#jane austen inspired

[crazy-ache]

Jane Austen's most romantic letter, if it had been written by Lucien Vanserra (Persuasion x Elucien)

Or what would happen if Lucien overheard Elain have a conversation about the bond? And what if he wrote a gut-wrenching love confession in said letter? Inspired by literature's most infamously romantic letter ever written.

Some text is directly taken from Chapter 23 of Persuasion by Jane Austen.

"We will write the letter to Helion we were talking of, Rhysand, now, if you will give me materials."

Materials were at hand, on a separate table; Lucien went to it, and nearly turning his back to the rest of the Inner Circle, was engrossed by writing.

Elain eyed him carefully, studying the leather strap that held back his long, molten red hair. Clearing her throat, she found Nesta across the room by the open window of the parlor as they were both on the outskirts of the Inner Circle’s political discussions. It was a respectable distance from where Lucien was writing at the desk, although still somewhat nearby. 

“I have a question for you,” Nesta turned to her younger sister, face like stone. “One that I have been thinking about for some time. What do you think our parents would have thought about the mating bond?” 

With wide, brown eyes Elain sucked in her breath. It was an unexpected question, but also a familiar one. For her thoughts had circled the very same doubts and insecurities that plagued her sister. “Well,” Elain wrung her hands nervously. “Mother would have adored Feyre’s, being mated to a High Lord after all. But if she didn’t like the outcome, she would have demanded a way to break it or alter it for her own advantage.” 

Nesta’s wicked grin revealed an agreement, knowing full well their mother would have been furious at her marriage and bond with an Illyrian general, and her matching status as a Valkyrie now. 

“As for father, well, I suppose, based on what he discussed with me in the past—there is a small chance he would have been disappointed.” Her voice dropped in both volume and confidence, barely escaping as a whisper passed her lips. As if she was instinctually afraid someone would hear, perhaps someone sitting across the room. 

Elain felt compelled to explain further. “He always told me the most important thing to find in a husband was true love. That I should not settle for anyone less than a kind, loyal heart who loves every part of me, because that kind of love will never leave you.” 

Out of the corner of her eye, Nesta regarded her with furrowed eyebrows. “And you do not believe that a mating bond can also encompass those very same feelings? That same love?” 

She considered her question carefully, chewing on her bottom lip. “Perhaps it can, but how can you know it is true? That it is not just the manifestation of desire in its place?” It was always that doubt, that fear, that crept into the darkest crevices of her heart. For as long as those shadows existed, she could not bring herself closer to her own mate, afraid she would be unable to determine the answer. In return, she was afraid of what she could possibly want or feel for him.

“I wish I could make you comprehend, Elain.” Nesta frowned, “I wish I could properly convey the feeling of how your soul glows when your mate loves you—”

Before Nesta could continue, Elain found herself apologizing with a hand on her elbow. “Gods forbid that I should undervalue the love and bond you share with Cassian, or Feyre’s either for that matter. It is a reminder that bonds can be true and constant attachments.”

She could not immediately have uttered another sentence; her heart was too full, her breath too much oppressed.

“You’re a good sister,” Nesta replied affectionately and Elain wonder if her sister could see past her tenderness, if anyone could witness the mask of kindness that Elain could so easily put on for the sake of others to hide her own feelings. The conversation faded as Feyre now joined them with Nyx on her hip, a welcome distraction for Elain as the three of them turned to him. 

“Ready to go?” Cassian’s voice eventually broke through the hum of the room, an echo across the parlor. “We need to meet with Vassa and Jurian.” Lucien was folding up a letter in great haste, and either could not or would not answer fully.

“Yes,” he said. “I will winnow us. I will be ready in half a minute.” 

Cassian left to wait for him at the front door, and Lucien, having sealed his letter with great rapidity, was indeed ready, with a hurried and agitated air, as if he was greatly impatient to leave. Elain could not understand it. Cassian had given her a smile and shoulder a warm squeeze as he left the room, but from Lucien himself, not a single word. He had passed out of the room without a look.  

Elain moved closer to the table where he had been writing, when suddenly she heard footsteps returning; the door opened and it was Lucien. He gave her a polite nod and gestured to where he had forgotten his gloves, instantly crossing the room to the desk. He drew out a letter from under the scattered papers, placed it before Elain with eyes glowing in longing fixed on her, and hastily collected his gloves, once again out of the room before anyone could even be aware he had been in it at all. 

The interaction was almost beyond expression. The letter, with strokes of pen that were hardly legibly, as if rushed, read “Elain Archeron,” was evidently the one which he had been folding so hastily. While he had supposedly been writing to Helion, he had also been addressing her. On the contents of that letter depended all which this world could do for her. Anything was possible. Sinking into the chair which he had occupied, succeeding to the very spot where he had leaned and written, her eyes devoured the following words:

“I can listen no longer in silence. I must speak to you by such means as are within my reach. You pierce my soul. I am half agony, half hope. Tell me not that I am too late, that such precious feelings are gone for ever. I offer myself to you again with a heart even more your own than when this bond first snapped, two and a half years ago. Dare not say that a mate’s love cannot be true, that his love is influenced by our tether. I have loved another, but none like you. Unjust I may have been, distant and resentful I have been, but never inconstant. You alone have brought me to Velaris. For you alone, I think and plan. Have you not seen this? Can you fail to have understood my wishes? I had not waited even these past few days after Solstice, could I have read your feelings, as I think you must have penetrated mine, I can hardly write. I am every instant hearing something which overpowers me. You sink your voice, but I can distinguish your true thoughts through the bond when they would be lost on others. Too good, too excellent female! You do us justice, indeed. You do believe that there is true attachment and constancy among males. Believe it to be most fervent, most undeviating in your mate,  L.V. I must go, uncertain of my fate; but I shall return hither, or follow the court, as soon as possible. A word, a look, will be enough to decide whether I enter the Night Court this evening or never again.” 

Such a letter was not to be soon recovered from. 

[thetotomoo]

Day 18, DHR Month, Books (Week 3): “Pride and Prejudice”

Title: The Deconstruction and Ruination of a Would-Be Gentleman

Word Count: 1,301

Chapters 1/3

Rating: E

Summary:

For all the privileges a gentlewoman has come to afford in the last two centuries, it has become a universal and acknowledged truth that a woman in possession of sense, sensibility, and her own good fortune is not in need of a husband.

CW: Eventual Smut, Wordplay, Fluff and Smut, Fast Burn, Jane Austen inspired, Dramione Month 2024

~~~***~~~

For all the privileges a gentlewoman has come to afford in the last two centuries, it has become a universal and acknowledged truth that a woman in possession of sense, sensibility, and her own good fortune is not in need of a husband.

Modern men, Hermione Granger once told him, simply lacked the attributes well suited to the title and breeding of good gentlemen. Men were crass, uncouth, and wholly ignorant of the importance of yearning.

And despite his mannerisms, education, and social graces, Draco Malfoy could hardly consider himself to be a proper gentleman. He had never considered himself modest, kind, or unassuming. He preferred to voice his opinions, show his ire, and never restrain any pride.

Pride was, without a doubt, the worst of Draco’s follies. It had been the reason for many blunders in his youth and the sole reason he was still making amends today. But while he meant to fully acquit himself to the witch who stood at his trial and spoke in his favor, today would not be that day.

No— today, after many hours working side by side at the newly formed Department of Mysteries and being subjected to her list, her opinions, and visions for the new Wizarding World, he simply had enough.

Granger had strolled through the Ministry doors that morning, dressed in an unusual garb bearing Pansy’s new clothing line and wearing the scantest drop of perfume— just enough to intrigue his senses. And when asked as to what occasion she had donned such an outfit for, she simply shrugged and said nothing.

Nothing as she bent over tables to reach for scrolls and books.

Nothing when she would brush past him through the wide stacks.

Nothing when the clock struck, signaling the end of the day and she stood, unfastening the top three buttons of her blouse and fanning herself in the freezing room before she turned on those impossibly high heels and walked away.

He meant to woo her—decided upon it at the end of the first week they began to work together when she reminded him she could still send him stumbling back with just her fist if he dared show any amount of indecency. But he was determined to be a gentleman by offering a proper apology and getting to know her likes and dislikes before bringing small gifts: large vases of flowers, the finest chocolates, and the rarest of books.

Then, after months of bestowing and lavishing attention on her, he would ask her to join him for dinner and whisk her away to a picnic in Rome or an exclusive restaurant in Paris.

Once he had plied her with wine and good food, Draco would politely bring her home, kiss her hand, and bid her good night and sweet dreams.

He would continue this for weeks and months and only ought to consider kissing her once he gained the approval of her friends and family.

He would wait like a good gentleman was expected to do and only take her to bed after they married.

But beneath the pressed suit, gleaming cufflinks, and styled pale blonde coiff, Draco Malfoy was not a gentleman. He was far from it, in fact, when his arms neither carried a meager bouquet nor held a bag of takeaway from Granger’s favorite Muggle restaurant just outside the walls of Diagon Alley.

He knocked insistently at her door, tapping his foot impatiently as he heard her voice sing from the other side.

“Coming!”

Draco’s brows twitched, and he frowned at the insinuation, tamping down the sudden flash of images of skin on skin.

“Malfoy!”

“Granger,” he nodded, leaning against the frame as nonchalantly as he could.

She was still dressed in those bloody clothes, the fabric draped across her shoulders and down her frame down to the tips of her toes (thankfully devoid of those heels). Unthankfully, she had not shucked off her blouse and had kept the three buttons at the top unfastened, giving him a glance at the lace beneath.

“Something the matter?” she asked, and he swore he caught a wisp of a smirk that was beginning to curve on her lips.

Draco was tempted, as he often resigned himself in moments such as this, to brush off her concern with a smirk and continue about his day. But he found himself, hands in his pockets, without so much as a distraction to divert her attention to anything but the need written on his face.

He could feel it— the heat that had risen up his neck to sit on his cheeks, the stiffness of his jaw as he glared longingly at her, and the rapid pulse at his neck as he tempered back a growl.

So, he chose the rather ungentlemanly course instead— honesty.

“You,” he said.

“Me?” She asked, arched brows furrowing as she opened the door further, “I’m afraid I don’t understand.”

“Tell me, Granger, were you aware how much I’ve struggled today because you chose to indulge the whim and fancy of one of Pansy’s ideas?”

“Struggled? Malfoy, I didn’t… it wasn’t—”

“Wasn’t what, Granger? Meant to cause me agonizing pain?”

“No! Well… yes… but no,” she finished and bit her lip.

“What?”

Hermione sighed and shifted on her feet, “I thought… well, you were moving so slow. Which I admire, mind you. It’s not very often a man shows interest, and even less often they listen to anything I have to say. So, when you didn’t ask last week about the Ministry ball…”

Her voice trailed, and she looked anywhere but him. He stood, swallowing thickly, hands finding their way out of his pockets to grip the frame of her door.

“Granger.”

“Pansy and Ginny… they had this grand idea that I should… and then you would…”

“Granger…”

“Well, I was wrong. And I feel such a fool because you probably—”

“Granger,” he snapped before softening when he caught her gaze, “You aren’t wrong.”

Her lashes fluttered, and then she stared, her shapely lips pouting while she regarded him.

“You’re never wrong.”

“So, you…”

“I like you.”

“You like me?” Hermione asked, stepping forward to search his face for any untruth. But there was none— not when she had effectively reduced him and his plans to dust. He had meant to court her like a proper gentleman should and slowly lay the foundations of his affections at her feet. And yet, here he was, shattered and made undone by the mere sight of her in new clothes.

“Yes, I like you. The insufferable witch that you are. Do you have any idea how torturous the past few months have been around you?” He groaned, “To see you laugh, to hear your voice, and share what joy you found in the pages of those books. I meant to do this, you know… tell you everything.”

“Then tell me, Malfoy,” she whispered before the warmth of her palms cupped his face.

He resisted dropping his hands to her hips and pinning her to him until he was sure he had memorized every dip and curve of her figure.

“I can’t,” he said and added when he saw the drop of her face, “Not if I mean to treat you properly like a good gentleman.”

“Malfoy,” she said, fingers caressing and pulling him to whisper along his lips, “I don’t want proper or gentle.”

What remaining notion of propriety Draco had left, burned and turned to ash when Hermione kissed him. She was not slow or gentle with the tug of her fingers through his hair and press of her body against his. And when she nipped and swept her tongue along Draco’s bottom lip, he shuddered and groaned, finally letting his hands fall to her hips and allow her to pull him through the threshold.

[sfaira]

Messy doodle of René Lemongrove, the young lord, a visionary of a thousand unfinished projects and the youngest child of the most scientific family of all - my character for Flowerton Larp this weekend. I had a blast, played my first crossgender role and got some praise for it being believable and even stepped outside of the comfort zone a bit to dip my toes in a romantic plot. Photo of the Lemongrove family under the cut! It was a Bridgerton themed ball larp with some scandals and intrigues, some dancing and amazing food and drinks!

[ash-and-books]

Rating: 1/5

Book Blurb: “If you grew up reading Jane Austen and Agatha Christie (or are a fan of Bridgerton and Knives Out), you will adore A Most Agreeable Murder.”—Kate Stayman-London, bestselling author of One to Watch Feisty, passionate Beatrice Steele has never fit the definition of a true lady, according to the strict code of conduct that reigns in Swampshire, her small English township—she is terrible at needlework, has absolutely no musical ability, and her artwork is so bad it frightens people. Nevertheless, she lives a perfectly agreeable life with her marriage-scheming mother, prankster father, and two younger sisters— beautiful Louisa and forgettable Mary. But she harbors a dark secret: She is obsessed with the true crime cases she reads about in the newspaper. If anyone in her etiquette-obsessed community found out, she’d be deemed a morbid creep and banished from respectable society forever. For her family’s sake, she’s vowed to put her obsession behind her. Because eligible bachelor Edmund Croaksworth is set to attend the approaching autumnal ball, and the Steele family hopes that Louisa will steal his heart. If not, Martin Grub, their disgusting cousin, will inherit the family’s estate, and they will be ruined or, even worse, forced to move to France. So Beatrice must be on her best behavior . . . which is made difficult when a disgraced yet alluring detective inexplicably shows up to the ball. Beatrice is just holding things together when Croaksworth drops dead in the middle of a minuet. As a storm rages outside, the evening descends into a frenzy of panic, fear, and betrayal as it becomes clear they are trapped with a killer. Contending with competitive card games, tricky tonics, and Swampshire’s infamous squelch holes, Beatrice must rise above decorum and decency to pursue justice and her own desires—before anyone else is murdered.

Review:

Jane Austen meets Agatha Christie in this story about a young lady who loves solving murder mysteries who finds herself facing a real murder mystery. Beatrice Steele lives in a little township called Swampshire, where there are strict codes that women are meant to follow, and one of them is that women should definitely not spend all day reading about murder mysteries and sending off letters to detectives about their opinions on their cases. Beatrice adores Inspector Huxley, and dislikes his ex partner detective Drake. When she is on her way with her family to e party where a new and wealthy man is in town to possible get a bride, they run into the grumpy and rude detective Drake. Drake and Beatrice instantly dislike one another and Beatrice’s prejudice is clear ( reminding anyone of Pride and Prejudice?). Beatrice is the eldest daughter and is expected to marry but her younger sister Louisa is the beauty that everyone falls for and their youngest sister Mary is the quiet one no one notices, while their father is a prankster and their mother is a hell bent on getting them married and settled ( SOUNDING A LOT LIKE PRIDE AND PREJUDICE???) theres even a woman that Beatrice dislikes named Caroline, and a huge flirt named Frank who is known for being a playboy.... who just happens to have his eye on a certain younger sister ( SERIOUSLY). Beatrice and Drake and co all end up at the party and then dead bodies start dropping and now Beatrice and Drake have to find a way to work together to solve this locked party murder mystery. Unfortunately this one missed the mark for me in so many ways, I was so looking forward to a fun Jane Austen/ Agatha Christie mystery ( I adore both of those authors so much) and this one just felt so meh compared to what it was inspired by. Beatrice was insufferable, I don’t know whether its because she is written as so much younger and feels like a teen rather than an older young lady, and honestly the mystery itself was lackluster. I just found myself happy to have made it to the end of the book despite not having a fun time at all. Overall, if you like mysteries with a bit of Jane Austen, give it a try, maybe it’ll work out better for you than it did for me.

*Thanks Netgalley and Random House Publishing Group - Random House, Random House for sending me an arc in exchange for an honest review*

[cloud3francois]

Pride and Prejudice: Who Betrayed Elizabeth?

[thoughtkick]

And sometimes I have kept my feelings to myself, because I could find no language to describe them in.

Jane Austen

[quotefeeling]

There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves; it is not my nature. My attachments are always excessively strong.

Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey

[kissmypoets-hp]

hello drarry fandom please accept my humble offerings... they are reading together <3

[andallshallbewell]

[resqectable]

And sometimes I have kept my feelings to myself, because I could find no language to describe them in.

Jane Austen

[quotelr]

When I fall in love, it will be forever.

Jane Austen

[perfectfeelings]

I was quiet; but I was not blind.

Jane Austen

[perfectquote]

There is nothing I would not do for those who are really my friends. I have no notion of loving people by halves; it is not my nature. My attachments are always excessively strong.

Jane Austen, Northanger Abbey

[pemberlaey]

But you went after him!!! That’s SO Jane Austen

[surqrised]

I was quiet; but I was not blind.

Jane Austen

[evermorelore]

𝐼'𝑚 𝑑𝑜𝑖𝑛𝑔 𝑚𝑦 𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑡. 𝑌𝑜𝑢𝑟 𝑏𝑒𝑠𝑡? 𝐴𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑤ℎ𝑎𝑡? 𝐴𝑏𝑜𝑢𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑎𝑛𝑑 𝑚𝑒. 𝐼 𝑑𝑜𝑛'𝑡 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑛𝑔𝑟𝑦. 𝑊ℎ𝑎𝑡 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑦𝑜𝑢 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑚𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒?

did I start drawing this last night as I watched persuasion? yes. regency au elucian when?