’ before you throw your arms around him in a tight hug that he quickly returns.

“God, I missed you so much.” You groan, tilting your head back to look up at him. Muriel lifts his hand, cradling your face gently in his large palm as he dips down to kiss your forehead—silently telling you he missed you just as much. “I didn’t have any time to visit this week and it was killing me, actually.” You stretch up on your toes and loop your arms around his neck, filling him in on all the little things he’d missed. Stuffy nobles complaining that they weren’t getting their homes repaired sooner, and Nadia putting them in their place. Helping Portia and the other kitchen staff with preparing food for all the displaced citizens. Julian and Asra, busy with healing and helping reunite separated families and friends.

He listens to you ramble on with a soft smile, and follows as you take his arm and lead him to the bar. “—but now I think I’ll have a lot of down time, which means I can spend more time with you.” Muriel’s smile widens a little more at that, and he can feel his face warm up when you shoot him a wink. Yeah, he knows what that means all too well. “Hey Lavinia, let’s get a round of black mead for everyone!” You call across the bar, knocking your hand against the wood loudly. “And put it on Jules’ tab!”

“Wait what—?”

A short laugh breaks past Muriel’s lips at Julian’s indignant squawk, and he catches a shit-eating grin plastered over your face as you settle onto one of the stools. Two mugs of the dark liquor slide across the bar towards you both, Muriel putting his hand out to gently stop them before they fall off and passing one to you. “What did he do to deserve that?” He asks, amused. You hide your smirk with your mug.

“Nothing.” You rest your chin in one hand. “I’ll pay it off myself, his reaction is just funny.”

“That’s a little mean.”

“It is a little mean, yeah.” You laugh, eyes glittering with mirth. The firelight reflects like spots of amber in your eyes, and he’s reminded of that first night. Your worried face and gentle hands cast in the soft glow of the fireplace, and the begrudging step he had taken to trust you just a little. The best decision he’s ever made, really. Muriel reaches forward to brush some stray hairs out of your eyes without thinking.

A few ‘awww’s scattered from the crowd made him flinch and quickly withdraw, his face hot with embarrassment. Muriel hides his burning face with a quick swig from the wooden mug in his hand and turns his back to the crowd quickly. He had been so swept up in the moment that he forgot you both weren’t alone, and many pairs of eyes were on you at any given moment.

Your hand touches the side of his face lightly, reassuring and gentle. Grounding him for a little longer and soothing that surge of anxiety and embarrassment. His eyes flicker in your direction again briefly before he roots his stare on the mug in his hands again. “You want to head back early?” You suggest softly. Muriel lowers his mug. He wants to say yes; he’s by far had his fill of socializing today and just wants to wind down somewhere quiet and familiar. But he hesitates. You only just got here, and he knows how much you enjoy these gatherings. You thrive off of social interactions, would it be selfish for him to ask you to leave so soon?

“We don’t have to.” Muriel finally says, begrudgingly, forcing himself to look back up at you. He can stick it out a little while longer for your sake, just as you’ve done for him before. It’s loud and crowded and his anxiety is already going haywire, and god his head is starting to hurt too. But he can suck it up.

“I really don’t mind going home if you need to.” You reply. He watches your eyes drift past him, your hand waving off someone behind him quickly before your gaze returns to meet his. “I know this isn’t exactly where you’re most comfortable.” That was an understatement if Muriel had ever heard one.

Wait. Go back. Did you say ‘home?’

Gently, you pull him away from the bar, guiding him through the swirling crowd towards the back door. He reaches out to push it open for you, his fingertips lingering on the wood for only a moment before you whisk him down the alleyway to a more secluded spot, away from prying eyes. His eyes widen a little, and he lifts his hand to curl it over the one you cup his cheek with. “You said ‘home.’” Muriel breathes out. Your face softens a little, a smile creeping up on your lips.

You’ve hidden yourselves among some crates stacked up between the buildings, a nearby street lamp casting your faces into wild shadows. “Yeah, I did.” You confirm, moving your hand so that your fingers are twined together now. You dip your head down, kissing the tops of his knuckles with a sweet brush of your lips that sends a jolt of electricity through Muriel’s body. “I’d like to move in with you—if you want, I mean.” You add on quickly.

Muriel’s heart hammers in his chest. “What about the shop?” He asks, his voice a little more breathless than he would’ve liked.

“The shop is a little bit crowded these days—” Right, Julian had moved in. Muriel tries (and fails) to resist the urge to make a face at the thought of the doctor living with Asra. “—and I’m not exactly selling anything right now either.” You continue, tilting your head to the side just a little. “And it’s so far from your place.”

“My place is also far from everything else.” He points out quietly. Muriel wants nothing more than for you to move in with him, to make that little hut feel more like a little home. But would it be too far from Vesuvia, and all your friends? Would you be happy, or would you start to feel isolated and alone?

“I know.” You guide him out of his thoughts with a soft voice and a gentle squeeze of his hand. “And I’m okay with that.” He searches your gaze, finding only love and warmth, and that gleam of pure conviction he knows so well. His shoulders relax just a little bit and his thumb rubs along the back of your hand idly while he listens. “It isn’t really all that long of a walk to get to the city. It just feels… It just feels too far from you.” You smile up at him and he practically melts, lips twitching up into a faint smile.

“I want you to be happy.” Muriel confesses softly. He brings his other hand up to envelope yours in his large and calloused palm.

“And I’m happy whenever I’m with you.” You stretch up on your toes, and he leans down just a little to meet you halfway, stealing a soft and sweet kiss—thankfully, without anyone around to see. Muriel sneaks a glance around just to double check before he wraps his arms around you and pulls you in closer, one steady hand at your waist and the fingers of his other twined gently through your hair. He can feel your hands rest against his chest for a moment before you reach up to hold his face in your ever-gentle hands.

He pulls away just slightly, your warm breath mingling with his against the cool night air. “I love you.” Muriel murmurs, and the corners of his eyes crinkle with a smile. He moves his hand to brush an errant lock of hair out of your eyes, studying them. Muriel wasn’t one for eye contact, but it was so easy for him to get lost in your eyes. They always reflected the light so beautifully, and tonight was no exception; the light of the street lamp mingled with the moonlight, casting your eyes in a contrast of gold and silver.

“I love you too.” You murmur. Your thumb lightly brushes along his cheek and traces along his scar tenderly, sending a soft shiver down his spine. Muriel shifts, his lips meeting the spot just between your eyebrows before he pulls away, his hands resting on your waist. You tilt your head back a little to look up at him, letting your hands settle back on his shoulders before sliding them down his arms and resting them against his biceps, just above his elbows.

“… yeah. I think I’d like to go home now.” He murmurs, finally answering your question from before. Your smile widens a little and you take hold of his hand as you both finally pull away from where you were hidden and start to walk down the street.

#arcanarubinaito #rubin’s writing #ask box #the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana fic #fanfic #the arcana muriel #muriel of the kokhuri #muriel the hermit #muriel x reader #muriel x mc #gn reader #the arcana apprentice #the arcana spoilers #the arcana muriel route #fluff #romance #anxiety/comfort #mild alcohol

[queen-haq]

Fic: Never You (Polin) - Part 6

Fandom: Bridgerton (TV show)

Spoilers: S3 released scenes.

Summary: They may have been friends once but his callous words decimated their relationship. Determined not to have anything to do with him, Penelope is ready to move on. But Colin isn’t giving up, not at all. Friends or not, they are connected for life - and he intends to remind her of that.

Excerpt:

“You would hate me for not wanting to court you. You would be that selfish?”

“Of course you would think that.”

“What else is this if not punishment?”

Masterlist (contains links to previous parts and my other stories)

Chapter 6

Dearest Penny,

I hope this letter finds you well.

My journey home was perilous and took far too long. However, I did receive good news upon my arrival. Mother was awake in bed, the worst of her illness having passed recently. It will still take a few weeks but the doctor is confident she will recover fully. I have told her a lot about you. As I predicted, she is excited to meet you. 

I miss you. I remind myself it’s only a matter of time before we can start our new life together, full of adventure and laughter, but it still feels too long.

Once my affairs are settled, I will be traveling to London to see you. I know your Mama will not take kindly to me but I hope to win her over with my intelligence and wit (I’m envisioning the mocking smile on your lips as I write this).  If all else fails, I shall win her approval through jewelry, as you suggested. Hopefully that will alleviate her concerns about an untitled son-in-law.

Love,

Arthur.

Penelope read the letter again, smiling to herself. While she and Arthur could converse for hours, his letters tended to be short and to the point. And though they lacked a writer’s flair, his letters still felt distinctly like him and she appreciated that.

With other men she was shy and tongue-tied, and they were never interested in her anyway, but Arthur Debling had been different. At a dinner gathering in Ayleshire, it was he who had approached her, and once she got over her initial shyness the conversation flowed between them. Perhaps it was because he was a merchant and not a member of nobility, but from the very beginning he treated her with respect and a matter-of-fact stance rarely displayed by others. To him she wasn’t some woman in desperate hunt for a husband or an awkward, shy wallflower to be avoided at all times. She was Penelope Featherington and she was enough.

For the first few weeks there had been no romantic intentions, they simply talked of art and poetry. Over time she came to see he possessed a brilliant scientific mind that he went out of his way to hide. Only when she questioned him did he finally admit he was embarrassed of his intelligence and felt the need to dampen his curious mind from others. That was the first night she started to see him in a different light.

“Penelope!”

The sound of Mama's voice brought Penelope out of her reverie. After hiding the letter, she made her way toward her mother’s chamber in the opposite corner of the hallway. Portia was already dressed for bed and brushing her hair when Penelope entered the room. “Yes, Mama?”

The older woman cast her a quick glance in the mirror. “Lady Violet has invited us for tea tomorrow afternoon.”

Pen paused. Tea at the Bridgertons meant seeing Eloise and perhaps even Colin. “I will be in-”

“And before you come down with a sudden case of illness, I will remind you that personal invitations of this nature have been rare of late. We can not afford to turn down any, let alone the Bridgertons.”

Between the Marina scandal and then Cousin Jack, there were many who no longer wished to associate with the Featheringtons. While that was a relief for Pen, she knew the slow exclusion really hurt Portia even if she did hide the pain behind a mask of angry condescension.

“Yes, Mama. I understand.”

“Good. Now get some sleep, child. I will not have you looking haggard tomorrow.”

Penelope sauntered back to her chamber, her mind still reeling. No doubt Eloise would be present and angry with her. Would she at least pretend to be polite? Pen didn’t know. So far they had mostly avoided each other, except for the ball last week when Eloise had warned her to stay away from Colin.

After entering the chamber, she was busy locking the door when a noise startled her.

“Pen.”

Colin’s throaty growl made her gasp, her body suddenly taut.

Hesitant, she turned around.

It had been two days since she last saw him at the park. And now he was here in her chamber, shamelessly sitting at the edge of her bed. Hair tousled, clothes messy and disheveled, he stared at her intently. His face was unshaven, revealing a stubble growth of a day or two. Instead of taking away from his looks, however, it only emphasized his handsomeness more.  

Her heart started pounding in her chest, both from the anger that flooded through her veins and the knowledge that his hold upon her was still so potent. “How did you get in here?” she asked, keeping her voice steady so he couldn’t sense how much his presence unnerved her.

“I climbed up the tree and through the window.”

As if violating her privacy was a daily occurrence for him.

“You’re so very determined to ruin me, aren’t you?”

“I was careful. No one saw me.”

“Well, that makes it alright then.”

“I didn’t take you as the sarcastic sort, Pen.”

“Add it to the growing list of things you don’t know about me.”

He didn’t respond, his eyes locked with hers.

The silence between them grew more tense by the second while they held still, as if a single movement could ignite a fire that would burn them both.

And then he stood up. “Do you know why I’m here, Pen?”

There was a button missing from his waistcoat, dirt on his breeches, and he had never looked more beautiful than he did at that moment. Her heart flipflopped in her chest. “I don’t care. I simply want you to leave.”

A bitter smile shadowed his lips. “Because it’s that easy for you, isn’t it? You’ve moved on already.”

“Yes.” The strength in her voice surprised even her when all she felt was anxiety twisting up her insides. “It’s time you do the same.”

“Don’t you think I’ve tried? That I’ve been trying?” Anger laced his words, hurt etched onto his face. “You don’t want to have anything to do with me yet I can’t imagine a single moment of my life without you. Why is that, Pen?”

With a slow and deliberate gait, he swaggered forward.

“Why can’t I stop thinking about you? Your voice, your smile, your taunts...” He tapped the side of his temple erratically, eyes heavy with emotion. “Always in my fucking mind, refusing to give me even one moment of peace. You’ve been torturing me!"

With every step that drew him closer, waves of madness surged through her body. She didn’t want to feel like this, like her mind and body were completely out of her control.

“Why is this happening to me, Pen?” His voice cracked. “Why do I feel this way?” He clutched his heart, his long, lean fingers rubbing the spot over his waistcoat repeatedly. “It didn’t used to be like this, I was fine before! But now I think about you leaving me and it’s like I can’t breathe. Like a part of me will be lost forever.”

Her eyes softened. The man standing in front of her wasn’t the one who broke her heart. In his place was her dear friend, the boy she had known her entire life and loved for as long, and he was pleading for her help. “That empty feeling will go away, Colin. I promise.” She took a furtive step toward him. “You’ve only just returned, your life probably feels untethered with everything changing around you. But give it time, let yourself settle in, and things will be better.”

He stopped in his tracks. “Nothing will ever be the same without you.”

“It will, I promise.” She sent him a sad smile. “You will meet someone beautiful and kind, and she will be everything you ever wanted. The true love of your life. And this sadness that you feel right now will become a distant memory.”

A beat of silence followed as he contemplated her words.

Would the agonizing pain that coursed through her at the thought of him with another woman ever lessen? She didn’t know. Maybe with time and distance she would be free of this curse, but for now he was still very much embedded in her soul and the eventual reality of him falling in love made her want to retch.

“Is that what you think will happen for you, Pen? You’ll marry this Arthur and make me a distant memory?”

There was no outward change in him yet she immediately sensed the shift within.

He cocked his eyebrow. “Do you think I will let that happen?”

She stared at him defiantly as he approached her. “You have no say in my life.”

“But I do, Pen.” The glint in his gaze sharpened, making his blue eyes appear even darker. “Because it’s me you’re in love with. It’s me you swore never to forsake.” He came to a stop in front of her, forcing her to look up at him. “I intend to hold you to that.”

Her anger returned. “And I intend to fight you. Because I will not sacrifice my future to appease your selfishness.”

“I know,” he sighed, regret looming over his face. “I should never have asked you to do that. But that’s why I’m here, Pen. I want to make things right between us.”

Her demand to know how died on her lips as soon as he retrieved something out of the pocket of his waistcoat. Stunned, she stood frozen as he held out an emerald ring, one she recognized right away from having seen Lady Violet wear it occasionally. 

“My father gifted this to my mother on their tenth anniversary.” There was reverence in his voice as he spoke. “I think he chose it especially for the colour. It’s remarkable, isn’t it?”

She swallowed, nodding. “Yes, it’s beautiful.”

“This has always been my favourite of mother’s jewelry. I knew one day I would gift it to my wife.”

Her mind went blank.

“And maybe now is that time.” He bent down on one knee in front of her, holding up the ring. “Will you marry me, Penelope Featherington?”

Time stopped.

For so long all she wanted was to be Colin’s wife. In her mind marrying him meant she would finally be happy and fulfilled. He would be the perfect husband, and she would be a member of the happy and loving Bridgerton family at last. All her dreams would finally be realized.

Except she wasn’t happy or even excited. The man she loved was on his knees, proposing to her, and all she could think about was how wrong it all felt. The proposal didn’t come from a place of love. No. Instead it was borne out of fear and a stubborn refusal to grow up. A last resort so he didn’t have to face losing their friendship.

Then there was Arthur. With him she didn’t have to hide, she could be who she truly was and not have to apologize for it. And she could continue to write, whether that be as Lady Whistledown, someone new or even herself, and do so without shame or regret.

Colin may have been her lifelong dream but that didn’t mean she couldn’t have new ones. And with Arthur, the life she wanted was within her grasp. A true possibility rather than simple fantasy.

Immediately she felt a sense of peace, knowing she was doing the right thing for herself.  “I’ve already said this to you before. I’m betrothed to another.”

In one fluid motion he slid the ring back into his pocket before rising to his full height. He had always towered over her but that had never intimidated her before. For the first time she felt a small twinge of fear percolating in her stomach, realizing the stark darkness on his face was also new.

He was quiet, too quiet, stalking her every move with his eyes, slowly pushing forward. A predator enjoying the rituals of the hunt, preparing his prey for the kill. Instinctively she retreated, moving back until the door lodged against her spine. He continued to move in, slowly but ferociously, invading every inch of her space until he was standing directly in front of her. She craned her neck to meet his stare, refusing to bow down.

“Is that a no, Penelope?”

She couldn’t think with him so close but she held strong. "Yes."

“Even though you’re in love with me and not fucking Arthur.” 

Maybe he thought throwing her love back in her face would embarrass her into submission but it had the opposite effect. Infuriated, she stood on her tiptoes to glare up at him. "So what? You think you can use my feelings to manipulate me?" She shook her head no. "I have dreams that matter to me far more than my love for you. And I will not jeopardize my chance to achieve them just for scraps of your attention."

Her words were meant to provoke his temper so he would withdraw. Instead his eyes softened as he hunched lower to look at her, his gaze roaming languidly over her face, a gentleness to them that made her insides dance with anticipation. She trembled when his hands cupped her cheeks while he studied every inch of her features, as if marking her in his memory. And then his thumb gently brushed over her pout, his dark blue eyes following the tremor of her lips, and all she could do was breathe slowly, tentatively, her heart drumming in her chest.

“I used to think you were the sweetest person I knew. Always so kind and agreeable,” he murmured, more to himself than her. “And easily forgotten.”

It hurt. Even though she had always known that that’s how people viewed her, if they bothered to see her at all - but to have him admit it was a different kind of pain. “Then forget me. Leave.”

He didn’t move, his gaze concentrated on her lips, thumb stroking left to right, right to left. “And now I can’t get this impertinent mouth of yours out of my head.”

It came as a shock when she realized Colin was hard, his erection pressed against her body. "You're aroused."

He met her eyes. “I’m aware.”

She swallowed audibly. “Why?”

Irritation surged through him. “You’re here, dressed in a robe with your beautiful hair down, talking to me, arguing with me, breathing around me, and you ask me why I’m aroused?” His hands slid down her body until they were at her waist, fingers curving into her sides as he pressed her tightly against him.

A faint gasp escaped her lips feeling his hardness.

“I want you, Pen,” was his raw, throaty plea. “I can’t stop.”

“Show me.” Her voice was firm, determined. “Show me how much you want me.”

To be contined...

A/N - Thank you for the support on this fic. Hope you're still enjoying it!

#polin #colin x penelope #penelope x colin #bridgerton #my fics

[ingek73]

Harry and Meghan in Jamaica are soft-power dynamite. Britain is left with kryptonite William and Kate

Nels Abbey

At times like these, it’s clear that the Sussexes represent a missed opportunity for a UK that needs friends in the world

Fri 26 Jan 2024 11.25 CET

Left to right: the Duchess and Duke of Sussex; the Jamaican prime minister, Andrew Holness, and his wife, Juliet; and its culture minister, Olivia Grange, at the premiere of Bob Marley: One Love in Kingston on 23 January 2024. Photograph: Jason Koerner/Getty Images for Paramount Pictures,

A popular Nigerian adage says “the cow never knows the value of its tail until it is chopped off”. In many tragic ways, this speaks to today’s Britain. From EU membership, to competent leadership, to low inflation, it seems necessary for Britain to lose things to appreciate their importance.

This week, look at Prince Harry and Meghan being feted in Jamaica. See the soft-power skills they carry with them, and think about that Nigerian adage.

In much of the British media, Harry and Meghan are all-year panto villains. But around the world, they could not be more loved – often for the very reasons they are despised in the British media. They are the soft power we could have enjoyed with the increasingly dominant, increasingly self-confident non-white world, especially the Commonwealth.

It’s not just that they are royals. Prince William and Kate headed to “no problem” Jamaica in 2022, and encountered problems aplenty. As their PR fiasco unfolded, they were derided for shaking hands with Jamaican children through wire fences, and for motoring viceroy-style through crowded streets in a fancy Land Rover. At the nightmare’s end, Jamaica basically handed Britain its P45, informing the royals of its intention to be a republic, to “move on”.

View image in fullscreenPrince Harry larks about with Olympic sprint champion Usain Bolt at the University of the West Indies in Jamaica, 2012. Photograph: John Stillwell/PA

Still, Harry has something the royals he left behind and the likes of Chillax Cameron can never have. He has familiarity, an ease with difference – and he has Meghan.

In 2012, he also had the love of the UK press and public. He was praised for his warm embrace of the then Jamaican PM, Portia Simpson-Miller, and was photographed larking about with Usain Bolt. “He has shown himself to be a natural ambassador, a diplomat in a very real sense – one hug from him has (at least partly) dissipated the bad feeling of generations … It is inconceivable that any other royal could have pulled this off quite so effectively,” gushed the Mail on Sunday.

‘God Save the King’ doesn’t fall from Jamaican lips so easily. Soon we’ll be a republic

Barbara Blake-HannahRead more

But that was then, before the British media’s own version of Orwell’s “two minutes hate” became a thing. Now, much of the press sees Harry and Meghan glad-handing and being glad-handed in Jamaica, surfing the love at the premiere of the Bob Marley biopic, and they don’t much like it. “Meghan and Harry pose next to anti-royal Jamaican prime minister who wants to ditch the monarchy and warned Wills and Kate they’ll never be king and queen of his nation – as Charles undergoes prostate surgery and the Princess of Wales recovers in hospital,” thundered the Mail. “The hubris of Harry and Meghan’s Jamaican photoshoot,” snorted the Spectator. “Crown fools: ‘Provocative’ Harry & Meghan spark royal row as they meet Jamaican politicians plotting to oust Charles as head of state,” jeered the Sun.

Britain understood Harry’s value and soft power in 2012, so what changed? Answer: Harry fell in love with, and married, a Black woman. That could have been a boon for this country, here and abroad; instead it’s a might-have-been. And what might have been to our reputational benefit is what has been happening in Jamaica.

The UK headlines and sour grapes tell you one thing: we messed up and we know it. Meghan was, and remains, soft-power dynamite, and all we have now is the soft-power kryptonite of Wills and Kate and the Windsor “firm” that spurned her. Still, that’s us: we never miss an opportunity to miss an opportunity.

Nels Abbey is a writer, broadcaster and former banker. He is the founder of Uppity: The Intellectual Playground

#prince harry #meghan markle #duchess of sussex #duke of sussex #brf #royals #jamaica #bob marley: one love

[sea-owl]

So I'm thinking ABO true mates polin and philoise, with childhood friends Phillip and Penelope, and some "I made up a fake suitor but turns out he's real and now we're planning a wedding. Oops" As always, I'm on mobile so I'm sorry for the long post.

So, the Featheringtons are a family of betas, they haven't had an alpha or an omega born into it for generations, until Penelope. Portia who has no idea how to even raise an omega daughter sends Penelope off to live with their cousins the Thompson in Gloucestershire who also have an omega daughter, Marina. Penelope grows up with Marina and the Crane boys, Phillip being her best friend. At some point she starts a pen pal relationship with Eloise.

By the time Penelope is sixteen there has been talks about arranging a marriage between her and Phillip. As much as Penelope loves the passive alpha both of them cringe at the thought of being mates. It doesn't help Marina and George also seemed keen on the idea.

"Oh Penelope why not? We could be sisters," Marina said. The two omegas were cuddling in Marina's nest. Marina's heat was due soon and it always helped if another unmated omega was there before and after the heat.

Because Phillip and I only see each other as pack mates, Penelope thought. Because I would rather write my novels and Phillip wants to study his plants. Because it would be the most awkward marriage ever.

Penelope couldn't say that though. Her cousins didn't even know she was the novel writer Lady Whistledown, it wasn't something a proper omega did.

But her romantic cousin did believe in true mates.

Penelope leaned in closer to whisper to Marina. "I believe I have found my true mate."

"Penelope," Marina gasped. "Who is it? Have I met him?"

Penelope shook her head. "Do you remember my pen pal Elosie?"

"Ms. Bridgerton?" Marina asked.

Penelope nodded. "Yes, one of her brothers caught my scent from a letter I sent her. He sent me a letter with Eloise's and oh Marina. I just know he is my mate."

"Which brother?"

Penelope ran through a list of names in her head, trying to remember Elosie's actual brothers' names so she didn't choose one of them. How many did she say she had again? Three? Yes, that sounds about right, two older and one younger. The Bridgertons were so well known, even out here, for their being many in their pack and for all looking so alike that half the time most don't know which one is which from a distance. Surly no would notice if she added one more, and Eloise would help surely help her if she knew Penelope was doing to avoid marriage.

A name, she needed to pick a name.

"Colin. His name is Colin Bridgerton."

Later that night Penelope wrote two letters. One to Eloise, and one to the mate she made up.

Dear Eloise,

My cousins are once again trying to push me and Phillip to court, no matter how many times we tell them we see each other no more than as pack mates. I may have fibbed and told them I have recently started a long-distanced courtship with one of your brothers. Colin is the first name that came to mind. If you could please help me I greatly appreciate it.

with great thanks,

Penelope Featherington

The letter she wrote to the made-up brother was shorter, adding in a few details she remembers Eloise said about one of her actual brothers.

Dear Mr. Bridgerton,

Thank you kindly for your first letter. You will have to write to me while on your tour around the Mediterranean. I have heard you could find really good tomato plants there.

yours truly,

Penelope Featherington

On the back of her stationary, she added some musings she had once written on new love when Marina and George first started courting.

Two weeks later Penelope found herself having a picnic with Marina and the Cranes. Phillip and Penelope were sent to keep an eye on the engaged couple. She had also received two letters. One smelled of Eloise's warm scent of honeysuckle, the smell becoming more potent as she opened the envelope.

"I still can't believe you made up a fake mate," Phillip whispered.

"If I had not your father," Penelope spat the word, " and my guardians would certainly have us engaged to be married."

Penelope pulled out the letter. Eloise had written that she would certainly help Penelope, after all who else was she going to be spinsters with? No one in London that's for sure.

Penelope smiled. "Oh, this is wonderful Phillip, now you can continue your studies at Cambridge and . . .Phillip?"

Phillip sat next to Penelope in a daze, his body shaking, and his unfocused eyes staring at the letter in her hands. "Lonicera," he muttered, breathing in deeply.

"Phillip!" Penelope yelled.

Whatever scattered her friend's mind stopped it's control. Phillip blinked a few times before coming back to himself. "I'm sorry Penelope. I'm not sure what happened."

"You're not about to go into a rut are you?" Penelope asked.

Phillip shook his head. "No, I'm not due for a while."

Penelope stared at her friend for a few moments before turning back to her other letter. This one didn't contain Eloise's scent; she must have sprayed some sort of perfume on it. The perfume gave off a scent of an ocean breeze with hints of citrus. It was the most wonderful scent Penelope has ever smelled. She must remember to ask Eloise what perfumed she sprayed it with.

Over the next few years Penelope kept sending letters to her Mr. Bridgerton. She must really commend Eloise for her dedication to keep up the charade, even if she still hasn't told Penelope what perfume she sprays the letters with. If Penelope was not the one to make up Mr. Colin Bridgerton she would have sworn he was real. Eloise put so many details in of a young man traveling to different parts of the world that Penelope wonders where she learned them. She even pretended to send gifts from those travels. Penelope busted out laughing when the first one of tomato plant seeds came in with a note.

You were right Pen, there are good tomato plants here.

yours,

Colin

Penelope wished things went as smoothly with the rest of her life. When she was 17, George had went to battle and died, leaving behind an unmarried and unbitten pregnant mate. Phillip was dragged home by his father who had died two weeks after George. Now the lord of Romney Hall Phillip tried to honor his brother and look after Marina and her unborn child. They had married when Marina was three months along, but never mated. No one dared spoke about how Sir Crane and Lady Crane had no mating marks.

Marina was never the same. During the last months of her pregnancy, she had become snappy with Phillip, and almost always demanded that Penelope not leave her side. Phillip and Penelope had hoped that once Marina gave birth she would calm, but no such luck. After the twins were born Marina had become despondent. She never left her rooms and allowed very few to enter. For two years she lived like that before the sickness took hold of her and she allowed it to take her.

Phillip and Penelope were reading over condolence letters when she got the rare letter from her mother.

Penelope,

I am sorry to tell you this but your father has passed. Come next season when we go into half mourning, I will need you in London. It is time for you to be serious about your suitor.

Penelope stopped reading. Her father was dead. She supposes as her offical pack leader and sire she should mourn his loss. She's sure her sisters in London are.

Penelope read over the letter once more. Still she felt like she was reading about the death of an unnamed character in one of her novels.

Penelope puts down her mother's letter and picks up the one from her fake suitor.

My darling Pen,

I cannot begin to imagine the pain you are going through right now. It is never easy to lose one menber of your pack, much less two. I hear you are to come to London next season. I shall be waiting for you here. Mayhaps we shall finally see if we suit for marriage.

Eagerly waiting,

Colin

"My mother expects me to return to London next season. I am to join the marriage mart," Penelope said.

Phillip nodded. "I will accompany you. We will both be in half mourning and be able to begin courting others."

Penelope looked up, her confusion leaking into her scent. "You will come to London with me?"

Phillip smiled. Penelope could smell his smugness at shocking her in his pine scent. "I figured we would both like someone we would know there when taking on the marriage mart. I need to find the children a new mother."

"You should find yourself a mate," Penelope muttered under her breath.

Penelope was 20 when she stepped back into London for the first time since her mother decided she could not raise an omega. Her dress was lavender and her gloves black.

Phillip stepped out of the carriage beside her with his black gloves and coat.

They are greeted in the Featherington drawing room by Penelope's mother and three sisters, along with two unknown alphas and an unknown omega.

That familiar smell of ocean and citrus hits Penelope so hard she's thankful Phillip has given her his arm to escort her in. She's not sure she would be standing if he didn't.

"Penelope, Sir Crane" Portia said. "This is Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, Lady Violet Bridgerton, and Mr. Colin Bridgerton."

Phillip shot Penelope a look. I thought you made him up.

Penelope shot Phillip a look back. So did I.

#let the insanity begin #true mates au #polin #slight philoise #for the moment at least #abo verse #alpha beta omega #omegaverse #besties phillip and penelope #alpha phillip crane #omega penelope featherington #bridgerton #penelope featherington #phillip crane #long post

[dotthings]

I put together an appreciation post for the casting on The Night Mothers, since the SAG strike is not yet resolved (but hopefully will be by next week. Hopefully), I thought I'd give these artists some extra appreciation in their extraordinary supporting roles.

Their screen presences left a strong impression as they portrayed Witches of Dathomir in live-action for the first time. Very mysterious and powerful. These three characters were crucial to the world-building and atmosphere on Peridea surrounding Thrawn.

As others have pointed out, the names Aktropaw, Klothow, and Lakesis evoke the fates of Greek myth, Atropos, Clotho, and Lachesis.

Aktropaw - portrayed by Jeryl Prescott

Jeryl Prescott has a long IMDB cv, working on many shows including The Walking Dead. She has a PhD in American Lit.

Klothow - portrayed by Claudia Black

Claudia Black is known to a lot of people as a sci-fi legend. She was in Farscape, Stargate, and a lot of other things. She was born in Australia and has also done stage work such as playing Portia in a touring production of The Merchant of Venice.

Lakesis - portrayed by Jane Edwina Seymour Jane Edwina Seymour also has a long list of IMDB credits in various shows, films, and shorts, and did the body acting (with voice by Alice Krige) for The Borg Queen in Star Trek: Picard season 3.

#The Night Mothers #Ahsoka #Ahsoka series #Claudia Black #Jeryl Prescott #Jane Edwina Seymour #give actors a fair contract

[endlessly-cursed]

fankids appreciation week 23: fantastic four

sidney, niall, louis & oliver battersea - @unfortunate-arrow

edwin, frederica, henrick & portia of alderly - @gaygryffindorgal

#fbawtft #riddle era #sidney battersea #niall battersea #louis battersea #oliver battersea #edwin of alderly #frederica of alderly #portia of alderly #nimon #jocedward #fankidsaw23 #myedit* #mine*

[xaharadesert]

Travelling Dancer & Singer MC - Headcanon

Arcana Characters (Julian, Portia, Lucio, Muriel) x MC

A/N: this one is for @heh-funky-cat-men! Sniffer won, so you’re finally getting this :) please let me know if there are any spelling or grammar mistakes :) requests are closed while I catch up!

❤️Julian❤️

From the first time he sees you, he thinks you’re absolutely incredible

He meets all kinds of people during his travels, but he finds that something about you is particularly captivating

When you make eye contact with him, he sends you a wink, and when you seem to take it well, he decides it’s a sign that he’s free to join in on the performance

He’s lucky that he has his violin with him— his improv that night is probably some of his greatest, in his opinion

The entire time, he can’t take his eyes off of you

So of course, when you’re done performing, he offers to buy you a drink

The two of you end up chatting far into the night, occasionally joining in on some of the impromptu song and dance that breaks out in the bar Julian had chosen

Unfortunately, the next morning you two would have to go your separate ways

You’re going different directions, but as Julian likes to remind you, it’s a small world for two restless travellers such as yourselves

You’ll surely find each other again

🧡Portia🧡

She’s the kinda gal that has to dance whenever she hears music

So you can bet she’s ecstatic when she meets you

The first time she heard you sing, she had to actively refrain from belting out the words as loudly as she could, considering it was a solo

But you just know she hollered along with your more melodic voice the second the atmosphere became more relaxed

Never one to be shy, she came right up to you and danced while music played and the two of you sang

Did she know the dance you were doing? Nope. Was that gonna stop her? Double nope.

But even if she looked a little ridiculous next to your skilled movements, her joy was contagious, and soon everyone was laughing and cheering along

When the music died down, she offered to buy you a drink, and the rest is history

💛Lucio💛

Your reputation proceeded you, hence why you found yourself singing and dancing in front of the court

Lucio seemed fairly nonchalant; this wasn’t a rare occasion for him

But he did watch you quite intently

To be honest, he was torn between demanding a dance off, and demanding lessons

In the end, he settled for private lessons, which he asked you about after your performance (with the small caveat that you never speak a word of it)

It would mean you would be stuck in Vesuvia for a while, but who in their right mind would turn down that much money?

That was how you begun the king and frustrating process of convincing Lucio that, no, he would not be on your level within the first week of lessons

It would be difficult, but you would manage to develop an actual bond with him, and something even more remarkable: the ability to tell him no

Honestly, that would probably make you the most powerful person in all of Vesuvia

💚Muriel💚

No way would this man ever approach you

Not only are you a stranger, but you’re also the center of attention

He would lurk in the background of your performance, appreciating, but not intruding

When the show was done, he would leave quietly, happy to have witnessed the performance, and content to leave it at that

By the time you two meet again, years later, he doesn’t even recall the first meeting

But frankly, that just means you have a second chance to amaze him

#the arcana #arcana #the arcana game #julian devorak #julian arcana #julian devorak headcanon #Julian x mc #Portia devorak #Portia arcana #Portia headcanon #Portia x mc #count lucio #lucio arcana #lucio headcanon #lucio x mc #muriel arcana #Muriel headcanon #Muriel x mc #the arcana headcanon #the arcana Julian #the arcana Portia #the arcana lucio #the arcana Muriel

[nyx-b-log]

ngl it's been a rough reading week but i'm back on a saturday! go me for having my shit together.

i finished two things this week, skulduggery pleasant and hidamari ga kikoeru (i hear the sunspot) and enjoyed both!

the audiobook of skulduggery pleasant is really good, and the actual text holds up surprisingly well from what i remember when i read it as a kid. it's not perfect (all the stuff with beryl and co is a bit ehhhh even if it evolves later) and i'm looking forward to carrying on with the series!

hidamari ga kikoeru was an easy read, with some nice art and enjoyable characters. i was left a bit wanting at the end of the volume but i know there's more in this universe so i'll pick those up at some point. it didn't grab me as such, but i can definitely see why people love it.

i attempted to finish the semantic error novel but idk, i think i'll just follow the manhwa at this point. i felt like i was missing things which the manhwa makes up for in the art (which sucks cos i do want to read the novel but don't know korean). translation is hard work tho, and i appreciate the team for putting it out there for people like me to read!

also still pushing along with children of time but have had a rough week in general and it felt like a bit much to tackle atm. i'm only 150 pages in. i enjoy it when i actually sit down with it (and am very glad i'm not an arachnophobe) but it's getting over that intimidation hump that's the problem. portia's bits are the most engaging for me.

in terms of stuff i've started, my new audiobook is the martian by andy weir and read by wil wheaton, which is great. he hits all the right comic beats and makes the science sound more engaging and convincing than i remember the paper copy being (which was already pretty good). if you're gonna read it, this is the way i'd recommend. the sudden shift from first person to third is still super jarring tho.

i'm also a very short way through utsukushii kare (aka my beautiful man) and am finding the book much less mean than the drama, so far anyway. plenty of time for that to change 😅 cos hira hasn't properly interacted with kiyoi yet (i'm at the bit where he's got his first pennies). i've got all three LNs, so we'll see how it goes. it's fairly easy to read, and the art is lovely.

i'm pretty sure that's it? hopefully i finish some of these by next week and offer some more interesting thoughts!

#books #bookblr #reading #skulduggery pleasant #hidamari ga kikoeru #children of time #utsukushii kare #the martian #not been at my best this week ngl #but should be better next week #utsukushii kare will take a while for me to get through #i'm like 4% in after a couple of hours #might have to change up my system #scheduled #i've been reading a lot of fanfic sooooo #there's a really long one i've been trying to finish and it's getting a bit exhausting #it's over 300k words but in 20 chapters so it feels like a bigger commitment than it actually is #anywho #see you next week

[iliveforyouilongforyouvesuvia]

Hiii! Could you write full headcanon for the M6 with an MC who is the embodiment of the “cute but intimidating” trope please? They’ll smile, wearing cutesy stuff, one second and will annihilate (verbally or physically) someone to defend themselves/their loved ones. I mainly thought of this because I think some of them (Ilya) would be head over heels for someone like that lol

The Arcana HCs: M6 with a cute but intimidating MC

~ I hope you don't mind, anon, but the mental image I keep getting is of a lolita with insane martial arts skills so that's the path I'm taking with these XD - brainrot ~

Julian

As suggested, he is head over heels for you

He loves it when you take the lead. And when that means standing up for him and absolutely annihilating whoever was trying to make him feel small or insignificant all while looking like a snack?

He's proposing. He's proposing today.

He also enjoys indulging any and all of your cutesy habits. He has plenty of (fake) pirate's gold to grab that cute top you were looking at, or keep you well stocked with flowers for your shop/apartment

Will play along with however cutely you act or accesorize

The whole south end knows that their dear Dr Devorak has found The One when they seem him out with you, shamelessly sporting a frilly bow with his usual goth aesthetic and practicing "uwu" speech

(you didn't ask him to do either of those things, he's just whipped)

Somebody did, at some point, mention that you and Portia are very similar in your "looks sweet but can easily destroy you" vibes

It sent Julian into a downward spiral that took a week to get him out of

Asra

They are living for the duality

He's all about free expression, so seeing you be so unashamedly yourself is one of his favorite things in the world

Not to mention that they quite like your fashion sense. They have a bad habit of borrowing some of your clothing items without asking

He meant to ask, he just forgot, and that's why you can't find that Hello Kitty bucket hat. Or those sparkly purple hair clips. Or the tie dye crop top. Or the -

You know what, forget it, they will more than make it up to you by picking up whatever cutesy thing they find on their trips for you

He loves it when people underestimate you because it means he gets to watch you prove them wrong

Exactly the kind of person to hint at a troublemaker's imminent downfall, so that once they confront them about it, they can pull the classic "Oh, I can't hurt you. But they can!" with a shit-eating grin

Likes to make frilly collars/sweaters for Faust to wear so she can be an added intimidating fashion accessory for you

Nadia

She is respectfully intrigued

People at her station tend to gravitate towards aesthetics that suggest power, influence, wealth, or education

It's not that she thinks a cute person can't be any of those things (you are clear proof otherwise), but she's just never seen it done before and she's absolutely fascinated by your design choices

The way you portray one trait while consistently exhibiting another is inspiring and she would like to see more of that please

She is going to challenge herself to design a full combat/training outfit for you, in the cutest design she can come up with

Your sword has flowers carved in the hilt and sparkly gemstones in your favorite colors

She gets flustered every time she remembers you prettying up your sword by tying a hair ribbon on it, only to challenge a noble with it two minutes later for being snobby towards you

You're going to need multiple walk-in closets for all of the cutesy clothes and hidden weapons she's about to gift you

Muriel

He's really not sure what to do with you

He appreciates the softness of your aesthetic, and as much as he likes to grumble, your sweet smiles really brighten up his day

But that kind of shiny can be a little intimidating

And then Morga decided to show you some tough love and teach you how to fight, and oh boy. You're terrifying and it's attractive.

To say that he likes you against his will is an understatement but he will be the first to admit that he's glad it happened anyways

He did like seeing how easily you stood up to Morga, though. He's not used to the feeling of being protected

But as much healthy fear and total fondness he has for you, there is one area of his life that he shares with you which he refuses to budge on

And that is his choice in decor for the hut

You want frilly curtains. Muriel doesn't even want windows

He does find that your embroidered pillow is very comfortable, though, so the bed is yours to decorate as you see fit

Portia

Well aren't you just two peas in a pod

You like cute things? She likes cute things! You like to be friendly to everyone? She likes to be friendly to everyone! You like to put the fear of the unholy into people you don't like? OMG, her too!

The whole world is terrified of you, especially after Nadia saw fit to give you two a ship and significant governmental power with the purpose of establishing Vesuvia as a relevant nation

You also only serve to intensify each other's love of aesthetic cuteness

Portia's cottage has reached a whole new level of "cottage core." You have crocheted napkin rings and matching frilly aprons now

You made cookies shaped like cat butts together and Pepi was so offended that she sulked for a whole 20 minutes

The ambassador ship has sunset sails with flowers painted on them (courtesy of Asra)

Oh, and you've started a fight club in the ship's hold for any sailors interested in testing their mettle against the two of you after the day's duties are finished. You and Portia have an unbroken tie

Lucio

You are a person after his own heart

What, you think he doesn't support being extra and scary at the same time? Please, just look at his golden arm. It does not need to have that much detailing but here he is and he's fabulous

And so are you! Between his mother's tribe, being part of an army, and then being a count, he hasn't spent much time around people who are "cutesy" but he finds that he really likes it

Do not take him to look at accessories with you. This man is a magpie and you are 87% of his impulse control. It is a Bad Idea

If it sparkles and it matches you he will wear it (even if it clashes)

He is also very, very attracted to powerful people. He discovered a whole new level of simping the first time you defended his honor against someone who kept mentioning the "ex-count of Vesuvia"

He will now try to lean into any situation that could potentially end with him getting insulted so he can watch you do that again

He will let you put bows in Mercedes and Melchior's fur

#ask arcana brainrot #the arcana #the arcana headcanons #the arcana hc #asra the arcana #julian the arcana #nadia the arcana #muriel the arcana #portia the arcana #lucio the arcana #the arcana game #the arcana fluff #the arcana crack #asra alnazar #julian devorak #nadia satrinava #muriel of the kokhuri #portia devorak #lucio morgasson

[julianismycomfortcharacter]

I’m opening up requests for writing Arcana characters in different scenarios, oneshots, preferences, and maybe even stories (if I find the motivation to do so). I will eventually make a master list for these requests as well as art I’ve done so everything is easy to find later on.

I can do Julian and Asra most confidently, but I am wanting to do Muriel, Lucio, Nadia and Portia as well. I am willing to do a lot of stuff as I’m not triggered by much.

What I will NOT do is anything with suicide/self harm, consensual non consent (cnc), and no aftercare at the time of editing this. All of this is triggering or I have little experience with the subjects that I don’t want to mess up with. Minors, DNI with me. 18+ only

When requesting, it’s appreciated if you add the love interest wanted. Typically I will be writing a gender neutral, AFAB/AMAB gender neutral, or male perspectives as that’s what I’m most comfortable with. Though Transgender perspectives and female perspectives are welcome as well.

All in all, requests are always welcome! Just please don’t spam 50 requests in the span of two weeks. I’m open to Fluff, Angst, Smut, and so on so feel free to request to your heart’s desire (10 requests at most in two weeks please and thank you)

Edit: I have finally updated my request to be from people who are 18+ only. Any minors I haven’t done requests to will still be finished. But after that I am going through my following list as I am uncomfortable with minors interacting with me. If you must ask why, I will answer honestly

#the arcana #the arcana mystic romance #ilya devorak #the arcana julian #julian x apprentice #julian x mc #count lucio x reader #asra alnazar #julian devorak #muriel of the kokhuri #lucio morgasson #montag morgasson #julian x reader #the arcana asra #asra x reader #muriel the arcana #muriel x reader #asra x julian #lucio x julian #countess nadia #nadia satrinava #the arcana nadia #nadia x reader #portia devorak #pasha devorak #the arcana portia #portia x reader

[troger]

The Women Who Leave Anti-Abortion Picket Lines to Get Abortions

snatched from behind paywall, sry format 🤷‍♀️

Patrick Adams

Updated Jul. 03, 2022 4:31AM ET Published Jul. 02, 2022 11:14PM ET

A few days before the Supreme Court overturned Roe v. Wade last month, a woman who described herself as an anti-abortion activist showed up in the waiting room of Dr. Marissa Lapedis, a family-medicine doctor who performs the procedure in Atlanta.

But she wasn’t there to protest—she had an appointment.

“She talked about being in marches, and said she had spent a lot of time volunteering in crisis pregnancy centers—you know, showing patients the ultrasound image and explaining what happens,” Lapedis, a fellow with the group Physicians for Reproductive Health, told The Daily Beast. “She said she had been anti-abortion her whole life, and that her whole family was like her—and yet she was so appreciative of the care she received from us. She literally was like, ‘I’m so grateful that I’m able to make this choice for myself.’”

Lapedis’ experience is remarkable in part because she resides in a state with a looming ban on the procedure after six weeks—though the law has so far been held up in court.

“You sometimes have anti people who are like, ‘Promise me no one’s going to find out, my boss cannot know,’ [because] they work in the Republican legislature or something. Which has happened—but this patient was so appreciative.”

Abortion providers across the country are reeling from the fall of Roe, and some face the prospect of legal reprisal from law enforcement in their own state or even other states where patients need help. Almost inevitably, they are reflecting on the many patients they’ve seen who came in for a service they claimed to fervently oppose—and in some cases actively protested against.

“All of us who do abortions see patients quite regularly who tell us, ‘I’m not pro-choice, but I just can’t continue this pregnancy,’” said Dr. Sarah Prager, a professor of obstetrics and gynecology at the University of Washington. “We’ve even seen people coming into the clinic off the protester lines to get their abortion, then return to protesting outside the clinic.” And to be clear, she added, “These are not people who turn anti-choice after having an abortion, but who simply access this essential service when they need it in spite of their personal beliefs about abortion in general.”

According to Prager, the phenomenon is so common that abortion providers have a name for it: the Me Exception.

“We in the movement often say people believe abortion should be legal in cases of rape, incest and ‘me,’ meaning whatever reason is relevant for that person,” she said. And yet, she noted, of the many surveys describing how Americans view abortion, virtually none reflect that reality.

“Anti-choice people have no incentive to be honest about whether or not they’ve had an abortion, and we as physicians would never leak a story about a patient,” she continued. Doing so is prohibited under the Health Insurance Portability and Accountability Act, or HIPAA, the federal law that protects confidential health information.

Still, health professionals are permitted to discuss cases in general terms, and when asked about patients with anti-choice views this past week, abortion providers had no shortage of sometimes incredible tales about activists deeming themselves an exception to the rule.

Dr. Portia Jones, a family-medicine physician in Washington, recalled the time a woman “whose sister-in-law was the president of a big right-to-life organization” had asked to be “snuck in the back door” of the clinic where she was working in Philadelphia. Then there was “the picketer who brought her daughter in for a procedure and was back on the picket line the next week,” she recalled. On another occasion, a woman came in “and declared to a full waiting room that they were all sinners and should leave immediately,” she said.

“When I drew her aside, I found out she was there for an abortion, too,” Jones told The Daily Beast.

Jones and other abortion providers attributed many such instances to a sense of exceptionalism on the part of patients who decide their situation entitles them to do what they believe other women should—legally—be unable to. “I’ve done a lot of options counseling with patients who had to do some pretty creative moral jujitsu to justify their behavior to themselves,” she added. “But our role is to give people information, to create a space for them where they can make decisions, and to support them in that process.”

While 13 states with so-called trigger laws are poised to be the first to effectively prohibit almost all abortions, roughly two dozen states in total have laws on the books that could be used to sharply restrict the procedure, according to an analysis by the Guttmacher Institute, a research organization that supports abortion rights. The laws are, of course, the product of decades of far-right organizing against reproductive rights, with actions ranging from peaceful protest to the election of anti-choice officials to violent attacks.

But providers said the hypocrisy among the rank and file powering the so-called pro-life movement was glaring.

“I’d say about a third of my patients would reveal in their counseling or during the procedure, you know, ‘I want you to know I’m pro-life, but you understand why this has to be,’” said Dr. Nicholas Gideonse, recalling his work as an abortion provider in rural Oregon. “I think in almost all of those cases, they were making that choice in order to be the best parent that they could be.”

There were certainly those pro-life patients who “stridently insisted that their circumstances were particular and special,” Gideonse added. But there were cases, too, of pro-life patients who came to him seeking compassion.

“I’m remembering a soft-spoken younger woman who felt that I, because I had delivered her other unplanned pregnancy, understood how pro-life she really was and that for this reason I was the person who could perform the procedure she needed now,” he said.

Rather than a one-off, stories about anti-choice activists literally coming off the protest line to seek care were rife. That phenomenon may fade in states where clinics are shutting in the face of legal threats, but providers were confident hardcore activists will continue to seek their care.

Several years ago, Dr. Meera Shah, chief medical officer of Planned Parenthood Hudson Peconic in New York, provided abortion care to one of the protesters regularly outside of her clinic.

“I treated her with compassion and kindness just like I do everyone, knowing that people come to us with their own lived experiences,” she said. “I don’t know what this person was exposed to, or what her community is like—it may be unsafe for folks to express an alternative view [about] abortion in their communities or their families. But I do know that nobody anticipates this. Nobody thinks they’re going to be in that situation. You can have these fixed beliefs around something that you think will never impact you, and then when you’re in the moment, your thoughts around it can change, and that’s very much the case with abortion. We see it all the time.”

In her book, You’re the Only One I’ve Ever Told, Shah explored the everyday reality of abortion care that mainstream political dialogue mostly fails to capture.

“I think that the anti-abortion movement comes at it with very strong preconceived notions,” she said. “Their lived experience has taught them that abortion is bad, so they just run with that. But what they fail to do is keep an open mind and express empathy for those who are going through it. And that’s what got us here.”

[cinema-tv-etc]

What to Watch on Netflix: Better Off Ted

Our series to submit to this week is the canceled-too-soon, surreal workplace comedy, Better Off Ted.

Netflix is ever-reliable with making sure that its library runneth over with tempting, tasty television series to feast your eyes on. With more and more entries being added on what feels like a weekly basis, it’s easy to get lost in the shuffle and not be able to detect the gems from the Ark of the Covenants (face melters). There are a lot of overlooked, underseen wonders hiding behind the supershows that we all know. All you need is someone to sort through the fodder, letting you know what’s worth your time and what should go to the banish section (Netflix should consider adding a banish section).

The selection this week is the drowning in accolades but starving on viewers, former ABC series, Better Off Ted.

Backstory:

Better Off Ted was the unfortunately titled, yet surprisingly brilliant workplace sitcom that aired on ABC from 2009-2010. Created by Victor Fresco (Andy Richter Controls the Universe, Life on a Stick), someone known to push creative boundaries, the show saw a more than shaky start (its pilot received the lowest ratings for a debuting comedy on ABC since 2005) and struggled to find appreciation in spite of being a critical darling (maybe it was the name…). For a show that absolutely should have been canceled by all means, it was miraculously given a second season which managed to be even more impressive than the first (and naturally lower rated, accordingly). After a more and more erratic airing schedule, and the network taking any opportunity to burn off episodes, the show slowly faded away, with the final two episodes never even airing, disappointingly. Now, on Netflix, the show has definitely found a robust second-life (like any of the zombies, cyborgs, mecha-chimeras, etc. that are surely locked away within Veridian) and an appreciation deserving of its high, consistent quality.

Premise:

This workplace sitcom on acid chronicles Ted Crisp’s (Jay Harrington) employment as the head of research and development of the tyrannical, soulless megacorporation Veridian Dynamics.  The cast is fleshed out with Ted’s supervisor, Veronica Palmer (played with manic delight by a very in-her-game Portia DeRossi), and the rest of the co-workers and scientists that Veridian’s make-up consists of. While this all sounds pretty by the book, and typical workplace sitcom fare, the most interesting reason to check out this show was that it was created by Victor Fresco, creator of the infinitely creative (and equally short-lived) Andy Richter Controls the Universe.

It’s worth mentioning that another very real aspect of this show’s plot is the idea that Ted is also a single father raising a daughter, Rose, while trying to balance work and his morality with all of this. Granted, this feels much more like a tacked on aspect of the original network pitch, but it doesn’t end up feeling as extraneous as it needs to be. Ted’s daughter, Rose, manages to rise above the wealth of typical child characters in this type of show, acting as the moral compass, and her presence becomes more and more intermittent that it’s pleasant when you do see her, but she is hardly the show’s lynchpin or a necessary piece that’s needed to be seen every single week, and the show realizing this and not feeling encumbered by it, is better off as a result. Better Off Show! Better Off Us!

Seasons: 

Two seasons, twenty-six episodes. 

Why you should watch it:

Better Off Ted is a show that happened to build such a well-defined, ridiculous, entirely-its-own universe where Veridian is this fantastic shadow corporation where virtually any sort of plot line, whether it be a desk that grows hair or the literal production of lightning in a bottle, is possible. Few shows have stories that can feel so limitless, while simultaneously feeling incredibly grounded and believable too. It’s shocking how in so little time Better Off Ted managed to expertly define its boundaries and the tone of the comedy that it wanted to be telling.

While this may all sound fantastical, I’m sure some other person is telling you to check out their ridiculous workplace sitcom, Piece of Jake or whatever. So here’s an example of the sort of brilliant, wholly unique episode plots that this show, and this show alone was capable of: One episode sees Veridian’s motion-sensored light detectors no longer detecting black employees. This naturally leads to the company constructing separate water fountains for black employees to make them feel more special. Of course, this escalates to white employees needing to be hired to follow black employees around so they’ll be detected by the light sensors. This influx of white employees though causes a problem where legally an equal amount of black employees then needs to be hired, which of course then requires hiring more white employees to rectify that issue… 

A structure as complicated and intelligent as this (which also ends up being a larger parable for how this issue itself isn’t so black and white, heh) is a great example of just what this show was capable of, and clearly a show that was close to aping Arrested Development’s style. After all, this was only the third episode of the series, too. There are also dialogue exchanges like the following on a regular basis: 

HR: The company doesn’t make mistakes. Join our mailing list

Get the best of Den of Geek delivered right to your inbox!

Ted: What about the memo announcing “Casual Fribsday”?

HR: The company said that wasn’t a mistake. They explained that the ancient Mayans prophesied Fribsday, the first ever eighth day of the week, which will occur in 2024. Which the company believes should be celebrated casually. I’m going to wear a denim pantsuit.

Or this attempt at romantic banter between Ted and Linda: 

Linda: You love rules. You should marry a rule. And have little rule children. And build a house made of rules.

Ted: You mean a house made of my own children.

Linda: That’s between you and your conscience.

Add to this impressive stylistic flourishes like Ted’s narrating, directly addressing the audience fourth wall breaking (which rather than being grating or an exposition crutch, is used as a means to streamline joke telling and underscore the insanity that’s going on), and the fake Veridian Dynamic ads–wonderfully sharp subversions of the typical motivational pabulum, like: Veridian Dynamics. Teamwork. It keeps our employees gruntled; Veridian Dynamics. Diversity. Good for us.; and, Veridian Dynamics. Friendship. It’s the same as stealing–are peppered between act breaks, and you have a show that’s telling comedy with a very different arsenal of weapons.

The cast of this show is every bit as interesting as the stories being told too, with Ted being a reliable straight man center that’s almost seen like a God at Veridian (a company that may actually be run by devils) but still allowed to get just crazy enough. Linda (Andrea Anders, who has bounced between many series after this, searching for a comedy home to be her own), Ted’s resident love interest, and eccentric scientists Lem (Malcolm Barrett) and Phil (Jonathan Slavin) are equally wonderful, offering more crazy balls to bounce off of everyone. DeRossi particularly shines as Veronica though, doing arguably some of the best work of her career here, which results in some quality dialogue from her cold character, like, “I’m just living an exciting and full life, burning the candle at both ends. The way my great-grandfather, a misunderstood candle maker, insisted candles should be burned.” Clearly the show is in no short supply for ridiculousness.

This series is for you if:

Seeing Veronica (and DeRossi) play a magician’s assistant when their estranged magician boyfriend returns to town, a social experiment examining what will happen when Lem’s white lab coat is randomly switched with a red one, and the cataclysmic repercussions that follow, Veridian spinning that sexual harassment attitudes are a disease and people aren’t responsible for their actions, turning an employee who literally worked himself to death to act as a example to make other employees work even harder, or a typo in a Veridian memo mandates that offensive language is mandatory in the workplace– which also sees Phil and Lem devising a mathematical equation for the best offensive insult (getting you “Lam-basted” or “Phil-libustered” accordingly), are all appealing storylines for you.

Final Verdict:

Better Off Ted is one of the best recent examples of how to successfully satire the workplace sitcom in an extremely original, off-kilter way, with an emphasis on crazy characters and somehow even crazier situations. With a mere two dozen and change episodes under its belt, each one a winner in a different way, the show was only showing more focus and confidence as its final episodes aired…which most people couldn’t even see. 

Better Off Ted. Overlooked Comedy. Now Who’s the Idiot?

#Better Off Ted. #Better%20Off%20Ted #TV show #Comedy #TV

[wickedsrest-rp-archive]

Welcome to this week’s roundup! We do these every week to provide plot drops, highlight starters posted that week, and share other information about the setting. Anyone is welcome to use these bullet points in starters, plots, anons etc. Also let us know if you want us to include one of your setting-related plots in here for next week by sending us a bullet point!

We just wanted to let you know that due to busy-ness, we skipped the WCW last week and won’t be having one next week. However, we’ll be back to regular schedule after that. Thank you!

What’s new in town?:

Something fishy is going on with time in our new POTW. Astral and dimensional madness are still in full swing as well.

Molly Teller is cheerfully selling goods from her farm at Nightshade Farmer’s Market. The eggs are extra tasty, just be sure not to let them hatch. 

A string of bodies are being found along the main roads downtown. A few witnesses have spoke of seeing seven foot tall people seemingly drop from the sky and attacking.

Local vegetarians and residents who just happen to appreciate the cuisine are up in arms. Veggie Tables location is prone to rewinding a few decades every so often... which would be fine if it was still a vegetarian restaurant with an 80s theme, but steak house is not the vibe Veggie Tables clientele is going for. 

Starters: 

Does anyone have experience with velvet worms? Sage could use a helping hand! 

Are you hiring or know of someone who is? Help Crow find a job. 

Baz needs a pick me up. Join them at Central Station to “help” all the lost travelers.

Levi is dealing with some giant pests thanks to the lighthouse light being pranked. Help it get rid of a giant moth. 

Mateo says when in Maine, eat the giant lobsters. Who wants to help catch one and have the biggest lobster roll ever? 

Rhett needs a boat so he can scope out the ghost boats. Help a warden out! 

Correy needs to know how to permanently break a light. For some reason, he’s not too big on lights or lanterns?

Bees? Ulfric needs them up outta his stove while he’s working. Any tips for humanely getting them to go away is appreciated. 

After finishing up a ton of paperwork, Portia can’t even enjoy the outdoors with the fishy smell. Anyone got any idea what’s going down or good indoor activities? 

Feeling artsy? Reach out to Metzli to have your work featured at the gallery! 

Ren Faire or literal blast to the past? Ari isn’t here for her TikToks being interrupted. Give her a heads up on how to avoid the past pockets.

Know someone who forges weapons? Send Marina their way so she can get a dope custom made knife for her new bestie.

Lil’s phone is back and she’s ready to get out of the house. Someone should show her some demon-free fun. Or demon-filled. 

Winn is back and has some friendly advice, just skip the beach. The lobstrocities aren’t worth it. 

Meanwhile Caoihme is recruiting plucky, hockey-stick wielding volunteers to fight some lobstrocities. 

#white crest weekly #wcw

[renaissanceclassics]

Up From Slavery: Part 17

of 18 parts. Chapter XVI. Europe

In 1893 I was married to Miss Margaret James Murray, a native of Mississippi, and a graduate of Fisk University, in Nashville, Tenn., who had come to Tuskegee as a teacher several years before, and at the time we were married was filling the position of Lady Principal.

Not only is Mrs. Washington completely one with me in the work directly connected with the school, relieving me of many burdens and perplexities, but aside from her work on the school grounds, she carries on a mothers' meeting in the town of Tuskegee, and a plantation work among the women, children, and men who live in a settlement connected with a large plantation about eight miles from Tuskegee. Both the mothers' meeting and the plantation work are carried on, not only with a view to helping those who are directly reached, but also for the purpose of furnishing object-lessons in these two kinds of work that may be followed by our students when they go out into the world for their own life-work.

Aside from these two enterprises, Mrs. Washington is also largely responsible for a woman's club at the school which brings together, twice a month, the women who live on the school grounds and those who live near, for the discussion of some important topic. She is also the President of what is known as the Federation of Southern Coloured Women's Clubs, and is Chairman of the Executive Committee of the National Federation of Coloured Women's Clubs.

Portia, the oldest of my three children, has learned dressmaking. She has unusual ability in instrumental music. Aside from her studies at Tuskegee, she has already begun to teach there.

Booker Taliaferro is my next oldest child. Young as he is, he has already nearly mastered the brickmason's trade. He began working at this trade when he was quite small, dividing his time between this and class work; and he has developed great skill in the trade and a fondness for it. He says that he is going to be an architect and brickmason. One of the most satisfactory letters that I have ever received from any one came to me from Booker last summer. When I left home for the summer, I told him that he must work at his trade half of each day, and that the other half of the day he could spend as he pleased. When I had been away from home two weeks, I received the following letter from him:

Tuskegee, Alabama.

My dear Papa: Before you left home you told me to work at my trade half of each day. I like my work so much that I want to work at my trade all day. Besides, I want to earn all the money I can, so that when I go to another school I shall have money to pay my expenses.

Your son,

Booker.

My youngest child, Ernest Davidson Washington, says that he is going to be a physician. In addition to going to school, where he studies books and has manual training, he regularly spends a portion of his time in the office of our resident physician, and has already learned to do many of the duties which pertain to a doctor's office.

The thing in my life which brings me the keenest regret is that my work in connection with public affairs keeps me for so much of the time away from my family, where, of all places in the world, I delight to be. I always envy the individual whose life-work is so laid that he can spend his evenings at home. I have sometimes thought that people who have this rare privilege do not appreciate it as they should. It is such a rest and relief to get away from crowds of people, and handshaking, and travelling, to get home, even if it be for but a very brief while.

Another thing at Tuskegee out of which I get a great deal of pleasure and satisfaction is in the meeting with our students, and teachers, and their families, in the chapel for devotional exercises every evening at half-past eight, the last thing before retiring for the night. It is an inspiring sight when one stands on the platform there and sees before him eleven or twelve hundred earnest young men and women; and one cannot but feel that it is a privilege to help to guide them to a higher and more useful life.

In the spring of 1899 there came to me what I might describe as almost the greatest surprise of my life. Some good ladies in Boston arranged a public meeting in the interests of Tuskegee, to be held in the Hollis Street Theatre. This meeting was attended by large numbers of the best people of Boston, of both races. Bishop Lawrence presided. In addition to an address made by myself, Mr. Paul Lawrence Dunbar read from his poems, and Dr. W.E.B. Du Bois read an original sketch.

Some of those who attended this meeting noticed that I seemed unusually tired, and some little time after the close of the meeting, one of the ladies who had been interested in it asked me in a casual way if I had ever been to Europe. I replied that I never had. She asked me if I had ever thought of going, and I told her no; that it was something entirely beyond me. This conversation soon passed out of my mind, but a few days afterward I was informed that some friends in Boston, including Mr. Francis J. Garrison, had raised a sum of money sufficient to pay all the expenses of Mrs. Washington and myself during a three or four months' trip to Europe. It was added with emphasis that we must go. A year previous to this Mr. Garrison had attempted to get me to promise to go to Europe for a summer's rest, with the understanding that he would be responsible for raising the money among his friends for the expenses of the trip. At that time such a journey seemed so entirely foreign to anything that I should ever be able to undertake that I did confess I did not give the matter very serious attention; but later Mr. Garrison joined his efforts to those of the ladies whom I have mentioned, and when their plans were made known to me Mr. Garrison not only had the route mapped out, but had, I believe, selected the steamer upon which we were to sail.

The whole thing was so sudden and so unexpected that I was completely taken off my feet. I had been at work steadily for eighteen years in connection with Tuskegee, and I had never thought of anything else but ending my life in that way. Each day the school seemed to depend upon me more largely for its daily expenses, and I told these Boston friends that, while I thanked them sincerely for their thoughtfulness and generosity, I could not go to Europe, for the reason that the school could not live financially while I was absent. They then informed me that Mr. Henry L. Higginson, and some other good friends who I know do not want their names made public, were then raising a sum of money which would be sufficient to keep the school in operation while I was away. At this point I was compelled to surrender. Every avenue of escape had been closed.

Deep down in my heart the whole thing seemed more like a dream than like reality, and for a long time it was difficult for me to make myself believe that I was actually going to Europe. I had been born and largely reared in the lowest depths of slavery, ignorance, and poverty. In my childhood I had suffered for want of a place to sleep, for lack of food, clothing, and shelter. I had not had the privilege of sitting down to a dining-table until I was quite well grown. Luxuries had always seemed to me to be something meant for white people, not for my race. I had always regarded Europe, and London, and Paris, much as I regarded heaven. And now could it be that I was actually going to Europe? Such thoughts as these were constantly with me.

Two other thoughts troubled me a good deal. I feared that people who heard that Mrs. Washington and I were going to Europe might not know all the circumstances, and might get the idea that we had become, as some might say, "stuck up," and were trying to "show off." I recalled that from my youth I had heard it said that too often, when people of my race reached any degree of success, they were inclined to unduly exalt themselves; to try and ape the wealthy, and in so doing to lose their heads. The fear that people might think this of us haunted me a good deal. Then, too, I could not see how my conscience would permit me to spare the time from my work and be happy. It seemed mean and selfish in me to be taking a vacation while others were at work, and while there was so much that needed to be done. From the time I could remember, I had always been at work, and I did not see how I could spend three or four months in doing nothing. The fact was that I did not know how to take a vacation.

Mrs. Washington had much the same difficulty in getting away, but she was anxious to go because she thought that I needed the rest. There were many important National questions bearing upon the life of the race which were being agitated at that time, and this made it all the harder for us to decide to go. We finally gave our Boston friends our promise that we would go, and then they insisted that the date of our departure be set as soon as possible. So we decided upon May 10. My good friend Mr. Garrison kindly took charge of all the details necessary for the success of the trip, and he, as well as other friends, gave us a great number of letters of introduction to people in France and England, and made other arrangements for our comfort and convenience abroad. Good-bys were said at Tuskegee, and we were in New York May 9, ready to sail the next day. Our daughter Portia, who was then studying in South Framingham, Mass., came to New York to see us off. Mr. Scott, my secretary, came with me to New York, in order that I might clear up the last bit of business before I left. Other friends also came to New York to see us off. Just before we went on board the steamer another pleasant surprise came to us in the form of a letter from two generous ladies, stating that they had decided to give us the money with which to erect a new building to be used in properly housing all our industries for girls at Tuskegee.

We were to sail on the Friesland, of the Red Star Line, and a beautiful vessel she was. We went on board just before noon, the hour of sailing. I had never before been on board a large ocean steamer, and the feeling which took possession of me when I found myself there is rather hard to describe. It was a feeling, I think, of awe mingled with delight. We were agreeably surprised to find that the captain, as well as several of the other officers, not only knew who we were, but was expecting us and gave us a pleasant greeting. There were several passengers whom we knew, including Senator Sewell, of New Jersey, and Edward Marshall, the newspaper correspondent. I had just a little fear that we would not be treated civilly by some of the passengers. This fear was based upon what I had heard other people of my race, who had crossed the ocean, say about unpleasant experiences in crossing the ocean in American vessels. But in our case, from the captain down to the most humble servant, we were treated with the greatest kindness. Nor was this kindness confined to those who were connected with the steamer; it was shown by all the passengers also. There were not a few Southern men and women on board, and they were as cordial as those from other parts of the country.

As soon as the last good-bys were said, and the steamer had cut loose from the wharf, the load of care, anxiety, and responsibility which I had carried for eighteen years began to lift itself from my shoulders at the rate, it seemed to me, of a pound a minute. It was the first time in all those years that I had felt, even in a measure, free from care; and my feeling of relief it is hard to describe on paper. Added to this was the delightful anticipation of being in Europe soon. It all seemed more like a dream than like a reality.

Mr. Garrison had thoughtfully arranged to have us have one of the most comfortable rooms on the ship. The second or third day out I began to sleep, and I think that I slept at the rate of fifteen hours a day during the remainder of the ten days' passage. Then it was that I began to understand how tired I really was. These long sleeps I kept up for a month after we landed on the other side. It was such an unusual feeling to wake up in the morning and realize that I had no engagements; did not have to take a train at a certain hour; did not have an appointment to meet some one, or to make an address, at a certain hour. How different all this was from the experiences that I have been through when travelling, when I have sometimes slept in three different beds in a single night!

When Sunday came, the captain invited me to conduct the religious services, but, not being a minister, I declined. The passengers, however, began making requests that I deliver an address to them in the dining-saloon some time during the voyage, and this I consented to do. Senator Sewell presided at this meeting. After ten days of delightful weather, during which I was not seasick for a day, we landed at the interesting old city of Antwerp, in Belgium.

The next day after we landed happened to be one of those numberless holidays which the people of those countries are in the habit of observing. It was a bright, beautiful day. Our room in the hotel faced the main public square, and the sights there—the people coming in from the country with all kinds of beautiful flowers to sell, the women coming in with their dogs drawing large, brightly polished cans filled with milk, the people streaming into the cathedral—filled me with a sense of newness that I had never before experienced.

After spending some time in Antwerp, we were invited to go with a part of a half-dozen persons on a trip through Holland. This party included Edward Marshall and some American artists who had come over on the same steamer with us. We accepted the invitation, and enjoyed the trip greatly. I think it was all the more interesting and instructive because we went for most of the way on one of the slow, old-fashioned canal-boats. This gave us an opportunity of seeing and studying the real life of the people in the country districts. We went in this way as far as Rotterdam, and later went to The Hague, where the Peace Conference was then in session, and where we were kindly received by the American representatives.

The thing that impressed itself most on me in Holland was the thoroughness of the agriculture and the excellence of the Holstein cattle. I never knew, before visiting Holland, how much it was possible for people to get out of a small plot of ground. It seemed to me that absolutely no land was wasted. It was worth a trip to Holland, too, just to get a sight of three or four hundred fine Holstein cows grazing in one of those intensely green fields.

From Holland we went to Belgium, and made a hasty trip through that country, stopping at Brussels, where we visited the battlefield of Waterloo. From Belgium we went direct to Paris, where we found that Mr. Theodore Stanton, the son of Mrs. Elizabeth Cady Stanton, had kindly provided accommodations for us. We had barely got settled in Paris before an invitation came to me from the University Club of Paris to be its guest at a banquet which was soon to be given. The other guests were ex-President Benjamin Harrison and Archbishop Ireland, who were in Paris at the time. The American Ambassador, General Horace Porter, presided at the banquet. My address on this occasion seemed to give satisfaction to those who heard it. General Harrison kindly devoted a large portion of his remarks at dinner to myself and to the influence of the work at Tuskegee on the American race question. After my address at this banquet other invitations came to me, but I declined the most of them, knowing that if I accepted them all, the object of my visit would be defeated. I did, however, consent to deliver an address in the American chapel the following Sunday morning, and at this meeting General Harrison, General Porter, and other distinguished Americans were present.

Later we received a formal call from the American Ambassador, and were invited to attend a reception at his residence. At this reception we met many Americans, among them Justices Fuller and Harlan, of the United States Supreme Court. During our entire stay of a month in Paris, both the American Ambassador and his wife, as well as several other Americans, were very kind to us.

While in Paris we saw a good deal of the now famous American Negro painter, Mr. Henry O. Tanner, whom we had formerly known in America. It was very satisfactory to find how well known Mr. Tanner was in the field of art, and to note the high standing which all classes accorded to him. When we told some Americans that we were going to the Luxembourg Palace to see a painting by an American Negro, it was hard to convince them that a Negro had been thus honoured. I do not believe that they were really convinced of the fact until they saw the picture for themselves. My acquaintance with Mr. Tanner reenforced in my mind the truth which I am constantly trying to impress upon our students at Tuskegee—and on our people throughout the country, as far as I can reach them with my voice—that any man, regardless of colour, will be recognized and rewarded just in proportion as he learns to do something well—learns to do it better than some one else—however humble the thing may be. As I have said, I believe that my race will succeed in proportion as it learns to do a common thing in an uncommon manner; learns to do a thing so thoroughly that no one can improve upon what it has done; learns to make its services of indispensable value. This was the spirit that inspired me in my first effort at Hampton, when I was given the opportunity to sweep and dust that schoolroom. In a degree I felt that my whole future life depended upon the thoroughness with which I cleaned that room, and I was determined to do it so well that no one could find any fault with the job. Few people ever stopped, I found, when looking at his pictures, to inquire whether Mr. Tanner was a Negro painter, a French painter, or a German painter. They simply knew that he was able to produce something which the world wanted—a great painting—and the matter of his colour did not enter into their minds. When a Negro girl learns to cook, to wash dishes, to sew, or write a book, or a Negro boy learns to groom horses, or to grow sweet potatoes, or to produce butter, or to build a house, or to be able to practise medicine, as well or better than some one else, they will be rewarded regardless of race or colour. In the long run, the world is going to have the best, and any difference in race, religion, or previous history will not long keep the world from what it wants.

I think that the whole future of my race hinges on the question as to whether or not it can make itself of such indispensable value that the people in the town and the state where we reside will feel that our presence is necessary to the happiness and well-being of the community. No man who continues to add something to the material, intellectual, and moral well-being of the place in which he lives is long left without proper reward. This is a great human law which cannot be permanently nullified.

The love of pleasure and excitement which seems in a large measure to possess the French people impressed itself upon me. I think they are more noted in this respect than is true of the people of my own race. In point of morality and moral earnestness I do not believe that the French are ahead of my own race in America. Severe competition and the great stress of life have led them to learn to do things more thoroughly and to exercise greater economy; but time, I think, will bring my race to the same point. In the matter of truth and high honour I do not believe that the average Frenchman is ahead of the American Negro; while so far as mercy and kindness to dumb animals go, I believe that my race is far ahead. In fact, when I left France, I had more faith in the future of the black man in America than I had ever possessed.

From Paris we went to London, and reached there early in July, just about the height of the London social season. Parliament was in session, and there was a great deal of gaiety. Mr. Garrison and other friends had provided us with a large number of letters of introduction, and they had also sent letters to other persons in different parts of the United Kingdom, apprising these people of our coming. Very soon after reaching London we were flooded with invitations to attend all manner of social functions, and a great many invitations came to me asking that I deliver public addresses. The most of these invitations I declined, for the reason that I wanted to rest. Neither were we able to accept more than a small proportion of the other invitations. The Rev. Dr. Brooke Herford and Mrs. Herford, whom I had known in Boston, consulted with the American Ambassador, the Hon. Joseph Choate, and arranged for me to speak at a public meeting to be held in Essex Hall. Mr. Choate kindly consented to preside. The meeting was largely attended. There were many distinguished persons present, among them several members of Parliament, including Mr. James Bryce, who spoke at the meeting. What the American Ambassador said in introducing me, as well as a synopsis of what I said, was widely published in England and in the American papers at the time. Dr. and Mrs. Herford gave Mrs. Washington and myself a reception, at which we had the privilege of meeting some of the best people in England. Throughout our stay in London Ambassador Choate was most kind and attentive to us. At the Ambassador's reception I met, for the first time, Mark Twain.

We were the guests several times of Mrs. T. Fisher Unwin, the daughter of the English statesman, Richard Cobden. It seemed as if both Mr. and Mrs. Unwin could not do enough for our comfort and happiness. Later, for nearly a week, we were the guests of the daughter of John Bright, now Mrs. Clark, of Street, England. Both Mr. and Mrs. Clark, with their daughter, visited us at Tuskegee the next year. In Birmingham, England, we were the guests for several days of Mr. Joseph Sturge, whose father was a great abolitionist and friend of Whittier and Garrison. It was a great privilege to meet throughout England those who had known and honoured the late William Lloyd Garrison, the Hon. Frederick Douglass, and other abolitionists. The English abolitionists with whom we came in contact never seemed to tire of talking about these two Americans. Before going to England I had had no proper conception of the deep interest displayed by the abolitionists of England in the cause of freedom, nor did I realize the amount of substantial help given by them.

In Bristol, England, both Mrs. Washington and I spoke at the Women's Liberal Club. I was also the principal speaker at the Commencement exercises of the Royal College for the Blind. These exercises were held in the Crystal Palace, and the presiding officer was the late Duke of Westminster, who was said to be, I believe, the richest man in England, if not in the world. The Duke, as well as his wife and their daughter, seemed to be pleased with what I said, and thanked me heartily. Through the kindness of Lady Aberdeen, my wife and I were enabled to go with a party of those who were attending the International Congress of Women, then in session in London, to see Queen Victoria, at Windsor Castle, where, afterward, we were all the guests of her Majesty at tea. In our party was Miss Susan B. Anthony, and I was deeply impressed with the fact that one did not often get an opportunity to see, during the same hour, two women so remarkable in different ways as Susan B. Anthony and Queen Victoria.

In the House of Commons, which we visited several times, we met Sir Henry M. Stanley. I talked with him about Africa and its relation to the American Negro, and after my interview with him I became more convinced than ever that there was no hope of the American Negro's improving his condition by emigrating to Africa.

On various occasions Mrs. Washington and I were the guests of Englishmen in their country homes, where, I think, one sees the Englishman at his best. In one thing, at least, I feel sure that the English are ahead of Americans, and that is, that they have learned how to get more out of life. The home life of the English seems to me to be about as perfect as anything can be. Everything moves like clockwork. I was impressed, too, with the deference that the servants show to their "masters" and "mistresses,"—terms which I suppose would not be tolerated in America. The English servant expects, as a rule, to be nothing but a servant, and so he perfects himself in the art to a degree that no class of servants in America has yet reached. In our country the servant expects to become, in a few years, a "master" himself. Which system is preferable? I will not venture an answer.

Another thing that impressed itself upon me throughout England was the high regard that all classes have for law and order, and the ease and thoroughness with which everything is done. The Englishmen, I found, took plenty of time for eating, as for everything else. I am not sure if, in the long run, they do not accomplish as much or more than rushing, nervous Americans do.

My visit to England gave me a higher regard for the nobility than I had had. I had no idea that they were so generally loved and respected by the classes, nor had I any correct conception of how much time and money they spent in works of philanthropy, and how much real heart they put into this work. My impression had been that they merely spent money freely and had a "good time."

It was hard for me to get accustomed to speaking to English audiences. The average Englishman is so serious, and is so tremendously in earnest about everything, that when I told a story that would have made an American audience roar with laughter, the Englishmen simply looked me straight in the face without even cracking a smile.

When the Englishman takes you into his heart and friendship, he binds you there as with cords of steel, and I do not believe that there are many other friendships that are so lasting or so satisfactory. Perhaps I can illustrate this point in no better way than by relating the following incident. Mrs. Washington and I were invited to attend a reception given by the Duke and Duchess of Sutherland, at Stafford House—said to be the finest house in London; I may add that I believe the Duchess of Sutherland is said to be the most beautiful woman in England. There must have been at least three hundred persons at this reception. Twice during the evening the Duchess sought us out for a conversation, and she asked me to write her when we got home, and tell her more about the work at Tuskegee. This I did. When Christmas came we were surprised and delighted to receive her photograph with her autograph on it. The correspondence has continued, and we now feel that in the Duchess of Sutherland we have one of our warmest friends.

After three months in Europe we sailed from Southampton in the steamship St. Louis. On this steamer there was a fine library that had been presented to the ship by the citizens of St. Louis, Mo. In this library I found a life of Frederick Douglass, which I began reading. I became especially interested in Mr. Douglass's description of the way he was treated on shipboard during his first or second visit to England. In this description he told how he was not permitted to enter the cabin, but had to confine himself to the deck of the ship. A few minutes after I had finished reading this description I was waited on by a committee of ladies and gentlemen with the request that I deliver an address at a concert which was to begin the following evening. And yet there are people who are bold enough to say that race feeling in America is not growing less intense! At this concert the Hon. Benjamin B. Odell, Jr., the present governor of New York, presided. I was never given a more cordial hearing anywhere. A large proportion of the passengers were Southern people. After the concert some of the passengers proposed that a subscription be raised to help the work at Tuskegee, and the money to support several scholarships was the result.

While we were in Paris I was very pleasantly surprised to receive the following invitation from the citizens of West Virginia and of the city near which I had spent my boyhood days:—

Charleston, W. Va., May 16, 1899.

Professor Booker T. Washington, Paris, France:

Dear Sir: Many of the best citizens of West Virginia have united in liberal expressions of admiration and praise of your worth and work, and desire that on your return from Europe you should favour them with your presence and with the inspiration of your words. We must sincerely indorse this move, and on behalf of the citizens of Charleston extend to your our most cordial invitation to have you come to us, that we may honour you who have done so much by your life and work to honour us.

We are,

Very truly yours,

The Common Council of the City of Charleston,

By W. Herman Smith, Mayor.

This invitation from the City Council of Charleston was accompanied by the following:—

Professor Booker T. Washington, Paris, France:

Dear Sir: We, the citizens of Charleston and West Virginia, desire to express our pride in you and the splendid career that you have thus far accomplished, and ask that we be permitted to show our pride and interest in a substantial way.

Your recent visit to your old home in our midst awoke within us the keenest regret that we were not permitted to hear you and render some substantial aid to your work, before you left for Europe.

In view of the foregoing, we earnestly invite you to share the hospitality of our city upon your return from Europe, and give us the opportunity to hear you and put ourselves in touch with your work in a way that will be most gratifying to yourself, and that we may receive the inspiration of your words and presence.

An early reply to this invitation, with an indication of the time you may reach our city, will greatly oblige,

Yours very respectfully,

The Charleston Daily Gazette, The Daily Mail-Tribune; G.W. Atkinson, Governor; E.L. Boggs, Secretary to Governor; Wm. M.O. Dawson, Secretary of State; L.M. La Follette, Auditor; J.R. Trotter, Superintendent of Schools; E.W. Wilson, ex-Governor; W.A. MacCorkle, ex-Governor; John Q. Dickinson, President Kanawha Valley Bank; L. Prichard, President Charleston National Bank; Geo. S. Couch, President Kanawha National Bank; Ed. Reid, Cashier Kanawha National Bank; Geo. S. Laidley, Superintended City Schools; L.E. McWhorter, President Board of Education; Chas. K. Payne, wholesale merchant; and many others.

This invitation, coming as it did from the City Council, the state officers, and all the substantial citizens of both races of the community where I had spent my boyhood, and from which I had gone a few years before, unknown, in poverty and ignorance, in quest of an education, not only surprised me, but almost unmanned me. I could not understand what I had done to deserve it all.

I accepted the invitation, and at the appointed day was met at the railway station at Charleston by a committee headed by ex-Governor W.A. MacCorkle, and composed of men of both races. The public reception was held in the Opera-House at Charleston. The Governor of the state, the Hon. George W. Atkinson, presided, and an address of welcome was made by ex-Governor MacCorkle. A prominent part in the reception was taken by the coloured citizens. The Opera-House was filled with citizens of both races, and among the white people were many for whom I had worked when I was a boy. The next day Governor and Mrs. Atkinson gave me a public reception at the State House, which was attended by all classes.

Not long after this the coloured people in Atlanta, Georgia, gave me a reception at which the Governor of the state presided, and a similar reception was given me in New Orleans, which was presided over by the Mayor of the city. Invitations came from many other places which I was not able to accept.