#julia petal

[incorrect-para-quotes]

#incorrect quotes #incorrect wizard101 quotes #incorrect pirate101 quotes #lilac petal #julia petal #jasper petal

[nanamail]

cook out day!!

#ts4 #the sims 4 #ts4 gameplay #my sims #lilith petal #micaela perkins #julia wright

[writer-rubes]

Two Magical Friends

A FNAF:SB AU fanfic

Notes: Before I go in- hi. First writing piece on the page? Cool. Sorry to those who prefer AO3, but honestly I have friends there who don’t know about this fandom, so- Guess I’m putting my self indulgent stuff here!

Also, big thanks to @ayyy-imma-ninja for giving me the power to do this. Seriously, you have unleashed a monster /j I decided to start simple, with an AU that I’ve seen a lot on your page, and one that I love!

Anyways, enough stalling. Let’s hop in with a little bit of wholesome fluff!

The Fairy AU Sun and Moon belong to @ayyy-imma-ninja

————————————————————————————————————————————

Julia has always believed in fairies. She watched every animated movie featuring them known to man, she has countless fairy dolls, all she draws are fairies, and a lot of her clothes are what she imagines that fairies wear. She loved fairies, and always wanted to see one and become it’s friend.

The rest of her family kept thinking she was getting a bit too intense with her belief in fairies. She was six years old and her obsession has not died down. They would have thought it would have gone down a little, but no. Her obsession had only grown with her. Every day, she left a small bowl of candy outside in the backyard, thinking it would lure fairies in. Her mother kept telling her to stop since it attracted wasps, but she kept doing it. She was determined to lure in a fairy.

One afternoon, Julia was following her mother around, trying to convince her to take her with the family to the aquarium, which was where her mother and father were going.

“I’m sorry, Julia. But we’re going there to write a newspaper article on it, so we get free access. We tried to get them to let you come too, but they wouldn’t allow it. The only way to get you in is to buy you a ticket, and we can’t afford it right now.”

“But, Mommy!”

“I swear, I’ll take you once we get paid for the article. We’ll be back tonight. There’s leftover noodles in the fridge if you get hungry, sweetheart. I love you. Oh, and one more thing.” She bent down and kissed her daughter’s forehead. “Clean up that candy bowl you left in the backyard. It attracts wasps.”

Her parents left the house, and Julia watched with a sad expression as their car left the driveway, and disappeared down the street. She huffed, and sat on the floor. Why did her parents always get to go out into town and do a bunch of cool stuff, while she just had to sit at home? It wasn’t fair! Oh well, at least she could put on whatever movie she wanted.

But she remembered she had to clean that candy bowl outside. Maybe her mother was right. Maybe the only thing her candy bowl attracted was wasps, not fairies. But she couldn’t give up. Maybe fairies just didn’t like candy? There had to be something else they liked, or maybe they were just scared!

Julia walked to the door to her backyard. She wondered what she could to get a fairy to trust her, since all the stories she heard said fairies liked sweet things. She walked to the edge of the backyard, near her mother’s flower bed. She put the candy bowl there since fairies were also said to love flowers. Strange. It was summer, but she didn’t see any wasps. Normally she saw a few swarming nearby the candy bowl. Instead…

There was a faint glow inside the bowl.

She felt a rush of hope inside of her. Could it be? She bent down to the ground, trying to peek inside without potentially scaring whatever was in there. Her eyes practically began to glimmer with excitement when she realized what she saw.

Not one, but two fairies inside the bowl.

One of them was yellow, like a sunflower. They had petal like rays on their head, and two different colored eyes. They were wearing an interesting looking outfit, with ruffles along their neck, and fingerless gloves. Their wings were shimmering with gold, and had a sun mark on each of them.

The other one looked almost like the complete opposite. They were blue, and part of their face was covered in black. They also had two different colored eyes, and a hat with a star pattern, and a little bell at the end of it. They also wore similar clothes to the other, with ruffles on their neck. However, theirs looked more like a robe than the other’s. Their wings were a beautiful blue, resembling the wings of a moth.

“Brother, we should hurry.” The blue one whispered. “It’s nice that someone left this candy out here, but we can’t stay for long. I saw a cat in that house, and they might let it out, and it could chase us.

The yellow one just laughed. “Don’t worry, brother. That cat hasn’t been outside! Just the other day I saw it sleeping by the window! It can’t hurt us from there!”

Julia was practically frozen in awe. She had always imagined what fairies looked like. They never looked like the ones she was staring at, but she felt her dreams coming true, right then and there. It was then that the blue one finally noticed her.

“Uh… Brother?”

“What?”

The yellow one turned around, and both made eye contact with me. Both of them yelped and backed away toward the edge of the bowl. They clung to each other.

“Oh my goodness… Real fairies!” Julia cried in excitement. Her family wasn’t home, so she couldn’t tell them. But now, she had the chance to befriend them! Two of them! She smiled brightly at them.

“Don’t worry, I won’t hurt you.” She said, noticing their scared expressions. “I just wanna be friends! I love fairies! And I knew leaving candy out would lure one in, but two? This is amazing!”

Both of them seemed to calm down a little after Julia finished talking. They could tell she wasn’t going to harm them. She was just excited. The yellow one gently let go of the blue one, and approached the edge of the bowl, facing Julia.

“You left this for us?” The yellow fairy asked. His voice seemed to also be accompanied with the sound of bells.

“Yes, I did!” Julia squealed. “My mommy doesn’t always like it, since it lures in wasps, too.”

The blue one decided to follow his brother, and stood by the bowl’s edge as well.

“Who… are you?” He asked, still sounding defensive. His voice was accompanied with what sounded like the notes of a music box.

“Oh, right, you don’t know my name! I’m Julia!” She giggled a bit. “It’s nice to meet you two!”

The yellow one couldn’t help but smile at her excitement. Julia’s smile had a mix of adult and baby teeth, with a single gap from the most recent tooth she lost. She seemed incredibly friendly. It reminded them both of an old friend of theirs. Being immortal, they met many humans, but only two meant the most to them. A little girl like Julia, and a kind old lady… The yellow one cleared his throat.

“I’m Sun, and this is my brother, Moon!” The yellow fairy exclaimed, gently grabbing his brother’s shoulder. Julia giggled. She liked the names, and thought they were fitting.

Moon just waved to her. Though she was nice, he didn’t quite trust her yet. Or rather, he didn’t want to let himself trust her. She reminded him of that little girl they were close with, but… He didn’t want to feel like he was replacing her. No one could. Especially not this one.

Julia wiped a bit of sweat from her forehead. It was incredibly hot and humid, and there were a few wasps starting to congregate. She smiled at the two fairies.

“My mommy says I need to bring in the candy bowl. It lures in wasps… If you two need to go, it’s okay.”

Sun and Moon glanced to each other. Moon shook his head briefly, but Sun gently whispered something to him. After a minute, they both nodded. Sun turned to Julia.

“We can stay a little longer. If you want to go in, we could hide in your pockets or something!”

Julia’s face lit up. These fairies wanted to spend time with her? She could have sworn this was a dream. She quickly held up her arm and pinched herself to make sure she wasn’t. The prick she felt confirmed that she wasn’t dreaming at all. This was real.

“Oh, thank you! My family’s not home, and they won’t be until tonight!”

She gently lifted up the candy bowl, and rushed away from the flower bed, and the gathering wasps. She went inside the cool house, feeling her body temperature return to normal. She looked inside the bowl, and she smiled seeing Sun and Moon still eating the candy left in the bowl. Instead of walking to the kitchen, she took the bowl upstairs to her room. She paused for one moment, turning her head to look at the room adjacent to her’s. Her smile faded for a moment, but it perked back up when she walked to her room.

The walls were painted a light lavender, the floor had a heart shaped carpet in rainbow colors, there were glowing star stickers on the ceiling, and there were numerous pictures on the walls. There was a white desk in front of the window, with pink and blue curtains dawning them. Her bed also had those same color bedsheets. There was a toy chest by her desk, and a closet by her bed. It was a lovely room, perfect for a six year old.

“You have a really nice room!” Sun told her.

“Thank you, Sun! Daddy painted the walls, and my brother made the desk!” Julia frowned slightly when she mentioned her brother, but she smiled again as she set the bowl down on the desk.

Both brothers got out of the bowl. Sure, they could have gotten out at any time, but they appreciated the free ride. They unfurled their wings, and flew around the room, observing everything. Moon was fascinated with the doll Julia had on her bed, and Sun was interested in some of the books on her shelf by the desk.

“Julia?” Moon asked. “Where did you get this doll?”

“Oh…” Julia went over, and sat down on the bed. “My mommy made it. Well, the clothes at least. My brother got the doll itself. I had it since I was a baby.”

“Does your mother make clothes for dolls all the time?” Moon asked.

“No, not really.” Julia answered. “She used to make clothes for dolls, but stopped after something bad happened to her. The clothes for my doll were the last ones she made.”

“Hey, Julia!” Sun called, getting Julia’s attention. She and Moon went over to where Sun was.

“I noticed when you mentioned your brother, you got a little sad. Did… something happen?” Julia wasn’t expecting such a personal question, but she could answer.

“My brother was years older than me. He was my hero. But he disappeared a couple years ago to stop some really bad guys. A year ago, Mommy got a letter saying he won’t ever come back.” Her smile faded entirely. She missed her brother. Sun flew up to her face.

“Hey, it’s okay! He’s still here in your heart! Isn’t that what’s important?” He asked, trying to make her feel better.

“Yeah, but… he can’t hug me in my heart…” Julia whispered.

Moon frowned slightly, feeling bad that they opened a wound for her. They knew how it felt to lose people they cared about. Being immortal, they outlived many human friends, especially the ones they loved most.

“But we can hug you!” Sun assured her. “Here, I got the perfect cure for that frowny face of yours!”

Julia looked at him, and saw he was holding a little pile of golden dust. He took a breath, and blew it in her face. She squeaked, and coughed slightly, before she sneezed. What was that stuff? She then realized… she wasn’t sad anymore. In fact, the smile that Sun liked was back on her face. She started to giggle.

“What did you do?” She asked through her giggles.

“That’s my magic, silly!” Sun explained. “My fairy dust can make people happy! Sure, we fairies help nature in our own ways, but I love spreading my fairy dust and curing people’s bad days!” Julia let out a soft squeal as she felt Sun nuzzle into her neck. It felt incredibly ticklish.

“I agree with Sun.” Moon piped up, and he also nuzzled into her neck, liking the sound of her laughter. “Your brother is still here in your heart. As long as you love him, he’s always here!” Julia kept giggling as both brothers worked to make her happy again.

After a minute, they let her be, and the dust’s effect wore off. Julia’s giggles died down, and she smiled brightly at the brothers.

“That was fun! I always dreamed of having fairy friends, and now there are two of them right in front of me!”

Sun smiled at her. “You bet!”

Moon smiled as well. “I have a feeling we’ll be coming back here a lot more.”

Julia laughed a little. “My mommy and daddy still don’t come home for a while… Do you guys wanna play?”

A bright smile stayed on her face as the fairy boys nodded.

Julia had a blast playing with the two fairies. Though they were much smaller than her, she found many ways to play with them. Hide and seek, tea parties, drawing, and playing tag. Julia didn’t have any real friends, so having two fairy ones gave her happiness she couldn’t describe. Sun and Moon were also having fun. They hadn’t bonded with a human like this in a long time. They could sense that Julia was kind of lonely, so they wanted to fill that gap. Besides… She reminded them of that little girl they were close with. In a way… it was like reliving that.

It started getting dark after a while, and she could see Sun was getting tired. Moon also had to begin his duties soon, so they had to go home.

Julia seemed to understand, and she opened the window for them.

“Thank you for being my friends!” Julia told them. “If you ever wanna play again, I’ll leave my window open… with a bowl of candy right beside it!” Both fairies laughed.

“We’re looking forward to it.” Moon whispered.

“Bye, Julia.” Both fairies said at the same time. They both flew out the window, disappearing into the night. Julia kept her window open, smiling as she felt the cool summer air on her face. She heard the noise of a car pull up. She gasped, and ran downstairs to greet her parents. When they came in the door, she hugged them tightly.

“Hey there, kiddo.” Her father said. “How was your day?”

“It was amazing!” Julia cried. “I saw fairies! Real fairies! They were so pretty and nice!” Both her parents laughed.

“Sounds lovely, Julia.” Her mother told her. They didn’t believe her at all, but since she was a little girl, they played along. Her mother went to the kitchen to start making dinner, and her father went to finish their report.

Julia just couldn’t stop smiling. She looked down at her dress, and saw a little bit of gold glitter still on it.

“I knew they were real.”

#fanfic #dca fairy au #fluff #fairies #ugh this is killing me its too cute #may do a sequel to this with lunar because I love that little gremlin #dca au #cuties #first fanfic #hope the creator likes it

[starnightlover]

Hi. Sorry, I just really feel like complaining. Obviously you can ignore this, I just have nowhere else to word vomit lol. I've been trying to shift since 2019. I've gotten into the void state for like 20 seconds but got too freaked out/excited and lost stability before I could manifest or shift anywhere. I feel like I'm going crazy. I've done the whole thing of pasting sticky notes with affirmations all over my apartment, had meditated for an hour or more a day for weeks at a time, listened to subliminals 24/7 and obvious tried all the classic methods like the raven method, julia method, etc, etc. I've had multiple lucid dreams where I tried to make portals and I've even had a lucid dream (or I guess I shifted) where I saw a "centre" for shifting with a bunch of islands and floating petals that we used as transportation between islands. I got a whole tour by some guide and he showed me other lives I'm currently living. That was like a year ago, and I haven't manifested anything significant or went anywhere since then. I'm going through a really tough time right now. I wouldn't have gone on like this if I didn't believe in it, but I'm just feeling really beaten down. I'm exhausted and frustrated.

Hi lovely, I'm so sorry you feel this way.

It’s understandable. But remember all the lucid dreams you’ve had and the void states that you’ve been in. They’re a reflection of your ability for shifting. You’ve been incredibly close before, and your subconscious mind is capable of doing so. You can take a break if you want, because shifting requires a healthy amount of persistence. Just remember that no matter how long of a break you have, you’ve come really far already. The void state is one step away from shifting. And don’t forget your lucid dream, where you basically saw your ability to change realities. Don’t take my word for granted. Just think about it. You can do it, you do have the abilities, all you have to do is keep going. You can take a small break if you want to rest, but don’t let yourself lose all your progress. Stay determined, stay motivated, don’t lose your abilities. You can do this!!

You’ve come so far, and you’ve been in the final stages. Don’t think about how it’s been years without a single shift. It’s been years where you’ve learned techniques, you’ve learned about yourself, you’ve honed in your shifting abilities. Just because you haven’t shifted in years doesn’t mean you’ve made no progress. This is just the next step in your shifting journey. Go forward. Take that step. Shift like nothing’s stopping you. You’re so close. You’ve had enough time to think about it. You’ve been here, wanting to get to your desired reality for all this time. You haven’t given up on it yet. You’ve kept coming back hoping, trying, dreaming, wanting to shift to the reality you want and finally be with your hard work! Why would you stop now? You owe it to yourself to keep trying. Don’t give up, because it has always been your dream to shift.

Your determination, drive, motivation, and dedication to shifting is so praiseworthy. It's been years since you started this journey, and you haven't given up! You've persisted for this long and you've gotten close so many times, it's almost impossible for you to not have enough abilities to shift realities. Remember all the things you've seen and experienced while trying to shift realities, all the things you've gone through and the efforts of hard work that you've put into shifting realities. Don't give up now. You just have to keep going. You can do it, I believe in you!

Keep going. Don’t stop now.

I mean, just think about it: you possess this incredible power within you to shape your own existence. You're not just a passive observer in the grand theater of life; you're the playwright, the director, and the star actor all rolled into one.

You see, the universe is like this vast, infinite canvas, and you? You're the artist putting forth the brush. Every thought, every belief, every intention you hold is like a stroke on that canvas.

Now, here's the kicker: you have the ability to shift to any reality you choose. It's not some distant, unattainable dream—it's within your awareness right here, right now. Reality-shifting isn't this Herculean task reserved for a select few; it's as easy as changing your mind.

You are the god of your reality, lovely!!! You have the power to shift!!! It's not about waiting for the stars to align or some external force to swoop in and save the day. It's about realizing that the power you seek has been within you all along. So, embrace it. Own it. Know that you are the creator of your own destiny. And when doubts creep in or challenges arise, remember this: you are god, and reality-shifting is as easy as flipping the script. You've got this. After all, you are god.

And remember! You don't actually need specific methods to shift realities; it's about tapping into your innate power as a being that is pure consiousnious not attached to any body, mind, or reality! . Every moment, you're making choices that shift you to a different reality, and reality-shifting to your DR is just as easy! It's just bevomi b aware of it. While methods and techniques can be helpful tools, they're just that—tools! The real magic happens when you tap into your own inner wisdom and intuition, trusting yourself to allow the process to unfold organically. Embrace your innate creativity and intuition, and watch as your reality begins to shift in ways you never thought possible.

Now just remember my love, to keep on visualizing, keep on affirming, and most importantly keep persisting!!!! . And, be gentle with yourself along the way. Shifting may not happen overnight, but each step you take brings you closer to your DR. So hold onto hope, and know that your breakthrough is just around the corner.

#anonymous asks #reality shifting #shifting #shift #shifting blog #shifting realities #shifting consciousness #shifting reality #shifting antis dni #anti shifters dni #shiftblr #shifting motivation #shifters

[starlight-starfury]

Under Starlit Boughs

Book: Blades of Light and Shadow

Characters: (F!Elf!MC) Raine Nightbloom x Tyril Starfury

Rating: General

Warnings: None, but I’ll warn you it’s unapologetically sappy 😅

Length: 2k

Summary: After talking about the old parties of legend, the Fae realise they finally have cause to throw one of their own.

Tags: @liviusofpella @watatsumi-island @inlocusmads @lilyoffandoms @brycesgirl @sophie-summer @lancelotsimp @megas-choices @princess-geek @julia-highstorms @citrusdarling @mavidraws @lover-also-fighter-also @otakudreamer @stars-are-within-me @mari-lwyd-fannibal-blog @camillyohfreire @mindlesschicca @queen-arabella-of-cordonia @choicesficwriterscreations (tagging everyone who interacted with this post, if anyone wants to be added to the tag-list permanently please let me know! I’ll be making a post about it in a few days as well 💜)

A/N: Because we deserved a cute Whimsywood date 🫶

A song of laughter echoed in the air as everyone sat crowded together under the shade of the pearl petal tree, telling stories and sharing fruits that tasted of sweet mallow and fine dew.

Even the forest seemed to find wonder in the joyous occasion as the trees sent forth a gentle breeze, causing the flowering boughs above to sway and the soft petals to cascade down around the storytellers like light rainfall.

As the Fae reminisced over tales passed down from their ancestors about the Light realm, questions began to arise, and Tyril spoke. “Stories of your parties have become legend in our world. What were they really like?”

“That was long before I sprouted,” the Fae Elder answered, silent throughout the conversation but now smiling fondly at the memory. “But I heard the tales from my elders. They spoke of intricate fashion, delectable foods and wine that tasted of Light.”

“You mean to say, you’ve never thrown one yourselves?” Raine asked.

Willow shook their head. “Very few of us remain, and we’ve no cause to celebrate of late. Not with Shadow lurking so close.”

“Of course you do!” She said. “You’ve been trapped in the shadow realm for centuries, isn’t returning to your homeland worth celebrating?”

The Fae whispered and hummed amongst themselves for a moment, their murmurs like the faint rustling of leaves amid the forest undergrowth before they leapt to their feet enthusiastically.

“Raine is right!” Willow declared, beaming. “Let us all rejoice. To returning to the realm of Light, and to honour our new friends who will help ward our forest from the Shadow!”

The glade seemed to thrum with excitement as everyone stood and the Fae began making their preparations. Raine made her way over to Tyril, who had leant against one of the ancient trees and was gazing around at the magical clearing, awestruck.

“I see some things never change,” she grinned. “I’m glad you finally got to meet the Fae, Tyril.”

A smile touched his lips as she reached his side. “I suppose I have you to thank for that.”

He nodded back to the forest, where multicoloured orbs of light drifted through the air like fireflies. “It’s incredible that a place so vibrant and full of life can exist in a world such as this.”

Raine looked towards the enchanted scenery, admiring how the trees seemed to bend and dip their branches in greeting to the Fae as they walked past, and how the glowing flowers bloomed in clusters like starlit nebulae below. It made her mind drift back to the Deadwood, the decayed forest merely remnants of a distant memory compared to the magical sight before her.

“Well,” she said at last, “if all this travelling has taught me anything, it’s that beauty often thrives in chaos.”

Tyril’s eyes softened as his gaze shifted to her new attire. She looked like a forest nymph or woodland goddess in the sylvan dress, woven of emerald silk and flowing gossamer that shimmered like dappled sunlight alongside the entwined branches climbing across her fair skin. A crown of leaves was nestled in her hair, and her eyes shone violet as the wisteria blossoms above.

“It does, indeed.” His smile was tender as he reached up to gently cup her cheek and she swayed into his touch, his words a faint whisper against her skin. “Even the stars envy the brightness at which you shine.”

His sentiments were proven true as she beamed under his praise, but before she could answer him the Fae returned to the clearing all at once, and the moment was disturbed like ripples spreading across the surface of a tranquil pond.

“Come, come!” Willow beckoned, and the group reconvened beneath the pearl petal tree once more.

Raine noticed some of the Fae were holding instruments, elegant wooden flutes with budding sprouts that appeared to have been carved from the branches of a fallen tree.

“Is this one of your traditions?” She asked.

“Yes!” Tansy clapped. “The Fae Circle is one of our oldest celebrations, with much music and dancing!”

“Hang on, a Fae Circle?” Mal said before turning to the rest of the group, voice hushed. “Are you sure this isn’t just a trick to keep us here forever?”

“Mal!” Nia scolded. “Don’t be rude!”

“What, haven’t you heard the legends? Mortals who entered a Fae circle were never seen again.”

Imtura followed his gaze pointedly towards where a series of petrified faces were engraved in the bark of a large tree. “…Those aren’t just carvings, are they?”

Willow’s large eyes saddened, a swirling mist shimmering within the dark pupils. “They came to harm our forest, but the trees are our home and family. They would have plucked us from the soil one by one and uprooted everything!”

Raine leant in to whisper to Tyril. “Is all of this true?”

He nodded slowly. “I’ve said before that the Fae are made of magic down to their very essence. That power can become wild and unrestrained if provoked, and it sounds as though they’ve been a target in the shadow realm for some time.”

The nearby Fae’s ears began to droop as Willow continued speaking. “We try to strengthen our roots and bloom despite our hardships, but the trees cast a heavy shadow, and our numbers grow smaller still.”

Raine frowned. “You won’t have to worry about that in the Light realm, we’ll make sure no one harms your forest.”

Willow’s eyes brightened once more at her encouragement. “We cannot thank you enough! Please understand, the Fae Circle is an act of joy and all will be safe. And since you have come to help us, the forest will always remember you as friends.”

Tansy nodded. “The trees also like it when we play music to them, their boughs are always lighter and their leaves shine bright.”

“How does the Fae Circle start?” Tyril asked, and those holding instruments sat themselves upon the grass, lifting their flutes as they began playing a delicate yet jubilant tune.

“Everyone must stand in a circle around the tree and hold hands!” Willow said cheerfully, and Raine smiled as Tyril entwined his fingers with hers.

The rest of the Fae were the ones who began leading the dance, and the others quickly picked up the unfamiliar steps. It wasn’t long before everyone found themselves spinning and twirling around the pearl petal tree in unison.

Laughter filled the air once more, and the sweet petals drifted down around them as though joining in the dance as well until everyone was rosy-cheeked and breathless.

The celebration carried on through brief respites, sharing refreshing drinks between dances and telling stories both old and new. For once, both the realms were united in their joy, and together they could help the Fae create a brighter future for their people, and for each other.

When all the air had escaped her lungs, Raine wandered towards the edge of the glade to catch her breath. It wasn’t long until Tyril found his way to her side, and together they both sat down on a fallen, moss-covered log.

She looked up to where the branches of the great trees parted to reveal the vast night sky, an expanse of darkness that seemed impenetrable by even the brightest light, unusually empty and bare.

“There are no stars here,” she murmured. Without them, the sky felt hollow, like a canvas lying blank. No famed hero’s legacies lied etched across the surface, no constellations adorned the sky shimmering with stories still untold, no glimmer of hope was to be found in the endless dark that stretched on eternal.

“Then we make our own.” Tyril said, before he cupped his hands and little motes of starlight drifted from his fingers into the air. The colourful specks hovered there for a moment, emitting a soft glow that pulsed in unison with the rhythm of their beating hearts before rising up to settle themselves among the lush branches.

“They’re beautiful.” She smiled and they both sat quietly for a moment, feeling more at ease in a realm full of chaos and uncertainty while in each other’s presence, watching as the lights twinkled softly above.

“Do you find it strange? Seeing a sky without them?” Raine asked.

He nodded slowly. “In Undermount we revere the stars, our very existence is mirrored in their being. The history of our people is written among them, with each great victory and tragedy carved into the constellations like a woven tapestry to display all we have been through, and all that is to come.”

Tyril lifted his gaze past the tree branches. “To imagine a place without their existence feels…wrong.”

She looked down, subconsciously beginning to rub her wrist. The skin where her bindings had been was red and raw, another reminder that she had allowed herself to be captured, that she had been weak.

A frown creased his expression as he glanced at her hands, but his voice was gentle when he spoke. “None of us blame you for what happened.”

“And what if I blame myself?” She whispered, tears beginning to pool in her eyes. “Everyone went through so much because of me, especially you…”

Raine trailed off as he slowly lifted her hand to his mouth, pressing soft kisses to the inside of her wrist, each brush of his lips lighter than a butterfly’s wings.

She dipped her head as her cheeks flushed light pink, warming under his gaze before he pulled her into his arms and she leant her head to rest against his shoulder.

He murmured into her hair. “I couldn’t protect you last time and I…I blamed myself every day you were gone because of it.”

“Tyril…” she frowned. “None of that was your fault.”

“I know, but that does not change the fact that I failed you.” His eyes filled with sorrow as he traced a finger along her jaw, tilting her chin to look at him. “Every day my heart ached for your return. To see you again, even if you were but a fragment of a dream…”

She let the tears fall as she pressed her lips softly to his, overcome by emotion as she ran her fingers through his raven hair, longer than she remembered. His kiss held all his heartache and remorse from that painful year before he leant back, resting his forehead against her own.

They stayed that way until a softer tune began to play from the more lively part of the forest, and Raine threaded her fingers through his. “May I?”

“Always,” he smiled as she led him to his feet, the two of them alone in their own section of the woods. “Do you remember the first time we did this?”

“Danced?” She asked, and a pleasant night breeze surrounded them as Tyril guided her into position. “You mean at the masquerade?”

He nodded. “Sometimes that feels like a lifetime ago, as though everything has changed since then.”

“And yet, nothing at all.” She said, her voice quiet and tinged with sorrow.

His gaze was far away for a moment before he looked back towards her once more. “Never mind that now, all that matters is having you back in my arms.”

“And there's no place I'd rather be,” she smiled.

He spun her into a graceful twirl before pulling her back in close, and they swayed together gently as the song slowly faded into the next.

They danced until Raine found herself backed against one of the grand oak trees, and when she looked up she could still see the little stars Tyril had summoned earlier hovering among the branches, some of them twinkling as though they were shooting across the sky.

“I like having our own little universe,” she said, and the bark was rough against her fingertips as he leaned in for a kiss once again, like a blazing star that would sooner collapse than part from her touch.

“The night sky is ours,” he assured, and the rest of the forest seemed to melt away under his embrace, until it was just the two of them dancing beneath their stars above.

#may i provide some fluff in these trying times (ch18 aftermath) #choices fic writers creations #cfwc fics of the week #blades of light and shadow #tyril starfury #tyril x mc #raine nightbloom #tyril x raine #playchoices #playchoices fanfic #choices stories you play

[thepictureofjune]

not gonna mention how colin got his heart absolutely shattered in a field of daisies.

not gonna mention how daisies sometimes symbolize first and true love and purity and innocence and how colin lost hope for his love to ever be returned in that field of daisies.

not gonna mention how we do the whole "he loves me, he loves me not" thing with the petals of a daisy, basically trusting such a simple flower to determine love for us.

not gonna mention how noahs words in that field made colin turn away and decide to go to julia.

not gonna mention how it all happened in a field of daisies.

not gonna mention it buy yk... i could...

#schloss einstein #nolin #some daisies and their symbolism #going a bit bananas here ngl #me picking up all the signs that aren't there bcs i trust kika to be deep #they probably aren't deep it's kika after all

[sirianasims]

What kind of love are you?

Thanks for the tag, @elderwisp ❤️

Paul: Love as the Dawn

Pastel, saccharine and hopeful, your love rises slow to greet the day. It tiptoes on doe feet and blossoms bit by bit, petal by petal. Love is new to you, isn’t it? A fresh discovery in a world you do not quite understand. Your love loves with bated breaths. Your love swoons and sighs and lingers under awnings. Your love romanticizes. Your love aches as tenderly as a bruise. You’re swollen with desire and idealizations. The perfect kiss, the perfect touch, the perfect partner in life. Your love is wide-eyed and innocent, naive and pristine and oh, so very easily breakable. Being loved by you is to be loved by a child, by a lamb, wooly-eyed and helpless. Oh. I really hope it lasts.

Julia: Love as a Force of Nature

Your love is like whiplash –– it comes in with the rain, it blows the doors wide open. When you fall in love, it is sudden and hard and immense. It is powerful. It is earth-shaking and world-ending. Nature is a force, and that force can be destructive if you're not careful. See how the world is doused in gasoline and set on fire –– your love consumes, your love takes, your love burns. You're hot and cold all at once, a hurricane and a wildfire bound together in skin, and when you're in love, it can feel like it's eating you alive from the inside out. When you love, it is with everything you have because it is everything you have. Be careful, darling, because not everyone survives the storm.

This is actually quite accurate. Paul is an old-school romantic who never met The One, never found the kind of love he'd imagined, because nothing could live up to his ideals of what true love should look like. Has he finally found her, and if so, does he dare risk his heart? Is that even a choice he can make, or is it already too late?

Julia never discovered true love before either, but it's because she's too young and inexperienced. When she meets Paul, however, she falls hard and fast and inevitably. But is it simply too soon for the love of your life? Is she ready? Will she ever be?

I'm tagging everyone who wants to do this, because everyone should do it, but also @hannahssimblr @lynzishell @rebouks @earthmoonz @thebramblewood @theplottdump @bakersimmer @theosconfessions @madebycoffee @honeyjars-sims ❤️

#tag game #julia duchelli #paul romeo

[undinesea]

Over you I spent my wasted hours. You hovered above, as the sun on petals.

Julia de Burgos, from Song of the Simple Truth: The Complete Poems of Julia de Burgos

#julia de burgos #poetry

[jonesyjonesyjonesy]

Wildflowers (pt. xxi.i)

a john paul jones x fem!oc fic

summary: Julia Morgan knew nannying for three girls who had recently lost their mother would come with many challenges. But she never thought their father, the enigmatic musician John Paul Jones, would be causing her the most trouble. And while Julia is not in the business of saving broken men, her tenderness might be meant for more than little girls and wildflowers.

table of contents │ previous chapter

masterlist│ko-fi

notes: nsfw

a/n: it's my birthday and it's julia's birthday and it's everyone's birthday! :)) due to my busy schedule, i'm going to start splitting up longer chapters into two more regularly so i don't have to keep y'all waiting 5ever. anyway. enjoy. and happy birthday, julia.

pt. xxi.i, horned poppy

“I’m afraid he’s taken a leave of absence and sent John Paul Jones in his place. Will that do?”

White lilies. Ugly things.

“Well, these are nice aren’t they?”

I looked at Annie and then back at the flowers. A small card stuck out from amidst the ivory petals.

“Well, don’t just stand there and gawk at it. See who it’s from, hm?” Annie nicked me on the arm with a knuckle.

I sighed and grabbed the card. “White lilies are funeral flowers.”

The flowers had arrived while I was on my morning school run. Bounteous lilies in a fine crystal vase. Expensive. But…deathly.

“You are a snob, Julia,” Annie sniffed. “You should be grateful he thought of you at all.

She was right about that. I had to be grateful that John remembered me on my birthday at all. I had to take it as a good sign.

I unsheathed the card and read it aloud. “Happy birthday, Julia. With love.”

Annie’s eyes bulged. “With love?”

I flushed. “It’s just an expression.”

“A very strong expression,” Annie grumbled.

While outwardly I remained calm, inside I was reeling. Love was not a word John and I had exchanged. Even “like” would have felt  too strong to utter though everything between us would point to at least “like”.

As if sensing my spiraling, Annie floated toward the door to the outside. “Come on, laundry doesn’t dry itself.”

I followed her outside and sighed. 28 years old. Another birthday in another home that wasn’t my own with a family that wasn’t mine. One that I wanted to be mine more than I should have allowed myself to want. 

Annie and I went to work on hanging the wash. Time dribbled by easily, approaching the next hour. A September breeze shifted all the dresses hanging from the clothesline; a row of ghosts wafted in the morning light.

My fingers were starting to ache from pinching clothespins over and over. Bloody dryer was on the fritz, leaving Annie up to her chin in wet laundry and nothing to do with it but hang it out on the lawn. The poles hadn’t been used in eons, as made clear by their chipping white paint.

And while the chore was a bit pedantic, it was also meditative. After the first line, I’d found my rhythm and technique, how to hang up tartan skirts, socks and knickers, blouses with tiny, undissolvable stains hidden on the collar.

Anything to distract me from the date.

“Help me with this, would you?”

Annie was trying to straighten out a damp bed sheet with her small wingspan.

I smiled and wandered over, taking one end from her and spreading it as far down the line as it would go.

“That bloody machine…wasting all my time.”

Hearing Annie curse made me giggle. “Repairman should be here sometime this week.”

“Laundry doesn’t stop for a repairman, does it, Julia?” Annie said with a sigh. She clipped a pin to her end of the sheet, then one in the middle. “Blast, I don’t have another one.”

“I’m afraid I’m out too.”

She grunted in annoyance. “Hold on.”

Annie skittered away before I could say another word, leaving me standing there with the wet sheet in my hand, its dampness dripping down my arm, underneath the cuff of my jumper. I tilted my head to the side and sighed, looking up to the sky. It was slightly overcast, but the peeks of sun through the clouds were generous and brilliant.

My birthday always was more introspective than I liked it to be, especially as I got older and remained unmarried. This being my first birthday in several years without Nick in my life, I was starting to wonder if maybe I should have just gone along with him to Paris and forgotten the whole lot of my freedom. I might have been engaged by now.

Now, now, Julia, you know that’s not what you want.

Nick so rarely crossed my mind since I’d ended things. Even more so once John became the object of my fantasies and affections.

I leaned into my hip. “Come on, Annie, my arm’s getting tired.”

I was met only with silence.

I groaned, my head dipping back.

Get on with it, then.

I dropped the sheet and marched over to one of the pairs of socks I’d hung, clasped the two of them together on one, and then returned to hang up my end of the sheet.

But just as soon as I clipped the end of the sheet to the line, the opposite side fell to the ground. I huffed, marching back over to hang up that end. I scanned the ground for the pin, finding it under the drape of white, pinned it back up and sighed. A job done.

Then, the other end fell.

I stared at the fallen sheet and started to laugh. This was getting ridiculous. I went back to the opposite end, pinned it up and –

The telltale flumf of the sheet falling on the other end.

I turned on my heel, laser-focused on the fallen sheet.

That was too many coincidences in a row. “Annie…” I said with a sly smile. “Are you being clever?”

I ran back to the end and pinned it up. Again, the other end, fallen.

“You think I don’t get enough cheekiness around here with three little girls, eh?” I snuck back to the other end. Instead of pinning it back up, I grabbed the sheet and poked my head around the other side.

No one was there.

“Oh, come on. This is ridicu –” I flipped around just in time to catch the shoe of my tormentor as they hid behind the curtain once again.

And that was not Annie’s shoe.

My heart pounded. My mind must have been playing tricks on me. I could have sworn that it was John’s shoe.

“John?”

Silence. Just the waving of the sheet in the wind. Taunting me. Reminding me what an idiot I must be to think for a second it would be John.

Still my heart stayed in my throat. I crept back to the other end of the sheet. “If you’re playing a trick on me…”

You’ll what? Leap into his arms and beg him to never leave again? Be realistic…

I grabbed the end of the sheet and took a deep breath. “I swear to god, I’ll –”

Two arms enveloped me from behind, absorbing me into a tight embrace. I screamed and squirmed, but before I could see who my laundry ghost was, their lips told me, pressed against mine in a tender, familiar kiss.

John .

My body broke into goosebumps as my heart soared toward the sky. Weightless, wrapped in his arms, I had to believe this was some fever dream. I pushed a hand against his chest, drawing myself away to see his face, make sure he was really real. “John, what are you doing here?”

If I hadn’t been totally infatuated with him before, I was certainly infatuated now. His darling smile, prickling at the dimples to see me had me swooning and the glimmer in his eye made me melt. A lethal combination to a girl trying to remain sensible. “It’s your birthday, isn’t it?”

“You – mm –” John interrupted me with a kiss. “ – know it is. But you wished me happy birthday on the telephone last night and –”

“That’s not nearly the same as wishing you a happy birthday in person, is it?”

I gaped, totally unable to comprehend what was happening. “This can’t possibly be happening.”

John grinned. “Aren’t I real enough for you?”

None of this felt real. John was touching me, kissing me, like some sort of dream I’ve had in the weeks since he’d left. “Yes, yes, but I really don’t –” I sighed and closed my eyes to get my thoughts straight. “You came out here to see me?”

John nodded.

“For my birthday?”

He nodded again. I brushed a lock of his hair back and tucked it behind his ear, grinning unbelievably wide. “Really?”

John threaded his arm around my shoulder, pulling me near again for what seemed like another kiss. His nose grazed mine as he whispered into my mouth, “Julia, you mustn’t be so surprised I came home to celebrate your birthday.”

But I was. Unbelievably surprised. Even more than that, I was surprised by his charisma. I’d noticed it coming more and more forward since Montreux, since we fell into each other’s arms. Now, though, it was heightened. Nearly theatrical.

“Now you two have ruined a perfectly clean sheet!” Annie yelled from the house.

I flushed and pointed at John. “His fault!”

“I should have known you’d be a snitch,” John teased, unrolling us from the sheet. “She should be grateful it’s not ruined in other ways.”

I gaped at him. “John.”

John grinned mischievously as he balled up the sheet. I still couldn't believe he was right in front of me. “Come along, dear.”

I followed at John’s heels, trying desperately not to spend too much time looking at the way his trousers squeezed his backside. “Where are we going?”

“A surprise.”

“At least let me change,” I argued, pulling at the cuffs of my sweater.

“No time,” John smiled over his shoulder and grabbed me by the hand. “You look perfect for our purposes anyway.”

I didn’t think so. I’d thrown on a frock and tried to cut the chill with a ratty old sweater that I’d acquired at the farm, an inheritance from dead Uncle Donal. Not to mention a pair of old leather boots that needed a good shining.

John and I waltzed into the kitchen where Annie was waiting with a hamper in her hands. “Alright, be good you two.”

I stared at the wicker hamper as she held it out toward us. “Where were you keeping that?”

She shrugged, a sly smile to match John’s on her face.

“Thank you, Annie dear,” John said, taking the basket and giving her a kiss on the cheek.

“You made that for us?” I asked in shock.

“No, I made it for the Queen of England,” Annie said with a roll of her eyes. Her sass turned into a smile. “Go on, birthday girl.”

I could barely believe it. The woman who’d admonished us for so much as kissing was now encouraging us to venture into the wide world together. I threw my arms around her neck. “You knew everything, didn't you?”

Annie chuckled and patted my back. “It was all him, I just aided and abetted, alright?”

“Julia, come on!” John called from the front hall.

I felt dizzy with joy as I ran through Warren House and out the front door, only to be gob smacked again by the sight of a darling Rolls convertible, which I was able to identify by the ornament on the hood. “What is this?”

John dropped the basket in the backseat. “You like it?”

“Is this yours?”

“Oh, God, no,” John said with a scoff. “I got rid of mine years ago. Borrowed this from Bonz. So, we have to be good.”

I smiled and approached the car carefully. “I’m even afraid to touch it.”

“Oh, well a lady should never have to touch the car,” John said, opening the passenger door for me.

“Thank you,” I said with a genteel look over my shoulder.

He was so smug as he shut the door behind me. And I’d allow it, considering everything he’d done to surprise me this morning. If it all ended right here and he said this was all there was, it would have been enough.

John rounded the car and leapt into the driver’s seat without opening the door as if he was some sort of Hollywood dandy. “You ready, then?”

“Who are you and what have you done with John Baldwin?”

“I’m afraid he’s taken a leave of absence and sent John Paul Jones in his place. Will that do?”

I reached over and grabbed his chin. “You smarmy, little –”

“Prick?”

I smashed my lips against his as answer. Yes, obviously.

John sighed into my kiss as if tension from all the work he’d done was melting away just at my touch. What a far cry this all was from our first meeting. Him hiding his identify from me, trying to be an average widower.  Now, here he was, flashy and bold, strutting around like a peacock.

I was charmed. I won’t lie.

Breaking the kiss before it went too far, John straightened up. “Alright, one more thing.”

“John, no more things. No more surprises,” I said.

“Just a little thing.” He reached down and tapped the glovebox. “In here.”

I took a deep breath and opened the glovebox as John slid on a pair of aviators. Handsome arse. Burnt orange flashed from inside the glovebox. “No.”

John didn’t reply, revving the engine.

“No, John, this is –” I snatched the small box and admired the small Hermes logo. “Please, this is much too much.”

“Just open it would you?”

I lifted the lid and undid the wrapping paper as John swerved the car out of the driveway and down Warren Lane. Inside was a silk scarf, decorated with periwinkle loops and golden birds.

“Since I wouldn’t let you cut up the curtains,” John said. 

I lifted the scarf out of the box, watching it flutter delicately in the breeze. “I hate to even think of the absurd amount you paid for this.”

John smiled. “Put it on, Julie Andrews.”

“Ah, you're Robert in John’s clothing, are you?” I started to fold the scarf into a kerchief shape for my hair.

Wordlessly, John turned on the radio. A jazzy melody wafted through the speakers.

I delicately knotted the luxe fabric at the base of my skull and peered into the wing mirror. With my bare face and frumpy sweater, I didn’t feel like I was a girl who belonged in a Rolls with a silk scarf in her hair. However, when I felt John’s hand on my knee, I knew I just had to accept that this was my reality. He nudged me closer to him. “Let me look at you.”

I flipped around to face him, smiling maudlinly. “The hills are alive…” I lilted.

John grinned. “Looks perfect with your eyes.

I wrapped my arm around his shoulder and kissed his cheek, teeny bristles of hair against my lips. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome darling.”

Where had this smokey-voiced, Casanova come from? Had Bonzo given him some midland pointers? Maybe Pat had really pulled all the strings. Or was this the man John was far before the broken heart?

I bade myself not to think about it too hard and to enjoy it. It was my birthday after all.

“Where are we going?” I asked, tucking my chin on his shoulder as we mazed through Crowborough.

“Well, we’ve got a hamper courtesy of Annie and you’ve got a kerchief ala Fraulein Maria, the Alps perhaps?”

I smacked him on the arm. “Cheeky.”

“Always.”

I couldn’t ignore how wonderful he smelled. How much I’d missed him. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, but it also heightens the senses. And everything about his touch, his smell, the way he looked…

Made me absolutely feral.

“I thought I’d take you down to the shore. Is that alright with you?”

I smiled. “I haven’t been to the shore in years.”

“Obviously you’re overdue for a visit then.”

“Yes,” I replied, the open road curling out before us. “Yes, I am.”

The shore at Normans Bay was nearly an hour’s drive, but the time ticked by quickly at John’s side. We had much to catch up on, things we couldn’t get from our nightly chats. Closeness, the kind I could only get from hearing his breath through the phone.

We didn’t have to talk. It was that simple at this point. The radio crooned, the English countryside plowed by, and we simply existed in the same space.

It was as close to love as I had felt the entire time I’d been falling for him. Dangerous. Unavoidable.

“Seems like old times…” the radio sang.

“So how’d you sneak away?” I murmured to John.

“Having you to walk with…”

“Zeppelin’s four members, isn’t it? All I have to do is throw a fit now and then, disappear, and then I’m welcomed back with open arms. Can’t get on with only three.”

“Seems like old times, having you to talk with.”

I pushed my face into his shoulder. “You didn’t tell anyone you were coming here to see me, did you?”

“No, of course not. They’d have a field day with that.”

Acceptable, especially based on the way I’d asked the question. Still, I would have loved to have been sung from the rooftops.

I moved back to my side of the car and leaned on the door, letting the wind whip through my hair and kerchief. “This was quite a surprise, John.”

“That was my goal.”

I grabbed the hem of my skirt. My legs felt light as arousal crept up my thighs. “I’ve missed you.”

“You know I’ve missed you, Julia.”

I had been trying to understand all this time if our relationship was more than just physical to John. And now, here I was, struggling not to feel turned on. My body hadn’t expected him. I was taken off-guard, each and every part of me.

John leaving was like a withdrawal from my system, the way it felt when I went from doing cocaine everyday after school to hiding myself on the farm while I was with child. Shakingly needy. Touching myself in the late hours, the early hours, the in between hours.

Now, here he was in the flesh.

And we’d already gone far too long without touching each other in the deepest ways.

I curled my fingers under the hem of my skirt and spread my legs.

“Julia…”

“What?”

“You know what.”

I pulled my fingers further up my thigh.

John fiddled with his glasses. “God dammit, Julia. You want me to run the car off the road?”

“I’ve barely done anything.”

John took a deep breath. “I can fucking smell you from here.”

“I hope that’s a compliment.”

The car abruptly veered off the road into an embankment. I nearly screamed before realizing John was responsible for the change in direction. He ripped the keys from the ignition and dived toward me, pressing me up against the door, lips on mine, ravenous lips, tongue ripping into my mouth. I braced myself, one hand against the headrest, the other against the dash.

His sunglasses knocked up against my face. He trembled to grab them throwing them onto the ground without another thought.

I wrapped my leg around his hip, pulling him flat against me. My entire body bucked against him, his touch utterly enthralling from the top of my head to the tips of my toes.

“I was trying to be good,” John growled, moving his lips to my neck.

His teeth sunk into my skin. I let out a long sigh in response.

“I was going to wait,” he went on.

John’s hands slid from my calves and up my thighs, jerking my skirt up to my waist.

“But you and your fucking…” John shook his head like he’d just been hit with an anvil. “God almighty, Julia, I can’t control myself around you.”

I bit my tongue through a smile. “You never have to control yourself around me.”

John pushed my panties down (also not attractive, to complement the already dowdy outfit), then ducked under my skirt, his mouth sealing tight to my center.

My head dipped back toward the sky, jaw falling open as I welcomed his lips to my groin. I could barely even calculate the things wrong with this situation. In a car on an open road, a convertible with the top down, an employer with his children’s nanny.

A continued dance between secret and broadcast. This was the thing that plagued me while I was away from John.

But while I was with him, it drove me fucking mental.

John moaned into my dripping core. I jerked in response, hooking my hands over the window well at my shoulders. “Oh my god…”

His tongue slid from my perineum up to my clit, snaring the sensitive pearl with a snap of his lips.

My body seized, then collapsed again. A whimper, a moan, a breath.

I felt a drop of rain square between my eyebrows and was immediately snapped out of my reverie. I could only think about Bonzo’s car. The leather interior and anything else that might be ruined by the rain. “John, it’s –”

He locked his hands under my ass, pressing his mouth harder to me.

I bucked again. “John, the –“ A few more drops of rain. More suction of his mouth. “Please, we have to – oh god, I have to –”

John’s mouth was unyielding. I had to give into him. The warmth of his mouth, the cool kiss of the rain, the same amount of opposition that had been in our dynamic since the very beginning.

I grabbed onto his shoulder as best I could. John moaned once, twice, three times, each one building, shaking my sense free until the orgasm trembled free. I keened, raindrops tumbling onto my tongue, down my throat. “John, please,” I begged, gripping his jacket. “John, I need –”

John reemerged from under my skirt and slid up the length of my body to catch my mouth in another longing kiss. I tasted myself on his mouth.

Fit perfectly in the cradle of my legs, John rested, catching his breath against me. His fingers curled around the door. “Fuck,” he growled. “What do I do with you?”

“That. Again and again, please.”

John coked his head against my chest, smiling lopsidedly, a sheen across his lips and cheeks.

The rain intensified, from a drizzle to a steady cadence which finally snapped John back into gear. “Shit, the top.”

“I’ll help you,” I said, dragging myself out of the car and into the rain.

Like a sketch out of a Marx Brothers movie, we managed the top of the Rolls about halfway before it stuck. We switched sides a couple of times, trying to figure out what we’d done wrong, until John realized the fucking thing was automatic and went up and down with the push of a button . “How do we keep up with these newfangled gadgets, eh?” he asked, settling back into his spot with a damp squelch.

“It’s alright, you old fuddy-duddy,” I cooed.

“Says the girl celebrating a birthday.”

“Twenty-eight, over the hill, I know.”

“Well, it’s a very beautiful hill.”

I smacked him on the arm. “Drive, you.”

We set back off on our trajectory to Normans Bay, quickly leaving behind the patch of rain we’d been hit with for cooler temperatures and wider blue skies. The closer we got to the sea, the more I could smell it in the air and eventually, see it in the distance.

“Oh, wait, wait. I have to pull over,” John remarked.

“What for?”

The car rolled to a stop one more. He nodded back over his shoulder toward a flower cart at the side of the road. “Flowers. For you of course.”

I screwed my forehead together. “More flowers?”

John’s forehead matched mine in confusion. “What?”

“You already got me flowers. You sent lilies. This morning.”

His eyebrows lifted.

“Didn’t you?” I asked.

John shook his head slowly. “No, I didn’t send you flowers.”

“Then who…” I trailed off, my heart beating with anxiety. “Please don’t joke with me, you didn’t send me those flowers?”

John half-smiled. All of the charisma he’d rode in on, suddenly caput. “I know I’m not the only man who admires you, Julia.”

I didn’t know what to say. I was still horrified to think of who could have possibly sent them. It was a short list, but none of the options were desirable. Nick Westerling being the first three names on the list.

John hurried off and fetched a spray of wildflowers from the seller. I watched through the wing mirror as his coat and hair whipped in the wind as he handed over a generous couple quid for the bouquet. He returned as quick as he’d made off, bashfully handing over the flowers. I took them with much more tenderness than I’d received the lilies this morning, pressing my nose into the fragrant spray. “You mustn’t give me anything more.”

He merely smiled.

Before he could start the car for us to finally make off to Normans Bay, I leaned over and slid my lips across the lobe of his ear. “You’re the only man I care to be admired by. I promise.”

John gratefully accepted my kiss, leaning back in his seat, a hand against my waist. I grabbed a yellow poppy from the bunch, remembering the poem from our Flower Fairies book. Only grows on the seashore. I tucked the flower in his hair. “There. Now everyone will know.”

He flushed, laughing bashfully like a schoolboy. “Damn this long hair.”

“I think it’s darling,” I said, sitting back in my spot.

John looked me over, considering each and every part of me. The yellow flower over his ear added a warmth to his face blush couldn’t seem to encapsulate on its own. Then, he smiled, put the car in gear and took a deep breath. “Next stop, Normans Bay.”

And though I laughed and sang along on the radio, I held my tongue back from what I really thought. That I never cared if we ever got to the shore at all. I could die happy in this moment.

Not even noon and this was already, most certainly, my best birthday to date.

tag list: @jimmys-zeppelin, @kari-12-10, @grxtsch, @digitcc, @ritacaroline, @kyunisixx, @salixfragilis, @rebel-without-a-zeppelin, @jimmypages, @dollyvandal, @cassiana-on-dark-side, @thepinklovewitch, @faisonsunreve, @sastrugie, @seventieswhore, @t4ngerinedr3am, @mayspringcome, @barrettavenue, @foreverandadaydarling, @glimmerofsanity, @montereypopgroupie, @lzep, @jimmysdragonsuit13, @n0quart3r, @larsgoingtomars, @paginate54, @leveeisbreaking (let me know if you’d like to be added 💋)

#john paul jones #wildflowers #led zeppelin #julia morgan #wf #john paul jones x oc #jjj

[just-a-tiny-goldfish]

“In the nicest way possible it’s absolute shit”

“That wasn’t nice at all” you smile regardless.

“I was being honest” there’s a mocking tilt to her tone you don’t understand. It makes you uncomfortable. You clutch your forearms tightly in the warmth of your jacket sleeves.

“Anathema liked it.” Was really happy to see it too. She even gave you a tiny umbrella to place on top. Blue with the smallest bright red flowers, how did they paint such tiny details on there, you can see each petal. A tiny brush? They were adorable. You almost didn’t put it on your castle, wanted to keep it safe with you.

“She said it was really good” you keep your own tone neutral, still unsure how to respond.

“Then she was lying straight to your face” she huffs, messing with her hair. It keeps blowing back into her face, getting in her mouth—her eyes. No hair tie, just a too small butterfly clip that keeps slipping, too much hair for the poor thing to handle.

You inch closer to her, loose hair strands tickle your cheek. It hurts a little with each strong gust of salty wind.

Anathema wasn’t lying.

You would know. So, if Anathema was telling you the truth— then Julia must be the liar here. It’s the only option.

This is the best sand castle on the beach.

Nevermind that it’s the only one.

“It’s my first one” you feel weird admitting that. You shouldn’t need to — admit it, that is. It being a good sandcastle and all, and her obviously lying — but you feel like you should give her an excuse anyway.

“Ha! Well that explains it”

She goes over and kneels down. You follow feeling strangely protective of your castle.

After Anathemas compliments you wanted to show it off.

Now you're not so sure you want anyone but you around it.

“Anathema liked it…” you’ve already said that, no real use repeating yourself. It’s quieter this time around.

“Just cause she likes it doesn’t make it good”

You think that’s exactly what it means.

There’s a slight mist when she speaks now. The sun is nowhere in sight but you know it’s still there the clouds are still light gray.

You blow hot air out and sure enough yours mists too. Just the same as hers.

You kneel down next to her. The sand is cold. You keep your hands in your sleeves. You can feel the goosebumps climbing up your arm.

“Let see…”

You watch as she grabs handfuls of your castle. You tense. Her palms are slightly red, fingers stiff. It crumbles easily. Domino like. Your jaw goes tight.

So does hers.

“I haven’t built one in a while…” another chunk crumbles. “It’s a little hard without tools” she’s glaring down at the sand in her hand.

You know she’ll complain about sand in her ports later. She’ll be expecting you to help, you’re not planning on sticking around here again tonight.

“Blueprints” you supply. Shuffle closer on your knees, no need to be careful anymore. The castles gone.

“No. We need a bucket and a shovel, burra” she turns over to you and grins, hands you the tiny blue umbrella with its tiny pink flowers.

You knit your eyebrows down at it, hesitate in slipping your hands out of your warm sleeves but the need to grab the little thing is too great.

You take it, the air is cold on your hands. But not as cold as her hands, you pull back quickly.

Examining the umbrella. It doesn't open right anymore. It’s got a broken stick on the inside. You stare at it for a good while, you can hear Julia’s soft and low cursing in the background.

Pocketing it. You watch as Julia continues to grab at the sand. Piles of it but nothings forming. She gets rougher and rougher but it’s counterproductive. You see the frustration build as she worries her lip, cheeks going red from more than just the cold air. She turns to you a few times, almost expectantly.

You don’t offer to help.

Instead you softly thumb the umbrella's paper canopy in your pocket.

Eventually there’s a crack as sand flies, you watch small little white-blue residual currents dance on the surface of her hands. The air feels fuzzy.

You crawl over on your knees, she doesn’t look up even as you throw an arm around her shoulder, stretch and lean yourself over her, cheek squished firmly to her cooled soft hair. Thankfully the wind has settled.

It’s dark now. The light gray is gone, there’s a red tint in the sky.

She stands up eventually, you stumble back a bit. Almost fall. She shakes herself off and helps you onto your own feet.

The walk back to the rest of the hotel isn’t quiet. She’s going on and on about one thing or the other.

You can’t concentrate on it. You keep palming the umbrella in your hand. You’ve snapped a few more of the tiny sticks, they’re sharp against your palm.

When you finally get back to the hotel, Julia hesitates.

Which is more than fine by you. There’s more than just Anathema and Chen in there. A whole flurry of hero’s you didn’t care to learn anything about. It’s too cold to be out here. But you spent the day at the beach anyways. The rest spent it inside.

It’s fine. You like the beach.

You don’t realize Julia’s moved until she places a hand on your shoulder pulling you into her, a tight but comfortable hug.

Her breath is hot in your hair when she mumbles quietly, lips pressed to your temple “it’s the sand here, it sucks…it’s mostly garbage anyways. I’ll take you to a nice beach one day. One you can actually swim in and build a good castle” when you separate she’s still close enough her breath feels almost wet on your forehead. You both stair at each other. She looks at you…expectingly. You feel a shiver go through you, and it’s definitely not the cold.

You turn and open the door.

Inside you and Julia quickly part ways.

You catch Anathema's eye in a corner. She’s alone. She looks relieved as she waves you over. You crush the remains of the umbrella in your pocket, swear you feel a splinter dug itself into your thumb.

“Hey! Did you get to show Julia your sandcastle?”

“It’s gone now” it comes out too fast to stop it. You swear you can feel your cheeks heat in embarrassment.

“Oh, did the waves take it back? I thought you built it far away enough”

You shrug. Think about lying and saying yes.

“Julia said it wasn’t good” you tell her the truth.

“She said that?” Her eyes narrow briefly, an unimpressed frown taking over her features.

You nod.

“Don’t believe a word she says. She’s too full of herself, absolutely full of shit. I’ve seen her make sandcastles, they always suck” she’s smiling at you now. And you can’t help but let a small smile of your own emerge.

She puts an arm around you. She’s warm and you lean against her.

“Next time, show Chen first. He can at least keep his standing, he would have appreciated it. Julia’s too impatient, hers always fall”

#orellia becerra #this one will go in ao3 when I’m not lazy

[natalieironside]

I think we could stand to talk more about how history remembers Elagabalus as one of the very worst Roman emperors for the crime of being rather odd.

Like: Generally speaking, the people considered the worst of the caesars (Nero, Caligula, Commodus, Caracalla, etc) were the toxic combination of dangerously paranoid individuals and comically incompetent bureaucrats. In the eyes of ancient chroniclers, you could get away with quite a bit of murder and excess so long as it was accompanied by, say, a sound financial policy; but Jove help you if your expenditures exceed revenue while you're doing all that murdering.

When it comes to Elagabalus, we know almost nothing about what she actually, like, did. We have records of some nepotistic cabinet appointments and the wildly unpopular attempt to replace Roman civil religion with the cult of Sol Invictus, but that's about it. And most of what contemporary historians had to say about her personal crimes are rendered spurious by how much obvious nonsense is mixed in more credulous accounts (like the Historia Augusta reporting with a straight face that Elagabalus liked to smother dinner guests by filling rooms with violet petals). Gibbon's Decline and Fall doesn't even bother attempting to talk about government policy decisions at all and just dedicates quite a whole lot of words to "the emperor was a big weirdo who fucked a lot." Accusations of sexual misconduct are probably more credible--and, to be clear, that is Bad; all caesars are bastards, girlboss or not--but I'd argue that it's about on a level with literally any other Roman emperor, except *maybe* Antonius Pius b/c I don't think he ever fucked.

I think there's a lesson in how much the Romans valued Moral Virtue(tm) and Tradition(tm) and saving face. It reminds me of how Nero bankrupting the empire often took a backseat to "He hangs out with actors! And reads poetry! Shock and horror!" and how Commodus being, well, Commodus often took a backseat to "He hangs out with gladiators and athletes! Shame and scandal!" cranked up to like a billion.

So what we're left with is that Julia Bassiana and the praetorians looked at this weird and uncontrollable teenager and were like ". . . the dang Augustus dresses like a woman and has like 12 boyfriends and pronouns. I think assassination is in order."

[incorrect-para-quotes]

#incorrect quotes #incorrect wizard101 quotes #incorrect pirate101 quotes #julia petal

[nanamail]

#ts4 #the sims 4 #ts4 gameplay #my sims #lilith petal #petal save #julia wright

[petals4soho]

⭐︎ welcome to petals4soho!

// a writeblr blog reintroduction.

about me —

i’m kota (or elliot), an eighteen-year-old college student that uses they/them pronouns.

my username is a combination of references to the album petals for armor by hayley williams and professional wrestler ruby soho.

i’ve been writing fiction since i could write. my goals here are to become more consistent with writing so i can finally finish some of my passion projects all without falling off the face of the earth again.

most (if not all) of my wips are realistic young/new adult contemporary fiction with coming-of-age & found family themes, but i’m honestly open to writing anything that piques my interest!

ask/tag game friendly! message me about your writing, tag me in your updates and please talk to me about professional wrestling! i love it!

wips —

teenage vows

my main project that explores themes of growing up, loss, grief, forgiveness, and friendship. it follows Alex Ramírez, a seventeen-year-old senior in high school trying to navigate life after the death of his ex-boyfriend and best friend, Wally Fletcher. in the midst of it all, he reconnects with a former fling, Bea Mumford — a now pregnant sixteen-year-old whose boyfriend wants nothing to do with her and the baby — and attempts to earn forgiveness from Wally's little sister, Julia. if you like coming-of-age stories where the teenagers don't pretend to have everything figured out, this wip may be for you!

status: drafting

intro post | wip tag | pinterest board

more to be added…

#writeblr introduction #new writeblr #writeblr intro #writeblr #writeblr reintro #writers of color #writers on tumblr #wip intro #creative writing #writing community #ya writing #poc writer #wip nook #more wips to be announced #pls be my friend #little red writing hoods

[holybatgirlz]

Going to the Chapel | Chapter 2

read here on ao3 (previous chapter)

Summary:

“Three days?” she yelped. “I thought you said next week.” “Three days is next week.” Sophie frowned. “Oh. You’re right. Monday, then?” (An Offer from a Gentleman by Julia Quinn, Chapter 23) What happened in the days leading up to Benedict and Sophie’s wedding.

Word Count: 6.8k

--

Saturday

After many repeated assurances and the promise of a visit to Aubrey Hall after their honeymoon was over, Edmund was finally convinced – at least, placated enough – that Benedict and Sophie moving to Wiltshire was not the end of the world. No matter how much he felt it was. 

With the crisis averted, the rest of the afternoon had gone quite smoothly. Benedict had remained at Number 5 till dinner, keeping Sophie company as Hyacinth regaled them about how she and their sisters (plus Posy) had all seen Araminta and Rosamund while in the market.

While Benedict’s sisters had no issue with giving the countess and her daughter the cut direct, snubbing them in front of the entire ton, Hyacinth had gone a step further. Using candies she’d purchased off a market stall, Hyacinth had discreetly lobbed a few she’d been sucking on in the direction of the pair. 

One of which landed directly in Rosamund’s hair and stayed there, much to the elder Reiling sister’s distress once she realized what she’d been hit with.

Benedict had subsequently made a note to buy his youngest sister whatever she wanted for Christmas.

But, while his goal had been to remain with Sophie as long as he could, once dinner was over, Benedict found himself being forced out the door and back to his lodgings, by both his mother and sisters’ insistences. He was practically shoved out the door as they shooed him out, all under the pretense of Sophie being allowed to get some sleep after such a busy day. 

It didn’t deter him though. Benedict was a stubborn mule, and his mother was where he’d inherited it from, making her attempt to control him useless. 

So, he returned to Number 5 early the next morning to join them for breakfast, arriving just as Sophie was making her way down the grand staircase, heading towards the dining room.

She was dressed in soft blush colored silk, that had been cut in a manner that made the skirt look like the petals of a flower and the puff sleeves like the buds of a bluebell. All tied together with simple black ribbons, around the waist and sleeves. He was sweeping her into his arms, lifting her off the step as he spun her around before placing her down next to him. Sophie giggled as he pressed a kiss to her cheek.

“Good morning,” he told her.

“Morning,” she returned sweetly.

“So, does my mother have any plans for you today?” he asked as he wrapped an arm around her waist, leading her towards the dining room.

She shook her head, cheeks as pink as her dress. “No, I don’t think so.”

“Good,” he told her, kissing her cheek this time as they entered the room. “Then I get you all to myself today.”

It was a pretty calm and peaceful morning. Benedict was able to spend time with Sophie, the only thing he really wanted to do while he impatiently waited for Monday morning to arrive, but he also was able to get the final item he needed before the wedding. The ring. 

It had belonged to his paternal grandmother. A handful of Alessandra Bridgerton’s rings had been left to Benedict and his younger brothers for when they found wives of their own, since her own wedding ring had been given to his mother Violet and then to Kate. For most of his life, he’d never thought about the rings, but Benedict knew the emerald one would be the one he took the moment he realized he wanted to marry Sophie.

A beautiful ornate gold band with two small diamonds and an emerald no bigger than a pinky nail between them. The gem was the same color as Sophie’s eyes. 

So, while his mother was distracting Sophie, he slipped upstairs to her room where she’d told him she’d left the ring in its small case on her dresser, which is where he found it. Giving the ring a quick look over, scanning for any tiny imperfections he knew the ring did not have, before sliding it into his pocket with the full intention of getting Sophie alone so that he could present her with it. 

He’d even prepared a speech. Planned to propose marriage to Sophie, even though they were already engaged, even though he knew she would say yes without question. He still wanted to ask, to tell her why she was his everything. Why he wanted to spend the rest of his life with her.

(And to make up for the fact he’d declared them engaged to a government official without her input. Even if it was for the purposes of securing her release before she was unjustly sent to a penal colony.)

He planned to present her with the ring the moment he was back downstairs. After he’d snuck her out to the small gazebo in the backyard.  

But upon his return downstairs, as he quickly made his way down the stairs and into the front foyer, he found his brother and mother chatting quietly near the door. A man Benedict did not recognize was with them. And Sophie as well, who stood next to Violet with a worried expression on her face.

The unknown man was well dressed, with dark hair that was graying at the temples and small, circular spectacles covering his pale gray eyes. Held in his hands was a well-used, leather gladstone bag. And he had a stern look on his face, one that told Benedict he was a man of strict business. 

If Benedict had to guess. He looked like a solicitor.

“Brother,” Benedict greeted Anthony as he approached the group. “Is everything alright?”

“Benedict,” his brother greeted him back with a quick nod. “May I introduce Mr. Matthew Selwin. The Earl of Penwood’s solicitor.” 

“Mr. Bridgerton,” the solicitor nodded politely towards him.

Benedict tensed briefly, a flash of worry washing over him before he forced himself to relax. After his conversation with his brother the day before, he’d expected they’d receive a response from the earl but not this quickly. He quickly forced his charming, Bridgerton smile as shook hands with Mr. Selwin, before drifting over to Sophie’s side.

She was nervous. Posture alone gave away her concern, the tense shoulders with her worried, anxious expression. Her fingers picking at the skin around her nails. Benedict only wrapped an arm around her waist, protectively, drawing her closer to him. 

“I ran into his lordship this morning while at the House of Lords. We spoke briefly. I thought it best to introduce myself, what with our mutual connection,” Anthony said with a nod towards Sophie. “He was rather surprised when he heard the late earl’s ward was getting married. He’d been under the assumption she already had.”

“Araminta told him I���d married two years ago,” Sophie added softly. “After the earl handed control of my dowry.” 

Benedict swallowed the anger boiling within him. Of course, Araminta would try to cover her tracks and guarantee there were no questions raised about her sudden disappearance from Penwood House. 

“Lord Penwood thought it best to send his solicitor to help us resolve this…mistake,” Anthony told them. “Especially with the upcoming wedding. I would have called you to the Bridgerton House, brother. For a private meeting, but his lordship he requested Miss Beckett present for these discussions.”

“And he apologies for his absence,” Mr. Selwin added. “He’s only in the city for a short time and there were matters at his properties he needed to see to.” 

“Of course,” Benedict returned, trying to ignore the fact that Penwood House was a few doors down from Number 5.

“Shall we then?” Mr. Selwin asked. 

Straight to business then. 

While the rest of them made their way into the smaller side room that acted as an office space (when needed), Benedict gently pulled Sophie back, waiting for the others to enter the room first so he spoke with her privately. 

“Are you alright?” he asked her, brushing a hand over her shoulder.  

She nodded, letting go of a sigh. “Yes, I’m okay. I’m just a little surprised. I haven’t seen Mr. Selwin since my father’s funeral.”  

“I’m sorry,” he told her. “Anthony let me know yesterday that the earl was in town. He and I agreed to handle it quietly before Monday, so you wouldn’t have to. But I should have told you.”

She shook her head. “It’s alright.” 

“I didn’t want to overwhelm you,” he added. “To be honest, I didn’t think my brother would be able to secure a meeting with his solicitor. And this quickly.”

“I doubt there is much to discuss,” Sophie replied. “My dowry is probably pittances now. Probably nonexistent if I’m honest. And I know my father didn’t leave me anything else.” 

Gently, Benedict took her hand, bringing it up so he could press a soft kiss to the knuckles. 

“Whatever happens, know that nothing is going to stop me from marrying you Monday,” he told her, and she smiled softly back up at him. 

Sophie looked up at him, eyes shining with adoration, as she gave him a soft smile. He kissed her knuckles again. 

“Come on,” he said, offering his elbow out for her to take. “Let’s get this over with.”

—

“I’m sorry. What?”

“Benedict, please,” Anthony admonished with a sigh. 

But the information Mr. Selwin had just provided them was still being processed in Benedict’s head.

The new Earl of Penwood was now a married man. In the years since Sophie had last seen him he’d sobered up and decided to marry a young woman from his hometown up north, a vicar’s daughter and old friend, who seemed to be, from what the solicitor implied, having a good effect on him. 

And a result of his recent nuptials was that he would no longer be sharing Penwood House. From what they could gather, through the solicitor’s formal explanation, was that the earl’s new wife was not interested in sharing a property. At the end of the season, Araminta would be required to move out of Penwood House, and would further be known as the dowager countess Gunningworth. 

Araminta’s current choices were to either take the dowager residence in the countryside or find a new residence in London. Something that would no doubt be difficult for her since the earl had also reduced her allowance down to two thousand pounds. An allowance he had also threatened to halve since it appeared Anthony had informed him of the fraud that had been occurring while he was in the country. 

Two thousand pounds a year. Not a measly amount by any means, but not enough to live as lavishly as Araminta Gunningworth was known to enjoy. 

And Benedict had only laughed at the news. The result of his hysterical outburst causing Anthony to glare at him for being a tad bit too happy about it.

Only because he’d done so in front of the solicitor.

But even Sophie was giving him a harsh look. 

Mr. Selwin cleared his throat. “As I was saying, the earl apologizes for this error and wishes to compensate Miss Beckett for the mishandling of her dowry by the dowager countess.”

“Becoming Lady Araminta’s unpaid servant? Her dowry being stolen? The abuse Sophie suffered? The earl considers this to be nothing but an error?” Anthony questioned him with an unimpressed glare, brow raised. 

“Yes, well, that was quite regrettable,” Mr. Selwin replied, awkwardly, shuffling some of the papers before pulling one out and handing it to Benedict. “To make up for this, the earl wishes to pay the full amount of Miss Beckett’s dowry with an additional amount added onto it as repayment for the harm caused to her while living under Lady Penwood’s guardianship.”

As Benedict took the document, he froze as he read the total amount.

A ten-thousand-pound dowry, which had been the amount Sophie’s father had initially left her, with an additional nine thousand added to it for the years Sophie spent under Araminta’s care. One thousand for each year. A ten-thousand-pound dowry was already quite the sum for a ward to be left as a dowry or income, but to add an additional nine, even Sophie seemed surprised as she read it. 

“This is far too much,” she told Mr. Selwin, at a loss for words.

“Based on what I read, the correct amount owed is at least forty thousand,” Anthony informed her. “When the dowager countess took you into her care, her allowance was increased from two thousand to six thousand a year. Not to mention, she only requested your dowry after you fled from Penwood House.”

Benedict was beginning to regret not killing Araminta. Mr. Selwin shifted uncomfortably in his chair, not interested in negotiating a new amount.

“Nineteen is already far too much for me to take,” Sophie said. 

“You can put it aside,” Anthony advised her simply. Before adding more softly. “If you chose to take it, that is. I can help you and Benedict put it into a trust. If you have a daughter, or daughters, it can become their dowry instead.”

“Still…” Sophie trailed off, looking conflicted. 

And Benedict recalled what she’d said in the jail, how excited she’d been when she discovered her father had left her money. She’d been surprised, before becoming excited. Happy. Happy that she had a dowry but not for herself. For him. Like that was something he had expected – needed – before he’d agree to marry her.

After he’d declared them engaged without even asking her thoughts on that. Announced to the magistrate (and multiple other prisoners) his intentions to make her his wife. That should have been enough for her to realize he didn’t care about her class anymore. About money. He’d been a fool in the first for allowing it to blind him from being happy.  

All he wanted was a quiet life at My Cottage. With Sophie. Something he was only days away from having. 

And nineteen thousand pounds wasn’t going to change that. 

So, Benedict reached over to where she sat next to him, their chairs practically connected with how close he’d move his towards her, and took her small, soft hand in his.

“Whatever you choose, I’ll support it,” he told her. “And trust me, when I say we don’t need it. I don’t need a dowry to marry you.”

Sophie gave him a soft smile in return, before looking towards Mr. Selwin.

“I respectfully decline his lordship’s offer,” she told him, giving Benedict’s hand a squeeze as she spoke.

“His lordship was quite insistent about this–” Mr. Selwin started. 

“As my fiancée said, we do not need it,” Sophie cut him off. “And I’m certain our daughter will be quite fine without it as well.”

Now that statement perked his interests.

“You want daughters?” Benedict inquired, intrigued. 

“How about we get married first?” Sophie returned with a smile. “Then we can discuss how many daughters we want.” 

Benedict wasn’t certain he could. The idea of a mini Sophie, a daughter with Sophie, had captured his thoughts.

“And what about Posy?” Sophie asked, turning his attention back to the solicitor.

“What about her?” Mr. Selwin returned. 

“Lady Bridgerton has taken her in,” Sophie told him. “And she lived in the same home I did these past nine years. Even longer frankly. Now that she isn’t, shouldn’t her dowry be handed over for Lord Bridgerton and his mother to watch?”

“I’m welcome to discuss the transferring of entails with his lordship before approaching the dowager countess with this matter. If Miss Reiling truly plans to remain under Lady Bridgertons care,” Mr. Selwin said back. 

“That seems to be the plan,” Anthony inputed with ease. He was still seated behind his desk, his chin resting atop his knuckles as he gave the solicitor a hard look. And it was evident from the periodical shifting from Mr. Selwin whenever he made eye contact, that Anthony’s air of intimidation was beginning to get to him. 

“How much should Lord Bridgerton be expecting with regards to Posy’s dowry?” Sophie asked. 

“Lord Gunningworth was kind enough to leave a dowry of four thousand pounds to Miss Reiling and her sister,” Mr. Selwin informed her.

“Each?” 

Mr. Selwin shook his head. “No. The amount was to be shared. Those shares then added to the dowries their father had left them. I believe the total amount is six thousand each.”

Sophie frowned. “Well, that’s not fair.”

Benedict couldn’t help the laugh that burst out past his lips. Of course. Of course, Sophie would think that. She’d decline the ten thousand her father had left for her, ten thousand pounds that had been stolen from her by Araminta, and she considered the additional nine thousand added to it making far too much for her to take, but only six thousand pounds for her stepsister? Unacceptable. 

“What?” Sophie asked him, confused, her brows adorably furrowed as she frowned at him.

Benedict shook his head. “Nothing, nothing.”

“Posy was his stepdaughter,” she told him defensively, having figured out why he’d laughed at her. “Should he not have made it an even amount between the three of us?” 

“Sophie, I don’t think Posy will mind having only six thousand pounds as a dowry,” Benedict said as his chuckles subsided, recalling how it was also Posy who revealed the fraud in the first place.

“Well, that depends on if her dowry was left untouched,” Sophie reminded. 

“I think we should allow Lord Penwood to figure out how much the dowager countess has taken from him, and after that, we can figure out Posy’s dowry,” Anthony suggested. 

“I’ll bring this all back to his lordship so we can begin the process,” Mr. Sewlin informed them, packing away the papers he’d brought. “I will inform him of Miss Beckett’s decision to decline the offer.” 

“If I may,” Anthony interjected. “I hope that his lordship will also make clear, to any who ask, that this agreement is merely nothing but the handing off of a dowry Lord Gunningworth left his ward before he passed.”

Mr. Selwin, who Benedict had come to realize had also served Sophie’s father, barely reacted. 

“But of course. His lordship intends to do just that. It would be what his late relatives would have wanted,” was Mr. Selwin’s reply. “The late Charles Beckett was a dear friend of his lordship when they were children. He would never do anything to disparage his name and character. Let alone insult his only daughter.” 

So, they were in agreement. Both Benedict’s family and the Penwoods would stay tight lipped about Sophie’s heritage. And the confirmation came as a relief, Sophie’s shoulders relaxed, as did her posture. Benedict gave her hand another squeeze. 

“There was one other matter his lordship wished for me to address with you,” Mr. Sewlin said as he searched around in his bag. “There were items the late earl left he thought Miss Beckett would wish to have.”

Sophie frowned. “Items?”

Finding what he was searching for, Mr. Selwin pulled it out and handed it over to her. Sophie took the item, turning it over her hand to look at it.

“What is it?” Benedict asked her. 

“A watch,” Sophie responded, quietly, having apparently recognized it. “Lord Gunningworth used to carry it around with him.”

At least it looked like one. The same size and shape as one too. Small and made entirely of gold. The carving of cranes flying around in a circle on the cover. 

Only when Sophie clicked it open there was no watch face inside. Instead, there was a portrait of a woman, with dark curls and sharp eyes. A sly smile on her lips. It was a miniature painting, concealed as a simple pocket watch. 

“He also left some letters,” Mr. Selwin added, placing a stack of folded pieces of paper tied with a string. “He felt they would be best left in the care of Miss Beckett.”

But Sophie wasn’t listening. She was focused on studying the portrait, her finger grazing over the inside of the golden cover. 

“I believe that is all, so I will take my leave,” Mr. Selwin told them, rising from his chair. 

As Anthony handled the goodbyes exiting with Mr. Selwin to see him out and leaving the two alone, Benedict turned his attention to Sophie. She’d gone white, blinking away tears as her eyes watered. 

“What is it?” Benedict asked her, concerned.

“Um…” Sophie took a deep breath, brushing away unfallen tears. “I think it’s my mother.”

She handed the miniature over to him. Benedict found that on the inside of the cover was an engraving.

Yours eternally. – M. B. 

“I um…” Sophie sniffled. “I never knew what she looked like.”

Benedict’s felt his heart shattered from where it sat in his chest. Placing the portrait on the desk, he quickly took Sophie into his arms and enveloped her in a hug, knowing damn well he’d make it his life mission to guarantee Sophie never experienced pain again.

He’d make sure of it.

—

“Two thousand pounds,” Violet repeated with a small chuckle. “Well, she certainly deserved less.” 

“Do you think she’ll stay in London?” Francesca asked. “Even with the reduction, she should still be able to afford something nice?”

They’d returned to the parlor upon the departure of Mr. Selwin, where his mother and sisters had all been waiting. Mr. Selwin would have a new contract written up and sent to their solicitor by Monday at the earliest, but Anthony had promised to guarantee everything would be settled by him if there was a delay, so that Benedict and Sophie could depart for their honeymoon without delay. 

“We’ll be back for Francesca's wedding anyway,” Benedict had assured him. “If anything, else needs to be completed, we can do so then.” 

Kate had also arrived with his nephews while they were in their meeting, arriving early for the family dinner his mother was planning to hold that night. To celebrate the two engagements. 

Edmund was still a little stung by yesterday’s events and the news he’d gotten, evident from the curt glare he gave Benedict when he saw him. The young boy turned his head the moment he made eye contact with him as he walked by with his mother, giving him the cut direct, and had been disappointed to find Sophie absent from the room. 

After receiving the portrait and letters from Mr. Selwin, Sophie had excused herself upstairs. She’d gotten abnormally quiet after receiving them, worrying Benedict greatly, but he knew she needed time to process, privacy so she could read the letters in peace. 

But, the longer she stayed upstairs, the more the rope wrapped tightly around Benedict’s heart tugged. 

“Something modest, yes, but nothing in Mayfair, that’s for certain,” Violet replied, cheerfully. “But more importantly, we will never have to see that vile woman again.”

“Mama, what does ‘vile’ mean?” Edmund asked his mother, where they sated on the other side of the room with Anthony and Eloise. Miles sleeping peacefully in his father’s arms.

“It means something that is very unpleasant,” Kate told him.

“Like Uncle Benedict?” the young boy asked, with his dark eyes big and round, filled with youthful innocence. 

Innocence Benedict saw straight through. 

“Do not call your uncle vile, Edmund. That isn’t very nice,” Kate gently admonished her son, who only pouted and crossed his arms over his chest, letting out an annoyed huff. 

And Benedict could only snort at it. “Someone has a vile little disposition today, don’t they?” he joked. 

“And you–” Kate pointed a finger at Benedict, who quickly raised his hands in surrender back at her. “Do not encourage him.”

“I was merely providing my dear sweet nephew with an example of how to use the word,” Benedict assured her with a sly smirk. 

“You’re also competing with a toddler for Sophie’s affection,” Eloise pointed out from where she was lounging lazily. “It’s frankly embarrassing to watch.”

Benedict made a face at her, which Eloise just ignored as she went back to her reading.

“She’s been in her room for quite some time,” Violet remarked, staring towards the door as if hoping Sophie would appear at that very moment. 

“The earl gave her a stack of letters from her parents,” Anthony replied. “She just needs time.”

But Benedict was already on his feet. The rope pulled until it had gone taught. “I’ll go check on her,” he told them. 

His mother said nothing, only gave him a small approving nod and a smile as he departed the room, turning the conversation onto tonight's events. 

—

All her life, Sophie had known nothing about her mother. Didn’t know what she looked like or sounded like. What her interests and dislikes were. Her father would never tell her, dismissing her the first time she tried and curtly telling her there was nothing to talk about the second time she attempted to broach the subject of her dead mother.

The third time saw her sent to her room without supper and that had been the last attempt. 

But these letters, the ones Mr. Selwin had handed her, were from her. The majority of the stack was from her mother, with a small bundle she recognized were written in her father’s hand. It had taken her some time to organize them, and as she read them realized some of the letters were missing. Most likely lost to time, displaced, or burned. But the letters she had gotten had given her greater insight into the two absent figures in her life that were her parents.

They’d been in love. That had surprised her. She’d hoped there had been love, bastards were usually the result of unrestrained passion, but the confirmation had still come at a surprise. Because her father had never once shown joy or affection, towards anyone, and certainly not her.

But the letters in front of her, written in her father’s recognizable penmanship and the ones with her mother’s elegant cursive, far too good for a lowborn woman to have, told her there may have only been one person he’d ever shown happiness to. 

She’d discovered how they met, through an opera. Her mother had been a singer and her father, newly arrived in London after his first year at Cambridge, had fallen for her the moment he saw her. His first letter to her, the beginning of their correspondence, reflected such. 

You are a goddess. When I saw you step onto that stage it was as if I were watching Aphrodite herself walk ashore from the seafoam waves of the Mediterranean. Your beauty has captured my mind and bewitched my heart. I find I cannot think of anyone–anything else but you. I beg you to grant me a moment of your time. A conversation. So that I may be put out of my misery. 

There had been more. A solid page’s worth of words, describing her beauty and singing capabilities, praising her performance. 

And her mother’s response had been nothing but a short and quick thank you.

You honor me with your words, Lord Gunningworth. Unfortunately, my schedule is booked for the season. But I wish you all the best and do hope you will attend future performances at the Theatre Royal. 

Sincerely, 

Maria Beckett

She’d dismissed him, Sophie’s mother, the young and talented soprano Maria Beckett. She’d seen her father, an earl’s son, as nothing but a boy who’d been a bit too overeager in his compliments. And as Sophie read on, she’d discovered the possible reason given her mother was the elder of the two. Her father was nineteen when he'd first written to her, but Maria had been twenty-three at the time. 

The dates on the first two letters had been from the early summer of 1789, five years before Sophie was born, and the next ones had been written at the end of the following year, when her parents had finally met in person at a ball. Her mother was only in attendance to perform, when Sophie’s father had approached her and struck up a conversation. 

I must say, I did not know if I should have been insulted or flattered that an earl’s son would deem me fit for conversing the night’s affairs. You certainly put me at the ire of all those pretty young ladies seeking your attention while we spoke. 

There was no response from her father for the one. It was one of the lost ones, but the ones that followed, the building of a routine correspondence between the two, showed a flirtatious friendship that had soon turned into a love affair. 

They spoke about everything with one another. Sophie had learned more about them with a few letters then she had the ten years her father had been a part of her life. She learned he’d had an unhappy upbringing, raised by a man who expected far too much and far too soon, while her mother had grown up destitute, her father lost at sea when she was young and her mother a scullery maid to a family that barely paid her an honest wage. 

Her parents would debate and argue over little matters, passing teasing remarks in their exchanges as they argued their point. And as the friendship blossomed into a full-blown love affair, Sophie found there were letters she could not read. The words–descriptions her parents had written in their love letters to one another, about their trysts and nights together, was not something she felt she needed to be privy to. 

And had also left her face burning after the first one she read, when she realized what her mother had been describing about her father. 

You own my heart and soul, Richard. I cannot breathe without you here. 

The sight of you alone makes being in this city, being near him all the more worth it. I love no one else but you, Maria. 

And then, it changed. 

She wasn’t entirely sure, but from what she gathered her grandfather had finally discovered the affair. Sophie’s grandfather had not been one to view a lowborn opera singer, the daughter of a dead sailor and a scullery maid, as anything more than an upstarter. Someone who was trying to marry up into and into society. Into a title he deemed she did not deserve. And the fact that the affair had occurred under his nose for years, left him furious with his son.  

Richard had been threatened with disinheritance into calling off the relationship, but not with his inheritance but that of his elder sister Elizabeth. She was about to marry a baron’s second son and if she were disinherited, she’d have no dowry, and the wedding would never happen. Elizabeth had been in love and Sophie’s father would not allow her to be punished for his actions.

This was all a folly. A passing fancy. It was foolish of me to think it could have gone anywhere, that we could have made something of this, but I know now it was only a fool’s errand. It is best we end this now before others discover it. 

The last few letters had been from her mother, her reaction to his letter followed by confused letters pleading for him to explain and respond to her. It was apparent there had been no response from her father, but the fact he had kept them, stored them away instead of burning them, told Sophie he’d still loved her. 

And by the final letter, it was apparent her mother had come to terms with what was happening. 

I beg of you Richard. No matter what. Do not allow your father to rule your heart along with your mind. You’re a good man. You’re not like him. I’ve seen it. I know you can do better, be better, then him.

The postmark on the letter was six months before Sophie was born. Meaning Maria would have known she was pregnant, but she’d said nothing in her letter. It was likely her mother expected to raise Sophie herself. Without her father ever knowing.

Something that never happened. 

And in the end, it had been for nothing. Sophie knew her Aunt Elizabeth never married, that she died a spinster. Her intended was killed before they could marry while fighting in France, and a few months after that Sophie’s grandfather died in his sleep, leaving Richard the new earl. 

And by the time he was the new earl, Sophie’s mother was dead. He would neither hear from nor see her again. The news of her death would only reach him, finally, when Sophie would show up on his doorstep three years later, the final chapter of that relationship. 

All those years and he never said anything. Never mentioned her. Never even told Sophie her mother’s name and now she had all this. She’d learned more about her parents from this stack of letters then she had the years her father had been alive. She even had a picture, a painting that gave her a small idea of what Maria Beckett had looked like. 

And it had left her in tears. It couldn’t be helped. The tears were already dripping off her chin by the time she’d gotten halfway through the stack. Wiping the watery tracks from her face, Sophie tried to compose herself, prepare herself to rejoin the others, and she couldn’t do that in the state she was in.

Then, there was a knock at the door.

“Sophie?” It was Benedict. Come to check on her.

“Yes?” Sophie cringed at the sound of her voice, choked and croaky. Her throat had become tight as she’d struggled to keep back her tears. Her jaw clenched.

“Can I come in?” she heard him gently asked from the other side of the door.

She cleared her throat before spoke again, trying to rid herself of any evidence her emotions had gotten the best of her. “One moment.”

Wiping her cheeks again, she went and unlocked the door, opening it slowly, revealing Benedict standing on the other side. And the moment he saw her face, she was in his arms. Which only brought her to tears again.

“Shh, it’s alright,” Benedict gently told her as he slipped into the room, cupping the back of her head with one hand, and rubbing her back with the other as she cried. 

He slowly and gently led her to the bed, shutting the door behind him as he moved them, where he sat her down and held her against his chest, letting her cry into his shoulder. Sophie cried until she could no longer, leaving a wet stain on the shoulder of Benedict’s jacket. A stain that mortified her when she pulled away and saw it.

“Sorry,” she told him, sniffling. 

Benedict chuckled softly, pushing a loose curl behind her ear. “It’s just a jacket.”

But Sophie didn’t say anything back. Didn’t know what else to say. She was exhausted and angry and relieved and upset. Far too many emotions running through her, overwhelming her thoughts, making it difficult for her to focus on anything.

“I take it you’ve read through them all?” Benedict asked, knowingly, as he lifted a letter off the pile. 

She nodded. “Yes, they were quite…well, they were something.”

“Not what you expected?” 

“Yes and no,” she said and took a deep breath. “In a way I suppose I just…” she stopped, taking another breath. “All this time, I never knew anything about her. He never said anything. And he never wanted to talk about her or himself.”

“You think it was because it was hard for him to?” Benedict asked.  

“Maybe, but I’ll never truly know,” Sophie replied with a sad shrug. “From the way they wrote to one another. The way he wrote to her. It sounded like he cared about her deeply.” 

Benedict hummed as he scanned one of the letters. From what he read as he skimmed over the lines, he found himself in agreement with her. The prose and lines he read, the poetry, he could still feel the affection that lingered on the papers.

“It seems like they were quite in love,” he commented, reading the next one he’d picked up. 

Only this time he froze momentarily, eyes widened as he read the words on the paper in front of him, cheeks turning pink, before he hastily shoved the letter aside. Practically throwing it back onto the pile. From his reaction alone, Sophie figured out he’d gotten one of the more detailed letters.

“Well, that one certainly showed it,” he told her.

“Sorry,” Sophie quickly apologized, reaching over, and organizing the letters. “Some of them are rather…risqué.” 

“Your mother was quite the writer,” Benedict commented, clearing his throat. 

Sophie couldn’t help the small huff of a laugh that escaped her, a small smile tugging at her lips. And Benedict only gave her one back, preferring to see her happy.

“You okay?” he asked.

“I will be,” she replied, wiping away the remaining wetness on her cheeks.

“If you want to just relax this afternoon, I’m certain my mother won’t mind you missing dinner,” he assured her.

Sophie shook her head. “No, it’s fine.”

“Sophie, you really don’t need to–” Benedict started.

“It’s fine, really,” she told him, taking his hand. Then leaned forward to kiss him gently on the lips. 

Benedict had no problem accepting the kiss, gently pushing against her as to deepen it, and it was exactly what Sophie needed. The feel of Benedict, his fingers grazing over her bare arm, fueled a burning fire within her. Warming her again. 

“It will be nice,” she added as she pulled back. “Celebrating with everyone.” 

“You’re sure?”

“Completely. I’ll be fine, Benedict.”

“Alright,” he said, acquiescing. 

Sophie gave him a small, weak smile. She really didn’t want him worrying about her. “Let me just clean myself up and I’ll be back down. I promised Hyacinth I’d help her with her verbs before we had to get ready for dinner.” 

“I don’t mind sticking around and waiting for you in here. I’m welcomed to keep you company,” Benedict replied, giving her a sly smirk that had her rolling her eyes.

“And risk your mother catching us, again? No thank you,” she told him.

But Sophie still gave him another kiss before rising to her feet. Benedict followed her actions, pushing up to stand, his hand coming to rest on her lower back as he pressed his lips to her forehead.

“If you're not out in ten minutes, I’m coming back,” he informed her gently and she nodded. 

Then he was gone, slipping quietly back out the room, and leaving her to prepare herself to rejoin the others. 

But her mind was still processing the letters, all the information she’d learned from them about her parents, about their relationship. And she was struggling to comprehend it all. What it meant. The realization that her parents had been in a similar situation to her and Benedict, yet while she and Benedict had been able to overcome the barriers placed before them, her parents’ had not. 

She couldn’t help but feel sympathy for her parents, for what they could have had, while also struggling to separate herself from the apparent parallels to her romance with Benedict. Two people from different classes, different backgrounds, who’d fallen in love with one another after the briefest of interactions. Her parents had even had a gap between their first meet and the moment their relationship began.

And it was evident that her mother had started out as a mistress for her father. It was the only way the pair could be together. Something that Benedict had asked of her. 

But Benedict had seen the errors of his ways, of his request, and her parents had separated not because of the mistress status her mother had agreed to take, but because of outside forces, because the ton would never accept their marriage. 

Something likely to happen with Sophie and Benedict’s.

She knew no matter what her in-laws said or did, she would never be fully accepted by the ton. Some may overlook it, either because they did not wish to displease her in-laws or because they just did not care about where she came from, there would be those who disapprove. And it didn’t matter that they’d silenced Araminta, there would still be those who looked down they nose at Sophie, based on her class alone.  

But the opinions of the ton didn’t matter. Not to her, and not to Benedict either. She had a happy and peaceful life in Wiltshire ahead of her, with the man of her dreams, a man who loved her, and Sophie would not allow her anxieties to make her second guess that.

Now, all she had to do was keep reminding herself about that. At least until Monday.

#bridgerton #benophie #sophie beckett #benedict bridgerton #my fics. #my fic. #going to the chapel fic #to the person who sent the anon yesterday #listen I got a burst of energy to write and this finished itself

[moocha-muses]

for hallowpoems prompt, how about daisy?

He fed her daisies when she was dying. When she was still home he hid fresh young petals in sandwiches, and dropped them into bowls of soup. And when she got so thin and pale and barely there that he couldn't see her in the cozy candlelight of their home, or anywhere but under the bright antiseptic glare of hospital lights, he smuggled in thermoses of tea from the flowers he'd dried all summer. He stuffed her full of them. And he planted them, secretly, at night on her grave. He could taste how annoyed Julia would have been: "They're a non-native flower, Mike, and what's worse is that they're common." He planted daisies on her grave and when they bloomed, even in the frigid dark of winter (hardly little things please let this be a good sign) he lopped off their heads and placed them against her grave. He filled his lawn, and then his house with daisies, and he sat around watching them rot and die, like he'd watched Jules rot and die, Daisies are for rebirth and even though Mike doesn't- -he doesn't- -he doesn't know what, exactly, might be reborn from out of the black dirt under that daisy-strewn grave, he knows he will sit and breathe in the rot of flowers. He knows those daisies will have died for something. (if not someone at least something please) He will sit and wait for spring.

#hallowpoems #the common daisy is also known as the boneflower