#it's not 1810s. at least. it takes inspiration from it but it's really not 1810s

[david-watts]

since I'm only watching the serials that I really want to I've skipped ahead to mark of the rani and I must ask. what in the everloving hell is peri wearing

#it's not 1810s. at least. it takes inspiration from it but it's really not 1810s #her bodice really seems more 1520s menswear. slash and puffed and the texture too #I just checked when this serial would be set and it's c. 1814. her bodice's main colour at least is accurate if a fashion plate is #to be believed. but like. her waistline is too low those sleeves are. again it's really 1520s slash and puff #it's not inaccurate in its shapes but it seems to be a hodgepodge of various styles and I don't think I'm seeing anything that looks like i #in full #hell I've just stumbled across a fashion plate that looks VERY similar to what peri wears and it's so different! #skirt shape is different (though if this were the 1820s it would be more accurate) sleeves are different for daywear no bonnet #her skirt's too short and those heels. not only would those heels be evil for running in the early 19th century favoured a flatter shoe

[blackswaneuroparedux]

Blue colour is everlastingly appointed by the deity to be a source of delight.

- John Ruskin

Blue is an extremely dynamic colour in the art world because it calls upon the natural world while overlapping with intense emotions.

According to psychologists, the popularity of the hue may take root in our evolutionary development. In the hunting-and-gathering days, those drawn to positive things - like, say, clear skies and clean water - were more likely to survive, and, over time, this preference for the color blue may have become hard-wired.

Yet, scientifically speaking, the sky and the oceans aren’t really blue - or at least not in the same way the soil is brown or leaves are green. This posed a big problem for most of art history. You can’t take the blue of the sky, grind it up with a mortar and pestle, then throw it on a canvas. Unlike certain reds, browns, and yellows, blue pigment isn’t quite as easily made.

Found in small supply and sought after voraciously, blue pigments carry a rich history of scientific invention, global trade, and artistic workarounds.

Lapis Lazuli is a beautiful, deep-blue stone which has been highly valued for centuries. Evidence for its use as a pigment has been found as early as 2,200 B.C.E. in Ancient Egypt. At the end of the Middle Ages, lapis lazuli was ground into a powder to make ultramarine, a very expensive blue pigment which became popular during the Renaissance and Baroque periods. Furthermore, as blue has long been associated with the heavens in Christianity, ultramarine was used extensively in portrayals of the Virgin Mary. 

German writer and politician Johann Wolfgang von Goethe was first inspired to pursue the study of colour during a trip to Italy, where he realised that artists were able to analyse all the elements of their paintings except for colour. He published his Theory of Colours in 1810, which outlined the wheel of complementary colours for the first time, pairing blue together with orange. The theory was widely adopted in the art world, most notably studied in depth by J.M.W. Turner and Kandinsky.

Impressionists were particularly fond of representing in shadows in a blue hue. While previous artists portrayed shadows as a shade of grey, many impressionists such as Monet and Renoir noticed that the blue of the sky reflects onto white surfaces that are under shadow, an effect that can be seen most clearly on snow. This brought brightness and depth to paintings, helping to capture the moods and emotions that impressionists are so well-known for.

Perhaps the most famous artists identified with the colour blue was Pablo Picasso and his so-called ‘Blue Period’. From 1900 to 1904, Picasso had his ‘Blue Period’, triggered by the suicide of his friend Carlos Casagemas. This uses a cool and sombre shade of blue to reflect the despair of his subjects. During this time, he often painted social outsiders such as prisoners, circus people or poor people. In 1901, at twenty years old, he painted his own self-portrait.

As science advances, new blue pigments are being created. For example, in 2009, researchers at Oregon State University accidentally discovered “YInMn Blue” pigment while heating chemicals in search new materials for electronics. They received significant interest from art restorers, because the pigment is similar to ultramarine from the lapis lazuli rock, but is more durable. Unlike ultramarine, which fades over time, the YInMn blue pigment is highly durable, with no change in the colour when exposed to high temperatures, water, or mildly acidic and alkaline conditions.

Overall, we’ve seen that blue can be made by rocks, plants, chemicals or light. It can be used on canvas, wood, water or naked bodies. It can be seen as bright, sad, sacred, or calm.

#blue #ruskin #john ruskin #colour #art #science #nature #paintings #chemical #history #culture #arts

[trishmishtree]

How to make a 210-year-old evening gown

Step 1: Find an inspiration gown with woefully few reference photos and no photos of the back.

Step 2: Decide that you want to be able to get in and out of this dress while living alone, and convert what’s definitely supposed to be a back-closing early 1810s gown into an apron front style. Rationalize your decision with the fact that apron front gowns definitely existed in the period, even though they were falling out of fashion. Better to be a few years late than early, right?

Step 3: Find the perfect fabric, or at least as close as you can get to the vibe even though the embroidery on the border is totally ahistorical, and only get 2 yards of it from a store that only sells deadstock fabric. Rationalize this decision with the fact that regency gowns don’t take up that much fabric and the bodices are tiny, so you can probably get away with it.

Step 4: Realize after the rest of the fabric sells out that you definitely didn’t get enough because puffed sleeves take up a lot of fabric, and you barely have enough to make it all the way around the skirt hem. Panic and trawl the internet for embroidered cotton gauze in the exact same shade of off-white as your intended fabric. Somehow manage to find the same fabric but in a different colorway on Etsy and order a yard for 4 times what you paid for the 2 yards of the original fabric. It’s fine because you only really need the off-white gauze part and not the blindingly hot pink border embroidery. Leave the fabric folded up in your stash for a year while you make the underpinnings.

Step 5: Make a regency shift and short stays out of anachronistic fabrics. Rationalize this decision with the fact that no one is going to see them anyway. Then remake the short stays so the cups aren’t as flat.

Step 6: Realize you made the top line of the short stays stick up too far so they show through anything worn over them. Make a gathered partially bodiced petticoat to hide your mistakes. 

Step 7: Decide that the short stays give the wrong silhouette for the early 1810s because they position your bust too low. Do more research and find the Bernhardt stays pattern. Try it out, but don’t take into account that you have scoliosis so you scaled the pattern wrong, and use a bias tape for binding so the top edge of the stays stretches out. 

Step 8: Hate the fit of your new stays. Spend the next 6 months doing some Victwardian historybounding wardrobe projects instead. But also find the time to draft a basic regency block pattern over the shitty stays.

Step 9: Suck it up and revisit the Bernhardt stays pattern. Realize that having scoliosis means the scaling up method just won’t work for you. Completely bastardize the pattern and do a gazillion handsewn mockups until you have an underbust design that you can’t post pictures of, because decency.

Step 10: Have a friend who bought an ugly shapeless sack of a dress and hated it and gave it to you. Take the dress apart and turn it into a new bodiced petticoat. 

Step 11: Realize that your pink cotton voile chemise proportions are wrong for the higher bustline and make a new regency shift, this time out of linen and with way more room in the bust and shoulders and everything.

Step 12: Make the gown bodice using the bodice block you drafted months ago. Be completely shocked that it actually fits over the correct silhouette from the new stays. Then be less surprised when you realize it’s adjustable. Make a mental note that the front panels should probably slant down a little more in the future, in order to curve under the bust.

Step 13: Draft a sleeve pattern by completely winging it. Get it right on the first try. Add the sleeves to the bodice. Embroider the gown bodice, because you couldn’t find an appropriately embroidered fabric and resolved to hand-embroider it because who ever wanted to do things the easy way? 

Step 14: Add drawstrings to the insides of the sleeves so you can adjust the height and puffiness of them. Cut out the skirt and line the front panel for extra structure. Have a decently good time doing colonial knots on the front skirt panel. Have a decidedly less good time trying to embroider tiny dots on the rest of the skirt, which does not have a lining backing it. Give up halfway through and sew the skirt and bodice to the cotton twill tape that will serve as the backing to the waistband.

Step 15: Take pictures because it looks pretty from the back, even though the bottom half of the skirt still needs embroidery, and you still haven’t finished the front skirt panel or the bodice front bib or the waistband.

To be continued...

#sewing #hand sewing #regency fashion #historical costuming #tricia sews (kind of) #disclaimer: there is probably nothing historically accurate about the way I constructed this gown #i only hand sew because i don't know how to use a machine #i'm not a dress historian; just a nerd #i chose to use a twill tape waistband because the extant gown doesn't look like the skirt is attached directly to the bodice #but i don't know how they constructed it because we don't get to see the back of the dress #so i'm just making things up by doing things in a way that i hope will improve the longevity of the garment #e.g. i'm choosing to cover and finish all my seams even though they probably left raw edges on the inside back then

[abyssal-ali]

held together, our hands became a map

Pairing: Jason Todd x Stephanie Brown

Rating: M | WC: 12.1k + notes | Masterlist | Ao3 | CW: sexual harrassment, light violence, kind-of forced marriage (both want to marry the other but they don't think the other wants to), sexual content

A/N: Finally watched Bridgerton and was immediately inspired. Of course. You’re welcome. Thanks to Bold for letting me rant in her DMs and listening to me ramble about this fic<3 I wrote this in about three days and I’m really proud of myself so I hope y’all like it as much as I do :D Thanks to Boldly and HouseOfKings for betaing<3

Greetings, fair reader. I am the foremost reporter of Gotham society’s deepest and darkest secrets, the enigma that provides the ton with all the scandal they need to continue their gossipy lives. Let me tell you about two subjects of mine that I am finding most difficult to uncover a smear on their names. Miss Stephanie Brown is being sponsored by Duchess Grayson for a season in Gotham's finest society. She's looking for a man who is decent and decently wealthy (she has parents to take care of, after all; she's not choosing to trade love for money just because she's poor). The Duke of Altheban is new to town and most certainly isn't looking for a bride, but something is drawing him to one young lady against his will. Everyone has dark truths, and none more so than those who live in the glitz of high society. I will reveal their most hidden mysteries by the end of the season, or my name is not, Lady Gotham

-The title is a line from Love Maze by BTS. It’s kind of the theme song for this fic and is really catchy, if you want a new bop to listen to. English lyrics here. -There’s probably going to be some historical inaccuracies in here. Sorry not sorry. -I definitely played around with canon a lot, but canon can’t keep their story straight so at least I’m doing better than them, even if by doing so I mess up their canon :p -This is set in 1810. -It’s not a no-capes AU but it’s also not a Gotham by Gaslight AU (besides being set 80 years earlier). There’s some Bat-shenaniganery going on that’s not recorded in the fic but they haven’t revealed themselves to me yet. Just assume watered-down GbG AU, I suppose. Primitive crime-fighting stuff, some smarts being involved, and the basic tragic Bat-story & subsequent adoptions etc. -Jason died. I don’t know how. Or when. Or why. It just happened. Maybe I’ll figure it out in another work ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ -There was/is no TimSteph. They’re friends at best. -I meant for Cass and Duke to be in here (which sparked a whole breakdown trying to figure out what to call someone literally named Duke) but somehow they never popped in, besides one line where ‘Thomas’ [surname] is mentioned. The rest of the Bats aren’t really there, either, minus the minor Dick/Babs appearances. This is not a Batfam fic, this is a JaySteph fic. -I really like Babs’s character, and I dislike the ping-ponging in canon between making her disabled or not, so I kept her as her current(?) self, Oracle. No I don’t know how it happened or how she survived with the medicine of the day. This is fiction, shhh. Side note: Wheelchairs from the 1800’s looked more comfortable than I was expecting. -Don’t bother figuring out ages. Jason and Steph are in their early/mid-twenties and the rest of it is *waves hand* -I looked up Regency wedding traditions and wrote as accurately as I could. -More notes about the fic & my research at the end. (Side note: This was 12,000 words exactly in my docs, where did the extra 46 come from?! I was proud of that round wc ;-;)

Dearest Reader, 

As you may know, the belle of the season is Miss Adelia Elliot, who broke onto the scene with a high compliment from the queen of Gotham herself, Selina Wayne. But let us not be so hasty to secure Miss Elliot as the season’s incomparable, for there has emerged another young lady from the ranks of the season’s debutantes.

Miss Stephanie Brown, a previously unheard-of young lady, has caught the eye of the most eligible Lord Duma. Will this debutante with unforeseen connections consider Lord Duma her match, or will she set her sights higher, with the backing of the inestimable judge of character, Duchess Grayson of Bludhaven? 

Only time will tell. Let us speculate on the matches that may be made, for there appears to be blossoming a most fruitful season. However, let us not be swept away by the opening chords. There is still room for even the most nimble of societal maestros to slip.

We hope to be spared any slips by the illustrious Lord Damian Wayne at tonight’s soiree at Wayne Manor, the event that I am sure we all can acknowledge will kick off the season with refined festivity.

The youngest son of our very own darling Prince of Gotham, Bruce Wayne, Lord Wayne has been studying music at the Geneva Academy of Music for the past several months. 

I look forward to seeing you all at his event, utilizing your finest feathers and weaponized words to glamour yourselves in an attempt to snag one of the elusive, prized sons of the finest founding family of this city.

Your closest friend,

Lady Gotham

Stephanie tossed the pamphlet onto the desk in annoyance. 

“Is that the newest Lady Gotham newsletter?” asked Babs from the corner, where she was reorganizing her bookshelves after acquiring several more volumes.

“Yes.” She flopped onto the sofa, swinging her legs over the armrest. “Speculating on Adelia Elliot and my presentations and guessing who is going to marry who–the usual gossip,” she waved a hand in Babs’s direction. “She did end on a rather tongue-in-cheek note, though. Perhaps the lady is not as satisfied with society as I first thought.”

“Time will tell,” said Babs, unknowingly echoing the words of whom she was speaking. 

Reversing the direction of her wheelchair, she steered over to the desk Steph had left the paper on. She looked over the pamphlet briefly before returning her attention to her friend.

“This reminds me, which dress are you planning on wearing to Damian’s recital tonight?”

“The green one, I was thinking.”

Babs sighed as she caught sight of Lady Gotham’s penultimate line. “Imagine you marrying one of Bruce’s sons.”

Steph snorted indelicately. “Damian is too young, even if he does have something of an eye for me, you’ve married Grayson, and Drake and I would never work out.” She shivered at the thought. 

“I suppose I’d get along decently with Thomas, but he’s also rather young. I really don’t know what the writer was implying with her thinly veiled speculations. And she says we use our weaponized words!”

“Just ignore the gossips like you always do, Steph,” advised Babs. “And sit properly, please.”

“Because it’s that easy,” she rolled her eyes, moving to a more acceptable pose. “I admit I find myself quite intrigued as to this evening’s happenings. If Lady Gotham is among us, will she attempt to stir up the theatrics among the ton?”

~~~

A grunt escaped Jason as he turned, letting the punch roll off him. It still hurt, despite knowing how to take hits. His opponent danced back, bringing his fists back up into a guard position. 

Jason moved back, luring his opponent over, before releasing a series of quick jabs and punches that forced his opponent to concede defeat. 

“Alright, I get it, you’re stressed about your debut. What’s the matter, worried that you might not have any ladies dropping their handkerchiefs around you?”

Jason snorted, climbing out of the ring to get his towel. “You know I’m not looking for a lady yet.”

Waylon raised a disbelieving eyebrow at him. “You’re going to need a lady sooner or later.”

“Well, I choose later.” Jason yanked his cravat into a passable knot. “I’m worried that the family that’s practically Gotham’s royalty is going to dig into this mysterious new Duke of Altheban and destroy my plans before I’ve even had a chance to start.” He straightened his jacket and tapped his pockets to make sure everything was still there.

“I’ll see you later, Jones.”

“Enjoy the party, Todd–I mean Head.”

Jason waved his hand, not looking, as he headed out of the boxing centre.

~~~

In the velvet darkness of Gotham past 7 p.m, Wayne Manor presented a glittering vision as its lights reflected off the multitudinous baubles out on display for the soiree. Gilded and not-so-gilded carriages flowed from the portico to the stables in orderly succession.

Nimble fingers tripped lightheartedly over pianoforte keys as the star of the night, the newly-returned Damian Wayne, displayed his polished skills in a rousing performance.

“Ah, Head, there you are, my fine fellow!” 

Jason nodded politely as an enthusiastic Roy Harper dragged him over to the group of young men congregated close to the doors of the formal parlor. “Gentlemen, this is my good friend Head, the Duke of Altheban. Head, these are my friends. This rogue is Aleksander, Lord Duma, and here is…”

Jason tipped his head shortly. “Pleasure to make your acquaintance, gentlemen.”

Babs stopped her wheelchair abruptly, causing Steph to bang her knee on the back. “Ow, Babs-”

“Look, Steph, I am perfectly capable of getting myself to the parlour without your assistance. I will be fine for the entire evening, in fact! You should not worry about me and instead fill your dance card–with names that are not a part of the hosting family’s roster.”

Steph sniffed. “Fine, I will dance with one person who is not a Wayne or Wayne-adjacent. One .”

Babs sighed. “Thank you. If you see Dick before I do, could you direct him my way? Thank you.”

“Alright. Have fun, Babs.”

“I will,” Babs smirked, wheeling herself into the festivities and parking her chair in the best spot to get all the gossip.

Steph looked longingly at the refreshments table, then headed resolutely in the other direction, promptly bumping into a masculine chest. Her handkerchief fluttered to her feet, jarred loose from where it had been tucked into her glove by the impact. 

“Oh, my apologies, I did not see you there, My Lord.”

He nodded stiffly, bending to collect her handkerchief. He rose and handed it to her, making sure their fingers did not brush. “It’s quite alright, it’s getting rather crowded in here. My fault, I’m sure.”

“No, no, that was my fault. I was caught in the sorrow of leaving those delicious-looking tarts behind me and did not see you for the tears in my eyes. Hence, the handkerchief,” she dabbed at her eyes dramatically.

The man’s stiff posture relaxed a little at her good-natured theatrics, his lips quirking up in what some may describe as a small smile. (Steph personally described it as the look of a hunted man relieved to find she was not his hunter–or huntress, as the case may be.) “May I escort you to those delicious-looking tarts, then? I hate to see a lady cry, especially when it can be easily remedied.”

“Thank you, that would be delightful. It’s not rude to eat a dozen of the things if a gentleman brought me one a dozen times, correct, My Lord?”

“Indeed, it would be far more rude to refuse his devoted attentions.”

“Lovely,” chirped Steph, taking his arm. “I do think it would be awful if Lady Gotham reported me rude in her next issue. I must take care to avoid all pretenses of the word.”

The man–whose name Steph still didn’t know, and also had never seen before, and did not know who could properly introduce them–poured two crystal cups of punch. “Would you care for some, my lady?”

“Thank you. The tarts are delicious but they do leave one thirsty.”

“Ah, Miss Brown.”

Steph turned to see Lord Duma approaching her, a polite but fixed smile on his face. 

“Lord Duma,” she half-curtsied. “How are you this evening?”

“I am doing well, Miss Brown. I see you have met the ton’s latest import. Duke Altheban,” he nodded his head.

Steph cursed inwardly at her earlier social faux pas. To be fair, the only other dukes at this event she was already acquainted with, and she certainly didn’t expect this man to have a title that required a different address than ‘my lord’.

The man nodded back. “Lord Duma.”

“Ah, His Grace was just procuring me some punch, like a gentleman, before I fainted of thirst. We haven’t even been formally introduced.” 

Hopefully the Duke would forgive her slip and have mercy on her unnoble self, now that he knew she was unaware of his status. To be fair, he had not seemed the type to be overly cognizant of his title–much like the Waynes, she supposed. A refreshing attitude, indeed.

Lord Duma took her hint. 

“Oh, I must introduce you, then. Miss Brown, this is Jason Head, the Duke of Altheban; Your Grace, Miss Stephanie Brown.”

“It’s a pleasure to make your acquaintance, Miss Brown.” Duke Altheban bowed over her hand. “So, Lord Duma, are you tired of Harper’s stories so soon?”

He laughed. “Once you’ve been here a season or two, you’ll have heard all of Harper's stories. Besides, I heard that the young Wayne is finishing his performance soon and that the musicians would soon start the dancing. I had to make sure I reserved a spot on Miss Brown’s dance card.”

Steph smiled politely back at him. “Thank you, Lord Duma. Your forethought has indeed awarded you a chance to put your name on my dance card.”

“I would like to also reserve a spot, if I may, Miss Brown.”

Steph turned to the Duke, somewhat surprised. It wasn’t uncommon for lords to take interest in courting untitled young ladies, but dukes were considerably higher ranked than lords and rarely courted or married outside of their titles. 

How interesting. She’d enjoy getting to know more about him as long as he let her.

“As you wish, Your Grace.”

~~~

Lord Duma was a fine dancer, and Steph enjoyed their turn around the room, but dancing with Duke Head was something else entirely. They fit together perfectly, in such synchronization that they seemed to be floating over the dancefloor.

“You are a wonderful dancer, Your Grace.”

“A dancer is only as good as their partner, I’ve been told.”

Steph smiled, mentally recording the feel of his large hands over hers, the faint smoky scent of his cologne, the soft swish of air as it flowed over her exposed skin. Dancing had always been a passion of hers, but it was difficult to find partners with whom she connected so well.

“What you were saying earlier, about a Lady Gotham,” said the Duke. “I did not know there was such a title here.”

Steph answered his unasked question. “Lady Gotham is a pseudonym for some author who has recently begun to write about society’s banalities and scandals. The ton is quite invested in both the papers she prints and the mask she wears. No one knows who it is, and so far it is one of the season’s biggest topics of conversation.”

“Ah. Thank you for explaining, Miss Brown.”

“It is quite alright with me if you address me as Miss Stephanie or Miss Steph, Your Grace.”

“As you wish, Miss Stephanie. You seem rather…how shall I put this…distant from society. Aside from Lord Duma and myself, you have not danced or talked with any acquaintances.”

Steph laughed. “I am not well acquainted with most of the ton, Your Grace. I am a miss, not a lady, and I am not in the habit of associating with double-faced, backstabbing socialites. I prefer intelligent conversation, even if I am here to find a husband, but it truly seems like the two are mutually exclusive.”

He barked a short laugh, pulling her infinitesimally closer. “It does seem that you are either doomed to marry or become a book-loving spinster, does it not? As if you cannot marry and love books, or be unmarried and detest the things.”

“Indeed. My sponsor for the season is happily married, and she has one of the largest libraries I have seen.” 

She twirled, coming back to the duke’s arms. 

“I suppose I am simply setting my sights too high. She had a better beginning than I, and she already was acquainted with her husband; their families have always been friendly. And that is not in the cards for me. If I must marry for my family’s sake, then I will have to set aside dreams of love and books and loving books. Such is the way of life,” she mused sadly.

Duke Altheban twirled her again. “Surely someone here also loves books, at least? They are lords and barons, they have to have studied. Speaking purely hypothetically, what about the Duke of Bristol?”

“Tim?” Steph laughed. “No, it would never work between us, for many reasons.”

“Oh, you’ve met?”

“A time or two,” she grinned. The last strains of the music faded away, and the sudden rush of chatter from the dancers surrounding them made talking difficult.

“Time for another tart, perhaps, Miss Stephanie?” asked the duke, leading her over to the quieter refreshment table. 

“If you offer it to me, I’d hate to refuse, Your Grace-ooh, waffles!”

“I take it you like the pastries?”

“Very much. The chef here always makes the best cream to eat with them.” Steph groaned as the treat hit her taste buds.

The duke followed her lead of spooning the cream onto the waffle bite and eating it. “That is quite good. Oh, hello, Harper.”

“Stephanie,” nodded Roy, turning back to the duke. “You really must come with me now, Jason. You’re finally here and we can fulfill all those adventures we spoke about on our European trip!”

“Very well. Miss Stephanie.” He kissed her fingers in farewell.

Her fingers tingled from the press of his lips the rest of the night. 

~~~

“That was fast,” laughed Waylon the next week after Jason ended their spar.

Jason glared at him from under the fringe of his hair. “You can shove whatever else you want to say right up your-”

“Did you see what Lady Gotham wrote about you?” interrupted his friend/investee.

“No, what?” he grumbled, curiosity piqued.

Waylon pulled out the paper and balanced his spectacles on his nose. 

Clearing his throat, he read eloquently, “‘ There is nothing the ton likes more than talking about themselves, unless it is talking about others. 

‘The most common question heard at the Waynes’ soiree was ‘Who is the Duke of Altheban’? He was certainly well-acquainted with several of the lords of this fair city, but no one–except myself–knows more than these three facts: firstly, the duke has spent the last several years traveling the continent and making connections for his merchant business. 

‘Secondly, he originally hails from the land of Nanda Parbat, where his dukedom is located. 

‘Thirdly, he is a most desirable catch, being young, rich, and single, of which only one of these attributes society truly considers necessary. He is also reportedly an excellent dancer, although sparing with his partners.

‘But, fourthly, the duke is looking for something in particular from this season and this society. Could it be a wife? A new business partner? Whatever it is, this author is sure that we all are eager to learn more’ .”

Jason dropped his head into his hands in frustration. He’d forgotten just how vicious society’s gossip was. Whichever event he next attended, he was surely going to be flocked even more than he’d been at the soiree.

And he was back to his problem. Miss Stephanie Brown. A poor young socialite who was looking for a husband, all details which should have made him flee instead of being drawn to her. Yet she had been a breath of fresh air. Even after she learned of his status, she did not change her behaviour, and had given him the most pleasant conversation with a woman who was not married or related to him he’d had in…ever. She’d openly admitted she was looking for a moneyed husband, which he could not blame her for, and clearly cared for her family, considering what she was willing to give up for them.

She clearly had more dimensions to her than most of the other young ladies had dresses, and he desperately wanted to explore more of them. 

“-son!”

“Hm?”

“Wow, you have it bad.” Waylon shook his head in mock sympathy. “What’s the lady’s name?”

“Ste-what young lady?”

Waylon looked at him, unimpressed. “The one you’re thinking about and can’t stop thinking about. I’d like to meet this woman who’s managed to make you reconsider your stance on marriage this fast.”

“I’m not reconsi-” Jason paused, realisation washing over him, and swore violently.

Waylon patted him on the shoulder and laughed, the traitor.

“I’m not marrying her!” he yelled after the boxer.

He laughed louder.

~~~

Steph knew that she was being impractical, but didn’t particularly care. She’d have to live with her practicability soon enough, she was going to take this moment while she could to daydream.

The babblings of a baby roused her from her thoughts of dancing with Duke Altheban, and she peeked into Emma’s carriage.

“Hello, darling. Have you woken up from your nap, sweetie? I knew the fresh air would be good for you, and look at that! You’ve finally slept longer than an hour!” She cooed to the baby, turning the carriage to head home. “Yes, I imagine you’ll be hungry rather soon, I’ll get you back, never fear.”

The afternoon stroll in the sunlight had done both Emma and Steph good, the fresh air giving them both an appetite. Once Steph had gotten Emma fed and back in her crib, she started making the evening meal, feeling the beginning pangs of hunger in her stomach as well.

The door opened just as she’d finished setting the table and she greeted the arrival with a small smile. “Good evening. Emma’s been walked and fed and is now asleep, and supper is ready. Wash up and I’ll have it on the table.”

“Thanks, Steph.”

~~~

Jason looked around the Crowns’ ballroom for a familiar head of blonde curls but found nothing. So far his sudden appearance on the ton’s scene hadn’t caused any major questions of his identity; even the Waynes were quiet, though he knew better than to dismiss them simply because he didn’t see evidence of their activities. 

Dick walked in, Babs wheeling herself beside him, nodding politely to acquaintances as they passed. And there, just behind the couple, was Stephanie Brown.

That would explain Stephanie’s familiarity with the Waynes, if Babs was her sponsor, as Jason gathered from what she had shared. He laughed inwardly at the thought of Tim’s immersive nerdiness and Stephanie’s bubbly interests meshing. No wonder she’d laughed when he’d half-jokingly suggested Tim as a solution to her marriage problem.

Jason tapped the side of his glass thoughtfully as he subconsciously tracked her circle around the room.

She needed a husband, and he was going to find her one. He didn’t want to marry, but he could find her someone. She was only somewhat younger than him, which in society’s eyes was fairly old for a debutante–though not for a man, who was always eligible and never shelved with a derogatory title, Lady Gotham had noted a day or two earlier.

She needed a man older than her, which removed several of the more juvenile options, and one who was respectful of women, which sadly removed even more. 

He thought back to what else she had said. Stephanie was looking for money, someone to support her family. He supposed he should figure out just how large her family was first and how much her future husband should expect to pay up, first. 

The best way to find out such information was by asking the woman in question, of course. Jason approached the woman in the lavender gown, holding out his hand in silent question. She turned, sensing him, and accepted with a wide smile.

They moved swiftly onto the floor in time with the quartet, settling into a comfortable rhythm. 

“How have you been, Your Grace?”

“Well, thank you. How have you been, Miss Stephanie?”

“Oh, rather well. I visited a friend yesterday and had a lovely walk in the sun. It seems rather rare for this city, doesn’t it?”

“Indeed, it’s rather a gloomy place. Do you enjoy nature?” 

She moved to another man, then back to him in turn.

“Oh, definitely. Although I must admit, I quite enjoy the comforts of home, meagre as they may be, when there is a blizzard raging outside. My fondness for it does not extend quite so far.”

Jason chuckled. “I can’t blame you for that; I rather agree with you there. Is that your mother?” he nodded towards an older lady with blonde hair curled similar to Stephanie’s.

She smiled slightly. “No, that is Lady Aurora. My mother would never be invited to such an event–I’m only here because the Duchess of Bludhaven is sponsoring me. My mother is a nurse in the Bowery.”

The Bowery. The polite name for the red light district, known for its crime and pleasure houses. A place Jason was intimately familiar with, much against his desire.

“A nurse, how noble of her. It’s hard work, I imagine.” He gently spun her into a twirl.

Stephanie seemed grateful, knowing he knew exactly where the Bowery was but hadn’t let on that he did. “Yes, it is, but she is good at it. I’m proud of her.”

“Do you have any siblings?”

Nothing like asking point-blank–in Jason’s experience, pointed questions yielded the clearest results, since there was nothing to be confused or semantical about.

“No, I’m an only child. My father is… was an entertainer, but he got injured some time ago and is now recovering at home.”

Ah, that was why she needed the marriage. He could read between the lines easily enough. Well, only having parents-in-law to support would be easy enough to sell to a prospective suitor, he supposed. It certainly beat having a dozen siblings to also support.

“I’m sorry to hear that, Miss Stephanie. My father was also injured before he died, and my mother had consumption. It was heartbreaking to see. I wish your father the best.”

“I’m sorry to hear that, Your Grace. I shall pass on your wishes to my father. Thank you.” She curtsied and stepped away, clearly ending the conversation.

Jason wished to speak with her more, but he had the information he had wanted.

Surely there wouldn’t be more than one Brown family in the Bowery comprised of a nurse and entertainer.

~~~

Steph cuddled Emma in her arms, cooing at the baby’s chubby cheeks. “You’re adorable, yes you are. The sweetest baby I ever saw.”

Dancing around the room with the baby, making her giggle with high-pitched laughter, lightened the weight on her mind. Nothing else mattered when she was with Emma. 

A man passing by the window had a build and hair similar to Duke Altheban, reminding her of the times they had danced together at the past several events.

“I wish he was courting me, but I know he’s not looking for a bride. And even if he was, it certainly wouldn’t be someone like me,” she told the child pulling at her dress’s neckline. “I mean, look at me,” she laughed.

“But he’s such a gentleman, Emmy. He’s considerate and funny and smart and well-read and respectful and attentive and handsome and such a good dancer–not like Lord Mayburn–and he’s traveled and he speaks seven languages, he told me. Seven, Emma!” She exclaimed to the non-responsive child. “I only know English and passable French, and a few words in Latin and Spanish. And it doesn’t hurt that he’s a duke and a successful merchant. He’s the perfect man, Emma…but not for me. But, if I can even keep him as a friend, that would be worth it.

“Do you think it would be strange if I asked him for his opinion on some of the men I’m thinking of flirting with to get them to court me? I wouldn’t want to make him think I’m hinting at him courting me–I’m sure he’s tired of women throwing themselves at him…literally, like Eugenia Sorren,” she shuddered at the memory. 

“But men talk differently around women they’re courting than other men, and maybe the duke would know something that I don’t that could help me with my decision. If I’m going to marry for money and not love, I should at least make sure it’s to a decent man I can be friends with, right? Friendship is the foundation for love, or so Babs says. Yes, I should ask him, but clarify it first so that he knows I’m not suggesting anything,” she decided, nodding her head. “Good chat, Emma. Thank you for your insightful contribution.”

The baby spat up on her dress in response.

~~~

Jason pulled at the button on his glove’s wrist as he stood outside the weathered door opening onto the dirt street. He hoped Stephanie wouldn’t be too piqued with him if she discovered he’d done this.

A woman who looked much like an older Stephanie, only with brown hair and green eyes instead of Stephanie’s blonde and blue, answered the door. Her eyes trailed from his freshly-shined boots up to the crisp knot of his cravat, and slowly widened as she took him in.

“May I help you, My Lord?”

“Are you Mrs. Brown, ma’am?”

“Yes, I am.” She eyed him warily now. Rich folks looking for you was never a good sign, he was well aware.

“Is your husband in?”

“Yes.”

“Is now a good time to speak with you, then? I can return later if it’s more convenient, but I’d like to speak with you and your husband.”

“Now is as good a time as any, My Lord,” she replied, ushering him into the house and taking his hat. “May I take your coat and gloves?”

“Thank you.”

She showed him to the dated front room, where a man sat in a cushioned chair, reading the paper. 

“Arthur, we have a visitor. I’ll go put on the tea while you talk to…” she looked to him for help.

“Jason Head. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, Mr Brown, Mrs Brown.”

Mrs Brown nodded at his polite introduction and headed to what he assumed was the kitchen, leaving him alone with her husband.

“So, what brings you to my humble home this afternoon, Mr Head?” asked the man gruffly, setting the paper aside.

“I understand you have a daughter?”

“Yes, Stephanie.”

“I’ve made her acquaintance recently, and her telling me about her family prodded me to pay you a visit.”

“Whatever for?” asked the man, finally gesturing for him to sit down.

Jason hemmed and hawed for a minute, trying to figure out the most tactful way to phrase it. Talia was always telling him to polish his blunt, sometimes borderline impolite, honesty.

“I wanted to meet the folks that would make a lady like that…” he trailed off, suddenly rethinking his whole endeavour. What was he doing? Meeting the parents of the woman he was trying to find a bridegroom for so he wouldn’t be forced to confront his own feelings for her?

Mrs Brown came bustling into the room a moment later, a steaming pot of tea on the tray in her hands, alongside a plate of baked goods.

He jumped up, taking the tray from her and setting it on the table before heading to the hallway to retrieve his things. “I apologize for disrupting your afternoon. I’m sorry, I’ve just started to feel unwell,  I must leave. Good day Mr Brown, Mrs Brown.”

Tipping his hat at the confused couple, he practically ran to his horse, swinging onto Jericho’s saddle carelessly.

Kicking Jericho into a trot, he made his escape. From behind him, he thought he heard a confused “Your Grace?” being called after him.

He nudged Jericho even faster, heading to the fields in an attempt to outrun his feelings.

~~~

Stephanie ran up the steps to her house, surprised to see her mother in the doorway already. 

“Was that the Duke of Altheban I saw riding by just now?” she demanded incredulously.

“Who?”

“Oh, nevermind. Thought I saw someone I knew. How was your day, Mama?”

“It was good,” Crystal Brown said, closing the door after her daughter. “I was just saying goodbye to this visitor who dropped by unannounced.”

“Hello, Papa.  What’s this I hear about a visitor?” Steph took in the tea tray on the table, pouring three cups. “You even brought out the china,” she noted with surprise.

“He looked important, that Mr Head,” explained her mother.

Steph choked on her tea. “Your visitor said he was Jason Head?!”

“That’s right. How do you know his first name?” asked Arthur suspiciously.

“What was he here for?!”

“I couldn’t really say. He only stayed a couple minutes. Didn’t even have a cup of tea! Said he was feeling ill suddenly–I didn’t even get the chance to say I’m a nurse.”

“He said he wanted to meet the folks of a lady he’d met–you,” said Arthur. “Would you like to explain why we got this surprise visitor?”

“I’d love to explain that but I don’t have a clue, myself,” sputtered Steph. “I never even gave him your address or names.”

“Is he courting you, Steph?” asked her mother.

“No. We’re…friends, I guess. We dance at parties and talk over punch but that’s it. He’s not looking for a wife, and even if he was, he wouldn’t look at me. Foreign dukes don’t marry untitled old maids from the red light district with-”

“Steph, don’t say that about yourself, honey.” Crystal pulled her into her arms. “You’re a catch for any-did you say he’s a duke?”

Steph nodded. “Lady Gotham says he’s close with the royal family of Nanda Parbat, that’s how he became duke there.”

“A duke in my home! I never thought I’d see the day!”

~~~

Jason cut the connection to Talia’s two-way magical communication stone and sighed. She’d helped him through facing his feelings for Steph (she was much better at that than Waylon), and now he had a directive.

Back to the Browns’ it was.

She was at a friend’s house for the afternoon, but she had accepted an invitation to the Dumas’ ball that evening.

Jason thanked Crystal for her help and headed back to Jericho. The day was sunny but not too warm, so he decided to enjoy the fresh air a little longer and plot out what he would say when he saw her.

For a moment, he thought he was so invested that he was imagining seeing her, but no, there she was in all her glory, walking down the street…pushing a baby pram.

“Miss Stephanie!”

She glanced around, then up, surprise covering her face. “Your Grace?”

“May I join you?”

Her eyes flicked from the pram to Jericho to him, then she nodded slowly.

He slid out of the saddle and strolled beside her, leading Jericho along the edge of the street, such as it was.

“What are you doing here?”

“I…was just out for a ride after I visited your parents. I wished to speak with you, but you were out. This was pure coincidence.”

“It’s a lovely day for a ride,” she agreed, subdued.

“Are you alright? Not overcome with heat?” Jason bit back any more comments, recalling that women did not take the concern as such.

“I am fine, thank you.” She glanced in the pram, then back to him. “Not going to ask?”

“I didn’t think it was my business to ask.”

“This is my best friend’s baby, Emma. Sarah died in childbirth.” She turned to him. “Not a happy or comfortable story, I’m sure. Her father is working, so I often take care of her.”

“Who cares for her when you are busy?”

“One of the neighbours usually looks in on her. She’s a very easy baby,” Steph smiled, cooing at the child.

“How old is she?”

“About eight months.”

“You like children, then?” he asked, very much hoping she did.

“I do. What about you?”

“I love them, and they tend to like me, I find.”

Steph turned to a small house and opened the door. “I’ve just got to feed Emma and put her down for her nap. Would you like to wait in the parlour?”

“If it’s not an imposition. I can-”

“No, no trouble at all. Her father should be home soon and we can talk while you escort me home, if you don’t mind?”

“That sounds delightful, Miss Stephanie.” He tossed Jericho’s reins to a boy standing around. “Want a job?”

“Yes, mister,” he nodded, gap-toothed grin wide.

“If you make sure my horse here doesn’t run away in the next while, I’ll give you two more of these, what d’ya say?” He placed a shiny coin in the boy’s hand, smiling at his awed grin and ruffling his hair. “I shouldn’t be more than an hour.”

Jason made himself comfortable on the sofa in the parlour, watching Steph move around the kitchen heating up milk for Emma with smooth, oft-practiced movements. The house was small, with one hallway connecting the foyer, kitchen/dining room, parlour, and bedroom. With all the inside doors open, Jason perused the house at his leisure, often pausing to watch Steph instead.

She fed the baby, burped her, and put her to rest in the bedroom. 

The faint sound of a lullaby drifted to Jason’s ears, and he closed his eyes to focus better on her song. She had a lovely voice.

Once Emma was asleep, Steph closed the door and joined him in the parlour. “I often leave supper for Emma’s father. Would you mind joining me in the kitchen while I prepare it?”

“Certainly not. Would you like my help with anything? Fetching wood for the fire, perhaps?”

“Oh, no, that’s not necessary.”

Steph deftly spun a cast-iron skillet on her palm and Jason noted to be very careful around her, especially when she had a possible weapon in her hands.

“So, how did you find my parents, Your Grace?” she asked, slicing potatoes. 

“I asked around. I have some contacts in every part of the city, I imagine, and I knew yours were in the Bowery.”

“Then, why did you find my parents?”

“I wanted to meet the people you loved enough to give up your own love for.”

Steph’s knife paused, then resumed its slicing, slower than before. “And that’s all?”

“That’s the meat of it.”

She turned to the stove, her back to him,  tossing the potatoes in with a healthy chunk of lard.

Jason had just begun to worry she’d decided never to speak to him again when she turned, shaking the potatoes onto a plate before immediately turning back around to cut something up..

“I suppose it’s none of my business. Thank you for waiting for me.”

“You’re more than welcome.” He resumed his seat on the sofa, glancing out the window at the sun setting on the horizon. Someone walking up the path caught his eye.

“There’s a man approaching,” he called to Steph.

“That’ll be Dean; I’ll be ready to go in a minute.”

Jason heard the door open, the sounds of someone coming in and making themself at home quiet. The man walked straight into the kitchen.

Steph greeted him cheerfully. “Good evening, Dean. Supper is warm in the oven, and Emma’s sleeping. I’ll be out of your hair in a moment.”

“Thanks, Steph, it smells good. But what if you don’t get out of my hair?”

Jason stiffened at the tone. He didn’t like how familiar this Dean was being to Steph, but he chalked it up to mere jealousy. The sight of Dean grasping Steph’s wrist, however, was something more than jealousy.

Steph saw him stand and silently asked him to stay back. He nodded, acquiescing for the moment, but stayed standing.

“What do you mean, Dean? It wouldn’t be prope-”

“Oh, come on, Steph, who cares what’s proper? Proper is for the snobs. You and I both know that no matter how much you end up in those society papers, you’ll never be a real lady. You’re from here, Stephie, you know no one gives a damn about us. No one would care about us and our ‘property’.”

Propriety , Steph mouthed to herself. “Dean, let go of me. You’re not doing yourself any favours by disparaging my ladylike reputation.”

“Oh look at you, Miss Brown,” Dean mocked, “all snooty with your fancy words. You think you’re better than me, huh? Just ‘cause your Duchess got your back? You think you’re better than Sarah was?”

“No, I do not. Sarah was better than me and she was certainly better than you. Social status has no bearing on a true gentleman, Dean. For the final time, I will not sleep with you, nor will I marry you so you can sleep with me.” Steph pulled her knife from behind her back and held it to Dean’s chin, leaning into his personal space. “Let. Me. Go. Now.”

Shakily, the man released his grip, practically flinging her away from him. “You crazy whore!”

“And never call me that again.” Steph tossed the knife at his chair, the point embedding itself in the wood between Dean’s legs. 

She brushed her loosened locks out of her face, straightened her dress, and approached Jason with a smile. “I’m ready to go.”

He grabbed her hat and cloak and escorted her as quickly as he could out of the residence.

“Are you okay, Miss Stephanie?”

The cool twilight air was refreshing, cooling his overheated blood from watching the altercation. He walked calmly beside Jericho, collected from the kid and given double the pay since the time had extended. 

She nodded and gave him a small, fake smile. “I will be. His words don’t hold much weight, but even a single sheet of paper can cause you to bleed.”

“You handled yourself remarkably back there. If I may ask, how did you learn to throw a knife that accurately?”

“My father worked as an entertainer at the circus for several years,” she explained. “I became friends with many of the performers there and during the quiet times, many of them taught me their specialties. I had an affinity for the knife tricks and acrobatics, among others.”

“A woman of many talents, indeed,” he complimented with a surprised grin. “Is it safe to leave Emma there?”

“She will be fine for the short term. I’ll go get her and her things in a day or two once he’s calmed down and bring her home.”

“Would you like an escort?” He saw her look and hastily added, “In case there is more luggage than you can carry when you’ve also got the baby?”

“If you wouldn’t mind, that would be very helpful. Thank you.”

“I live to serve, my lady.”

~~~

The next week, Jason barely saw Stephanie at all, as she was occupied with caring for Emma and getting her settled into her new home. She had turned down several invitations, and Jason began to wonder if he should even bother attending the last few events of the season at all.

Then Steph showed up at the Waynes’ Summer Celebration Ball, the event that heralded the beginning of the season’s end.

She looked beautiful in her new lilac dress, the blooms entwined in her updo. Jason bet Babs had a hand in that.

She was popular tonight, and Jason didn’t get a chance to dance with her or even talk before her card filled up and she was handed around.

Doing his best not to lose his temper at something so beyond their control, he headed out the open patio doors to the garden, enjoying the quiet from the boisterous event and the beauty of nature. He still preferred it on Stephanie.

He didn’t know how long he’d been brooding in the gardens (far too long and far too much like his previous father figure for his liking) when he noticed a flash of lilac in the maze.

“Miss Stephanie?” He followed her, only catching glimpses of the silk as he headed deeper and deeper into the maze.

As he walked, the layout came back to him. He could see the path Steph had been taking, and he knew a shortcut. Granted, he’d grown both in height and width, but he’d been very careful not to lose his flexibility along with his scrawniness. If he just cut through…

His arms came out, supporting Steph as she ran into him with a muffled shriek.

“I apologise for scaring you, Miss Stephanie. Are you quite alright?”

“No,” she panted. “Dean…after me…”

“What?” His head jerked up, looking around for the odious man.

“He was following me, I tried to lose him, thought you were him,” she breathed, not moving away from his hold.

“I’ll have Wayne’s men spread out and look for the man, okay?” he said, brushing a loose curl behind her ear.

She nodded, smiling up at him gratefully, before suddenly realising their position and jumping away. “Oh, my.”

“My apologies, Miss Stephanie. I’ll escort you back to the ballroom and then find Wayne.”

He tucked her arm into his and headed down the quickest way out of the maze.

“You seem to know this maze quite well, Your Grace.”

He shrugged. “I’m good with directions.”

~~~

Jason did not call Wayne’s men. Jason headed out to the grounds alone..

Closing his eyes, he breathed deeply, letting the velvety scent of Alfred’s roses, the mingled perfumes of the party, and the rich scent of damp earth fill his nose.

The hoot of an owl sounded deep in the woods behind the Manor, blending with the chittering of bats flying about eating bugs and the muted strains of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony from the ballroom. 

Light tremors under his feet told him that someone was approaching him. He inwardly snickered. Trying to be stealthy, the fool. He was trained by the League of Assassins, who lived–nay, thrived–in the shadows.

He turned, unable to see his companion’s face as they were backlit by the Manor. “Is that you, Harper?” he drawled, striking a match and lighting a cigar.

He didn’t care for the things after…well, after , but sometimes a man needed a cigar to light to see his companion’s face.

“You’re not Harper,” he said brilliantly, lifting the cigar to his lips.

“You bet your lily-white ass I ain’t,” snarled Dean Smith, the glow of Jason’s cigar reflecting on the silver blade of his knife. 

“No, you’re Dean Smith, widower of Sarah Smith and father to Emma Smith, employee at the My Alibi saloon, where you apparently take supporting your job a little too seriously. You’re also someone who insulted the woman I intend to marry, and I don’t take that lightly. She’s too good for you to even look at her, nevermind propose you touch her.”

“Oh, what are you going to do, my lord?” Dean bowed mockingly. “I saw you at my house with her. So she’s too good for me, but not too good to take your lordly c-”

Jason punched his lights out in one blow. Apparently Waylon might have some truth to his words of having a thicker skull than average.

He put out his cigar and pocketed the knife Dean had dropped. Sauntering up the hill to the ballroom, he caught one of Bruce’s footmen’s attention. 

“There’s an uninvited guest having a little snooze out in the garden. Bring him to the Commisioner, please, and tell him to hold him overnight for disturbing the peace. Thanks.”

Humming the final bars to the Symphony along with the musicians, he opened the patio doors and entered the ballroom.

The chatter died instantly as everyone turned to look at him. He looked back in confusion. He was sure no one had seen him punch Dean, and anyways, he was a duke and Dean a commoner. No one here would care, he sneered inwardly.

Steph’s watery blue eyes met his from her place in Babs’s arms and she shook her head minutely. He frowned a little, confused. He knew she hadn’t seen him punch Dean out, and he was fairly sure she’d praise him for it, anyways.

He missed the punch thrown his way by a blur of black and blue.

~~~

Steph rubbed her thumb nervously over Jason’s, his hand between hers. His eyelids fluttered and his gorgeous teal eyes stared into hers. “Hi.”

“Hi.” She smiled back. “You’re awake.”

“What happened?” He sat up, running his free hand along his facial features. “ Ow .”

She winced in sympathy. “Sorry about that.”

“You did this?” He turned to her in disbelief. “Did I do something?”

“Did you do something?” came an echoing growl of disbelief from the doorway.

Steph winced again. “Dick, stop .”

“No, I will not.”

“ Dick . Let me explain. In peace ,” she gritted out. “It’s the least you could do after punching His Grace out and making a big deal out of nothing !”

Dick huffed and opened his mouth to retort, but subsided at her fierce glare. 

She turned back to Jason.

“I am so sorry for him. What happened was that Lady Adelia Elliot was getting proposed to by Lord Duma in the garden and saw me, alone with you, in the garden, and then loudly announced that the garden was the most lovely, romantic spot to get engaged in, and she hoped we had found it to be like that as well, which, of course, meant that society is convinced that I am compromised and a whore and we should get married to get back in their good graces. But not too fast, because that would mean I’m with child. Which is ridiculous, I mean, in the garden ? All wet and pokey? No, thank you.”

Jason huffed a laugh. “Thank you for that explanation. So I assume that blur that was the last thing I saw was Duke Bludhaven over there protecting your honour?”

“More or less,” she admitted. “I am so sorry for this mess.”

“Nonsense, it’s not your fault. I shouldn’t have followed you knowing what society would think of it. I’m sorry for putting you in this situation. As a man, my reputation is much less delicate than yours, and I sincerely apologize.”

Dick snorted from his doorway, the heavily implied ‘you should be’ hanging in the air.

“Steph, can you give me a minute with His Grace?”

She sighed but nodded, removing her hand from Jason's. “You get one free punch,” she stage-whispered as she left, leaving him with a smile on his face.

It was the least she could do after being part of the cause of this fiasco.

~~~

“What happened out in the garden?” Dick demanded immediately, taking Steph’s chair as soon as she was gone.

Jason straightened his position on his chair in response. How do you like being the little brother now, huh?

“I was outside, enjoying the fresh air in the gardens, when I noticed Miss Brown entering the maze. I followed her, as I had been intending to speak with her this evening. When I found her, she told me a man she knows had been following her. I escorted her back to the courtyard. I stayed out longer for a cigar and saw a commoner with a knife. He threatened me and insulted her, so I punched him and had one of Wayne’s men take him to your father-in-law.”

Dick stared at him, measuring his words.

“Are you interested in courting Stephanie?”

“I was attempting to get her attention tonight to talk to her about that. I would like nothing more than to court Stephanie Brown with the intention of marriage.”

Dick nodded once. “Good. Your timeline is moved up; you will marry her once the banns are read.”

“If she says no?” Jason asked curiously.

Dick sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “She won’t.”

Jason raised his eyebrow but dropped the subject. Nodding curtly to Dick, he exited the small study he’d been sat in while he was unconscious.

Alone, he ran his hand over his nose and jaw once more. Thank goodness for Lazarus-enhanced healing; he could feel the bruises already beginning to fade. With a sigh he dropped his head to inspect his boots.

How was he going to break the news to his lovely bride-to-be?

~~~

Dearest gentle Reader, 

Nothing is more sought-after by society than a scandal, which is the lemon to our tea, the butter to our bread, and the very reason I picked up my quill.

I have picked it up once more to inform you all of the latest scandal, which has set the whole ton abuzz.

The Waynes’ annual Summer Celebration Ball last night was a veritable goldmine of news. Lady Adelia Elliot is engaged to be married to Lord Aleksander Duma, a fine match indeed. 

But the true scandal comes from the revelation Lady Adelia shared with the ton as she announced her engagement, namely, that Miss Stephanie Brown and the Duke of Altheban were seen in the garden together, unchaperoned.

Rumours have been shared with many that the protegee of the Duchess of Bludhaven has borne a child out of wedlock, with sources saying they have seen her with an infant many times.

Thus, it is to my surprise that I share with you the news of the Duke’s engagement to Miss Brown. Perhaps he has not been so recently appeared in our midst as he would have us believe?

Steph threw the paper across the room. A hand caught it in its fluttering descent. She turned in surprise. “Your Grace?”

“Good afternoon, Miss Brown,” he bowed over her hand politely, then turned back to peruse the paper.

“Please, don’t-”

“I already know what they are saying, Miss Stephanie. It appears even being a man and a duke does only so much for my reputation.”

She winced.

“I wonder if I accidentally slighted this Lady Gotham somehow? She certainly does not pull her punches,” he shook his head.

“I am sorry that you are put in this mess because of me–and because of Dick. I can try and reason with him, to let you out of whatever ridiculous plan he’s cooked up to attempt to salvage my–our–reputations. It’s been sensationalized for the papers, of course–they’re even saying we’re engaged, for goodness’ sake!”

Jason coughed. “Yes, about that…I came here to ask you to come somewhere with me.”

She paused, then shrugged and drew closer to him. “Where?”

“Do you know how to ride?”

“Yes.”

“Lovely! There’s a beautiful spot I’ve found that I’d like to show you.”

“It’s not like our reputations can get worse,” she decided. “Lead the way, Your Grace.”

The ride was peaceful, with only Jason and the sounds of nature to torment her. The green grass, the texture of the trees, the birds wheeling through the air, the smell of fresh sea breeze all painted a lovely picture.

Jason nudged her horse to the left, towards a short copse of trees. They arrived at a large flat stone, spread with a blanket and cushions, a basket sitting in the midst.

Jason slid off Jericho and offered her his hand to dismount her horse, Spoiler.

“I thought you might like a picnic.”

“This is lovely.” She took in the preparations and the view, realising that this was the type of thing a man did for the lady he was courting.

“Your Grace…are you courting me?” she asked slowly, unsure which answer she wanted to hear.

He looked up from the wine he was pouring into two glasses, the white streak in his hair failing into his eyes. He looked so casual and comfortable there, and her heart did a funny beat.

“What if I am? Would you accept it?”

She settled onto one of the fluffy cushions, picking at a bunch of grapes. “If this is about the scandal…”

“It is not.”

She decided to take his word for it and popped the grape in her mouth. The lunch went smoothly, the two of them easily settling into their usual conversation comfortably.

Then Jason pulled out something from the basket. She was sure they’d exhausted its contents and opened her mouth to politely refuse.

Then he revealed his hand and looked up at her earnestly. “Stephanie Brown, will you do me the honour of marrying me and becoming my wife?”

Her mouth snapped shut, unsure what to say. His steady smile made her want to melt and agree to anything, but she didn’t want to jump into what would be the rest of her life.

“Are you sure? This isn’t something Dick is making you do? I assure you, I will not be hurt if you retract your proposal.”

“My proposal has nothing to do with Duke Grayson and what is currently in the papers,” he assured her. 

“Then, yes, I would be honoured to marry you, Your Grace.”

He slid the gold ring onto her finger, the light catching and playing on the amethyst set in it. “Now that we are engaged, you must stop calling me ‘Your Grace’ and instead call me Jason.”

“I will, but only if you drop the ‘Miss’,” she replied.

“Deal, Stephanie.”

“Deal, Jason.”

They shook on their first decision as a couple.

~~~

The next couple weeks, Steph barely saw her new fiance, occupied as she was with wedding planning and looking after Emma. That was another thing she needed to talk to him about.

Babs hadn’t been married that long ago, and she still knew all the best places to get the best deals for all the preparations, which was a huge help to Steph, who did not frequent the places that duchesses did.

Oh, she was going to be a duchess. She couldn’t stop the nauseated anxiety she felt, wondering if she had completely ruined her life beyond repair.

She really needed to talk to Jason.

“Steph, the duke is in Dick’s study, asking for you.” Babs told her, breaking her attention from the fabric swatches for her wedding breakfast’s napkins.

She breathed a sigh of relief. “Thanks, Babs. Everything on the right here I’ve already dismissed.”

“I’ll have it removed, then, and replaced with some tea. Or would you like me to send it to the study so you can have it with His Grace?”

“I’ll ask him if he’s got enough time for tea,” Steph replied. “Just have it brought here and I’ll come get it if he does.”

Babs nodded in response and Steph headed out of the drawing room to the study down the hall.

She paused outside the door, hearing her name.

“-marry you. You were quicker than I expected, Head,” Dick sounded almost pleased.

“It’s not what I wanted, but I’m an opportunist; I couldn’t let the situation go to waste,” Jason replied. 

“I’m pleased you did the right thing. Steph deserves what you can offer her.”

There was some sound from Jason but Steph didn’t listen, opening the door with a firm click. 

~~~

“Babs said Jason was here,” Steph said neutrally, but Jason couldn’t tell if she’d overheard what he and Dick had been talking about or not. “Is there something we needed to discuss, Your Grace?” she raised an eyebrow at him.

“Not right now,” he replied slowly. 

“Then it’s good to see you. I hope everything is going smoothly on your end, and I’ll see you in the church on Tuesday.” 

He bowed his head as she left, turning back to Dick with a bewildered expression.

“Babs was very short with me when we got married, too. They’re busy planning the wedding breakfast, after all.”

He nodded, but thought it was a little more than that. He needed to speak with her privately, but they hadn’t had a moment alone, never mind a moment, since they were engaged.

~~~

Steph opened her window, frowning. Jason stood below, waving at her with a smile, dropping a handful of pebbles behind his back into the garden.

“It is nearly midnight, what do you want?” she called in a loud whisper, too tired and put out to care about niceties.

“I’m sorry it’s so late, but will you come down for a minute so we can talk, please?”

She huffed and closed the window. They were getting married in ten hours, what couldn’t wait until then to say? Unless…they weren’t getting married?

She threw her robe on, yanked the tie shut, and speedily tiptoed down the steps, avoiding the creaky ones, to the side door, where Jason was waiting.

“Thank you,” he said when he saw her. “I needed to ask you what you heard when I was talking to Grayson in the study.”

“Why?” she looked at him sternly. “Is there something I need to know?”

“No. I just wanted to make sure you didn’t misunderstand a fragment of conversation you didn’t have context to.”

“Tell me, then, what were you talking about before I came in?”

“Grayson was thanking me for proposing to you so quickly, and I was refusing his thanks because I did not do it for him.”

That sounded rather rehearsed . “Well, then, sounds like everything’s clear,” she crossed her arms. “Anything else to say, Your Grace?”

“We’re alone, can’t you call me Jason?”

“I am capable of that, yes.”

“You seem angry at me, but I don’t know why. If I did or said something, could you at least tell me so I can apologise or attempt to fix it?”

She huffed at his rational words. “I’m being unfair. Just let me hold this grudge for ten more hours, okay?”

He gave her a perplexed look but agreed.

“Oh, I also wanted to speak to you…would you mind terribly if I brought Emma with me?”

“Of course not. I assumed you were part of the same parcel, I have a room already prepared for her.”

“You do?” she asked in disbelief.

“I’d show it to you, but I’m afraid that would be even more scandalous than what we’re doing right now,” he grinned. 

She punched his arm.

“Ow!”

“I’m sorry, did it actually hurt?” she gasped, running her hand gently over the spot she’d hit.

“No, it’s just a little sensitive from my boxing earlier.”

“You box?” She tilted her head. “I could see that.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“I don’t mean anything by it, I just- your figure-”

There was no way to save herself, and she gave up with a blush as he grinned at her, pleased.

~~~

Babs was Steph’s witness, and Roy stood with Jason, the rest of their handful of family and friends filling the two front rows of pews in the church. The ceremony was short and simple, and the congregation headed to the fancier wedding breakfast held in the Graysons’ manor, in lieu of the bride’s house.

The couple were bounced from person to person, receiving well-wishes and advice, most of which they ignored. 

Finally Babs gave Steph the signal to leave, and she breathed a sigh of relief at the escape. 

Jason handed her into his carriage, then sprang in after her, still holding her hand.

They waved the remaining well-wishers off and headed to Jason’s home.

His home turned out to be a small (compared to ones like the Waynes’ or Kanes’) manor on the edge of the city, about halfway between the Waynes’ and Graysons’ and the Browns’. He had bought it before he even met her, but Steph still found it a happy convenience. Maybe it was a sign they were meant to be together.

“I apologize, there are very few servants around, since it was just me here and I don’t need much help,” explained Jason. “Feel free to hire whomever you think we need.”

“I grew up being the servant, Jason,” she reminded him. “I think I’ll manage with who you have now. Babs did recommend I get a maid now that…now that I’m a duchess; it’ll make things easier.”

Jason made an agreeing noise. “I had your things delivered already, so they should be in your rooms already.”

She glanced at him but he didn’t appear to notice, continuing the tour. 

“I don’t use this wing much, but it’s in good shape if you want to have it turned into a music room or something.”

The tour continued, Jason pointing out his most-used rooms so she could find him easily. She enjoyed this peek into his life, measuring all the things he’d furnished his home with. It wasn’t nearly as fancy and pretentious as some of the other nobles’ houses, but seemed more lived-in and arranged for comfort and ease. If this was the bachelor touch she’d heard about, she couldn’t fathom why society hated it so.

Various items from his travels were scattered about, interspersed with weapons from different cultures and paintings and artwork from a range of eras. “You have lovely taste,” she complimented.

“Thank you. My mother would be proud to hear that–she taught me most of what I know.”

“Is your mother still alive?”

“Oh, yes, she’s quite well back in Nanda Parbat. I was meaning to ask you, what do you think about travelling to Altheban soon?”

Steph blinked. “I think that sounds lovely. How soon is ‘soon’?”

Jason hesitated. “Within three weeks?”

“That’s doable, then,” she agreed. “I won’t bother unpacking much of Emma’s or my things, then.”

“Where is Emma?” asked Jason.

“My mother said she’d keep her for the week until we got settled in, so she wouldn’t be in the midst of all the mess.”

“Oh. Thoughtful of her.”

~~~

Steph paced in her room, the continual breeze of her stride making the candles flicker every time she passed. She should’ve taken Babs up on her offer of a temporary maid until she found one herself. Now she was stuck in her dress, trying to figure out a way to get out without asking her brand-new husband for help.

Stupid fancy dresses.

Expelling her pride with a long sigh, she headed to the door separating her from Jason. It opened to reveal him shirtless, his back to her as he appeared to be fiddling with his pants.

She stepped back into her room, an apology on her lips, when he turned. “Did you need something?”

Her hand dropped from her face. “What happened?” she gasped, taking in the marks covering his body. She’d helped her mother often enough to know those were scars, and they weren’t easy to get.

“It’s nothing,” he shrugged, reaching for his discarded shirt.

“It’s not nothing,” she insisted. “Who hurt you?”

He took her hands in his, lowering them from tracing over the marks and facing her with a reassuring smile. “I’m okay, Steph. I’ve been in some…situations…of my own volition, and this was the price I paid. They’ve been healed and treated by a professional. I appreciate your worry, but I’m fine. I’m sorry, I should have warned you.”

“No, it’s my fault, I should have knocked. I apologise.”

“What did you want?”

She tore her gaze away from his well-defined chest muscles to meet his concerned teal gaze.

“I…my dress is too difficult to get in and out of,” she muttered. “Could you…?”

She turned her back to him, brushing her hair over one shoulder.

He took a breath and stepped closer. His fingers brushed against her neck as he brushed some stray strands out of the way.

She could feel his body heat behind her, warming her through and igniting a fire in her belly. Each accidental touch as he undid the buttons, each gust of air over her shoulder, every cell he touched as he undid the laces only stoked it higher.

The dress and corset loosened as the bands of anticipation tightened around her chest.

Her dress pooled around her ankles as it finally slipped free.

Jason released a long breath behind her. She barely felt the graze of his lips on her bare shoulder before they were gone.

His warmth moved away. He cleared his throat. “All done.”

She turned to face him, holding her breath. “Will you kiss me?”

He nodded once, shuffling forward so their toes touched and wrapping his arm around her waist to pull her to him. The other trailed up her arm lightly, raising the small hairs and making her shiver in anticipation.

Her eyes slid closed as his face drew nearer, and then his lips met hers. Softly at first, tentatively, feeling her out. She pushed back, determined not to let this be the only kiss they shared. The fire in her spread through her veins, making her wrap her arms around his neck and pull him into her. 

The arm around her waist tightened, and he deepened the kiss, his fingers curling around her neck and kissing her back with just as much passion.

They finally separated, gasping for air, eyes dark and mouths panting. 

“Do you really wanna do this?”

She nodded vigorously. “Do you?”

He snorted a half-laugh. “Look at you, of course I do.”

Then he pulled her closer and proceeded to kiss any further remarks out of her head.

Steph ended up naked as the day she was born on the bed, underclothes spread over the room, watching in fascination at just how fast a man could undress when he was truly motivated.

He looked up and returned her grin with a hungry one of his own. “Ready?”

“For whaaa-Jason!” she exclaimed as he grabbed her ankles and pulled her down the bed.

He grinned up at her surprise, head bracketed by her knees. “Hold on to the duvet.”

“For whaaa-Jason!”

He knelt between her thighs, licking at her core like a man starved. She grasped a handful of bedsheets, throwing her head back in pleasure as his nose bumped against her clit with every movement of his head, his steady ministrations quickly building her pleasure up to unbearable heights. She fell with a loud gasp of his name, hand flying to his head to grip his hair instead of the sheets.

He pulled away, licking his lips in a manner far too indecent, and gave her a pleased look. She scooted up the bed to lie against the pillows, and he joined her on the other side.

“Come straddle me,” he said, pulling her hand toward him to kiss her fingers.

Affection shone from his eyes, and she felt herself melting even further.

Settling over his hips, she leaned forward to kiss him softly, her fingers tracing the raised skin on his chest and arms. “Is it very dangerous in Nanda Parbat?”

“It’s probably the safest place you’ll be in the world,” he told her between kisses. “I think you’ll like it. You’ll fit right in, with your knife throwing.”

Steph thought that raised a few more questions, but then Jason was nibbling on her neck and she decided they could wait for later. The fire inside her had been temporarily held under control when he gave her that orgasm, but it was steadily burning hotter again.

She shivered as Jason’s warm hand brushed lightly over her belly, the sensitive skin there not used to touch. He moved to her legs, running his fingertips teasingly up her calves to her knees, then her thighs.

His head dipped even lower as his mouth found her breasts, heightening the flames within her. He still seemed so composed, even with her kissing up his neck and teasing his nipples.

She wanted to make him burn just as much as her.

His fingers trailed up to the apex of her thighs, finding her still thoroughly wet. One slid in, making her gasp in pleasure. Yes, that was what she needed. She felt so empty.

“More,” she told him breathily, nipping his earlobe. He added a second, finding her sweet spot and rubbing in just the right way. She shifted so the angle was better, feeling her orgasm coiling in her lower belly. 

Her hand trailed down his chest, uncaring, until she reached his rather erect cock. His fingers paused as he let out a pained sound. 

She wrapped her fingers around him slowly, stroking him at the same pace he was using on her. He added a third finger, stretching her nicely. 

Abruptly he pulled his fingers out of her, leaning back to see her. “Please stop, or I’m not gonna last,” he asked, his other hand stilling her wrist. “Can I-”

“Please,” she begged, missing his fingers already. She could only imagine what his cock would feel like inside her.

Settling herself over it, she slowly slid down, relishing the look on Jason’s face. There, now he was showing how unravelled he was feeling. She took him until their pelvises met, swaying her hips teasingly.

Jason groaned. “Steph, please, don’t tease.”

Feeling too wound up and close to orgasm to be bratty, she began setting a steady pace. His fingers gripped her hips as an anchor as he began to thrust up to meet her. Her temporarily delayed orgasm came building up with a vengeance. 

Her fingers dug into his shoulders as she came with a cry of his name; he followed after her.

They lay in each other’s arms, content to be skin-to-skin as they caught their breath.

Steph hummed contentedly as Jason ran his fingers up and down her spine. 

“Was that good for you?”

“Of course it was–I orgasmed twice. What about you?”

“Better than good,” he kissed her quickly, then lay silent for a while. Finally he took a deep breath. “I know you married me because of the situation, but…do you think you could love me one day?”

Steph blinked rapidly at him, surprised at the sudden deep talk and the implications of the question.

“I didn’t marry you because of the situation,” she finally said. “Although that was certainly a part of it. I am already halfway in love with you, Jason. I know I’ll love you.”

“Really?”

She nodded definitively. “Really. Could you love me ?”

Jason kissed her softly, full of feeling. “I do love you. It’s hard not to, believe me, I tried.”

She narrowed her eyes at him but decided to drop it, snuggling further into his chest. “Would you have married me if we hadn’t been forced to?”

“When I was looking for you in the garden that night, it was to ask you if we could talk. I wanted to propose to you before…that, although it didn’t happen in the way I’d hoped,” he sighed.

“It’s not what I wanted, but I’m an opportunist; I couldn’t let the situation go to waste.”

Steph recalled his words from the study, context helping it make more sense. She kissed him thoroughly. “You make me happy, Jason Head.”

“You make me happy, Stephanie Head.”

Dearest Reader, 

As the season comes to a close, so too does the Duke of Altheban’s stay with us. We wish the duke and duchess and their newly adopted daughter safe travels as they take their leave, heading to the Duke’s native lands in Nanda Parbat, where they are sure to have many more adventures. We hope to see the Head family back in our midst one day.

With the season over, so I too shall disappear from your lives, gone but I hope certainly not forgotten. Until next season,

Adieu.

Lady Gotham

A/N 3:

-Thank you for reading and to @jaysteph-events for hosting this <3 -Join the JaySteph Discord (18+)! -The Duma and Elliot families are from DC canon as Gothamite socialite families. Duma is Polish, so I used the Polish spelling of Alexander for Lord Duma’s name. I couldn’t think why that had a nice ring to it until I remembered Alexandre Dumas, the author. He’s a few decades later, though, so there’s no overlap between him and my character. -Nursing wasn’t exactly the respected career it is now, since it was pre-Florence Nightingale. Jason, having trained somewhat [my hc] with (Middle) Eastern healers, who were more advanced and hygienic, would have more respect for nurses. -Jason’s horse is named Jericho, not after Deathstroke's kid, but after the make of Jason’s primary guns. I’m pretty sure Jericho 941s didn’t exist in 1810, so I used the name for his horse instead. -I was listening to Beethoven’s 5th as I wrote the scene where it’s playing in the background. Classical music is surprisingly fun background music for a scene where a character gets punched in the face :) And to those of you curious about if the 5th symphony existed in 1810, yes, it did–I looked it up: Beethoven wrote it in 1808. -I purposefully left this somewhat open ended so I can come back and write more in this AU when I want, such as Steph meeting Talia and the Bats finding out Jason is their Jason. -If there’s something I left unclear or you’d like to know more about some scene or read a specific future scenario, please leave a comment!

#jaysteph #fic #ali writes #jaystephvalentinesday #bridgerton au

[anghraine]

Well, now I’m curious, and I’ll love to read your input on this. So would you set P&P the novel during the 1790s? I reread the novel recently and (since I’m no historian) couldn’t really pick up any time markers. But I’ve read jaff set during the napoleonic wars. So, what I’m really curious here is your thoughts on that, I guess? Was Colonel Fitzwilliam fighting Napoleon?

I do set P&P in the 1790s, yes. The traditional dating of the novel is 1811-1812, so fandom isn't wrong per se, though the treatment of that dating as 100% canon is a mistake IMO (I've been corrected by overzealous fans on this point multiple times!).

Chapman suggested 1811-1812 in his influential calendars for the novels, and Ellen Moody has laid out an elaborate calendar using those historical years (you can still find it online here, though with speculation about Austen's process and what the original version of P&P was like that influences the conclusions). She does acknowledge the possibility of 1795-6, 1799/, 1802-3, and/or some combination of those with 1811-1812, with influence from as early as 1794—and you can find arguments for a 1794-5 calendar, too.

In fandom, I think the prevalence of the Regency calendar is also reinforced by the immense popularity of the 1995 P&P, which continues to influence much of fandom's perception of the characters, the setting, the clothes, etc, and which was very much a 'Regency' production.

But there are a few things that people typically base the setting on, and I can talk some about those.

Firstly, there are a few internal dates. These are not entirely consistent with any actual year, but that doesn't mean that Austen didn't have a particular year in mind (she did for Persuasion and there are some inconsistencies there also, iirc).

There is the arrival of the militia and the departure to the Brighton camp (often believed to be influenced by the Brighton camp that lasted, I think, until 1795), and the reference at the end of the novel to the restoration of peace affecting the Wickhams’ lifestyle. This might be a reference to the temporary peace of 1802, or Austen was optimistically looking forwards to a peace that had not yet been reached when P&P was published.

There are a few historical references—Mrs Gardiner brings news of fashion changes from London, there's a reference to Elizabeth's skirts being the kind that can be let down to cover her muddied under-skirt, there's Darcy's belief that they live in a time for buying books (this could refer to various things in various points of time, of course), there's Mr Bennet owning a gown for powdering his hair (he might be old-fashioned and/or making a political statement after the tax on hair powder led to the abandonment of the fashion, or it might simply take place in the days of hair powder, or be a relic from an earlier draft in which it did—none of this is certain).

I do think the references lean more towards the 1790s, by contrast to (say) Persuasion, which has clear references to the 1810s that it’s set in. I also think that, more amorphously, S&S/P&P/NA feel like they take place in a different, earlier world than Persuasion and Sanditon.

That said, Austen wanted her novels to feel contemporary and worried about NA in particular being too dated for publication by the 1810s. So I think it’s also possible that the original P&P was more clearly set in the 1790s and Austen actively tried to update it/re-set it in 1811-1812 or whatever, or at least dial down 1790s-specific elements to make it accessible to the audience of 1813 (despite some elements being difficult to remove wholesale, most notably w/ the militia).

It’s also possible that she was partially inspired by different events over the long process of creation/revision/publication, and multiple events from different points in time made their way into the version we have today—it is fiction, after all.

But if we’re going to try and set it in an actual historical period, I personally find the arguments for the 1790s the most persuasive.

#/happily procrastinates #anon replies #respuestas #austen blogging #pride and prejudice #long post #eighteenth century blogging #nineteenth century blogging

[cincinnatusvirtue]

Romantic Poets in Profile: John Keats (1795-1821)

The first generation of English language Romantic poets stemmed from the late 18th century and is most associated with the names of Blake, Coleridge & Wordsworth.  The second generation that followed was born at the tale end of the 18th century and overlapped with the first to varying degrees.  This second generation is usually most associated with another trio: Lord Byron, Percy Shelley & John Keats.

While all six of these men are known for their poetic output they are also known for their lives and how they in turned informed their poetry.  In the second generation only Lord Byron was a commercial & critical success in his lifetime to a wider audience.  Arguably, the celebrity & personality surrounding Byron and the many complex events of his life, notably many scandals are just as well known as the poetry itself.  Meanwhile, Shelley’s political and philosophical ideals were much more explicit and in some ways regarded as too ahead of their time and out of place in the era of the Regency in which he wrote.  His sometimes scandalous life and indeed the literary acclaim of his wife, author Mary Shelley and her work Frankenstein perhaps also clouded out the reception to his poetry both in his lifetime and later to an extent too.  Though both Byron and Shelley’s poetry has gone on to remain influential and highly regarded in subsequent generations, undoubtedly so too did the events of their lives and their political & philosophical ideals.  John Keats is perhaps the only one of this trio who’s poetical output was not also obscured by the details of his life.  Other than like Byron & Shelley, Keats did see his share of tragedy in life and indeed lived a short life.  However, it can probably be contended that Keats unlike his contemporaries is less known for his personality and life and more solely for his poetry and to a degree his ideas on poetry.  Yet, it would be a mistake to not say that his life and experiences did not influence his writing...

Early Life:

-John Keats was born on October 31, 1795 to Thomas & Frances Keats, he was the first of four children.  His siblings in order included George, Thomas & Fanny.

-He was born in the Moorgate area of London where his father managed an called the Swan & Hoop, where he previously worked in the horse stables next door.  Keats was born into a working class humble origin unlike Byron & Shelley who both had aristocratic backgrounds and were heirs to fortunes and titles of nobility.  

-John’s parents had hoped to send him to Eton or Harrow like Byron & Shelley but could not afford the cost.  Instead he was sent to the boarding school Enfield where he nevertheless was giving a thorough and modern education.  Early on he developed an interest like many of contemporaries in the classics such as Greek & Latin & history.

-John was physically quite short in stature at only roughly over 5 feet in height and slender in build but he was said to be physically strong despite his stature and made up for it with a tough demeanor willing to fight any bullies to himself or his brothers.  He was also described as having curly reddish-brown hair.

-He was very interested in literature and was almost always seen reading and by age 13 he was quite focused academically.  Winning an academic prize in 1809.

-At age 8 (1804) the first of many family tragedies took place when his father fell from his horse after a visit to Enfield wherein Mr. Keats died of a fracture to the skull, depriving the family of a steady source of income.

-Frances Keats remarried shortly there after but left her new spouse and sent her children to live with her parents instead.

-Frances herself died of tuberculosis in 1810 when John was only 14 years old.  Leaving all four Keats in the legal guardianship of their maternal grandmother, who likewise appointed two legal guardians in the event of her own passing.

-Keats had decided to enter the medical profession,  which in the early 19th century did not just follow a strict course of years of medical school and residency at a hospital with strict licensing.  Instead, many future doctors started out at apprentices to others, who served as either traveling or local surgeons & apothecaries.  In the autumn of 1810, Keats entered his apprenticeship with Thomas Hammond, the local family doctor.  Living with Hammond & his family in the attic above the surgeon’s practice for the next 3-4 years.

Medicine & Poetry

-In 1814, Keats (aged 19) tried some of his early efforts at poetry having never let go of his interest in poetry & literature during his apprenticeship.  His early efforts were regarded as imitation and derivative, even in title of his earliest surviving poem “An Imitation of Spenser” named after the poet-author Edmund Spenser.  

-1815 saw John admitted to Guy’s Hospital as a medical student, he became a dresser or assistant to surgeons.  This sense of dedication and responsibility seemed to be leave the impression to all that he was destined to a life as a doctor which would have likely brought him financial security, something he never really had.

-Finances were always a sensitive issue for Keats who was stubborn in his independence and determined to make his own way in life.  His mother had left him £800 for his 21st birthday and had left  £8,000 to be divided between her four children upon their reaching the age of maturity (Keats 21st).  However, he was never informed by his legal guardian/attorneys about the £800 bequeathment, possibly due to their own lack of information.

-Despite his heavy involvement in medicine, he was increasingly devoted to poetry and writing, which began to conflict with his studies.  Nevertheless in 1816 he did receive his apothecaries license, essentially making him a licensed practitioner of medicine to serve as pharmacist, surgeon and physician.  By year’s end taking inspiration from other well known poets, namely Lord Byron & Leigh Hunt, John decided instead to devote his life and earnings to poetry rather than medicine.

-In 1816, Keats got his sonnet “O Solitude” published in the Examiner, a liberal leaning weekly paper-magazine publication that was well known throughout Britain for its radical politics and featured modern artists including poets, it was published by Leigh Hunt, himself a poet and radical intellectual.  Also a friend of both Lord Byron & Percy Shelley.

-October 1816 through a mutual friend, Hunt met Keats for the first time. Under Leigh’s influence Keats met with radical artists and intellectuals of the day, though Keats wasn’t especially political in his writing.  Within month of meeting Hunt, his first volume of poems, called simply “Poems” was released to no commercial success and little critical notice aside from a favorable review in the publication, The Champion.

-Keats managed to switch his original publishers to a new set of publishers who’s past clients included Samuel Coleridge.  His new publishers were very enthusiastic about his poems and paid him an advance for a second volume.

-Meanwhile, Leigh Hunt published an article on Keats & Shelley to derive attention to their poetry while also publishing “On First Looking into Chapman’s Homer.”  The sonnet which marvels at Chapman’s translations of the Greek author and bard Homer, struck a chord with many in the literary world and while he wasn’t a commercial success, many new literary friends and acquaintances came into Keats’ social circle.  They were impressed with his talents and felt in time he had more untapped potential.

-1817 saw Keats leave London having faced too many ailments in the cramped quarters near the medical school as he had at one point intended to return to medicine and join the Royal College of Surgeons but nevertheless his poetic ambitions won him over.

-John moved in with his brothers to the nearby village of Hampstead where his brother Tom had now like their mother started to suffer tuberculosis.  John & George tried their best to help their brother but in the days before antibiotics and vaccines were known and developed, tuberculosis was essentially a death sentence, sometimes fast acting or as in Tom’s case long and drawn out.  Which combined with his poor finances depressed Keats (who was prone to depression his entire life).

-Hampstead nevertheless allowed Keats to be in a more rural setting more congenial to his writing and close his friends like Leigh Hunt and others in their literary circle.  Also Samuel Coleridge, the first generation Romantic poet who on at least one occasion walked with Keats through the woods talking by Keats’ own account on everything from poetry to metaphysics.

A Walking Tour of the British Isles:

-In June 1818, the Keats brothers went their separate ways, Tom remained infirm due to his illness and in the care of others at Hampstead.  While John & George departed themselves.  John travelled with his friend Charles Armitage Brown intending to take a walking tour of the north of Britain, so as to acquire some poetic inspiration and alleviate his depression.  The tour would take Keats & Brown to the famed and picturesque Lake District of Northwest England’s Cumbria region, along with a tour of Scotland & Ireland.  To save on travel expenses, they’d walk everywhere except where boat ferries were needed.  George Keats and his new wife Georgina accompanied John & Charles part of the way.  They was bound to emigrate for America where ultimately they would remain but perish poor and suffering from tuberculosis.  George said what would be his farewell to John in Lancaster, England.  Seeing each other only once more briefly in 1820.

-Keats & Brown made for the Lake District in Cumbria where famed first generation Romantic poet, William Wordsworth was living.  He attempted to meet with Wordsworth at his home in the area but no one was home at the time.  The two poets had met in 1817 on a number of occasions.

-Keats wrote a series of letters to his siblings almost daily, serving as a diary and practice place for his new found poetry.  In it he described not only the natural scenery of mountains, lake, rivers and glens but of the habits and appearance of the people of Northern England, Scotland & Ireland.  Which to 19th century Londoners was almost as foreign as far flung parts of the European continent. 

-Keats visited the grave and cottage of Scottish lyricist Robert Burns, he also visited Northern Ireland in the vicinity of Belfast along with the Scottish Highlands and several of the Scottish islands.  Keats also made observations of the extreme poverty the average Scots & Irish rural families faced at the time, with most children walking barefoot and that to keep warm meant burning bog peat in smoky huts with no outlets but the one doorway into the home.  The poverty shocked Keats sensibilities but the walking tour was pivotal in giving Keats new perspectives & indeed inspiration.

Return to Hampstead, Wentworth Place & Fanny Brawne:

-Keats and Brown returned to Hampstead in August of 1818, after two months of a walking tour.  He returned to caring for Tom whose condition worsened and would eventually pass away from his prolonged illness on December 1st, depressing Keats greatly.  Its possible during his caring for Tom that Keats contracted the disease himself which he began to refer to as a “family disease” having previously taken his mother.

-Following Tom’s death and George’s moving to America, John found himself alone with the English winter oncoming.  He moved into Charles Brown’s newly owned Wentworth Place, a house about ten minutes from his old lodgings in Hampstead.  It was here that Keats in the spring of 1819 would write a handful of his greatest known poems, his Odes on which his legacy largely rests to this day.  Including Odes to a Nightingale, Melancholy & Grecian Urn.

-Meanwhile, the publication of his second volume of poetry, the classically influenced Endymion, was also negatively received by the literary critics, many of whom opposed Keats for his association with Leigh Hunt and the radical politics he espoused.

-1819 also produced some of his other posthumously best known works: Lamia, The Eve of St. Agnes, Hyperion, La Belle Dame Sans Merci.  His publishers were lukewarm to the poems but did agree to publish them in 1820 the third and final collections of poems released in his lifetime under the title-Lamia, Isabella, The Eve of St. Agnes & Other Poems.

-Previously in 1817, he had met an Isabella Jones who appears to have been an early long term flirtation with Keats and likely was one whom inspired much of his poetry that was noted for its sensual language.  In letters to his brother George and from glancing remarks from others, it appears likely Keats had his first and possibly only sexual relationship with Jones though the two seemed to never commit to an actual full blown romantic relationship.  Their trysts continued until early 1819.

-By autumn 1818 Keats would be meet the great love of his life, Fanny Brawne.  Fanny was an 18 daughter of a widow who was friends with Keats neighbors at Wentworth Place.  By 1819 the Brawnes had moved next door and John saw Fanny daily.  Evidently the two had much in common, including having grandparents who owned inns, family loss due to tuberculosis and interest in literature and theater.

-John gave books to Fanny to read and in time the two were almost inseparable.  They appear by summer 1819 to have been informally engaged to marry, “engaged to be engaged” as is sometimes described.  Nevertheless, despite his new romance and his productive and more mature poetry two things continued to put limitations on Keats as they always had.  The first was finances or lack there of.  Keats got his publishing advances but also had to borrow money and was often generous in loaning great sums to others making him indebted.  He also had no critical or commercial breakthrough as a poet yet either.  He did not want to marry Fanny until he made something of himself financially.

-The second trouble was the ever present danger of exposure to tuberculosis.  The realization that Keats was fatally afflicted with the same disease that killed his mother, younger brothers & sister in law occurred in early 1820.  Upon hemorrhaging blood in coughing fits, Keats was aware his death was approaching.

-He wrote hundreds of letters and messages to Fanny and professed what amounted to great anguish over loving her and the realization that his poverty and now fatal affliction would prevent their marriage from ever taking place.

Exile to Italy and Death:

-The treatment for tuberculosis patients in the early 19th century usually to ease though not cure the symptoms was to send the patient to warmer climates to ease the burden on the lungs and English winters with cold and damp conditions in confined spaces was usually regarded as too harsh on a patient in Keats state.

-In September 1820 on the recommendations of his doctors, Keats left England and Fanny behind forever, ship bound for Italy with the final destination being Rome.

-Percy Shelley, now living in self-imposed exile in Italy to evade creditors to whom he was indebted back in England along with the goal of establishing his own radical magazine publication jointly with Leigh Hunt & Lord Byron heard of Keats illness and wrote to him with the offer of having him stay with the Shelleys in Pisa & Florence Italy where they were staying.  Keats, who had previously met Shelley in England through Hunt years before declined the offer.  Shelley was a proponent and fan of Keats work but offered unsolicited advice to Keats on how to improve his poetry in time.  Keats found this patronizing and ever stubborn about making his own way refused Shelley’s help, albeit politely and under the guise of not wanting to burden’s Shelley’s family which had suffered numerous deaths of Percy and Mary’s children (of which only one would survive to adulthood)

-Shelley also wrote to Byron about Keats but Keats & Byron whom never met had a more distanced relationship.  Byron thought Shelley was too high praising of Keats abilities and in turn Keats felt that their differences were really creative stating: “You speak of Lord Byron and me – There is this great difference between us. He describes what he sees – I describe what I imagine – Mine is the hardest task.” 

-Keats’ friends helped contribute financially for his trip and to accompany him was his friend the artist Joseph Severn.  Their journey to Italy was plagued by storms and then followed up with a ten day on ship quarantine while docked in Naples due to a cholera outbreak in Britain.  From Naples, they travelled overland to Rome arriving in November two months after they left England.  

-Keats & Severn settled into a villa next to he famed Spanish Steps in Rome, at first he took daily carriage rides but his bad health caused this to cease.  he was cared for by Severn & an English doctor by the name of Clark.  Fearing he might commit suicide by being given opium tinctures in laudanum, he was denied any real painkiller leaving him in agonizing coughing fits.  Additionally, Clark followed the normal course of recommended treatment in those days including reducing his diet and bleeding the patient with lancets & leeches.  This probably weakened an already sick Keats.

-1821 came around and so Keats linger in agony, often to the point of tears as described by Severn, mostly due to the prolonged suffering and wishing to end his ordeal.

-Finally, Keats succumbed to the disease and died in his rented Roman villa on February 23, 1821.  He was 25 years old.

-Severn had him buried in Rome’s Protestant Cemetery with a tombstone arranged by Severn & Charles Brown.  To this day it is a common place for tourists to visit.

-Percy Shelley & Leigh Hunt claimed that Keats died due to his sensitive nature from reading a bad review of his poetry which in turn burst a blood vessel.  Byron while not personally subscribing to that theory did make a sarcastic quip in reference to it in his latest narrative poem, Don Juan.  Shelley meanwhile had immortalized Keats in his poetic tribute, Adonais.

-1822 saw Shelley, Byron, Leigh Hunt and others stationed near Livorno, Italy to finally piece together Shelley’s long awaited radical publication which attacked the politics of monarchy in England, an offense that in the 19th century could land one in prison.  All three men had liberal or radical leanings and were also supportive of Italian nationalism rising up against the Austrian Empire & Papacy which ruled over much of Italy at the time which existed as multiple kingdoms and occupied territory than one state.  For their politics and to avoid press coverage in England over personal scandals especially on Byron’s case, the three had exiled themselves to Continental Europe.

-However, in July 1822, just shy of his 30th birthday, Shelley while boating with another friend was caught in a storm at sea.  Having never learned to swim, Shelley drowned and washed ashore days later.  He was unrecognizable due to crabs eating his face but for a copy of a Keats’ poem Lamia kept in the pocket of his pants which he was known to have had on his person at the time of his boating excursion.  In a dramatic scene on an Italian beach, Shelley’s body was cremated with Byron in attendance.  His heart however was calcified and not reduced to ashes, instead Mary Shelley supposedly kept this as a keepsake and had it stored in a cabinet at her home in England until her own death where his heart was supposedly buried with her when she died decades later.  Shelley’s ashes however were like Keats buried in the Protestant Cemetery in Rome, next to his son’s grave.  Both poets graves are widely visited and the villa Keats died in is now the Keats-Shelley museum dedicated to both men with memorabilia contained therein, including Keats’ death bed.

-With Shelley’s death, the project for a radical publication died away.  Byron tired of life in Italy after several years decided to join the Greek War of Independence then underway in revolt against centuries of Ottoman Turkish rule.  Byron had hoped to use his celebrity and wealth to help finance Greek rebels and possibly be given command of troops despite no real military experience.  Byron arrived in Greece in summer 1823 to find the rebels poorly organized and facing in-fighting.  His next several months was coordinating the donation of loans to provide supplies and uniforms but he tried to avoid alienating different Greek factions.  In April 1824, having contracted a fever and weakened like Keats with bleeding treatment via lancets and leeches and from this weakness he died of complications to his fever.  He was age 36.  His remains were embalmed and except for his heart were buried in England.

-Thus ended the second generation of English Romantic poets, all dead within three years of each other and none older than their mid-thirties.

-All three men are routinely taught at school and cited by subsequent generations of poets and writer as influences.  Though often Byron and Shelley will be regarded for the quality of their work, their work is sometimes overshadowed by their tumultuous personalities, political outlooks and the many scandals that colored their lives.  John Keats, relative to the other two major poets of his generation is generally only regarded for his work and his Odes in particular are regarded as among the finest examples of English language poetry in history, fulfilling his dream to be regarded as one of the great poets of the language, albeit posthumously...

#john keats #romantic poetry #romanticism #19th century #england #italy #fanny brawne #percy bysshe shelley #lord byron #mary shelley #leigh hunt #english language #poetry #1800s

[hedgefairy]

Okay, I know, I know, it's already old news, everybody and their uncle in the costuming community has already talked it over, but anyhoo, I made notes when I crawled my way through effing Bridgerton and I will be damned if I don't vomit them onto this site. I have 32 pages of this shit, I'm not gonna throw that away.

I'm also typing this on my phone because I'm stuck on a trainride that's just doubled in length because this is the 2021 Northern German snow storm. What, there's snowflakes on the rails? We cannot possibly keep up our schedule, say goodbye to 90% of the connections.

Okay, on to Bridgerton, Episode 1

We're in Britain (oh, London, okay), allegedly 1813. I see people who are clearly meant to be asympatico, but is this size incusivity I spot there? Daring! Gasp! Me li...

Oh wait, no. The character is promptly shamed for her figure (which is mostly caused by the horrible cut of her dress. Every size can look great in Regency garb, but never mind, we need to make the "fat one" look bad!).

Also, no shifts under the stays. Why. There was obviously enough budget, don't tell me you couldn't afford a few strappy tops - it's not like the rest is historically accurate, so it would have sufficed to send some poor underpaid intern to H&M and get some. Nvm, that wouldn't be sexay.

Wait, is the garishly dressed (always a sign of a character of bad character in a costume drama) woman Delphine from Selfridge? Does she always have to play bitches? That's not nice, and just because she has a recognisable face, which by modern (read: americanised) standards is not favourable enough. Ugh. But I like the actress, so I'll let it slide (for now).

Lol, buttocks.

Not sure about the girls' dresses. Also, the Queen is a WOC, cool!

Oh no, one of the Featherington sisters faints! But that's okay because the Featheringtons are just comic relief and foil anyway.

I get weird incest vibes from the Bridgertons.

So the court is clearly 18th century and the show is set in the 1810s. I've by now seen several explanations for this decision, I still think it robs the Queen of reproductions of her actual historical gowns which were heavily inspired by the 18th century but so. Magnificently. Weird. It would have been so neat, and more of a "hey, I'm kinda out of touch with things" vibe, but hey, I'm not the one getting paid for making those taffeta gowns here (her hair is glorious, tho).

I'm very into the intro.

That Regency gossip girl is a real b, not unlike the Dowager Countess of Downton (unpopular opinion, I think she's pretty overrated, yes, I like Maggie Smith).

Again, no shifts.

Where do I know the "pragmatic" Bridgerton sister from? Ah, it's The Paradise. And Jonathan Strange. (Wait, she's my age. And she's supposed to be a teenager. Man, do I love a good Dawson casting. I like the actress, though, she has a face ™!).

Aaaah. We get it. She's the spirited one. She also doesn't care about dresses because she's not like other girls™. I really like her voice (but she still doesn't sound like a teenager).

The heck is up with Lady F's dress and that of her friend? Oh, yeah. Antagonist fashion.

Of course the Featheringtons are Horrid Hags™ aside from Penny who's nice, but the pudgy one (at least we don't get a case of "she's not conventionally attractive so she's bad").

Oooh, the cousin! Supposed to suck, but ofc she's a stunner, and only Penny (who's the nice one, remember!) is delighted to have her around. She's also a POC, which is nice but apparently that means she does not follow fashion, hair-wise. I would have loved to see some Regency hair on her, it would have been so pretty *cries in Greek updo*

Ugh, we're still in Ep. 1, typing this on my phone was a bad idea.

Lady Danbury and the Duke guy are delightful with each other (more POC! So neat!).

The girl the oldest Bridgerbro screws is apparently a singer, which isn't up to status for his doucheship, and she doesn't wear a shift.

The music at the ball sounds like something from the Top 40s, but I'm woefully ignorant of contemporary music charts so I can't tell what it is. I like it when they do that in historical-ish works, making well-known pop or rock stuff work for the ambience (ugh, that dance scene to Golden Years in Knight's Tale. My heart. In a good way.)

I dig the Ducktail hair of Penny's crush. Oh, wait, that's a Bridgerbro. I don't quite get why the hair trends of the time don't apply to the POC characters or extras, but seeing how most white characters also show a shameful disregard for the weirdnes and gloriosity (that's not a word) that is early 1800s hair (the 1830s take the cake, tho) despite those hairdos being basically designed for white people hair, I don't think I care much (well, I do, but about all of them). Overall the hair is horrid and not very 1810s. Let's just leave it at that.

Like a good old romance novel (I've since been told that Bridgerton is supposed to be a pastiche of such novels, but I really couldn't tell from the series, not at all, and I'm not inclined to read the books) we have

a pretty, kind, superpure daughter of the main family

the mean matriarch (could have been an aunt, too, but here she's the mum) of the rivalling or antagonist family

a spirited daughter of the main family (in most romance novels this would be our heroine but so far she refreshingly lacks a love interest and pretty daughter seems to get the most screen time)

a Horrid Suitor™

a Hot Suitor™ who doesn't want attention

a really good and doting good parent

Lol, misheard Greece for Grease with Ducktail Bridgerbro, whose name is Colin, apparently. This is funny because of his Danny Zuko memorial hair.

Overall a bit too much bling for my taste, and too few pearls. It looks like an episode of My Super Sweet Sixteen with a Regency theme.

Of course the romance is going to be the Pretty One aka. Daphne and the Duke and he's even bros with her eldest bro. Wait, are they exes? I can haz bi? No? Aww, shucks. Maybe in another episode (spoiler: no).

Okay, WHAT is it with Lady F's dresses and hair. Like, she reminds me of Mars Attacks. Which, as you might remember, was not set in the Regency period.

Lord B (Bridgerbro the Eldest) sucks, he's screwing Opera Girl without any intention of marrying her but he's bitchy about his sister being ogled by his Eton (or wherever) bestie?

Oh, I'm in Hamburg now. And my train back home got canceled, so back to Berlin it is because there's not a single option to get to Hanover tonight, at least that's what the lady from the train station is saying, "oh well, you'll have to go back and try again tomorrow", so that's awesome...

Honestly, if it weren't so late and I didn't have things to do at home I'd find this terribly exciting.

Back to Bridgerton!

Where were we? Ah.

I can't even read my own annotation. Something about George III. I think I was upset about how they totally ignored that it's called Regency because George IV acted as the regent king, and he doesn't even feature in the series, I guess because they wanted to play up the Queen? Not a fan, because thanks to Horrible Histories I'm quite fond of that guy.

Again, no shifts.

Oh, look, it's Horrid Suitor™, destined for leftovers.

The Featherington cousin gets all the attention but no fleshed-out character.

Penny Featherington's dog is named Lord Byron, which ❤️

I like the Duke! He's there, drinking in his club (even though they're a patriarchal remnant of the past I have a weird appreciation for stuffy Gentlemen's Clubs, I blame Bertie Wooster and the Drones), calling Lord B out for his general fuckery.

Oh no, Ducktail Colin is more into the Cousin than Penny, who obviously pines for him!

Thank you, Lord B, for enabling Horrid Suitor™. Nobody asked you to be such a fucktwit.

The Queen is, of course, a bit of a bitch, but patronage from cool Lady *scrolls up for name* Danbury ensues for Protagonist Girl™ Daphne.

"I wish they had found a better trend language", what the heck did I even mean by that? That's what you get for just scribbling down notes while watching and simultaneously sewing. 18th century pants, in case you wanted to know.

Cousin is angry, probably because Lady F behaves like Cinderella's evil stepmother, because Cousin is prettier than her daughters and gets, like, all the suitors because Lord B bitched away everyone who wanted to get into Daphne's dowry ifyouknowwhatImeanwinkwinknudgenudge, right across the street into Cousins parlour.

The Bridgertons are annoyingly perfect. Ugh.

Oh look, it's "banter" between Daphne and Dukey! It's so Pride & Prejudice! It's almost a tiny bit Shakespeare! I put banter in parentheses because wow, nope, I'm not getting any chemistry here.

Uh, Lady B calls out Lord B (aka. her son aka. Bridgerbro the Eldest) for his screwery with Opera Girl and his outpimpery of his sister to Horrid Suitor™, buuuurrrrrnnn. He promptly calls of his affair with Opera Girl.

No shifts!

Penny gets to dance with Ducktail Colin at the thing! Good for her, but it's a country dance with jumping and fun, because she's a) the pudgy character and b) a Featherington, so it can't be something romantic and pretty (I personally like country dances, but they aren't protagonist dances).

Oooh, Cousin had her period, oh no, oh snap, oh she didn't, because she's PREGNANT! Shit, that's problematic, and not because she's an unmarried woman in the 1810s, but because she gets close to no lines at all so far, and suddenly she's pregnant and telling Lady F that she sucks for being privileged, violence ensues, this is ugly. Man, I get what some critics mean by "the POC actors*actresses get all the problems" and that not exactly being great.

Horrid Suitor™ makes property claims about Daphne, eeewwwww, thanks to Lord B's general suckiness, ewww, r@pe attempt ensues, was that really necessary? It doesn't really fit in with the rest of the series and generally nope, yay, broken nose! (which was indeed totally necessary). Nice one, and probably the only scene so far (spoiler: overall) in which I actually like Daphne. Dukey thinks a mean left hook is attractive, and, generally speaking, he's not wrong.

Daphne and Dukey come up with a pseudo-shakespearean plot to pretend to be totally into each other so she can attract suitors by being not available and he gets not to have fangirls by being not available, and as someone who has read a few too many historical-ish bodice rippers I know exactly where this is going. I mean, come on.

I can't see enough of the following choreography to complain about it. Man, I miss historical dance classes.

And that concludes Ep. 1! Finally! Thank you for getting this far, sorry for all of it (especially typos, it's the bane of unwanted autocorrect), I guess?

Update on the train situation: I've been told by the ticket control person that I shouldn't get my hopes up until noon tomorrow.

To be continued,

because I didn't take these 32 pages of notes for nothing.

#Bridgerton #Hedgewatch #historical costuming #Well not really because wow these costumes #Thank you for travelling with Deutsche Bahn #2021 norther Germany snow storm #Trainwriting #Snarky commentary #I wish I was better at captions but it's late and I've been wearing a mask for four hours straight now and I'm hungry #Bridgerbore

[ljones41]

"EMMA" (2020) Review

"EMMA" (2020) Review Between 2009 and 2020, Hollywood and the British film/television industries have created a handful of productions that either spoofed or were inspired by Jane Austen's novels. Actually, I can only recall one movie that was more or less a straightforward adaptation - 2016's "LOVE & FRIENDSHIP", an adaptation of Austen's novella, "Lady Susan". So imagine my surprise when I learned a new and straightforward adaptation of an Austen novel was due to hit the theaters.

I was even more thrilled that this new movie would be a straightforward adaptation of Austen's 1815 novel, "Emma" . . . which happened to be my favorite written by her. This new adaptation, helmed by Autumn de Wilde and written by Eleanor Catton, starred Anya Taylor-Joy in the title role. I am certain that many Austen fans are familiar with the 1815 novel's narrative. "EMMA" is the story of a spoiled and over privileged young Englishwoman named Emma Woodhouse, who resides at her wealthy father's country estate near the town of Highbury. Emma is not only spoiled and over privileged, but overestimates her own matchmaking abilities and is blind to the dangers of meddling in other people's lives. Ever since its release in February 2020, film critics and moviegoers have been praising "EMMA" to the skies. In fact, the movie is so high on the critical list that I would not be surprised if it ends up receiving major film award nominations next winter. A great deal of this praise has been focused on the performances of Anya Taylor-Joy, Johnny Flynn for his portrayal of George Knightley, Bill Nighy's portrayal of Mr. Woodhouse; and Autumn de Wilde's direction. Does the movie deserve such high praise? Perhaps. Perhaps not. I certainly cannot deny that "EMMA" is a beautiful looking film. I found Christopher Blauvelt's photography to be very sharp and colorful. In fact, the film's color palette almost seemed similar to the color schemes found in Alexandra Byrne's costume designs. Overall, the visual style for "EMMA" seemed to radiate strong and bright colors with a dash of pastels. Very stylized. But as much as I found all of this eye catching, I also found myself a little put off by this stylized artistry - especially for a movie in a period rural setting. Speaking of artistry, there has been a great deal of praise for Byrne's costumes. And I can see why. Granted, I am not fond of some of the pastel color schemes. I cannot deny I found her creations - especially those for the movie's women characters - were eye catching, as shown below:

I had a few complaints regarding the film's costumes and hairstyles. The men's trousers struck me as a little too baggy for the 1810s. I get it. Actors like Bill Nighy found historical trousers a bit tight. But I feel the trousers featured in "EMMA" struck me as a bit too comfortable looking from a visual viewpoint. And then there was the hairstyle used by Anya Taylor-Joy in the film. For some reason, I found her side curls a bit too long and rather frizzy looking. Instead of the mid-1810s, her hairstyle struck me as an example of hairstyles worn by women during the early-to-mid 1840s. Someone had claimed that "EMMA" was a very faithful adaptation of Austen's novel. Was it? Frankly, I thought it was no more or less faithful than any of the costumed versions. De Wilde and screenwriter Eleanor Catton followed the major beats of Austen's novel, except for one scene - namely the Crown Inn ball. I will discuss that later. The movie also did an excellent job in capturing the comic nature of Austen's novel. This was apparent in nearly every scene featuring Bill Nighy as Mr. Woodhouse. I also enjoyed those scenes featuring the introduction of Augusta Elton, Emma's reactions to Jane Fairfax and her attempts to play matchmaker for Harriet Smith and Mr. Elton. But the movie also featured some good dramatic moments, thanks to De Wilde's direction and the film's cast. I am speaking of the scenes that featured Mr. Knightley's scolding of Emma for her rudeness towards the impoverished Miss Bates at the Box Hill picnic; Mr. Knightley's marriage proposal and the revelation of Harriet's engagement to tenant farmer Robert Martin. "EMMA" has received a great deal of acclaim from film critics, moviegoers and Jane Austen fans. Many are claiming it as the best adaptation of the 1815 novel. Do I feel the same? No. No, I do not. In fact, out of the five film and television adaptations I have seen, I would probably rank it at number four. Perhaps I had very high expectations of this movie. It is an adaptation of my favorite Austen novel. And it is the first straightforward Austen adaptation since the 2009 television miniseries of same novel. Perhaps this movie is better than I had original assume. Then again, looking back on some of the film's aspects - perhaps not. A good deal of my problems with "EMMA" stemmed from the portrayal of the main character, Emma Woodhouse. How can I say this? Thanks to Catton's screenplay and De Wilde's direction, Emma came off as more brittle and chilly than any other version I have ever seen. Granted, Emma Woodhouse was a snob. This was apparently in her strong sense of class status, which manifested in her erroneous belief that Harriet Smith was the illegitimate daughter of an aristocrat or gentry landowner, instead of someone from a lower class. Emma's snobbery was also reflected in her contempt towards the impoverished Miss Bates, despite the latter being a "gentlewoman" and a member of the landed gentry. Emma's snobbery, a product of her upbringing, also manifested in her own ego and belief that she is always right. Yes, Emma possessed negative traits. But she also had her share of positive ones. She possessed a warm heart, compassion for the poor (at least those not from her class), intelligence, and an ability to face her faults. This cinematic portrayal of Emma Woodhouse as a brittle and slightly chilly bitch struck me as a little off putting and extreme. Another example of the exaggeration in this production was Mr. Knightley's reaction to his dance with Emma at the Crown Inn ball. Many have not only praised the sensuality of the pair's dance, but also Mr. Knightly's reaction upon returning home to his estate, Donwell Abbey. What happened? George Knightley seemed to be in some kind of emotional fit, while he stripped off some of his clothes and began writhing on the floor. What in the fuck was that about? That scene struck me as so ridiculous. Other actors who have portrayed Knightley have managed to portray the character's awareness of his love for Emma without behaving like a teenager in heat. Speaking of heat, who can forget Harriet Smith's orgasmic reaction to the idea of being Mrs. Elton? Many critics and Austen fans thrilled over the sight of a female character in a Jane Austen production having an orgasm. I will not castigate De Wilde for this directorial choice. I am merely wondering why she had included this scene in the first place. If Harriet was going to have an orgasm, why not have her bring up the subject to a possibly flabbergasted Emma? Why include without any real follow through? Having an orgasm must have been something of a novelty for a young woman like Harriet, who was inexperienced with sexual thoughts or feelings. And then there was Emma and Mr. Knightley's dance at the Crown Inn ball. The latter sequence is usually one of my favorites in any adaptation of "EMMA". The one exception proved to be the 1972 miniseries, which ended the sequence after Emma had suggested they dance. I almost enjoyed the sequence in this film . . . except it featured Emma obviously feeling attracted to Mr. Knightley during this dance. And I thought this was a big mistake. Why? Because Emma was never that consciously aware of her attraction to Mr. Knightley, until Harriet had confessed her crush on the landowner. And that happened near the end of the story. In other words, by showing Emma's obvious feelings for Knightley during the ball, Autumn De Wilde rushed their story . . . and was forced to retract in the scene that featured Harriet's confession. I feel this was another poor decision on the director's part. If I have to be honest, I think De Wilde, along with screenwriter Eleanor Catton, made a number of poor decisions regarding the film's narrative. I have already pointed out three of those decisions in the previous paragraphs. But there were more. De Wilde and Catton changed the dynamics between Mr. Woodhouse and his older daughter and son-in-law, Isabella and John Knightley. In the novel and previous adaptations, Mr. Knightley Jr. had always seemed more annoyed and at times, cankerous toward Mr. Woodhouse's hypochondria. In this version, Isabella's hypochondria seemed more irritating. And instead of reacting to his wife's complaints, John suppressed his reactions and ended up being portrayed as a henpecked husband. For some reason, De Wilde and Catton thought it was necessary to take the bite out of John Knightley, making him a weaker character. Why? I have not the foggiest idea, but I did miss the character's biting wit. In my review of the 1996 television version of "Emma", I had complained how screenwriter Andrew Davies and director Diarmuid Lawrence had minimized part of Harriet's character arc and focused just a bit too much on Frank Churchill and Jane Fairfax. In the 1996 movie version, the opposite happened. Writer-director Douglas McGrath had focused more on Harriet's arc than the Frank/Jane arc. Well De Wilde and Catton ended up repeating McGrath's mistake by focusing too much on Harriet, at the expense of Frank and Jane's arc. Worse, Frank and Jane's arc seemed focused on even less than the 1996 McGrath. The couple barely seemed to exist. And a result of this is that Frank's father, Colonel Weston, barely seemed to exist. Mrs. Weston fared better due to her being Emma's former governess. But I was really shocked at how little De Wilde and Catton focused on Mr. Elton and his overbearing bride, Augusta Elton. The movie did focus a good deal on Mr. Elton in those scenes featuring Emma's attempts to match him with Harriet. But following his marriage, his character - along with Mrs. Elton - seemed to slowly recede into the background following their tea at Hartfield with the Woodhouses. By allowing very little focus on these characters, De Wilde and Catton had left out so many good moments in their effort to streamline Austen's story for theatrical film. Even more so than the two versions from 1996. Because of this streamlining, a good deal of the cast had very little opportunity to develop their characters on screen. Oliver Chris and Chloe Pirrie gave solid comic performances in their portrayal of John and Isabella Knightley, despite my irritation at the changing dynamics of their relationship. Rupert Graves was pretty much wasted as the over-friendly Colonel Weston. Miranda Hart gave a funny performance as the impoverished spinster Miss Bates. Unfortunately, I was distracted by her less-than-impoverished wardrobe in several scenes. If you had asked for my opinion of Amber Anderson's portrayal of Jane Fairfax, I would not have been able to give it to you. I have no memory of her performance. She made no impact on the movie or its narrative. Tanya Reynolds struck me as a rather funny Mrs. Elton . . . at least in the scene featuring the Eltons' tea with the Woodhouses at Hartfield. Otherwise, I have no real memory of her other scenes in the movie. Callum Turner has always struck me as a memorable performer. And I have to admit that his portrayal of Frank Churchill certainly made an impression on me. But the impression was not always . . . negative. One, he did not have enough scenes in this movie and his character arc struck me as rather rushed. And two, I thought his Frank Churchill was a bit too smarmy for my tastes. Thankfully, "EMMA" did feature some memorable supporting performances. Gemma Whelan gave a lovely and warm performance as Emma's former governess and close friend, Mrs. Weston. Josh O'Connor gave an excellent performance as the social-climbing vicar, Mr. Elton. I must say that I found his comic timing impeccable and thought he gave one of the best performances in the movie. However, I thought there were times when his Mr. Elton came off as a sexual predator. I get it . . . Mr. Elton was basically a fortune hunter. But I thought O'Connor went too far in the scene that featured Emma's rejection of his marriage proposal. For a moment, I thought he was going to sexually assault her. That was a bit too much. Mia Goth's portrayal of the clueless Harriet Smith struck me as spot-on and very skillful. Granted, I did not care for the "Harriet has an orgasm" moment, but I cannot deny that Goth's acting was excellent in the scene. Bill Nighy gave a skillfully comic portrayal as the hypochondriac Mr. Woodhouse. Yes, there were moments when his usual tics (found in many of his performances) threatened to overwhelm his performance in this film. But I think he managed to more or less keep it together. One performance that seemed to be garnering a great deal of acclaim came from Johnny Flynn, who portrayed Mr. Knightley. In fact, many are regarding him as the best Mr. Knightley ever seen in the movies or on television. I believe Flynn is a pretty competent actor who did an excellent job of conveying his character's decency, maturity and burgeoning feelings for Emma. I was especially impressed by his performance in the Box Hill sequence in which Mr. Knightley chastised Emma for her rude comments at Miss Bates. But I do not regard him as the best on screen Mr. Knightley I have seen. If I must be honest, I do not regard his interpretation of the character as among the best. My problem with Flynn is that his Knightley struck me as a bit of a dull stick. And Knightley has always seemed like a man with a dry sense of humor, which is why I have always regarded him as one of my favorite Austen heroes. And Flynn's Knightley simply struck me as humorless. Perhaps "humorless" is the wrong word. There were scenes of him reacting to the comedic actions of other characters and uttering the occasional witty phrase or two. But there was something about Flynn's demeanor that made it seem he was trying too hard. I guess no amount of ass display, singing, laughing or writhing on the floor like a lovesick adolescent could make him more interesting to me. Then we have the film's leading lady, Anya Taylor-Joy. Unlike Flynn, the actress was given the opportunity to display her skills as a comic actress. And she more than lived up to the task. Honestly, I thought Taylor-Joy displayed excellent comic timing. Yet . . . I could never regard her as one of my favorite on-screen versions of Emma Woodhouse. She was a bitch. Let me re-phrase that. I thought Taylor-Joy overdid it in her portrayal of Emma's bitchiness and snobbery. To the point that her performance struck me as very brittle. Yes, Emma Woodhouse was a snob. But she could also be a warm and friendly young woman, capable of improving her character. I saw none of this in Taylor-Joy's performance. If Catton's screenplay demanded that Emma became aware of her flaws, the actress' conveyance of those moments did not strike as . . . natural. Otherwise, she made a satisfying Emma Woodhouse. I also have one more criticism to add - Taylor-Joy did not have great screen chemistry with her leading man, Johnny Flynn. Their on-screen chemistry struck me as pedestrian at best, if I must be honest. One would think that I disliked "EMMA". Honestly, I did not. The movie managed to stick with Austen's narrative. And although it did not change Austen's story, it did feature changes in some of the characteristics and character dynamics, thanks to director Autumn De Wilde and screenwriter Eleanor Catton. And some of these changes did not serve the movie well, thanks to De Wilde's occasional bouts of ham-fisted direction. However, I still managed to enjoy the movie and the performances from a cast led by newcomer Anya Taylor-Joy. And if it had not been for the current health crisis that has struck the world, I probably would have seen it again in theaters.

#emma #emma 2020 #jane austen #autumn de wilde #anya taylor joy #johnny flynn #bill nighy #mia goth #gemma whelan #miranda hart #callum blue #josh o'connor #amber anderson #rupert graves #tanya reynolds #oliver chris #chloe pirrie #connor swindells #emma woodhouse #eleanor catton

[fifiliphile]

Intricacies Of Love

Part 2/2. I Love You, Too

[AO3 Version]

Relationship: Eleven/Mike Wheeler, Joyce Byers/Jim Hopper (very background)

Characters: Mike Wheeler, Eleven/Jane Hopper

Words: 1810

Summary: Now, however, that no one was watching them, he felt more at ease, swinging slowly to the rhythm of the song. His arms wrapped around El's waist, and he brought her closer, her breath ghosting over his face. Moments such like this one were those he treasured the most—when he was so close to her, sinking in those beautiful chocolate eyes, with no one else who could interrupt them. In those moments it felt like she was his whole world. And, well, she truly was.

—A second part of a very fluffy ficlet, and a very fluffy love confession.

(I added time frames, because there's a relatively big time jump between the two parts.) It's a teeth-rotting fluff. You have been warned! And the moment finally came :D I've been torn between which setting to choose, but I've eventully decided on the one you'll about to see ;) Heavily inspired by Ed Sheeran's Perfect (since it's so much Mileven song). And, yeah, strongly implied Jopper (I couldn't help myself) ahead! (Plus, references to Every Breath You Take and Labyrinth ;) )

Hawkins, July 1986

The last year had been even more eventful than the previous one, even though Mike had hardly believed that could be possible. But if there was anything he had learnt since that fateful week of November 1983, it was that trying to predict the future—in the end—was utterly senseless. Therefore, he had to admit that nothing had been really surprising him anymore.

Actually, he had trouble recalling how their lives had looked before Christmas of 1985, when that big peculiar group of people, who had bonded with one another while fighting monsters from another dimension, had finally felt almost like a real family, mostly because of the huge Christmas Party at the Byers'. Mike still had no idea how so many people could have fit into such a small house for it still not to feel too crowded. Counting the number of people who had showed up had come out to be a very difficult task, and he had quickly gave up.

Somehow, with a few more tables and a majority of furniture moved away from the living room, all of the guest had sit together, eating, chatting, and exchanging gifts. It had been a really pleasant evening, and, as it had turned out, it had held quite a few surprises, one of them being an official shift in Mrs. Byers and Chief's relationship. It hadn't been unexpected (truthfully, it'd been longed-for), but everyone had still been amazed by the two of them so openly showing each other affection.

Besides, it had proved to bring many groundbreaking changes to their lives. Hopper and El had practically been living with the Byers for the last few months (or at least spending the vast majority of time there), and with Jonathan leaving for NYU in the fall, their moving in there was certainly happening sooner than later. El herself was thrilled at the perspective of having siblings—brothers, nonetheless—and very glad to see Hopper so happy.

For her, though, that merge of their families into one hadn't been the only great shift, as the beginning of a new year had marked a start of school for her. She had been very enthusiastic, even if a little worried, and enjoyed every second of it. Despite not fitting in that well with other kids from the town, the group of her closest friends had been enough for her not to feel like an outcast. Mike knew that she relished the feeling of normalcy that accompanied going to school.

On top of that, they could finally spend more time together. Attending a majority of the same classes (Mike had suspected that Chief had had something to do with that), they had become almost inseparable at school, spending breaks with the rest of the party or just by themselves. Of course, everyone had been wondering who the new mysterious girl had been and why she had been hanging out only with the losers (well, maybe except Dustin, who was getting increasingly more popular), but Mike hardly thought about it.

Right now, however, that the summer had started, Mike and El could meet anywhere they wanted to, away from prying eyes. That one particular afternoon, they sat on the cabin's porch, talking, laughing, and listening to one of the mixtapes, which El had gotten from Jonathan, on her new radio. He had been very happy to introduce her to the “real music”, as he called it, but Mike could swear he had heard a few more Nancy-like choices on it as well. And the incredible joy on El's face when she had ripped away the wrapping paper was hard to forget (the only moment of the Christmas Party he cherished more was the exchange of gifts between just the two of them).

It was the very beginning of July and every member of the party was very excited about the summer break, especially El, since those were her first holidays ever. She was still a bit confused what all the fuss was about, but she slowly started to understand the joy of not having to go to school everyday. Furthermore, she had already told Mike about some of her summer plans, including taking him to the theater to see Labyrinth, which she was eagerly looking forward to.

Mike smiled at the thought. Last year, it had been beyond their imagination for her to just casually hang out in town with her friends. In spite of her gradually widening freedom, there had been many things she couldn't do, and her life had still been far from normal. Now, however, she was going where she wanted to (most of the time after getting Hopper's approval, but… not always) and doing whatever she wished for.

Watching her enjoying that nearly unlimited freedom was one of the most fascinating things Mike had ever done. Hadn't he known better, he would've had hard time recognising the girl sitting next to him. With her expression serene and a cheerful smile on her rosy lips, she looked just like a normal fifteen-year-old, as if she had never experienced any of the nightmares that constantly haunted her.

Her cute curly hair were significantly longer, reaching past her shoulders and jumping freely every time she was laughing. She was wearing a pretty floral dress—her own, bought specifically for her—with short sleeves and a full bottom. Nancy had told him that when El had stepped out of the dressing room that day, she had looked as brightly as though she'd been about to buy a diamond ring, not just a simple dress. Max mocked her a bit about how girly she looked, even if it was all light-hearted. In return, El didn't hesitate to point out that embracing her girly side made her feel good and Max should try it one day (a conversation usually ended up with the red head sticking out her tongue or rolling her eyes, but with a wide grin brightening her face up).

“Mike.” El's voice brought him back to reality. Apparently, he was staring at her longer than he thought. She eyed him questioningly, and for a moment he felt like he was missing something very important. “It's our song,” she declared seriously, although he could see a glint of excitement in her eyes.

And, true to her words, the first chords of Every Breath You Take by The Police filled the air around them. El was promptly on her feet, reaching a hand in his direction with a playful smile. Soon, Mike found himself being pulled into the middle of a small clearing just before the cabin, and he should have seen that coming. El was a fast learner, and it didn't apply only to reading or skating, so it hadn't taken her long to master a wide variety of dance moves alongside Dustin (they had been stealing every party they'd been to since then). Her enthusiasm for dancing, as contagious as it was, had affected him a little, but his abilities were a far cry from being in any way impressive. Despite that, he could do everything just to see her smile, and that included making a fool of himself in front of her and their friends.

Now, however, that no one was watching them, he felt more at ease, swinging slowly to the rhythm of the song. His arms wrapped around El's waist, and he brought her closer, her breath ghosting over his face. Moments such like this one were those he treasured the most—when he was so close to her, sinking in those beautiful chocolate eyes, with no one else who could interrupt them. In those moments it felt like she was his whole world. And, well, she truly was.

“I used to hate that song,” Mike confessed casually when the first refrain began.

El tilted her head to the side, looking at him curiously, with her brows a bit furrowed. He guessed that he had caught her off guard with that statement.

“I mean, if you listen closely to the lyrics, it's… creepy,” he explained cautiously, trying to find proper words.

“I know,” she admitted lightly, a small smirk adorning her lips. “But now it is your favourite,” she said a bit mockingly, with a knowing look, her tone playful.

“One of my favourites,” he corrected her pointedly, even though part of him knew all too well that she was essentially right. Not that he would ever admit it to the rest of the party, of course.

El just smiled broadly in response, obviously not taken in by his denial, and went back to swaying to the music, her arms thrown around his neck. Her fingers played with a few strands of his hair, but he didn't mind (it was actually really soothing if he was to be honest with himself). With her eyes almost closed and a relaxed smile, she looked like an angel. Mike couldn't believe that such a wonderful creature would ever love a loser like him. She was perfect, and in spite of it she had chosen him of all great people around them.

He had no idea what had gotten into him, but words left his throat before any doubting thoughts could stop them. “I love you, El.” His voice was so quiet, that wasn't she so close she wouldn't have heard him at all.

But she had. Her face immediately brightened up, and Mike could swear he had never seen anyone looking at someone else with as much affection as she did. He was overwhelmed both by her reaction and by his own words. Although he thought he was about to panic, somehow what he actually felt was complete calmness, filling his heart. As if he had finally understood something, all doubts that he had ever had now forgotten.

Mike couldn't stop a vibrant smile from spreading on his lips, his eyes stinging slightly, as tears of pure joy slowly started to gather in their corners. “I love you, too,” he repeated, louder this time, completely mesmerised by her eyes.

El chuckled warm-heartedly, her cheeks reddening slightly, but she hold his gaze. “I know,” she reaffirmed, smiling knowingly.

It couldn't be more than a few seconds, even if they felt like hours, before she leaned in and kissed him sweetly. He was quick to return the kiss, still amazed by what had just happened. It had been one of many intimate moments they had shared over the last year and a half, so what had made him say that now?

Even though that question bugged him, he couldn't care less about the answer at the moment. Having that incredible girl in his arms, he felt like everything was falling into place. With his heart racing, but so amazingly light, he didn't want to waste even a split second to overthink it.

So, yeah, I know, I've written so much about that fateful Christmas Party that I guess I should write a separate story about it. But, don't you worry, this is exactly what I'm going to do. However, you will have to way for it until Christmas ;P

#stranger things #stranger things fanfic #eleven #jane hopper #mike wheeler #mileven #fluff #teeth-rotting fluff #very fluffy fluff #my fanfiction #the unbreakable promise series

[timelord-winchester-22b]

To travel

Well, this is quite long. longer than any i’ve posted before.

Mostly written around the cybermites (which are somewhere in season seven if i remember correctly) where reader is taken over by the cybermites and saved by the Doctor. I know part of it was actually inspired from ‘The lodger’ but i got stuck halfway through and this happened.

Word count: 1810 words

You’d always been bored with the ‘normal’ life everyone else seemed to be content with, which confused you and made every all the worse. How could everyone live like this? Day after day, the same old, boring life. Born, grow up, get good grades, get a good job, get married, have kids, retire, die. That’s the system everyone else lived by. But you knew somehow that there must be so much more somewhere. Little did you know it wasn’t on Earth.

You sighed as you opened another box, stacking the shelves as you did every Thursday night. You were bored. Simple as that. Not the kind of bored reading a book or trying to occupy yourself could help. No, you were bored of this existence. At least, that’s what you called it. It all just seemed so tedious. Your only life besides books and TV shows was your job at the shop. It had been closed for a while, leaving you, another worker and the manager somewhere.

That’s when you first heard it. It sounded like something fell off a shelf a couple rows down. You frowned, calling out to your co-worker. No one answered. You left the half-empty box where it was and went to check on the sound. Just as you were leaving your aisle the sound happened again, louder. As if a whole row of something was being knocked off the shelf. You turned the corner to find the source of the sound only to find there was, in fact, half the contents of the shelves on the floor.

“Son of a…” You muttered, looking around to see what might have caused it. There didn’t seem to be anyone around. “Who’s there?” You called louder, your anger translating into bravery. There was a shifting beneath one of the piles on the ground and you paused. “Hello?” You frowned. There was more shifting and then suddenly a stream of what looked like tiny metal bugs crawled out, heading for you. Your eyes widened as they came closer to you and you moved quickly to try and get away, only succeeding in tripping over your own feet. You crawled backwards until you managed to stand but it was too late.

The little metal bugs began climbing up your legs and you screamed, trying to kick them off. They made their way up your body and it was only a moment later everything went black.

 You gasped as everything came back at once. You looked around, panicking as you found yourself somewhere very different to where you had been when you blacked out. You were just about hyperventilating when you realised you were tied up. A voice reached your ears and you looked up to find a young man crouching down in front of you, his voice soft and calming. You stopped to hear what he was saying as you took in the floppy fringe and bow tie he wore. You would’ve laughed if you hadn’t been already panicking.

“You’re alright, it’s okay, I’m here to help” He told you softly. “Just breathe, that’s it, it’ll be okay” You forced yourself to breathe normally, deciding you trusted this man for some reason.

“Who are you?” You asked, noticing yourself how terrified you sounded.

“I’m the Doctor” He smiled softly. “I’m here to help”

“What happened to me?” You asked quickly, remembering the metal bugs. He hesitated. There was a sudden sharp pain in your head and you cringed, hissing at the pain. The man, The Doctor, seemed even more worried at that.

“What’s your name?” He asked you, avoiding your question.

“(Y/N)” You told him. He gave a small nod, smiling reassuringly.

“(Y/N), lovely name. I am so sorry about this (Y/N) but I’m going to have to ask you to be very brave right now” He spoke softly though, regret lacing his words.

“What do I have to do?” You asked readily, forcing yourself to be brave as he had said. He smiled genuinely at your response and you found, despite the situation, you couldn’t help but smile back.

“(Y/N), I can’t give you all the details right now but I need you to trust me”

“Yeah” You nodded. “Yeah, okay, I trust you”

“There’s something in your mind, trying to take over, and I’m not going to let that happen. But there’s not much I can do” He explained. “You’re going to have to fight it out of your head yourself”

“How do I fight it?” You asked, your voice barely coming out, but you pushed yourself on. He thought for a moment.

“Listen, this thing, it’s not from earth. It wants to go home, but it needed a suitable host. Do you have any idea why it would’ve chosen you?” He asked. You blinked.

“I… I want to travel” You told him honestly the thing you had been telling everyone for years. He smiled like he understood and nodded.

“Where do you want to go?” You hesitated at that one.

“Anywhere” You admitted. He paused and looked down a moment, his eyes darting back and forth as he thought. He looked up suddenly then.

“This creature’s home, do you know what it’s like?” You shook your head. “It’s a dark place, darker than almost any other planet” He described and you frowned slightly. “All living creatures are made of metal, robots like those you saw. It used to be a planet like earth but nothing really lives any more, all emotion has been erased. These creatures live simply to convert other species to their own. That’s all they do. Now, tell me, (Y/N), would you like to go there?”

“No” You shook your head, wondering why he would even be asking this.

“(Y/N), concentrate, please, I need a little more than that. Would you live without emotions?”

“No!” You said louder, trying to insist against it like he had said. “No I wouldn’t, I never would, in a million years I wouldn’t. I never want to go there”

The moment you finished speaking there was another pain in your head and you cried out, but it stopped as soon as it had started. The Doctor reached up slowly and his hand came back from your face with some kind of metal that you hadn’t noticed.

“Is that it?” You asked quietly. He nodded.

“Yeah, it’s dead now though”

“Why?”

He looked up at you.

“It wanted to leave. So did you, that’s why it chose you. But it wanted to go home, nowhere else. After you made it clear you wanted to go anywhere but there… It gave up. Deactivated itself” He explained.

“Oh” You said quietly. The Doctor turned to put the metal piece down on a table next to him before quickly untying you. When he finished you had leaned forward in the chair, looking down at your clasped hands. The Doctor was doing something, you didn’t know what, with the metal piece and a blue police box that sat in the corner of the room. He came over a couple minutes later, crouching down to see your face.

“Are you okay?” He asked gently. You nodded but didn’t speak.

“Come on then”

You looked up at him quickly.

“What?”

He smiled as he stood, holing out a hand to you.

“You said you’d wanted to travel. Anywhere. Why not everywhere?” He grinned almost cheekily. You smiled in return but shook your head.

“I can’t just leave, Doctor. I mean yeah I want to travel but I can’t just up and go now” He rolled his eyes as if he’d heard that a hundred times.

“See that box over there?” He asked pointing. You looked over, nodding, before turning back to him.

“A police box from the 60s. What’s so important about it?”

“It’s not really a police box” He told you excitedly, like he was sharing the greatest secret in the universe.

“Then what is it?”

He wiggled his fingers impatiently, still holding out his hand. You rolled your eyes, but placed your hand in his, smiling at his grin, and let him pull you to the box. He positioned you in front of the doors, standing behind you.

“Ready?” He asked excitedly. You nodded.

“Yeah”

He clicked his fingers and the doors swung open, revealing some kind of futuristic control room lit in blue lights that were dotted around. Your eyes widened and your mouth fell open in shock. It was amazing, it was beautiful. You found yourself running inside, stopping just up the ramp with you hands on the bars either side of you.

“No way!” You cried out, your voice echoing around the large space. You laughed loudly before turning and running back outside, running a few full circles of the box and tapping at the wooden sides before you ran back inside. By this time he was leaning on the console, watching you with an amused smile on his face.

“Well, what do you think?” He asked, waiting for an answer.

“This is better than Narnia!” Was the first thing that came out. He paused.

“Okay, that’s a new one” he admitted. “So” He clicked his fingers and the door closed behind you. You blinked at it before turning back to the Doctor, who was on the other side of the console, watching you with his hands ready over the controls. “Where to first?”

“Hold on, I said, I’d love to come but I can’t just drop everything” You told him. He laughed.

“Ah, I still haven’t introduced you to her have i?”

“Who?”

The machine suddenly gave a cheery hum from all around you and you looked around, surprised.

“That’d be her” The Doctor grinned. “My ship to be precise, the TARDIS. TARDIS standing for Time And Relative Dimensions In Space” He told you. You thought over the name.

“So… it’s a spaceship”

“Correct”

“That travels in time”

“Yes”

“And it’s yours?”

“Technically”

You frowned at the last answer when you realised something.

“Does that mean…?” Your eyes widened.

“Go ahead” he nodded.

“Well, I mean, it’s not like… offensive or anything?”

“I spend most of my time visiting earth, if I cared about being offended, I think I’d have gotten over it by now” He answered easily. You laughed.

“So you are an alien!”

“And you’ve got it” He grinned.

“So wait, I can go right now, travel with you in time and space…”

“And still be home in time for tea. What do you say?” He waited for your answer patiently, looking hopeful. You laughed gleefully.

“I say, Allons-y!” You cried, joining him by the console.

He looked surprised for a brief moment and you wondered why one French word could make him so surprised. He grinned then, moving switches and pressing buttons until he pulled one last lever with a shout of-

“Geronimo!”

#doctor who #doctor who fanfcition #doctor who x reader #doctor x reader #eleventh doctor x reader #11th doctor x reader #time and space

[bikechatter]

Meet the BikeCrafters: Straight Gauge Studios, Gigi’s Handy Work, and The People’s Clowns (Olive and Dingo!)

Just one week to go!

In case you haven’t heard, Portland’s bike-centric holiday gift fair is back! BikeCraft 2017 is December 15-17 at the Bike Farm (1810 NE 1st Ave.) and it’s powered by Microcosm Publishing.

To get you ready, our friend Elly Blue (Microcosm’s co-owner and marketing director) has been profiling the fantastic people behind the crafts (see the all of them here). Below are the latest three BikeCrafters you’ll get to meet at the big event…

Straight Gauge Studios – Martin Swanson (Etsy/Instagram)

It’s very cool to get to see the work of Marty, another first-time BikeCraft vendor with a completely unique craft that uses bike parts that would otherwise go into the recycling to produce beautiful and functional art.

What’s your bike craft?

I take old bike wheels and recreate them into geometric wall art and pendant lighting. All work is constructed using traditional wheel-building practices.

How did you get started?

I’m a bike mechanic, wheelbuilder, And I don’t like to waste. However, that doesn’t change the reality that wheels do wear out. In 2013, I started aimlessly saving old rims, spokes, and hubs with the hope of bringing some use to them after their life on the bike had retired.

One day, I needed of all things a new recycling bin in my home shop. I took two 20″ rims and configured a way to lace them together into a latticed cylinder. My wife came home and thought that what was made was too beautiful for recycling. Reimagining that cylinder along with spheres, domes, discs, and floral shapes became illuminated and Straight Gauge Studios was born.

What’s your favorite thing about what you do?

Having the ability to merge a passion for art, tinkering, and bikes. In addition, my work gives me a unique opportunity to meet other creatives and cyclists from all over the country.

What’s your biggest challenge with it?

My work’s creativity often times spawns a desire for customization. Materials used are sourced from shops all over the city. While plentiful, at times a customer will order a piece that sends me on a wild goose chase looking for a very specific part. Their are no guarantees that I will get it. To avoid this, I try to keep ample supply of parts that allows me to limit my customization to what I already have available.

What does bicycling mean to you?

Bicycling is beautiful to me. Everything from working, riding, and understanding them. I try not to pigeonhole myself into any one style of riding. It’s all awesome in its own way.

Gigi’s Handy Work – Gigi Lascurettes (Website)

Longtime BikeCraft vendor Gigi has the quintessential backstory. She started making her products to serve a personal need, and the market grew organically, including at our fine event. Fun fact: There are two types of people in the world, those who *cannot stand* to have any wind on their ears whatsoever, and those who are fine with that but don’t like it when our ears get really cold. Helmuffs are perfect for all of us, at last creating a point of unity for humanity, or at least for people who wear bicycle helmets.

What’s your bike craft?

Helmuffs! Ear muffs for a bike helmet, reclaimed wool and fleece

How did you get started?

Riding in the winter, a hat was too big and got too hot under under a helmet, but my ears were COLD. I sewed up triangles to cover my ears. Then improved the design. Then friends wanted pairs for their ears. Then my husband’s co-workers wanted their own pairs—and they were offering to pay for them! And Metropolis Cycles, where I was regularly taking my bike for maintenance, was opening a retail case in their shop and wanted local products. So we agreed to place them for sale. Win-win.

What’s your favorite thing about what you do?

I get to make something that people can hold and touch and really use. I often get to see the realization on their face when the first see my booth and my Helmuffs and their purpose, and it’s always been a clear show of happy surprise. Plus, I get to add in my personal touches of art and style.

What’s your biggest challenge with it?

Reclaiming the raw material—wool and fleece sweaters, jackets, and other sources of these essential fabrics. It takes time to dissasemble the pieces, then of course to recut and sew into Helmuffs. Keeping the labor time down is difficult.

What does bicycling mean to you?

It’s a way to escape. When I cycle I can focus on my activity—the speed, my form, my energy, the scenery around me. It’s difficult to worry about too many things at the same time, but also allows me to focus on one mental problem/dilemma. I have a goal on most of my rides, and I get to accomplish those goals.

The People’s Clowns – Olive Rootbeer and Dingo Dizmal (Website)

Every so often, bicycling around town, I’ll see a strange sillhouette in the distance. As I get closer, it resolves into the wonderfully olde-Portland sight of two clowns riding tallbikes, off to a birthday party or, you know, holiday bicycle craft fair. As well as doing one of their all-ages friendly performances Sunday, December 17th at 1pm, Olive and Dingo will be selling their unique merchandise as vendors.

Dingo took the time to answer our interview questions:

What’s your bike craft?

Tall bike clowning

How did you get started?

We always wanted to demonstrate car free living and working. As clowns, tallbikes were part of standard equipment. They became more than eye candy after we discovered the amazing cargo carrying capacity and knack for diplomacy. When the anarchist clown gang got tall bikes, it changed the public’s perception of us. That actually changed who we were. They gave us so much love we couldn’t help but become neighborhood activists. Before that we were mostly into forest defense, anti war protesting and books to prisoners.

Nowadays I’m in a gang of two. We are seen going to our clown gigs on tallbikes. People lose their minds when they see us. It’s so addictive making folks happy.

What’s your favorite thing about what you do?

Blowing past stalled traffic while smiling and hauling lots of heavy gear. The worse the weather the more folks in the cars cheer for us as we ride by.

What’s your biggest challenge with it?

Staying a resident of Portland is a challenge. We have a growing landlord to feed and somehow manage mostly by living out of a tip jar. We have been clowns together for 8 years now.I have been a Portland clown for 18 years. I never left a living space because it was my idea. I have always been classed out by giant rent hikes and no cause eviction. That and people stiffing us is the worst but I can’t complain. Folks treat us amazing on a daily basis.

What does bicycling mean to you?

Bitchin bike bod!!!!It’s also a great swipe against the gas machines. I hope we inspire people to ride more. I’m really grossed out by cars. Always have been. My bike is my ride, my office, my ladder, my weapon, my gate, my romance and my life.

Volunteers are needed, please comment or email us if you can help. Also check the official BikeCraft page for more details.

— Elly Blue

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The post Meet the BikeCrafters: Straight Gauge Studios, Gigi’s Handy Work, and The People’s Clowns (Olive and Dingo!) appeared first on BikePortland.org.

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