#my Jane Austen fic

[light-the-spark-of-dawn]

Jason Todd was That Kid who would stay up all night reading if no one stopped him- and he was also sneaky enough to hide his book and pretend to be asleep when Alfred or Bruce checked on him. Unfortunately, this usually meant that he ended up cranky and tired during the day- and his nighttime patrols as Robin only made things worse.

Most parents would simply confiscate the book and flashlight. But most parents didn't have kids who were adopted street rats. It had taken far longer for Jason to become comfortable in the Manor than it had for Dick, and neither Bruce nor Alfred wanted to undo that progress by taking away his possessions, even if it was temporary and for his own good.

Hilariously, the solution came in the form of Hal, Ollie, and Barry all falling asleep during a Justice League meeting while Bruce was reading off a report. Even Clark and Diana were starting to doze off toward the end. And not a single one of them were even the slightest bit apologetic about it.

"Sorry Spooky, but I don't have the willpower to stay awake through your speeches."

"I have an accelerated attention span, so you might only have been talking for twenty minutes but for me it's more like three hours. And my blood sugar is starting to crash."

"This meeting could and should have been an email."

"To be fair, it was a very dry report."

"You have a nice voice, Bruce. But we can only listen to it for so long."

Incorrigible menaces, the whole lot of them. He missed the days when his fellow heroes were too intimidated to talk back to him. Still, his friends' irreverence gave Bruce an idea. He returned to the manor and went to check on his son. Sure enough, there was light peeking out from beneath his bedroom door. "Can I come in, chum? I know you're awake."

"...how'd you know?"

"I'm Batman." Even through the closed door, Bruce can feel Jason's judgmental look. "And even a little bit of light is pretty noticeable in a dark hallway."

"Damn. Alright, come in."

The hinges creak as Bruce pushes open the door. Jason is sitting up in his bed, with a thick book on his lap and flashlight in hand. His face is expressionless, but Batman's careful eye notes the slight tension in the boy's posture.

Bruce pulls Jason's desk chair over and sits next to the bed. "So, what're you reading?"

Jason tilts the book upward to show the cover of The Complete Works of William Shakespeare.

"Huh. I thought you preferred prose."

"I do." Jason shrugged. "But Othello was interesting enough when we read it in class, so I figured I'd give some of the other plays a shot."

"I see. So which one are you reading now?"

"Julius Caesar."

"Ah I had to read that for my eighth grade English class. Alfred told me then that Shakespeare sounds better when read out loud." Bruce pointed at the book. "Mind if I have a crack at it? I have it on good authority that I have a nice voice."

"Who said that??" Jason looks skeptical but still hands over the book.

"Wonder Woman." Bruce flicks on Jason's desk lamp so he can see the letters, leans back in the chair, and begins to read, "The fault, dear Brutus, is not in our stars..."

As Bruce reads the lines of iambic pentameter in a slow, steady cadence, Jason's eyelids begin to droop. Before long, he's fast asleep, and doesn't stir when Bruce stops reading and tucks a bookmark between the pages, when he sets the book down on the desk and turns off the lamp, or even when the hinges creak as he closes the door behind him.

Just in case though, Bruce waits in the hallway for several minutes to see if Jason's flashlight comes back on. Thankfully, there is only darkness. Bruce breathes a sigh of relief, then jumps at Alfred's sudden quiet whisper.

"Quite the performance, Master Bruce. Though I do think the Bard would consider it a tad underwhelming."

"Well," Bruce chuckled. "you told me once that an actor should play to his crowd, and my audience was one boy who needed to sleep."

"An unorthodox interpretation of my lesson, but if it encourages Master Jason towards healthier sleeping habits, I think it is a lesson applied well." Alfred nudges Bruce's elbow gently, guiding him along the hallway toward his own bedroom. "Now, do follow his example and get some rest. Or else I shall have to recite Pericles, and nobody wants that."

[comradekiwi]

bkdk regency era au confession request for @bakutogabaku :)

The castle halls were bustling with movement, maids and cooks and butlers shuffling to and fro as they prepared for the ball. It was easy to get caught underfoot, if you didn’t know your way around.

Fortunately, Izuku knew his way around quite well, and narrowly avoided crashing into a tray of cakes by ducking under it and into the hidden alcove behind the winter tapestry, the giant one of the Bakugou’s ancestral home. Izuku heaved a great sigh of relief, untensing. The crowds got a bit much for him, sometimes. He was only here to see Kacchan, anyway.

A hot hand gripped the back of his head. “Deku?”

Izuku startled, whipping around swiftly to the beloved sight of his childhood friend, if vague and blurry in the dark. Good thing Izuku would know those shoulders anywhere.

“Kacchan? I thought you’d have snuck out to the roof by now.” That was where he had been going, before the busy movement had overwhelmed him.

“Got sidetracked, same as you, it seems,” Kacchan said, sliding to sit on the floor. Izuku sat across from him, eyes adjusting to the dim light. Katsuki drew a candle up out of nowhere and lit it, setting it next to them against the wall of the small space just big enough for them to sit without touching.

Kacchan did not love crowds either, skilled as he was in commanding them. But he’d never admit to hiding from them, no, it was always “regrouping” or “getting sidetracked,” to Izuku’s endless endearment.

“Pity. The wind is lovely today. Good I found you, though, or I’d be sharing our picnic with my own self,” Izuku laughed, digging through his satchel for the lunch parcels his mother had packed for him and Katsuki.

Kacchan straightened up, the sight making Izuku’s heart clench, Kacchan in his regal adornments sitting up earnestly at the mention of his peasant mother’s homemade food. “Auntie made it?”

“Mm.”

“Fuck yeah,” Katsuki grinned wildly, teeth white in the dimness. Izuku decidedly did not swoon at the gleeful stretch of his large mouth, instead focusing on finding the fruit he knew he’d thrown into his bag.

“Wait–” Kacchan interrupted, staying his hand. He reached over to put everything Izuku had taken out back into his satchel. “Give me your coat.”

Izuku looked at the coat rolled up and clasped to his bag, then at Katsuki, deadpan.

“Kacchan, it’ll never fit.” Much to Izuku chagrin and secret delight, and Katsuki’s amusement and much more vocal delight, they were no longer around the same height like they’d been as children, Katsuki instead towering over him by at least a foot. And he was still growing. Curse his dragonsblood genes.

“It’s not for the chill, dumbass,” Kacchan rolled his eyes, “Just give it here.”

Izuku handed it over obediently, watching as Kacchan fashioned it into some sort of blasphemization of a shawl.

“Brilliant. I’ll let your mother know you’re all set for the ball, then,” Izuku giggled.

“Shut the fuck up,” Katsuki grouched, pushing Izuku with a hand to the face, “and let’s go.”

A picnic elsewhere, then. Izuku loved those.

Izuku peeked out the tapestry; the crowd had not lessened in the slightest, which meant too many people around for anyone to notice the prince, but also more people who could potentially notice the prince. Izuku glanced back at Kacchan, who had removed his own fancy coat, doing his best to look inconspicuous. Izuku glanced down at the coat in his hands, the rich material and embroidery twinkling in the candlelight.

“What are you going to do with–” Izuku was cut off as Katsuki shoved the outerwear at him abruptly, mumbling something while looking away. “Huh?”

“Put it on,” Katsuki repeated, a bit louder, staring Izuku down. “They’ve seen you in my things enough times to not pay you any mind. And it will distract them from me.”

Izuku blushed furiously at all the implications of that statement that Katsuki obviously did not mean and probably had not even considered, false as they were. Izuku in Katsuki’s clothes was simply a natural byproduct of the two of them growing up together, impromptu sleepovers in the castle, and Izuku’s slightly smaller stature when they were children that allowed for uninhibited clothes-sharing. Or, rather, clothes-giving, given Katsuki’s birthright of plenty and Izuku’s modest upbringing. Queen Mitsuki always thought he looked simply adorable in Katsuki’s clothes anyway, and the young prince Katsuki had never shared the sentiment but had always pushed his clothes onto Izuku anyway, often brusquely, often with pink cheeks. Izuku thought he was so sweet, to care about Izuku like that, even if he did not want to be vocal about it.

(Izuku was not poor, either, not by any means, but everyone was some degree of worse-off compared to the royal Bakugous.)

(The maids did not even talk, accustomed to the little green-haired boy adorned in their prince’s things as they chased each other around the castle with wooden swords and tiny battle cries. New servants learned quickly to expect a freckled face in random corners, reading or writing or sketching, leaning on their prince’s shoulder or chattering at him while he trained. It was the way of the world, to see a golden head held high followed by the curly one trailing after it, or next to it.)

Their current mission was a success, Izuku slipping out of the alcove swamped in Katsuki’s expensive coat and through the crowd like a minnow, stopped only once by one of the kindest butlers, who gave him a once over and a knowing smile before slipping two tarts into his hands and nudging him off. All the while, Kacchan must have ducked his way through the halls too, because Izuku found him leaning on the wall just inside the doorway of the stairwell leading up to their favourite tower.

Kacchan swept his gaze over his figure (as if checking for injuries – Kacchan was so silly sometimes), nodded to himself, and swept away up the stairs, dramatic as if waving his formal cape behind him. He did not look back, knowing Izuku would follow, which he did, rolling his eyes at his back.

They settled down by a huge open window overlooking the grounds, half next-to and half in-front of each other, so they could enjoy both the company and the view at once. Izuku unpacked their food again, handing Kacchan a parcel and avoiding staring at his strong fingers deftly untying the string so tiny under his hands.

Izuku turned his face to the sun, enjoying the air. Every part of the kingdom had its charm, but Izuku had a bit of bias for the castle grounds, perhaps because he spent half his childhood here running around. Something about the sectioned off luxury set him at peace, like nothing could harm him here on the Bakugou’s property.

“Izuku,” Kacchan said suddenly. Izuku looked up, moderately alarmed at his serious tone. Katsuki had his face turned away from him, eyes stubbornly fixed on something in the distance.

“Yes, Kacchan?”

Izuku squinted. Was… was Katsuki blushing?

The prince cleared his throat, fumbling for words uncharacteristically. Izuku was definitely alarmed. “Is something wrong?”

Kacchan finally looked at him, looked into his eyes for a second before the pinkness on his cheeks deepened and he looked away again, picking at his food.

“Izuku.” He said again. Izuku leaned forward, watching him plaintively.

Katsuki glanced at him and away quickly, squeezing his eyes shut as the pink spread. “Fucking – stop that.”

“Stop what?” Izuku wasn’t doing anything.

“Your stupid– nevermind,” he huffed, shaking his head and seeming to steel himself.

What in the world? Katsuki never had any issue telling him anything. Impatient, Izuku pushed, “Kacchan, what’s going o–”

“How would you court someone?”

All the blood in Izuku’s body curdled into ice.

What?

“How would I..” Izuku swallowed. “Oh, have you… have you finally found someone?”

Every year, around the time of the Sun Cycle festivities, Auntie Mitsuki would always ruffle Katsuki’s hair and jokingly ask when he’d get around to finding a future royal consort. Kacchan would always smack her hands away and glare, almost too sharply for the question at hand, and the queen would laugh and laugh and swing an arm around Izuku, who was usually present, and try to goad him into joining her in teasing his best friend. Izuku would laugh too, though increasingly weakly as the years passed and he grew more and more hopelessly, irrevocably, tortuously in love with Bakugou Katsuki. He had a feeling the queen knew about that, too, given how she always eyed him a touch too long whenever she brought up the subject of Kacchan’s future partner, features calculating. Izuku had grown alongside Kacchan enough to have picked up on skill of inscrutability necessary in the Court, but little got past Auntie Mitsuki, especially when it concerned her sons.

All this to say Izuku had considered the possibility of the queen actually pushing Kacchan to find a consort and found it lacking, so he had put the fear out of his mind, convincing himself the action was out of rationality rather than desperate self-preservation.

It seems he had been horribly, horribly mistaken.

Katsuki was clearly blushing now, face red and eyes slightly too-wide, even as he mustered up a face of impassiveness from some depths of practice from years in court. His clenched jaw and red face were the only things giving him away.

Izuku waited in the pause with bated breath, world at a standstill.

“...Yes.” Katsuki said, finally.

Ah.

Izuku’s heart cracked right down the middle, the pieces falling weightlessly out of his chest and over the tower ledge with nothing to catch them. Ah. Of course. How foolish of Izuku to think this day would not come, when Kacchan could so easily find someone as glorious as he, someone worthy of his affection and his future, in this wide and vast world.

Izuku swallowed tightly and promised himself not to cry in front of Kacchan.

“That’s. Nice.” He mumbled, then winced. Very subtle, Izuku. “Um! I would get them flowers probably, maybe, and …”

Katsuki was listening attentively, watching Izuku’s face and nodding along with more focus than he usually ever gave publicly to his stories.

(Not that he didn’t listen. He always did, just was almost shy about it, always doing something else as he lended an ear, sometimes working in pretense, sometimes actually. He seemed to get a lot of work done when simultaneously listening to Izuku, which was probably half of why Katsuki always dragged him along whenever he had duties to fulfill or training or homework.)

But seeing Katsuki devote such single-mindedness now, attentive in a way he rarely was, broke Izuku’s heart that much more, ground it into a fine dust. This must be very important to him, if Kacchan was taking it so seriously.

Izuku was torn between purposely sabotaging him, and helping him like a good best friend. Unfortunately, Kacchan’s happiness was the most important thing to him, and this was clearly something he cared about deeply, so despite the devil on his shoulder (that sounded suspiciously like Kacchan, actually), Izuku chose the latter with aching fingers.

“...and I think asking is good. You can ask them what they like and make it happen, they’d probably like that,” Izuku finished, letting out a quiet breath. Please no more.

Katsuki looked contemplative. “What about if it was you?”

Oh sweet mercy. “Huh?”

Katsuki cleared his throat, still horribly pink, and graciously did not laugh at Izuku’s squeak. “If someone asked you what you liked to be courted with. What would you say? Hypothetically.”

Oh, Kacchan, this was just cruel. Asking Izuku to fantasize about being courted by someone when the only person he’d want to be asked by was sitting cross-legged in front of him, asking for advice about courting someone else entirely.

Izuku stuffed his face with rice to stall and give himself an excuse in case he sounded choked up when he spoke. “Er, let’s see…” Oh, good, he sounded normal. “Well, one time Prince Todoroki tried courting me–”

Katsuki sat up straight immediately, face turning to stone. “He what.”

Izuku shivered at the deep rumble of his voice, and rolled his eyes. “See, this is why I didn’t tell you.”

Kacchan was notoriously possessive over his things, and Izuku liked to pretend to himself that his inclusion in that list could be in a romantic context, even if it was most certainly not. In truth, he’d kept notice of Shouto courting him away from Kacchan in a bid to keep up the secret fantasy of a jealous reaction in his head, to avoid Kacchan’s reaction in real life from squashing that hope. He would, Izuku knew, likely lash out in a possessive rage simply because he saw Todoroki as a threat for some reason, and not because it had anything to do with Izuku. And, if it did, it was simply because Kacchan had not really changed much from the four year old who had stomped up to Izuku under the willow in the town square and declared him his.

Izuku supposed he hadn’t changed much either from the four year old who had stood under the willow in town square and agreed.

In the present time, Kacchan leaned into Izuku’s space, seething. “You tell me everything.”

“You didn’t tell me you found someone,” Izuku shot back automatically, then winced at Kacchan’s taken aback expression. “Sorry.” He could feel dread curdling in his stomach, a creeping, sick fear that this heartbreak would turn into resentment, into the poisoning of his closeness with Kacchan, into a growing, necrotic distance between them until they were but estranged former–

“No, I’m… sorry.” Katsuki said lowly, and Izuku’s head whipped up, shocked. Kacchan rarely apologized out loud, preferring to show remorse through action.

He looked conflicted, rubbing a hand through spiky hair, rings glinting. “Is this– is your courtship with that bastard the same kind of thing, then?” Kacchan muttered, as if the words pained him.

Same– oh. Kacchan thought he’d kept Todoroki a secret for the same reason Katsuki had kept his own romantic interest a secret. For how precious and genuine it felt, probably.

“No, no, Kacchan,” Izuku hurried to amend, hating himself for it, for still pretending he meant anything to Kacchan worth apologizing for a courtship over. “It was nothing. He only tried to court me, I had little interest, and we parted as friends.”

Katsuki sat back reluctantly, grumbling something about “calling it” and “stupid fucking Todorokis.” He took a minute to calm himself, and Izuku waited patiently, well accustomed to Kacchan’s gradually developed ritual for dealing with his temper. After all, Izuku had helped him come up with it.

Kacchan finally breathed out slowly and reopened his eyes, looking into Izuku’s waiting ones. He cleared his throat. “Well?” he prompted. “What did the bastard do when he… then.”

Izuku stifled a giggle at his clearly still-grumpy pout, and at the jolly memory. He loved the prince of the neighboring kingdom dearly, if platonically, even more happily now that they’d discovered that was mutual. “There was a bouquet of roses, if I remember correctly. And an invite to accompany him in his fancy carriage to go into town. Oh, and Shouto–” here Katsuki’s eyebrows shot up at the familiar use of a given name– “Shouto bartered with his father to let him stay an extra week here in return for extra training, which was sweet. You know how he hates that.”

Once, when Kacchan and Izuku were quite small, they had pranked the Lady Ayako, sneaking a skunk-stink-soaked handkerchief into her purse in the middle of court. Among such respectable and high-class company she could not possibly make expressive faces in revulsion, out of propriety. Meaning Izuku and Kacchan got to giggle from the shadows, peeking from behind a massive curtain, as the Lady attempted to stifle her automatic twisted faces of disgust in the name of etiquette, resulting in the truly hilarious expression of what looked like, ultimately, constipation.

(The Lady Ayako had been a neutral figure in their lives, until she had one day turned up her nose at Izuku’s lovingly well-worn vest and made some snide remark about the quality of the young prince’s company. Coincidentally, Kacchan had devised the skunk prank the next day.)

(Perhaps even more curiously, when Uncle Masaru had swept back the curtain and unearthed the giggling children, he had merely frowned at them and sent them to bed with naught but a stern word about spying on people. The perpetrators of the smelly clutch were never found, and Lady Ayako was politely asked to leave early.)

Katsuki, at present, bore an expression remarkably similar to Lady Ayako’s that night.

“What a regular fuckin’ Romeo,” Izuku thought he heard him mutter under his breath.

“I could do way better than that,” Katsuki announced, loudly. Izuku smiled at him fondly.

“I’m sure you can, Kacchan,” he said, very bravely ignoring the broken pieces of his heart rattling around petulantly. “Whoever you ask will love whatever way you do it, because Kacchan’s amazing.”

I wouldn’t need anything, Izuku did not say. You could confess with a blade through my heart and I’d still collapse from happiness more than anything else. I would take anything, anything–

“When will you do it?” Izuku asked aloud, cutting off his internal spiraling.

“Hmm. Tomorrow,” Katsuki said decidedly. Izuku choked.

“To– that’s so soon! Needn’t you prepare?”

Katsuki shook his head, looking out over the grounds, eyes distant. “I have everything I need.”

…tbc :)

[firawren]

Oooh can we have 10 with colonel brandon and Marianne please?

Good choice for them! It's very romantic. Which then made me think of Marianne wanting to be kissed on every spot on her body, in every manner, so she could decide which is the most romantic kiss. And now you have this:

10. A kiss along the jawline

"And what about here?" Brandon pushed Marianne's curls off the side of her face and slowly pressed his mouth to her jaw, with soft, parted lips, watching her face as he did so. Her eyelids fluttered closed with a contented sigh, and she smiled as he let his gentle kisses roam up and down the short length of bone.

"Lovely," she murmured. "Sensual. The tension of having you so close to my mouth, yet not on my mouth, makes for a very agreeable sensation." She ran her fingers through his hair and opened her eyes to smile warmly at him. "And the intimacy of having you so close and being able to look into your eyes adds to the romance."

"What if I do it like this?" He leaned in as though he was going to kiss her jaw again, but instead he bit it softly, making her cry out in surprise. He immediately soothed over it with his tongue, then laid another worshipful kiss on top. He lifted his head to look at her, his eyes heavy-lidded.

"Exquisite," she breathed. "Exciting. That may be one of the best so far."

He smiled. "Then I shall give you more of them."

Written for the kiss ask game. Keep 'em coming!

Read all of these kiss fic snippets at the tag #kiss snippet. Read all of my stuff at the tag #my writing.

[zyrafowe-sny]

10 Fic Recs for Feedback Fest 2024/International Fanworks Day

There are so many amazing fics out there, but here are a few recs in honor of @transformativeworks's Feedback Fest.

But We Don't Have to Talk About It (The Owl House, by @halcyonhue): This is a brand new fic and so, so good. Excellent post-finale Luz & Hunter messiness.

A Potter's Field (The Owl House, by @sercezgazety): I can't make a fic rec list without this fic (I also had the pleasure of beta reading it). Fairly Hunter-centric. Written before WAD, but deals with post-finale politics, lustration, trials, grimwalkers, personhood.

phantom pains (The Owl House, by @crimeronan): RATED E AND MIND THE TAGS — SA! Not an easy topic, so gorgeously, hauntingly written.

get through it (The Owl House, by @polyhexian): Alador-centric. Excellent use of second person.

things we lost in the fire (Nimona graphic novel, by @prodigaldaughteralice): Wonderfully-written Comic!Ambrosius and Meredith Blitzmeyer.

Lunch and Other Obscenities (Star Trek 2009): Uhura & Gaila cross-cultural misunderstandings.

An Ever-Fixed Mark (Jane Austen, by @amarguerite): Augh, this series. Some of the best fic on AO3. Fantastic writing, Soulmate deconstruction, war, grief, politics, AU spin offs.

i'll write you a harmony in C (Jane Austen): Modern Jane Austen AU featuring Mary Bennett and Henry Crawford. I don't even remember when I first stumbled across this fic but I've revisited it multiple times over the years.

Beside me singing in the Wilderness (80 Days): Amazing work that really takes advantage of (and builds upon) the worldbuilding of the game.

have you heard (Star Wars sequel trilogy): Written between movies and no longer canon compliant, but a great fic about the power of stories.

[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!)

[19burstraat]

Uh oh

[ian-thebean]

Loving Mansfield Park is like being soul-bound to the Necronomicon. It has cursed me with love for a book I cannot endorse. I am tethered to this tome of intellectually stimulating misery.

"What's Jane's worst book?" my friends ask me

"Ah," I say, solemnly shaking my head, "let me tell you the woeful tale of Mansfield Park. It is an unpleasant book to read. All of the characters make me sad in different ways. Fanny Price is deeply loveable and constantly unhappy. Edmund is her father figure and first cousin. Yes they do get married. Sir Thomas is a slaver. Mrs. Norris is abusive in a horribly familiar way. I love this book tenderly, with all of its awful awful vibes, and I need to talk about it constantly. Unlike Austen's other works, however, I cannot ask a friend to read it in good conscience. The pacing is frustrating, the characters infuriating, the regency morality utterly unpalatable. How can I recommend that my dear friends spend their precious free time reading 350+ pages of less-than-pleasant prose??"

And then comes the all-present question: why do I, a deeply transsexual leftist with very little patience for hierarchy of any kind, think about this book so much? The things I could do instead are legion (play the flute, color, sew, bake, hang w/ friends, to name a few), so why don't I do them?

Anyway there's no conclusion to this post. We stay slaying

[dreamyelectronicmusic]

Hi! I'm a HUGE Jane Austen fan who recently got into Young Royals and I saw someone asked for your fanfic in the confessions blog. So of course I set to read it. I have read other stories set in an Austen like setting (including wilmon's) but I've never felt the depth of the story as I did with yours.

I know there's still a chapter left but so far, I think you've captured what could've been Lizzie/Darcy's povs in a modern setting with Simon/Wille's povs.

Their motivations are obviously different and yet I can actually feel the Austen spirit on them.

It's such a good story, I think you've done an amazing job so far. Would love to see more of your wilmon takes in other Austen stories 🫶🏽

Anon 🥺🥺🥺 Thank you so much, you have no idea what this ask means to me! Pride and Prejudice is one of my favourite books ever and I’m so happy the fic feels somewhat true to the original. Obviously it this isn’t a full AU and even for what it is it hasn’t exactly turned out the way I first imagined because some parallels ended up feeling too forced so I had let them go, but it still has the core of “my feelings for you are unchanged but one word from you will silence me on the subject forever” that I love so so much. That’s what it’s all about!!!

(Also sorry that the last chapter is taking a long time again. I WILL finish it, I just haven’t been able to foucs on it lately.)

I’ve never given any thought to wilmonifying any other Austen stories but now that you mention it, Persuasion?! I’m not writing yet ANOTHER story about them breaking up at the end of s3 and then getting back together years later but just imagine. It would hurt so good. 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 you almost broke it, eight years and a half ago.

OR! Northanger Abbey AU where Simon starts suspecting that Erik’s death wasn’t an accident. That could be so fun.

[rockyroadkylers]

i was calling the outline for my "canon if alex was a single dad" fic complete but then i realized that i've changed so much about "canon" that it's no longer recognizable as... canon 😂 it can still be considered a parallel canon au bc all the canon events are technically there, but this is really just a longwinded way of complaining that i have no fucking clue what to do about the state dinner scene since the actual canon version of that scene is unusable in the context of my fic 🤣 i have no ideas

i thought i had a complete outline and now i have to go back to the drawing board to completely rewrite a previously very horny scene into something decidedly not horny

so i guess it's more like "complete outline, except for that one scene that will take five minutes to write and nobody is going to care about in the grand scheme of things but it's going to annoy me until i get it sorted out"

[divorceegf]

What do I not owe you! You taught me a lesson, hard indeed at first, but most advantageous. By you, I was properly humbled. I came to you without a doubt of my reception. You showed me how insufficient were all my pretensions to please a woman worthy of being pleased.

Daenerys & Sansa + the mortifying ordeal of having a crush, Austen style

for @dollfacerobot ♥

[4getfulimaginator2022]

Love, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Literature, for @youcancallme-ray. Regency AU. In 1812 London, Lady Daenerys Targaryen, daughter of the late Earl of Dragonstone, finds herself a guest of the illustrious merchant, Mr. Illyrio Mopatis, alongside her pernicious brother, Lord Viserys Targaryen. One day, in a quest for fine literature, she happens upon the oldest bookshop in the Town and befriends the charming shop clerk there. Among the Ton, their ensuing romance is a tale of pride, prejudice, and forbidden love. Completed. Read on AO3.

[cinnamoonyz]

https://archiveofourown.org/works/61259806/chapters/156742474

Second Chapter of "The weight of remembering" now available!

"The Weight of Remembering" Summary

After leaving Rose forever in the parallel universe, the Doctor and Donna fly away in the TARDIS, only for it to crash into the Regency era, seemingly caused by a time crack that leaves them stranded. Forced to investigate, they meet Rosemary Tyler, identical to Rose but with no memory of them. To uncover whether she is their Rose or another version, the Doctor must get closer to her; however, Regency society’s strict customs leave him no choice but to formally court her, a task made even more difficult when he discovers she is already being pursued by another mysterious man.

"Shall We Dance" by @licieoic

"The Hat"

Spoiler!

"Your hat, Miss," he said, his voice low and steady. He extended the bonnet toward her, still holding it by the ribbon. Rose’s gaze flicked to his face, and she froze. His features were striking, his brown eyes holding hers with an intensity that unsettled her. There was something about him, something almost familiar, though she could not say why. For a moment, her breath hitched. "Thank you, sir." As Rose reached out to take the bonnet from his outstretched hand, a second gust of wind caught it, tugging it free and sending it flying once more, this time in the opposite direction. The gentleman inclined his head slightly, his lips curving into the faintest of smiles, as though suppressing a laugh. "Your bonnet does seem to have a flair for adventure, Miss." he remarked, his tone calm yet faintly teasing. Heat rose to her cheeks. Speaking alone with a man, however briefly, was highly improper, though she couldn’t deny a fleeting curiosity about this strange gentleman. "Rosemary Tyler!" Jacqueline’s voice rang out sharply from behind, laced with impatience. Rose turned briefly, catching sight of her mother holding the bonnet, arms crossed in disappointment.

[firawren]

My 2024 writing master list

This year, I wrote 17 fics on AO3, plus 3 ficlets on this Tumblr directly, and 7 stories on my sideblog @regency-monster-love. I've put ⭐stars⭐ next to the ones I'm particularly proud of.

Tumblr ficlets

⭐ The lighthouse keeper and Salty (OCs)

Newlywed ghost stories (Northanger Abbey)

No apple picking (Emma)

Pride and Prejudice fics

Six inches deep (in mud) (E, Elizabeth/Darcy, 2k words): post-canon sexy times

⭐ Tea time and titles (G, Elizabeth/Darcy, 1k words): post-canon fluff

Seize such an opportunity (G, Elizabeth/Darcy, 1k words): canon scene told from new POV

The perfect opportunity to propose (G, Elizabeth/Darcy, 730 words): missing canon scene

Regency monster OC fics

⭐ Colin and Susannah spicy romance (male werewolf x female human, 9 parts, mix of SFW and NSFW)

Orc mating ceremony (male orc x female human, NSFW)

Drawing room dubcon (male vampire x male human, NSFW)

Carriage accident rescue (male centaur x female human, SFW)

First time full moon shifted sex (male werewolf x female human, NSFW)

⭐ Arranged marriage with a gargoyle (male gargoyle x female human, SFW)

Dancing with a devilishly charming cambion (male cambion x female human, SFW)

Beauty and the Beast "Transformation" AU fics

I wrote 3 new fics that take place within the universe of my "Transformation" canon-divergent fic where Beast stays a beast.

⭐ Breeding a fresh start (E, Beast/Belle, 7.5k words): nasty yet sappy monster fucking

Swimming and soothing (T, Beast/Belle, 2.5k words): summertime fluff with some hurt/comfort

Mismatched perfection (E, Gaston/Lumiere, 3k words): when Gaston’s teasing gets a bit too rough for his much smaller partner Lumiere, Lumiere decides he’s going to be the one in charge for a change

Beauty and the Beast "Brute" AU fics

I wrote 2 new fics that take place within the universe of my "Brute" canon-divergent fic where Belle enters a marriage of convenience with Gaston and he gets redeemed.

Needing so much more than dusting (E, Belle/Gaston, 3.5k): play fighting in the mud turns into cleaning up in the river turns into sexy times

A memory pressed into its petals (G, Belle/Gaston, 560 words): Belle finds a sentimental keepsake that her husband Gaston has hidden

Canon-compliant Beauty and the Beast fics

⭐ No other way (T, Enchantress & Queen of the Fairies, 902 words): my take on why the Enchantress cursed the Prince and all his servants

⭐ Charming in its imperfection (T, Beast/Belle and Adam/Belle, 2k words): eight mostly fluffy little vignettes about hair that show the progression of Beast-Adam’s relationship with Belle

Piping hot (G, Lumiere & Mrs. Potts, 405 words): post-canon friendship fluff

Other Beauty and the Beast fics

⭐ The Rose Brides (E, Beast/Belle and Adam/Belle, 79k words): retelling with a different curse where Adam was born a beast and love doesn't break the spell

Air heavy with the sound and scent of rain (M, Beast/Belle, 1.5k): lazy morning monster fucking

Something sweet (M, Adam/Belle, 12k words): modern roommates AU, enemies to lovers, Christmas fic

⭐ Dismissed, rejected, publicly humiliated (E, Adam/Gaston, 15k words): modern AU, enemies to lovers, angst to fluff to smut

Other fics

Two words, sounds like "pets duck" (E, Anna/Kristoff, 3k words): wedding proposal silly sexy times

[angelrrys]

I think I would have gotten there anyway but im so grateful with good omens fanfic writers for getting me into Persuasion by Jane Austen because oh my god that book is SOMETHING, its YEARNING is forever engraved in my soul

[lizzle-the-edu-nerd]

I know it's fast, but no joke, Chapter 12 of BibliophiLe is up, right now!

Check out this MonoMinari adventure. It's the perfect opportunity to dip your toe into the ocean of fanfic for My Hero Academia, and the smaller inlet, dribbling creek even, of this rare pair.

Monoma has to face a challenge set by the hero course teachers of UA as a hurdle toward the punishment he, and the other students, will receive for hosting an unsanctioned party in a non-approved venue.

He may also be dealing with a very sparsely dressed Kaminari Denki who is still convinced the teachers are allowed to murder them.

Enjoy the slow burn and epic fight in this chapter.

As always, thanks for reading!

[teenietinytangerine]

I’ve got a fic I doubt I’ll ever write so let me unload my notes app here:

jane austen period drama setting

a is an adoptee/pupil to a Count who is known as a great music composer, regularly hosts parties and welcomes students in music to educate them over the summer at his home that is always full.

outside of a, also has four sons and a young daughter.

the count took A in because she is the daughter of his life long friend now dead in the war; mom was a working woman that fell ill while waiting for her secret husband.

When her mother died, A moved into the Count's residence, she was about 9.

A is a full sunshine to be around, social butterfly with a sneaky side, she has taken over the role of organizing and hosting the parties as the oldest "daughter”.

a is also a piano genius, she writes songs she sells to less talented, more man, would-be composers (did smn say overcompensing for daddy's approval? no one?)

her origins are known by all, the fact that the Count will always prioritize his own children over her in terms of dowry and inheritance, which keeps all suitors away but not boys with lesser intentions. a is the first one to redirect attentions of the men she finds suitable on her little sister.

b is a broke lord, from a family that cares for nothing but titles and got screwed over by a vengeful accountant (that honestly may have had a point). They managed to keep their financial situation a secret, putting all their hopes on their two sons to marry well before it is known.

b is the eldest, and is a moderatly renowned pianist as his parents kept sending him away to lords and masters (mostly to not have to pay for his upkeep). This is how he caught the eye of the Count and is invited to stay at his Manor to become his student.

during his stay, his family expects a lot, he will never be more in company of young rich ladies.

But, of course, he meets a.

though a bit coldly at first as her entrance disturbs his performance by how loud the children welcome her back.

b does not know about a's circumstances, he comes from too far away, and just assumes she is a bored daughter of a Count that took up music as another hobby.

a takes a lot of pleasure teasing the shit out of straight-arrow-no-funny-business b, quickly becoming their guide in this new fancy world, much like a cat plays with a prey, until the fake flirting became a bit too real, and their feelings menaces their status quo.

b: “I want to finally do one thing I truly want to do before i throw my will away and marry smart and that is to kiss you” a:"we can kiss ONCE but no more, you’ve got to marry well and that is not me”

a: “since we can’t seem to move on, and we’re both very free spirited, we should have sex to get it out of our systems and then forget it all about it” b: “since we can’t seem to move on, we should marry eo actually”

a:”I’m not marrying you bc we’re horny, ur not being reasonable which is very hard and annoying to me bc so far you have been the reasonable one, and I do not appreciate this position when I’m just as damn horny for u”

b:”this is way beyond being horny and ur being blind to how deep we’ve fallen bc ur so sure i'm gonna change my mind, I’m not just willing to give up an easier life for you, I would be miserable without you, therefore this is me being reasonable by telling you I want to marry you and if you keep saying we should just get it out of our systems, then i'm telling you we can’t have sex until we’re married”

a thousand teasings later and flirtatious attempts, a few existential crisis, and resignation over a's own feelings and trust issues*

a: “fine, I’ll marry ur sorry adorable ass.”

b: “that’s such great news, let’s have sex to celebrate!”

a: “nah, we might as well wait now, it’ll be more special *is absolutely taking revenge*”