#elizabeth pemberly

[ofswordsandpens]

no because the part in pride and prejudice 2005 when Elizabeth goes to the Darcy estate and she and him and Georgiana are talking and Darcy is just like glowing in the sunlight and for the first time is smiling and laughing so freely, so comfortably, and he gazes at Elizabeth and her face is just like oh and girl I know, I KNOW—

[thewritingsofdreamers]

Pride and Prejudice photoshoot, how’d I do?

[vintageseawitch]

i feel like Lizzie & Mr Tilney would crack each other up with their mutual witticisms & make Catherine blush but find some amusement meanwhile Darcy would have to move heaven & earth not to groan out loud & roll his eyes every five minutes

[iwouldservehim]

Movies sure keep on highlighting Lizzy's 👀 at how nice Pemberly would be to live in, but not enough of 👀 at the grand "for which nature has done so much" huge park going 10 miles (?) round for this enthusiastic nature walker.

[udaberriwrites]

Reading the chapters at Pemberly Hall...

Lizzie: "It can't be for me that his manner is so gentle now!"

Bestie, he loves you so much it's making him stupid.

Lizzie: "Well, I guess if he wants to introduce me to his sister he can't be too mad at least."

He's writing Mr and Mrs Darcy with a big heart around the names, come on.

Lizzie: "If someone badmouths him now I'm throwing hands though. Politely."

... you do that, girl.

[retiringatsaltonsea]

The beauty of Pride and Prejudice (2005)

Elizabeth tours Pemberly.

“She stood there several minutes before the picture, in earnest contemplation, and returned to it again before they quitted the gallery. Mrs. Reynolds informed them that it had been taken in his father’s lifetime. There was certainly at this moment, in Elizabeth’s mind, a more gentle sensation towards the original than she had ever felt in the height of their acquaintance.

…and as she stood before the canvas on which he was represented, and fixed his eyes upon herself, she thought of his regard with a deeper sentiment of gratitude than it had ever raised before; she remembered its warmth, and softened its impropriety of expression.”

—Chapter 43 of Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen.

[thegreeks]

Part 2: Whispers in the Storm

Other parts here: Part 1, Part 3

Warnings: death, sickness, eerie

Synopsis: an urgent calling for you and your husband to Longbourn amidst a terrible storm leads to an unpleasant discovery

The carriage rocked violently as it sped through the night, the storm outside showing no mercy. The rain pelted the windows, blurring the world beyond into a swirling, dark mass. Inside, you sat rigid, your hands clasped tightly in your lap, your knuckles white. Darcy sat across from you, his face a mask of quiet dread, his eyes fixed on the shadowy road ahead. The flickering lantern cast long, wavering shadows on his features, making him appear almost ghostlike in the dim light.

Neither of you had spoken since the moment you’d left Pemberley. The air between you was thick with unspoken fears, and every jolt of the carriage only seemed to deepen the sense of foreboding that clung to you like the cold dampness of the storm.

The messenger’s words rang in your ears, over and over, filling the silence in your mind:

Miss Bennet has taken ill. Gravely so. You must come quickly.

No other details had been provided, but the urgency in his tone had been unmistakable. Elizabeth, your dearest friend, your sister in every way that mattered, was in danger, and you had never felt so powerless.

The horses strained against the weight of the carriage as they pushed through the mud, their hooves slipping now and then on the slick road. The driver shouted commands to keep them steady, but even his voice was lost to the storm.

Darcy’s hand tightened on the edge of his seat as the carriage lurched to the side, nearly toppling over before righting itself. You saw the flicker of worry in his eyes as he glanced at you, his lips pressing into a thin line. He had been trying to remain composed, to shield you from his own fears, but it was clear that even he could no longer hold back the anxiety gnawing at him.

“Do not fear,” Darcy finally said, his voice low and steady, though it was clear he was speaking as much to himself as to you. “We will be there soon. Elizabeth… she is strong.”

You nodded, but the knot in your chest refused to loosen. “I only hope we are not too late.”

Darcy’s gaze softened, and for a moment, his hand reached toward you as if to offer comfort, but then he withdrew it, curling his fingers into a fist. He was always like this in times of crisis—stoic, determined to carry the burden alone. But you knew him too well. Beneath that carefully constructed mask was a heart that felt deeply, a heart that was breaking just as much as yours.

The hours dragged on, the storm showing no sign of letting up. The road became rougher, more treacherous, and with each passing mile, your dread deepened. It felt as though the very elements were conspiring to keep you from reaching Elizabeth, from finding out what terrible fate had befallen her.

At last, just as the first light of dawn began to break through the storm clouds, the carriage slowed. You leaned forward, peering through the rain-splattered window. Through the mist and rain, the familiar outline of Longbourn emerged from the gloom, its dark windows and weathered stone walls looking more foreboding than ever before.

Darcy was out of the carriage before it had fully stopped, helping you down onto the muddy ground. His hand lingered on yours for a moment, and though his grip was firm, there was a tremble in his touch.

As you hurried toward the front entrance, you noticed the eerie stillness that surrounded the estate. There were no servants bustling about, no welcoming lights in the windows. Everything was silent, save for the soft patter of rain on the ground.

Mr. Bennet himself greeted you at the door, his face pale and drawn. The lines around his eyes seemed deeper, his usual wit and sarcasm replaced by a heavy weariness that spoke of sleepless nights and mounting fear.

“Mr. and Mrs. Darcy,” he said, his voice hoarse. “Thank you for coming.”

“What has happened?” Darcy asked immediately, stepping forward. “Elizabeth—how is she?”

Mr. Bennet swallowed, his eyes flickering with something you could only describe as helplessness. “She is… still with us,” he said, though the words were delivered with little hope. “But the doctor… he fears she will not last the night.”

Your heart sank at his words, and for a moment, the world seemed to tilt. Darcy placed a steadying hand on your arm, his grip the only thing keeping you grounded.

“I must see her,” you said, your voice barely more than a whisper.

Mr. Bennet nodded gravely and led you both up the familiar staircase, the house now oppressively quiet. The creak of the stairs beneath your feet was the only sound, save for the occasional groan of the wind outside.

As you approached Elizabeth’s room, the smell of sickness hit you—a mix of herbs and something sour, something that made your stomach turn. You hesitated at the door, your hand hovering over the handle, but Darcy gave you a reassuring nod and with a deep breath, you pushed open the door and stepped inside.

The room was dim, lit only by a single candle flickering on the bedside table. Elizabeth lay in the bed, her face pale, her breathing shallow. Jane sat beside her, holding her hand, her own face streaked with tears. Bingley stood behind her, his usual cheerful demeanor replaced by silent anguish.

You rushed to Elizabeth’s side, kneeling by the bed as you took her hand in yours. It was cold, far too cold. “Elizabeth,” you whispered, choking back the sob that threatened to escape. “We are here.”

Her eyes fluttered open at the sound of your voice, but they were dull, unfocused. For a moment, she seemed not to recognize you, her gaze drifting past you as though searching for something—someone—just beyond reach.

“Elizabeth,” Darcy said gently, moving to stand beside you. His voice was soft, almost pleading. “It’s me. It’s Fitzwilliam.”

Her lips moved, but no sound came out. Her hand twitched in yours, a feeble attempt to respond, but her strength was fading. You could see it in the way her chest barely rose with each shallow breath, in the way her body seemed to sink deeper into the bed, as though the very life was being drained from her.

You felt the tears spill over, hot and unchecked, as you clutched her hand tighter. “Please,” you whispered, your voice breaking. “Don’t leave us.”

But Elizabeth only blinked slowly, her eyes fluttering closed again, as though sleep—eternal and unrelenting—was calling her. Jane’s quiet sobs filled the room, and for the first time in his life, Darcy stood helpless, his head bowed in silent grief.

The storm had not abated. Rain pounded against the windows of Longbourn, the wind howling through the cracks in the old house, as if nature itself mourned alongside you. Inside, Elizabeth’s room felt suffocating. The air was thick with the scent of illness, the oppressive silence broken only by the occasional sobs from Jane and the relentless patter of rain.

You had not moved from Elizabeth’s bedside, your hand still clasping hers, though the warmth had long since left her skin. Jane continued to grip her sister’s other hand, her tear-streaked face buried in her arm. Bingley stood behind her, gently resting a hand on her shoulder, his own face etched with grief. Darcy lingered by the window, his back turned to you all, the tension in his posture betraying his helplessness. He was a man of action, of control, yet here, in the face of illness and death, he could do nothing.

For what felt like an eternity, no one spoke. The room was trapped in the stillness of waiting—waiting for the inevitable, waiting for something to change, though you all feared what that change might be.

Suddenly, the door creaked open, and you glanced up to see Mr. Bennet standing in the doorway, his expression solemn. He said nothing as he stepped inside, quietly making his way to the foot of the bed. His face was pale, his eyes heavy with exhaustion and sorrow. He had always been a man who found humor in the absurdities of life, but now, faced with the possible loss of his daughter, there was no jest, no witty remark to deflect the pain.

“Has there been… any change?” he asked, his voice hoarse.

Jane shook her head, unable to speak.

Mr. Bennet closed his eyes, his shoulders sagging as if the weight of the world had finally pressed down upon him. “The doctor… he says there is nothing more we can do. We must wait.” His voice cracked, betraying the emotion he so often kept hidden. “And pray.”

Darcy finally turned from the window, his expression grim. He met Mr. Bennet’s gaze with a solemn nod, as if acknowledging the terrible truth none of you wished to face. “If there is anything you require, anything at all, you need only ask,” Darcy said quietly. His voice, though calm, carried a depth of emotion that you knew he was struggling to contain.

Mr. Bennet gave a curt nod, his lips pressed into a thin line. “Thank you, Mr. Darcy. But I fear nothing more can be done.” He glanced down at Elizabeth, his eyes softening with sorrow. “She was always the strongest of my girls. To see her like this… I cannot—” He stopped, his voice breaking, and he quickly turned away, as if ashamed of his own weakness.

Darcy moved toward him, placing a hand on his shoulder in a rare gesture of comfort. “She is strong,” Darcy said softly. “She has fought this long. She will fight still.”

But even as Darcy spoke, you could see the doubt in his eyes, the creeping fear that had taken hold of him since the moment you had arrived. He believed in Elizabeth’s strength—he wanted to believe in it—but you all knew that even strength had its limits.

The hours passed in a blur. Servants came and went, bringing food and tea that no one touched. The doctor returned briefly, his grim expression telling you all you needed to know before he left once again. The storm outside continued its relentless assault, the wind howling like a mournful wail through the trees.

As night fell once more, a soft knock at the door broke the silence. Mrs. Bennet entered the room, her face drawn and pale, though her usual air of fretfulness seemed subdued. She approached Elizabeth’s bed slowly, her eyes wide with fear and sadness.

“My Lizzy,” she whispered, her voice trembling. “Oh, my poor girl…”

Jane rose from her chair, offering her mother a seat beside Elizabeth. Mrs. Bennet sat down, her hands shaking as she reached out to stroke her daughter’s hair. She said nothing more, but the tears streaming down her face spoke volumes.

You could barely watch, your heart aching with the weight of it all. Every breath Elizabeth took seemed shallower than the last, and you feared that at any moment, that fragile rhythm would stop altogether.

But then, just as hope seemed to be slipping through your fingers like sand, Elizabeth stirred. Her eyelids fluttered, her chest rising a little more deeply than before. You leaned forward, your heart skipping a beat.

“Lizzy?” Jane whispered, her voice filled with cautious hope.

Elizabeth’s eyes opened slowly, unfocused at first, but then they seemed to clear, her gaze drifting around the room. She blinked, confusion flickering across her features as she took in the faces around her.

“Jane?” she rasped, her voice weak but unmistakably hers.

Jane let out a sob of relief, clutching her sister’s hand tighter. “Yes, Lizzy, it’s me. I’m here.”

You felt your own tears welling up as you watched Elizabeth, alive and awake, though still fragile. Darcy stepped forward, his face a mix of astonishment and cautious hope, while Mr. and Mrs. Bennet both breathed a collective sigh of relief.

Elizabeth’s eyes found you, and a faint smile tugged at the corners of her lips. “You came,” she whispered, her voice barely audible over the storm outside.

You nodded, unable to speak past the lump in your throat. You had feared the worst, feared that you might never hear her voice again, but now, against all odds, she was still here.

Darcy moved to stand beside you, his hand resting gently on your shoulder as he gazed down at Elizabeth with an expression of quiet awe. “You gave us quite a fright,” he said softly, his usual composed demeanor giving way to a rare moment of vulnerability.

Elizabeth’s smile grew a little wider, though her exhaustion was evident. “I am… sorry,” she murmured, her eyelids drooping once again.

Jane leaned forward, brushing a lock of hair from Elizabeth’s forehead. “Rest now, Lizzy. We are here.”

As Elizabeth drifted back into a peaceful sleep, the tension in the room slowly began to dissipate. The fear that had gripped you all for so long started to ease, replaced by a cautious optimism. She was not out of danger yet, but there was hope. There was always hope.

Darcy’s hand remained on your shoulder, a silent gesture of comfort and solidarity. You leaned into him slightly, grateful for his steady presence, and together, you watched over Elizabeth as the storm outside began to subside.

For the first time in what felt like days, the darkness did not seem quite so suffocating, though something unsettling lingered in a deep corner of your mind that you could not seem to push away.

[diamondsunbursts-and-marblehalls]

Recently rereading Pride and Prejudice I came across this quote which, in my opinion, is one of the most relatable things about the book. The feeling that whatever bold choice you have made is the single most horrible, embarrassing choice that you could have made, that resulted in the worst possible outcome in the whole world.

"But Elizabeth heard not a word, and wholly engrossed by her own feelings, followed them in silence. She was overpowered by shame and vexation. Her coming there was the most unfortunate, the most ill-judged thing in the world!"

These are her thoughts when she lets her aunt and uncle, the Gardiners, take her to Pemberly, Mr Darcy's home in Derbyshire, under the assumption that he wouldn't be there, only to have him arrive just as she's leaving. Mind you, this is after she savagely rejected him with the "you are the last man in the world whom I could ever be prevailed upon to marry" line. Brutal. Despite that, he's polite and kind, but she's stuck in her head, so embarrassed about the fact that she was even there in the first place, and what he must think. Her train of thought wouldn't be anything other than painfully relatable except for the very last line of the book. Which is:

"With the Gardiners, they were always on the most intimate terms. Darcy, as well as Elizabeth, really loved them; and they were both ever sensible of the warmest gratitude towards the persons who, by bringing her into Derbyshire, had been the means of uniting them."

I just think the idea that you can go through something that you consider the worst thing to ever happen to you, the most embarrassing thing you have ever done, and later have the perspective to realize that had to happen in order for you to get something better. Okay yeah, if she had never let her aunt and uncle take her to Derbyshire, she would have avoided "the most unfortunate and ill-judged thing in the world". I'm sure she would have seriously appreciated short-term, but I think looking back on it, she'd willingly do it over again if it meant getting to marry the man she loves.

I just think it's lovely that life has a funny way of flipping things around, so what was once horribly embarrassing and painful later becomes something you're incredibly grateful for and wouldn't change for the world.

[dearausten]

mkay but when is pemberly digital going to adapt north and south????

[amandaauverigne]

[tomatolandsca]

Jane Austen sure knew what was up because no story has ever made me kick my feet and twirl my hair like i did when reading about Darcy and Elizabeth meeting in Pemberly

[bethanydelleman]

It's pretty clear that during most of Darcy's conversations with Lizzie there's a smile on his face. I wanted to know what it means, so i searched for an analysis and i found disappointing intrepretations one of them supposing even that those smiles are fake or that they were out of comtempt or mockery. I was pretty bitter because i thought they were happy smiles. Then i remembered that later on the book, Elizabeth compares those smiles to the one on the portrait, the housekeeper said it was taken during his father's lifetime. Back when Mr Darcy's father was alive, he wasn't his sister's co-guardien, an orphan, the master of Pemberly, nor a landlord, he was a man of considerably less responsibilities back then. So those smiles he gives Elizabeth are because he feels at ease and more free with her as if those burdens are lifted of his shoulders. But like Bingley, i don't have much trust in my intrepretations, so I need to know your opinions on this.

I agree with you.

I'm not sure how burdened Mr. Darcy feels by his responsibilities, to me he seems quite comfortable with them, but I do think he's giving Elizabeth a real smile because of the reason you cite: it's the same as his portrait smile. Now Elizabeth may have interpreted his smile as sarcastic, mocking, or fake, but she realizes that it wasn't when she visits Pemberley. We as readers shouldn't make the same mistakes as Elizabeth, we know better!

I have several posts about Darcy smiling and @firawren has a great graph of all the smiles from all the Austen heroes, including Darcy who smiles genuinely quite a few times.

[superloves4]

The first time Feanor sees Nerdanel's workshop should look like 2005 Pride & Prejudice when Elizabeth is visiting Pemberly

[road2nf]

I thought this story was worth sharing, and whether it is read by none or one or twenty five, I’m glad I wrote it down, and I’m glad my brother read DFTBA from a bumper sticker on the highway. I hope someone smiles at the words on this page, before they are swallowed by the deluge of love and care sent by people all over the world with stories just like my own.

To be up front about it, your videos saved my relationship with my brother, Donovan.

He was my absolute best friend growing up, the person that everyone else had to live up to in order to be even considered a decent person.

He was my hero.

He’s three years older than me, and he was a protector as I went through the struggles that “high potential” kids have which aren’t always understood by those in authority positions.

All my teachers wanted to move me up a grade, which ruined the friendships I had cherished as ten-year-olds do. Fast forward six years, and my brother and I grew apart pretty quickly.

I was president of a couple of clubs at school and he was off to Vanderbilt that fall. We stopped telling each other everything, and I didn’t know what to do to keep talking.

We were driving to visit our grandmother who lived an hour away, and it was getting late.

We were keeping each other awake, blaring music and singing at the top of our lungs.

It was one of the best memories I had with him, and then it got better.

As a car passed us on the highway, my brother (pointing, reading a bumper sticker) yelled, “DFTBA!” And looked at me expectantly. I thought he was crazy, and he just kept repeating,

“Don’t forget to be awesome!...Vlogbrothers...John... Hank...none of this rings a bell?”

When I still didn’t understand, he just told me to go on YouTube on my phone and search “John Green pennies” because he couldn’t remember any specific title.

That was it.

Three minutes and fifty seven seconds, and I was hooked. We sat in my grandma’s living room until past 2:30 that morning watching any video that came up.

The most popular, related to the current one playing, and all of Hank’s songs. Since that day, we would run into each other’s room and talk about the videos for hours.

I also have a (totally healthy) obsession with Jane Austen, and watching all the Pemberly Digital projects with him has been second only to reading them in the first place.

We have read John’s novels together, and cried for hours.

This Christmas, my brother made a donation in my name for the P4A and it was the most amazing thing anyone could have ever done for me.

Without ever watching a video, our parents soon picked up on who we were speaking about when ‘John and Hank’ were mentioned, which is astonishing when they can’t even remember the names of our closest friends. I could list off one hundred other things about being a Nerdfighter, but most importantly is saying thank you.

Thank you for doing this and putting yourself out there which is so difficult to do.

Thank you for leaving your children something to be proud of when so many are left with nothing.

Thank you for turning Nerdfighters into Nerdfighters by decreasing world-suck.

And thank you to your wives and families who support you as you change lives on a daily basis.

Thank you for inspiring me personally, and showing me how easy it is to be passionate about writing and words. I thought this story was worth sharing, and whether it is read by none or one or twenty five, I’m glad I wrote it down, and I’m glad my brother read DFTBA from a bumper sticker on the highway.

I hope someone smiles at the words on this page, before they are swallowed by the deluge of love and care sent by people all over the world with stories just like my own.

Many good wishes and blessings.

-Kate Elizabeth

[starsreminisce]

In ACOTAR, SJM tends to start their journeys where they don’t fit in, have the second location be where they do, and then as the relationship progresses, so does their location.

So, that makes me wonder, how does that look for Elain and Lucien?

We are told that Elain is struggling to fit in at Velaris considering Night Court black sucks the life out of her. She gets up at dawn when most of the court falls asleep. Winter takes a toll on her gardening, and the worst of her depression occurred at the House of Wind. She is uncomfortable in Illyrian leathers, and the cruelty of Hewn City bothers her.

We are also told that Lucien bounces between three locations for the past two years: Velaris, the Mortal Lands, and Spring. There is also that big confrontation where Lucien tells Feyre that he has no home to go to. We see that his relationship with Tamlin has deteriorated to where Lucien visits out of pity then duty. He can’t stand living in Velaris where he feels indebted to Rhys, and in ACOSF, he shows annoyance while being with Vassa and Jurian.

So it does fall under the same pattern SJM has, where both of them are making the most of their living situation but they aren’t thriving.

I personally believe that SJM would follow the same pattern of Pride and Prejudice with two more locations: a court where they will feel at home and somewhere new in the Middle for Elain to show command over her powers.

Since this is Elain’s story, it’ll start in Velaris. She’ll travel to the Day Court to be surprised to see Lucien there for something unrelated before she travels back to Velaris as Meryton where Darcy and Elizabeth first had their bad first impressions, Spring Court as Rosings Park where she spends more time with Lucien as Elizabeth did with Darcy to confront their behavior shown in Meryton (Velaris) and show how wrong their current impressions are. The Middle as London where foreshadowing of her powers is revealed as Elizabeth’s attention turned towards Lydia and finally Autumn Court as Pemberly where she finds out more about Lucien’s history as Elizabeth did with Darcy. They will return to Velaris with the revelation that she has accepted or will accept the bond, much like the surprise of Darcy proposing Elizabeth before they move to Day Court or, perhaps something more aligned to their style, they do end up traveling the world together since they’ve come to realize that home is also a person, not just a place before settling at Day Court.

I am still unconvinced that they will defeat Koschei in their book considering how big of a presence he has been towards the sisters, especially through Papa Archeron, but I do think Elain and Lucien find a way to inflict or find information on how to effectively kill him.

With that, I’ve also considered that they will after Autumn (since Darcy did travel around to find Wickham and Lydia) and then the next book deals with the aftermath of killing him and whatever revelations have been shown after that.

In ACOTAR, we see Feyre struggle while living with her family, followed by her relocation to the Spring Court, which she considers her home upon her return to her family. At UTM, her relationship with Tamlin deepens, as does her connection with Rhys. Additionally, we witness her undergoing trials that ultimately lead to her transformation into a fae.

In ACOMAF, Feyre begins her journey feeling discontent in the Spring Court, only to find a sense of belonging in the Night Court, which gradually becomes her true home. Her relationship with Rhys blossoms as they travel to various locations, including Prison Island, the weaver cottage, her family home, the Summer Court, Hewn City, the Illyrian Mountains, and Hybern. In ACOWAR, while there aren't many new locations introduced, the Dawn Court becomes significant as Feyre is revealed to be a High Lady. However, the House of Wind holds importance for Nesta, and the Autumn Court holds significance for Lucien. Though Feyre and Lucien briefly visit the Winter Court, it feels more like an extension of their experiences in the Autumn Court.

In ACOSF, Nesta starts off unhappy in Velaris before returning to the House of Wind. Some readers have criticized the focus on the Night Court, but I believe this is intentional to emphasize Nesta's connection to it. The progression of Nessian's relationship occurs in various parts of the Night Court, including Moonstone Castle, Hewn City, Prison Island, the Illyrian Steppes, and Ramiel. Another significant development takes place in the Middle, particularly at the Bog of Oorid, where Nesta taps into the power of the mask, foreshadowing her abilities related to Death.

To delve deeper into Elucien's storyline, Meryton serves as the backdrop where Darcy and Elizabeth initially form their impressions and subsequent actions towards each other. While there's no need to reestablish Elain and Lucien's current impressions, their shared experience at a ball, where they danced together, holds significance. Ideally, this event would coincide with Nesta's and Cassian's ceremony, offering readers a glimpse of Elain and Lucien dancing together. Similar to Darcy's reluctance to dance and Elizabeth's initial disdain for him, Darcy still asks Elizabeth to dance, and she finds herself drawn to accept.

Observing Elain's growing openness to reintegration into society, it's plausible that Helion, being close allies with Rhysand, might extend an invitation for her to visit as his guest, especially considering their apparent closeness during Starfall. Additionally, as the Day Court serves as a hub for gathering information from other courts, Lucien could find himself there for various reasons, providing an opportunity for him and Elain to meet and converse without scrutiny.

Rosings Park serves as a pivotal location where Elizabeth sees Darcy in a different light. Similarly, I believe that Elain's frequent allusions to Spring will serve as a catalyst for her character development. Placing Elain and Lucien in a scenario where their main goal is to revitalize the Spring Court, rather than focusing on their bond, offers an interesting dynamic. Much like Elizabeth and Darcy's confrontation at Rosings Park, this setting could facilitate a pivotal moment of confrontation and realization for Elain and Lucien.

London acts as an intermediary point, analogous to the shift in focus towards Lydia's behavior in the book and BBC adaptation of "Pride and Prejudice." The Middle, where Feyre and Nesta foreshadowed their powers, seems fitting for Elain, especially considering her powers remain largely concealed. Given their time together, it's plausible that Lucien is linked to Elain's powers, akin to Rhys's connection to Feyre and Cassian's to Nesta.

Pemberly being associated with the Autumn Court resonates with me, as it offers a platform for Elain to experience a change of heart regarding Lucien. Here, we gleaned more about Lucien's past as he and Feyre traversed through. Lucien candidly shared his feelings of being unneeded and unwanted, even viewed as a threat by his brothers to the High Lord's seat. Despite this, he made genuine efforts to forge connections with the lesser fae in his home court, reflecting his compassionate nature.

This setting presents an opportunity for Elain to recognize Lucien's sincerity and true character. It could serve as a pivotal moment where she realizes that Lucien is distinct from other fae, much like how she stands apart from her sisters. The existence of the mating bond between them signifies a shared understanding of their respective struggles.

Similar to Elizabeth's evolving feelings towards Darcy as he proves her initial impressions wrong, Elain's perception of Lucien could undergo a transformation during their time in the Autumn Court. It would be a poignant revelation for Elain, emphasizing the depth of their connection and mutual understanding.

The conclusion of Pride and Prejudice portrays Darcy acting on Elizabeth's behalf and pledging himself to secrecy, hoping he has addressed enough of her concerns while refraining from daring to hope she might change her mind. It isn't until Darcy learns that Elizabeth has not definitively rejected the idea of accepting a proposal from him that he seeks her out. With one word, she can either silence him forever or accept his renewed marriage proposal.

Translating this resolution to Elain and Lucien's story remains somewhat unclear to me, as I'm unsure of how SJM intends to segue to the next book. However, I'm not particularly invested in decoding that aspect.

In essence, Elizabeth's perception of Darcy undergoes a significant transformation, while Darcy's true character is gradually revealed each time Elizabeth revisits a version of home to him.

If Feyre's story illustrates her journey to discovering where she truly belongs, and Nesta's story demonstrates her acceptance of her rightful place, then perhaps Elain's story will emphasize that if she doesn't feel she belongs, she has the agency to leave and search for where she does belong.

Ultimately, the message may be that home is not just a place but also a person—home is found with one's mate.

[aaal-iz-well]

GUYS I NEED YOUR HELP!!!

so there's this part of my fic that I just cannot decide on, and it would be lovely if you'd be kind enough to share your thoughts on both pieces. PLEASE!!🙏🙏

Thank you, so I'm confused about which play to play in the fic, and here are pieces from both of them.

Beauty and the Beast. (I was not planning on this, but I got a suggestion and I cant stop thinking about it!

“We’re playing Beauty and the Beast,” he continued, “and you would’ve made an excellent Belle; dead somebody, vaguely tragic past, fell in love with a prince and inherited a castle.” He ended with a finger brushing hair behind my ear.

Ouch.

I swatted his hand away, narrowed my eyes. “Let me guess. You're the Beast.”

“It sounds bad when you put it like that. I prefer to think of myself as a fallen misunderstood prince turned Beast by a cruel temptress to bring out his heart of gold.” His voice got dreamier by the word.

“Of course you do,” I muttered.

 “Great.” He clapped his hands. “Now that we’re on the same page on how I should be projected, we can come up with some great costume designs.”

Wait a minute. “We?”

“Yes.” He gestured between us. Duh. “You and me, we? Not as romantic as you’d like, but still.”

It took a monumental amount of will power, honed through years of ignoring insults, to focus on the problem at hand. “But I’m doing stage design, not the costumes.” I held up a finger. “Hold up a minute, there must’ve been a mistake, I’ll talk to the director.

And then there's this:

“So,” Jameson said with a grin, chin delicately poised over his knuckles, “shall we begin? I have other work to do, after all.”

“Of course, when do you not?” I sighed, like someone whose access had been revoked. There were more than a dozen people working on the stages, no one would notice if I slipped out, instead I was stuck being the personal curator of Jameson’s stupid beast costume.

“Hey, getting into character takes a lot of time.” He knocked my shoulder, and something in me snapped.

“Yes, Jameson, I got it,” I groaned. “It takes a lot of effort to huff and brood and roam around acting all stupid beasty.” My hands clenched halfway in front of me, giving up when realising there was no use of undue displays of anger. “Try getting stuck with something you don’t know the first thing about.” 

His chair, teetering at the very edge of a head smashing fall, loudly slid back into place. There was nothing different about him per se, but when he spoke, his voice was not the silky, careless, you-had-to-lean-in-to-hear thingy I was used to. “You're saying that I don’t have to work or do anything, because, what,” he chuckled humourlessly. “I’m already all that?”

“I didn’t say that,” I said weakly, reeling my shoulders in.

His lip curled, but his voice was hurt. “You know, you might as well have. It’s apparent enough without you having to work for it.”

Then,

Pride and Prejudice.

“We’re playing Pride and Prejudice this year,” he continued, “and you would have made an excellent Elizabeth; small town girl, big dreamer, madly and irrevocably in love with a charmingly tight-lipped rich man. It’s very-” he hovered an appraising hand over me “-you.”

You're not tight lipped, are you, I thought.

I swatted his hand away, narrowed my eyes. “Let me guess. You're Wickham.”

He hit a fist against his chest. “Oh, how the lady wounds me,” he moaned. Suddenly, he straightened, and I realised just how tall he was when he wasn’t leaning or slouching or whatever. He crossed his legs and curtsied, then took my hand and brought it to his lips. “Mr. Fitzwilliam Darcy of Pemberly, Derbyshire,” he pronounced, words thick with a -rather impressive- posh accent.

I blinked, hand still in his, before remembering to snatch it away.

His serious face morphed into a smirk. He nudged me. “I had you for a moment, didn’t I?”

I managed a flat look. “Not even close. It’s just a sad lonely rich man.”

“It sounds bad when you put it like that. I prefer to think of myself as a misunderstood soul, lost in the complexities of high society, bogged down by the tremendous weight of position and responsibility, freed, in a sense, by love for an intelligent young woman.”

“Of course you do,” I muttered.

He clapped his hands. “Great. Now that we’re on the same page about the light I should be portrayed in, we can come up with some great costume designs.”

And its pretty much the same, bickering and what not.

So what did you guys think? Detailed and constructive criticism is VERY VERY welcome. Thank you!