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#the queen's garden
skipppppy · 6 months
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Oh fuck I uh I just realised that Everything Stays now also gets to be about Simon. He’s changed so much but he’s also exactly the same. The world he lives in is different, alien, isolating. He was a normal man, then he spent some 1000 years in a dreamlike state, and now he’s normal again but everything is different. He carries that trauma in everything he does even though he’s “better now.” He was waiting in the garden so long for someone to turn him around but the underside is lighter. Only he seems to notice that he’s faded. Ever so slightly. Daily and nightly. In little ways
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schwoobzilla · 2 months
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comfort characters for a Free Palestine
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mebis-art-dump · 2 months
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faint familiarity
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comradekatara · 2 months
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katara’s role as the show’s narrator is so underrated because no one really seems to understand just how deeply katara is impacted by the nature of stories, with regards to their craft, their promulgation, and their cultural significance, so they don’t truly register the sheer metatextual brilliance of having her be the resident storyteller of the narrative itself.
the first thing atla establishes about katara is that she is someone who is fueled by dreams and fantasies, and believes in a return to a world where “all four nations lived together in harmony” (which is obviously an illusory ideal, as there was always geopolitical strife even if it wasn’t as overt as the devastating imperialist project they are now subject to), described to her by kanna’s stories about the old days.
katara is someone who indulges in fantasies of adventure and heroism, projecting these ideals onto both herself and others. she is an idealist in the truest, purest sense of the word, and what is an idealist if not someone who tells themselves stories about a more beautiful world to survive?
it’s no coincidence that the episode where katara successfully scares everyone with a very compellingly narrated campfire story is the same episode that she must contend with her heritage, the ominous lacunae in her stories, the pitfalls of her own naive idealization. it’s also not a coincidence that the story she tells was first told to her by her mother.
katara grew up hearing stories passed down to her from kanna and kya, and those stories gave her hope and brought her the possibility of happiness in a bleak, cruel world where she was ultimately alone. there used to be people like her, said the stories, and they were brave, and they fought til their final breaths to hold onto their culture, their love for their people, their humanity.
well that’s who i’m going to be, says katara. someone who fights, someone who cannot be knocked down (because there is no one else left to take her place), someone who will never cease to have faith in the capacity of others for good, for truth, and for justice.
stories are her heritage, they are her culture, they are how she defines herself and how she understands the world around her. stories are how she copes, how she survives; they are all she has left to cling to. and sometimes they are reductive, and sometimes they are outright false, but that’s okay too. she grows, she adjusts her narratives, she learns to leave room for more grey in her neat tapestries of black and white. stories can define a tragic past, but they can also pave the way for a better future. she keeps telling stories.
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ohinako · 2 months
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homeofthepeculiar · 1 month
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Over the Garden Wall - Chapter One
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Chapter One - Loathing Boredom
I'm baaaackkkkkkk and back on my Bridgerton shit.
After I watched Queen Charlotte, I couldn't get this idea out of my mind. And, as you know, I'm a simp for Benedict.
Takes place during season 2 as well as the "present" storyline of Queen Charlotte.
This fic will be really heavy, however, so please keep in mind the tags if you choose to read it! Even though our character is the daughter of Queen Charlotte and King George, there will not be any physical descriptors. It's Bridgerton, so...you know. Use your imagination.
I hope you enjoy it <3
Benedict Bridgerton Masterlist
Series Masterlist
Warnings: Y/N used, fem pronouns, unrealistic/dramatic description of mental illness, isolation, feelings of suffocation
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Princess!Reader
Word Count: 4.8k
As always, 18+ Minors DNI
It was always quiet in the cupboard. That was her only safe haven. It was the one place that she could turn to where nothing could find her. The voices and the doom didn’t exist there. It was only her and the dust bunnies. She preferred it that way. 
Y/N was the youngest child in a long line of children. But she never felt as though she had siblings. They were well about their lives by the time she really had any care for them. And, they kept their distance from her and their parents. It was hard to grow up as they did, so she didn’t fault them. However, in that large house, there was nothing to do. And with her illness, there was nowhere to go. 
She had been sequestered to a wing in the house for as long as she could remember. Her family rarely found themselves there. The only people she saw were her staff or her father when she was allowed to journey to their home in Kew which he called his home. 
Life was not easy to live when you were the daughter of the King and Queen of England.
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Y/N’s father had always been sick. No one really talked about it and when she would ask her mother, she would be brushed off. He would have good days and bad days. When she was younger, the good days far outweighed the bad, but that changed quite quickly. The last time Y/N truly remembered her father being fully there was when she had disappeared. 
Charlotte loathed being woken up. She was The Queen, there was no reason for anyone to wake her up…ever. She was allowed the grace of sleeping in and waking up whenever she pleased. So when Brimsley woke her up one night in a panic, she feared the worst. 
“He’s dead, isn’t he?” she asked, terrified. 
“N-No, Your Majesty. It is…Princess Y/N.”
Charlotte furrowed her brow and stood from her bed. One of her lady’s maids was already standing there with a night coat. She followed Brimsley’s hurried footsteps into the East Wing of the house. The commotion had woken the rest of the children that were still living there. 
“What is it, Mother?” Alfred wondered. He had always been the closest to Y/N seeing as they were the closest in age. Still, that was all about to change. 
Sophia, Mary, and Adolphus hurried behind them. Charlotte paid them no mind. When Brimsley opened the doors to the stateroom. Charlotte stopped immediately in the doorway, making her children run into her. 
There were tubes of paint littering the ground, some of them spilling out paint onto the carpet. In the distance, on the opposite side of the room, she saw a figure disguised by shadow. And, in front of the figure, was a large mural. A synthesis of all the colors of the rainbow that formed something of a galaxy. And then she heard her daughter and her blood ran cold. 
“Im…Impressionists are…they don’t see the sky. They don’t…They don’t know what they…”
Sophia opened her mouth to begin to speak, but Charlotte held up a hand to stop her. 
“Y/N,” Charlotte called out, continuing on into the room. She stepped in the paint but didn’t mind. “Y/N,” Charlotte called out again, this time more forceful. As she neared she could hear that her daughter was still muttering to herself. 
“They d-don’t see the stars…” Her neck twitched. “The stars.”
Charlotte held her chest and forced back tears. “Y/N.” Slowly, she reached out a hand and placed it on her daughter’s shoulder which made her flinch, but she didn’t turn. Then Charlotte turned her around, making Y/N drop the paintbrush. The girl was looking at one spot on the ground, her entire body shaking. “Y/N,” Charlotte said, her heart breaking. “Come back to me.”
“The galaxy…” she said quietly, neck twitching again. “The-the.”
“It is me…your mother,” Charlotte said, taking a deep breath. “You are home in Buckingham House.”
Y/N took deep breaths, her eyes finally coming back. She looked up to see her mother illuminated by candlelight. “M-Mother? It’s…It’s you.”
Charlotte pulled Y/N to her chest so that her daughter wouldn’t see her cry. “Take the princess to her room and get her washed up,” Charlotte called out to the wait staff. “Bring her something to eat and some tea.”
“M-Mother, what happened?”
“Nothing you need to worry about, my dear,” Charlotte said, kissing her daughter’s forehead. Y/N was ushered away. 
“Is it happening to her too?” Mary asked. “What happened to Father.”
“Go back to sleep, children,” Charlotte said to them.
“But Mother—” Alfred started.
“Bed! Now!” Once the children were ushered out, Charlotte took a deep breath. “Brimsley, ready the carriage.”
“To Kew, Your Majesty?”
Charlotte nodded. “To Kew.”
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When Y/N woke up later that morning, she called for her lady’s maids to dress her, and they informed her that she had a guest. That was all they said. She was ushered out into the dining room to see her parents standing there. 
“Father,” Y/N smiled widely. She ran into his arms and he immediately wrapped his arms around her. That meant it was a good day. 
“My dear Y/N,” he said, pulling away. “Shall we eat?”
She continued to smile and sat at the large table between her parents. “Are you well, Father?” she wondered. “It has been some time since I’ve seen you.”
“I am well, my dear,” George nodded. 
“Y/N,” Charlotte said in her usual tone that made her daughter set down her silverware and take a deep breath. “We must talk about what happened last night.”
“I do not want to,” she said, picking up her knife and fork once more. The breakfast was more decadent than she was used to. She never understood why they put useless flowers on the fruit and sprigs of herbs on the potatoes. She picked them all off and created a wreath of them on the table. 
Her mother’s voice continued to fade in and out. She heard certain words like “doctor,” “sick house,” “paint,” and “need help.” And then, “Y/N!”
“What, Mother!?” Y/N spat. She could feel the air in the room tense immediately. “I understand, okay!? I know what this is! I know that you are disappointed and I know that this means I will be locked away from the public eye for the rest of my life! I know! I have seen what it has done to Father.” She stopped, looking at George apologetically, but he just nodded in understanding. Her hands started to shake and her breathing began to quicken. Quickly, George stood from his seat and knelt beside Y/N. He grabbed her shaking hand in his. 
“It is alright. We will take care of you.”
“You can’t even take care of yourself,” she said quietly through tears. “I don’t want this.”
“I know,” he nodded. “No one wants this.”
“W-Why did it have to be me?” She asked before breaking down into tears. In the distance, she heard her mother order everyone out of the room. 
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For the rest of the day, Y/N locked herself in the cupboard of her room. That was 10 years ago and Y/N had not seen the outside of the Buckingham House walls since that night and she rarely left the cupboard. It was safe there. It was quiet. As her father had always said and as she finally understood—the heavens could not find her there. 
Once she aged out of the need for a governess, she started having tutors join her at the house. It seemed that her mother believed keeping her busy would keep the fits at bay. It didn’t, but it did help keep her mind occupied. 
Marietta, her lady’s maid, was the one person that was always at her side. She knew how to deal with the fits and would always get people away when they started. She knew the quickest routes throughout the house to get her to her safe cupboard. She made life easier to live. Though it wasn’t the life she wanted. 
“Marietta?” Y/N asked one day as she sat in the gardens, easel and canvas in front of her. She was covered in paint and felt wholly free. 
“Yes, miss?” Marietta wondered from her seat in the sun. 
“I find myself quite bored with painting landscapes,” Y/N sighed heavily. “How many times must I paint this one area of the garden?” 
“We can move to the South garden if Her Royal Highness would prefer it?”
“I have painted it ten times over, Marietta,” she sighed. “The south garden, the west garden, all the dining rooms, details of sconces, portraits of every family member and every member of the staff…I cannot paint anymore here.”
Marietta looked apologetic. Even she got to go out onto the town, but Y/N never got to leave those walls. 
“Do you know that it has been ten years since I’ve seen a different sky? Ten years since I have seen a new face…T-Ten…” Y/N's hands started to shake so she set down the paintbrush. She took a deep breath, feeling her neck twitch. 
“Princess?” Marietta called out quietly, hoping to pull the girl back quickly. 
“T-Ten years,” Y/N continued, her body starting to convulse. Marietta stood so quickly that her chair knocked over. She ran to the princess and grabbed the girl’s hands. 
“Y/N,” she called out, brushing her hand along the girl’s cheek.
“T-ten years…almost as long as Jupiter,” Y/N said, her neck twitching again. She began to mutter under her breath and Marietta could not understand her. “Twelve years will be…I will be brought out…out of the sky. Jupiter will c-come back.”
“Y/N,” Marietta called out again, tightening her grip on the girl’s hands. “Take a deep breath. Come back to me.”
Y/N finally found Marietta’s face, her body twitching one last time. She took a deep breath. “I…I think I sh-should like to rest now.”
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It was her twenty-fifth birthday when Y/N decided to take matters into her own hands. She decided it was time to see the country her parents spent their lives representing. After a rather boring dinner with the siblings who deigned to join her, she retired to her bedroom, hands intentionally shaky so that everyone knew to not disturb her. 
The one good thing about spending all of her life in the house was that she had everyone’s schedule memorized. She knew when the guards would change their rotations and when the maids would take their late night drink in the kitchens. So, sneaking out was easier than it probably should have been. 
By the time she made it through the grounds, her heart was racing so hard that she feared she had made a mistake. Her hands had begun to shake and she could sense her mind slipping. “Mercury, Venus..E-Earth…Mars, J-Jupiter is…Jupiter is coming…” Y/N took a deep breath, pushing it away, trying to pull herself back. “S-s-saturn, Uranus…Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Jupiter, Saturn, Uranus.” She took another breath, pulling it all back in. 
She continued on out of the grounds. She hadn’t realized that it was so large, or at least, she had forgotten. Finally, after what felt like hours of walking, she made it to the main part of town. People were milling about and men riding horses. Y/N assumed that these were not well-respected members of the ton, for her mother would frown upon such behavior. She always said that the night was for whores and debauchery. Y/N found herself quite interested in such debauchery. 
As she continued through the town, she found herself in a neighborhood of large houses illuminated by lamp posts. There were guards standing out front of some of them, indicating that she had officially made it to the more respectable part of the town. As she continued on, she was almost barreled over by a broad-shouldered man. As she began to fall, he caught her, his bare hand grabbing her gloved one. 
“Oh, dear, my apologies,” he said, a smile on his face. Y/N found herself immediately taken by him and his stormy eyes. His face was half illuminated by the fire from the lamp posts. 
“I…” she started, trying to contain her stammer. 
“Yes?” he asked, an amused lilt to his voice. He felt Y/N's hand shaking in his so he gripped it between the pair of his. “Are you alright?”
She took a deep breath and then nodded. “Y-Yes, my apologies, sir.”
“No apologies necessary,” he chuckled. “I am sure I gave you quite a fright.”
“Yes, quite,” she said, barely recognizing what he had said. 
He seemed to gaze at her in a way that Y/N thought did not exist outside of the books she had read. She looked down at his hands grasping hers, his hands were stained black. He followed her gaze, his eyes widening. 
“Oh, apologies,” he chuckled nervously. “Charcoal. I promise, I am not normally this…disheveled.”
“Are you an artist?” Y/N immediately wondered, her eyes wide. 
“I…dabble.”
“I do as well,” she smiled. 
“Really?” he said, his smile impossibly wide. “What is your medium of choice?”
“Oils, preferably,” she responded, and the man’s eyebrows rose. “Are you surprised?” she wondered.
“Impressed,” he corrected. “I have yet to tackle the mountain that is oils.”
“It is quite fun once you get the hang of it. Of course, having intriguing subjects always helps.”
“What do you prefer to paint?” he wondered.
That was the question. “I have painted landscapes, architecture…portraits,” she responded.
“But what do you prefer?” he wondered.
Y/N took a moment to really think about it. All she knew was what she did not want to paint. “I have yet to discover it, it seems.”
They stared into each other's eyes, the sounds of the town fading away. Then, a carriage passed them, the galloping of the horses pulling them from one another. The man cleared his throat. 
“It was lovely to meet you, Miss…”
“Y/N,” she responded. 
“Y/N,” he repeated and she loved the way it sounded coming from his lips. “I apologise for ruining your gloves.”
“They are dreadful things anyway,” she responded, pulling a breathy chuckle from him. 
He looked at her curiously. “I do find it strange that a woman such as yourself is out here at night all alone.”
Y/N felt her cheeks warm. “I found myself…suffocated....at home.”
“I believe I understand,” he smiled and she didn’t have the heart to tell him that he could never truly understand. “Will you be safe getting home? I am afraid I have no horse nor carriage lest I would accompany you.”
She smiled. “I made it out all on my own, I believe I can make it back.”
The man smiled again and gave her a parting glance before grabbing her hand and kissing the back of it. Y/N felt herself stop breathing and her body began to shake, but not in the way she dreaded. It was in a new and fascinating way that she had never experienced before. 
“Then this is where I leave you,” he said, smiling once more, before turning to leave. 
As Y/N followed him with her eyes, something struck her. “Wait, sir!” she called out, he turned immediately. “Do you have a name or shall I continue to think of you as 'that man with charcoal on his hands'?”
He laughed heartily. “Benedict,” he responded. “My name is Benedict.”
When Y/N got back to Buckingham House, it was with a wide smile on her face. She made her way to her bedroom, avoiding every member of the staff. As she got inside, she found herself staring at the canvases that littered the wall. Romanticized versions of her prison. Instead of walking over to her easel as she usually did, she dug through her drawers for something she rarely used. A notepad and charcoal. She had to commit him to memory for she would probably never see him again. Though, she found it rather unlikely that she would ever forget him. 
----------
The blinds being pulled open was what finally woke Y/N up. She sat up, groaning at the light, and saw Marietta watching her with a scrutinizing eye. 
“What?” she asked, her voice hoarse with sleep. 
“I cannot remember the last time I had to wake you up,” she said thoughtfully, then went about setting out the princess' clothes. 
“I was up late,” Y/N revealed. “Sketching.”
“Sketching?” Marietta asked, surprised. She stopped in her tracks and looked over to the corner where Y/N's sketchbooks and charcoals sat. Once she had finished setting out the clothes and Y/N had stood from the bed, the maid walked over to the desk. Y/N immediately dashed over and intercepted the sketchbook, causing Mariette to look at her curiously. “What are you hiding?” she wondered.
“It is of no concern to you,” Y/N responded. She held the sketchbook tightly to her chest which did not ease Marietta’s curiosity in the slightest. 
While Marietta helped the princess dress, she tried her best to not ask the questions that were pressing on her mind, though it was difficult. Y/N had never really been one for secrets, at least not in the safe walls of the palace. Marietta thought that she knew everything about the princess, but she might have been wrong. 
Y/N watched herself in the mirror as Marietta did her hair and she wondered what Benedict must have thought of her the night before. Did he find her as striking as she found him? She wanted to see him again, to feel his gaze upon her. But she had no idea where to even find him or if she would ever find him again. 
“Princess Y/N!” Marietta said with some form of impatience.
“What?” she asked, wincing as a rather sharp pin was slid into her hair. 
“I have been speaking to you for minutes,” Marietta claimed. “And yet it is though you have not heard me. Are you quite well? Are you feeling a fit come on?”
“No,” Y/N responded immediately. “I feel…fine, actually. Well, in fact. And yes, I was thinking. I am always thinking.”
“Only you seem more distracted than normal.”
She shrugged. “Perhaps I have become bored of normal.”
She spent the rest of the day locked in her cupboard. No one bothered her in there, thankfully. But, for once, she was not hiding from the heavens, she was hiding from the outside world. Armed with her notebook and tin of charcoal, she drew Benedict over and over again, but she could not seem to get him right. She could not get the correct gleam in his eyes. He looked so beautiful lit by the firelight and it was almost impossible to replicate. 
The only way to be sure was to go out again to find him. 
----------
Sneaking out two nights in a row forced a chill down Y/N's spine. An excited chill, it was. The town was as alive as it had been the night before, but she did not find it as frightening. She did, however, realize a bit too far into the journey that she had no idea how to get to where she had met Benedict. She had been wandering, taking steps that were almost impossible to replicate. In fact, she was finally remembering just how long it had taken her to get home. She had taken turn after turn, her mind wandering. Finally, she found something that looked familiar—a very specific lamppost. Of course, it was impossible to determine if it was the same one, but something in her made her think that it was. 
So, Y/N found a bench close to it, sat down, and pulled out her sketchbook. She rarely got to play around with the night’s sky—leaving her room at night was seen as improper. If only they knew that she had left the palace grounds all together. Y/N was certain that she would be found out at some point, but she found herself not caring in the slightest.
The worst they could do would be to lock her in her wing for the rest of her life, which seemed to be what they wanted anyway. At least this way, she would have some taste of freedom, no matter how long it might last. 
It was difficult, she found, to accurately replicate the light shining from the lamppost with simple charcoals. She wished she was able to sit outside with her easel and paints. Perhaps this sketch could act as a guide. 
“Will wonders never cease?” a deep voice chuckled from the depths of the darkness. Having been staring at the light for so long, it took Y/N's eyes a moment to adjust, but, when they finally did, she saw Benedict approaching her. “Miss Y/N,” he smiled, bowing his head.
She immediately stood and gave a brief curtsey. “Benedict,” she responded with an equal smile. 
“Out on the town again?” he wondered. “I must say, I find it intriguing that you are even allowed out this late.”
She found herself chuckling nervously. “I believe it is best that my endeavors stay between us.”
Benedict all but smirked. “I shall keep my lips sealed, then. Though, if the wrong person were to see you, it is only a matter of time before the whole ton knows. Lady Whisteldown seems to have eyes everywhere.”
She furrowed her brow. “Who is Lady Whistledown?”
Benedict chuckled heartily, then stopped. “You truly do not know?” he wondered. She shook her head. His smile was contagious. “She is a mysterious gossip columnist. She seems to know all about what happens here.”
“Seems quite intriguing,” Y/N said with a tilt of her head.
“Some would say so,” he shrugged. “Others find her utterly intolerable.”
“Are you one of those?” she wondered.
Benedict chuckled. “I find it quite entertaining, in fact. Though, I have yet to be the subject of one of her witty reports. My feelings might change when it is directed towards me.” She nodded in thought. “Are you drawing?” Benedict asked, looking at the sketchbook in her hand. 
Y/N looked down, flustered all of a sudden. “Oh, yes.”
“Might I take a look?” he wondered.
She stammered for a moment. “It is nothing…amazing,” she warned him, carefully handing over the sketchbook. He took it with a similar care and looked at the drawing. A smile formed on his face.
“How have you captured the light so perfectly with charcoals?” he wondered.
Her lips parted in a gasp. “I was just thinking to myself that I was unable to do that.”
“I disagree,” he said with a smile. “Might I look at your other works?” he wondered, his finger poised to turn the page. Y/N immediately jumped and grabbed the sketchbook. 
“I-I don’t think…you would enjoy those as much.”
“My apologies,” Benedict said, slightly shocked at her outburst. 
“N-No, no, it is I who should apologise,” she said nervously. “I should not have reacted in such a way.”
“It is alright,” he said, his smile reforming. “I too am possessive of some of my works.”
“I would love to see them sometime,” she said immediately, then shut her mouth. “I-If…Apologies if that was too forward—”
“I would love to show you,” he responded. “Though, I would find it improper to do it late at night. Perhaps…we can meet during the day?”
She closed her eyes for a moment and sighed. “I wish that were possible,” she responded. 
Benedict simply nodded. “I find you quite intriguing, Y/N.”
She swallowed harshly, nerves filling her entire body. Her hands started to get clammy and she feared she would drop the sketchbook onto the ground beneath her. “I don’t believe anyone has ever called me intriguing before,” she chuckled.
“Perhaps they do not know you well enough,” Benedict chuckled.
“And you do?” she wondered genuinely.
“I would like to,” he responded smoothly. She felt all of the breath leave her lungs. She would like nothing more but knew it was impossible. “That was too forward…I apologise.”
“No, no,” she said quickly. “I would…I would like to as well, but it would not be possible.”
“I would like to know why, but I will not press the matter,” he responded.
Y/N nodded in thanks, words completely escaping her. Suddenly, she could hear the sounds of others' footsteps on the cobblestone, she could feel the heat from the lamppost, and her hands began to shake. “I…I must go,” she said, immediately turning to leave. 
“Wait,” Benedict called after her. She turned back around to look at him. “Might I accompany you home? It is quite dangerous for a woman to be out here alone.”
“It is quite far, I can manage.” With that, she turned and began walking swiftly. She took deep breath after deep breath. “Mercury, Venus, Earth, Mars, Saturn, Jupiter, Uranus…Mercury, Venus…”
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She made it back to the palace without slipping which caused her to let out a sigh of relief. She quietly closed her door behind her and turned to lean against the wood, a smile on her face.
“Where were you?” a voice asked, pulling her out of it. Her eyes widened to see Marietta standing in the middle of her bedroom, still in her night things.
Y/N cleared her throat. “Outside,” she responded with ease. She set her sketchbook down on the desk and took off her cloak. 
“No, you weren’t,” Marietta said. “I have been looking all over for you. I almost alerted the guards! Where were you?”
Y/N turned. “You do not speak to me like that.”
“Shall I inform Her Majesty?”
“N-No!” Y/N jumped. “Please, please, Marietta…Just let it go.”
Marietta breezed past Y/N, who thought she was leaving. In fact, she stopped at the desk and picked up the sketchbook. She immediately opened it, much to the horror of the princess. 
“Y/N…” Marietta said, warning in her voice. “Where were you?”
“Outside,” she responded. 
“I was terrified,” Marietta responded, still gazing down at the sketchbook, more specifically, at a portrait of Benedict that Y/N had yet to finish. “I thought you had one of your fits. I thought you were hurt.”
“I am fine, Marietta,” she assured. “I was simply…outside.”
“How far outside?” she wondered.
Y/N swallowed. “Quite far…” she responded quietly. 
“And what were you doing?” Marietta asked slowly. It was obvious that she was nervous for the answer.
“Sketching a lamppost,” she responded. She was not lying about it, in fact. Of course, she was being rather vague and she knew that Marietta could see right through it. They knew each other almost too well to hide anything. 
“Alone?” Y/N did not know how to respond to the question. “Princess Y/N, were you alone?”
She swallowed harshly. “Not…completely.”
Marietta took a deep breath, her eyes closing. She closed the sketchbook and set it back down on the desk. “If you were to be found out—”
“But I have not been.”
“How long have you been doing this?” Marietta asked, shocked.
“Only twice,” she sighed. “I knew I would be found out, I just did not imagine it being so soon.”
“And this man…” Marietta said, pointing towards the sketchbook. “What is your relationship to him?”
Y/N shrugged. “I hardly know how to quantify it, Marietta,” she responded truthfully. “I only just met him last night. But…I have not been able to stop thinking about him since. Nothing improper has happened, I assure you.” Marietta’s shoulders immediately relaxed, though, only slightly. “And perhaps it is only because he is the first new face I have seen in over ten years…but…he makes me feel—” she started, then cut herself off, trying to figure out the words. “Well, I do not know…But he makes me feel, Marietta. For so long, I have been locked in this place. Controlled by my mind, controlled by my mother…And I want it to end. I need it to end. I can no longer breathe here. I have not been able to breathe for so long and he…he gave me my breath again.”
“So you will continue to see him,” Marietta realized. 
Y/N looked at Marietta for a long moment. “I only wish that you will not stop me.”
“I should,” Marietta revealed. “I should stop you. Because you know this cannot end well.”
“I know,” she agreed. 
“Does he know?”
“About what?”
“Any of it? All of it?”
“He knows nothing,” Y/N said. “Not of my title, nor my family, nor my…affliction. And I hope he never will.”
“So you will—what? Continue to lie to him? What if he finds out? What will you do then?”
Y/N sighed heavily. “I do not know, Marietta. All I know is that…he wishes to know me. And I will let him know only what is relevant. I will let him know who I am outside of these walls…on my good days. I will let him know who I really am.”
Marietta nodded apprehensively. “Do you even know his name?”
“Benedict,” Y/N replied with a whistful sigh.
Marietta’s eyebrows rose. “Bridgerton?”
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A.N.: So??? Let's just say, this will be a whirlwind. Will the Queen ever let Y/N out of the castle? Will Benedict ever discover her true identity? Who knows?
Let me know if you'd like to be added to the taglist
Love always,
Alma xx
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queruloustea · 9 months
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queen's gardens could very likely be my favourite area in the game
the lore! the music! the flowers!
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fatchance · 17 days
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Queen butterfly (Danaus gilippus) visiting mulefat flowers (Baccharis salicifolia), at the Desert Botanical Garden, Phoenix, Arizona.
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marionette-j2x · 2 years
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This has been gathering dust in my WIP folder, so-
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yellowbugifs · 15 days
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73/365 days of regina mills
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lydiacreative · 6 months
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Think of 6 impossible things...
More merch i'm taking to the halloween/autumn events ✧♡
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romancefairy · 2 years
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the feminine urge to drop everything and go live in a little cottage
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📸 @grifflotz for Rolling Stone
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laurents-secret-diary · 3 months
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Can we see any of your drawings you may have had for the side characters please??? 👉👈
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I only got a couple so far! I think I'm gonna do Nicaise next
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geopsych · 7 months
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Sunday morning. Have a zinnia.
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flowerishness · 7 months
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Rosa (var: "Julia Child")
The Julia Child rose was bred by the American Tom Carruth in 2004. Technically speaking, this beautiful, butter-colored rose was created by crossing several other varieties ("Voodoo" x Hybrid of R. soulieana x "Summerwine" x "Topnotch"). They say that the famous TV chef, Julia Child, chose this rose that would bear her name.
Oh, by the way, it's Rose Week on @flowerishness...
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