#Janeuary Day 3

[fawnilu]

Oh to be jealous and in love in Bath💕

@janeuary-month

[jomiddlemarch]

The Pump Room was excruciating and the lovely golden Crescent a horror. There was no delight to be found in the gardens, no diversion over tea or cards, no lace or ribbon tempting. Anne’s reticule hung from her wrist and her eyes stared sightlessly at the great blue sky, the kestrels and sparrowhawks aloft. Dear Lady Russell was kind and her friend Sarah Follett was as amiable as when they had been at school together and it was all worthless. Anne had broken her heart herself, sending Frederick away, and nothing in Bath would soothe her. She’d never, never return.

Posted for Day 3 of Janeaury, prompt "Bath"

[jaeausten]

JANEUARY-MONTH.

Day 3- Bath.

[janeuary-month]

End of event round-up!

Thank you to everyone who created such amazing fanworks for Janeuary 2025, and to those who supported the creators by reading, leaving kudos and comments, and liking and reblogging!

Major kudos to Kalee233 and @arsenic-lobster who each created something for every single day of the event! Wow!

Also a special shout-out to these folks who created for over 15 of the days: @elmorinn, @jomiddlemarch, @dionysiaproductions, Kissed _by_Circe

But even if you created for only one day, we’re so thrilled you did. As of today, 57 creators together added 104 fics (view the entire collection on AO3) and 40 pieces of art related to Jane Austen into the world!

🙏 Before I give you any other stats, can I ask you to take 1 minute to fill out this survey about the event? Thanks!

Ok, now that that’s done, here's some other stats (which are subject to change as people keep submitting late works—it’s still not too late to do that, folks!):

Total # of all fanworks: 172

Fanfic: 98 works

Fanart: 27

OC art: 13

Fanvids: 6

Memes: 6

OC fic: 6

Comics: 5

Gifsets: 4

Edits: 3

Moodboards: 2

Crack: 1

Photography: 1

All fandoms: 25

Pride and Prejudice: 62 works

Persuasion: 30

Emma: 24

Sense and Sensibility: 23

Original works (no fandom): 22

Northanger Abbey: 19

Mansfield Park: 6

Rivals: 4

Sanditon: 2

Beauty and the Beast: 2

ACOTAR: 2

1 work each: Attack on Titan, Avatar: The Legend of Korra, Blackadder, The Borgias, The Good Place, Harry Potter, The Hunger Games, Leverage, Lord of the Rings, Mass Effect, MCU, The Mirror Visitor, Why Didn't They Ask Evans?

We also had 2 works about Jane Austen herself, and I’m not sure what fandom to count that as: Jane Austen RPF?

Top 13 daily prompts used:

Day 1 Letters: 22 works

Day 4 Portraiture and Day 16 Gossip are tied: 16 works each

Day 2 Harp: 15

Day 6 Restraint and Day 13 Christian name are tied: 13 works each

3-way tie between Day 3 Bath, Day 8 Cravat, and Day 20 Dearest: 12 works each

4-way tie between Day 11 Card playing, Day 14 Pianoforte, 19 Lock of hair, Day 30 Garden: 11 works each

Top 10 characters used:

Elizabeth Bennet

Fitzwilliam Darcy

Anne Elliot

Emma Woodhouse

Captain Wentworth

Marianne Dashwood

Catherine Morland

George Knightley

Colonel Brandon

Henry Tilney

Top 10 ships used:

Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy

Anne Elliot/Captain Wenworth

George Knightley/Emma Woodhouse

Colonel Brandon/Marianne Dashwood

Catherine Morland/Henry Tilney

Charles Bingley/Jane Bennet

4-way tie between Catherine & Isabella, Charlotte & Elizabeth, Charlotte/Collins, and Elinor & Marianne

Observations, surprises, and learnings

Mostly canon pairings: Almost everyone depicted canon romantic and platonic pairings. Only 7 romantic ships were non-canon pairings, and they each had only 1 work. Not a single one was gay! 😢 (Which is motivating me to finally write that Wentworth/Brandon fic for next year!)

Mostly core Austen fandoms: I expected a lot more works from non-Austen fandoms, given how often I see people draw and write Regency AUs for every fandom under the sun, as well as original works, and given how many people from non-Austen fandoms I notified about the event! Also, not a single work was submitted related to a modern Austen adaptation, like Bride and Prejudice, Clueless, or Lizzie Bennet Diaries. I’m not disappointed by any of this, just surprised.

Very few gifs: While I love the 4 new gifsets made for the event, I was disappointed there were only 4, considering how many Austen gifsets I see made for Period Drama Appreciation Week, for instance, and how popular Austen gifsets are on Tumblr. Next year, I will make a concerted effort to contact more gif-makers. (And if you have any you’d love to see join, tell them about this blog! I only just found out about @regencysource yesterday, curses!)

Creativity boost: Several people told me that this event inspired them to start writing again after a block, or post a fic for the first time, or finish a fic they were stuck on. This was so wonderful to hear that the event boosted creators in this way! It made me so very happy. ❤️

Prompt interpretation: My goal with the prompts was that they be somewhat Austen/Regency-specific but not the standard, obvious choices like balls, dancing, proposals, etc., because those wouldn’t be very inspiring since they’re so common already. It was a joy to see the different ways that people used the prompts. For instance, Bath the place vs bath the activity, or literally hunting animals vs figuratively hunting men. And even the folks who used modern AUs found ways to make the very dated prompts like cravat and calling cards work! Bravo on everyone’s creativity!

👉  If you have any suggestions for prompts for next year, or other feedback, I’d love it if you shared it with me via this very short and easy survey!

I had a blast hosting this, so Janeuary will definitely be back for 2026! Keep your eyes peeled for the prompts in September!

[elmorinn]

Janeuary Day 3 - Bath ☁️

@janeuary-month

wholesome horror novel talk from Northanger Abbey ^^

Isabella Thorpe they can never make me hate you <3

i referenced this wonderful illustration by H.M. Brock:

https://dk.pinterest.com/pin/844987948869980996/

[taradactyls]

Progress of Janeuary Prompts and Chapter 43 of Trying to Tread Water

*Edit*

CHAPTER 43 IS UP

8/02/25 Update

Chapter 43 of T3W: As of right now, it's at 8.2k words (almost all of that increase was done within the last few days) and I'm in the home stretch! Between the illness and general busyness it's taken longer than I wanted (and I forgot to post an update last week because of it) but all that's past now so I fully expect it to be posted next week.

I was hoping to get it up looong before Valentine's Day but I suppose there's something fitting about that seeing as it follows directly on from Chapter 42. They're almost part a and b of the same chapter, so it might be a good idea to reread (at least the ending) of it just before this next one comes out. I should also start seriously considering getting the 'what if was smut' and higher-rated bonus/extended scenes into an uploadable state but I won't really worry about that until at least this chapter goes up because my brain is noisy enough right now.

Janeuary: No major updates here, since everything has been jotting down notes and planning. I've also been persuaded, by popular demand, to give 'Dear Lady Catherine' two more chapters to show the crucial moments of how that story unfolds, so that's been added to the to-do list. Everything's going to be uploaded intermittently whenever I finish them even though Janeuary's technically over, since the event still allows late submissions and these little plot bunnies won't leave my head until they're typed out.

I hope you're all doing well and thank you for following up with me and being understanding! Hopefully I'll be giving you lots of goodies soon <3

24/01/25 Update

No real change from last week. I've been busy with the twins turning 3 (!!) and we currently all have a cold.

The Day 20 Janeuary prompt is probably closest to being posted, but when I finish it is heavily dependant on how fuzzy my head feels. Btw, I don't think any of the prompts will be done on the right day but they're all still going to be posted, regardless. I laugh in the face of due dates.

18/01/25 Update

Chapter 43 of T3W: I'm about 5k words in and it's going well. I might have to do some heavy rearranging of the second section depending on how the last goes but I don't think anything has to be scrapped so that word count should only be increasing.

Janeuary: Very behind but still working away (before anyone comes for me: I'm doing this during the times I can't work on T3W because I'm too tired or there's too many distractions and I have to keep pausing, etc. The proper fic requires significantly more brain power and care than quick one-shots).

Also:

I can only see one of these, so unless you sent me a Day 20 prompt about Kitty/Colonel Fitzwilliam (an update on that below) please resend your ask! I think the inbox ate some.

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

Janeuary 2025 Prompts done so far:

Day 8: Cravat 'Elizabeth Overestimates her Ability to Tie a Cravat' - Rated G, 3k words, Elizabeth/Darcy, sweet, first kiss, post-canon.

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

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

Also Day 8: Cravat 'Inappropriate Use of a Cravat'- Explicit, 6k words, Elizabeth/Darcy, author's first smut, the prompt was from the wildest ask I have ever received but I made it seem normal, smut, established relationship, post-canon, the cravat is part of the smut.

After an absence of some weeks, Mr Darcy and Elizabeth are very eager to be alone together and don’t even make it to the bedroom. As it’s been a while, Mr Darcy doesn’t think he’ll hold out very long if Elizabeth keeps lavishing attention down there – so she ties his cravat around the base of his shaft, to prevent an early end to their enjoyment.

Her surprised gasp was silenced by his lips, her own eagerly parting as she tangled her hands into his hair to keep his face pressed to hers. Pushing Mr Darcy against the wall – door – something, she melted against him, his hands digging into her waist, revelling in the taste and feel of her. “I missed you,” she said again, drawing back to kiss a line down his throat, “so much.”

Day 11: Card Playing Artwork- Which is the banner of...

'A Losing Hand' - Rated G, 2.9k words, Elizabeth/Darcy, canon compliant, falling in love and FIGHTING it, banter, awkward flirting, unrequited crush.

Mr Darcy is falling in love with Elizabeth Bennet, and he is not best pleased about it. His pov of that enlightening card game in Chapter 8 of Pride and Prejudice when they discuss accomplished women.

Darcy could only look at her – the light challenge in her gaze, the slight smile that accompanied it. He could debate with her all day.

Day 16: Gossip 'Dear Lady Catherine' - Rated G, 4.2k words, Elizabeth Bennet/Fitzwilliam Darcy, Jane Bennet/Charles Bingley, Canon divergence, Lady Catherine is in peak form, and facing someone who's allowed to argue back, Character development, Speedrunning Darcy's realisations, Self-reflection

Following the Netherfield Ball, Mr Collins happily gossips in a letter to Lady Catherine that her that her nephew may be on the verge of matrimony… to Miss Bingley. He overheard his cousins talking of the lady’s attentions and quite misconstrued everything. Lady Catherine, as incensed as she could ever be, goes to confront her nephew in London… and arrives in the middle of the ‘Why You Should Not Marry Jane Bennet’ intervention.

Yelling ensues. And maybe more than one instance of self-reflection.

OR

In which Mr Collins has the sacred duty of sharing gossip he wasn’t supposed to know; Lady Catherine is of infinite use, which ought to make her happy, for she loves to be of use; Miss Bingley learns what all her attempts to secure Mr Darcy’s affections have amounted to; and Mr Darcy himself is full of pride and confronted with his hypocrisy.

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

Janeuary Prompts in progress/ideas:

Day 13: Christian Name - A few people wondered what Darcy was really thinking in Chapter 42 of T3W when he was talking about how he imaged Elizabeth calling him Fitzwilliam:

“How did you imagine it?” she enquired with a frown. Mr Darcy blushed a deep crimson. “Mostly, mere casual use.”

And I thought that made a great prompt for trying my hand at some more smut.

Day 20: Dearest - An anon sent a prompt for some Kitty/Colonel Fitzwilliam Fluff, and since I've never considered them before it was a fun exercise to think about how that would work! I started a draft of it as I worked out some ideas so this will definitely be happening.

Day 27: Cousins - Toying with the idea of doing a sweet glimpse of 5 or so years into the future, featuring little Bingleys and Darcys. Not sure if that's something anyone's interested in though.

Day 29: Carriage - A missing scene from Pride and Prejudice featuring Darcy and Colonel Fitzwilliam

Day 30: Garden - Another Pride and Prejudice missing scene with Darcy's pov of something Elizabeth mentions in passing.

[celeluwhenfics]

pHORSEuasion Chapter 3 - Wolf and Snake

pHORSEuasion: A retelling of Jane Austen's masterpiece set in JRR Tolkien's realm of the Horse-Lords, starring Éomer Éadig as Captain Wentworth!

Ready to hop on this wild ride? Start at Chapter 1!

Already caught up with the story? Chapter 3 is coming out today as part of @janeuary-month, for Day 16 and the prompt: "Gossip"!

As Rowena meets young family members and old enemies, they allude to past secrets much more frequenty than she would have wished.

‘Well, you should find a few passable dresses in there. None of them fit me anymore, not after two babies, and certainly never again after this one.’

The maids had brought large baskets of clothes and fabrics down from the attic. Wylfrun laid feet up on a chaise lounge, assailed by persistent heartburn and by her giggling, grasping son Lydric. The boy was a remarkable stout, forward child, of eighteen months. The remedy Rowena had administered to him against teething pains had worked wonders, putting an end to days of howls and fits. It had been more immediately successful than Wylfrun’s myrtleroot infusions, which for the time being left her as achy, queasy, and lightheaded as ever. With her son now in high spirits and ready to let all of the hill of Edoras appreciate the might of his small lungs through his excited shrieks, she could only lay and moan before the fire of the parlor.

Rowena had awoken early, roused by little Elfswitha, who could not contain her joy of having gained an attentive and patient aunt. She relished in the presence of an adult keen to partake in her games, as her papa Elfhelm was kept away or busy by the growing troubles in the Mark, and her old nursemaid Jemima was ever burdened with a bad back and too much to do in too little time.

Indeed, the two manservants who had long been employed by Elfhelm had been recently requisitioned to fill the ranks of a sorely depleted éored, and they had been too happy to leave the capital hill, where somber mood and constant discord spread amongst men. These circumstances had nearly doubled the charge of the three maids remaining in the general’s household. From dawn to late after dusk they struggled to keep the great Ufe-ród house in order, with an absent master, an indisposed mistress and two rollicking toddlers.

This did not keep Elfswitha from ordering them about with all the authority of a three and a half year old lady crowned with bright red pigtails. She now busied herself as her aunt’s helper in the patching up and refreshment of a dress somewhat suitable for the king's hall. She claimed ownership over the pin cushion, herded buttons across the floor, and babbled merrily through it all.

‘Oh, I wish Elfhelm were here…’ sighed Wylfrun as Lydric crawled and drooled over her. ‘Why do I always feel sicker when he’s away? I am so ill I can hardly speak. Elfswitha does not mind a word I say, and Lydric is growing quite as bad.’

‘I am sorry to find you unwell, and I too wish Lord Elfhelm were there. I am impatient to see him.’

‘He said his éored should not stay out long; but they have not been back, and now it has been four days.’

‘Didn’t last night’s couriers report them all, horses and men, safe and sound?’

‘Oh, I do not think I ever was so ill in my life as I have been since he left.’

‘Well, you will soon be better now. You know I can always cure you, and I brought all of Mama’s best remedies with me. And I am glad to see that you have come to tolerate Lord Elfhelm’s presence enough to miss him when duty calls him away.’

Wylfrun hummed. ‘I must admit that there are merits to being married to a man of respectability and large fortune...’

Rowena recalled the cries, groans and yelling matches that had agitated the family home four years earlier when her sister’s engagement with Elfhelm, almost fifteen years her elder, had been arranged. Trouble was already brewing in the Mark, and it had been a precipitated, lacklustre wedding. She was relieved to see that their father’s firm trust in the general of the riders of Edoras as one who could provide safety and domestic contentment to one of his daughters had been justified, after all. She was pulled out of her thoughts by the giggles of Elfswitha as she wrapped her stuffed horse in ribbons and fabric scraps in guise of a bridle and saddle.

‘Hey Wena,’ said Wylfrun suddenly, and half sitting up, ‘I just recalled, didn’t you have something going on with Éomer at some point? I hear he’s in town, aren’t you desperate for a comfortable standing of your own?’

Rowena felt the hair rise on her scalp and her ears burn in indignation.

‘Mama!’ called Elfswitha. ‘Mamaaa!’

‘Hey Wylf,’ said Rowena with feigned detachment, ‘it reminds me, didn't you have something going on with Gárulf at some point?’

Wylfrun opened wide eyes and remained speechless, despite Lydric slapping his little palms on her neck and chest with ear-splitting squeals.

‘Wena!’ erupted Elfswitha, ‘Gárulf he got a big hooorse! WENAAAAA! Gárulf he… Gárulf he got a BIIIIIIG HORSE!’

Continue reading on AO3!

Dividers by @quillofspirit

[d33pwithinmys0ul]

༄*･*｡.･༄･* ･*｡.･*༄*･*｡.･༄･* ･*｡.･*༄*･

Pride and Prejudice and Titans

This is a project I've wanted to do for a while, and finally started for day 26 of Janeuary, militia! Author's note and prologue (technically chapter one) are below the cut, but the first two chapters are here on ao3!

જ⁀➴ Regency romantasy AU inspired by Pride and Prejudice, Pride and Prejudice and Zombies, and Attack on Titan. Jean Kirstein x Reader, third person, semi graphic violence, use of y/n, Levihan, Aruani, she/her Hange Zoe, and soon to feature Eremika, Pokkopiku, Yumihisu, and more chapters.

See other Janeuary works reposted by @janeuary-month! See my Jane Austen blog here @aust3nland

જ⁀➴ authors note: This fanfic is a melting pot of direct lines from the Pride and Prejudice novel, references to the 2005 & 1995 adaptations, the p&p zombies novel, but mostly the p&p zombies movie- with Attack on Titan on top. I wanna make the disclaimer that this was super self indulgent fun, and though it features chunks of Austen’s writing, it’s obviously mixed with mine, and it’s not perfect, and definitely not “better,” that’s not the goal. I took certain liberties with characters in both canons to fit the idea of everything mashed together, and tried to contextualize both canons enough so that (hopefully) if someone read this with only knowledge of one fandom but not the other, they can still somewhat enjoy this. And there’s literally third person self insert, so that’s another gluttonous sin. <3

༄*･*｡.･༄･* ･*｡.･*༄*･*｡.･༄･* ･*｡.･*༄*･

Prologue

It is a truth universally acknowledged that any titan consuming human flesh must be in want of more flesh. 

Never was this truth more plain than during the attack at Maria Park in Shiganshire, in which the grand household of twenty aristocrats, children, and servants, were slaughtered and feasted upon by a horde of titans. They were brought on by a previous ambush from an exceptionally tall and menacing titan, very unlike the rest of his kind. 

Aptly named, the Coordinate Titan was observed to withhold a great degree of control and consciousness, alongside the unique ability to command armies of his “pure,” comparatively docile brethren. 

In the earliest days of the war against the titan scourge, long before the Coordinate came to be, the great country of Paradis built three walls within their borders, with very few access points, in order to keep the horde at bay. 

The outermost wall collapsed almost completely, prior to the discovery and invention of those omnidirectional mechanisms by which one could kill such beasts. It became fashionable and esteemed for young and able bodied people in and out of the militia to learn the art of navigating such gear, leaping to great heights and slaying the giants with a long blade in each hand. 

After the Coordinate titan unleashed its wrath upon many towns across Paradis, was one last attempt at isolating man, the order to destroy every connection and entrance of the walls to one another—save Fritz Bridge, now teeming with defenses, and the only remaining means of protected correspondence between the central city of Mitras and the new outer wall. 

Without warning, humanity’s most perilous discovery then vanished, and the threat of the Coordinate was no more, the circumstances of his disappearance and initial attack still unknown. 

Following the rehabilitation of society, the gentry began to leave the safe confines of the Interior, in favor of newly fortified country estates. 

Many were of the opinion that Paradis approached peace, despite the remaining infection of pure titans milling within and beyond its walls. Some insisted that vigilance was of the essence, and there were greater things to fear than the occasional horde upon a vulnerable town—whether it was the end of days, or the return of the Coordinate, often seen as one and the same. 

Well trained soldiers returned to their lives with a determination to pass their deadly skills onto the next generation, should any greater threat arise.

A former captain, with his section commander and wife, sat in the library at their estate, and possessed such a goal.

“My dear Mr. Ackerman,” said his wife to him one day, “have you heard that Maria Park is let at last?”

Levi replied that he had not. 

“But it is,” returned Hange, “for Mr. Berner had just been here, and told me all about it.”

Levi gave no answer, stirring his tea. 

“Do you want to know who has taken it?” Hange cried impatiently. 

The embroidered rose upon her eyepatch, a decorated mark of her many battles, winked at her husband from behind wiry spectacles. 

“You want to tell me, and I have no objection to hearing it.” Mr. Ackerman replied. 

This was invitation enough. 

“Mr. Berner says that Maria is taken by a young man of large fortune and artillery; he came to Shiganshire in a chaise and four, narrowly escaping from the most recent resurgence of unmentionables in Ermich!”

“What is his name?” Only the latter statement piqued Mr. Ackerman's interest.

“Arlert. Though the man says that Mitras no longer agrees with him, and that Shiganshire is most charming. A single man of four or five thousand a year—what a fine thing for our girls, an even finer thing for my research, to chance the briefest inspection of the true damage the Coordinate had left!” Hange made no attempt to hide her thrill.

“Can this Mr. Arlert train our girls to balance perfectly in firmament as they use their mobility gear?” Levi’s amusement was unabashed.

“How can you be so tiresome, my dear? Surely your own instruction for the girls is more than adequate. You must know that I am thinking of his marrying one of them.” 

Hange was by no means a romantic. Despite society’s disheveled efforts at rebuilding, one must continue moving forward and look to the future. Mr. Ackerman will not live forever, and the female line was not to inherit the estate, no matter her efforts… 

“Is that his design in settling here?” Her husband replied. 

“Design! Nonsense,” Hange said, pacing about the room. “But it is very likely that he may fall in love with one of them, and therefore you must consider our daughters. It will be impossible for us to visit him if you do not initiate.” 

“I see no occasion to risk my life to visit a man with whom I am unfamiliar.” Levi cradled his teacup with his palm above the rim. “If you insist it is for the good of your research, surely you may charm him yourself, to be so presumptuous as to consider Mr. Arlert a special instrument for your scientific endeavors.” 

“Mr. Ackerman, you take delight in vexing me. You have no compassion on my poor nerves.'' Hange sighed, fanning herself lightly. “With five daughters so close in age, I should desire a young man take a liking to any of them. There are none so refined in the deadly arts as our girls, nor as dutiful as Anne, or as well humored as Sasha.” 

There were many things in Eldian society Hange did not invest her beliefs in, least of all social etiquette —all the more her amiable husband must introduce himself first, to secure the girls in Mr. Arlert’s good graces. She knew that she would much rather explore Maria Park than speak idly to anyone for the permission to do so.

“You mistake me, my dear. I have a high respect for your nerves, as they are my old friends. I have heard you mention them with consideration these twenty years at least.'' Levi’s tone was dry, and he could not help but give his wife a small smile. “I hope you will get over it, and live to see many young men, fine warriors, of four thousand a year come into the neighborhood.'' 

“It will be no use to us if twenty such should come, since you will not visit him,'' Hange sniffed, discontented. 

“Depend upon it, my dear, when there are twenty, I will visit them all.''

read the rest here on ao3

[mysunfreckle]

Northanger Abbey, March 17.

My dearest Isabella,

Though I know it was but two days ago that we took leave of each other in Pulteney Street, it seems an age since I have seen you. I hope you are well!

My journey was very comfortable and we arrived yesterday before five o’clock. Northanger Abbey is a very fine place, but I do believe I shall miss Bath. Almost as much as I long to see you. The principle part of the abbey is not so very ancient after all. It is certainly nothing like the one poor Adeline sought refuge in in Romance of the Forest. Has Miss Andrew had any news about this new publication that is to come out in London? Pray tell me all about it if she has!

I dearly want to know all about how you are getting on in Bath. For Mrs Allen has given me no hopes of a letter till she has got back to Fullerton, and James protested against writing until his return to Oxford. And I am sure he is very reluctant to leave Bath at present.

Have you indeed matched that fine netting-cotton of which you spoke when last we met? You must tell me if you shall have your new gown made up exactly as you wished it.

Pray send my love to James, and remember me to Mrs Thorpe. I eagerly await your letter and shall write again soon.

Your loving friend,

Catherine Morland

Chapter/letter number 5 of From Wiltshire to Gloucestershire by way of Oxford and Bath, a collection of letters that we know were written, but (mostly) weren't included in the text of Northanger Abbey. And very fitting for the @janeuary-month day 3 prompt: Bath!

[chocolatepot]

Janeuary day 3, "Bath"

It had been difficult to communicate with Anne Wentworth when she was aboard her husband's ship and far across the ocean, but the missives Mrs. Smith had received had been extremely encouraging. Efforts had been made with her property, she knew, and she trusted that they would come to fruition in the captain's capable hands.

Still, she did not expect the Wentworths to appear suddenly at her small apartments in Bath, without having given her any notice.

"I am so sorry!" cried Anne. "I did write from Portsmouth, but then we came here so quickly that I suppose we passed the stage."

"You are forgiven heartily," Mrs. Smith told her as they clasped hands. Even if she had been inclined to be testy, she would not have been able to muster any ill-will in the face of Anne's transformation. A year of connubial happiness and the application of West Indian warmth and sunshine had worked on her so that she could almost pass for a different woman than the one that had sat with Mrs. Smith when she was still Miss Elliot — particularly due to the interesting condition the observer's canny eyes thought she must have recently fallen into.

Indeed, there was much to discuss.

[opal-apparition]

Day 1: Letters for @janeuary-month

A Matter of Pride Chapter 3 - OpalApparition - Dragon Age: Inquisition [Archive of Our Own]

Story Summary:

In the glittering halls of a Regency Era Arlathan, Viscount Fen'Harel's calculated campaign against Dalish houses has brought the once-proud Lavellan family to its knees—until an ancient marriage contract forces him to wed the very woman whose life he's systematically destroyed. Sharp-tongued and fiercely intelligent, Ellana Lavellan has no intention of making this easy for the cold, aristocratic man who nearly ruined her family. But as assassination attempts and political intrigue force them closer, their battle of wits may lead to an even more dangerous game: falling in love.

Chapter 3 Excerpt:

The letter was heavy in her hands. Cream-colored vellum sealed with emerald wax bearing the mark of the Viscount and House Fen'Harel—the sight of it alone made her stomach clench. The seal depicted a wolf in profile, head thrown back in a silent howl, surrounded by an intricate pattern of interlocking, wicked, thorns. The craftsmanship was exquisite, each detail rendered with mathematical precision, much like the man himself. Even his seal managed to be both beautiful and vaguely threatening. Ellana broke the seal with fingers that trembled slightly, the morning light catching on the gold leaf of the official letterhead.

She read again, pulling the new regulations closer, skimming the elegant script with growing dismay, willing the words to change their meaning. Lord Fen'Harel's handwriting was as precise and uncompromising as his policies—each letter perfectly formed, each rule laid out with devastating clarity. The latest edict required all trading vessels to submit to additional inspections at designated ports, with hefty fees attached to each inspection. The designated ports, she noted with grim resignation, were all ones where Dalish merchants had traditionally held little influence.

"Have you calculated the impact?" she asked, already running figures in her mind, then on paper. The new quill snapped between her fingers then too, and her hand trembled as she reached for another, doubly aware of the dwindling supply in the drawer. Even such small expenses had to be counted now.

Ultimately calculations were unnecessary though; Ellana could read the answer in the clerk's carefully blank expression.

"Initial estimates suggest a twenty-one percent reduction in our quarterly revenue, my lady. When combined with the previous quarters' losses..."

He didn't need to finish. Ellana could see it clearly enough in the ledgers before her. Five consecutive quarters of decline, each new regulation cutting deeper into their reserves. Their ancient family name still commanded respect in certain, dwindling, circles, but respect alone couldn't pay their contracts or maintain their ships. Or maintain a house.

She stood abruptly, needing to move. The counting house had been her father's sanctuary, and now hers, its walls lined with leather-bound ledgers documenting centuries of trade. Sunlight caught the gold leaf on their spines, a reminder of more prosperous days. She ran her fingers along their worn edges as she paced, taking comfort in their familiar texture.

"My lady," Master Athras spoke again, his voice gentler now. "There are... rumors."

Ellana turned, one eyebrow raised. The clerk had been with them long enough to know she preferred direct speech to delicate hints.

"Some say Lord Fen'Harel bears a particular... antipathy toward Dalish noble houses."

"Antipathy?" Ellana's laugh held no humor. "Is that what they're calling it now? Five new regulations in as many months, each one specifically crafted to dismantle existing trading practices, crushing those that cannot afford new permitting and baseless modification. That's not antipathy, Master Athras. That's warfare."

She paced the length of the counting house. Morning light spilled through tall windows, illuminating the dust motes that danced in her wake. Once, this room had bustled with activity—clerks recording shipments, traders negotiating contracts, sailors reporting on conditions in distant ports. Now it stood nearly empty, the remaining ledgers and papers seeming lost on the great expanse of polished wood.

A different kind of dust caught her eye: a fine coating of white powder along one windowsill. Salt, carried on the wind from the harbor. Even here, a mile inland, the sea made its presence known. The sight sparked a memory: her grandmother standing at these same windows, teaching her to read the weather in the way the salt gathered, in the particular quality of the morning light.

"The proposal goes before the trade council next week," she said, turning back to Master Athlen. "If it passes..."

She didn't need to finish. They both knew what it meant. The Lavellan trading company had already been struggling to maintain their traditional partnerships in the face of changing times. The war with Tevinter had closed several northern ports. Pirates in the Waking Sea had forced them to take longer, costlier routes. New competitors with faster ships had stolen their more impatient clients. And now Lord Fen'Harel's systematic dismantling of their remaining advantages would destroy what little remained of their business. Each blow alone might have been weathered, but together they formed an overwhelming tide.

She pulled another ledger close, this one older, its leather binding worn soft with use. Her father's precise handwriting filled the pages—he had insisted on teaching her himself, despite the whispers that trade was no business for a woman. " Numbers don't care who reads them, da'len ," he'd said, guiding her small hand as she wrote her first column of figures. Now her own handwriting filled these pages, carrying on his legacy even as others abandoned them. No one had expected much of her when Father died. A woman managing trade routes and negotiations? But House Lavellan had no sons, no other prospects but the girl with the stubborn glint in her eye determined to prove everyone wrong.

Was this how it would end? With her?

She returned to her desk, studying the proposal alongside their latest accounts. Each line was perfectly reasoned, every argument for modernization presented with impeccable logic. And yet...

Ellana pulled a fresh sheet of parchment closer. "Please, send word to Captain Theron. I want to see the impact of these regulations firsthand before we proceed. And have someone fetch my riding clothes – I'll need to visit Master Tethras afterward. Send word to him as well, if you will."

The clerk's expression shifted to one of concern. "The keeper of contracts? My lady, surely—"

"There must be precedent for challenging these regulations. Some legal framework we can use." She dipped her quill with perhaps more force than necessary. "Lord Fen'Harel may consider himself above the law, but even he must answer to tradition sometimes."

Master Athras hesitated by her desk. "They say he cares little for tradition. That he considers older methods… primitive in the advent of the new.”

"Then perhaps it's time someone reminded him that those 'primitive' ways built half the trade routes he now seeks to control." Ellana began writing, her script sharp and decisive. "He may have the power to write these regulations, but that doesn't make them just. And it certainly doesn't make them wise."

The morning light strengthened as she worked, casting long shadows across her desk. Each column of figures told the same story—a proud house being systematically dismantled by laws that claimed to serve progress while serving only to consolidate power in the hands of those who already held too much.

She was halfway through her calculations when a shadow fell across her desk. Looking up, she found Master Athras holding out a sealed letter, his expression grave.

"From House Ralaferin, my lady."

Her heart sank. House Ralaferin had been their allies for three generations, their trading partnership old enough to remember when the great crystal spires of Arlathan were still being raised. She broke the wax seal.

The letter was courteous, gracious even, as befit communication between noble houses, even if they were lower gentry such as her own. But beneath the carefully chosen words lay an unmistakable message: House Ralaferin was severing their trade agreements. They cited the changing times, the need to adapt to new markets. They did not mention Lord Fen'Harel's regulations directly, but they didn't need to.

Ellana set the letter down with deliberate care, smoothing its creases as she had seen her father do countless times when receiving difficult news. 

The timing truly couldn't be worse—tonight was Lady Mythal's grand ball, where all of Arlathan's nobility would gather. Once, there would have been at least a dozen Dalish houses in attendance. Now, with so many having withdrawn from society or left to other cities where they faced less disdain, she would likely be the only one. The thought of entering those crystal halls alone made her stomach clench, but perhaps...perhaps she could use the opportunity.

"Well," she said, her voice steady despite the storm of emotions beneath it, "it seems our visit to Master Tethras becomes even more urgent."

"My lady—"

"Please, have my horse readied." She stood, gathering the relevant documents with efficient movements. "And send word to the docks that I'll be inspecting our ships personally this morning, I will need to asses the impact before taking a course of action. I will need to speak with him, make appointment with his office prior to these regulations going into effect, but until I’ve prepared—” Master Athlen’s brows raised. “Are you sure that is wise? “It is not a ploy. Rather I'd like to hear him explain to my face how this proposal is anything but a direct attack on Dalish traditions. Surely..." She smoothed the proposal with careful fingers. "Surely a noble man wouldn't deliberately set out to destroy his own people. There must be some misunderstanding. And if not, if Lord Fen'Harel wishes to destroy us with his regulations, the least I can do is force him to look me in the eye and look the impact on real people while he does it."

The elderly clerk bowed and withdrew, leaving Ellana alone with the morning light and the damning evidence of her family's declining fortunes. She allowed herself one moment – just one – to feel the weight of it all. Then she straightened her spine, lifted her chin, and began preparing for battle.

After all, she thought as she gathered her papers, there was a small shred of hope. Lord Fen'Harel was known for his cutting remarks about those he deemed beneath his station, particularly regarding Dalish traditions. But he was also known for his intelligence. If she could make him understand the impact of his policies, show him the economic realities...

Perhaps he would understand.

You can read the rest on AO3!

(apologies for the late post, I am not great with tumblr and this took some figuring out!)

[mollywog]

The plan was to post part 2 for the Janeuary day 1 prompt (letters)… the new plan is to post it for day 3 (Bath)

Regrets

(An Everlark x Persuasion AU)

Summary: He’s seated at the desk in the Odair sitting room, trying in vain to attend to his letter. The conversation is not private, the room buzzes with activity, but he still feels an intruder listening in on the pair by the window. But Katniss Everdeen has always been his weakness.

Inspiration

[alexandercolbourne]

A Portrait of a Lady - Janeuary Day 4

hey there, jane austen friends! i made this for @janeuary-month! i hope everyone likes sanditonnnn <3

this is self-indulgent, and you all need to know this. this is a canon/oc ship story, but it's more about alexander as a whole than his relationship with my oc. there's obviously talk of it, but this especially concerns himself, heyrick park, and how things change when one falls in love! the story is below the cut, because i dont remember my ao3 login info anymore, oops!

There are very few things that men of Alexander Coulbourne’s countenance are, by their own fault, unsure of. Unfortunately for Alexander Colbourne, though, he is a man terrified of so many things. He was widowed by a woman who had loved him little when she died, and the father of a child who was his not by blood, but of his wife’s. But that mattered little now; having all happened such a long decade prior, there was nothing he could do. Besides, he thought, as he entered Heyrick Park behind the din of Leonora and Augusta, he couldn’t keep his mind occupied for long, laughing and shouting after his daughter as she breezed past and through the foyer, past the waiting Mrs. Wheatley. “How was your outing, then?” The older woman asked.

“Quite fine, Mrs. Wheatley, thank you,” Alexander said, walking over and doffing his top hat. He looked down at the face of the woman who had been so much a mother to him when his had failed - one of the few people in Sanditon who knew him, who cared to know him. So many in this town thought of the Colbournes as if Jonathan Colbourne still lived; as if the youngest son had not received the entire estate, leaving the elder Samuel to be a well-off, yet drunken, prosecutor. Alexander was not his father, even through his faults. 

“And you did it all without Mrs. Colbourne’s wizened assistance. I believe that means you have lost our bet.”Mrs. Wheatley looked up with a smirk on her weathered face, her eyes sparkling in mischievous amusement. 

With a glance down at the hand outstretched between them, Alexander himself smiled. A tight-lipped and small-mouthed smile was something seen more often these days, much to the entire house’s enjoyment. Even when he lost a bet - usually a paltry shilling- he was glad to pay it. He would pay for a home, a pension, anything for Mrs. Wheatley, but she had so often vehemently denied it. The woman deserved her rest, to be pampered and cared for as she had done for Alexander and Samuel in their childhoods. He procured the coin from his pocket and placed the silver coin into the pale-yet-dark palm of the woman before him. “Hm. You win yet again. Has Mr. Lockhart arrived?”

“Yes, he is in the drawing room with Mrs. Colbourne.” The two took their leave from the other, with Alexander’s booted feet moving over the wooden floors toward the drawing room. Even from down the corridor, he heard them - the always affable Charles Lockhart, Sanditon’s resident portraitist - and the lady of the house herself, Mrs. Colbourne. Alexander stood in the hall and looked in, as the two fawned over young Leonora a moment, before he was noticed.

“Father, Father!” Leonora crowed in her excited child’s voice, rushing to him. “Mother’s done!” Now, of course, the new Mrs. Colbourne was hardly the child’s mother - no, that had been the late Lucy Colbourne. The woman whom Alexander had married at such a young age had given Leonora life - yet that hadn’t stopped the child from becoming nearly as infatuated with her stepmother as her father was himself. 

“By which she means, my darling, is that my portrait is done,” came the voice of the woman in the room. Alexander looked up from his daughter to his wife across the room - in a gown the color of pink peonies. Her hair was curled around her head, the blonde a cloud of sunlight upon her head. Alexander’s heart seemed to melt as he saw her - as it tended to do. He broke himself away from Leonora just enough to step over to his wife; a quick kiss placed to her porcelain cheek. “Welcome home, my darling.”

Mrs. Colbourne was the bane of Alexander’s being, and yet at the same time the only thing that kept him so truly sane. An heiress - a veritable spoilt brat - from both respected English households and Russian alike. Her complexion was of one that many described as English rose, all while her features seemed so very. . . Russian. Not that she would let you forget it; she certainly would not allow Alexander to do so. The eight-and-twenty year old had met Alexander the year prior, in a dynamic so intense that he truly thought he was going mad. Never had he met someone so headstrong, so intent on doing what her mind was set to, to a point that she drove him to the absolute brink. But it was only when he realised that his nerves seemed better with her, that he seemed to think about nothing but Miss Lidya Taracova that he knew he was in love with her. “Glad I am to be home, Lili,” he replied as his lips left her cheek. “Have we not seen the painting yet? It cannot be so bad, can it, Mr. Lockhart?”

“Ah, no! In fact, I think it rivals any such portrait England will see in some time. We were discussing if it must be hung before it is unveiled.”It was a good question, truly - for Alexander hadn’t thought that far. Lili had joked time and again how it should hang in his study, above the fireplace, but when Alexander offered to hang it in their chambers, Lili stuck out her tongue and furrowed her brows.

“Perhaps the drawing room?” “Perhaps the dining room?” “Really, Xander, hang it in your study!” “I think it would look fine in the solarium.” “No, not that!” “And why not?” “The sun will ruin it!” 

And so it went. 

With her hand on her husband’s back, Lili looked up to him. She smiled devilishly, knowing that they must now indeed choose a spot for the portrait. Her brown eyes sparkled. “Well? Where shall it go?”

“Mr. Lockhart, what do you yourself recommend?” Alexander asked, amusedly rolling his eyes at his wife before looking to the artist himself. After another few moments, and after Leonora had burrowed herself into her stepmother’s side, did her voice ring up in the conversation. “What did you say, Leo?”

The blue-eyed, cherubic face looked up. “I think it should hang beside Mother’s portrait. In the foyer.” 

Lili gasped softly, her free hand going over the top of Leonora’s hair. “Leo. . .” It seemed presumptive, in a way - to place herself beside the late Mrs. Colbourne, the one portrait everyone saw when they entered Heyrick Park. 

“No, no. She’s right,” Alexander said, in a tone stronger than anticipated. To speak of Lucy, even so long after her death, even now that he was remarried; it sometimes seemed unfair to her. But no, his daughter was right. For the loss of Lucy had plunged Heyrick Park into darkness, all while the arrival of Lili had bathed it in light. It took three servants to carry the portrait and prepare to hang it, while the artist, the muse, and the benefactor all stood and waited expectantly. Once it was upon its spot on the wall, Charles pulled the fabric off, showing the portrait in its fullness - a gold filigreed frame - and a painting bedecked in light. 

And all while the portrait of Lucy beside it, dark and haunting and beautiful, seemed such a contrast, and with Lucy looking right at the viewer, Lili’s was different indeed. For Lili, painted in a gown of white, looked lively and warm, her eyes were not on the viewer. 

No, the new Mrs. Colbourne sat, straight backed, jaw soft and straight, and eyes clear as day, even through her profile. 

No, her eyes looked to Lucy. 

And there the portrait stayed: With the late Lucy Colbourne welcoming all in, while Lidya Colbourne waited patiently for her turn.

[doriansredroses]

So, my novella fell flat on its face. It was not the right storyline and I’m not ready for a novella yet. It was actually supposed to be the basis for my senior writing project, but I did pretty poorly in most of my classes due to mental health and it destroyed my project. But my professor likes me and is giving me a winter break extension to write this 25 page project for a full grade. So this means I can start fresh. I have until January 19th to complete it.

I need help though. Well I’d like to thank @janeuary-month for doing the Janeuary event because I’ve had an idea for day 22, which covers the plot estate. It has to be about an estate in some way, and follows the guidelines as well.

The title is called Woodward Park and it’s about a haunted estate. Here I go again making things spooky. I’m just stumped on the overall story. I’m thinking about basing it on Pride and Prejudice but I’m unsure which version I should do.

Version 1: MC (who’s basically a fusion of myself and Elizabeth Bennet, sort of but she plays Lizzie’s role) travels to England and stumbles upon this handsome young man but she’s not interested in him at all. But as time goes on she does fall in love with him and discovers the secrets of his estate, Woodward Park, and that he’s a vampire. He’s essentially vampire Mr. Darcy in the modern day in a Pride and Prejudice retelling.

Version 2: MC travels to England and meets a young woman who becomes friends with her. She goes to her estate and discovers that the house is indeed haunted. The ghosts start talking to her and tells her that the mistress is evil and she must get out. She may or may not fall for one of the pesky spirits. This is the least Austen-esque story of the bunch, but there will still be hints of regency. It’s also very similar to my old novella plot but with some signifiant tweaks.

Version 3: It is set in a fantasy dimension and MC must team up somehow with my Mr. Darcy character. It follows a similar plot line to Pride and Prejudice but also combines my mysterious manor idea and loosely inspired by Margaret Rogerson’s Sorcery of Thorns. I am unsure if there will be ghosts, sorcerers, or vampires yet, but I’ll get there. The setting is fantastical, but is set in the regency era of that dimension. Sorcery of Thorns was set in like 1813 in their dimension and the aesthetic was regency (ish).

Version 4: MC is now a young man and Darcy is a woman. It is set in the fantasy dimension again with a similar plot, but with a twist. MC is not interested in fem!Darcy at first, but slowly goes crazy for her to the point of obsession. She traps him in her estate and he slowly discovers that things are not all they seem. The ghosts try to warn him that things are sinister and he finds out Darcy is a witch who’s centuries old and has trapped all these men in her manor to serve her forever and to steal their souls. This is the most similar to my original novella plot except changing things from 18th century in colonial Massachusetts (the Salem obsession still rages strong) but to a fantastical regency-esque universe.

I’m unsure which idea to go ahead and start, so I need your feedback. Plot idea 2 seems the least Jane Austen so I am apprehensive about it because the event is Austen related. But, I could end up scrapping doing this day for the event if my thoughts go elsewhere. I hope not. I’ve been thinking about doing a Jane Austen inspired called Woodward Park for months.

@xxiamtiebrousxx

@ilovegayvampires

@firthbetterorfirthworse

@fetchmearum420

@mysteryofvampires

@ibrithir-was-here

[nnschneider]

The Good NA-borhood

Janeuary Day 7 prompt: Servants

Chapter 3 Summary: Henry meets Mr. Thorpe, another resident. Thorpe enlists Catherine’s help to throw a party to welcome Henry to the neighborhood.

"Tilney, have you met Catherine? Can you believe how cute she is?" Thorpe asked, already stepping closer to her.

"Yes," Catherine answered for him, chipper smile on her face. "We met in Michael's office and Mr. Tilney has already said that he finds me attractive."

"Don't get any ideas, Tilney," Thorpe told him, trying to make it sound like a joke. "Catherine is my girl." Henry couldn't tell if Thorpe thought of Catherine as a servant or a girlfriend on demand.

👉 @janeuary-month

[elmorinn]

Janeuary Day 8 - Cravat 🩷

@janeuary-month

for this prompt i wanted to do something cute so behold Anne helping Frederick make up his cravat while they get ready for a party at their friends' <3

i love them so much it's crazy 😭 drawing flustered Frederick was an unimaginable joy