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i-hate-accidents · 17 days

Text

i hate accidents: the beginning

femme!reader x benedict bridgerton, femme!reader & the bridgerton family, femme!reader & penelope featherington

summary: the adventures of a working class femme who befriends a fellow writer, a boisterous family, and a bewitching second eldest son

sections: I. the beginning / II. the between / III. the ball

y/n: bipoc, she/her, afab, nonbinary femme, queer, working class, of immigrant parents

content warnings: classism, mentions of financial survival, microaggressive sexism, microaggressive gender assumption, positive/supportive families, allusions to alcohol abuse in [I.viii]

word count: 13.9k (of 38.8k)

story context: everything in s1 and s2 of the tv series is canon for this story except for the s2 epilogue with the bridgertons. this story takes place leading up to and into the 1815 season.

additional notes: this story is incomplete. scenes that are not written are described in chevrons <> with third person pov or are delineated by isolated ellipses. additionally, the author has only watched s2! she has not watched any of s1 aside from clips, and they have not read the books aside from quotes used in edits. they have not yet watched queen charlotte. the author kinda knows the gist of an offer from a gentleman; they are familiar with sophie beckett (and are excited to meet her/them in the tv series!).

author’s note: this is the first time the author has written fanfic in 13-15 years. :) it is her hope that they have made some progress since her pre/teens. additionally, this fanfic has been written, on and off, over the course of two years. the author sincerely hopes you find some sort of joy in it, especially the readers who maybe hope to see themself a little more specifically in the world we so love.

reading tip: whilst the author is proud of it, she understands the intro to the first section is long. if you wish to get more straight to y/n and benedict's story, the author suggests jumping to [I.ii]. they won't be offended that you did heh.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.i ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you do not know how you got here.

well, that is not true; you quite literally walked from the markets and followed the directions that penelope had given you, but you did not think those directions would lead you here.

this is a mistake. i must have taken a wrong turn, gone up instead of down, made a left when i should’ve taken a right.

or perhaps this is a dream? yes! that has to be it! a dream! i must have lulled off and dreamt myself here, for whatever reason. once i close my eyes and open them again, surely i will be at home, or the markets, or the workshop even. surely!

so, you close your eyes shut.

you had been walking about the markets on your non-work day, some weeks ago, browsing the wares you wouldn’t (and couldn’t) buy, eavesdropping on any conversation of intrigue, observing the bustle of the crowd going about their day, mindlessly thinking of the next thing to write, daydreaming—when you had collided with someone. they had let out a squeak, their materials flying out of their hands, as you had fallen on your back, thankfully not hitting your head. in your periphery, you had seen how the person had crawled to your side and looked at you with urgency and concern.

“i am so sorry!” their voice was pretty. sweet and lovely. you lifted yourself up a bit to see the person you had collided with. they were also pretty— beautiful, red-haired, and hooded in blue.

their eyes widened.

“er, i meant,” they spoke again, but this time with an— irish accent? their voice was still sweet and lovely but very distinctly irish and distinctly different from their voice mere moments before. “are you hurt?”

“i am all right, thank you.”

“very well,” they said, still in their irish accent, “then i must be going—” and they shot themself up and turned, you assumed, to run away.

“wait! you’re a writer, yes?”

as you had hoped, the person in blue froze. they slowly turned to you again, apprehension and intrigue in their eyes.

“how do you know?” their voice was mangled between their two accents.

“unless you pluck birds for fun,” you stated as you collected the scattered materials they had dropped in the collision, “these are quills.”

you stood up, approached them, and held out their quills to take, offering a smile. the stranger took the quills and put them in their bag. they returned their eyes to you and returned your smile.

“thank you,” they responded in their english accent.

“i know how precious those are, so i am very glad to see they won’t go to waste. well, they wouldn’t have gone to waste either way; i would’ve taken them if you hadn’t turned around.”

that caused the person in blue to laugh.

“i assume you are a writer?” they inquired.

you don’t know what had overcome you; you don’t know why you had been so trusting of this stranger, especially with something such as your writing, but you had been. you reached for your then most recent, folded up quarto, kept between your bosom and your blouse, and offered it to the stranger to read. they took it, shifted their eyes from line to line, turned it to read the crossed lines, and then looked up at you, beaming.

“this is brilliant!— oh, forgive me; i did not even ask for your name.”

“y/n,” you extended your hand. “and you?”

the stranger seemed to stiffen but quickly relaxed themself, taking your hand in theirs and shaking them. they beamed still, but something of their smile had grown quietly mischievous.

“can you keep a secret?”

when you open your eyes, you huff out a breath in a poor attempt to assuage yourself from the reality of your situation: you are not dreaming. here you are—you—at grosvenor square.

you knew of your friend’s circumstances as she had shared it: she is a noble lady, a third sister of the featherington family, who has been writing scandal sheets of high society’s romps and happenings since her ‘debut,’ as she had put it (you hadn’t understood how she had used that word and became further confused upon her explanation of it), under a pseudonym called lady whistledown. penelope has been kind enough to let you read her sheets, and you find it ridiculous what these high society persons do for their lives and utterly brilliant with what wit, snark, and compassion even penelope commentates on that world.

but you did not ever, ever think that she would bring you to it, let alone into it. when penelope had said that you were to meet her most beloved friend, you had thought it would be in an obscure alley or a room hidden behind a bookcase in an unassuming shop—not the literal neighborhood in which she, and presumably her friend, lives! by your posture, by your clothes, by your very existence, it is blatant how much you do not belong here.

i should run. i am going to run.

and so you turn and start—

“y/n!”

—when you hear the sweet voice of your friend. you scrunch your eyes closed, inhaling and exhaling through your nose, and turn around and see penelope in a picturesque green dress, lifting up her skirt with gloved hands, scurrying down the pavement of her neighborhood towards you, beaming. despite the anxiety that rages within you at this very moment, your heart swells upon seeing your friend in such enthusiastic spirits, and you smile despite yourself.

“good day, pen.”

she takes hold of your bare hands in her gloved ones and gives them a squeeze. perhaps she can discern your nerves because you start to feel yourself calm ever so slightly by her gesture.

“i am so glad you are here,” she says.

“i am—— glad to see you,” you then lower your voice. you do not know why; it is not as if your lowered voice will help conceal your existence in this place. “are you certain i am permitted to be here?”

letting go of your hands, penelope swats at the question.

“the bridgertons and i care not about such things.”

“the— bridgertons?”

“yes!” she turns and gestures to the grand brick house with wisterias. “it is at their home, after all, in which we will be spending our time together.”

your jaw drops.

“we are staying inside the house? not simply meeting outside the house?”

this is not a dream. this is a nightmare.

penelope returns her eyes to yours, and it startles you with what tenderness she gazes at you.

“i understand that you are fearful, y/n. i had presumed you would not have come if you had known we would be here. but i would not have led you to bridgerton house if i did not think you would be safe here. the bridgertons are the most inviting, kindly family of the ton— of high society,” she amends upon seeing your confusion at the word ‘ton.’ their name for their world, it seems. “eloise has assured me that we shall be in her bedchamber for the entirety of our time together. and if you wish to leave, for any reason, at any point, i shall accompany you, and we shall leave together.”

with closed eyes you heave a sigh through your nose. you flutter your eyes open and offer penelope a weak, but sincere, smile.

“very well.”

penelope squeaks in excitement, taking hold of your hand once more, giving it another squeeze of encouragement, and leads you towards this bridgerton house as she so called it. she raps at the stately door thrice with great eagerness, seeming to knock in perfect tandem with your beating-too-quickly heart.

an elderly man opens the door, about to greet penelope and her guest, when a young femme shoves herself through the opening.

“thank you, giles!” she calls out as if the man is across the road and then looks at you, ferocity in her eyes. it ought to unnerve you, the whirlwind force of this stranger, but it doesn’t. you just return her gaze with a large, albeit a bit bemused, smile.

“penelope has shared so much about you,” the stranger states and takes hold of your hand. “let us get inside!” and yanks you into the house. she turns, looking straight ahead, and barrels forward, pulling you with her.

as the fiery femme seems to soliloquize excitedly to herself, you look back at penelope who merely wears an amused smile at her friend’s antics as she follows behind.

“oh!” the femme exclaims suddenly. she halts you both and sharply turns to you, still gripping your hand, grinning. “my name is eloise. eloise bridgerton.”

“y/n y/l/n.”

“excellent. now! with introductions all sorted—”

and she turns and barrels you both right, rather than heading straight ahead to the grand staircase as you had presumed she would.

“eloise—” eloise’s fervency had provided a reprieve to your anxiety, but the confusion in penelope’s voice puts you back ill at ease, “where are you—”

“it’ll take just a moment, worry not, pen!”

eloise leads you down a hall, noises and voices of all sorts coming from an entrance to a room, growing louder and louder as you approach until they reach the peaks of their volume as eloise halts you both once more, to your mortification, at the entrance of that very room.

“family, penelope, y/n, and i shall be in my bedchamber. we have much to discuss. please do not bother us,” eloise proudly announces to the entirety of the room.

silence falls. all eyes—and there are many eyes—are on you.

oh, my god.

you turn to penelope. her overall manner is calm and composed, but you can see the disquiet in her eyes. she peers into you, the apologetic look conveying, i did not know this would happen.

you turn back to the family.

a lady. a lady of older age. two gentlemen with a difference in age. a boy. a girl, the youngest amongst them.

how is it with a house this massive in the middle of the city that the entire family is present in this one room? well, the room is the size of the two floors of your home combined, if not larger, so in that sense it is sound—but your question still stands.

this has to be the entire family. surely. there are so many of them. this has to be the entire family. yes?

“no talking, no music playing, no fighting?” inquires a droll voice walking into the room, “has someone—”

you turn your head to follow the source of the voice and make contact with dumbfounded ocean eyes.

butterflies flutter in your stomach.

oh.

shit.

“y/n, this is my second eldest brother, benedict bridgerton,” eloise states. “benedict, this is my friend, y/n y/l/n. do not bother us once we are in my bedchamber.”

he stares and blinks at you but then assumes a gentlemanly posture and bows his head.

“it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, miss y/l/n.”

without any forethought you start to extend a hand to benedict until you hear penelope give a slight cough only you, she, eloise, and he can hear. receiving the hint, you retract your hand and pretend to swat at your skirt.

“err— yes. likewise.”

another cough.

“mis, ter?— brid… ger?—ton,” you articulate with complete and utter uncertainty of how this world’s introductions function.

he cocks his head and furrows his eyebrows at you, something like amusement playing at his features. he wears a lopsided smile that he is barely attempting to conceal. his expression should be infuriating. and it is. but, it is... charming, too. and welcomed.

you have never felt more embarrassed or more pleased in your life.

shit.

“before the three of you retreat to eloise’s bedchamber,” declares an authoritative voice, breaking your reverie. you turn away from ocean eyes and see the lady of the room approaching you. much to your surprise, she smiles. to an even greater surprise, her smile seems sincere. “i must insist that i introduce myself and the rest of the family to our guest.

“i am viscountess kathani sharma bridgerton, the lady of this house,” she curtsies with perfect elegance. “it is a delight to welcome you to our home, miss y/l/n.”

“thank you for having me— lady bridgerton. and you may call me ‘y/n.’ you need not use such, uh, formalities with me.”

“very well; then you may call me ‘kate.’”

you furrow your eyebrows. she had introduced herself as ‘kathani’ but now asks you to call her ‘kate.’ it makes you think of mama and papa; they shared with you once how they had chosen to go by different names upon emigrating to england. when you had asked why, they simply replied that it would be easier for others in this country to address them.

“may i call you ‘kathani’ instead?”

surprise flashes over the dignified demeanor of the viscountess. she regards you with softness in her eyes.

“yes. yes, you may.”

resuming her full composure, kathani guides you to the eldest of the gentlemen and introduces him as her husband, viscount anthony bridgerton, the lord of the house. he offers you a small smile with a bow of his head and greets you ‘good day.’ you try not to wince at his decorous use of ‘miss’ with your first name, but you suppose it is merely in these people’s natures.

kathani continues and leads you to the lady of older age, introducing her as dowager viscountess violet bridgerton. she dips into a lovely curtsy and, on her rise, gazes upon you with a gentle smile. you feel compelled to respond in kind, but it would certainly not be as graceful as hers, and worse, she may interpret your slovenly attempt as a lark. so, you refrain.

the viscountess next introduces you to mister colin bridgerton (you summon all your self-restraint to keep your countenance neutral—this is the boy who hurt penelope); then to mister gregory bridgerton (he bows so ceremoniously towards you, you cannot help but be endeared by his resolve); and lastly to miss hyacinth bridgerton.

“why are you dressed like that?” she inquires.

“hyacinth!” the dowager viscountess reprimands. she must be her mother. she sounds like a mother. it reminds you of how your mama reprimanded you and your siblings as little ones; the memory and the exchange make you hold back a laugh.

“what! what did i say wrong?”

you ought to feel self-conscious, your lower standing brought into further display to everyone in the room, but you detect neither malice nor judgment in the young girl’s voice. just genuine curiosity. so, you smile.

“my family and i have different means to clothes, amongst other things. i wear these when i work or go about my day. though,” you regard your attire and then— hyacinth?, feeling the glimmer in your eye, “it makes for running around and playing make-believe quite easy.”

“make-believe! gregory, do you hear that! miss!— miss—“ she turns to you with a cocked head.

“y/n.”

her eyes shine once again.

“miss y/n plays make-believe! we must play!” hyacinth latches onto your hand and, with remarkable strength for a child who cannot be older than two and ten, pulls and drags you towards the entrance of the room. “come along, gregory! wouldn’t want to be the last one there!”

“no fair! you cheated!” the second youngest shouts back, dropping all previous ceremonies, and scrambles towards the entrance.

“hyacinth! y/n is not your playmate! she is here with me and penelope!”

“plans do change, dear sister,” hyacinth retorts. eloise’s jaw drops, and the rest of the family bursts into laughter. the entire exchange warms your heart. in so many ways, they are so proper, so wealthy, and yet they are not all so different from your own family. they seem to really care for one another.

“when did you get so smug!” eloise shoots back.

“small wonder where she could’ve learned that from,” you hear colin, the traitor, murmur. turning your head, you see him give amused, pointed looks to eloise and kathani. the latter grins wickedly, and her husband beams at her with pride.

“there are only so many hours in a day!” hyacinth complains. you face her once more, still holding her hand.

“what about this? i will play with you and your brother for an hour, and then i will be with your sister and penelope for my remaining time here. i want to honor the wishes of each of my new friends.”

hyacinth considers this with much theatricality to her expression. she then grins.

“that is an excellent plan,” she remarks, looking to eloise for her thoughts. you follow her line of sight. eloise rolls her eyes and sighs, but a smile rests on her lips.

“very well, then.”

feeling peace restored, you smile in return and, in doing so, in your periphery, catch the ocean eyes of the second eldest brother. benedict. he is looking at you. why is that? you feel your cheeks flush and the tips of your ears heat. his gaze is somehow gentle and intense and indecipherable all at once, and the flutterings in the pit of your stomach grow, and intensify, and start to overwhelm you—

when you are tugged back to reality with a tug forward.

–

< hyacinth leads y/n through the house to the gardens with gregory by her side. y/n is both uneasy and in awe of the things she sees. eventually, they arrive in the gardens. y/n notices two swings hanging off of a large branch of an old tree and is utterly endeared by the sight; it confirms what she has been thinking: though the bridgertons are wealthy, they are warm and welcoming.

< just as hyacinth declares that she has found a suitable spot for make-believe, two male voices ask if they may join. hyacinth, gregory, and y/n turn and see benedict and colin approaching. colin shares that though y/n seems lovely, it would be unwise of the family to leave the two youngest with a stranger; though y/n agrees with his family’s caution, she refrains from wanting to strangle the person who hurt her friend.

< gregory whines and asks if they can begin before eloise complains. hyacinth agrees and says that they need to assign characters. y/n suggests that hyacinth should be a sorceress and gregory should be a knight; these proposals delight the youngest bridgertons. y/n volunteers herself as the villain and decides to be a banshee; she turns to the elder bridgertons and asks what they wish to be.

< before they have a chance to respond, hyacinth proposes that benedict should be the princess who has been captured. benedict indignantly asks why, and hyacinth simply states because he is the most sensitive of the family. sensing how the sibling argument is about to evolve, y/n intervenes and suggests that, like a sensitive princess, perhaps benedict is merely in tuned with his emotions, even amidst adversity; it is, in its own way, a compliment. benedict’s eyes become indecipherable upon the comment, but he wears a small sincere smile. gregory then proposes that colin is y/n’s changeling henchman.

< make-believe ensues, and it is very sweet and very silly. eventually, gregory is called in for latin tutoring and thanks y/n for the fun with a deep bow; hyacinth is called in for pianoforte lessons. >

hyacinth launches herself at you with a hug. pulling back from the embrace, she beams.

“we must continue when you return next!”

before you can even start to reply, she turns and skips off towards the house. you hear how gregory makes a comment about coming in first, and suddenly the youngest bridgertons are in a race against one another, shouting taunts and insults. you can’t help but smile.

“they seem to quite like you.”

your smile falls. you turn and face towards the two elder bridgertons, the traitor being the one to have spoken.

“colin bridgerton,” you begin, “yes?”

he smiles and nods. you surge forward and shove your finger into his face, his smile now wiped.

“if you ever hurt penelope again, i shall make certain that it is the last time you ever do. do i make myself clear?”

when he does not respond, you repeat yourself, and he slowly then quickly nods. satisfied, you turn towards ocean eyes and point your finger at him.

“and you look after him.”

“what did i do?”

“be a proper elder brother and serve as an example for your misguided sibling. understood?”

“i— yes. of course. understood.”

you smile again.

“wonderful. i am glad we three are in agreement. it was good speaking with you, gentlemen. good day.”

you turn away and start to walk towards the house.

“i quite like her too,” and you hear the restored smile in the third bridgerton’s voice. “what about you, brother?”

you hasten your steps towards the house. though mere moments before you had felt emboldened and brave, you fear hearing benedict’s response. you do not why.

–

< eloise, penelope, and y/n extensively discuss literature and writing; upon talking about women writers, y/n shares how she does not fully see herself as just a woman. >

“so, what are you?”

you wince. you have kept good on your promise and joined eloise and penelope in the former’s bedchamber, but you are swiftly wishing you had been able to stay with hyacinth, gregory, colin even, and benedict. you had attempted to explain an aspect of yourself to eloise but not to very much fruit, it seems. you want to hide and escape and run from this place—

“eloise.”

—when penelope comes to your defense.

“what? what is it?”

“perhaps you could have phrased your question with more tact and thoughtfulness.”

eloise looks between the two of you, concern flooding her eyes.

“did i— did i not?”

penelope turns to you.

“are you comfortable to answer?”

“i would prefer that i didn’t.”

you hope that your eyes are sufficient enough to convey the immensity of gratitude that you feel towards penelope in this very moment.

“y/n,” begins eloise, “i did not realize—”

“and what are you three gossiping about?”

you jump, penelope squeaks, and eloise growls a noise of exasperation. turning towards the voice in the doorway, you are visited, once again, by the third and second bridgerton siblings.

“and what makes you think we are gossiping?” demands eloise, “because we are w— people?”

you feel the corners of your mouth tug upward. at least she is trying. wanting to keep the attention on benedict and colin rather than yourself, however, and with genuine curiosity, you cock your head at the two gentlemen.

“do you two always come in a pair?”

“not always,” replies benedict. and he smiles at you, “today is merely a special occasion.”

stupid butterflies.

“speaking of such,” colin proceeds. “kate has requested that the three of you join the family in the drawing room.”

< the five of them make their way to the drawing room. kate shares that, on behalf of the family, she would like to invite both y/n and penelope to dinner. though at first honored to have been invited, upon hearing “dinner,” y/n realizes how late it has become and looks out the window: the sun is halfway set. she apologizes and says that she cannot stay because she resumes work the next day. her latter statement renders some of the people in the room confused, but kathani states how she understands and that y/n is welcomed to join dinner whenever she visits.

< seeing how confused y/n is, anthony shares that y/n is welcomed to visit their home whenever she is able and whenever she would like, and the rest of the family pipes in with how delighted they would be if she does. not knowing how she deserved such kindness from people who were mere strangers at the start of the day, y/n thanks the bridgertons and says that she would love to. penelope chooses to stay for dinner and says that she will see y/n next week. y/n affirms that she, and the bridgertons, will.

< kathani and benedict offer to escort y/n to the entrance. y/n walks down the steps and passes the gate but, before she goes, takes one last look at number five until next week and sees benedict still in the doorway. y/n notices, but reprimands herself for perhaps imagining it, that his smile grows when his eyes lock with hers. with flutterings in her stomach, y/n offers a wave. he gives a small wave back. she turns and goes, smiling all the way home. >

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.ii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“benedict has been making more appearances as of late,” penelope remarks.

the three of you all look up—you and pen from your writing, eloise from her reading—to see benedict entering through the doors and heading towards the other side of the drawing room. he looks over at you— at you all and offers a smile before he plops himself down onto a chaise and begins to draw.

“yes, it is strange,” eloise considers to the two of you. “for so long he had been moping about, locked away in his bedchamber aside from mealtime or the occasional visit to the drawing room. he’s even picked up his charcoal again.”

“again?” you inquire, averting your gaze from the artist to your friend. “had he stopped prior?”

“he had entirely put it down after—” eloise sighs. whatever memory she has recounted, it does not seem to be a pleasant one. you look to penelope; you sense that she shares a similar sentiment by the sad look in her eyes. you are curious but you choose not to press.

“it has been quite some time since he’s last drawn. but now, whenever i see him, whether in his bedchamber or the billiards room or some other room in the house, he’s drawing. he frequently arrives to mealtime with charcoal stained fingers—much to the chagrin of mama and anthony.”

you all laugh. benedict looks up at you three, and from here you can tell he wears a curious expression, no doubt wondering what you are laughing about. when he exaggeratedly arches an eyebrow, eloise just makes a face at him. benedict rolls his eyes, smiling, and for the briefest moment, you feel as though he is looking at you. but you’ve always had an active imagination. when you blink, he has returned to his drawing, a smile still on his lips.

“i wonder what has changed?” eloise softly says, still looking at benedict. for all her fire and spirit, you see how deeply she cares for her second eldest brother.

“perhaps he has found a muse,” penelope poses rather than queries. you shift your gaze from eloise to penelope, and you’re curious about her expression. she seems... delighted? benedict finding his passion for art again does sound delightful; you know firsthand how difficult it is to pick yourself up from a slump. but that’s not what she seems delighted by. she just looks at you. with a soft smile. why? what does benedict have anything to do with you?

you feel your cheeks and the tips of your ears flood with warmth. you don’t know why, but penelope’s expression unnerves you, in a pleasant sensational way.

you clear your throat.

“i am happy for him,” you say, returning to your quill and folded quarto, haphazardly writing down whatever words come to your mind.

ocean. charcoal. smile. flutters.

shit.

it is not until what feels like an uncharacteristically long moment later that you hear penelope resume her writing and eloise resume her reading. you try not to imagine what they could have silently exchanged with your gaze averted.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.iii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you suck in a sharp breath and shoot out of your seat.

“you do not!” you shriek, hastening towards kathani, eloise, and the stack of books they have just settled onto the table. you had arrived early to the bridgertons’ home, at the invitation of kathani, so early that the rest of the family seems not yet to be awake.

(which is strange, you find, as it is nearing 8 o’clock. most mornings, at this time, you are already well into the bustle of work.)

kathani had prefaced, rather enigmatically, that she and eloise had a surprise they wished to share with you. you had your suspicions as to what it could be related to, and with each passing moment, you are suspecting, very excitingly!, that you are very correct.

“indeed, we do,” kathani grins and gestures to the stacks.

taking no hesitation to the offer, you grab from the top of a stack and open to the title page.

the dramatic works of william shakespeare. vol. 2: a midsummer night’s dream / the merry wives of windsor / much ado about nothing.

you shriek again, this time accompanied with hops of excitement, flipping to the final third of the book.

“much ado! this is the one i’ve read!”

dorothea, a fruit seller, had offered a copy of it to you (at a lowered price, she had emphasized) when she had learned of your liking to stories. she grandly stated that she had started to write down the dialogue during low-attendance performances at the theater and then brought her handiwork to be typed and printed at a not-to-be-named press. but if the pages’ handwritten annotations alluded to anything, you suspected that she had managed to purloin a performer’s copy of the script. you felt a bit of pity for the poor performer who misplaced it, but you respected, and still respect!, dorothea’s moonlighting.

you shoot your head up from the book and are greeted by the grins of your two friends. “which one has romeo and juliet?”

this past autumn you had overheard several candlemakers at the markets animatedly discussing the ‘incandescent’ portrayal of the titular character by an actress from ireland. a performance, described as ‘incandescent’ by candlemakers! embodied by a storyteller who has emigrated here! hearing all those wondrous things made you insatiably curious to one day read the text that made such wondrous things happen.

“i believe,” eloise says, pulling the second from the bottom of a stack, “it is this one.”

you twitch your fingers; you have to refrain yourself from snatching the book from your friend’s hand. when it is in yours, you open to the title page and feel your eyes, along with your smile, widen.

“it is, it is! oh, this is extraordinary!” you flip furiously to your desired page and, once you find it, start to read,

prologue. two households—

—when you hear kathani say, “we had thought of starting with that one.”

that makes you rip your eyes away from the words and look up at the two ladies.

“‘starting with’?”

“when eloise, penelope, and i learned of your eagerness to read shakespeare,” elaborates kathani. her saying that makes you flush; you had not realized with what apparent enthusiasm you had spoken of the poet. “the three of us had discussed that the four of us could read his plays together. if you would like, of course.”

your jaw drops. you cannot help the squeal that emits from your mouth. hopping once again in your excitement, you throw yourself at your friends and wrap your arms around them both.

“if i would like! i would be delighted!”

you pull back from your hug with the two ladies and are greeted by gleaming eyes and wide grins. you feel how your expression matches theirs. it has only been a little over a month of your friendship with eloise and kathani, and the rest of the bridgertons at number five, but they each have somehow found a way to carve themselves out in your heart. and if this most recent kindness by eloise and kathani indicates anything, perhaps you have found a way to carve yourself out in each of theirs.

(and you promptly ignore the thought of what that could possibly mean for ocean eyes and charcoal-stained hands, flutterings within you be damned.)

“how shall we allocate the book?” you say aloud out of genuine inquiry and a deep desire to revert your heart, mind elsewhere. “shall we read passages aloud and then pass it on to the next reader?”

< eloise makes a remark that indicates her confusion at y/n’s question. kathani, who is more privy to the situation, shares how she has her own copy as do eloise and penelope. the stack that they’ve brought is an extra set that the bridgerton house has that y/n can use. this perplexes y/n. she cannot understand how a household can have multiple copies of a book, let alone copies of a whole anthology of many books. before y/n can doom-spiral into thinking, penelope arrives at the entrance of the drawing room. reading of romeo and juliet commences.

< just as y/n finishes reading the scene in which romeo and juliet meet for the first time at the capulet ball and then kiss, y/n notices in her periphery benedict approaching the four. kathani remarks how unusually early he is to be awake and ready for the day; y/n notes to herself how there seems to be some sort of mischief in the viscountess’s smile. >

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.iv ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“i shall be y/n’s teacher,” the viscount declares.

“you were adamant on her not fencing, and now you are insistent on being her teacher?”

“it would be hardly appropriate, colin, for two young unmarried men to be in such close proximity to a young unmarried lady, as proximity of teacher and student in fencing would require.”

“are you always this— antiquated?” you inquire.

that earns a snort from kathani. anthony, looking betrayed, turns to his wife; she merely shrugs in reply, mirth shining in her eyes. he turns back to you, eyebrows deeply furrowed and mouth fully frowning.

“and what do you insinuate by that!”

“are you so distrustful of your own brothers, the ones for whom you have served, and still serve, as a model, that you think they would take advantage of me in such a situation—”

you sense how the eldest bridgerton is about to retaliate and arch a severe eyebrow at him in response; you refuse to be interrupted.

“or are you so unbelieving in persons of feminine dispositions that you think i shall be compromised by the mere closeness of a body different from my own sex?”

there is a silence, and though you cannot see them as you stare down the viscount, you can feel how the others exchange delighted glances with one another and hold back their laughter.

“you have two choices, my lord,” you offer.

“neither of them are suitable! and do not call me ‘my lord’!”

“is that not the proper way to address you?”

“it is, but you—!” he huffs out air through his nostrils, like an indignant dragon in a fairytale; it is a very silly, very amusing sight. “we have not even begun the lesson and you are already the most exasperating student i’ve ever had!”

you turn to colin and benedict, grinning.

“you two must have been saints then.”

“would you expect any less?” colin grins back.

your wide smile remains intact until your eyes fall on the expression of benedict. you are entirely uncertain of what emotion he could be possibly feeling until he seems to realize where he is, and how you are looking at him, and breaks out into a brilliant smile with matching brilliant ocean eyes. you quickly snap your head away from him, ignoring the fluttering of butterflies summoned within you upon the shift in benedict’s expression, and turn to anthony.

“shall we begin, then?”

–

it turns out that you are quite the quick learner when it comes to fencing. after putting on a fencing vest that had previously belonged to benedict—

“because you are the shortest of the three of us, brother,” remarked colin after the second son inquired why it had to be his former vest that you were to wear. benedict scrunched his nose and eyebrows in displeasure. (perhaps you should have taken offense to his opposition, but it was truly of no personal consequence to you and the reaction it created in him was truly adorable.)

“i am not!”

“you are, indeed,” anthony deadpanned.

“prove it!”

and the three eldest sons of the esteemed bridgerton family stood next to one another, comparing their heights. you turned to kathani, eloise, and penelope.

“are they always like this?”

“idiotic?” eloise deadpanned, sounding remarkably like her eldest brother.

“indeed, they are,” grinned kathani.

—over your blouse, you are immediately put to lessons. anthony explains the basic concepts of fencing and then demonstrates elementary strikes and parries, occasionally adjusting your stances to the proper forms. noting how quickly you took to the lessons, he calls for a match between the two of you to observe how you would apply your skills in combat.

“you are retaining information exceptionally well, as well as executing the techniques rather impressively,” states your teacher as you deflect his strike. you try to hide your gladness in his praise as you smirk and push his blade away with the terzo of yours.

“ah, so my sex is not a detriment to my abilities; that is good to know.”

you hear snickers and snorts from around you.

“i said nothing of the sort!”

“did you think it?”

your opponent frowns further, slightly turning his head away from you to steal a glance at his wife. he turns back to you.

“i did,” he admits defeatedly.

“it takes a true man of honor to rise up to his folly,” you remark honestly, as you strike anthony’s arm with the tip of your sabre. loud cheers burst from the onlookers and an aghast but proud look emerges on the countenance of your teacher; you grin, “and a fool to leave his defenses so easily open.”

impressed by your display of sport, and seemingly overcoming his antiquation, at least for the moment, anthony decides that you will match against colin and then benedict.

“how are you to improve if you are to face the same opponent?” claims your teacher with his usual air of annoyance, but you detect his pride in your accomplishment.

it is also decided that the matches will end when one scores a point.

and so, you face colin. it is easy to keep pace with him, not due to lack of skill on his part but complete and utter determination on yours. you tried to convince yourself, in the beginning of your match, that the remnants of your anger towards the third bridgerton brother, and how he treated your friend, did not fuel your determination to score the point— but it did and does. and successfully so, as you strike colin in his left shoulder. perhaps you do it with too much force as the strike reels him off balance (and perhaps you are delighted that it has done so), but he quickly resumes composure and flashes you a grin.

“i see more and more everyday why you and pen are friends.”

that softens your heart. you should be dubious of his charming remark, but you aren’t; it is too sincere, as is he, and you begin to see, even if minutely, why penelope cares for him.

“she has good taste in the company she keeps, i’m learning.”

that makes him laugh, as it does the others, and you look over and see how pen’s countenance shines with joy. that is enough to put your anger towards colin at ease, and turning towards your defeated foe once more, you return his smile and bow your head. bowing his head in kind, colin leaves, and in his place arrives your next and final opponent; he is smiling like a boy.

“best for last?” he remarks as he prepares his starting position. you roll your eyes, ignoring the warmth that starts to fill the center of your chest.

“this shall determine that,” and settled in your starting position, you and benedict begin your duel.

you have observed something of the eldest bridgerton brothers in your matches against them. anthony struck like fire, bombastic and ferocious. colin stood his ground like earth, his guards resolute. and benedict—

benedict moves like water. free. fluid.

as if he is dancing while dueling.

both you and he have reached a stalemate. you have managed to parry every one of his strikes, and he has managed to deflect every one of yours. you can feel how those watching are holding their breaths, waiting for someone to land the point.

you try not to startle when you hear benedict’s voice as you guard against his strike.

“it takes quite an astonishing person to earn the praise of anthony bridgerton.”

“are you so surprised that i am such a person?”

“quite the opposite, y/n,” he catches one of your strikes and grins at you. “i think you are entirely perfect in that regard.”

you roll your eyes once again but cannot help the blush that you feel spread across your cheeks as you push back his sabre with yours.

“do you honestly think charm will win you the point?”

“do you find me charming?” you ignore the heat that creeps up your neck and the voice in your head that has already answered his question far too quickly for your liking. “no, i do not think so lowly of such a formidable foe.”

and he winks at you.

and somehow, without you realizing how you got there, benedict strikes the center of your chest.

“but a little distraction does help.”

his point earns a round of groans and bleats from the crowd. instead of looking offended, benedict just laughs and approaches you, gloved hand outstretched, a boyish smile once again on his face. despite your loss, you cannot help but smile too. you place your gloved hand in his.

“it was a pleasure to duel with you.”

“yes. likewise.”

perhaps you imagine it, but you feel his thumb swipe against the side of your hand. it is featherlight, hardly felt with both your and his hands gloved, but felt nevertheless. before you can process the sensation any further, he lets go of your hand. with another smile, he bows his head at you as the crowd of people approach you both, penelope raving about your matches, eloise expressing her wish to fence now, anthony already commenting on what you could do better in your next match.

and without you realizing it, you gently swipe against the side of your gloved hand.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.v ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

"mama? papa?"

it is a rare occasion when you, mama, papa, and your sibling eat together, and an even rarer occasion to do so for a second meal, but this night was such a night. the three of them halt their conversation and look over to you.

"how did you know you were in love with one another?"

there is a small silence, but then, without looking at one another, they smile in tandem.

"it was at first sight, really, for me,” your papa says as he offers his hand to mama. “as trite as that sounds."

mama takes his hand into hers.

"i as well."

"when i looked into your mama’s eyes, i knew that something was different. that my life had changed."

"for the better, dearest?"

papa laughs heartily.

"no, actually. it has been misery ever since."

you and your family laugh as mama playfully slaps at papa’s hand. it warms your soul every time they do this, when they tease one another and are light because of the other. it makes you believe in love each time.

mama and papa lace their fingers together again, smiling, still gazing at one another. as if it is just the two of them in their own world. mama, turning her smile from papa to you, speaks again.

"the flutterings in my stomach wouldn’t quiet, and they only intensified as we approached closer to one another that day and grew closer to one another with time."

she looks nostalgic until something mischievous quickly overcedes her countenance.

"why do you ask, my dear? has someone captured your eye?"

"or, better yet, your heart?" papa tags along.

ocean eyes and charcoal-stained hands flash by in your mind.

"no!" you say too hastily. "no, of course not. it’s— for one of my writings, is all."

you repeatedly poke at your bit of boiled chicken to avoid any further inquisition from your parents’ gazes.

–

sat by your window, you stare up at the night sky when the voice of your sibling infiltrates your dreaming.

“it’s one of the brothers, isn’t it?”

you whip your head over to them. they don’t even look at you; they are preparing for bed.

“pardon me?”

“is it the artist brother?”

“what!”

fluffing their pillow, they smile.

“so i am correct.”

“i didn’t even say anything!”

“that is not true. you said ‘what.’”

“that reveals nothing!”

pleased with the setting of their bed, they ruin their work by plopping their bottom onto it as they finally face you in what you realize now is a confrontation.

“of course it doesn’t, the word on its own. your reaction, however? could not be more transparent of your feelings.”

“i have no feelings!”

“is that why you asked mama and papa about being in love? because you have no feelings and you need to be told what they are?”

“i!—— i am going to bed!” you lift yourself up from your seat at the window sill, turning away from the peace of the night sky, and crash onto your bed. you lay on your side, faced towards the wall, refusing to make eye contact with your sibling. you lift up your sheet with too much force and lay it over your body and head. “good! night!”

after some silence, you hear the creak of your sibling’s bed and, a moment later, feel a featherlight touch on your upper arm. you give it a thought, and perhaps against your better judgment, you lift off your sheet, turn, and are greeted by the gentlest of expressions from your sibling.

“i think it is wonderful, y/n. whoever it is, they are very blessed to have your affections.”

your heart swells. you love your sibling.

“how did you know it was the artist brother?”

“so i am correct!” they smile with a shrug. “i deduced based on how much you’ve been writing about paint and charcoal as of late.”

you almost shoot upright from your bed.

“you’ve been reading my writing?”

“well, if they weren’t to be read, why do you leave them spread out on the table?”

“because there is no other place to store them!”

“and how good that is, or else i wouldn’t be able to read your fantastical stories or have been able to discover who your beloved is.”

“you are impossible!”

they kneel next to your bed and place their head on your shoulder.

“i love you too.”

you exhale the last of your frustrations, adjusting yourself a bit so that your sibling can rest their head more comfortably. without realizing, you stroke their hair, just as you always have.

“i quite like the story about the mushroom family,” they state after some time. “i’m happy that the middle mushroom child befriends the peony and then the hyacinths. i am happy they are happy.”

you feel your eyes start to drift.

“his name is benedict, by the way.”

you hear your sibling’s need for sleep in their reply.

“that’s a lovely name.”

“he is,” you murmur as the peace of the night falls over you.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.vi ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“good day!— robert?”

“good day, y/n!” and robert holds the door of bridgerton house open for you to pass.

“pardon the confusion in my greetings—”

“no offense taken on my part!” the late adolescence beams. you grin back. with how utterly enthusiastic robert is all the time, one would think it is part of some ruse. but it is not; he is just that genuinely delighted by life, you’ve observed.

“i am grateful. i had expected to be greeted by giles, is all.”

robert frowns. you feel the corners of your mouth tug downward in response, concern starting to swell your heart.

“he is ill at the moment.”

“ill! with what?”

“i know not. i had admitted the doctor perhaps not even a quarter of an hour ago. but worry not too much, y/n! from what the viscountess has shared with the servants earlier this day, giles shall make a quick recovery. and lady bridgerton has yet to be wrong in anything!”

relief floods your body. giles is of elderly age, so it calms you to hear that his ailment seems not to be too severe. and you can’t help but smile not only by robert’s sunny temperament but also by his rightful faith in kathani.

“that is all good to hear.”

“shall i announce you to the drawing room?”

“oh god no. i am quite all right, but thank you.”

“understood! then i must pardon myself; i must retrieve miss bridgerton and miss featherington.”

“‘retrieve’? are they not in the drawing room?”

“i was informed by dowager lady bridgerton, who was accompanied by miss bridgerton and miss featherington themselves at the time, that they would be in the gardens until your arrival and to retrieve the young misses upon your arrival.”

“i see. well, i shall be in the drawing room then. thank you again, robert.”

“it is my pleasure, y/n!” he beams once more and takes off to complete his task.

how odd, you think to yourself. this day seems rather unusual to the ones you’ve had thus far at bridgerton home. and it is hardly even noon! you become lost in your thoughts as you approach the entrance to the drawing room—

when you are greeted by benedict, and benedict alone, lounging with his legs thrown over the arm of a chair, staring sternly at the page he draws on.

“oh,” is all you say.

benedict snaps his focus from his book to you, his countenance transforming from deep concentration to frustration to genuine surprise in a mere moment. he scrambles up from his seat, book in one hand and charcoal in the other, posture now proper, and he bows his head.

“miss y/l/n.”

never before have you been alone in a room with a man. a gentleman. a gentleman with a handsome face, charcoal-stained hands, and beautiful ocean eyes.

you roll your eyes.

“blimey, it is just me. there is no need to bow. and why are you calling me miss y/l/n?”

benedict smiles.

“all right. y/n.”

shit.

perhaps that was a mistake.

“where has your family gone?” you inquire as you go to sit in the chair parallel to his, ignoring the flutterings within your stomach. “it is uncommon to enter the drawing room of bridgerton house and not be greeted by talking, or music playing, or fighting.”

smiling, benedict falls back into his seat and resumes his drawing.

“hyacinth is with her reading tutor; gregory is with his fencing instructor; colin is eating some sort of pastry, i am certain, in town; anthony and kate are likely— preoccupied—”

you snort; benedict’s smile grows broader as he smudges charcoal with his thumb, a small furrow in his eyebrows now forming.

“and mother has managed to rope eloise into learning about the flowers of the gardens, and eloise, being eloise, has roped penelope into doing the same.”

“and what of you?”

“and what of me?”

“why have you chosen the drawing room as your whereabouts?”

benedict cocks his head towards his drawing.

“it’s in the name of the room, is it not?”

“ah, a man of wit, i see.”

“i am a man of many attributes, y/n.”

ignore the butterflies.

“such as?”

“what attributes would win your favor?”

“so that you may lie to me and say you possess them?”

“of course not; the list is merely too long and i shan’t bore you with a soliloquy.”

“so, a man of thoughtfulness.”

“oh yes, a myriad of thoughts.”

“name one.”

“how much i am enjoying our conversation.”

and benedict shifts his ocean eyes from his drawing to you, a smile on his lips. he is being playful, but you detect no deceit in his expression. it infuriates you, really. how charming he is. how endearing. how sincere.

you return his smile.

“as am i, benedict.”

you sit in comfortable silence a moment more until benedict breaks the gaze, returning his oceans eyes and smile back to his drawing. his smile, however, does not last for very long.

“this sketch, on the contrary—”

and he rips out the paper from his book, crumples it in his hand, and throws it onto the carpet of the floor, giving his deed not another moment’s notice. he puts his charcoal to a new page in the moment next.

your smile falls.

“do you know how much paper costs?” you demand.

benedict looks back up at you with scrunched eyebrows and a smile having returned to his lips. he tilts his head.

“why? should i?” he inquires. nonchalantly. delight in his ocean eyes.

as if you are making a jest.

as if this is amusing. as if this is nothing.

it reminds you of a recent memory.

eloise had generously given you sheets of paper. hitting a stride in your writing and wanting to continue, you had asked, after much internal deliberation, if you could have a ripped half of a quarto upon running out of all negative space on your current one.

“have a foolscap. have a whole lot of them, actually,” she said easily, taking a good chunk of her stack and handing it off to you.

“eloise, are you certain?”

“of course. it is just paper, after all.”

“right. yes— of course. thank you.”

eloise hummed affirmatively in response, returning to her passage, as you stared at the small stack of foolscap in your hand. that amount of paper would have been eight months’ wage, perhaps even more.

a gentle touch of a hand on yours brought you out of your clouding thoughts. you looked over and saw penelope looking at you softly. understanding her unspoken thoughts, you held her hand and gave it a squeeze.

thank you, you mouthed.

"i must be going,” you say aloud. “goodbye, mr. bridgerton.”

you stand, turn, and quickly exit the drawing room.

“y/n. y/n!”

you hear him scuffling up from his lounge and start to follow you. you hasten your steps towards the entrance.

moments before you can open the doors of bridgerton house to the respite of the outside world, you feel benedict take hold of your wrist, stopping you in your steps, and it infuriates you how gently he does it. how you can pull away from his touch if you want to, how you can just go if you choose to. but you do not.

it infuriates you how much you want him to hold you.

you turn to face him.

“please— wait,” he breathes. “what did i do wrong? what have i done to upset you?”

you look at him incredulously. then it dawns on you.

“please. tell me,” benedict practically begs. with such softness in his voice.

it infuriates you.

“i know money is of no concern to you, or your family, or fair ladies and pretty gentlemen. but it is for the rest of us. for the rest of us who have to work to keep the ones we love fed, clothed, warmed, sheltered. that is a fact with which i have been concerned since the very moment i could think for myself. and for you—of the male sex, of pale skin, of inherited riches—it is something to discard onto the carpet of one of your family’s many houses. the paper you threw to the ground would have paid for a month’s worth of warmth for the entirety of my family’s home. and you ask me what you have done to upset me?”

he says nothing. he just looks at you, damned ocean eyes and all. gentle. attentive. like he could care; like he does care.

you feel your nostrils flaring, your blood pounding in every vein of your body. you finally rip your wrist away from his loose hold, already missing his touch.

“i shall take my leave. please give my regards as well as my apologies to eloise and penelope. goodbye, benedict.”

you turn away from him, yank the door open by its handle, and step outside, walking composedly at first, then quickly, then sprinting, then running. to be as far away from number five of grosvenor square as you possibly can be. to be far away from crumpled up paper, charcoal-stained hands, gentle touches, and ocean eyes.

you rub your wrists against your eyes.

stupid bloody tears.

stupid fucking heart.

why am i so afflicted by this? why am i crying? why do i hurt?

because i love—

no.

you cannot fall for him. he is someone you cannot have, cannot want, cannot— cannot…

it cannot happen, the two of you.

and most likely of all, you are not someone he wants. not someone who he would love. not the way you—

you are a fool for getting this far. but these feelings, they will pass. somehow. you will forget them. you will forget him. this is not the fairytales you read, not the fairytales you write. daydreams, hopes, love for a gentleman— there is a reason you are a writer.

you write the things you can never have, the things that will never happen.

you and benedict will never happen.

this is the prayer you tell yourself that evening before sleep takes you. you pretend not to be affected by the tears that afflict you as you do so.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.vii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< y/n does not go to number five the next week on her non-work day as she had grown accustomed to. she had tried to write at her table in her home to preoccupy herself, but her teardrops were ruining what she had already written. she considers going to work to distract herself, but y/n knows her unexpected presence would be a detriment to her fellow workers’ established flow of day. she decides to go to the markets to try and get fresh air and a change of scenery and to do anything to interrupt her spiral of thoughts and emotions.

< while at the markets, y/n hears her name called and turns to see penelope in her blue cloak. y/n asks what penelope is doing here, and penelope gently replies that she can ask y/n the same thing. she shares with y/n how, the week prior, after she received news that y/n had left bridgerton house, she left to find y/n in the markets and at her workplace but to no avail.

< their conversation continues. penelope shares how y/n was missed last week; by her, by the family, by benedict. y/n tries to dismiss her words and how the past few months have been a mistake and that she shouldn’t be there with pen or the bridgertons, that she’s not meant to be in their world.

< with patience and empathy and grace, penelope gently encourages y/n to return to bridgerton house next week, and y/n, though her heart aching and reluctant, agrees because she misses them. >

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.viii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you sigh deeply.

have courage, y/n.

and you rap your knuckles twice against the stately door of number five. a moment later, the door opens, and you are greeted by a beloved grin.

“miss y/n! i have not seen you in weeks!”

you cannot help but smile back.

“good day, giles.”

“oh, where are my manners!” and the elderly doorman bows at you. you huff out a laugh, feeling how your face contorts with distaste.

“blimey, please don’t. i am not a lady, giles.”

“you could’ve fooled me, miss y/n.”

you shoot him a severe look; he merely continues to grin.

“you know of my feelings towards being called ‘miss.’”

“i am getting older; my memory frequently fails me, miss y/n.”

“and yet you’ve recalled how we haven’t seen each other in two weeks.”

“three.”

you grin.

“precisely.”

“well, it was quite the surprise when I fell ill the following week!” then giles frowns. “and it was an even greater surprise to have not seen you when i had returned the week following that.”

you look at the ground, unable to face the inquisition in his sad, kindly look, but when you bring your head back up, you manage a smile.

“it is no matter. i am here now. that is most important, yes?”

the elderly man smiles.

“yes, i suppose you are right, y/n,” and he holds the door open for you to pass.

“aside from bouts with ailment, how have you been, giles?”

“still standing upright, still opening and closing doors,” he beams without a bit of sarcasm. “and what of you? how have you been?”

“i’ve been—— well. and the family?” you say quickly, wanting to move the conversation away from you and your feelings.

“the same as is to be expected. though—”

concern starts to swell in your heart. what has happened in the fortnight you have not been present?

“mister benedict has been absolutely despondent.”

“oh,” is all you say. giles’ gentle joviality transforms into solemnity, and it makes your heart ache even further.

“on the rare occasions i do see him now, he is leaving for the gentleman’s club in the bright light of day and coming home at an ungodly hour, drunk as a wheelbarrow, wreaking of what smells like every available spirit in london. he had stopped dipping rather deep sometime ago, much to my relief, so it was an utter shock to return to my station and to see him back on the cut, and deeply at that,” the elderly man sighs. “i wonder what has happened for him to be so…” he unexpectedly turns to you, his countenance sanguine, “do you happen to know?”

you swallow as you ignore the sensation pooling in the pit of your stomach.

“no, i— i do not.”

“i see. well, whatever it might be, it is clear how much it deeply afflicts him,” and giles offers you a small, sad smile. “you know mister benedict; he has always been the most sensitive of the family.”

i do.

i do know benedict.

you clear your throat.

“do you happen to know where eloise and penelope are at this moment?”

giles cocks his head at you but is kind enough (you thank the heavens) not to press your change of topic.

“the last i had seen them, they had spoken of viewing the art gallery. do you know the way?”

“i am unfamiliar.”

he smiles again, and it makes you smile in return.

“then i am most glad to escort you there.”

–

giles opens the doors to the gallery, and ahead, in front of a portrait, you see the turnings of penelope, eloise, and—

“y/n,” he utters.

“benedict,” you breathe.

and he looks just as surprised as you are.

you look to giles, his eyes wide and mouth agape, and then to eloise and penelope. upon seeing their expressions, you feel your eyes narrow.

“ah, penelope!” shouts eloise. everyone else turns to stare at her. “with y/n’s arrival, i must change out of my, my art gallery viewing dress! and— and, into my... drawing room! sitting— dress...”

eloise scrunches her entire face in displeasure, confused by her own poorly concocted excuse. that does nothing to deter her, however, from clamping onto penelope’s wrist and barreling forward towards the doors of the gallery.

“come along, pen!” she calls out to the friend she is pulling right behind her. as they pass you, eloise gives you a strange and strained smile bearing all teeth, and penelope offers apologetic eyes and an encouraging smile.

giles looks to you, to benedict, and to the two escaping ladies. mouth still agape, all he manages is,

“i suppose— i shall see to that— miss bridgerton and miss featherington arrive to miss bridgerton’s bedchamber... safe—ly…?”

he mouths, i’m sorry!, at you before quickly bowing his head at benedict, fleeing the scene with remarkable speed for an elderly man who has recently recovered from illness, and leaving you at the entrance of the art gallery.

closing your eyes, you deeply inhale through your nostrils as you place your hand to the space between your eye and your temple. on your exhale, you wipe your hand hard against the side of your face and open your eyes, whipping your head to look at the second eldest bridgerton brother. it seems that he has been staring at you this entire time, stupid (stunning) ocean eyes and all.

“would you like to paint a picture?” you snark. “you are the artist in the room, and it would certainly last longer. or perhaps you have run out of paper?”

he does not respond, indecipherable expression unchanging, and it unnerves you how guilty you feel at goading him, at taunting him, and he merely takes it. you sigh again and cross the gallery to where he stands. resisting the urge to look at him again, as you feel his gaze still on you, you instead look at the painting ahead of you.

it is a portrait of a gentleman. with dark chestnut hair and mutton chops. he wears a blue jacket, a darker blue vest, a cream cravat, green breeches, and brown boots. a watch on a ribbon hangs from his vest; it looks familiar. he looks familiar. a benevolent smile rests on his lips.

you look at the plaque at the bottom of the gilded frame.

edmund bridgerton, the 8th viscount bridgerton.

you look back up at the painting, captured by a particular feature.

“you have his eyes.”

“his are gray; mine are blue.”

you roll your eyes but smile despite yourself. (you try to ignore the flutterings that bloom upon hearing his voice again.)

“yes, but that’s not what i was referring to. they peer into you— not with scrutiny, nor judgment, but with kindness, curiosity, compassion. an eagerness to learn about you. pools of welcoming. cool tones that radiate warmth.”

you cough, ripping your eyes away from the portrait to inspect the scuffs of your boots. you feel embarrassment spread throughout your entire body as heat creeps up your neck.

“the painter is excellent at their craft. it is as if i know him, your father.”

silence falls in the expansive gallery, the calm and kind eyes of viscount bridgerton looking down upon you and his second eldest.

“i’ve missed you.”

you snap your head up to look at benedict, your eyes making contact with his ocean ones. welcoming and warm. honest and... hopeful?

i’ve missed you, too.

“benedict, it has only been a fortnight since we saw each other last,” you respond aloud, your voice coming out so much softer than you had intended. you offer him a small smile, an olive branch of sorts. something of relief starts to fill his ocean eyes, but his demeanor does not change.

“i behaved arrogantly, and you did not deserve to be the recipient of such behavior. no one does, and i am so— i am so sorry, y/n.”

and you know he is. you resist the urge to touch his cheek, to comfort him with your caress, to selfishly have your skin touch his. instead, you look on at him.

“i do not ask you to grant me your forgiveness; i know i am unworthy of it. i just— i just wanted you to know how i felt, and feel still. and how i shall work on myself to be better, to do better.”

the butterflies in your stomach flutter maddeningly. you emit an exhale from your nostrils. the urge to touch him intensifies, and you feel yourself flex your hand to let go of the sensation. you huff out another breath, and smile brightly, sincerely, at benedict.

“well,” you begin, “with our friendship renewed, care to show me what other paintings you love in this gallery?”

benedict’s ocean eyes beam with relief and joy, a brilliant smile lighting up his face, and it takes all your self-control not to drop all discretion and wrap your arms around him in a crushing embrace.

“i would love nothing more, y/n,” he declares.

you try not to flutter your eyes closed at the words ‘i,’ ‘love,’ and your name in the same breath from benedict’s lips. at the pleasantness and home you feel in them. you smile on.

“where shall we begin, then?”

you and benedict walk together as he approaches a miniature in a wooden frame ornately carved with floral motifs. he admits that he has not the slightest clue which bridgerton ancestor this is, and that makes you snort. grinning, he points out how adeptly the artist portrayed the translucency and fluidity of the lady’s veil and how particularly impressive it must have been to accomplish such effects in paints during the early 1600s, if the remnant dating of the artist’s signature is correct. you remark how particularly impressive it is that a painting has endured two hundred years of existence, details still intact, and benedict responds simply that rich people have a way. that makes you snort again, and that makes benedict grin again.

he then leads you to a portrait of kathani and anthony, the viscountess sat in a chair with the viscount stood behind. you marvel at the painting—how much it looks like them, how much it captures kathani’s confidence, how much it captures anthony’s conviction, how much it captures their love. excitement coloring his voice, benedict imparts to you how he was given the opportunity to observe and assist the painter on the days the latter was commissioned to portray the viscountess and the viscount. he also shares with you how impossibly difficult they were as models, always giggling and kissing and looking away from the painter and talking to one another, being overall sickeningly saccharine. you chortle and share with him how that does not surprise you in the least bit. despite his annoyance upon recalling the memory, an incredibly fond smile rests on benedict’s lips. turning from his lips back to the painting, you remark how in love they are, and he remarks that, indeed, they very much are—and turns his fond smile from the painting to you.

coughing, you walk over and ask about the landscape of an enormous building. benedict names it as aubrey hall, the ancestral home of the bridgertons. you recall how you had heard of it early on in your friendship with the bridgertons; you had been unable to see them one week as they were preparing for kathani’s first ball as viscountess at the home. you also recall how the usually collected and confident kathani was anxious and uncertain during that time. benedict, beaming with pride, says how, of course, she absolutely excelled and how all of the ton—he rolls his eyes then and you guffaw—enjoyed themselves at the event. while kathani had done an unsurprisingly resplendent job, the ball was not very entertaining to benedict. he much more enjoyed the annual bridgerton game of pall mall leading up to the event. after announcing how kathani had won—much to the contradictory disappointment and delight of her husband—and answering your questions about what sounds, to you, like a very silly, very fun game, benedict suggests that you join them next year. you laugh, finding it impossible to imagine yourself at a home such as aubrey hall, particularly for the entirety of three days, but your heart swells at the invitation and the sincerity in his voice, and you say aloud how you would love nothing more.

your spontaneous tour eventually comes to an end, and the two of you make your way towards the entrance, still discussing the various art you had seen. as you and benedict walk out of the gallery, a thought crosses your mind.

“none of your work is on display.”

you notice how benedict stiffens. you feel your smile tug into a frown.

“ah, yes. i do not think my work is— up to snuff— with the work on display here.”

“horse shit.”

benedict’s jaw drops, his face aghast and regaled in reaction to what you assume is your choice of language. you merely shrug.

“you have not even seen my work!”

“i do not need to see your work when i can already see how harsh you are being.”

he scoffs, and it aggravates you.

“fine— i will show you, then, and prove to you my point.”

“fine, then! show me, and i will prove to you my point!”

–

“you are full of horse shit!”

you and benedict are in his bedchamber, where all his works are hidden away. he has shown you canvas after canvas, sketch after sketch, charcoal drawing after charcoal drawing, his palette of color ideas— and he still has the audacity to say that his work is not “up to snuff” for the bridgerton gallery.

benedict looks aghast again, perhaps by your language, perhaps by what you are (very rightly, very correctly) insisting. he shakes the canvas that he holds in his hand in your face.

“look at the proportions, y/n! they are entirely off!”

you roll your eyes, swatting his arm away, and begin to rummage through his other work. you pull a sheet and hold it up to benedict’s face.

“look at this sketch, then look at the canvas. there is a very clear, marked improvement, and with only a—” you look at the dates at the bottom right corners for confirmation, “—a difference of two days!”

“what does ‘improvement’ mean if the improvement is not even good!”

“it is good! and! improvement is everything, benedict! it is progress!”

“what—”

you and benedict jump back from one another by the sudden new voice. you had not realized how close the two of you were as you were shouting at one another, how close your faces were to one another, how close your lips were to—

a blazing heat creeps up your neck, at the tip of your ears, and across your cheeks as you turn from benedict’s flustered face to the scowl of the eldest bridgerton sibling in the doorway.

“—are the two of you doing?”

“brother! i— i was merely showing y/n my work.”

you vigorously nod your head. anthony’s glare remains unaffected.

“alone? together? in your bedchamber?”

your heart almost leaps out of your chest, your eyes about to bulge out of their sockets as you look around the room, suddenly aware of where you are. you are in benedict’s bedchamber. alone. together.

“i—” you start, very pathetically. “i—— we—”

anthony curtly bows his head at you.

“y/n, i would like to have a word with my brother. in private. please.”

“of— of course, right— of course!”

you hastily put the sketch on a nearby table and walk towards the door, pass anthony as he steps in, and are about to run down the hall and away from the scene when—

you turn and steal a glance at benedict, mustering up all the apologies you can convey through your eyes. despite the peril of his current predicament, his ocean eyes soften immediately, and a thousand butterflies erupt in your stomach and flutter around viciously. he offers you a slight smile, one that is sincere and unregretful. you offer one back, just as sincere, just as unregretful, before anthony gives you another bow of his head and closes the door.

–

“are you pleased by the results of your consorted trickery?” you state blandly upon seeing the young ladies that you thought were your friends sitting in the drawing room.

eloise looks up from her pamphlet, beaming at you, as penelope wears a wide and proud smile. well, at least they have answered your question.

“trickery?” eloise feigns. you roll your eyes; their expressions answer honestly, but their words continue their game. “i have no idea what you are referring to. pen and i were merely keen on viewing the art gallery today, and i thought, my blue-deviled of an elder brother ought to stop moping about; what better to get him to leave his bedchamber than by way of his favorite topic?”

“and his other favorite topic,” penelope adds. eloise chortles, and you feel the tips of your ears heat.

“what is that supposed to mean!”

eloise waves a dismissive hand at you.

“benedict knew nothing of your arrival, as i am sure you deduced by his surprise,” but the second eldest daughter grins wickedly. “though, from the sheer amount of time you have spent together thus far today, i am also sure the surprise was very welcomed, indeed.”

“by both parties, it seems.”

you promptly ignore the flush you feel on the apples of your cheeks. your friends are lucifer incarnate split into two.

“well, then you must be delighted to know that your shared plot has led to punitive action against him.”

that surprises them. (good. you are relieved to finally have some sort of an upperhand in this conversation.)

“‘punitive action’? by whom? for what?”

“by—”

the three of you hear a set of footsteps. you look to where the sounds are heard and see the two eldest bridgerton siblings enter the drawing room, the elder approaching you with conviction and the younger trailing behind him like a pet that has just been reprimanded. the sight would make you laugh, if you weren’t the one to have instigated the current conflict between the two brothers.

anthony stands before you, posture perfect and chin held up high.

“y/n, thank you for your patience. please allow me to apologize most ardently on behalf of my brother for his complete and utter lack of propriety. it will not happen again as i shall be more vigilant in tracking his every deed. i do hope this incident of my brother’s disrespect does not taint the beloved friendship between you and our family.”

and he deeply bows his head at you.

your jaw drops. benedict shuts his eyes tight and scrunches his face. penelope bops her gaze amongst the three of you. and eloise just howls, causing anthony to break the gravitas of his decorum and shoot a glare at her.

“it is no laughing matter, eloise!”

“it is harmless fun, brother! a pursuit of intellect exchanged between two creatives, who also happened to be by themselves. i have never heard of a baby being conceived from sharing some art.”

“ELOISE BRIDGERTON!”

you have now entirely hidden your face behind your hands; no one needs to witness the deep crimson that you are certain is spreading very rapidly across your countenance. an absurd hope also blooms in you that if you cannot see the others, then the others cannot see you.

“what ever is the matter in here?”

your eyes shoot open upon hearing the much needed voice of reason. removing your hands from your face, you see kathani enter the drawing room, a confused expression worn on her face.

“my dearest,” anthony begins, “i have offered my deepest apologies to y/n for benedict’s disgrace.”

“disgrace,” scoffs eloise, crossing her arms.

“disgrace!” reiterates anthony with increased fervor. kathani’s confusion does not lighten. she looks to benedict, whose eyes are scrunched closed again (his nose looks adorable this way), and then to you.

“are you all right, y/n?” she inquires gently.

“i—” you had intended to say, am well, but that would be a lie. you are utterly mortified. so, instead, you state the truth.

“benedict has been a gentleman. he has treated me with the utmost respect, and when he has done wrong by me— which! which has nothing to do with our being in his bedchamber!— he—” you steady your voice, determined to say this right, as you know and feel it with and in your heart, “he has corrected himself and bettered his words and thoughts and deeds.”

“you hear that, brother? no harm has been done.”

“eloise, you were not even there!”

“i believe what eloise means, anbe, is that you are being dramatic.”

“dramat— they were in his bedchamber, kathani! together! alone!”

kathani rolls her eyes, her attempt at diplomacy entirely gone.

“speak louder, anthony; just a bit more and the entire country shall hear you.”

the viscount pouts grumpily at his beloved, emitting a huff of air through his nostrils.

“you must trust y/n by her word,” the viscountess states.

“or do you not trust someone of feminine disposition to speak for herself?” eloise inquires.

“pen!”

you all snap your gazes to the entrance of the drawing room and see colin making his way to your friend in blue, followed by—

“y/n!” shouts gregory and hyacinth as they run towards you.

“y/n, penelope!” remarks violet and approaches you both. “how delightful it is to see you! you—” she says, reaching out for your hand, gently taking it in hers, and smiling kindly at you, “—in particular. it has been a moment, y/n.”

it melts your heart, really. the sincerity of affection that flows so easily from violet bridgerton. you recall the kind eyes and benevolent smile of her late husband. it is no wonder you so easily fell in love with this family; true, real love is woven into the very fabrics of each of their beings.

you look at them. hyacinth and gregory cling onto your slides, holding you tight. kathani and anthony are engrossed in debate, affection in their eyes despite the heat in their words. colin and penelope speak with and blush around one another as eloise, unknowingly (and, in your opinion, frustratingly, endearingly), butts into their conversation. and benedict. who, with the gaze of the entire room no longer on his so-called indiscretion, is looking at you. softly. with those damned, wondrous, bewitching ocean eyes. a smile on his lips that makes the flutterings in your stomach unbearingly, wonderfully unyielding.

you truly, really love this family.

you love the bridgertons.

“though,” the dowager viscountess starts.

shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you see how violet looks at the others in the room as half of them now pointedly avoid eye contact with the matriarch and the other half share a similar sentiment to her.

“is everything all right?” she turns to you, peering curiously into your eyes. “has something happened?”

you cannot help the laugh that bubbles out of you. violet seems taken aback by your reaction, as are the others in your periphery, but her eyes, as well as theirs, shine on.

“i think,” you say, smiling, “it is just another day with the bridgertons.”

299 notes · View notes

dreamwritesimagines · 1 year

Text

Garden of Secrets [20] - Heliotrope

A.N: Thank you so much for your wonderful feedback and support my loves, it made my whole week, you’re amazing!❤ I hope you’ll like this chapter as well, and please don’t forget to tell me what you think, thank you! ❤

Thanks so much to @theskytraveler for helping me with the chapter!

Summary: Having too many drinks can lead to honesty.

Warnings: Regency era society and social rules, some gender specific language and terms, mentions of sex, mentions of violence, slow burn.

Word Count: 4300

Series Masterlist

When you went to bed that night, right before falling asleep you decided that this whole feelings nonsense was probably like some sort of fever; you would sleep it off and it would simply go away.

Except that it didn’t.

So the next morning you just figured it would probably take a couple of days to go away, just like any flu. It surely was as annoying as the flu, but you were sure you were going to be able to think straight in a couple of days.

Any day now.

So you had thrown herself into any kind of distraction you could find, but seeing that you no longer had a garden you could work on, it wasn’t as easy. You were nearly restless, your hands itching for the garden but you managed to keep it under control, only helping Bess and your aunt with their plants instead of working on your own plants.

Desiring your husband whom you hadn’t consummated your marriage with was not something you could even get any advice on. The whole ton and everyone close to you thought you were deeply in love and thus, you liked spending time in bed together. You and Benedict were so good at pretending to be in love so it wasn’t as if you could just tell Josie without raising any questions.

You were so lost in your thoughts that you hadn’t even noticed Benedict entering the library. You were seated on the comfortable sofa by the huge window, resting the book on your legs with a warm cup of herbal tea on the coffee table by your side, the sunlight falling over you, making you feel all warm. Your head shot up when Benedict cleared his throat and your heartbeat paced up as soon as your eyes fell on his handsome figure leaning sideways to one of the bookshelves.

“I was wondering where you were,” he said and you smiled at him, then tucked your legs underneath you to make room for him on the other side of the sofa.

“Charlotte is busy with her siblings and Josie had things to do so I left there early,” you said. “You were painting when I got back, so I didn’t want to disturb you.”

“You never disturb me,” he said and motioned at the sofa. “May I?”

“Absolutely.”

He came to sit beside you, his pleasant scent tickling your nostrils and you ran your fingertip over the page of the book absentmindedly, looking at him.

“Did you finish the painting or take a break?”

“I took a break so that I could really absorb myself in self-doubt instead of trying to do that and paint at the same time,” he pointed out, making you let out a laugh.

“Ouch. One of those days?”

“Mm hm.”

“Do you want me to talk badly of your artistic idols? Because I can, very easily.”

He chuckled. “I appreciate it,” he said and ran a hand through his hair. “I don’t know, I guess you know, with the party tonight…”

You frowned for a moment before snapping your fingers.

“Right, the party tonight!” you said. “I forgot about that.”

“Do you still want to go?”

“Of course,” you said. “I want to see that part of the city at night but do you want to go?”

Benedict nodded. “Yeah, absolutely.”

“We can just go some other time if you want?”

“No no,” he said. “It’s not that. It’s just— you know, everyone keeps asking me why I’m applying for the academy next year instead of this year.”

You bit inside your cheek. “But you don’t want to apply this year.”

“I don’t know if I should,” he said. “I feel like I need more practice.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “You don’t owe anyone any explanation. It’s just not in your plans this year.”

“Well yes but Henry and all his friends are convinced that it makes no sense I wait for the next season when I can easily be accepted this season as well.”

You hummed. “Pin it on me.”

“Hm?”

“Tell them I’m—I’m the reason why you’re not applying this year,” you waved a hand in the air. “Marriage responsibilities, distraction, I take up all your time when you should be working on your art, your pick. Isn’t that what artists and writers do? Have bad spouses?”

“I don’t think that’s true.”

“That’s what I read,” you said with a shrug of your shoulders. “No seriously, we’re married now so we can use each other as an excuse for everything.”

He pulled his brows together. “What did you use me as an excuse for?”

“The opportunity hasn’t risen yet but I’m sure it will eventually,” you pointed out. “And when it does, I will not hesitate.”

Benedict chuckled and heaved a sigh, leaning his head back to close his eyes.

“I could say I’m too taken by newlywed bliss to pay attention to my art actually,” he murmured, and the simple term made your heart skip a beat, your dream flashing before your eyes and you cleared your throat.

“There you go.”

He opened an eye to look at you. “So I’ve been thinking.”

“About?”

“You’re free to say no if you don’t want to, but after the season is over, we could go on a trip if you’d like.”

“I thought we were going to your home in the countryside after the season was over, until the next one.”

“Our home and yes,” he pointed at you, making you repress a smile. “But this was supposed to be our honeymoon right? And we didn’t even go anywhere, so let’s do that after the season. A belated honeymoon trip.”

Your heart beat sped up. “Benedict…”

“I use the term honeymoon loosely,” he added in a haste. “I don’t expect anything of course.”

But you did.

You expected something, and you wanted it to be soon.

“Just a friendly trip,” he said and you licked your lips.

“Where?”

“Where do you want?”

You let out a laugh. “I’ve only seen two cities in my life, here and where I was born. I don’t think I can give travel suggestions.”

“There must be somewhere you want to see.”

“It was never much of a possibility for me so I didn’t really think about it,” you confessed and lifted your head. “Wait, Rome has a bunch of art right?”

“That’s one way to put it, yes.”

“Can we go to Rome?”

“Because there’s a bunch of art?” he asked with a smile and you let out a noise of agreement.

“That and other things,” you said. “It could be fun.”

Benedict’s smile widened and he nodded his head.

“As my lady wishes.”

“Good,” you said, mirroring his smile. “Rome it is.”

As far as you could tell, tonight was going to be rather chaotic.

Apparently one of Benedict’s friends had rented a whole house just for this party -an inn, you were told- and he had also closed down the entire street for it and moved the party there. Benedict had asked you to stay close to him as soon as the carriage stopped and considering you had never been on this side of the town, you had agreed. He helped you out of the carriage, and you fixed the silky skirts of your dress before turning your head to look at the crowd, your mouth opening slightly. Everyone seemed to be having so much fun, completely drunk already, the music coming from the house reaching outside.

“Wow.”

“Mm hm.”

“What about the officers?” you asked. “I mean this is something else right? The street?”

“Well, this part of the town is barely quiet at night,” Benedict said. “And if they’re paid off well, which I’m guessing they were…”

You let out a whistle and Benedict grinned, obviously pleased with himself.

“Do you mind if I smoke?” he asked and you waved a hand in the air.

“Go ahead.”

He put a cigarette between his lips and lit it, the memory flashing through your head like a lightning, making your heart beat faster. You shifted your weight and averted your eyes, then stood on your tiptoes to see through the crowd. Some of the guests had gathered up in the middle of the cheering crowd to play a game, a tugging war if you weren’t mistaken, and a chuckle escaped from you as one group pulled the other one hard, making them fall down to the ground, all of them still laughing and yelling.

“I was never good at that game,” you muttered to Benedict and he raised his brows.

“You played it?”

“I grew up in the countryside, Benedict,” you reminded him, still grinning. “I certainly didn’t spend my time learning how to play the piano and dance.”

“I heard Daphne say you can play the piano,” he teased you, exhaling the smoke upwards so that you wouldn’t breathe it in. “And we do have a music room—”

“Do not dare,” you pointed at him, making him chuckle.

“I would be the only one to hear it.”

“Not a chance,” you said, a shiver running through you as the cold wind blew over your skin. Benedict noticed it immediately, shrugging off his jacket to drop it over your shoulders.

“Thank you,” you said, your cheeks burning and he smiled at you.

“Of course,” he said. “Want to go inside? It’s probably warmer there.”

You nodded. “Yeah. I also want that drink from the last time.”

A playful glimmer started playing in his blue eyes and he flicked at the cigarette lightly with his thumb so that the ash would fall.

“Lovesick honeymoon couple?”

“Lovesick honeymoon couple,” you said with a giggle and he put the cigarette between his lips, then threw his arm over your shoulder to pull you closer. You inhaled his pleasant scent as discreetly as you could, feeling like your whole face was on fire and you reached out to entwine your fingers with his, then you both started walking to the building, a couple of people greeting you by the door.

The music was even louder inside but it did nothing to drown out the chatter and laughter completely. A footman came to take Benedict’s jacket off of you and Benedict grabbed two glasses from the tray another footman was carrying, and handed one to you.

“There you go,” he said and you clinked it with his, then took a big sip, letting the liquid burn down your throat.

“Are you nervous about tomorrow’s dinner?” you asked and he chuckled.

“Should I be?”

“Nah, I mean…” you trailed off. “Josie does have her moments from time to time and she will certainly question you, but you should be fine.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah because Bess likes you. Well, she likes everyone but Josie will go easy on you if Bess likes you.”

He pulled his brows together. “They’re that close?”

You tried to keep a straight face. “Uh huh. Very close.”

“I was beginning to think you two wouldn’t show up,” Sir Granville’s voice reached you and you looked over your shoulder to see him with a beautiful woman by his side.

“Sir Granville.”

He waved a hand in the air. “None of that, call me Henry,” he said. “This is Lucy, my wife. Lucy, this is Y/N, the infamous Venus Flytrap who captured our artist.”

You let out a laugh. “Quite the introduction.”

“I’m honored,” Lucy said, “I’ve heard so much about you.”

Benedict rubbed the back of his neck, shifting his weight for some reason.

“How’s the new painting going?” Henry asked Benedict who shrugged.

“There’s something missing, I can’t figure out what yet.”

Henry shook his head slightly. “Y/N, will you please tell this husband of yours that waiting for the next year to apply to Academy is nonsense?”

“Well that would be quite hypocritical of me,” you said airily before Benedict could open his mouth to argue. “Considering how hard I tried to convince him otherwise.”

Benedict’s eyes turned to you, a small smile curling his lips and Henry pulled his brows together.

“Why?”

You tipped your glass in Benedict’s direction slightly. “You didn’t tell them?”

“Tell us what?”

“Well he had mentioned the academy plan before we got engaged but when he proposed, I told him I would only marry him if he promised to spend some time with me on the first year of our marriage,” you said. “Granted I was bluffing, I was going to say yes anyway but it worked.”

Lucy let out a laugh. “Oh my goodness.”

“What, as if the academy wouldn’t take up all your time?” you asked Benedict who nodded fervently. “See? And this is my first season! I wish to enjoy it, the art world can wait until the next season.”

Henry chuckled. “Well I suppose love rules all of us.”

“Let them be,” Lucy said. “She has a point. I sometimes don’t see you for days when you are working on a piece, and they’re still on their honeymoon.”

“Well my only consolation is that artists in love give masterpieces,” Henry said dramatically and Benedict wrapped an arm around your waist to squeeze it, as if saying thank you, then nuzzled at your hair, making your heart skip a beat.

“You’re not the only one who wants to enjoy this season darling,” he said, making your eyes snap up at his and you giggled, resting a hand on his chest as you turned to Henry.

“So no, I’m not going to convince him otherwise,” you said with a smile and he held up his hands.

“I know a lost battle when I see one,” he said. “Fine. But make no mistake Ben, I will drag you out of your marriage bed next season if you don’t apply.”

“I will,” Benedict said with a chuckle as you downed your drink. “I happen to want to get into the Academy, remember?”

“Y/N, I’m just going to grab you before you become a part of this argument,” Lucy said and tugged you by the hand. “Let’s get drinks, you and I.”

Benedict looked between you. “Lucy…”

“I’m not going to steal her, don’t worry,” Lucy joked and linked her arm with yours, and you two walked away from them to the other side of the room where the drinks were being served.

“Have you ever been here before?” you asked Lucy, “This part of the town?”

“More than I could count,” she said with a wave of her hand. “I like parties, and this part of the town is quite scandalous, which means no one will bat an eye no matter what anyone does here or on the street.”

“Is that why the host shut down the whole street?”

Lucy shrugged slightly. “You’ll see once people get drunk enough,” she said and took a glass from the footman, then handed it to you. “You included.”

“Oh I’m not going to drink that much,” you said with a laugh and she tilted her head.

“This is a party,” she reminded you. “The whole point of being here is getting drunk and having fun.”

“I know, I know,” you said. “I’m just not good at letting go of control.”

“Aren’t you on your honeymoon? I’d have thought you were used to letting go of control by now.”

You choked on the drink you were sipping on and Lucy let out a laugh.

“Easy there.”

“Uh…” you cleared your throat. “Yeah but it’s—you know, that’s different.”

She shot you a mischievous look. “They expect women to be the paragon of propriety but as soon as you get married, you’re supposed to turn into an insatiable vixen behind closed doors with the snap of a finger,” she said. “Not to worry. It takes a bit of time even with the one you love, or so I’ve been told.”

“So you’ve been told?” you repeated and she winked at you.

“I was never that good at following rules, before or after marriage.”

You repressed a laugh. “You and I will get along well I think.”

“I’d hope so,” she said and her eyes stopped on someone over your shoulder, making you turn your head but as soon as you did, your heart dropped to your stomach.

Apparently Henry was pulled away by another friend of his because he was talking to another gentleman, and Benedict seemed to be in a deep conversation with a really pretty lady. The bitter taste burned your throat, making you down your drink in hopes of getting rid of it as the lady let out a laugh at something Benedict said, making him chuckle as well. She looked up at him through her lashes, admiration etched in her beautiful features and your jaw clenched as you narrowed your eyes.

Alright, you had to calm down.

There was no reason for you to feel bad. This wasn’t even a real marriage.

“He is quite popular but don’t let that make you jealous.” Lucy said and you turned to her, then let out a scoff.

“I’m not the type to get jealous,” you said, grabbing another drink from the tray before taking a big sip, shaking your head. “I’m not. I’m really not.”

“Say it one more time and I’ll believe you.”

“I’m—” you stopped yourself and took another sip, then stole a look at Benedict before forcing yourself to turn your glances to Lucy. “Uh, what’s that pretty lady’s name?”

“Lady Margery Sutton,” Lucy said. “She was widowed last year when her husband got lost in a ship accident after only three years of marriage.”

“Oh,” you said. “Sounds tragic.”

Lucy shrugged her shoulders. “I doubt she ever liked him much, certainly didn’t mourn him,” she said. “She had so many suitors but she picked Lord Sutton because he had an enormous wealth.”

“Really?”

“Mm hm,” Lucy said. “Even now she has quite a number of suitors. Breaks hearts here and there.”

“Does she now?”

“And she is a lover of art, or at least that’s what Henry claims.”

You bit down on your tongue, raising your brows. “How interesting.”

That sounded exactly like your plan before getting married, and it looked like Lady Sutton was enjoying widowhood well. If it were the start of the season, you would have actually admired her luck but now…

Now you could hardly focus on the conversation from an unreasonable anger burning through you.

“Are you alright?”

You downed your drink, then grabbed another glass again, clearing your throat.

“Yes of course,” you said. “Why would I not be alright?”

“Because you said you didn’t want to get drunk but you are drinking quite fast,” Lucy pointed out. “If this is about their conversation, I wouldn’t be worried. Benedict is completely in love with you, any idiot could see that.”

No, Benedict and you were just pretending and you had no idea why the mere presence of this Lady Sutton was enough to make you want to go over there and pull him into a kiss. You dug your fingernails into your palms and managed to give Lucy a small smile, then shrugged your shoulders.

“I’m not worried,” you said calmly, and Lucy grinned.

“Good,” she said and linked her arm with yours. “Now come with me, I have so many people to introduce you to.”

Alcohol had a way of relaxing you and making you all giggly even though you had been quite tense at the beginning of the night. The sunrise was merely an hour away when you decided to leave the party and unlike you, Benedict had made sure to stay sober throughout the night so that he could take you home safe and sound.

Now to think of it, he had done the same during the last party as well.

Your stomach was doing flips, no doubt the consequence of drinking too much, and you took a deep breath as the carriage stopped in front of your house, by the stone road. Benedict helped you out of the carriage and you looked around, then gasped.

“Benedict, the garden!”

He pulled his brows together. “Hm?”

“Look at the garden! Look how pretty!”

“That’s our garden dearest,” he said with a chuckle. “You see it every day.”

“No but it’s so pretty!” you said and darted to get to the garden, Benedict catching up with you quite easily to press a hand over your waist to stabilize you when you stumbled.

“Easy,” he said, smiling. “Let’s not run around while you’re drunk, hm?”

“I had like…” you tried to count in your head, narrowing your eyes. “Only a couple glasses.”

“I counted eight.”

“You counted wrong,” you said with your nose up in the air and he nodded, biting back a smile.

“Mm hm, of course.”

You looked up at him, admiring how handsome he was under the moonlight before that warmth spread through your lower stomach and you exhaled through your nose, clenching your teeth.

“Unbelievable.”

He frowned. “Hm?”

You motioned at him. “You must do something about this.”

“About what?”

“Your face!” you exclaimed. “And the—the rest of you! Do something!”

“Y/N, what—?”

“Ugh!” you stomped on your foot and wiggled out of his grip to walk away from him to get closer to one of the flower beds and sat down on the ground, your skirts fanning around you. Benedict approached you, then sat beside you.

“Why exactly are you angry at me all of a sudden?”

You pouted your lips, shrugging your shoulders.

“Why do you look so handsome all the time?” the question came out of your lips as an accusation. “What—what’s the need for that?”

He stared at you as if he wasn’t sure how to answer that.

“Uh...?”

“There’s absolutely no need for that,” you cut him off before he could say anything else and he pursed his lips together, trying to keep a straight face.

“Right. Yeah, you’re right.”

“So, you know,” you motioned at him. “Make it stop, alright?”

“I’ll try?”

“Good,” you said. “Much obliged.”

He nodded slowly, resting his fist over his mouth to hide a smile and you turned to look at the flower bed, then grabbed at his arm.

“Do you know what these are?”

“Not at all,” his voice was soft. “What are they?”

“Chrysanthemums!” you said. “They need to be given enough time and space to bloom and there are so many requirements, like you cannot keep them in too hot or too cold climates, but especially too cold. They die otherwise.”

“Really?”

“Mm hm,” you said. “And you can also eat them—well, make tea with them. It’s quite lovely, good for headaches and such.”

“I didn’t know that.”

“I did,” you said, shooting him a proud smile and reached out to touch one of the flowers. “I miss it a lot.”

“Miss what?”

“Gardening,” you murmured, “It’s quite difficult not to. I didn’t even step a foot in the greenhouse ever since I moved here.”

“Why don’t you…?” he trailed off and stole a look at the flowers before turning to you. “Why don’t you do it then?”

“Because I will start to like it.”

“Good?”

“No it’s not,” you shook your head. “Because then it would be sad when you decided to take it away from me.”

He blinked a couple of times. “What?”

You reached out to pull at a small yellow leaf, hooking your fingernail between the leaf and the stem until you nipped it and withdrew your hand to look down at it.

“Y/N I would…I would never,” he said, making you look up from the leaf.

“Hm?”

“I would never take anything away from you,” he rasped out, his eyes locked in yours and you bit inside your cheek, ripping a piece of grass off the ground.

“Maybe not at this second,” you murmured, wrapping the piece of grass around your pointer finger and he shook his head.

“Not ever. I just—” he paused for a moment. “I just want you to be happy. Is that so hard to believe?”

You shrugged your shoulders, still playing with the grass.

“Um…” you trailed off. “Sometimes.”

“Why?”

You shrugged again.

“I don’t know,” you admitted and then raised your glances to look up at him. “But if it makes you feel any better, I didn’t use to believe it at all. But it’s sometimes now.”

A gentle smile curled his lips. “Is that a good sign?”

“It’s a sign I think,” you muttered as you laid on your back to fix your gaze on the glimmering stars. “I don’t know if it’s good or bad yet.”

Benedict’s smile widened and he nodded.

“I’ll take it,” he said, still keeping his eyes on you while you pointed at the sky, closing an eye so that you could see better through the blurriness which was yet another result of you having drunk too much.

“Benedict?”

“Yes my love?”

You were way too distracted to even notice the term of endearment slipping out even if you two were alone now.

“Look, it’s Andromeda!” you said, still pointing at the sky and he looked up, then turned to you.

“You remember that?”

You pulled your brows together, following the stars with your finger.

“I always pay attention to the things you say,” you admitted, dropping your hand to hide your yawn. “Even when you don’t think I do.”

A soft light appeared in his gaze and you heaved a sigh, closing your eyes.

“I’ll just sleep for five minutes here and then we can go back inside,” you murmured, your voice already drowsy and you heard Benedict standing up, then felt yourself being lifted up into his arms.

Even if you wanted to say you could walk, you were too sleepy and his arms were way too comfortable so you buried your face into his hard chest, enjoying his pleasant scent while he carried you inside, a soft sigh leaving your lips.

Then, sleep pulled you into its cozy warmth.

Chapter 21

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #regency fic

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razorblade180 · 29 days

Text

Genshin Polycule Things

Aether:Zzzz

Amber:*big spoon*Zzzz

xxxxx

Aether:But what if it isn’t pure all the way through?

Xiao:Just skim the top layer of snow. A little dirt is no worse than karma-

Keqing:*carrying Ganyu* She fell asleep on the trip…

Xiao:*takes Ganyu* You could’ve said my name.

Keqing:I have that right?

Xiao:You’re with my partner and closest friend. It’s not an issue.

Keqing:Ah… I wish I knew that. Aether, legs….

Aether:*picks her up*

Keqing:Thank you.

Aether:Does that curtesy extend to all my partners?

Xiao:*grumbles* I will think about it.

xxxxx

Aether:*walks in*

Scara:Well if isn’t the resident bicycle.

Aether:….*tears up* The what?

Scara:!? It was a joke! Relax!

Mona:*closes book* Scara…

Scara:Relax!!!! Aether, insult me back!

xxxxx

Yanfei:Madam Ping! I need your advice! Can you read this for me and tell me what you think?

Ping:….This is just a letter from the Traveler asking how you’ve been.

Yanfei:Yeah, but he wrote “My dearest, Yanfei” instead of “My dearest Yanfei,” with the comma after my name! Was that intentional or a mistake!

Ping:….

Ping:Bless your heart.

Yanfei:Not helping!

xxxxx

Kamisato porch

Aether:*enjoying the scenery*

Ayaka:*leaning on him*

Ayato:*opens door* I’m back Ayaka. How are things?

Ayaka:*drinking tea at the table* Uneventful.

Ayato:Is that so? Hello Aether. Enjoying our garden?

Aether: *20 feet away* Yep! Thought I’d swing by and say hello.

Ayato:Hehe, so it seems.

xxxxx

Waiter: Your total will be 1000 mora.

Amber:Okay. That’s easy enough t-

Aether:*puts down 1000*

Eula:I’ll handle the tip. *gives 1001*

Aether and Amber:….

Eula:What? Did you think I’d allow myself to lose to you? We are both treating her.

Aether:Lose t- I paid the tab! I would’ve let you spend 600 while I gave 500 mora!

Eula:…These are the type conversations that should be discussed beforehand!

Amber:Frankly, I’m just happy you both agreed to this. *smiles* I like this quality time. *holds their hand*

Eula and Amber: *silently bashful*

xxxxx

Aether:Zzzz

Scaramouche:Zzzzz

Mona:*in the middle*….(Why do they insist on me in the middle when one of them will never to pee!!!)

xxxxx

Aether:*starting a fire*

Charlotte:*focuses lens*

Aether:Uh is this really picture worthy?

Charlotte:I’m just testing out my new zoom function.

Aether:So what, the focus is on my hands?

Charlotte:Uh huh. *zooms in on crop top*

xxxxx

Furina:*head on his lap* Aether?

Aether:*playing with her hair* What’s up?

Furina:Is this what healing feels like?

Aether:I’d like to think so. If not, then we’ll find another way.

Furina:Hmm *closes eyes* This is perfect.

xxxxxx

Tighnari:Welcome to the seminar on proper forest travel. Everyone, find a seat.

Aether:*sits on a chair*

Nilou:*sits in his lap*

Collei:*red* N-Nilou? I think there’s a few more chairs.

Nilou:I saw, but all Tighnari said was to find a seat. Someone else can have the chair.

Cyno:You make a compelling argument, but I’m that’s not what Tighnari-

Candace:*sits on Cyno’s lap*

Cyno:Please begin whenever you’re ready.

Tighnari:This is not what I meant when I said “bring a friend.”

xxxxxx

Aether:Do you ever wonder what Kokomi writes about in her diary?

Gorou:Not really. It’s her business.

Aether:Yeah, you’re right.

……

Aether and Gorou:(I can’t let him know she’s let me read the pages about him.)

xxxxx

Aether:Paimon, I’m going on a date. I already made your lunch and dinner.

Paimon:Tell Keqing hello for Paimon.

Aether:…How’d you know it was Keqing?

Paimon:You woke up ten minutes earlier than usual and got a head start on commissions. Now you’re leaving after chores and your braid redone.

Aether:….

Aether:Can you not watch me so keenly?

Paimon:Nope.

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hedgiwithapen · 7 months

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DHD: Leverage daemon au

(confession: I read the first 80% of golden compass in 2006 while waiting for christmas and thus new books and never finished it, so my rules for worldbuilding now!) Some things, everyone knows. Like how to breathe, and just as important. Separating hurts. Nothing cut can be made whole. Daemons don’t settle twice. Everyone in the business knew that Eliot Spencer’s Daemon had settled as an American black bear, and that Marron could kill just as viciously as he did. Everyone deep in the business knew that he was Moreau’s right hand. Everyone in the business knew that Moreau’s best men were Severed.

Nate had never asked where Marron was, and neither had Sophie, though neither of them knew everything about his time with Moreau. He guessed they’d figured out something as close to the truth as anyone was going to guess, even Moreau. None but the two of them knew the truth, that Marron had run to save them both. That Marron had come back, a scruffy mongrel with a broken banner of a tail. She kept her distance the first few jobs, waiting in the Shadows. Eliot could always feel her there, just as strong as if she’d been only a few feet away. That wasn’t supposed to be how things worked, but no one had told Marron that. Parker, though, had noticed right away. “Like us,” she’d said, eyes flicking skyward. Rhodonite had settled as a Kestral young, after the first stint in Juvie. They’d agreed without needing to speak, aloud or otherwise, about it. That was how they worked. Who could say who’s idea anything they did was? They were the same, and neither of them suffered cages or locked doors lightly. “No,” Eliot had said, uncertain how much was a lie. “No,” Parker had returned. “You’re like us. It was safer. They don’t get that.” She was right about that. Hardison’s Chip, and Nate’s Vianney almost never left their shoulders. When Chip had to, it was usually to a pocket, and Vianney, though she could fly some distance away when a con called for it, preferred to stay as close as possible, where she could bite Nate’s ear, or preen his hair, depending on just how much of an ass he was being. It was easier to hide a pika than a parrot, unfortunately, but they always made do. Remy helped with that. Remy had introduced himself when Nate had introduced Sophie to the team, a soft mink draped over a shoulder. “Remy. It’s short for anything you can think of,” he’d said, sliding off Sophie’s arm to investigate, shifting into a sleek, dark cat. He’d been Rembrant, Reminiscent, Remolade, Remnant; everything from a mobster’s coiled snake to a street rat’s street rat. It never bothered him what his name was, or what hers was--Sophie, Katherine, Charlotte, Laura. Names were as changeable as the color of her hair, the shade of his eyes. “She never settles, so I don’t see why I have to. If you have a problem with that, I’ll bite you.” “I’ll bite you, too,” Sophie had laughed, a deadly glint in her eye. “So, Nate, what’s the score? What finally got you to try my side of the board?” The money had been good. The understanding--or at least, the hiding of judgment, was better. They’d split off and found their way back, again, again.

#dammit hedgi day 2023 #Leverage #Daemon AU #I have thoughts i couldn't get into here but :)#ask me about the names i put so much fucking thought into the names

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lfghughes · 10 months

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I need more dad Trevor with twin daughters 😭 can I please get something where he takes them out on separate daddy/daughter dates? He totally seems like the type of dad who would do whatever his babies asked of him

a/n: i had way too much fun planning this out. thank you so much for requesting it

One of the first promises that Trevor had done when he found out his girlfriend was pregnant with twins was that he would give all of them his individual attention. He wanted his daughters to know and feel that they were their own individual humans because he knew most of the people in their lives would treat them as one. He also vowed to his girlfriend that they would always find time for each other in the middle of all the chaos. This meant a lot of date nights with all three of his favorite girls.

His twins were definitely very different from each other. Since birth their personalities had been very different but as they grew up those personalities shown through more and more every day. This meant he had to get pretty creative on what to do on those solo dates with them because he wanted to pick the right activity.

Date #1 - Adeline

Adeline or Addybug as Trevor liked to call her had always been the calm sensitive baby. She thrived when it came to sitting down and reading a book or all the quieter activities. Out of the twins she was the one Trevor had to think more out of the box for because it was usually opposite of the activities he would do. But he always went above and beyond for things she liked to do. Right now both Trevor and Adeline had finished up getting their nails done at the nail salon, completely Addys idea but Trevor went along with every second of it.

Now it was his turn for her big surprise. “Remember when you told daddy you wanted to go to the butterfly garden?” Trevor asked and immediately her eyes got wide because she knew what this meant. “Are we really going?” She asked and Trevor nodded his head. As soon as she had mentioned it last week he made a mental note to see if there were any places around where she could go see butterflies up close. Eventually he had landed on this place and decided it would be fun for her.

Turns out he was right because the minute she stepped in she was amazed by everything in the garden and not just the butterflies although that was her favorite part. “I have one more surprise for you.” He told her as they walked out from the butterfly garden after she got to see everything. “Me and mommy ordered a little caterpillar kit for you and once they turn into butterflies we’ll let them out into the garden.” This was everything she wanted to hear and more. Date one was the success he had hoped for.

Date #2 - Charlotte aka Charlie

Charlotte was the fierce one of the two. It was her way or no way and even at a young age she had demanded that she get called Charlie and not Charlotte simply because she liked it better. For Trevor though she was always his Charlie Bear. Funny enough she was the easier of the pair to find an activity for because whatever meant getting her energy out was what she wanted. He could as easily take her to a trampoline place or go karting and she loved it regardless.

Typically she chose the place though because she was always very vocal about what she wanted to do and surprises were not her thing. Today she had made it clear she wanted to go horseback riding and Trevor wasn’t going to tell her no. Luckily for this one he didn’t have to research a whole lot because she had been on a horses kick lately and had already picked this activity a couple of times before. “Do you think one day I can get my own horse?” She asked once she was all done riding, her eyes looking up at her horse and he could tell by that look that this love for horses was here to stay.

“I think it’s something me and mommy will have to talk about but maybe one day.” That was a good enough answer for her, a smile immediately growing on her face. “Alright, well it’s pretty warm out so what do you say about getting some ice cream?” Trevor asked and she immediately nodded her head. “Can we call Uncle Jamie to go too?” That was going to be another yes and once again another successful daughter date.

Date #3 - The Wife

“Wow look at you.” Trevor whistled as his wife stepped out of the closet all dressed up for their dinner date. Her cheeks burning a bright pink because even after all this time Trevor managed to make her heart skip a beat with his compliments. She walked over, pressing a quick kiss to his lips. “Both girls told me all about their daddy daughter dates this week. Addy has been watching those caterpillars since they got here.” His wife smiled as she talked about her girls. “And Charlie said you wanted to talk to me about getting a horse?”

Okay, not his exact words but his daughter did get him there. “I told her we would think about getting her a horse.” He shrugged sheepishly before holding his hand out. “But that’s a conversation for another night because right now I have a date with my favorite girl in the whole world.”

#trevor zegras #trevor zegras imagine #trevor zegras x reader #trevor zegras blurb

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zack-hazbin-blog · 2 months

Text

Main Cast Post

putting this under the cut cuz its gonna be long, will be updated with art as art becomes available

Charlotte “Charlie” Morningstar:

In this au charlie is a doll/marionette puppet thing that Lucifer created shortly after the death of Christ as sort of like, his own personal Adam. Charlie was created in a fit of sheer bitterness and not originially made with the intent of being Lucifer and Lilith’s child (which is why she doesn’t look much of anything like Lili) but Luci accidentally spawned a six year old into existence and was (ironically) too much of a sweetheart to do anything but adopt her.

She is very similar personality wise to canon Charlie except a little more disconnected? Maybe? There’s a certain vague airiness about her and no one is quite sure if it’s because of the whole artificial being thing or just because she’s far more divine than anything else in hell (save for her dad) but she’s very sweet! And very energetic! And loves music and singing and dancing and bright colors! And her friends! She is very book smart and knows a lot about a lot, afterall, she spent most of her adolescence in Lucifer’s palace, what else is there to do but read? She is not, however, very street smart, she’s not dumb but she’s like. naive.

Charlie was not very involved with sinners until very recently, only maybe two years before the show, though she has been campaigning for a stop to the cleanse since long before that. Originally, her reasonings to want to stop the Cleanse was to keep hellborn citizens (effective innocents who were born into this) from being unfairly killed without them havning to leave to the more remote rings where the Cleanse doesn’t occur.

Charlie only really fell into the idea of redemption after she met Vallie, a fallen angel (I’ll get into that trust me on this one) and started to think that, well, Vallie is a good person, she was good enough to get into Heaven the first time, and the only reason she’s here is because they decided she got worse, so if people can get worse, and fall, and like, people can always change for the better, right? so then maybe if they get better they can rise.

This epiphany led to the whole redemption thing, which led to the hotel. In this AU, Charlie’s relationship with her mother is very good, this isn’t to say her relationship with her father is bad, they’ve just drifted apart since Charlie really hit her teen years (she’s still really about 22, despite the fact she’s close to 2000 years old, she ages monumentally slowly) Luci loves Charlie he just has a incredibly hard time taking her especially seriously, and Charlie can feel this, and so there is tension. Lili is the one to procure the hotel for Charlie, it’s an old building that used to be owned by a sinner before they were Cleansed and, as things do in Pentagram City, ownership of the vacant building fell to the Morningstars. (The royals get technical ownership of all vacant land until it is claimed in some way by an overlord, they’re like the bank) Charlie gladly accepts, her and Vaggie move in, and the Halo Hotel is officially in business! …though of course, there’s the matter of attracting residents, and dealing with the finicky building familiar (commonly known as a Cat Key) KeeKee, who, after the building has been empty for so long, doesn’t appreciate new tenants.

Valeria:

Listen, I was a Vaggie fallen angel theorist WAY before the show made it canon and I am not about to change the canon that lives in my head just because the show agreed with me, okay? So Vallie is a fallen angel and a former exorcist, the main difference to canon is that Charlie is well aware of this fact and has been since the beginning, also fallen angels are pretty common/ They usually get employed by Lucifer once they fall, partially because they’re stronger than a lot of your average demons and make for good security guards, and partially because he is desperate to feel some sort of kinship with something down here, even if, technically, they are very different beasts. This is how she meets Charlie, as she kind of gets assigned as her unofficial bodyguard.

But anyway, Vallie died in 2014, went to Heaven, and enlisted for the Exterminator program, and was like, really good at it, all things considered. However, after a few years, she started to take issue with the fact that Hellborns tend to get caught in the crossfire, and by “started to take issue” I mean she got in a physical altercation with Lute, not only her superior, but Adam’s favorite little special dude. Immediate banishment.

After that, she falls, gets hired by Luci, gets stationed as Charlie’s bodyguard, and eventually the two become pretty good friends, and then they start to catch the Feelings, and the rest is history. Vallie is very supportive of Charlie, though she isn’t totally sure about this whole “redemption’ thing. If you were to ask her, she should have never been in Heaven in the first place, it’s for the best that she fell, she deserves this, and so does everyone else down here. A lot of her character arc in this AU is learning to trust other people, and also not being so defensive about everything, basically just chilling out a little. Her arc is also meant to be a direct parallel to KeeKee, who I know the show doesn’t care about but I do so she gets a little character arc. KeeKee is like an abandoned cat, her previous owner died years ago and shes been mostly on her own since then, and now, just as she was getting used to it, theres a bunch of people in her building???? Absolutely not. Her and Vallie both have an arc about chilling out a little and opening up!! There would be maybe two eps dedicated to this specifically in the perfect world where this is a multi season 20 ep per season show, but the two would like, be paired up throughout the show. She’s “Vallie’s cat” despite the fact that since Charlie owns the building, she’s technically Charlie’s cat (charlie has razzle and dazzle tho so its okay)

Alastor: I think Alastor is very similar to his canon counterpart, except I’m scaling him down a little. In canon he’s kind of like,,, an anomaly of sorts? Like it’s implied that he’s way stronger than a lot of people and there’s a certain air of mystery about him. In this he’s just an above average demon on the power scale, certainly strong enough to be an overlord but choses not too because he doesn’t want to deal with the bureaucracy that it entails. He’s stronger than most but he’s not unusual in any specific capacity. Other than that the biggest difference is that Charlie is not scared of him in the slightest, like, she knows he cant do anything to her, she knows where they stand, she is not intimidated. The intimidation scary routine isn’t working so he’s really just trying to smooth talk her into a corner, which he may have more success in. Also he talks in 1920isms often, he called something a sockdollager once and nobodys gotten over it since. Also I’m taking out the Voodoo stuff because I think that Vivzie only included it as like a funny spooky bonus thing and like. It isnt. He has a theme he doesn’t need to have an already insanely demonized religion tacked onto him.

He wants to sabotage the hotel not because any outside force is compelling him too, he isn’t controlled by anything except his own issues. It’s just that the very idea of redemption is antithetical to a lot of what he stands for. Like, ever since the 20s he has made it his Mission to purge the world of Evil (kill everyone he doesn’t like) because bad people don’t change and that’s why they need to Die and if people can change for the better than maybe he ruined his chances of ever seeing his mother again for nothing and maybe he was wrong and this is not an idea that can exist in his world. He instead rationalizes this in his brain as “The princess is a naive moron and someone needs to knock her down a peg, luckily I have nothing to do right now.” and drags Husk and Niffty to go ruin the hotel. But like. Steathily. Charlie is well aware that he thinks she’s a joke but she’s convinced she can found family him, he of course thinks this is a ridiculous idea until it starts working and then he panics. He is a very central antagonist, the only ones who are as important as him are the angels, who I am also handling much differently than the show.

Let’s say this is a show that gets three seasons, the first season conflict would be getting the hotel off the ground, the residents would expand from just Angel to Mimzy and Crymini and Baxter and Sir Pent, and like, some antagonistic activity from the Vees, it’s everyone settling in. Season 2 would be Alastor spooky crazy arc, Rosie would become a much more prominent character, becoming more of an ally as Al becomes more of an enemy. Also the radiostatic shipping fuel season, Al is aroace but the two have a History. At the end Al reluctantly takes his place in the Hotel Found Family, not by any means fully redemption arced but. Better. And season 3 would be the angels (which have been a very looming force in the background) as the next extermination day rolls in. This would probably be the season with the most Lucifer, I think, and would probably end with an agreement being reached between The Archangels and Charlie after someone gets redeemed. Honestly not sure who yet, maybe Vallie?? I think that would be interesting.

(ill get them seperate images soon i swear)

Niffty: Niffty is a lot more of a character here than she is in the show because I absolutely adore her. She is Alastor’s seamstress who also dabbles in cleaning, she’s more than happy to be the maid for the hotel!! She’s always happy to help Mr. Alastor, honestly. She’s like. She’s envy to me, that’s her sin. I think she’s 1950s Californian suburban romance dream gone terribly wrong, her husband (highschool sweethearts, married straight out after graduation, she’s about 21, also his name is Danny, just though you should know) cheated on her and she went to hell not because she killed him but because she killed the other lady who was just as tricked as she was. She is very fond of romace for everyone but herself, watches romcoms religiously and is always trying to set Angel up with someone but panics immensely when she catches feelings for Baxter (when he sees me from waitress heeheeee). She does not have a crush on Al!!! I see this take often and it is wrong. Shes like. Not exactly a daughter but like a niece or a little sister. They’re besties okay. Also uses 1950s slang a lot!!!!! This is all i want. I want her to say something like “Oh, don’t you worry, Miss Vallie, Al will have this place looking like antsville in no time!!” okay. Please.

Husk: (no image yet... soon)

Alastor’s less willing employee. He does not own his soul!! Husk just lost a bet back in the 70s where he has to work for Al for the next 50 years, which, the start of the show would be 2019, is coming to a close. This is mostly why he’s pretty chill abt the hotel thing, he’s considering it a kind of last push before he can be done with this Looney Tunes Loser and get back to. Whatever he was doing before. Unfortunately he gets attached to the hotel gang. Also Huskerdust.

Husk died in the mid 70s as a divorced mid-40s alchohlic with a gambling issue, he’s got an adult kid somewhere he isn’t allowed to see. He is Sloth and to me, the requirement for being bad enough that you get sent to hell is that you embodied one of the seven deadly sins enough that you caused lasting harm to someone who did not warrant it. Husk is in Hell because his unwillingness to fix anything in his life left his kid to grow up without a dad, if that makes sense?? Like if you are just a jerk your whole life you’ll probably get sent to the wrath section of Purgatory but if your temper causes you to like, be abusive then you will probably go to hell. Husk left his child with long lasting trauma and this is why he is in hell alright.

Angel:

Main difference here is that Angel is not a porn star in this, Valentino is just the king of horrid exes in a long line of horrid exes that Angel has accumulated in his ongoing quest to avoid running into his dad or brother. He’s only at the hotel to essentially be in witness protection because he feels bad rooming with Cherri and potentially getting her hurt because Val keeps trying to like. Kill him. Angel feels considerably less bad mooching off of the delusional princess, that is until the therapy hotel starts therapying. How dare you help him work through his personal issues and disolve his unhealthy coping mechanisms and treat him with gentle care. Gross

But Angel’s real name is Anthony and he’s from a mob family, he has two siblings, his twin Molly and his older brother Nicky, or Arackniss, as he goes by now. They were a suprisingly functional family until Angel got outed as less than straight and. Well it was the 40s and the mob. He got kicked out and eventually died. He was actually the first of his siblings to kick the bucket! Also he is a middle child. ALSO HE IS NOT IN HELL BECAUSE HES AN ADDICT hes in hell because he killed people while in the mob. Though if I had to assign a sin to him I would say glottony, but like, gluttony for attention. ALSO MOLLY AND HIS MOM ARE THE ONLY ONES OUT OF THE FAMILY TO GET TO HEAVEN his dad and his brother are both down here with him. He has not spoken to them since like the 50s and he’d rather keep it that way.

Rosie Damascena: (also no image...... not for long tho)

Im including her because who’s gonna stop me. I do what I want. Anyway first main change is that she’s British because she is Mary Poppins and she says “spit-spot” and “mustn't dawdle” and calls people “love” okay. Let me have this. Also she is a hellborn and she is a couple centuries old. She is in charge of Cannibal Colony which I am renaming to The Garden because. Shes flower. Also her last name is a species of really old and really fragrant rose (the Damask Rose) which I think is very fitting for her. She is a rare hybrid of a hellborn and a human sinner, with her father being a mortal soul and her mother being a flower nymph thingy from the lust ring (it rains a lot there, flower people are in abundance) She is very powerful but doesn’t really get involved with the other overlords, in fact she tries to keep her nose out of sinners’ business as much as she can, with The Garden being an unofficial refuge for hellborns all over the Pride Ring. Alastor is an exception to this rule as he is a mortal soul yet by all accounts one of her best friends, she thinks he’s goofy okay.

She is very fond of Charlie, and while she isn’t sure about redemption, shes willing to support the princess. Also she figured out Al’s scheme very very quickly and really doesn’t like it, the two get into like the most polite argument of all time over it. Rosie made the mistake of thinking that Al would put anything over his pride and Al made the mistake of trying to threaten her into not getting involved, this didn’t go over well with Rosie. And so (this would be early season 2) Al used his incredible social skills to get basically banished from the one place he was really welcome. He will not admit that he has made any kind of error however, this is for the better, Rosie shouldn’t have stuck her nose in his business, he does not need her, he does not need anyone, shut up.

Anyway thats the main cast!!!!

I’ll do posts abt the others (the vees, cherri baxter crymini and mimzy, and the angels) soon but if anyone has any questions please ask i am more than happy to answer them!!

#hazbin hotel #hazbin hotel critical #sort of #hazbin redesign #hazbin rewrite #hazbin charlie #hazbin vaggie #hazbin alastor #hazbin niffty #hazbin husk #hazbin angel dust #hazbin au #hazbin rosie #hazbin hotel fanart

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according2thelore · 1 month

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These ES/LS snippets are truly saving my need for more of your fics.

You very quickly became my favorite wincest author, hitting every one of my favorite tropes(hurt/comfort is my bread and butter too!) And I'm excitedly(and impatiently lol) waiting for your next fics to come out.

Your writing is SO GOOD and I find myself going back to your fics all the time. My first was your love potion fic and that's still one of my absolute favorite samdean fics out there.

This isn’t really an ask so much as it is an appreciation lol. Can't wait for your next fic!

(If this was an ask though, I'd love more thoughts on your ES/LS universe and even MORE hurt/comfort and jealousy lol)

BABE???? OH MY????

i don't even know what to say! this is the nicest compliment!!!!! you're so incredibly kind, and i'm so unbelievably honoured that my work is special to you!

EEP! i can't even express how much this ask means to me!!!! there are literally no words!!!! the love potion fic was meant as a fun little add-on to that month's challenge, but i've been blown away by how much folks have liked it--i live for a little melodrama and H/C, lol!

every writer dreams of getting asks like this one, and just ARGH! i'm kissing you on both cheeks!!!!!

as for upcoming things, my next fic will probably be my teen!chesters piece for the wayward sons zine (it will be HEFTY). charlotte and i were outlining this fic, and it ended up being about five pages of outline. so def a larger one!

because this ask was so incredible and lovely and kind (so kind?? holy shit?? my hand in marriage??) i wrote a little thing for you! i hope you like!

dean rubs his hands on the sides of his jeans, before he catches himself doing it. shit.

he crosses his arms, then realizes that he looks awkward and posed, so he uncrosses them again. he pushes his hair back from his face--but fuck, what if his hair looks weird now? dean checks frantically around for a reflective surface, but the only thing even close to him is a giant telescope, and--even though he briefly considers it--there's no way he'd be able to crawl back up it and down in time.

"what are you doing?" he mutters to himself, able to at least recognize that he's acting like a preteen about to meet one of the jonas brothers.

it's just sam.

just sam, kind of, dean's brain quietly corrects. it's just sam, but fucking huge.

it's just sam, but his ridiculous hair has grown and curls softly around his ears, brushes his jaw when he ducks his head. it's just sam, except his arms are bigger than dean's head. dean didn't miss the show the other day when sam came to look for something and lifted a fucking stuffed armchair with one arm.

(dean tried it later, and it took him both hands and two tries to get it off the ground. that thing must be reinforced with some crazy cold war steel or something. definitely.)

dean eyes the main room again. he should just sit at the big table. he eyes the big sword on one of the shelves. no--focus. sam went into "library annex 3" to find a book that he thought dean should absolutely take a look at, and left dean, dazzled, in his wake. so dean is going to sit here and wait, because he's been running out of excuses to see sammy lately.

dean slumps into one of the chairs, sighing. what is wrong with him?

he gets so...easily distracted whenever sammy--future-sam or whatever--starts talking to him. and most of it isn't even his fault, okay? sammy always puffs up whenever either 2006 winchester gets close, a dick-measuring if dean's ever seen one. as soon as sam got a single inch on dean in height, dean's never heard the end of it. but this sammy, older sammy, straightens up and his chest gets all big and--fuck--arms! big arms!!

dean keeps trying to find plausible excuses for sammy to take off his shirt because dean is convinced he has a six-pack under there, and it's his right to know!

"i found it!" a muffled voice from down the hallway, so deep that dean's brain goes a little sideways. and dean feels his whole body lock up, like he's just been thrown out of an airplane.

sam--sammy steps through the doorway, holding up a book triumphantly. his eyes are bright, and he's got little wrinkles at the corners, barely there. his grin is radiant, and dean feels absurdly like he's looking directly at one of those religious frescos with the yellow circles behind everyone's heads. sam would get a kick out of that.

dean whimpers. he straight up fucking whimpers, covering it quickly with a cleared throat.

"great!" he says, too bright. it's not his fault! it's not! dean barely resists the urge to bash his own head in.

so sue him! sam is suddenly huge and old and glad to see dean? he lights up whenever dean walks into a room, greeting him warmly. he seems to find dean adorable, which dean kind of resents, but it's hard to stay mad at sammy when he clearly finds so much delight in seeing him.

and 'sammy' isn't helping. 'sammy' had always been a dean word. it had been an 'us' word, a 'they don't know you like i know you, they can't understand you like i can' word. as soon as dean's own sam--2006 sam--had shrugged off the word, and older sam had donned it, dean knew he was screwed. wires crossed. you can only call so many men 'sammy' before you start to tease them and want to be around them and give them shit and look at their huge fucking tits--wait...no. shit. focus!

"so get this," sammy says, and he slides into the chair next to dean, smooth and graceful and so in touch with every muscle in his body that dean has to catch his breath a little. and his chest does something funny, because sam shows him the book and starts babbling.

he starts babbling. like a two year old sam and an eight year old sam and a twelve and a fifteen and an eighteen year old sam.

it seems impossible that this person--this man, all poise and purpose and focus, whose eyes can cut and soothe, whose stubble scratches when he rubs a hand across his jaw--is still dean's sam. dean's sammy.

and he knows it. and he likes it. this sammy brushes his shoulder and doesn't recoil like it burns. he looks to dean first when something is wrong. dean saw, the other day, how his older self comforted sam after a nightmare, how easily sam contorted himself to fit the shape of older dean's arms. sam likes being dean's. or at least this version of dean.

"anyways, i think that this is probably our most comprehensive record of vampires--their habits, their physiology, their weaknesses. if you wanted to give it a read, i think it'll really come in handy." sam says, still talking like dean cares at all for vampires and not the exact shape of sam's mouth.

dean aches. he feels inadequate. there is something clearly in this dean that is worthy, something that sam finds lovable. or necessary. dean wants to be necessary. dean needs to be necessary.

"yeah." dean says, suddenly, when he realizes that sammy's looking for a response. "that--uh--that sounds great."

"you didn't hear a thing i said, did you?" sammy asks, eyebrow raised, teasing and knowing and fuck--dean's chest collapses. sam knows him.

it's so strange to be known by this...this man. this man who blots out the sun with his shoulders, and has callused hands, and looks at dean like he's proud of him. this man knows him. this man is sammy, and that's all dean every really needs.

"naw." he says, scrubbing a hand in the close-shorn hair at the back of his head, abashed and feeling strange. "'m sorry."

"don't be." sammy rolls his eyes, but it's in good humour. sam--2006 sam, and it's weird that dean has already made that distinction--would genuinely be put out. he thinks dean doesn't take him seriously.

both sams are alien to dean. sam, because his burden is eating him alive. he's terrified of himself, of his powers. furious at what he's becoming and increasingly furious at dean for not taking his own safety seriously. like sam could ever hurt him.

and this sammy, of course, is different. he's physically very different, but also...softer? that's the wrong word. he's easier, maybe. his smiles are soft and he thinks through things before he says them. he doesn't hurt to hold in your hand like sam does, all spikes and hard edges like rock that resents you for holding it. sammy is a stone worn smooth by a river, and dean doesn't know if that makes him a bad brother.

he doesn't want to know, because he can't think about this being another way of failing sam. dean's been failing sam since that first over-long look in 1995.

this sam, at least, dean has a reason for not understanding completely. time has made a stranger of his brother, not circumstance, and time is easier to blame.

"what?" sammy asks, and dean snaps back to the present, abashed again. god. it's like his first fumbling date a fourteen all over again. but wait, no it's not--why did dean think that?

"nothing. sorry. you're just--" dean can't find the words. sammy seems delighted at this, eyes sparking with a challenge like they're both in on a joke.

"i'm..." he prompts, drawing it out. dean sputters. he and sam give each other shit all the time. it shouldn't feel different with this sam, but...it does.

"hi."

dean jerks away, sitting up straight in his chair. sam stands in the doorway. he looks pissed. his hands are balled into fists at his sides, his jaw is set, and he's...not looking at dean.

dean looks to sammy, whose eyes widen. he seems surprised by something. proud of something.

"dean wants to know if we're ready for dinner. what are you doing?" sam asks, words loaded. dean's about to jump in, feeling weirdly guilty. they're just talking about a book, it's not like they were--

"just talking with my little brother." sam says, jostling dean's shoulder with his elbow, like this is all a big joke but what the fuck?? dean's spine melts and drips down his ribs. oh my fucking god.

little brother little brother little brother sam could pin dean down if he wanted to, dean looks down at sam's huge fucking hands oh my god, little brother--

"you--" sam starts, and sammy sits up straighter, tilting his head forward like he's coaching sam through something, but sam's eyes are suddenly on dean, and dean freezes.

he doesn't know what to do under sam's critical gaze. the weight in his stomach is definitely guilt, but dean doesn't know why. dean looks away first.

"we're just talking shop, sam." dean says to his hands. a pause. dean hears sam leave, his footsteps echoing down the corridor.

he better not be going to see that old geezer. dean doesn't like he way he looks at sam.

"we almost had him," sammy says, thoughtful. dean looks up, and sammy is looking down at him with an expression so fond that dean's throat closes. "next time."

dean's heart beats faster.

oh man. he is so fucked.

#ask box #lizzy answers #ES/LS verse #animangalover15

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starsreminisce · 9 months

Text

Elain doesn’t even like Lulu so they can’t be end game.

Elain is going to reject the bond since they can't even stand to be around each other.

Elain and Lucien don't even talk.

Yea, that’s the point… that’s how their story starts.

Darcy and Elizabeth didn’t like each other at the start of Pride and Prejudice.

Kate and Anthony didn’t like each other at the start of Bridgerton S2.

Queen Charlotte and King George were practically living in separate castles at the start of Queen Charlotte

Cardan and Jude downright hated each other at the start of Cruel Prince.

By you, I am Forever Undone

Eva and Jacks didn’t like each other at the start of OUABH. They were both heavily involved with other people and continued to be even towards the end of Ballad.

There is Nothing of Equal Value to Me

That's the magic of it. Y'all got too used to the fake 'Enemies to Lovers' trope where both of them 'hate' each other but secretly want one another.

Nah. These two can't stand being around each other.

That's what's going to make Elucien's book that much more delicious.

Especially now that Lucien AND Elain are finding their inner sass.

We get to enjoy the journey from when they are awkward and don't want to be around each other, dealing with this annoying bond that draws them together, adding in that frustration.

and then... the catalyst ... because Elain is going to have to talk to Lucien at some point, right? Especially if she were to reject the bond. She's going to have to be around Lucien if she were to insist she's part of the NC, considering how many roles Lucien juggles within the same court she claims she's a part of.

Then comes the buildup: the quips, the flustering, the 'why am I feeling jealous' moments, the gazes, the almost touches, the angst, the conversations, the confessions.

And finally, the big blowup where they realize just how perfect they are for each other and just how much they've been in denial.

Thats the story! Just how well-suited and perfect they are for each other and how long it will take for them to get there!!

We would get to squeal and scream and just get all these goosebumps for them to accept it. Like, close the book because of how cute it is.

Like, I don't want them to be together just because of the mating bond. The mating bond is that something something to make their story a little sweet and spicy. It's the secret ingredient to how they get together organically.

SJM gonna serve us and we are gonna get fed.

#elain x lucien #elucien #pro elucien #can you tell just how much I love this ship #reluctant fated lovers is just so yummy yummy #SJM already said that P&P is an inspo #how much more of a P&P beginning can you get with Elucien?

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emmi-kat · 5 months

Text

I just want to grab Riley Poole by the shoulders and shake some sense into him.

"You think like Ben and Ben is always right"

NO the HECK he is NOT!

BOY, Ben almost got you killed on MULTIPLE occasions!

He wouldn't have ever even known there was a map on the Declaration of Independence if you hadn't come along and helped him find The Charlotte. (And that's without that goofy line about Riley wanting a yacht. Ben spent 30 years trying to find Charlotte and wouldn't have come close without Riley's calculations.) Much less pull off that heist without your technical expertise. You literally guided him every step of the way!

Not to mention breaking into his ex's HOUSE to steal her government work ID/key card (which he again couldn't even do without you). Or treating her the way he did on the rest of that adventure. Or treating you the way he has! He should have been at your book signing. He could have been at your book signing (even with the after-presentation examination of the diary page and going hone with his dad, he still had time to sit wait for Riley who probably left his own signing early after his car got towed and he had to walk home). He brought a book to wait with!

Riley is too smart and talented and capable to depend on Ben Freaking Gates or to put Ben on a pedestal that way. He deserves so much more.

#National treasure #Nacho traysure #Ben gates #Riley poole #Hates ben gates club

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sainz-leclerc · 2 years

Note

Hey can you do one for Pierre gasly where you meet for the first time and he asks you out on a date

gotcha buddy 😌💕

Pierre was going to throw himself of the Eiffel Tower.

He was currently on vacation with Charles , Lando , Carlos and their girlfriends. Meaning , he was the only single pringle in the whole group.

Yuki was busy with his family so he couldn’t join them on this trip , leaving Pierre all alone.

The pairs kept taking photos and kissing , whispering love affirmations into each other’s ears.

“Pierre mate , mind taking a photo ?” Charles asked , hugging Charlotte close.

Nodding , the french man took the phone and snapped a few pics.

“Hey guys , I’m gonna climb a bit higher . Meet you all down in 30 minutes ish ?” The Alpha Tauri asked , wanting some relief from the couples and at the same time give them some privacy.

They all agreed , getting back to their partners. Pierre took the elevator up to the highest level and got out.

He slid down a wall , sitting down on the ground with a relief sigh.

“You alright monsieur ?” A voice startled him.

Turning his head to the right , he was meet with the prettiest eyes in the world he thought.

Those kind eyes were accompanied by a pair of rosy lips , giving him a soft smile.

“Yes yes , sorry for worrying you” the french man laughed , you joining him.

Assessing you , he noticed you were reading a book.

Curious and tempted to strike conversation with the very pretty lady next to him Pierre asked “what are you reading ?”

Looking up at him you grace him with another smile “Kisses and Croissants” you pointed towards the book “it’s about two teenagers falling in love in Paris . Cheesy right ?”

Pierre laughed at your comment , nodding “A bit , yeah”

“Can’t help it , it’s the romantic in me” you giggled.

“That’s why you’re in Paris ? To fall in love ?” the french man asked , a part of him curious to know if you were taken.

Smiling , you responded “kind of. I’m here with my friend group but all of them came with their partners so here i am” you pointed around the tower “reading about a french romance while basking away on top of the Eiffel Tower”

At that Pierre bounced up “Me too … Well , minus the book part”

That’s when he began telling you how he’s been third wheeling this whole week , you sharing your own experience.

Time flew while talking with you and soon enough Pierre’s phone started ringing.

“Mate where are you , we’re waiting for you by the bakery” Charles spoke into the phone.

Checking his watch , driver realized just how easily time flew while chatting with you.

“Yeah , I’ll be down in a moment” ending the call , he looked at you “How long are you staying here ?”

“Until next week”

Pierre smiled “perfect” he pulled a pen and a notepad out of his backpack “give me your number. I’ll hate myself if I don’t take you out on a date”

Giggling , you scribbled down your phone number onto the piece of paper with a small heart next to it.

Smiling, the french man stood up and called the elevator. Before getting in he turned to you “I don’t even know your name”

Standing up , you packed you book and approached the man. Kissing his cheek , you whispered into his ear “y/n”

And with that , you left with the other elevator.

The whole way down , Pierre was smiling like an idiot.

Spotting his friends , he approached the group, greeting everyone.

All six of them looked weirdly at Pierre , some smirking, others blushing.

“What ?”

It’s Carlos who spoke up first “Uh mate , you have something here” then pointed to his cheek.

Pulling out his phone , Pierre was met with a big kiss stain that made him smile.

“Had fun Pierre ?” Charles teased.

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thesupreme316 · 1 year

Note

Hey, this is my first request ever. So i’ll get straight to it. Could you do a HOOK fic/drabble/headcanon(you can pick) of him finding out you are a 2nd gen wrestler kid of HBK, Ted DiBiase or anyone else

I am HONORED that you chose me for your first request, hopefully, I did your idea justice

Reunited (And It Feels So Good): Hook X Reader

Genre: Fluff Headcanon, I don’t wanna spoil it but strangers/childhood friends to lovers???

Summary: Hook finds out a not-so-very-secret secret about you.

Word Count: 719

Supreme Speaks: tbh, i might do a fic based on this later on next month. thank you to the anon who requested this and I hope they (and everyone else) like it. i also wish everyone is doing well and remember you are loved and appreciated. Happy New Year!!

Warnings: None really, I TRIED MY BEST, I used gender-neutral terms to appeal to everyone

Taglist (DM if you want to be added): @hooks-martin @triscillal @diabloguapos @wwenhlimagines @sheinthatfandom

AEW has many second-generation wrestlers such as Brian Pillman Jr., Brock Anderson, The Gunn Boys, and Hook

Hook didn’t really “get along” with the others

He just wasn’t that interested in talking with them

Or with anyone outside his friend group

That was until you arrived on AEW’s scene

Many people, fans and wrestlers alike, were excited to see you in AEW

You have made a name for yourself all around the world for your wrestling skills, storytelling abilities, charisma, and attractiveness

And slightly because you are Shawn Michaels’ child

Yeah, that’s right. Mr. Wrestlemania, The Heartbreak Kid is your dad

Even though it was a blessing to have him as your dad and mentor, you wanted to become a wrestling legend by yourself

So your ring name was completely different from his and you barely mentioned him in promos/interviews (essentially keeping your personal life very private)

But everyone can see the resemblance when you step in the ring, especially when you went against Natalya or Charlotte Flair

Anyways back to Hook

He was completely “hooked” when he saw you for the first time, to the extent that he actually started to talk to you first

It surprised many people backstage as they know Hook to be cold to others

And as you were seen as an untouchable person (being the child of one of the most prominent figures of professional wrestling)

As he started to talk to you more, he couldn’t help but admire you, your accomplishments, and your personality, and vice versa

However, he felt more familiar with you. Like he already met you before or something. But he just passed it off as the butterflies in his stomach growing

After being in AEW for about a month, you and Hook started to date

Many people started to notice Hook being happier and slightly more friendly (not too much) to others, including his dad, Taz

While his son was telling him about his significant other, Taz couldn’t help but smile and laugh

“It’s so nice to see you two reconnecting after all these years.”

“Reconnecting? What do you mean?”

Taz then opened a little book of memories of his career and flipped to a random page before showing it to his son

“The number of times Shawn and I had to meet up at the park or backstage for your little playdates-“

Hook blocked out his dad as he analyzed the picture of a younger him and what seemed like a younger you smiling at each other, while Taz and Shawn were in the background

"You two were very close until they went to live with their mom full-time while Shawn was on the road. Y'all just went separate ways and sort of forgot about each other."

Everything started to click in his head as he picked up his phone and dialed your number

It made sense why you two got along so easily, how you had the same opinions on different topics, how it felt like you two went through the same experiences

He vaguely remembered you, but he didn’t know it was you

As soon as you picked up he said, “You’re Shawn Michaels’ kid?”

“Yeah…I thought you knew.”

Now he felt like an idiot…

“It's like I knew, but I didn't know it was you. It's complicated-”

“I thought it was a fact that everyone chooses not to discuss like how you’re Taz’s son.”

After explaining why you didn't bring up your dad (mainly because everyone talks about him or associates you with him), Hook said he wasn't mad but just surprised and completely understood your reasoning

"But this also explains why I felt so vulnerable with you. I'm happy we were able to find each other again"

After getting off the phone, Hook sent you the picture

A couple of moments, he was notified that you posted on Instagram

It was the picture of you two and then a more recent picture with the caption "day 1 🤍"

He found himself smiling at the post, also happy that he found you again

#aew #all elite wrestling #aew hook #aew hook x reader #aew hook imagine #aew hook fic #hook x reader #hook imagine #aew headcanon

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lovelyleclercs · 1 year

Text

Chapter One- The Day Everything Changed

Arthur Leclerc x Sofia Sine

-> What was supposed to be a fun day of traveling to Ibiza very quickly turned into a day Sofia Sine wanted to forget.

Warnings: Mentions of puking, dizziness, headaches, doctors offices, blood work/needles, cancer (if you read the original version of this story, you know why)

word count: 2067

Authors note: I will be posting a run down of what this story is about + it's background story for first time readers of In Sickness & In Health! I will have it linked here

January 5th

The warm sunlight found its way through the small crack in Sofia’s blinds as the alarm on her phone began to go off. It was quiet at first, but slowly got louder and louder with each ring Sofia ignored. When brought out of her deep sleep, Sofia rolled over in her bed, grabbing her phone to stop the repetitive sound. After successfully getting the alarm to stop, she laid on her back and stared up at the ceiling in an attempt to get the room to stop spinning.

Over the past couple of days, Sofia had been feeling pretty off. She had a hard time keeping anything down, her head was constantly throbbing, and she was completely exhausted. The Dizziness, however, was a new symptom for her.

Unfortunately for Sofia, this strange illness had prevented her from hopping on a plane with her sister Charlotte, and the Leclerc brothers early that morning. The group had been planning this trip to Ibiza for months, Sofia had been looking forward to it since the Abu Dhabi Grand Prix when everything was booked and paid for. As much as Sofia hated having to cancel, she knew it would be best for her to stay back and get some rest.

With her symptoms only getting worse, as well as new ones arising, Sofia decided to make an appointment with her physician, in hopes that maybe she could get prescribed some medication to help her battle whatever illness she had caught. Sofia glanced over at her phone, the time reading 7:15. She had 45 minutes to get ready and make her way across the street to the office.

Taking a deep breath, Sofia stepped out of bed and slowly made her way over to her closet. She had no intention of dressing up, but knew that she couldn’t just show up in her pajamas. After getting changed into some sweats and a random T-shirt Arthur had leant her months ago, she made her way to the bathroom to finish getting ready. What would normally take her 10 minutes, had ended up taking her nearly 30. She was weak, tired and very, very sick.

Somehow, someway, Sofia had made it to her appointment right on time. As she approached the check-in desk, she smiled slightly. “Hello there, appointment for Sofia Sine, 8am with Dr. M?”

The lady behind the desk smiled and nodded, her dark brown locks of hair bobbing as she did so. “Yes! You can actually go through this door and down the hallway to the left. Dr. M is waiting for you in room number 4”

Sofia thanked the kind lady for her help before starting her journey to find room number 4. As she walked down the hallway to the left, she noticed that the room numbers went backwards starting from 10. She was thankful that the room number hadn’t been any higher, as she wasn’t sure she would be able to walk much further than that at the moment.

When she approached the room with the big white number four on the door, she opened the door slowly before stepping inside. When she had closed the door, she looked to her right to find Dr. M sitting in her chair going through some emails. “Oh! There you are! Hello Sof, how have you been?”

Sofia laughed a little before sitting down on the bench that had that crinkly white paper laid out on it. “I’ve been way better… I won’t deny it. How have you been?”

Dr. M smiled and moved her rolling chair closer to Sofia, leaving her laptop behind at the counter. “Oh you know, the same old same old. I practically live in this building so this is about the extent of my life” she said with a small laugh. “So tell me, what brings you in today?”

Sofia took a deep breath and sighed, fidgeting with the hem of her shirt nervously. Despite liking Dr. M, Sofia absolutely hated doctors visits. “Well, a few days ago I had started to feel… off I guess? Over the past couple of days, I have had a hard time keeping things down, my head is constantly pounding, I'm feeling very weak and exhausted, and on top of that, when I woke up this morning I was extremely dizzy.”

Dr. M nodded along as Sofia began listing off her symptoms. After Sofia had finished talking, Dr. M let out a small sigh. “Well sweetie, I know you hate getting your blood drawn, but I would like to do some blood work. I just want to make sure it’s nothing too serious, ok?”

Sofia nodded slightly, hating every word that was currently coming out of Dr. M’s mouth. Sofia hated doctors visits, but she hated needles even more.

“I will be right back with all of my equipment, ok? I will even bring you back some crackers and juice, ok? Hang tight” After a quick nod from Sofia, Dr. M left the room quickly, not wanting to leave Sofia alone for too long.

As Sofia waited for her to come back, she looked around the small room hoping to find a way to distract herself from what was about to happen. She noticed that there had been a magazine tucked away in the corner of the room. Curious, she got off the bench and grabbed it from the shelf. As she quickly flipped through it, she stopped on page five when she saw Arthur and Charles both posing side by side on the page. “Leclerc Brother’s Road to Formula Racing” was printed in big bold letters across the top of the page. A small smile appeared across Sofia’s face as she snapped a photo of the page and sent it to the group chat.

Sofia: You guys follow me everywhere. Even to the doctors office!

Art: Please tell me you didn’t read that

Charles: That is literally the worst photo of us!

Sofia: Oh I’m definitely reading this while I get my blood drawn!

Art: Blood drawn? Sounds serious. Keep us updated?:(

Charlotte: Please tell us when you get answers!

Lorenzo: ^^

Charles: We wish you were here with us! Call us when you get home!

Sofia was about to respond when she was interrupted by a knock on the door. “Come in!” she said before putting her phone back into her pocket.

Dr. M walked in with a tray of things that she needed to perform the blood work. “It’s just me. Let's get this over with?”

“Please.” Sofia said as she held out her arm.

1 hour later

Sofia had pretty much finished the entire magazine front to back before Dr. M had come back with her test results. She placed the magazine down beside her before looking up at Dr. M. “Let me guess, we did all that blood work for nothing? I probably just have the flu or something don’t I”

Dr. M smiled sadly, sitting down in her chair that was once again right in front of Sofia. “Sof… I’m not going to lie to you, it’s not great news.”

Sofia’s smile faded as she saw the look of concern on her doctor's face. “What do you mean? What is it?”

“You have cancer…”

When Sofia heard those words, everything around her suddenly didn’t matter anymore. Her world had started to feel so much smaller. She didn’t remember much after that. She didn’t recall checking out of the doctor's office or crossing the street to get back to her apartment. She didn’t remember locking the door behind her or curling up on the couch. The only thing her mind could focus on was the word cancer.

A few hours passed by and Sofia hadn’t moved from her fetal position on the couch. She had gone through nearly an entire box of tissues at that point, using each little square piece to wipe away all of her tears. Her phone had been dinging the whole time, texts from Charlotte, Charles, Arthur and Lorenzo flooding her notification center. She chose to ignore all of them. There was no way she could tell the Leclerc’s, not after they lost their father to cancer.

When Sofia finally ran out of tissues, she got up off the couch and made her way back to her bedroom. Before laying down in bed, Sofia paused and looked at the photo she had on her nightstand. It was a photo of her and Arthur nearly four years ago now. In the photo, they were both holding up a peace sign with their hands while standing in front of the ferrari factory. The photo had been taken the day Arthur signed a contract with the Ferrari Driver’s Academy. Arthur practically begged Sofia to come with him on that trip. She even took the week off of school just to accompany him in Italy. The trip was by far one of her favorites to look back on. It was the last trip that Herve took with them before his diagnosis. Tearing up all over again, Sofia picked the picture frame up off of her nightstand and gently brushed her thumb over it. The idea of having to break the news to Arthur absolutely broke her.

Sofia and Arthur had been the best of friends for well over a decade now. The pair met when they were around five years old. They had both been playing on some random playground in the center of Monaco in the middle of July. Their parents exchanged numbers and arranged several more playdates. Ever since then, the two had been inseparable. They did everything together- birthdays, special events, milestones, achievements- every moment of their lives was shared together.

With Arthur’s first year of F2 being this year, news like this would absolutely destroy him. Sofia knew that if she told him, he would quit racing just to be by her side 24/7- and she wasn’t going to allow that. Not when he had worked so hard to get to this point in his career-and especially not when he promised Herve he would race in F1 someday.

After a few moments, she put the photo back in its designated spot on her nightstand before climbing into bed. She grabbed her phone and finally decided to open the group chat that had been blowing up all day.

Art: It’s been like four hours, Sof. Are you ok?

Charles: I’m sure she’s fine, you know how forgetful she is

Lorenzo: you two are literally sitting next to each other outside right now, can you communicate IRL instead of blowing up our phones

Charlotte: Good call. Maybe she is sleeping, we should stop texting in case it wakes her

As she was about to continue reading the conversation, Arthur’s name appeared at the top of her screen. He was calling, probably to say goodnight like he always did when the two were apart. After taking a deep breath, Sofia answered the phone. “Hey, you. How is Ibiza?”

“Sof, thank god… We haven’t heard from you since like 8am. Ibiza is fine, I wish you were here though. I keep seeing all of these fun things that I know you would love.. It sucks. I was so excited to explore this place with you. We do everything together, you know?”

Sofia stayed silent for a moment. Hearing how sad Arthur was to be in Ibiza without her practically broke her heart. “I know, Art. I wish I was there. It’s pretty lonely here. It’s so quiet in this apartment.”

“I could come home? Sit with you while you try to get over whatever it is you magically caught”

You sighed and teared up a little. “If only it was that easy, Art”

“Are you ok? You sound like you’re crying… seriously if you want me to come home…”

“I’m ok, Art. Promise. Have fun in Ibiza ok? Bring me back something fun?”

“Sof…”

“I love you, art. goodnight.”

After hanging up the phone, she turned over in her bed and closed her eyes, hoping to forget about today. Everything about today was a nightmare. She had even tried pinching herself in hopes that it would pull her out of her misery. Unfortunately for her, today was the day that everything changed. It was her new reality, and there was no way of escaping back to the way things used to be.

Chapter 2

#arthur leclerc #arthur leclerc imagine #arthur leclerc fluff #arthur leclerc fanfiction #f1 pov #f1 fanfic #f1 imagine #f2 imagine #f3 imagine

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lorirwritesfanfic · 5 months

Text

The Fairytale Ball

Book: The Royal Heir Pairing: Liam Rys x MC (Jade) Characters: Liam Rys, MC (Jade), royal heir (Elise), Maxwell Beaumont, Hana Lee Rating: T Word count: 3415 Reading time: ~13min Summary: The Queen's Ball is the event of the year for the young generations. But Princess Elise isn't as happy everyone hoped she would be on her debut. Based on the prompt: @choicesnovchallenge: National Princess Day

Author’s notes:

Jade Bourbon-Rys, Elise Bourbon-Rys, Charlotte Amaranth, Zain and Gael Maldonado are creations of this author. The other characters belong to Pixelberry Studios;

This oneshot is part of Liam and Jade's universe, but I'm sure you'll have no problem reading it if you never read anything from my TRR series.

"One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two, three," Hana counted as she passed by, watching every young couple dancing in the ballroom.

"Relax your shoulders, Toshio." Maxwell instructed, gently tapping a young boy's shoulder.

"That's beautiful, Marnie!" Hana praised another girl.

In the corner of the ballroom, Elise counted the steps as she tried to follow her partner's steps. Her mother and godmother always said Cordonian Waltz wasn't that hard. She just had to let her partner lead. Unfortunately, the dance partner Queen Mother Regina chose for her wasn't as good advertised. At least, not in her opinion.

"Ow!" The boy complained, wincing in pain.

"Sorry, Zain..." She said with a weak and apologetic smile.

"Is everything okay?" Hana asked, placing a hand on Elise's shoulder.

Elise grimaced. She knew her godmother wouldn't scold her as her grandmother probably would. But she still didn't wish to disappoint.

"It's alright, ma'am," Zain forced a smile as he continued to dance.

How could he go on, given how hard she stepped on his foot? It was a mystery to her.

The Queen's Ball was an annual ball/cotillion hosted by Queen Jade of Cordonia during Elise’s month of birthday to raise funds for the orphanages and community centers of the kingdom. It was a tradition in which all noble women she knew were involved and her mother was adamant about the princess joining the young couples dance this year. However, she couldn't say she was as excited to join as she hoped to be.

"One, two, three. One, two, three. One, two—"

"OW!" Zain whined.

This time, however, it got a few other couple’s attention. The music stopped.

"Crap... I'm so sorry, Zain..."

"It's okay, Your Highness. I'm fine," the boy murmured.

"Watch out for Princess Klutzy, Zain!" A female voice in the middle of the room mocked. A voice Elise was unfortunately quite familiar with.

Suppressed giggles echoed in the ballroom.

Elise glared at Lady Charlotte, who replied with a smirk.

"That's enough." Maxwell called out, a rare scowl adorning her godfather's face. "Back to your places, everyone!"

"Pay close attention to your partner, ladies. And don't forget your posture," Hana said, roughly straightening Charlotte's head.

Elise pressed her lips together to hide a smile when Zain winced again.

"Are you sure you're okay?"

"Yeah... I'm kinda beat from football practice."

The princess frowned watching the boy kept dancing, trying to disguise he was limping slightly.

"It's okay if you admit I hurt your foot. We can take a break."

"I'm fine, Your Highness."

"You don't have to play nice with me. And you don't have to call me Your Highness all the time. I don’t call Lord Zain of Bellmere."

"All right... If you let me lead, we'll do a lot better, you know," Zain suggested.

Elise smiled shyly. "Okay..."

Maybe she was overthinking again and just needed to chill. She had tons of dance classes over the years. Cordonian Waltz wasn't that hard after all.

For the next couple of minutes, things went smoothly between them. The princess even started to enjoy the dance and the company of the young Earl of Bellmere.

"One, two, three. One, two, three. Excellent! Now spin!" Hana instructed.

"Ready?" Zain asked.

"Yeah," Elise nodded.

But as Zain lifted her arm for the princess to spin, a couple bumped into them, pushing them both on the floor.

Laughter rose in the ballroom as Hana and Maxwell rushed to help Elise and Zain.

"Damnit!" Zain complained, massaging his left foot.

"I'm so sorry..."

"Are you two alright?" Hana asked in worry.

"My foot hurts..." Zain winced.

Elise frowned.

"I told you Princess two left feet would hurt you." Charlotte snickered.

Something snapped on Elise as she heard Charlotte's voice again. Standing up, the princess stomped her way to the other girl and jumped over her.

"Elise, no!" Maxwell yelled and darted to the princess, followed by the royal guards.

"You stuck-up bitch!" The princess bellowed as she mounted on the girl, grabbing her hair with both hands.

Before Elise could do any real damage, four guards split the girls while the others sent everybody out.

A few hours later

Steps and murmurs reverberated through the walls as Elise sobbed in her room. The Royal guard may be discreet, but the servants loved to gossip. By the time she locked herself in her room, the entire kingdom already knew she got into another fight with Charlotte Amaranth again. But having her name on the tabloids and strangers judging her was nothing compared to Queen Jade’s reaction. And the princess certainly didn’t want to face her mother now.

Just then, a gentle knock on her door interrupted her thoughts.

“Go away!” She whined.

Much to her disappointment, the door opened.

“Hey, you can’t tell the King to go away.”

Elise sat up as she recognized the voice. The moment her father sat on the bed, she wrapped her arms around his neck. “Dad!” She croaked.

“It’s okay, my Lil Bunny…” Liam murmured.

“Is it though?”

“I just talked to Lord Zain and his parents. He had already injured his toe during football practice. He just didn’t tell anyone because he didn’t want to be cut out of the team before Junior League started.”

Elise pulled away from the embrace. “But I stepped on his foot over three times!”

“Zain mentioned it, but he still doesn’t blame you. His doctor also said that landing on his feet when he fell most likely was the real cause of the injury.”

“Fine. Now what?"

“As we speak Maxwell and Hana are searching for a new dance partner for you. So now we have another matter to talk about..."

“Ugh…” The princess laid down again, pressing her face on a pillow.

“What happened during the rehearsal?”

“You know exactly what happened," she grumbled.

"I do. But I still want to hear your version of the incident."

Her father had a point. As always.

She then sat up again and began to speak. "I hate Charlotte!"

"Hate is one very strong word."

"It's how I feel about her!"

"Very well. Does it justify you mounting on top of Lady Charlotte to pull her hair and beat her up?" Liam arched an eyebrow.

"She said what happened to Zain was my fault!"

"Elise, you've had spats with her before, but it never came to physical fight. What happened this afternoon that made you cross that line?"

The princess looked down at her hands.

"Is there something you're not telling me?"

"She is a bully, dad."

"I see..." Liam said, not surprised to hear that Madeleine's only child took after her mother.

"I don't care when she says something about me..." Elise fiddled with the hem of her sweater.

"Did she say anything about something else?"

"Charlotte said Aunt Hana needs to grow a backbone. She put a melted candy bar on Sophie's seat to make it look like crap and mocked her in front of the entire school."

Liam's eyes widened in surprise. "That's why Sophie was upset today."

"The only reason I didn't beat that girl up at school was because Ava and Louis stopped me so I wouldn't get suspended."

"I assume what happened this afternoon was the last straw."

"Yeah..."

Liam pinched the bridge of his nose in annoyance.

"Are you mad at me?"

"No. I don't approve of what you did. This is absolutely not how we raised you and your siblings, but I understand your reasons."

"How bad is the press talking about it?"

"They're loving it. The rivalry between you two is being strongly associated with the one your mother had with Madeleine during my social season and engagements."

"Do they think Charlotte and I dislike each other because of a guy?!" Elise made a face. "Tabloids are so stupid."

Liam chuckled. "They usually are. Little did they know only Jade was fighting about a guy."

"Oh?"

"That's a story for later."

"Okay... What do we do now?"

"You go back to being my sweet daughter and future heir of the throne while your mother and I talk to the Royal Communications department to handle the press."

"But Charlotte's mom is the head of Royal Communications! Lady Madeleine will make it worse!"

"How so?"

"She doesn't like me."

"Madeleine doesn't like anyone in our family except Regina and Leo. But she's still loyal to the Crown."

"Really?"

"Really."

"Whoa..." Elise mumbled in astonishment. "Okay. If you say so..."

"You still have to apologize to her."

"Dad!"

"I'm not asking you to be friends with Lady Charlotte. Just be polite."

"But she—"

"Do it for Regina's sake. Your mother and I will be present to ensure you'll keep it civil."

Elise folded her arms. "How do you know Charlotte won't be the one to start a fight?"

"I was watching the rehearsal from the security cameras when the fight started. She can't win a fight against Sophie's turtle Pabblo."

Father and daughter exchanged looks and chuckled.

"Dad?"

"Yes?"

“I don’t wanna dance anymore.”

"Pardon?"

"I'm not going to dance."

"Sweetheart, you've been talking about partaking in the Young Couples Dance for years," Liam tried to reason.

"I lost my dance partner, I'm the talk of the kingdom today... Maybe it's for the best." She gave her shoulders.

"You know your mother won't like this, don't you?"

"Can you talk to her?"

"Are you sure?"

She nodded.

"I can try..."

"Thanks," Elise murmured, resting her head on her father's shoulder.

About an hour later

"She's not quitting!"

"My love..."

"She's not quitting, Liam!" Jade demanded, glaring at her husband from her vanity dresser mirror. "Our daughter is not a quitter!"

"Elise doesn't want to cause a commotion with the press and the guests being in the same room as Charlotte."

"That's it?! Fine! I'll cut mini Madeleine out of the dance." Jade put down her face cream on the nightstand with full force. "There! Problem solved."

"Jade..." Liam called, staring deadpan at his wife.

"What? No one is gonna miss her anyway."

Liam suppressed a chuckle as he sat on the opposite side of the bed. "Regina won't be happy with this..."

"I don't care!"

"Don't you?"

The couple exchanged knowing looks.

Jade rolled her eyes. "Why do you always have to be reasonable?"

"Somebody has to be. Plus, I know you don't want to have animosity with Regina."

"I created this ball for Elise! I'll be damned if I allow Madeleine's daughter or anyone to get in my daughter's way of having her dance!" Jade fumed.

"Did you truly create this ball for her or for yourself?"

"You know precisely why this ball exists." Jade scowled.

Liam looked back at his wife and arched an eyebrow.

"Sure... Maybe I've been daydreaming about Elise's first dance with her high school crush for years. But I created the ball because she wanted to dress and dance like a princess."

"Jade, she is a princess. It's her birthright."

"This is not about monarchy and titles, Liam. Do you remember when we attended Calenvia's Baile de Debutantes? And the Queen's Debutants Ball in the UK? How mesmerized she was by cousin Manuela dancing with her girlfriend?"

"Yes."

"Well, that's the only thing she hasn't experienced yet!"

"A fairytale moment."

"Exactly!"

"She was a five year old fascinated by fairytales. And I doubt her fairytale moment would come given how she barely seemed comfortable around Rashad's son."

"You don't get it, do you?" The queen pursed her lips in annoyance. "She has a Pinterest board with inspirations since she was seven. She booked herself an appointment with Galia Lahav to get an exclusive design for her gown. She may not have a crush on Zain, but they looked good together. We all saw the day she explicitly told Zain what type of flowers he should get for her corsage and his lapel!" Jade then stood up and sat next to her husband. "I'm telling you: Elise wants this. She cannot let go of her childhood dream just because that little project of Regina George pissed off my daughters."

"Hmm..." Liam pondered for a moment. "Fair point. But I guess we both know there's only one person who can convince her to attend," he said, giving his wife a knowing look.

"What if she thinks I'm forcing her to do it?"

"You're fully capable of persuading anyone, my love," he said, kissing the back of her hand.

"Okay..." She heaved a sigh, resting her head on his shoulder.

Liam smiled as he once again realized how much his daughter took after his wife.

The next day

As the young princess finished her homework, Elise left the library and walked down the hallway, looking out the window. The Queen's

Ball night was near, so the servants began decorating the gardens, adding snowflake-shaped string lights on the walls and on the maze. The Winter Wonderland theme was her idea and she was completely sure it'd look amazing. Too bad it felt like a dream she would have to postpone for a while.

"Elise?"

The princess stopped in her tracks as she heard her mother's voice. They haven't talked since her mother left the palace to take Zain to the hospital. The queen looked furious then. Was she still mad at her?

The princess turned around to look at her. "Yes, ma'am."

"I heard you have a free schedule now. Follow me to the entertainment room."

"The entertainment room?"

"You'll understand why soon."

Oh, man... Was she going to use one of those educational videos just like the ones her parents showed Louis about STIs? Educational videos were part of her father's style of educating. Her mother's approach was a bit more straightforward.

Once they stepped into the room, Elise took a seat in one of the chairs on the back and Jade followed. On the cinema screen, small clips of Elise as a toddler dancing in the ballroom with the queen, watching her parents dance then joining them, clapping as she watched the first young couples and her dance lessons while growing up.

As her eyes welled up, Jade changed seats to be closer to her daughter. "I know why you don't want to join the Young Couples Dance after what happened yesterday. Facing the press after a scandal isn't easy. But I want you to know why I created and have been hosting The Queen's Ball all these years."

"What?" Tears streamed down Elise's face. "But you always said it's an event to celebrate Grandma Eleanor and Grandma Elaine and help kids in need."

"I know. I'll keep mentioning them and their charity work they did because The Royal Communications said it'd be a good excuse to turn a ball into a charity event and attract more donations. But its first name was Fairytale Ball."

"Fairytale ball?"

"Yes." Jade reached for her daughter's hand. "All I wanted was to give you a fairytale moment."

"Mom..." Elise threw her arms around her mother's neck and hugged her tightly. "Aren't you mad?"

"I should be." Jade replied, stroking Elise's hair. "I should scold you and ground you for weeks. But honestly? I wish I had slapped some people's faces during your father's social season and engagement to Madeleine."

"People?" Elise pulled away and stared wide-eyed at her mother. "Who?"

"Literally everyone in this palace except Hana and Max."

"Even uncle Drake?"

"Oh, sweetie... Drake was the worst sometimes..."

"Really?"

"We can talk about that later. Right now, I want to know what you want to do."

"I want the fairytale."

"Okay."

"But I don't have a dance partner!"

"Actually, Maxwell found three candidates for you. Next?

"Mom, there's the press…"

"Your father and I can handle them. What else?"

"I don't want to be anywhere near Charlotte."

"I can throw her in the dungeon."

"We don't have a dungeon..."

"Well, not in this palace... But my guards can certainly escort Charlotte to Valtoria lower ground floor..." Jade commented with a sly grin.

"Mom!"

"I'm joking."

"You're so not!"

"You say it as if anyone is going to miss her..."

Mom and daughter shared a glance and laughed.

"I want to dance. But I don't want to harm anyone in the process."

"I know..." Jade smiled, glad to realize how much her daughter had in common with her husband. "We'll figure it out. Now, onto more important things." Jade fished her phone out of her pocket and showed it to Elise. "These are your possible dance partners."

"A girl?!"

"And this lovely gender-fluid person who just won a scholarship at The Royal Dance Academy."

"Really?"

"What? We're keeping our options open just in case."

Elise looked at each picture, and though one person caught her eye, she prompted. "Mom, I don't know... Is there a way I can talk to them?"

The queen smirked. "I thought you'd never ask."

A few days later

Purple, blue and white lights tinted the Royal Palace walls as the guests arrived for the Queen's Ball, one of the most opulent events of Cornodia's social calendar. Among the many attractions of the night, young members of nobility and wealthy families across the world traveled to the Cordonian capitol to partake in the Young Couples Dance. Their hopes were to be introduced to the crème de la crème of world society, sharing their accomplishments and plans for the future.

This year, however, the press was far more interested in news about the Royal Heir, Princess Elise Bourbon-Rys. After the incident between the future queen and Lady Madeleine's daughter, rumors about more spats, feuds between the princess's friends and her rival's at school and possible absence of both of them from the ball spread fast. Yet no one from the palace confirmed nor denied any information. Would the princess miss her own mother's ball? Or was it Lady Charlotte who took the fall?

"Your Majesties! A word, please!" A reporter chanted.

The king and queen smiled to the press, signaling for them to step closer.

"Good evening, everyone!" Liam replied.

"We hope you're enjoying the ball," Jade continued.

"Lady Charlotte just arrived with her family. Does it mean Princess Elise is still grounded?"

"Elise wasn't grounded. Queen Jade and I believe that encouraging our children to do volunteer work is a much more effective way to teach them about compassion and non-aggressive methods to deal with their feelings."

"Can we expect the Princess to attend the ball then?" A paparazzi asked.

"Yes. Elise is preparing herself to join the festivities, just like all the other teenagers partaking in the Young Couples Dance," the queen affirmed.

"Aren't you concerned about another disagreement between the young ladies, sir?"

"There's no reason for concern. They've made amends that same day and they've been working together at the senior's shelter."

"Are they friends now?"

"What about the situation with Lord Zain?"

The reporters continued to ask more questions when the Queen's assistant approached her and whispered something in her ear.

"We would be glad to talk to you some more, but the first attraction is about to start. Please join us in the celebration of this magical evening honoring the children of our country," the queen stated before walking away with the king.

After outstanding performances of Cordonian Royal Ballet academy and a play presented by Queen Eleanor's children home, it was time for the Young Couples Dance. All couples were introduced by the herald and as soon as they took their places in the ballroom, musicians played a traditional Cordonian Waltz. The crowd eagerly waited for any kind of mishap or incident. Contrary to all expectations, the young couples gracefully danced to the song, making it another successful performance.

"Maxwell and Hana did an excellent job with the kids this year," Liam commented.

"I know. Aren't they lovely?" Jade beamed as the couples spinned in perfect synchrony.

"They are. But there's one couple stealing all the attention though." The king nodded towards Princess Elise, who was all smiles to her dance partner. "Who is he?"

"Gael Maldonado, heir to the Ducado de Rivas."

"A Calenvian lord."

"Maxwell was betting on Amalas's child, but I saw how our Lil Bunny was like when she facetimed Gael."

"I see... Did Drake run a background check on him?" Liam asked, scrutinizing the boy.

"What would he—" the Queen then arched an eyebrow in amusement. "Are you jealous, Your Majesty?" Jade teased.

"No..."

"Liam..."

"It's just a precaution."

"You don't say..." she grinned.

"Our children won't have a social season. We need to find out more about their possible..." Liam made a face as the boy whispered something in Elise's ear, making her giggle. "...suitors."

Jade chuckled, hugging the king's arm. "Honey, they just met. Let them enjoy the night with no pressure."

"Are you really not worried?"

"Why would I be? Look at them!"

Elise beamed as Gael spun her around and held her with back pressed against his chest.

The king then gave his wife a knowing look. "You already did a background check on him, didn’t you?”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about…” Jade reached for her champagne flute to avoid his gaze.

“Uh huh…”

The king and queen smiled proudly, watching their eldest daughter dance.

#choices fanfic #the royal heir #liam rys #liam x mc #hana lee #maxwell beaumont #choicesnovember2023 #lorirwritesfanfic #lorircreates #liam and jade's love story

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