#does regency

[dimepicture]

[gayofthefae]

Shout-out to the writers who know stats and looked at an 8 kid family and went "2 of them are gay"

[notbecauseofvictories]

also I've spent the last couple weeks reading some older historical romance novels, and my made up, wholly unverified hypothesis that in the 2000s romance authors finally grasped that the old-fashioned "no, don't! stop, you brute" etc. scenes were not really landing with audiences anymore. So they faced a conundrum about the future of the genre. Ultimately, I think they chose to quietly stop writing those heroes, and switch them out for a more sensitive model. Still dark and brooding! But with limits, often a Heart of Gold, and more general emotional intelligence.

Still, somewhere out there is a parallel universe where these authors decided to take the opposite approach---to write heroines as unhinged, cruel, impulsive, and emotionally ignorant as their heroes. I don't know if I want to live there, but I wouldn't mind a trip to their library sometime.

[gravedigg]

Regency Era Lord Gortash (commission for @plethomacademia)

[skitskatdacat63]

All I want for Christmas isssssssssss to completely demolish your chances of winning another championship~

+

without text, and the lineart I really like:

plus some of my inspos:

and if only I wasn't a coward....

[marzipanandminutiae]

speaking of dancing, I adore Emma 2020, but during the ball scenes I just want to smack the ladies' arms down

NO. NO AIRPLANE ARMS. BAD REGENCY HEIRESS; NO BISCUIT

(love the part where Emma and Mr. Knightley get so into the sexual tension that they forget to progress and someone bumps into them, though. that's what you get for interrupting the dance with UST!)

[lordcastaway]

I just woke up and I had this vision of Castlereagh being sad and Wellington being like “Can you not??”

That would be funny, I think

thirty years in one picture

[quibvsposts]

i’m absolutely obsessed with Regency au Dreamling from the wonderful fic, Risk and Reward by @signiorbenedickofpadua

[bruciemilf]

PLEASE PLEASE PLEASE MORE REGENCY AU

I feel like Bruce would, once he fell for Clark, constantly blink his pretty eyes at him and look like this:

Or this would just be How He Looks and from the moment Clark laid his eyes on Bruce he was smitten. Well, until Bruce opened his mouth.

Clark would absolutely be able to handle Bruce's attitude, cuz as you said, he's patient. He would look at Bruce like this whenever he got to snooty:

And Bruce would immediately shut up or conclude his rant, crossing his arms and pouting.

Also because I wanted to imagine them more clearly, my pinterest girlie came out and I found THESE:

Clark:

Bruce:

Bruce would be SOO showy as Brucie and probably actually enjoy the slightly feminine look, while Clark is more into earthy/academic tones. Clark would prefer professional outfits, only going all out for particularly important events (like a wedding��) and Bruce would actively schedule events where he could show off a new outfit.

I assume while this is a regency it's still Gotham, and there are still worldly evils like poverty and people seeking to do harm, so I was wondering your take how Bruce would combat this. And would Clark support and secretly send letters to printing presses to boost morale or spy on the waynes?

(also I am working on your hockey player au ask I did not abandon it)

BESTIE YOU'RE SPOILING ME.

God I love Bruce flashing his fawn eyes and expecting everything to fall into his lap. Picture this, if you will:

Bruce draped over Clark's lap, disarming smile on pretty pink lips, glistening with a touch of rogue, fluttering sharp eyelashes. " we don't need to be married to do what we want, my lord"

While Clark is amused, even a little endeared, he pushes Bruce off, watching the little lord fall with a squeak, " You're trying to get me to annule the marriage, and unfortunately, I have no interest in indulging you."

Bruce hissing, a cat-like sound, full of scorn, saying Clark wouldn't like him when he's NOT indulged.

From then on, Bruce's second plan sets in motion. Pranks. Mischief. Antics Clark chooses not to reprimand (because truly, he just doesn't care that much) because they're more playfully mean than harmful.

Bruce offering to help in the kitchen only to pour extra salt on Clark's favorite dessert--- which Clark eats with a blank face to Bruce's fury.

Bruce smiling so sweetly at Clark and saying he gave the kitchen staff a vacation. So he'll make meals from now on.

"Great."

" splendid."

"Wonderful."

"Fantastic."

Clark, chewing slowly, " Maybe more salt next time."

Your honor, they're both messes, they're both completely enamoured. Clark loves his sassy little husband, and Bruce throws a tantrum if Clark is gone for more than a few days due to military briefs.

And ooo I think it'd be cool if Bruce truly didn't care about class and just spent time with whoever while trying to repair the peasant's lifestyle. Clark fell for him when he cuddled a sickly kitten on his satin sheets bc he promised the cooks daughter he would

[haridraws]

Cool news: I have persuaded my publisher to do bookmarks.

The first few pre-orders from this nice queer bookshop get one free!!

Out NEXT WEEK (in the uk). You can also see a juicy promotional panel reveal here, if you're willing to brave instagram for a moment

[dimepicture]

[especiallyhaytham]

I've definitely posted about this before, but I'm still obsessed with the fact that Haytham is wearing 1750s style clothes well into the 1770s because he's an OLD MAN. He's OLD and UNFASHIONABLE. Can't be assed to wear anything else, I love you sir

[b-does-the-write-thing]

general incivility, chapter six

- a brienne x jaime pride & prejudice retelling -

chapter one l chapter two  l chapter three l chapter four l chapter five l chapter six l now on AO3

At the end of their first month in the Stormlands, a letter appeared from King’s Landing. Bronn, no doubt curious, brought it to the breakfast table, where he might be able to linger and ascertain its contents. A savvy move that Tyrion could applaud if it were not for the fact Cersei and Jaime could not help but notice the royal seal.

At its appearance, Cersei fell uncharacteristically silent. Though at the rate she was straining her neck, she’d be out of commission for the upcoming week’s assemblies. His dear brother pretended he had gone blind, deaf, and dumb, but Jaime was not leaving either, showcasing his interest in the missive. Tyrion would have preferred to retire to read it in peace; he already guessed at its contents, but there was nothing to be done other than to face the music. Cracking the seal, Tyrion’s suspicions were confirmed within the first few words, and the following ones compounded his headache.

Outside, the evening clouds had not departed, and the trees were whispering to each other in the breeze. A storm was imminent, not one of the gentle spring rains that had come and gone in their few weeks here, but a proper tempest, the true namesake of the region. Judging the entire thing to be more trouble than it was worth, Tyrion tossed the letter away. It landed on top of the porridge and, under the weight of the royal seal, began to sink. Cersei shot her cousin a filthy look before ordering one of the footmen to fish it out for her. Receiving it with the utmost care, Cersei devoured the soggy paper’s contents. A smile bloomed across her face until her smile was the only bright spot in the breakfast parlor.

When Cersei finally deigned to lower the letter, a footman rushed forward to offer her a serviette. “But this is wonderful,” Cersei said, seemingly unaware she was daintily wiping her hands on the footman’s jacket and not the offered napkin. To think, the king—here of all places!”

Jaime stirred to life. “What fortuitous reason do we have to thank for such an honor?”

Tyrion rubbed his forehead, running his stubby fingers across the odd ridges of his skull, letting the familiar sensation soothe his threatening headache. “He claims to visit Lord Stannis, but no doubt he has heard father’s succeeded in running me off finally.”

Jaime did not argue. Everyone knew there was little love lost between King Robert Baratheon, first of his name, and Tywin Lannister. The vaults of King’s Landing were rumored to have long since run dry, but perhaps with a son of Casterly Rock at his side…

Cersei stood, pressing her skirt down, her eyes staring past both her cousins, fixated on something far in the distance that only she could see. “I’ll have to send word home at once. I barely brought anything suitable for court-”

“Were you not still planning to depart within the next fortnight?”

“Don’t be ridiculous!” Cersei snapped, this time directing her glare at Jaime. “The King is coming to Storm’s End, and he will, of course, call here.” Her eyes darted to Tyrion. “You’ll need a lady to lead the house, plan the ball-”

“Ball?”

“Host His Highness, and well he mentions his Kingsguard will be attending. No mention of any courtiers, but of course, the usual toadies will be in attendance- “

“Cersei, if you would like to play lady of the hall, by all means, my home is at your disposal, but do me the very great courtesy of not looking like the cat who caught the canary. It’s very disconcerting.”

“Only you would have the king send him a personal letter and look as if the world was coming to an end.” Tyrion did not think his brother looked any happier about this development, but Cersei seemed determined to ignore Jaime. “If you will excuse me-” and with that, she swanned out of the breakfast parlor, looking all the world as if she already had a crown upon her brow.

“She’ll be insufferable,” Tyrion lamented. “Robert’s no tactician, but he’s not going to ignore a lioness laying down on her back for him-”

“Tyrion,” Jaime hissed. “Have a care for how you talk about our cousin.”

“You should be glad she’s not eyeing your neck for the noose at the moment,” Tyrion continued, tearing into the pastry to find it still warm and steaming. The manor might be considerably smaller than the Rock, but he quite enjoyed the new proximity to his kitchens, even if his belt protested. “Perhaps Robert's visit will allow you more time to pursue your interests without hindrance?”

Jaime’s eyes darkened in displeasure. “There is nothing of interest in this desolate corner of Westeros. I am only here because of you.”

“Interesting,” Tyrion continued, “I, for one, have thought you rather intrigued by our resident beauty.”

Tyrion had not seen it at first. He had been so taken with the odd Miss Tarth, finding her to be one of the truly most unfortunate people he had ever seen besides himself, that he had almost missed the way his brother’s eyes tracked her around the room, how Jaime moved after her when she passed by as if caught in her wake and drawn after her despite himself. He was not sure if his brother was even aware of his interest, if not for the odd way his lips quirked whenever Miss Tarth was mentioned.

“You are referring to which renowned Stormland beauty, Tyrion? Miss Tarth or Miss Baratheon?”

Tyrion chuckled. “Cersei has had your ear again, I fear. Miss Baratheon is not yet eight and ten. Her brush with death has added to her character, but I am not one for unaged wine.”

Jaime considered him across the table. ”And Miss Tarth?”

Tyrion grinned. “You know I am a great lover of beauty.”

His brother’s lips thinned, face darkening into a pensive glower until he looked just like their father. “Surely you of all people would think to look past appearances-”

“Have you?”

Jaime’s eyes shuttered, and he looked pointedly away to the storm gathering outside. “I have barely spoken a word to the party in question.”

“On the contrary, I believe you’ve spoken more to her than anyone else in the Stormlands.”

“If I happen to stand by the only other person who has less desire to speak than myself-”

“Happen? Jaime, you followed her around the length of the ballroom last week.”

Jaime shot up from his seat. “I should make haste if I want to get a ride in before the storm-”

“Jaime-” But his brother was already gone, leaving him alone with the great feast. Tyrion looked over at the footman nearest to the table, his cravat still smeared with oatmeal. “Do we have any blackberry jam?”

[sesamestreep]

it really is SUCH a shame that there’s no episode of TOS where the enterprise crew time jumps to Regency-era England or goes to a planet that modeled its culture on that era or something, because it would truly slap for every single main character. Like I don’t even have to explain why this would be awesome for Spock— Mr. I’ll-smash-a-computer-with-my-bare-hands-before-I’ll-admit-I’m-horny himself, king of repression, who basically recreated the famous Pride and Prejudice Hand Flex Scene™️ with his beloved Captain that one time, who meets a blind woman with a high tech gown that helps her “see” and LITERALLY tells her to give his compliments to her dressmaker, who mislead a woman once about his affections and tenderly promised to safeguard her reputation forever about it, who has the perfect angular features to be set off by a cravat—I mean, you get it, but then you’ve also got Kirk—handsome, affable, brave Naval captain who loves his crew more than himself, who falls in like deep profound love with every woman the plot throws at him—and then McCoy—cantankerous, sure, (ever heard of a grumpy/sunshine trope??) but with impeccable, downright old school manners towards women and, yeah, a doctor’s not that prestigious in Regency times, but for like a young lady in trouble who needs the protection of a man’s name or who just wants to piss off her stuffy aristocrat family by marrying “beneath” them, who could be better? If you throw Scotty in the mix, well, he’s Scottish, which [points at a whole subgenre of regency romance novels] is all he’d really need. I’m just saying they would have CLEANED UP, okay??

[megthemariner]

Astarion portrait style study, based on Self Portrait by Sir William Beechey, c.1800

[nostalgia-tblr]

how have i not written Scheming Queen Mother Frigga yet? i mean she's halfway there already that's like someone already starting writing it for me.