#Benedict ( Inquiries )

[religion-is-a-mental-illness]

By: Jim Underdown

Published: Jan 11, 2023

Ask the Atheist

Is it true the late pope was buried in multiple caskets?

R. Tarsi,

Egg Harbor, WI

No one who’s ever been to – or even seen pictures of – the Vatican should be shocked that former Pope, Benedict XVI, was buried in three (that’s right three) different coffins. St. Peter’s Basilica, with its gold accoutrements, bronze columns and doors, and priceless art is the very definition of excess, so why chintz on the pope’s funeral? Vows of poverty be damned!

[ Inside St. Peter’s ]

Jesus (had he ever lived) would have been appalled at the garishness of it all, I’m sure.

When I first heard about the triple coffins, I was incredulous. What? They’re going to chop this guy up and spread him around?! Holey moley! What kind of messed up ancient ritual is this? Are they punishing the guy for resigning before the Grim Reaper could get him? Is he finally going to get his just due for being in the Hitler Youth in the 1940s?

[ List of popes in St. Peter’s ]

I grew up Catholic for a bit and have heard plenty of their wacky ideas over the years – transubstantiation, limbo, the trinity, to name a few – but hacking a guy up seemed extreme even for the Catholic Church. They must be splitting the body up to send it on tour to raise money was one of my early thoughts.

Then I read that the coffins would be nested inside each other like those Russian Matryoshka dolls – which is a bit less gruesome but still excessive. Ok, that does make more sense… than dismemberment.

Here’s how it went.

The first box was made of cypress and, along with the pope’s body, contained bags of gold, silver, and copper coins. The cypress symbolizes humility – you know, of the guy who’s being buried in 3 caskets as a part of a multi-million dollar funeral.

I’m not making this up.

The second box was made of lead and had a skull and crossbones carved into. Ok, that’s actually kind of cool. But lead? The guy who carved the decorations into the lead will no doubt soon follow the pope to the pearly gates… or at least have some cognitive issues. I’d bet Superman sleeps in a similar sarcophagus – probably with his “S” logo on it instead of the skull and crossbones.

The third box was made of elm which evidently represents dignity, and housed the other two caskets. To reinforce the humility theme from box #1, the elm coffin was sealed with gold nails, which any carpenter – even Jesus – would tell you won’t do jack to hold it shut. Gold has terrible tensile, compressive, and yield strengths compared to a common steel nail. Not to mention they’re expensive as hell…

Each of the coffins was sealed with wax and wrapped with silk ropes. Surely the wax will keep grave robbers from all those coins. Again… tensile strength people! Are there no engineers on the Vatican payroll?

If they actually told us about the 3-casket extravaganza, what are they not telling us?

I wonder…

Was he buried in three pairs of underwear under his robes – one Jockey™, one Mormon, and one Orthodox Jewish – just hedge his bets to get into heaven? Those ought to help him get through the pearly gates, though St. Peter will ask him about the Hitler Youth thing. And God is very detail-oriented, you know.

Did each of his hands have 3 pinky rings on it – all perhaps donated by guilt-ridden Mafiosi over the years?

How many of the 135 Swiss Guards will it take to carry that heavy-ass triple load down to the catacombs?

I also wonder if the money bags made it all the way to the tomb. I sorta hope one of the workers palmed the coins before that casket got sealed up. Seems like a waste to bury perfectly good money with a guy dressed in silk and ruby slippers.

==

Queen Elizabeth II’s coffin was far less obscenely ostentatious. And the UK is actually real. For a former CEO of a corporation selling imaginary treatments for imaginary diseases, and imaginary travel to imaginary destinations...?

[geeks-universe]

Kiss of Death pt. 2

Anthony Bridgerton x Assassin!Reader

Society has certain expectations of you. If only they knew of your nighttime activities…

Breakfast was being served when he managed to properly dress himself and greet his family. They were all chatting amongst themselves with various degrees of entertainment and annoyance. Still, the sight of his family so content warmed his heart.

“Your family is very sweet.”

Anthony jumped, surprised at the sudden intrusion beside him. You were giving him a gentle look, seemingly expecting such a reaction. He wasn’t entirely sure how you managed to walk so quietly, nor why, despite it being the morning, exhaustion was still present on your features.

“Goodmorning, Viscount.” You smiled, and he returned it without so much as a thought. “Apologies for frightening you.”

“Your highness,” Daphne called politely, pulling your attention off of Anthony.

“Formalities,” you tutted, walking towards the breakfast table with a noticeable limp. Anthony considered himself decent at reading people, so when he hastily scanned your face, he couldn’t help but notice the slight grimace at each step.

“It is your home, and I like to think we shall become great friends,” you proclaimed, taking a seat between Colin and Eloise. “Please, call me (Y/N).”

Daphne paused, a lifetime of proper manners battling your most recent request.

“(Y/N),” she repeated, testing the name.

It brought a smile to your lips.

“You-” One look from you stopped Benedict in his tracks, causing him to momentarily frown. “(Y/N),” he tried again slowly, “Is your leg quite alright?”

Your hand, which had been outstretched towards a delightful looking pastry, froze.

“All the traveling, I’m afraid.”

You were an exceptionally good liar. Unfortunately, it came with the territory. The Bridgertons weren’t particularly a family you wanted to lie to, especially since your mother spoke so fondly of them, but you had a reputation to uphold, and your short time in London couldn’t be interrupted because you decided to tell them the truth of your visit.

“Shall you accompany us to this afternoon’s picnic?” Violet Bridgerton asked, quick to change the subject. “It seems to be a lovely day today.”

You would never truly understand the intricacies of London’s societal expectations for women. Questions, curiosity, intrigue- they never offended you, least of all when they were genuine inquiries. London, however, had other opinions. Women were to be quiet, unobtrusive to the point of submission. The environment you were raised in, and still actively participated in, was quite different. Perhaps you could share some of your experiences in the time you had residing in the city.

“The fresh air would be good for me,” you agreed, watching as the eldest Bridgerton finally took his place at the head of the table. He didn’t seem to be too interested in the food before him, instead focusing on you.

“However, there are a great deal of matters I must attend to today. I shall not miss tomorrow eve’s ball though.”

The disappointment on Daphne’s face was obvious.

Anthony, however, took the opportunity to interject.

“Surely your father manages your business affairs, does he not?”

You were sure it wasn’t meant to be rude, really, but still, a bit of fire sparked in your veins.

“My father,” you answered tightly, “has given me jurisdiction over half of the family’s business.”

If Anthony noticed your sudden iciness, he gave it no thought. Eloise, however, was looking decidedly more interested at the sudden change of pace.

“Half?” Anthony echoed, his eyes widened in surprise. “But you… you’re…”

The words were not coming to him, and just as the Dowager Viscountess Bridgerton made a move to speak up, you did instead.

“A woman?”

His gaze was locked onto yours, hardened from years of enduring similar questions from the many foreign lands you’d been lucky enough to visit.

He didn’t need to confirm that’s what he was speaking of, and when he offered no explanation, you continued.

“Perhaps it is too novel of a concept for society to understand that intellect does not discriminate, only institutions, and I was fortunate enough to be blessed with both.”

The laughter forced from Eloise’s throat was enough to pull your gaze from Lord Bridgerton’s. The thickness of tension in the air was beginning to dissipate, and you allowed your muscles to relax a fraction.

Colin awkwardly cleared his throat.

“Have you traveled often for this business?”

It was a kind question, and one spoken with wonder in his voice.

“Very often,” you confirmed lightly, placing the unfinished pastry back onto the small plate before your seat.

Your father would’ve had your head if he’d known you had gotten barely a wink of sleep the night before, and now you were practically skipping breakfast. The wicked certainly do not rest, and neither should you.

“I would love to discuss it further when I am afforded more time, however I must take my leave. Good day.”

Their goodbyes were quiet, save Eloise’s, whose was more than enthusiastic. Anthony watched you leave with a scowl, irritated with the direction that the conversation had taken. He had never had a lady, especially one with such high standing, speak to him in such a manner.

“Next time you decide to have a battle of wits at the breakfast table, please make sure your opponent is not a princess,” Violet Bridgerton huffed, pushing away from the table and leaving the rest of the family to the aftermath.

Eloise could no longer hold in the laughter that had plagued her since your comment. Anthony, however, was finding it annoying more than endearing.

“Brother, please do not insult our guest, she is to be my friend for the social season and I do not wish for you to spoil that.”

Daphne was elated that she could have someone to confide in for the remainder of the season. Perhaps, she would even be able to learn of some new fashion from the princess.

“That,” Benedict nodded, “Or just save yourself the embarrassment of the princess’s quick wit.”

He, too, found the situation amusing. The eldest Bridgerton boy sighed, excusing himself from the table as well without a word.

He would spend the rest of his day at the club. Then, maybe he could find some respite from annoying princesses who find amusement in turning his family against him.

The club was full of recognizable gentlemen, all of which were likely hiding away from their beloved wives. For once, Anthony could empathize with them, hoping to spend the remainder of the day conversing with men about business, or news, or quite literally anything besides the princess that had landed in his family home.

“Viscount Bridgerton,” Lord Walden greeted him.

He had never been particularly close to the older man, but his current mood made him desperate for a mindful conversation.

“Lord Walden,” he returned the sentiment, grabbing a glass of scotch from one of the trays making its way around the room. “How are you today?”

“I suspect, not as well as you,” Lord Walden chuckled softly, twiddling with a paper in his hand.

Curiously, Anthony grabbed it, scanning the contents with haste.

Dearest gentle readers,

It seems the London elite are being blessed with a rare, but influential addition. Princess (Y/N) Lancaster has arrived in the city, and with talks of finding a suitor worthy of the grand title, this author is sure she will soon make her first appearance among the other lovely eligible debutantes. The Princess of Windhaven has been covered in a shroud of mystery, one that I shall find most pleasing to unwrap. While a Princess is a grand prize indeed, it is worth remembering that she is the only heir of King Aldrich Lancaster and the late Queen Astrae Lancaster. Perhaps, some should wish the King himself had been the one to escort her, as she will be staying with the Bridgerton family for the foreseeable future, and if Viscount Bridgerton is half as attentive to the young Princess as he is his own sister, there is a likely chance that no gentleman will have the privilege of taking her hand in marriage.

“A Princess, how exciting!”

What had begun as a twitch of annoyance had quickly developed into genuine anger towards the woman who had been so quick to argue with him earlier.

“Very,” Anthony drawled sarcastically, pressing the paper back into Lord Walden’s hands.

“I’ve entirely forgotten about a meeting I have, excuse me while I tend to it.”

The excuse was flimsy, anyone who actually knew Anthony could tell it was a lie, but Lord Walden only bid him “good day” and turned back to Lady Whistledown’s article. Anthony all but stomped his way out of the club, and directly towards the opera, not even bothering to greet anyone he passed.

He was in desperate need of a distraction and something to boost his mood. Luckily, Siena offered both. His arrangement with Siena was one that could not last, he had duties as a Viscount that he had acknowledged, but he wanted to enjoy it a little while longer while he still could. Perhaps that was selfish of him, but he chose not to fret over the semantics for the time being.

“Siena!” Anthony called, spotting her just as she was leaving the opera.

She startled, surprised at his very public, very sudden intrusion. Even at the height of their… “relations”, he had never been so forthright in public. And, unwilling to let herself be swayed by sweet words and empty promises, she walked faster, as fast as publicly acceptable.

Anthony Bridgerton was on a mission though, and she had only made it an alleyway over before he was pulling at her wrist, gentle pleas on his tongue.

“My lord,” she bit out, forcing herself to instead stare at the speckled brick on the side of the old orphanage that had recently been repurposed as a venue for London’s high society. “I am very busy today, please let me be.”

Anthony paused, cautiously letting her hand go, but not moving an inch.

“Siena, I-”

“Don’t,” she sighed, pulling her hand into her chest. “Please, don’t.”

Guilt was beginning to gnaw at his heart. He hadn’t wanted to hurt her, but it was his duty as a Viscount. Surely she could see it that way? She could understand why society would never allow them to be anything more than a Lord and his mistress?

“Listen, I-”

His words failed him as he caught sight of a now familiar pair of eyes. Your gaze was piercing, like the very truth of his soul was laid before you, left for you to sift through as you pleased. His heart thumped faster in his chest, a reminder that he was still on the physical plane.

“What are you looking at?” Siena had turned around, curious as to what his sudden distraction was, only to find him staring at you.

The pain she’d felt had increased tenfold, acting as a reminder of why she was stupid to trust a rake with her heart to begin with. She fled from his sight, unsurprised to find he hadn’t even noticed when she did so, too focused on you.

“Princess,” Anthony muttered under his breath.

He wasn’t sure how it was possible, how your eyes were able to see so much with such a quick scan, but you’d already begun to retreat from him before he ever noticed you. He followed at a distance, hoping to catch up to you before you decided to abandon him completely.

It was difficult to keep track of you through the throngs of people, and he could barely catch a glimpse of your hair or a flash of your clothes before you disappeared again. This game of cat and mouse was getting him nowhere, as he followed the faintest whiff of your presence to a secluded, nearly hidden, passageway.

He sighed, staring down the empty cobblestone, frustrated.

“It’s impolite to follow people, you know?”

He jumped at the sudden intrusion, instinctively raising an elbow to hit what he was only able to presume to be an attacker. By the time he realized it was you, it was too late to stop his momentum.

You, however, moved far quicker than him, easily dodging his sloppy attack.

“I didn’t think a disagreement would warrant a fight, Lord Bridgerton.”

He gave you a wry smile.

“Apologies, princess,” he acknowledged. “Perhaps you will stop sneaking up on me.”

“Well, my dearest Anthony,” his heart skipped a beat at the way you cherished each syllable of his name, “Perhaps you will not follow me.”

The corners of his lips turned up, doing so without a conscious effort.

“Why might a lady of your station be wandering near this part of London?”

It was a fair question.

Anthony was cataloging every notable thing about your appearance.

One, you weren’t in any extravagant gown. In fact, what you were wearing could hardly be deemed appropriate for a woman of high society. It was far too dark for anything besides mourning, and the ensemble was clearly designed to unrestrict movement, as opposed to displaying your finer assets. Two, you did not wear gloves. You did, however, wear leather bracers just below, that reminded him more of armor than anything. Three, your hair had fallen some from its intricate updo, likely from whatever exertion caused the reddening of your cheeks.

“Business, not pleasure,” you assured him, a teasing lilt in your tone. “The same could not be said for you though, could it?”

Siena.

He’d completely ignored her existence in his curiosity, and he knew that his actions would make mending that particular relationship all the harder.

“That was not-”

“You do not owe me any explanation.”

There was no judgment in your eyes, nor any disgust. In fact, Anthony could almost describe your expression as understanding.

“I am sorry for my insinuations earlier this morning.”

Anthony was not a man who apologized often, and he surprised even himself with how easy it was to admit to his lapse in judgment.

“I am as well,” you relented, unconsciously tucking loose hair behind your ear. “I have grown accustomed to a certain lifestyle, and while I hope that one day a similar mindset will be adopted by all, I cannot expect it to be done so if I am quick to anger.”

Comfortable silence fell between the two of you, and Anthony finally had a moment to admire you. The harsh rays of the sun were tempered by the glow of your cheeks, a soft smile tugging at your lips. Your lashes casted a shadow as you observed him just a closely, a warmth burning low in his belly at the care you took to examine him. It was difficult to pinpoint exactly what you were thinking, but he noted the fair bit of approval shining in your eyes.

There was a tenseness about you still, like you had to remain focused on your surroundings, not just the man in front of you. Anthony wondered if it was instinctual, the way you always seemed to have that air about you.

“While it certainly has been a pleasure, I must return to my business.”

Anthony inclined his head, catching your hand with his own before you had the opportunity to turn away. The warmth exuding from you sent a pleasant tingle down his spine. The feeling intensified as he pressed his lips to your soft skin, his eyes seeking yours unconsciously.

“Your highness,” he whispered, mouth still dangerously close to your hand. After a brief second, he corrected himself. “(Y/N).”

He watched as your chest rose and fell, your tongue wetting your lips as you said, “Anthony,” on an exhale.

The word burned through his sensibility, setting his heart aflame.

You nodded your head and left quickly, abandoning him to the fire you’d lit inside of him. He stood there for a moment, staring at the cobblestone, rationalizing the encounter in his own mind.

After a moment, he sighed, closing his hand into a fist, and returning the way he came.

Tag List: @mysticwitchcraftco

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Young at Heart: The Princess (Benedict Bridgerton x Reader)

Benedict Bridgerton x fem!Reader Rated: G, the fluffiest fluff that ever fluffed Word count: 3.1k

Masterpost

Summary: The Colin monsters attack and you seek an answer from Benedict.

Author's Note: So many folks to thank for this finale chapter. Firstly, to @angels17324 who again had the idea for the adorable interaction with the children. Sweet Benedict being duped by innocent shenanigans is gold! Also to @mysticwitchcraftco for proposing we see the inevitable conversation with Colin after the last chapter. I liked this idea so much I went back and wrote it in! Lastly, to @broooookiecrisp who also championed the Colin convo and helped me craft the ending scene. This chapter was much shorter and weaker without each of you, and I hope you enjoy! 💙

Benedict rushed down the hall, nervous energy coursing through him. All he could see were your lips, soft and parted with bated breath, inviting him in. He still felt the warm thrum of your pulse under his fingertips where he held your wrist, the tingling brush of your noses…

His mind whirred, passion and reason each attempting to roar over one another, a situation he was well familiar with, though it had never been this intense before. He tugged at his cravat, then startled when a voice broke through his thoughts.

“Have your theatrics tired you, brother?”

He whipped around to see Colin, grinning like the cat that ate the canary, sidling up to him. 

“What?” His voice was flustered. “No, I am fine.”

Folding his arms, Colin leaned a shoulder against the wall, smirking. Benedict sometimes thought he had imbued too much of himself into his younger brother. Colin should have spent more time around Anthony’s disciplinarian nature and been molded into a dutiful little lieutenant, not a scamp. Then he would have been easier to deceive. 

“You and Miss y/l/n make quite the pair.”

“What do you mean by that?” Benedict had regained his composure.

Colin shrugged. “Acting partners. You are very convincing at…playing your roles.”

The raised eyebrow said it all. He suspected.

“She is a kind and talented young woman.” Benedict’s voice was low in warning, urging his brother to change course with his questioning.

Colin dismissed his tone entirely. “With whom you are spending an inordinate amount of time.” When his pointed stare didn’t elicit anything further, he gave up the ruse. “Oh, come now Benedict, you’re not as good an actor as you think you are. The heart on your sleeve is bleeding all over the place.”

Benedict deflated. His feelings for you were enough to wrangle with on their own. He didn’t need his family’s opinions on the matter to be mixed in. “The last thing I need is your admonishment…”

Colin looked around innocently. “Who is admonishing anything? I’m not Anthony.” They both sniggered at that. “Did you kiss her then? You may have been out of sight but I heard you breathing all over each other.”

Benedict rolled his eyes. Romantic inquiries from his naive little brother. Who would have thought he would ever see the day? But he knew he was not being judged, and it was an undeniable relief to have someone to confide in. “We would have, but she jumped away to tend to the children.” He hung his head, chewing on his lip. “This is complicated.”

“More or less complicated than the kitchen girl you helped me rendezvous with?” 

Now it was Benedict’s turn to smirk, remembering how he had stood watch while his teenage brother crept down the servant’s stairs to meet with the doe-eyed cook’s apprentice in the dead of night. He had told Colin how not to be a fool in their encounter, and figured that anything else they got up to was good experience for him. This felt different though, deeper somehow, but he wouldn’t reveal that.

“It’s time I returned the favor.” Colin walked over to him and rested a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll keep your secrets. Do you know if she shares your feelings?”

Benedict sighed. “I think so, but I’m not certain. Perhaps I overwhelmed her.”

“You?” Colin balked. “Unable to restrain your passion? It beggars the imagination!”

The dripping mockery was enough. “Oh, what a wonderful help you are.” Benedict shrugged him off with a grimace and began storming down the hall again.

“Brother, stop!” Colin called after him. “I’m sorry. You’re right.” When his brother turned again, the exasperated expression he wore was one rarely seen. It made him drop all his taunting. He pitied the poor man. “You don’t want to go scaring her off the property. She’s very lovely and much needed here. Take some time apart and see if she approaches you.”

Benedict paused, mulling over his words, then finally nodded. “Alright. Thank you.” Brow arched warily he asked, “Is this foolish?”

It was odd to find himself in the position of giving advice to his older brother, particularly in matters of the heart, but Colin felt determined to help him. He instinctively knew the answer to his question. 

“To follow your heart’s desire? Usually.” He shrugged. “But that’s never stopped you before.”

As a wide smile broke out over Benedict’s face, Colin knew that he would be alright. He clapped him on the back and urged him down the hall. “Now, let’s find something to eat.”

—

It was clear that something significant had occurred between you because Benedict avoided you for the next two days. He had been so impossible to miss ever since he arrived, that his pointed absence now was tangible. You didn’t know what to expect. You didn’t think you had done anything inappropriate. You felt certain it was him who had been violating the bounds of propriety with you. But women in your position had been sacked for less, and so you hovered in a nervous limbo, waiting to encounter him in a hall, or waiting for the Viscountess to unceremoniously request your resignation. Thankfully, you had the children to keep yourself occupied, and your hands were entirely full when a day of pouring rain kept you all cooped inside the nursery.

The boys had tired of their figurines and their paints, and they groaned at the offer of another storybook. Augie and Neddy were sporting the stern brows of their fathers, and Barney was entirely despondent. Only Caroline seemed to be enjoying herself, as she pulled up to stand against the rails of her crib and giggled at everyone. When you asked what they would all prefer to do instead, Augie spoke first.

“I want biscuits.”

You sighed, prepared to remind him that they must wait for their tea to have biscuits, but before you could respond, Barney staggered toward you with outstretched arms and wriggling fingers.

“Rawr!” He crowed, “I am the Colin monster. Give me biscuits!”

The cleverness of this little one, and the memory of the annoyance on real Colin’s face made you grin.

“Yes!” Neddy chimed in, mimicking his smaller cousin and adopting a squeaky growl, “I am a Colin monster too! You must give me biscuits!” No doubt they thought this was the method to secure some treats. If you could play along and keep them occupied for a while longer, you would reach teatime and everyone would be satisfied. 

“Oh no!” You brought your hands to your face in mock horror. “Not the Colin monsters! You cannot have my biscuits, I haven’t baked any today!” Then the three boys tore across the room toward you, snorting and roaring, hands grasping for your skirts as you scurried in circles around the nursery, always keeping two steps ahead of them. This was something you so adored about children, how they made you one of their own and reminded you how to lose yourself in simple fun. You all chuckled breathlessly as you ran, and Caroline watched with glee, ratcheting up and down on her nubby legs and cheering on the spectacle. When you had rounded the last piece of protective furniture and found yourself in a corner, you sank to your knees, hands clasped before you.

“Please have mercy Colin monsters! I swear I have no biscuits for you!”

“Then we shall have to eat you!” Neddy declared, and launched himself into your midsection. You fell backward, holding him to save him from the fall, and found yourself laughing helplessly as he and then Barney clambered on top of you, poking with their tiny fingers and baring their entirely-not-frightening teeth.

“Help! Help!” You called with faux despair, barely able to catch your breath from mirth. The three of you were so giddy, shrieking as they pinned you down and tickled you relentlessly, that you did not see Augie run out of the room nor hear the footsteps that came pounding down the hall minutes later. 

You were crying out in feigned agony as Barney pretended to chew on your fingers when over his shoulder you saw Benedict come skidding through the doorway, white as a sheet.

“Miss y/l/n?!” He was panting, entirely disheveled, in just a shirt and braces with his sleeves rolled up, forearms streaked with paint.

“Mr. Bridgerton?” You froze, staring at him as the tiny monsters continued to crawl over you.

He strode across the room and you could see the panic in his eyes. “Are you alright? Boys, what’s going on?”

Gently but firmly, he pulled each of them off of you and stood them upright.

Neddy turned to growl at his uncle, waggling his fingers in Benedict’s face. “I am the Colin monster and I have no biscuits so I’m going to eat Miss y/l/n!”

Immediately Barney whined, “No, I am the Colin monster!” Then the two of them began to argue with one another, stomping away to settle the dispute.

Benedict knelt beside you as you propped up on your elbows. For a moment you felt embarrassed at him finding you in such a position, but the genuine concern in his eyes melted away your self-consciousness. He scanned you over as if expecting to find some injury and you could see clearly that he was shaken.

“Augie came running and begging for help. He said you needed me. I thought…”

“We needed the prince to rescue the princess!” Augie suddenly appeared next to Benedict, smiling proudly and explaining his actions as if they were the most obvious thing in the world.

Benedict looked between you both, piecing together the innocent cause behind his terrified dash. You were worried that this would increase his aggravation with you. You still could not decipher what he was thinking since your flustered encounter in the theater and the last thing you wanted was to cause him unnecessary distress. But your anxieties started to ebb when he finally allowed himself to exhale and a small grin tugged at the corner of his lips. “I see.”

Then he reached out and took your hand, pulling you carefully to your feet. “Are you sure you’re alright?” His eyes carried an undeniable warmth and his voice was soft, the question meant for your ears alone, a honeyed tone that ran thick across your skin. You couldn’t help but sense that he was asking something greater. Asking how you felt about more than just being besieged by the children.

“Yes.” You returned a grateful smile. “I was only being attacked by the two miniature Colin monsters, as you can see. But I am quite well, thank you.”

He grinned that ruinous crooked grin and straightened his spine. “Good. I’m glad your anguished screams were only caused by these two.” Then he marched over to Neddy and Barney who had started to shove each other and were both wearing pouts that were so similar to Benedict’s, you had to hide a snicker. He placed an expansive hand on each of their heads, pushing them lightly apart and commanding their attention. “All right, all right Colin monsters. I have decided that I am not going to slay you, but instead, feed you some biscuits to satisfy your hunger. How does that sound?”

Both boys looked up at him and broke out into joyous smiles and cheers. You walked over to corral them all for tea, when Augie piped up over the celebration.

“Yay! And now you must kiss!” He stared up at you and Benedict with eager, sparkling eyes.

“Yes!” Chirped Barney beside him. “Kiss. That’s how the story ends.”

You felt yourself blush as your mind reeled, bewildered that the boys would say this, frightened to look at Benedict beside you, and equally aggravated that he had improvised the kiss into the story in the first place. But you felt the weight of his stare on your cheek and turned. His eyes, usually so piercing and light, had grown dark with something intense. He seemed to be holding his breath right along with you, looking at you for direction. He couldn’t possibly be considering…This couldn’t be happening again…

You stuttered, unable to complete a thought as your heart trilled in your throat. “Mr. Bridgerton, I…”

Benedict finally broke his gaze, releasing you from the spell, and turned to the children with his wry smile returning. “No, boys,” he said assertively. “Kissing is only for the puppets and grown ups who are very much in love.”

Something ran straight through you when he said that and you swore his eyes flicked over to you. You had to move, you had to free yourself from this quagmire. You turned and went to Caroline, lifting her out of her crib as she happily nestled against you.

“My mama and papa kiss all the time.” Augie announced matter-of-factly.

“Mine too.” Neddy groaned then shook his head in disgust as he stuck out his tongue. Barney followed suit, mimicking his distaste. 

You laughed, grateful that the humor of the little ones could rise to break the tension between the stares of the adults.

Benedict patted Neddy on the shoulder. “Well, that is because they are in love as I said. Come on now,” He swung Barney into his arms and clasped the boy across his back as before. “Biscuits await!” 

Then he turned and shot you a knowing smile before mustering all the lads and leading them out of the nursery.

—

You spent the remainder of the day breathless, smiling politely as you guided the children through teatime. Fortunately, their mothers and an assortment of Bridgertons were present too, which helped to distract you from overtly staring at Benedict across the room. It was evident he wasn’t cross with you and seemed to still want your acquaintance. But were you overestimating his level of affection? Had too many stories of dashing princes and fairytale romance burrowed themselves into your mind, inextricably blending fantasy into your reality as if you were a besotted girl? His intentions certainly seemed clear in the theater box and again when the children told you to kiss. Could it be that your wildest imaginings weren’t imagined at all? 

Your unanswered questions mired you in thought. You carried out the motions of herding the children but your mind was always with Benedict. You saw to their dinner, their baths and their nightly farewells to their parents. You could hardly finish their bedtime story, you were so distracted. The swirling sensations in your heart and mind were sure to drive you mad, and were strong enough that they propelled you to Benedict’s door. It was the guest bedroom he treated as a studio and candlelight could be seen within. 

Your desperation lended you an edge of uncharacteristic courage. Your last moment alone together had been interrupted by an audience. If you could be alone again, you wanted to know what would occur. Your fluttering stomach proffered an idea but you fought it down. Most likely Benedict would do nothing more than speak to you, carrying on in that friendly, flirtatious manner as he always had. Then you would have your answer. He was not enamored as you were, it was simply his natural character. If, however, you were wrong, it would be better than any of the fairy stories you had read in all your years as a nursemaid.

Hand shaking, you knocked on the door. He answered it, shirt unbuttoned rather too low for polite company and hair tousled, clearly hard at work.

His eyes lit, as they always did when he saw you. “Miss y/l/n! Is everything alright?’

“Yes, all is well.” Your voice was small, the sound struggling to escape around your pounding heart. “I only wanted to speak with you.”

“What about? Is another bedtime story in order? Do you need a dragon slayed?” He leaned against the doorframe with the grin that had come to visit you in dreams. You could only smile at his cheek, then he waved you over the threshold. “Come in.”

You wanted to take time to admire the canvases propped on easels throughout the room, to ask him what he was working on and where his inspiration came from, what his favorite colors were, how he had honed such skill. You wanted to know everything about him. But your nerves were overcoming you, a heated jittery energy rising through your body from your toes to your shoulders.

“Mr. Bridgerton…” your voice quavered, wondering where on earth to begin.

He closed the door and walked to you. “Please, call me Benedict.” His voice dropped into that low register, smooth and inescapable. His words were an invitation, not simply to use his name. How he could do this, flip a switch and magnetize you toward him with a single glance, a single syllable, was beyond your comprehension but you were utterly powerless against it. 

“That would be most improper.” There was no conviction in your words, just stuttering breath.

He stepped even closer, lips parted so that you could see the candlelight shining off the bottom one. You couldn’t tear your eyes from it. “Do you want to enforce propriety between us?”

He was offering you the choice, the final say in how you wanted to proceed. But your mind had been made up before you even entered the room. Every drop of your blood was humming, pulling you inexorably forward just as it had in the theater, just as it always did whenever he was close enough that you felt the warmth of his breath on your skin. 

“No.”

A smile ghosted across his face, something like relief. The last barrier of uncertainty having fallen away, he took your hands softly into his own. “What do you want? I’ll give you anything.”

Before you could stop yourself, you surged up onto your toes and pressed your lips to his, needing to know their softness, their taste, needing to finally seize what had been tempting you for so long. He staggered slightly, his hands falling to your waist, but his mouth remained still as you pulled back, searching his eyes. For a fleeting moment, you feared you had done something wrong, had somehow misinterpreted his offer. 

Then you saw the glittering joy in his gaze and felt the chuckles rising out of his chest under your palms. He smiled, beaming as a hand rose to trail across your cheek and into your hair. 

“What a surprise,” he breathed, “I want the same thing.” 

Then he enveloped you, lips crashing back against yours as he pulled you flush to his body. A deep and proper kiss, and it was every bit the fairytale you dreamed it would be. 

Fin.

Tagging: @angels17324 @bridgertontess @broooookiecrisp @desert-fern @fiction-is-life @kpopstanthot @mysticwitchcraftco @unholyhuntress @defnotashifter

[salvawhores-world]

Sparks - Anthony bridgerton Part 1

Single dad! Anthony Bridgerton x young!fem oc (Florence Channingworth)

Warnings - single dad anthony, tooth rotting fluff, crazy bridgerton siblings , age gap. Uncle Ben has my whole heart

A/n- reader is of Eloise’s age. I imagine her as Emma Watson from belle and little women.She is nineteen and Anthony 30. It was quite common in those days and the age gap holds a key to the plot hence is emphasised more often I started writing this imagining girl dad Anthony had me in fits. It seems I’ve more than 1 part hehehe. Do not steal my work.

Viscount Anthony Bridgerton, once renowned as the charming rake of London, experienced a profound transformation the day his precious daughter, Ava Bridgerton, came into the world four years ago.

She became the very center of his universe, reshaping his priorities and molding him into the doting father he had never anticipated becoming.

Love for his daughter consumed him entirely, radiating from him in every interaction. The viscount's rakish tendencies were forsaken, for he no longer had time nor desire for them.

The idea of marriage had never been on his radar, but with Ava as his eternal companion, he found contentment beyond measure.

As for securing an heir, he entrusted that responsibility to his brothers, Benedict, Colin, or even young Gregory, confident that the viscount legacy would be safeguarded.

The Bridgerton household was bathed in warm sunlight as Ava's little legs propelled her eagerly towards her father's study.

“Dada!" she exclaimed, storming into the room. Anthony glanced up from his towering stack of papers, his heart instantly alight at the sight of his precious daughter.

Amongst the strict protocol of their home, Ava alone had the privilege of entering without knocking.

With eyes filled with adoration, Anthony beckoned Ava closer, opening his arms to envelop her in an embrace. "Yes, my little love?" he responded, his voice laced with affection and a touch of wonder.

“What do fencing and farming have to do with becoming with child?" Ava's words tumbled forth, her curiosity shining brightly.

Momentarily taken aback by the unexpected question, Anthony's sister Eloise's penchant for stirring up intriguing discussions had once again cast its enchanting spell.

Clearing his throat, Anthony sought the right words to navigate this delicate topic with his beloved four-year-old daughter. He couldn't bear to deceive her – Ava deserved nothing less than the truth.

Ava continued, her voice hushed and tender, her tiny fingers delicately twirling Anthony's thumb as he lovingly caressed her hair.

She recounted the events of their recent tea gathering in the drawing room, where Aunt Eloise had dared to inquire about the nature of conceiving a child without the prerequisite of marriage.

He silently chastised his mischievous siblings for placing him in such a predicament.

Leaning against her father's comforting presence, Ava continued to unravel the tale. Uncle Lin’s mention of farm visits, swiftly followed by Uncle Benny's playful reprimand and their grandmother's firm disapproval of improper conversation.

Anthony couldn't help but feel a surge of frustration at his siblings, convinced that they were intentionally conspiring to complicate his life.

In his heart, he secretly harbored thoughts of committing a murder– if only he could get away with it – with Colin and Eloise at the top of his imaginary list

Looking up at her father with her innocent eyes, framed by bangs that mirrored her Aunt Eloise's hairstyle, Ava sought answers. Anthony knew his little girl was wise beyond her years, her intellect far surpassing her tender age.

He sighed inwardly, contemplating how to address her inquiries. He yearned for the eloquence of his late father, Edmund, who always had the right words at the ready. But he reminded himself that he was Anthony, not Edmund, and that he needed to find his own way as a father.

"Like your grandma said, Ava, these are improper topics of conversation for now, my love," Anthony said, his heart aching at the disappointment reflected in her big brown puppy eyes. His little girl deserved the truth, but he also wanted to protect her innocence.

"Dada," Ava began, her voice filled with determination, "it's contradictory. You're not married, but you have me. You and Uncle Lin and Uncle Benny all fence, and they don’t have children. And none of you are married either." She presented her observations like a mini-lecturer, her inquisitive mind seeking understanding.

Her questions were indeed profound for a four-year-old, and he wished he had all the answers poised at the tip of his tongue, like his father Edmund always had.

"Sweetheart," he began, his voice filled with tenderness, "you are my very, very smart girl, aren't you?" His eyes held a mixture of pride and adoration.

“Being with child is a big concept, my little baby. When you grow up and your little head is ready, I promise to explain it all to you. It will be easier for you to grasp and understand."

Ava nodded, her eyes brightening with trust and innocence as she settled comfortably on her father's lap.

As their conversation continued, the father and daughter delved into other delightful topics, their interaction a heartwarming testament to the unbreakable bond they shared.

As dinner approached, Ava's determination to perfect her teacup sketch alongside her uncle Benedict in his art studio remained unwavering.

Anthony entered the drawing room, expecting to find his daughter. However, to his surprise, he discovered Colin and Gregory engaged in playful banter, while Francesca and Eloise quietly indulged in their book.

"Colin, you are hereby forbidden from opening that barbarous mouth of yours in front of my daughter ever again!" Anthony declared, his voice laced with exasperation.

Without hesitation, he swatted his brother on the head, eliciting a chuckle from Francesca. "Well, it seems I missed the epic incident that transpired this afternoon," Francesca remarked, her eyes still fixed on her book

“Perhaps my little Ava could regale us with the tale," Francesca suggested, peering up from her book to look at Anthony, who was busy rolling his eyes.

"Ah, the remarkable talent she possesses for storytelling," Eloise chimed in.

"That's precisely why you should never leave a child in the company of starving artists and heartbroken poets." Colin, couldn't resist adding

Sighing and brooding, Anthony made his exit from the drawing room, muttering under his breath, "Vicious bunch, the lot of you."

"Wow, would you just look at my incredibly talented little baby," Benedict exclaimed in awe, gazing up at the teacup sketched with Ava's tiny, charcoal-smudged hands.

“Uncle Ben, I can't seem to get this part right," she admitted, pointing to the saucer beneath. Before Anthony could enter the room, he was greeted by the heartwarming sight of his daughter perched on his brother's lap, receiving guidance.

"Ah, children," Anthony called out, his voice filled with affection. "Dada!" Ava's eyes lit up as she spotted her father, proudly presenting him with her sketch.

“Look, I made a teacup!" Her smile radiated pure joy, Chubby cheeks adorned with smudges of charcoal. Benedict gently wiped off the smudges, his adoration for his niece shining brightly.

"This is absolutely beautiful, my dear. I'm certain we have Uncle Ben's guidance to thank,” Anthony praised, beaming at the masterpiece.

Ava turned around, planting a sloppy kiss on Benedict's cheek. "Thank you, Uncle Ben. You're the absolute best!" she declared, her love for him evident in her words.

"And you, my darling, are my favorite person in the whole wide world," Benedict replied, his heart swelling with adoration for his beloved niece.

“Now, come on, you artists, I'm sure are both famished. It's dinnertime," Anthony interjected,

Anthony, guiding Ava down the stairs, holding her hand on one side, while Benedict held her other hand. In that moment, Ava truly embodied the cherished spirit of the Bridgerton family, loved and adored by all.

On a delightful morning, Eloise found herself in a fit of frustration, adamantly insisting on going to the spring book fair.

Violet, ever the concerned mother, refused to let her daughter wander the streets unaccompanied.

Naturally, Ava, who mimicked her beloved aunt in everything, also insisted on joining them at the fair.

As Anthony entered the room, his hat gracefully handed to the footman, he greeted the ladies amidst their bickering. "A very good morning to you, ladies," he chimed in, a twinkle in his eyes.

"Anthony, please talk some sense into your sister and daughter. They insist on going to the book fair," Violet pleaded, finally finding a moment to pour herself a cup of tea.

Eloise, walking towards her brother, continued to grumble, "Why must there always be this permission nonsense? Colin practically flies out of the door like a leaf!"

Little Ava followed her aunt quietly, her chubby hands swiftly grabbing a biscuit from Daphne's saucer on the way, earning a teasing glare from her aunt.

"But Eloise, we have an entire library here. What could you possibly find there that you don't have already?" Anthony questioned, genuinely curious.

Eloise's annoyance grew by the minute as she replied, "How will we ever know if we don't go, Anthony?"

Ava, standing beside them, joined in, her sweet voice chiming, "Yes, Dada, please! I want to see too!"

Anthony's gaze shifted downward to his daughter, her little hands holding a half-eaten biscuit, with crumbs lingering near her lips. He couldn't help but be captivated by her big, brown puppy eyes that mirrored his own.

Crouching down to Ava's level, Anthony lovingly brushed away the crumbs around her mouth. He then turned to Eloise and made a decision.

“Fine, if you both wish to go, I shall accompany you," he declared, lifting Ava into his arms as she hugged him tightly, brimming with joy. Together, they walked out of the room, embarking on their book fair adventure.

"Wow, it's like she's holding a secret Bridgerton family spellbook," Colin exclaimed with a mischievous grin, earning playful nods and from his siblings.

"Next time someone pushes Anthony to the edge, we'll just send in Ava, and poof! Instant peace and sanity restored!" His statement elicited laughter that echoed throughout the room, as they imagined the adorable Ava as their secret weapon against Anthony's moments of frustration.

The overcast afternoon provided a pleasant ambiance as Anthony held little Ava's hand, strolling amidst the book fair with his sister, Eloise.

Random lords greeted the viscount while Eloise searched for an edition of Elizabeth Gaskell's new novel. Little Ava, pointing and laughing at various sights, brought an air of joy to the group. Suddenly, they heard a commotion at one of the book stalls.

"Cease your wailing like a child for a toy! I arrived here first, and thus, I shall claim this book," a girl's voice asserted as they drew closer to the commotion.

Eloise noticed the very same novel clutched tightly in the lady's hand. Anthony observed a girl of Eloise's age, donned in a pastel lilac gown with meticulously arranged and adorned hair, clearly new to ton.

"Proper ladies do not engage in reading. Have you no inkling of decorum?" a young man, a year or so younger than Anthony, retorted with a haughty tone.

The girl scoffed at his words, her gaze ablaze with determination. “Only Illiterates do not engage in reading for the simple reason that they cannot, but then there exist individuals like you, whose intellect fails to grasp knowledge despite indulging in literature," she retorted with a fierceness in her stare.

In the midst of this exchange, Ava, clapping her tiny hands, caught the girl's attention.

Anthony furrowed his brow, looking at his daughter with confusion. "Most admirably expressed, miss," the girl turned and bestowed a smile upon little Ava.

Anthony glared at the man, disapproving of his inquisitive gaze towards his daughter, holding her hand firmly.

Delving into her pouch, the girl rummaged for pennies. "I should like to obtain that book," the man persisted.

“I should like to consign you to a hasty grave," she retorted through gritted teeth, his embarrassment palpable.

Having paid the shopkeeper, she raised her gaze and ordered the man to depart. He hastily retreated, disappearing from sight.

Approaching little Ava, the girl gracefully lowered herself, crouching before her. “Hello love I gather you possess an affinity for literature," she inquired, her voice gentle and melodious.

“Yes, miss, I love reading. My aunt Eloise here introduced me to the world of books," Ava responded, her pudgy finger pointing towards Eloise, who reciprocated the girl's smile.

"I daresay both of you possess exquisite taste," the girl affirmed with a smile. "Yes, and you are very, very pretty, almost like the angels my uncle Benny writes poems about," Ava complimented, leaving the girl in front of her in awe.

"Well, it takes one to see one. I'm sure your uncle would know," the girl responded referring to Ava,her smile enchanting.

Eloise introduced herself, saying, “hello , Eloise Bridgerton."The girl replied, "I am Florence Channingworth, and it is my utmost pleasure to make your acquaintance."

"Miss Flor... Flow... Flower, I am Ava Bridgerton." Florence beamed at the little girl's enthusiasm.Unable to pronounce Florence's full name, Ava chimed in eagerly,

“And this, is my father, Viscount Anthony Bridgerton," Ava introduced her father. To say Florence was captivated by him would be an understatement. His countenance radiated extraordinary handsomeness.

"Good afternoon, Miss Channingworth," Anthony greeted, surprised by the magnetic presence of the young lady.

Love at first sight was a notion he had never subscribed to, but Florence's interaction with his daughter and her boldness in confronting the discourteous man intrigued him.

“Greeting, Lord Bridgerton," Florence replied, unable to divert her gaze from him.

“You are the daughter of the Duke of Gloucester, if I am not mistaken, Miss Channingworth?" Anthony inquired, recognizing the prestigious name.

Cascading waterfalls, enveloping him in a momentary trance. He quickly composed himself as she replied, "Indeed, my lord, I am the daughter of the Duke of Gloucester. We have recently arrived in the ton."

"I was precisely in search of that particular book, but it seems there is only a solitary copy available," Eloise interjected, her eyes fixated on the coveted novel as if she had discovered a long-lost treasure.

“Yes, it was just released, Miss Eloise, as you are undoubtedly aware," Florence replied, meeting Eloise's gaze with understanding.

A glimmer appeared in her eyes as she continued, "However, might I propose an arrangement? I shall embark upon reading this book, and within a week's time, I shall pen you a letter and hand it over along with the cherished novel."

"And perhaps, dear Ava, you and I could engage in a discourse about the book, if your father deems it agreeable," Florence suggested, turning her attention towards Ava and Anthony.

"Who cares about what Ava and her father do? I'm up for the discussion with you," Eloise exclaimed with infectious excitement, causing a mischievous grin to spread across Florence's face.

In the midst of the enthusiasm, little Ava pinched Eloise on the arm, for leaving her out prompting a surprised yelp from her

"Of course, Miss Flower, I... I would very much like that," Ava chimed in, her grin widening. She turned to her father, her eyes twinkling with mischief.

.”Wouldn't we, Dada?" she asked, her voice filled with anticipation and a touch of cheekiness.

Ava looked up at her father with wide, pleading eyes, silently pleading for his approval.

Anthony couldn't deny the sparkle of joy in his daughter's eyes or the genuine warmth emanating from Florence.

"Of course, anything that brings happiness to my girls," he affirmed with a smile.

With a beam of satisfaction, Eloise exclaimed, "We shall eagerly anticipate our literary discussions, Miss Channingworth!"

“As shall I, Miss Eloise,” Florence replied, her smile radiating a genuine fondness for the spirited girl.

As Florence bid him farewell, her eyes lingering on him, he couldn't help but feel a pang of longing.

"I shall bid you adieu," she said, her gaze filled with a captivating tenderness.

"Have a splendid afternoon, Miss Channingworth," he replied, unable to conceal the fondness in his smile.

He watched Florence walk away, her graceful figure etching a bittersweet image in his mind. Little Ava, always observant, waved goodbye with unabashed enthusiasm, while Eloise radiated with excitement, relishing the newfound bond with her new book friend and the treasured novel she had acquired.

The Viscount couldn't help but marvel at the unexpected turn of events.

One moment, he was drowning his sorrows at White', and the next, he found himself engrossed in a conversation with three delightful ladies, discussing novels amidst the lively ambiance of the book fair.

"Dada, let's hurry home! I must inform Uncle Benny about the angelic Miss Flower, so he can compose more delightful poems," Ava exclaimed, her words breaking through her father's trance.

Her innocence and eagerness melted Anthony's heart, and he couldn't help but feel a surge of warmth enveloping him.

After four eventful days, Florence found herself comfortably seated at home, diligently penning a letter to Miss Eloise.

She carefully wrapped the cherished book in a neat brown paper, preparing it for its journey. Lost in her thoughts,she heard a murmur,

"And this love letter is for..." Suddenly, her peaceful reverie was shattered by a familiar voice, causing her to let out a startled exclamation. The ink from her pen spilled onto the letter, creating an unfortunate mess.

She turned around to find Simon, her dear friend and brother, towering over her. "Simon!" she exclaimed, slightly exasperated as he enveloped her in a tight embrace.

“Please release me! You've ruined my letter," she protested, her words muffled by his hug.

"Well, well, well, if it isn't my own sister. How are you faring? Are your romantic novel daydreams finally coming to fruition?" he teased, casting a mischievous glance at the book and the ink-stained letter, his eyes catching the familiar last name "Bridgerton."

"Shut your cheeky mouth! I met a companion at the book fair the other day, and I was penning a missive to her. But thanks to your irritating antics, it's all ruined now!"Florence's frustration grew, and she couldn't help but retort.

"Just when I thought you'd be elated to see me, it seems you prefer the company of strangers over your dear brother. I am utterly wounded," he remarked with a hint of jest. Simon feigned hurt, his expression mockingly pained.

"Ah, it appears my children have already commenced their squabbling." Before Florence could reply, their conversation was interrupted by the arrival of His Grace, the Duke of Gloucester, her father. He entered the room and caught sight of his daughter and Simon, engaging in their playful banter. With a light-hearted tone, he commented.

"Father, Simon has appeared and started to vex me," she said, pointing towards the mischievous Basset boy.

"Well, why don't the two of you take a stroll together and catch up? I wouldn't want my children serving each others heads to me for dinner, which will surely happen if you remain cooped up in the house," their father suggested with a knowing smile.

Simon's smirk widened as Florence let out a groan. "Oh, Flo it seems we'll have to personally deliver your book," Simon remarked playfully.

"Have I mentioned my disdain for the male species?" she quipped, glancing at her father before walking away with the book in hand. Before leaving, she planted a kiss on her father's cheek, and he smiled warmly at his daughter's antics.

"I'll take good care of her," Simon assured her father, and the Duke of Hastings pulled him into a heartfelt embrace. "Welcome home, son," he said, his voice filled with genuine emotion.

The Duke of Gloucester and the Duke of Hastings shared a deep bond, one that extended beyond their friendship and into the realm of family.

"Tell me more, Uncle Lin. Do they have angels like Miss Flower in Greece too?" Ava's newfound fascination with Miss Florence had taken over the Bridgerton household.

She was perhaps the first lady, outside of her aunts, who shared similar ideals—an uncommon occurrence that Ava found intriguing.

Ever since that day at the book fair, she had pestered Benedict for multiple poems, asked Eloise every day if she had received the letter yet, and requested Anthony to share more stories about Florence, given his knowledge of her father.

Unfortunately, Anthony could provide little information, as Simon had only mentioned the Channingworths in passing. Nonetheless, Ava seized every opportunity to bring up the Channingworth lady.

"Whoever this Flower is, will she ever bloom, or are we to be left with just stories about her?" Colin jested, eliciting laughter from the Bridgertons.

The entire family had gathered in the drawing room for their afternoon tea.

"His Grace, Simon Basset, the Duke of Hastings, and Miss Florence Channingworth."Just then, the butler announced Anthony's excitement and confusion mingled together, and Eloise and Ava's eyes widened with anticipation, their gazes fixed on the entrance.

"Bridgerton!" Simon's voice filled the room with excitement, and the Bridgerton family promptly rose to their feet, showing their respect for the Duke of Hastings.

Anthony couldn't contain his joy and immediately pulled his best friend into a tight embrace. "Basset, it's good to see you," he greeted him warmly.

Florence, following closely behind Simon, observed their surprise reunion with curiosity. Unbeknownst to her, Anthony and Simon had been the closest of friends since their college days.

As she took in the scene, little Ava couldn't contain her excitement and dashed towards Florence, her pigtails bouncing with each step. Florence, delighted by the young girl's enthusiasm, knelt down to embrace her.

"Oh, I was waiting for you !” Ava exclaimed, her eyes shining with admiration. Florence's face lit up with a radiant smile. "And I’m just as excited, dear Ava," she replied, her voice as sweet as honey.

Caught in a moment of awe, Anthony couldn't tear his gaze away from Florence. She seemed to embody everything her presence ignited a warmth in his heart that he hadn't felt in a long time.

As Anthony continued to gaze at Florence, he couldn't help but be aware of the significant age difference between them. She was around Eloise's age, and he knew it would be deemed improper to entertain such thoughts about a young lady like her. Yet, his heart seemed determined, well the heart want what it wants.

"How are you, Ava?" Florence asked, her attention now fully focused on the little girl.

"I'm fantastic! Uncle Simon brought Miss Flower with him," Ava exclaimed, pointing towards Florence. The room burst into laughter at Ava's innocent mix-up of names.

Florence chuckled, her eyes meeting Anthony's. "Well, I'm honored to be in the presence of such esteemed company," she said, her words accompanied by a playful smile. Anthony's heart skipped a beat, and he felt his cheeks flush.

The shared glance did not go unnoticed by Lady Bridgerton, who exchanged knowing looks with her eldest son, Benedict, and Daphne. It seemed that Anthony's foolish heart was betraying him.

The Bridgerton family sat together in the elegant drawing room, their laughter and warmth filling the air. Anthony's mother, Violet, sat regally in her favorite armchair, overseeing the lively gathering.

Ava, perched on Benedict's lap, tugged at his sleeve, her eyes gleaming with mischief. "Uncle Ben, do you think Miss Flower is an angel in disguise?" she asked, her voice filled with wonder.

Benedict chuckled, ruffling Ava's hair affectionately. “Well, little one, Miss Florence certainly has a grace and beauty that rivals the angels," he replied, casting a playful glance at Florence, who blushed at the compliment.

“But Ava, you're the one who sees angels, remember? Perhaps you can tell us if Miss Florence truly is one,”Anthony suggested, a playful glint in his eyes as he leaned closer to his daughter.

Ava's face lit up, her imagination running wild. "Oh, yes, Dada! Miss Florence can be my angel friend, and we can have tea parties and read books in the clouds!" she exclaimed, earning delighted laughter from her siblings.

"Well, in that case, I hope you remember to save some tea and biscuits for your Uncle Simon. I wouldn't want to be left out of the heavenly tea party," Simon quipped.

"Simon,, I believe tea parties in the clouds require a certain level of etiquette. Can you manage that?" Florence asked, raising an eyebrow playfully.

"Why, my dear sister I'll have you know that I can be the most refined cloud tea party guest you'll ever meet!" he proclaimed, causing Florence to burst into laughter.

Violet couldn't help but notice the transformation in her son, Anthony. The genuine smile that graced his face as he listened to Florence's laughter brought a sense of joy and nostalgia to her heart.

"Miss flower! Will you play with me and tell me more stories?" she asked, her voice filled with pure innocence.

“Of course, my dear Ava. I would love nothing more” she replied, her voice filled with genuine affection.

Soon the time for Simon and Florence's departure drew near, Ava's face crumpled with sadness.

She clung tightly to Florence's hand, her eyes welling up with tears. "But Miss Flower, you can't go yet! I don't want you to leave. Will you promise to come back soon?" she pleaded, her voice quivering with genuine distress.

“Oh, my sweet Ava, I promise you that I will see you soon” Florence's heart ached at Ava's visible sadness.

She knelt down and cupped the little girl's face in her hands, wiping away her tears with gentle affection.

she assured her, her voice filled with tenderness.

As Anthony held Ava in his arms, he spoke softly to his daughter, his voice filled with tenderness.

“Ava, my love, Miss Florence has other responsibilities to attend to. It would be impolite to keep her waiting. She will visit us again, I promise," he reassured her, soothing her with his comforting presence and gentle strokes on her hair.

Florence couldn't help but admire the beautiful bond between Anthony and Ava. It tugged at her heartstrings and stirred a mix of emotions within her.

She found herself yearning for a family of her own, with a loving husband and a precious child. She quickly scolded herself for entertaining such thoughts about a married man and redirected her attention to the present moment.

Ava's sniffling brought Florence back to reality, and she knelt down to her level, offering reassurance.

“Ava, my dear, I will come to see you once you have finished reading that book with Aunt Eloise." she promised, a warm smile gracing her lips.

"It was a pleasure to meet all of you," Florence addressed the Bridgerton siblings, her eyes filled with genuine appreciation.

The chorus of reciprocal sentiments filled the air, as each sibling expressed their gratitude for the encounter.

Turning to Lady Bridgerton, Florence extended her gratitude, a sincere smile gracing her features.

“Lady Bridgerton, your family is truly remarkable, and your granddaughter is a delight. Thank you for welcoming us into your home unexpectedly. It has been a joy to meet you all."

Violet Bridgerton beamed with affection, her eyes filled with adoration for her family. "My dear Florence, my granddaughter and I have taken a liking to you. Please continue to visit us. We would love to hear more from you and have the pleasure of your company," she warmly expressed, turning her gaze towards Anthony and Ava

Eloise, unable to contain her excitement, interjected, "Miss Florence, I can't wait to read this book! I will get back to you soon with my thoughts and opinions." Her enthusiasm was contagious, and Florence couldn't help but chuckle at her friend's eagerness

"Eloise, I can't wait to hear your thoughts on the book. Let's drop the formalities and simply be Florence and Eloise," she suggested with a warm smile.

"Yes, just Florence and Eloise, like two kindred spirits” Eloise's face lit up with joy as she nodded eagerly. "We shall," Simon said, extending his arm for Florence to take

. With a graceful smile, Florence accepted his arm, her heart feeling a mixture of emotions. The time had come for them to bid their final goodbyes and return to their respective homes.

Florence, known for her directness, couldn't resist her curiosity as she broke the silence during their carriage ride back home.

"Simon, I must ask, how was the viscount during your time at Oxford?" she inquired, her eyes searching for any hint of the truth in his expression.

Anthony's mysterious aura had intrigued her, and she wanted to unravel the layers surrounding him.

"Like most men are during their college days," he replied evasively, not eager to delve into the past. He had reservations about where Florence's curiosity might lead.

"Ah, the epitome of enlightenment, I suppose," she quipped, a touch of amusement in her voice.

“But it's interesting to see you, someone usually guarded, open up so easily to him and especially to his daughter. It's not a side of you I'm accustomed to. Be cautious, Flo, this is unlike you," he warned, concern lacing his words.

“Ava is a little angel, and I don't wish to discuss this matter any further," Florence declared firmly, closing her eyes and leaning back, seeking solace in a momentary escape.

She had no desire to entertain Simon's doubts and observations, feeling weary from the day's events. "Wake me when we arrive," she added, giving him no room for further discussion, leaving Simon to sigh in contemplation.

"Dada, wouldn't it be jolly if Miss Flower came and lived with us?" little Ava asked her father, snuggled in bed as he finished reading her a bedtime story.

Anthony, lost in his thoughts, pondered the idea for a moment. "Well, my darling, I suppose it would be rather splendid," he replied, his mind racing with possibilities.

"Do you like Miss Flower as much as Auntie Eloise and I do?" Ava questioned innocently, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Anthony struggled to find the right words to express his feelings. "I... umm, she's a delightful lady," he responded, trying to choose his words carefully.

Ava's excitement grew as an idea popped into her head. With an animated expression, she suggested,

“Dada, why don't you invite Miss Flower to join us at Aubrey Hall next week for a jolly vacation? You're older, and if you charm her with your wisdom, perhaps she will consider the invitation."

Anthony couldn't help but smile at his daughter's ingenuity. "Did you just call me old?" he gasped dramatically, attempting to divert the topic, causing Ava to burst into giggles. "My dear baby thinks I'm an old man," he playfully teased, raising an eyebrow.

"Of course," Ava replied, giggling uncontrollably. Anthony seized the opportunity, asking mischievously, "Say that again, my dear."

He began tickling her, eliciting a symphony of laughter from Ava. Eventually, he stopped tickling her as she drifted off to sleep, leaving Anthony alone with his thoughts about Miss Channingworth.

As he sat in the quiet room, a myriad of emotions swirled within him. The innocent admiration of his daughter, coupled with his own growing fascination, made him ponder the possibilities that lay ahead.

One fine morning, Simon ventured out for a hunting expedition, while Florence strolled through the park with her dog, relishing the radiant sunlight.

In the distance, she spotted a familiar sight—the unmistakable pigtails of a little girl. "Ava!" she called out, her voice carrying through the air.

Ava, sitting with her father in a picturesque garden set up for a picnic, turned around upon hearing the familiar voice. With hesitant steps, Ava approached Florence, who reassured her, "Don't worry, love, he won't cause any harm," as she observed the little girl's initial hesitation to pet the corgi.

"Hello," Ava greeted, gently caressing the dog with her small chubby hands. "Miss Flower, what is his name?" she inquired. "His name is William," Florence responded.

"William, you are such a good dog," Ava exclaimed, as the corgi nestled against her.

“Goodmorning Miss Channingworth, the weather is fine today” Anthony made his presence known, acknowledging Florence with a warm greeting.

She looked ethereal, like a divine being, donning a sage green pastel gown that complemented her caramel brown hair, adorned with a pretty head accessory.

"Indeed, Lord Bridgerton. I suppose you have a lovely picnic going on," she remarked. "Yes, Ava seems to adore the sunshine. And now she's taken a liking to your dog," Anthony replied, pointing out the little girl's fascination with the canine.

"I am pleased that William is receiving more affection," Florence smiled. Anthony gestured for her to take a seat, to which she gracefully complied.

“So, how long will you be in London ?" Anthony inquired, offering a succulent strawberry to her.

With a mischievous smile, Florence retorted, "Why, Lord Bridgerton, have I started to annoy you by crossing paths with you at every possible turn?"

Anthony stumbled over his words, flustered by her playful remark. "No, I didn't mean it like that. I was just curious," he stammered, watching her bite into the juicy fruit.

Suddenly, Anthony's mouth felt dry, and he loosened his tight collar slightly. "In fact, I am glad to have encountered you. It's a refreshing change from the insufferable people in the ton," Anthony confessed, his throat tightening.

"Well, perhaps after the upcoming season ends. It commences in two weeks," Florence revealed.

"Ah," Anthony responded, caught off guard. "Are you looking to marry?" he asked, his voice tinged with curiosity.

Florence replied, "Not really. I plan to sit out this season since I delayed it by a year. I want to observe how things unfold before making any decisions. I am not particularly fond of marrying just for the sake of it. I seek someone who sees me for who I am and not merely as their wife. I know it may be too much to ask for, but..."

Before Florence could finish her sentence, Anthony interrupted her, his gaze locked deeply into her eyes. "Miss Channingworth, you deserve nothing less than what you desire," he declared passionately, stirring intense emotions within Florence.

The shared gaze between them spoke volumes, as their connection seemed to transcend the bounds of ordinary conversation.

"Dada, did you invite Miss Flower to join us at Aubrey Hall for a vacation?" Ava questioned her father, standing by William who wagged his tail contentedly.

“Oh, I forgot," Anthony admitted, realizing his oversight. "Dada, how could you?" Ava playfully scolded him, finding her place between her father and Florence. William conveniently positioned himself by Ava's side, adding to the picture of a complete and happy family.

Florence couldn't help but admire the domestic scene unfolding before her, cherishing this precious moment on a sunny morning.

"Miss Channingworth, I would like to extend an invitation for you to come and stay with us at our country home in Kent for a vacation," Anthony proposed, his words interrupting Florence's thoughts.

Florence was taken aback by the offer, unsure of what to say, and Anthony's intense gaze only intensified her nervousness.

Would it be awkward? Should she accept? "I insist, please," Anthony reiterated, noticing her hesitation.

Meeting Anthony's longing gaze, Florence finally found her voice, "Yes, I would love that. I'm sure Ava will be thrilled." Deep down, she knew the invitation meant more than just a vacation for Ava.

"For Ava," Anthony affirmed, a sense of relief washing over him at her acceptance. Florence met his gaze and echoed his words, "For Ava." Both of them understood that the invitation held a deeper meaning, extending far beyond a simple vacation.

Have you lost your mind?" Simon exclaimed when Florence mentioned that she would be leaving soon to join the Bridgertons in Kent.

His disbelief was evident in his voice as he tried to comprehend her decision.Florence sighed, understanding Simon's concern.

"I know it may seem sudden, but Viscount Bridgerton invited me to spend some time at Aubrey Hall with them," she explained, trying to rationalize her choice. "It's just a vacation, Simon, and Ava is looking forward to it."

Simon's brows furrowed as he looked at her intently. "But you barely know them, Florence. It's not like you to impulsively go off and spend time with strangers," he protested, his protective instincts kicking in.

Florence nodded, acknowledging his valid point but kept quiet Simon sighed, realizing that Florence had made up her mind. "Just promise me you'll be careful and keep me updated," he urged, his concern for her well-being overriding his initial shock.

"I promise, Simon," Florence reassured him, grateful for his concern. "I'll make sure to keep in touch. You know I won't do anything reckless."

Simon nodded, reluctantly accepting her decision. "Alright then, but remember, if anything feels off or uncomfortable, you can always leave. Your safety and happiness come first," he emphasized, wanting her to prioritize herself above all else.

As they bid each other farewell, Florence couldn't help but feel a mix of excitement and nervousness about her upcoming adventure with the Bridgertons.

—

To be continued…

[pickledpascal]

Lover

Chapter Three: Invisible String

Warnings: Innuendos, lots and lots of pre-wedding nerves, sexual situations (kinda)

Word Count: 5.2k

Lover Masterlist

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Avery and Jensen's wedding day. 

She had a floaty feeling inside her when she woke up. Earlier than usual. Last night, it was hard for her to go to sleep. She was way too excited. Anxious, even. Avery glanced at the man by her side and smiled. Jensen was happily asleep, snoring every now and then. 

As planned, Avery would go over to the cabin where Elena and her boyfriend stayed to get ready with the other bridesmaids. Before that, Avery wrote down a little note on the paper provided by the venue for when Jensen woke up. She knew he'd want to see her one last time before he was busy with the groomsmen so she thought she'd leave him a little something to show her remorse. But also happiness. They were going to get married. And Avery couldn't be more ecstatic. 

When Jensen did wake, he frowned when he felt Avery's side of the bed was cold. He pushed a hand through his hair to get it out of his face when he noticed the note on the nightstand.

Good morning, mon amour

Jensen’s eyebrows furrowed. Avery knew French? He learned something new about her every day. He loved it. 

Today's the day we're bound together by law. But I think we were always bound together by fate. I feel as if I always should have known you. Or maybe we simply met at the right time, right place. You certainly are the right person.

I'm sorry I wasn't there when you woke up. Wedding traditions and all that shit about bride not seeing groom on the morning before the wedding or else bad luck !! But I promise, when you do see me, you won't even know why you were upset about it in the first place. 

Have a little fun in Misha’s cabin. Or whatever you do with your friends. 

Love you,

Avery <3

Jensen let out a small laugh. He quickly put on some sweatpants and a T-shirt. He and the groomsmen planned to get ready in Misha's cabin which he shared with Rob and Rich. They were also going to order breakfast before he got there so they could have it ready. He grabbed some sneakers and slipped them on to make his way over. 

Misha’s cabin wasn't too far away but it made for a nice walk. Jensen looked at the trees surrounding him on the trail. Morning sunlight peeked through tall leaves and branches. The mountains were beautiful. Jensen took a deep breath of the crisp air. He couldn't help the smile that made its way onto his lips. The day was already perfect. And he knew it was just going to get more perfect from there. 

“Someone's already glowing,” Misha commented as he answered the door. “Did y'all have a quickie last night or something?” He teased.

Jensen gave Misha an unimpressed look as he entered, being hit with the smell of freshly made bacon and eggs benedict. “I wish. But no.” He grabbed a plate and hummed once he started to dig in at the table. 

Rob and Rich already sat there, an empty plate in front of both of them. “You have to give us something. What's Avery like in bed?” Rich asked with a wave of his fork. 

Jensen shook his head with a laugh as Misha sat at the table as well. Rich’s inquiry was harmless. Mercer was by the kitchen counters, sipping coffee as he tried to will away his ability to hear. If he projected his thoughts louder, maybe he would be so distracted that his brain wouldn't be able to comprehend what he was hearing. 

Rich awaited his answer. “She's… good. I'll give you that.” Jensen relented.

“That much is easy to tell.” Misha commented with a chuckle. 

“Oh, c'mon, you can give us more than that. You trust us, don't you?” Rich pressed with a teasing frown while Rob snickered next to him. 

Jensen let out a breath and stared at his friends, a disappointed look in his eyes. “You really think I'm gonna explain to you how my wife dicks me down?” After the words left his mouth, he realized what he had done.

Rob pumped a fist in the air. “Yes!” He laughed as Rich reluctantly handed him a fifty-dollar bill.

“I can't believe this.” Rich sighed. 

Jensen looked between Rob and Rich before he glanced at Misha. “They had a bet going on.” He explained with a shrug. He already knew the dynamic of Jensen and Avery's sexual relationship. However, the way he found out was not by choice. 

The groom finished his meal and let out a sigh as he leaned back in his chair. The ceremony wasn't for another few hours but nervousness started to bubble in his chest. Jensen didn't want to be late. If there was such a thing as being late on his wedding day. “Where's Josh?” He asked as he set his plate in the sink. Jensen felt like he needed his brother, just to have some familial support. His parents were likely on a hike so he wouldn't know where to find them.

“Taking a hike with your parents,” Misha answered. Shit. Jensen let out a shaky breath. “Hey, c'mere,” Misha guided Jensen into his room. Their suits hung up in the corner of the room on a rolling stand. “What's up?” 

Jensen sat at the end of the bed and buried his head in his hands. “I don't know what's wrong with me. I'm so in love with Avery but it's like it just hit me that I'm going to marry her. I'm… afraid.” He shook his head, lips forming into a thin line. He was a mess. He knew it. Why did Avery choose to marry him again? 

Misha sat next to him, rubbing his back. “You don't want to mess up. That's understandable, Jay. But I don't think Avery or you are gonna fall out of love anytime soon.” He soothed softly. Seeing Jensen like this hurt him. The man was usually very confident and collected. He knew what to do all the time. It was strange to see Jensen not know what to do. 

Jensen let out a deep breath. Misha was right. The anxiety was just eating away at him. In reality, there was nothing to worry about. “Okay,” He drew in breath. His heartbeat was starting to calm. “Okay.” 

After his mini-breakdown, Jensen decided to get ready. Avery had specifically packed Jensen a bag of products she knew he liked. His favorite cologne, hair product, a few face masks, a tube of mascara—it was the only makeup product he knew how to properly use—and a single blush palette that came with a brush. 

As an extra way to calm himself down, Jensen did the facemask first. It said ‘relaxing’ on the label and he sure needed some of that. It felt a little weird on his beard but he ignored it. The rest of his skin started to tingle, signifying it was working the way it was supposed to. 

Mercer let out a small laugh when Jensen made his way out of Misha's room to grab something to snack on. “Finally opened up Avery's bag, huh?” He asked with a smile at the edge of his mug. He switched his coffee in for tea. 

“Yeah,” Jensen murmured shyly, popping a handful of trail mix in his mouth. The saltiness paired with sweetness was exactly what he needed. Avery packing Jensen a bag of self-care essentials started to become a thing after he got his apartment in Columbia and he had to leave for his first convention she couldn't attend with him. “Even when she's not here…” He glanced down.

“She knows how to calm you down?” Mercer finished for him, chuckling softly. 

Jensen nodded, shaking his head slightly. Sometimes he hated how easy he was to read. Jensen finished up his light snack and went into the bathroom, throwing the mask in the trash and turning the knob of the sink on. He cupped his hands in the water, washing his face. He grabbed a nearby hand towel and dabbed it against his face to dry it. 

Afterward, Jensen grabbed his suit and got undressed. He spritzed a bit of cologne on his neck, styled his hair the way he wanted, and put on the makeup Avery provided him with, trying his best to remember how she did it. He lightly brushed his cheeks with blush and pursed his lips as he brushed some near his hairline and forehead. Then came the mascara which he was a little scared about. Jensen's mouth dropped open as he flicked the mascara wand across his lashes. He hissed when it accidentally got in his eyes and a few spots of black appeared underneath his eye. 

In a panic, Jensen tried to wipe it off but that just made it worse. He reached for his phone and clicked on Avery's contact. She picked up after a few rings.

“Wassup, honey?” The sound of her voice, even if it was a little teasing, made Jensen feel a lot better.

“I, uh, I got mascara on my face. How do you get it off?” His disheartened voice made Avery concerned, if a little delighted that he felt so alarmed about messing up his makeup. 

Jensen could hear her shifting a little on the phone, assumedly cussing someone out in the background. Likely Elena because she wanted to know who Avery was on the phone with. “Sorry about that… Uh, let it dry for a few seconds. Depending on how much you got on there, I just lick my thumb and rub it off. Easy peasy. No one’ll notice.” 

Feeling reassured, Jensen nodded. “Thanks, sweetheart.” He did as instructed, using the pad of his thumb to wipe at his cheekbone. Sure enough, the little drop of black disappeared.

“No problem, honey. Now, I gotta get this dress on or Elena might do it for me. Love ya.” Avery hung up before Jensen could respond.

He sighed as he set his phone down on the bathroom counter. “Love you too.” He knew Avery was busy getting ready too but a part of him felt a little dejected. Jensen glanced back at the suit hanging on the door. 

As Mercer advised, Jensen went with a black double-breasted suit that had narrow gray pin-stripes. The button-up was a simple white color while his tie was a deep navy color, almost black but light enough it was recognizable to be blue. He pulled the pants up his legs and zipped them up, appreciating the way they fit. Jensen wasn't sure why he was surprised, it was made specifically for him. He tucked the button-up underneath the waistband of his pants and sighed.

It hit Jensen all over again. He was getting married. His heart rate picked up. Jensen smiled to himself as he fastened his tie around his neck, folding his collar over it. And then came the blazer. Jensen shouldered it on, buttoning it up. Only one. He breathed as he saw himself in the full-length mirror in Misha's room. It was the first time he saw himself in the full suit. The other times were just for fittings. The blazer hugged his waist in ways Jensen knew Avery would go insane over. 

He let out a small chuckle as he pushed his hands into his pockets, mind running wild with ideas. Jensen adjusted the navy pocket square in his blazer before he made his way back into the living room. 

Misha whistled at the sight of him. “No wonder Avery likes you.” He teased. He wore his designated suit. It was a solid navy color with a vest and a black tie. He and the rest of the guys changed in Rob and Rich’s shared room. He was the first to get done changing. 

Like a weight off his chest, Jensen let out a laugh. One he needed. “Yeah, well… She's pretty hot too.” He hummed as he leaned against the table. 

“New hot celebrity couple alert.” Misha joked softly. But was it really a joke? 

Avery's popularity was quickly skyrocketing and not because of Jensen. A lot of people talked about her book and she admitted she was working on another one, an original story this time. 

And then, of course, Jensen. He was breaking into the mainstream with being in The Boys and a slew of other shows he wouldn't have had the opportunity to be on if Supernatural was still going. Contractual obligation did that to an actor.

As Jensen stood at the end of the chapel he took in a deep breath. Most of his friends and family sat in pews for the second time but that didn't make it any less nerve-racking. Hell, it made it more nerve-racking. He tried to focus more on the decor of the chapel. The wooden arch to his side had vines with blue and purple flowers hanging off it. The chapel itself was built similar to the cabins but far more grand with exposed beams holding up the high ceiling where a few chandeliers hung to light the whole building. 

“If you break down now, I'm sorry to say I'd laugh.” Misha whispered behind him, patting his shoulder. Jensen laughed softly. 

It was the only reaction he could muster before “Here Comes the Bride” started to play. Their wedding was going to be traditional—mostly—their reception, not so much. The bridesmaids started walking down the aisle until Elena and then Avery with Jacob. 

Jensen drew in a sharp breath. His eyes dilated at the sight of her. Her makeup didn't differ too far from what she wore regularly—winged eyeliner with a neutral shade of brown in the sockets of her eyes—but this time she wore a vibrant red lipstick. A string of pearls wrapped around her neck. And then there was her dress. Fuck. Her dress. God, he wanted to worship her. Have her tell him what to do to worship her properly. He could easily make a religion out of her and he'd love to be her most devoted follower. 

When Jacob and Avery made it to the end of the aisle, Jacob set her hands in Jensen's. “Don't fuck it up.” Her brother glared at him and then made his way to the pews. He sat next to the only other blood relatives of Avery’s that were invited to the wedding. Her cousins, Grace and Noah. Jensen hadn't met them before but Avery said they were from Chicago so that was part of the reason.

Jensen looked into Avery's eyes and smiled, feeling happy tears well in his eyes. She simply smiled back. She had a feeling he'd get emotional and she was more than okay with that. They weren't listening to the minister, a little too caught up in admiring each other's eyes. Avery wondered if the bayou of Louisiana was of similar shade to Jensen's eyes while he thought about if he was on the Titanic and the shards of ice from the glacier looked like the ones in Avery's eyes, he would have happily stayed on the boat. 

“Jensen, have you prepared any vows?” The minister asked, breaking the pair out of their trance. 

Jensen let out a cough to choke down his emotions as much as possible. He nodded, grabbing a crumpled piece of paper from inside his blazer. He held onto Avery with one hand as he took a breath and started to read. “I really don't know how to… put how I feel into words so I thought I'd share when I knew I was going to marry you.” He could hear Elena let out an ‘aww’ which made him and Avery laugh softly. 

“It was November 8th, a few days after I moved and we were lying in bed in my apartment. You were watching some video essay on Skyfall, paused in the middle of it, and tried to express how much you thought it was the best Bond movie of all time. I say ‘tried’ because you never completed your sentences. At least, in a way I could understand.” The people in the pews let out a laugh. Jensen glanced up from his vows at Avery. Her eyes were shining with tears underneath her glasses. Even on her wedding day, contacts were the bane of her existence. “Then you ranted about how much of a masterpiece the song was. Which devolved and devolved until you started to talk like Benoit Blanc.” Avery let out a flustered laugh. “I simply listened. I love nothing more than to hear about what you love. And I want,” Jensen rasped as he pushed his vows back into his blazer. “I want nothing more than to hear you talk like that every night for the rest of my life.”

Avery wasn't sure how she'd top that but she'd try. After an applause from the pews, it was time for her vows. “Jensen Ackles, am I right?” She joked to the crowd which earned her laugh, easing her nerves. Not by much. She didn't have anything written down and thought she'd wing her vows but that proved to be a bad idea. She was at a loss for words. “I kind of… didn't write anything down.” That earned an amused look from Jensen. 

“But, I—uh—do want to talk about you. I mean, of course I do. You're you. You're so loving and affectionate and open and so fucking hot and I can't grasp I get to have you for the rest of my life. I felt so… weary of straight cis people I didn't already know.” Avery admitted softly. Jensen nodded. It was for good reason and he knew that. “You're the most accepting man I've ever met in my life—besides my brother—and you were so prepared to throw away your entire family if they didn't like me for who I am. Like it was nothing. That, in itself, made me feel special. And then you stood up for me in front of my parents,” Jensen's jaw tightened at the mention of them. “And I couldn't believe how much it made me love you that much more.” His eyes softened, still brimming with tears. Avery held his hands tighter and smiled brightly at him. 

The minister gave Jensen and Avery identical silver rings. “Do you, Jensen Ross Ackles, take Avery Selena Cairo to be your lawfully wedded wife? To have and to hold? In sickness and in health? Till death do you part?”

“I do.” Jensen said softly, slipping the ring onto Avery's finger. His pulse started to hasten again. But not because of nerves anymore. He was excited. Extremely happy.

“Do you, Avery Selena Cairo, take Jensen Ross Ackles to be your lawfully wedded husband? To have and to hold? In sickness and in health? Till death do you part?” 

Avery nodded eagerly, “I do.” She slipped the silver band onto Jensen's finger. For once in her life, she hadn't taken her eyes off him since the start of the ceremony. How could she? Jensen looked drop-dead gorgeous. 

“By the power vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife. You may kiss the groom.” The minister smirked. 

Jensen let out a small laugh before Avery cut it off with her lips. Her hands found their place on his waist while his naturally gravitated to her shoulders. Avery pulled him as close as her dress would allow and poured every emotion she felt into their kiss. It made Jensen dizzy in the best way possible.

Avery tried to pull away, not wanting to give the audience more of a show then they already had, but Jensen chased after her eagerly. She couldn't deny him that easily. 

“That's enough, cowboy.” Avery whispered against Jensen's lips after a few seconds. He sighed as he looked into her eyes. 

Jensen took her hand and looked at the people in the pews. He held up their interlocked hands and couldn't help but brag. “I have the fucking hottest wife!” Avery’s lips formed into a thin line, embarrassment flushing her cheeks with a mix of happiness at his pride.

bluejay.hills: caught mere moments after the ceremony

comment on bluejay.hills post by DAR3DEVILS: HES SO REAL FOR THAT

comment on bluejay.hills post by lesbiandean: WDYM THAT'S AVERY ?? THATS A GODDESS

comment on bluejay.hills post by swiftiedean: omg… jensen better know how to fight

Before the reception, Avery and Jensen had a few moments to themselves in the back of the venue. It was much needed since Avery had the feeling she needed to isolate herself after being around so many people for so long. 

“You're my husband.” Avery whispered, caressing his jaw gently. She wasn't sure when it'd sink in but it wouldn't be anytime soon. 

Jensen leaned into the touch. “And you're my wife.” He said dreamily. This whole ordeal felt like a dream that he didn't want to wake up from. 

“No, no, no, I don't think you understand.” Avery argued softly, shaking her head. “You, Jensen. I used to watch you on TV and here you are… with me.” 

Jensen thought it would feel unreal for Avery. And he was right. Their whole relationship was dreamlike. “Karma is the guy on the screen coming straight home to me.” He sang softly as he intertwined his fingers with hers and placed a kiss on her jaw.

The universe worked in mysterious ways and Jensen genuinely believed Avery deserved some light in her life after all the shit she'd been through. That just so happened to be him. And, well, Jensen wasn't having the best time either before they met. He must've done something good to deserve Avery in front of him, loving him. 

Karma is a two-way street after all. 

As the reception officially started and guests filtered in, Elena found the time to introduce her boyfriend—Mark—to Jensen. They hadn't met before because Mark lived in upstate South Carolina and when he visited, Jensen and Avery intentionally scheduled date nights at the same time. 

“This,” Elena nudged Mark's shoulder and smiled. “Is my boyfriend.” The man next to her looked to be around the same age she was and his eyes were horrified. 

Jensen stared down at him. Mark was only a few inches shorter than him but Jensen was built and broad whereas Mark was lanky. Any twenty-year-old in their right mind would be intimidated by him, even slightly. But Jensen was as close to a father figure as Elena could have without him being her biological father so that added to the feeling of dread in the back of Mark's mind. 

Jensen stuck out his hand for the younger man to shake. “Nice to meet you.” 

Mark obliged, hand sweaty. “Yeah, uh, you too.” 

Like she was in her own little world, Elena led Mark to their assigned table with a bright smile on her face.

Avery laughed next to Jensen, shaking her head. The look on Mark’s face was priceless. “Y'know Mark had the same face when we met for the first time.”

“Did you ask what his intentions were with Elena ‘cause I was about to ask the same thing.” Jensen joked softly as he wrapped an arm around Avery's waist. 

Food and drinks started to be served after that. A chunk of red meat, potatoes, and spears of asparagus, swimming in some sort of red wine sauce that Avery had to stop herself from drinking. And then there was the cake. Black frosting with four tiers that had blue roses on the edges of each one. Similarly to Avery's birthday, the flavor of the cake was chocolate but, instead of strawberry filling, it was cream cheese.

A bunch of phones and cameras started flashing as Avery and Jensen fed a piece to each other. 

Then came their first dance as husband and wife. Their shared slice of cake sat at their table as Jensen guided Avery to the middle of the dancefloor. A crowd gathered around them to watch. He set a hand on her hip as she set one on his shoulder, their other hands were intertwined off to the side of their bodies. 

We could leave the Christmas lights up 'til January

And this is our place, we make the rules

And there's a dazzling haze, a mysterious way about you dear

Have I known you 20 seconds or 20 years? 

Avery's choice. And Jensen couldn't help but let her make it. 

Can I go where you go?

Can we always be this close forever and ever?

And ah, take me out, and take me home

You're my, my, my, my

Lover

Jensen looked into Avery's eyes, trying to memorize every single detail of them through her glasses. The outer rim of her irises that were darker than the rest of her eyes, the little shards of color that looked like glass, the way her pupils were so large when they looked at him. 

We could let our friends crash in the living room

This is our place, we make the call

And I'm highly suspicious that everyone who sees you wants you

I've loved you three summers now, honey, but I want 'em all

Avery adjusted her hand on Jensen's shoulder, feeling more emotional than she expected. She would've expected to have felt it earlier but, no, this felt like she had finally sealed her fate with him. 

Can I go where you go?

Can we always be this close forever and ever?

And ah, take me out, and take me home (forever and ever)

You're my, my, my, my

Lover

A few drops of liquid happiness rolled down Jensen's cheeks, a crease between his eyebrows as a wide smile graced his lips. Avery shared a similar look. She pressed her forehead against his as they swayed together. Jensen happily breathed in her space. 

Ladies and gentlemen, will you please stand?

With every guitar string scar on my hand

I take this magnetic force of a man to be my lover

My heart's been borrowed and yours has been blue

All's well that ends well to end up with you

Swear to be overdramatic and true to my lover

And you'll save all your dirtiest jokes for me

And at every table, I'll save you a seat, lover

It was strange just how accurately the lyrics described their relationship. Jensen and Avery had done so much in such a short amount of time. They moved in together and had a whole life planned in front of them. But Avery wouldn't mind a few bumps in the road or stops at different attractions, that's what made the journey so fun in the first place. 

Can I go where you go?

Can we always be this close forever and ever?

And ah, take me out, and take me home (forever and ever)

You're my, my, my, my

Oh, you're my, my, my, my

Darling, you're my, my, my, my

Lover

As the last few notes rang out through the speakers, Avery brought Jensen closer for a kiss. She wiped at his cheek to wash away the droplets from his skin. 

After their dance, it was free for everyone else to go onto the dance floor. Jensen and Avery still held each other, an identical smile on their faces. She cupped Jensen's jaw and bit the inside of her cheek to stop herself from smiling so hard. Her jaw would hurt in the morning. 

“I think I understand what Taylor meant by invisible string.” Avery hummed once they sat back down.

Jensen cocked an eyebrow, amused by the admission. “Oh? Share with the class.” He teased softly. 

“Fuck, you're turning into me.” Avery laughed, eyes screwing shut as her shoulders shook. 

“I don't think that's a bad thing.” Jensen planted a kiss on Avery's temple before he planted another on the back of her hand. 

Out of the corner of his eye, he could see Elena and Jay dancing together. They looked to be having a ton of fun. Sammy had found one of Jensen's cousins to dance with while Jacob and Mark stood awkwardly next to each other. Misha had opted to dance with Tessa and Mackenzie interchangeably. 

Avery wiggled a little in her chair. “This dress is so beautiful but I can barely fucking move. It's so damn big. I should've had an outfit change or something.” She complained softly. She wanted to dance more with Jensen or Elena. Or Misha. Or in general. 

“Just makes it all the more fun when I take it off you tonight.” Jensen whispered into her ear, arm draped over her shoulder.

Avery let out a breath. “That a promise?” She challenged softly before she took a sip from her champagne flute.

“One I intend to keep,” Jensen nodded, hooking a finger underneath Avery's chin. “If you'll let me.”

Avery smirked into her glass and let out a small chuckle. “Good to know you know your place in the relationship.” She winked, a mischievous glint in her eye.

Jensen raised an eyebrow. As if he hadn't the whole time. “I think it started when we made out at the edge of my pool, sweetheart.” He admitted as he thought back to their first kiss. It was rough and heated and perfect. “You were on top of me and I–” He swallowed, stopping when he remembered Avery was there too. Of course she would have remembered it. 

“And what?” She pressed. 

“And I knew I was fucked. The good kind of fucked.” Jensen finished with a fond smile. 

Avery watched Jensen intently. He had changed so much in the span of a year. Even just physically. Painted nails, mascara, eyeliner that one time, blush, and a few new tattoos. Then there was his newfound fierce allyship. She didn't know why but she always assumed Jensen would be like any other straight guy she found on the street. Sure, she'd heard stories that he was nice and accepting toward queer people but actually doing something was a different story. 

Jensen was a lot more vocal than Avery expected him to be. Maybe she had a part in that, being trans and all. 

Avery pursed her lips, glancing back at the party happening in front of them. “I think… maybe we should christen the Impala tonight.” 

They could easily sneak out of the reception and park the Impala in the middle of nowhere and no one would notice until the crowd started to dwindle. But Avery thought it'd be better until they waited for the reception to properly end. And so she could change into something else. She had a feeling, that even with how much space the Impala had, it would be a hassle to take it off. 

“Yeah,” Jensen swallowed, “Yeah, okay.” It was like he'd been waiting for those words for months. Ever since he brought the Impala to Columbia. 

------

taglist: @nancymcl

taglist open here !!!

[sunshine-gumdrop]

Whispers of the Forgotten World

Disclaimer: I disregard the events in the far cry 5 ending.

In the hush of dawn, where the remnants of the old world whispered secrets to the new, Jacob Seed and the silent Judge, known as Deputy beneath her wooden mask, wandered through the remnants of Hope County. The land was a patchwork of what was and what might be, a testament to nature's indifferent claim over the follies of mankind.

The morning mist clung to the ground as they traversed the fields, the dew mirroring the world in each droplet. Jacob's boots crushed the grass beneath, a steady rhythm in the quiet. Beside him, the Judge moved with a ghost's grace, her presence an echo of the past they both shared but never spoke of.

They reached the remains of an old church, its steeple a skeleton against the sky. Here, they paused, the air heavy with unvoiced memories. The judge's hand brushed against the weathered wood, her touch a benediction for the lost.

***********************************************

At noon, they found shelter beneath the skeletal remains of an old oak, its branches a testament to resilience. Jacob unpacked a meager meal while the judge surveyed the perimeter, her bow at the ready. They ate in silence, an understanding passed between them in glances and the soft clink of their scavenged cans.

When a rustle in the underbrush caught their attention, the judge's mask turned to Jacob. Her eyes, the only part of her face he'd ever seen, were calm. It was a deer, moving on as they would.

***********************************************

As the sun dipped low, casting long shadows over the land, the judge's fingers danced in the fading light. Jacob watched, a student of her silent language. She pointed to the sky, where the first stars dared to shine, and then to the ground, where the shadow of the world lay.

"We're like that, aren't we?" Jacob mused. "Part of the dark, part of the light. Walking in between."

Judge's gloved hand reached out, touching his arm, her gesture a wordless agreement.

***********************************************

By the campfire's glow, Jacob spoke of his fears and hopes, a confession to the silent sentinel beside him. The judge's mask watched, impassive, but her hand found a stick, and she drew in the earth—a circle, a cross, a question.

Jacob nodded, understanding her inquiry. "Yes," he said, "I think tomorrow is worth the fight."

***********************************************

In the gray light of predawn, they stood side by side, the Judge and the Seed, guardians of a new day. The judge's mask faced the east, awaiting the sun. Jacob's eyes were on the path ahead, clear for the first time in years.

They stepped forward together, leaving footprints in the dewy earth—a silent pact to carry the memories of the fallen world into the promise of the new. In the chorus of the waking birds, in the rustle of the leaves, their story continued—a tale of redemption found not in words, but in the shared silence of two souls bound by the hope of what comes after the end.

[orangepeelshortbreadcookies]

Curtain Story: The super serious, dark, dramatic and heroic rivalry of Miles Bridgerton and Charles Bridgerton     

by orangepeelshortbreadcookies

Chapter 1 - 4.2 / 3.7

At four years and two months old, Miles Sharma-Bridgerton rules the world. Everybody will always give him anything he wants.

Until he comes face to face with his new cousin, Charles 'Seong-Ho' Bridgerton.

OR

Miles is perfectly fine with being the baby of the family and the centre of the universe then Charlie comes swinging in like a rocket and ruins all of that by being younger than him.

OR

I need to write some wholesome baby fluff for a change

Author’s note: The even more ridiculous alternative title, courtesy of my partner and the lovely @dollypopup - Curtain Story: the (super serious dark dramatic) rivalry of one Miles Bridgerton and Charles Bridgerton by fall out boy ft. Panic!At The Disco covered by Paramore with a rap bridge from Batman

Special thanks to @hptriviachamp for helping me write Kate and Miles.

At four years and two months old, Miles Sharma-Bridgerton rules the world.

Well, Miles rules at least one world. From Kent to London, from Mumbai to Chennai, everybody loves him. His grandmothers. All of his aunts and uncles. His Amma and Dad most of all. The adults always swoon and gush over how cute he is when Miles looks up at them from under his soft curls and his long eyelashes, as he flashes them a view of the dimples on his round cheeks. Everybody will always give Miles anything he wants.

Miles isn’t worried about his brother, Edmund, or his cousins, Auggie, Belinda and Caroline. He is the youngest of the bunch, so they have to share their toys with him. Miles will tell if they don’t. Plus, Edmund never lets anybody bully him. Secretly, Miles thinks of his brother as his sidekick. The fact that he will soon gain a younger sibling, as his Amma is currently pregnant, is still too abstract of a concept for the boy to comprehend. As far as he is concerned, this is Miles’s world forever.

Miles has yet to have any reason to think otherwise on a day such as today. Turns out his Dad has another brother, Uncle Benedict, not just Uncle Colin and Uncle Gregory. He is returning home with his wife, Auntie Sophie, from their long business trip in Europe. Amma is taking him and Edmund out to meet them for lunch, along with Auntie Daphne, her kids, and Auntie Eloise.

Before they depart for the restaurant, Miles conducts his investigation.

“What does Uncle Benedict do?” Dad says one can judge a character by what they do for a living, and Grandma Violet says it is very rude to directly ask that kind of question. So Miles snuggles against Amma and whispers the question in her ear. She giggles as his breath tickles her.

Also, Miles just wants to be close to Amma and smell her. His aunts and Grandmas smell nice too, but his Amma has the best smell.

“He is an artist, angel.” She answers. “He paints things. He takes photographs of them too.”

He considers her  answer thoughtfully.

“He paints things? Like trees? Like animals? Like horses? What about kittens? What about our dog Newton? And houses?” To each “Yes” from his Amma regarding his inquiries, he is more sure of his resolve. This is good information. Uncle Benedict can stay. It can be useful for Miles and Edmund, having an uncle that powerful.

The fact that Benedict is also his cousins’ uncle, Miles does not agree with.

“What does Auntie Sophie do?” He whispers into Amma’s ear again.

“Auntie Sophie is an astronomer.” says Amma.

“What is astromomomer?” He asks.

She smiles, repeating the words more slowly. “An as-tro-no-mer, darling. She studies astronomy. The sun, the stars, the moon, space. Everything outside of Earth.”

Miles’s eyes brighten at this explanation. He recognizes the term now.

“Space? So she is astronaut? Like spaceship?”

“No, she is an astronomer, dear. Not an astronaut. They work together.” Kate’s attempt to clarify the distinction unfortunately goes completely over Miles’s head. Now, the boy can only think of which possible ways he can charm this Auntie Sophie, so she loves him enough to give him a seat on her spaceship.

His plan starts with this lunch. As Edmund leaves the table to play with Auggie, Belinda and Caroline, Miles stays behind. Like a smart boy that he is, Miles decides that his chance of getting on a spaceship will be higher if he helps his Amma and aunts chat up this pretty, fairy-like lady who they say is Auntie Sophie. It is his world after all, he should be responsible for it. So he stays in his chair, little feet dangling off the ground, busying himself with his snacks. Occasionally, when he feels generous, he turns to his Amma and pushes a piece of tart against her mouth until she eats it. It is very wise of him, indeed, that he remembers that Amma needs to feed the baby as well.

His plan is working perfectly. His Amma is doing her part, talking about how excited he is to meet a real-life astronomer, while Miles flutters his lashes and grins at Sophie with both of his dimples. Both of them! This is a huge, never-before-seen concession on Miles’s part. Normally he will never be this friendly to strangers. But he really wants that spaceship.

Auntie Sophie is moved, he can tell. She looks at him like every woman in his life looks at him, full of melting love and adoration. She coos and nudges his cheeks. She helps dab napkin at the spot when Miles has jam on his chin. He allows and accepts the gesture with sovereign regality, preening under all the attention of the women at the table.

As Miles is just about to gather enough courage and ask Auntie Sophie about her spaceship, someone else arrives.

“I hope we are not too late. Somebody found a flower shop.” Miles hears an adult male say.

Everyone’s attention turns toward the voice. Coming into view is a man who looks like his Dad but not really. All of his aunts cry out “Benedict!” as he approaches them. Amma leans over him, introducing helpfully and encouragingly.

“Look, honey. It’s your Uncle Benedict.”

Uncle Benedict is carrying two things in his arms. One of them is a giant bouquet, with so many flowers Miles cannot count all of them. The other is a child. A boy.

Uncle Benedict introduces him.

“This is Charlie. Say hello, Charlie!” The kid is smaller than Miles. Rounder than Miles. Pinker than Miles. He gives them an excited wave and a grin so wide, his eyes close up. Then he makes a gesture of blowing everyone at the table a kiss, and Miles hears his Amma, his old Aunties and his new Auntie collectively sigh.

“Eomma!” Charlie calls out, flailing his arms as if he wants to fly away from his Dad’s embrace to his mother. When he smiles, one corner of his mouth is higher than the other, just like his Dad. Benedict releases him on the ground so he can walk to her by himself.

Halfway through, Charlie turns around, suddenly realises he has forgotten something. Benedict grins and gives him the flowers.

The boy begins his journey anew. The bouquet is so big and heavy, he cannot hold them up in his hands. Instead, he has to drag them on the ground behind him, and he does this with great determination, shaking away every offer of assistance from his dad, only accepting it when Benedict helps him bring the flowers up to Sophie’s face as they finally reach her.

“Eomma.” Charlie says in a melodic, innocent voice. “Eommeoni. Je t'apporte des fleurs !"

Miles hears a gasp from somebody.

“My goodness!” says Auntie Daphne. “He speaks French?”

“And Korean.” Auntie Sophie shyly reminds everyone, as if that fact is important to her. “But yes,” she confirms, holding both the flowers and her son on her lap. Pride fills her eyes. “He watched a lot of French programs when we were at the CNES.”

“Hey, I helped too.” Uncle Benedict chimes in. “Someone cannot fall asleep without his P’tit Loup.”

“P’tit Loup!” Charlie exclaims happily.

“Thank you for the flowers, baby.” Sophie kisses Charlie’s head. “They are lovely.”

“He picked them out himself. I helped.” Benedict says, as his head nuzzles against Sophie, signifying that he himself wants a kiss too. She rolls her eyes, but gives it to him.

“Baby. Seong-Ho-ah,” she tells Charlie. “These are your Aunties. Kate, Daphne, Eloise. This is your cousin Miles. Would you say hello?”

“‘Allo!” Charlie says, before blushing so furiously he has to dive his face back into his Mum’s chest. Someone, perhaps Auntie Daphne, maybe Miles’s Amma (His Amma!) giggles.

“Honey, look at me.” Sophie tries to maintain eye-contact with Charlie. “These flowers are very beautiful, but you only gave them to me. Can you see that your Aunts and your cousin don’t have any flowers?” Charlie takes a look around, then nods. His head is so big, it is like he nods with his entire body. Sophie continues. “I want to share these flowers with them. Would you agree?” Charlie thinks, then nods again. Sophie’s smile widens. “Would you help me do it?” Another nod starts off hesitantly, then turns excited.

Charlie slips off of Auntie Sophie’s lap, his parents help him pull the blooms he wants out of the big bouquet. Only two or three stems are much easier for the child to handle, and he toddles on his chubby legs over to Auntie Daphne and Auntie Eloise to give them their gift. He also says something to them that makes them blush. Even Auntie Eloise looks impressed, and she is never impressed with anything.

What is so special about him? He can barely walk. Miles thinks, scoffing petulantly.

At last, Charlie approaches Kate, raising to her, with both arms, two pink tulips. One of the stems bends a little under his clumsy grip.

“Tata! Tu es manifique!”

Kate sniffles, her hands tremble as she receives the flowers and Miles is aghast,  aghast , at her betrayal. How can his Amma do this to him? It is not like she has never received flowers before. Dad gives her flowers  everyday . And those tulips are not even nice. They’re all mushy.

Then Amma does something worse.

Leaning down to Charlie, she asks him.

“May I hold you, baby?”

Miles is, quite justly so he thinks, shocked to his core at this blatant insult.

Charlie considers the question. He looks to his Mum, his Dad, and back up at Miles’s Amma. Then he reaches his arms out for her, granting permission. But that is not before he gives Miles a smile, the likes of which Miles can only describe as pure evil. The older boy narrows his eyes at that.

Kate picks Charlie up into her arms.

At four years and two months old, Miles Sharma-Bridgerton comes face to face with his cousin, Charles Seong-Ho Bridgerton. His nemesis.

Miles gets off his chair at the utter indignity of the scene. Overwrought with emotions, he throws himself on the ground and wails.

[smashing-yng-man]

Sarah Kate Ellis, the president and CEO of GLAAD, issued a statement to The Advocate challenging the adequacy of the investigation and calling for greater accountability. Ellis highlighted the critical need for persistent inquiry and transparency from Oklahoma’s law enforcement and government entities, particularly in cases involving the safety and well-being of vulnerable students like Benedict.

[tilly-tilly-2827]

Midnight Sanctuaries (Side A)

Reimaging An Offer from a Gentleman#3

Synopsis: Maria Beckett should know better. But there was nothing she could do. She craved love, she craved for warmth. And Richard Gunningworth didn’t know better.

But how Benedict Bridgerton knew better.

But how he was, a bit of a fool.

⚠️Trigger Warning: Mentions of sexual assault/ rape/ suicide.

AO3 post from here

Maria Beckett had forgotten what love was.

Her mother had left her in a nunnery years ago, with a letter promising that she would return with a house and a family to stay. Must have fallen to prostitution, she heard nuns whisper discreetly between prayers and hymns. There was always the uneasiness that the nuns held as they opened packages from her mother, containing two letters; one for Maria and another for the bishop, and also an ample amount of money. The Lord would not accept such inexpiable gold; a nun would shriek once in every while, but Maria knew that that was the money that kept the roof above her head, and for a couple of others as well.

I promise that I will come back, Maria could vaguely remember her mother’s voice inside her head, tightly hugging her as she stroked her brown curls. But after years and years of scrubbing stone-cold floors and sheets with freezing water and rough scourers, she was beginning to forget the warmth of her mother’s arms, her mother’s love. I love you to the depth of my heart, her mother would always conclude her letters that way, but Maria was slowly beginning to lose faith in her words, her letters, the hasted scribbles on a crumpled paper never gave her comfort or warmth.

So she did not know if this was true love, as Richard Gunningworth pounded inside her, and she gripped desperately on his shoulders, trying to hold onto her consciousness, trying to hold onto his heat.

“When will you be back again, my lord ?”

Maria timidly asked, still covered in sheets as Richard quickly pulled back his breeches and buttoned up his shirt.

“July, I suppose.”

“Another tour to the continent?”

“Aren’t you going to miss me?” He gave a little smirk as he lit up a cigarette, taking a seat beside the bed.

“Well….yes.”

Maria could feel herself blushing furiously, and his sharp gaze softened ever so slightly, his fingertips touching the outline of her cheeks.

“It is only you and Sarah who would even think of missing me,”

“But Lady Penwood,”

“Mother’s lifeblood relies on finding a suitable match for me, siring an heir, and protecting the family name.” He puffed smoke out of his breath as he winced at the sound of his voice. He sounded exactly like his grandfather, who was always wheezing about responsibility and duties. Your time will come soon my boy, between coughs and wheezes he would say, before you take over my title, you must become a man…

“…Won’t you stay, my lord?”

His chilling gaze drilled her to the bone, and she felt herself shrinking and shivering. But she couldn’t help herself.

“Both your grandfather and your mother are unwell, my lord. And your sister as well, she cries every night…”

“I’m aware of that,” Richard replied cooly, “It’s grandfather who wants me out of the house, to be cultured and broaden one’s experience, not me.”

Maria said nothing and Richard noticed that his voice had been cold and harsh, just like his mother’s. He should just leave, he thought, regretting that he had even replied to her inquiry. But he found himself unable to move, gazing at the petite little maid who looked back at him with her almond-brown eyes. There was a small bruise on her neckline, the one he buried his teeth in a few days earlier.

He dropped the cigarette on the floor, pressing his leather boots over them.

He should leave, and close the door and leave.

His hands again slipped under the covers, and the corner of his mouth curled as she squirmed under his touch, softly moaning at the touch of his fingers.

He had lain with women, in brothels and clubs, having his fair share with them. But he couldn’t unsee the sense of reluctance, a sense of duty, obligation, a certain kind of coldness that he saw in their eyes.

But with her, it was so different, so miraculously different. He could see in her eyes and her touch that she craved him; she was almost hungry for every attention he gave her. It was neither duty nor obligation she reacted to their intercourses, it was a need, a desperate craving. Richard never felt so fulfilled as she reacted to every flick of his hand, every gaze, every touch. It was almost addictive, the amount of power he had over the young girl.

Ever since his father passed on, he could feel the clutches of his mother and grandfather become tighter and tighter. Not having a spare, they were almost paranoid. Everything was laid before him by the two. Nothing was by his will, every word, every action was an obligation, a duty.

But not her. He wanted her. He carved her.

“On your hands and knees, my love,”

-----------------------------------------------------

“Is he gone?”

“Yes, Annabel.”

“For gods SAKE!” Annabel, her fellow ladies’ maid and roommate burst out from the tiny closet. “This the THIRD TIME THIS WEEK BECKETT! DO YOU THINK I CAN SLEEP EVERY NIGHT IN THIS RACKET GOING ON CRAMMED IN A BLOODY CLOSET?!?”

“Please Annabel, keep your voice down!”

“I’LL BLOODY WELL BE HEARD IF I COULD AT LEAST GET SOME SLEEP…”

“Please, Annabel, it’s four in the morning…”

“GODDAMN THE TIME BECKETT. WHY DO YOU KEEP LETTING HIM TAKE ADVANTAGE OF YOU?!?! JUST KNOCK ON THE DOOR AND HE THINKS HE CAN FUC”

Maria tried to cover Annabel’s mouth in a desperate attempt, but Annabel brushed away her hands. She had been crammed in a damm box for 4 hours, she deserved to rant just a little more.

“JUST BECAUSE THE DAMM BRAT IS AN ARISTOCRAT HE THINKS HE CAN DO ANYTHING….”

“Annabel, please, we are both going to lose our jobs.”

Annabel stopped abruptly, feeling even more frustrated that her anger was just ever so meaningless. She knew Maria’s statement was true. Taking a deep breath, she reminded herself of her frail father and her bedridden brother out in the country. She also couldn’t dare to leave her job. As much as she wanted to scream and punch the young master in his head, there was nothing they could do.

As sleep-deprived as she was, she knew that her fellow roommate had it harder, looking at the swelling marks around her neck. Annabel silently handed over an ointment from her shelf, which Maria accepted with a weak smile.

“Are you all right, Beckett?”

“……I’m all right.”

“Did he pull out this time?”

“I think so,”

Annabel had the sudden urge to wrap her arms around her roommate’s delicate shoulders, to hold her tight in her arms, to comfort her, to ease her out of the pain. But it was almost daybreak. Both would have to start preparing for the day or both would receive a beating. Annabel and Maria both silently began their morning rituals.

“Why does he have to do it here? Can’t he do it in the grand bedroom of his?” Annabel asked wearily, as she scraped the sheets off her bed, tugging her friend off as well, her face wincing at the smell.

“I suppose he doesn’t want to change his sheets.” Maria sighed, knowing that it was a terrible answer, and surely, Annabel’s frown only became deeper.

“…And you still say that he loves you?”

“…why would he even come here if he didn’t love me?”

Almost as if she were convincing herself, Annabel quietly thought as she heard Maria’s voice quiver ever so slightly. Annabel threw the burned-out cigarette in the bin.

“At least he’s leaving for his tour soon,” Annabel sighed, arranging her hair into a bun. “When did he say he was leaving?”

“Next Monday.” She quietly replied.

Annabel groaned, thinking about the sleepless nights she would have to endure. She’ll ask someone to share their room for a few nights.

“Can’t you just reject him once?”

“I can’t lose this job, Annabel,” Maria answered weakly, barely above a whisper. “……..And he loves me.”

Lord help this poor child, Annabel softy thought.

---------------------------------------------

The relationship between her and Richard Gunningworth started quite abruptly.

It was only a year ago when Maria was employed by Penwood Park. You should thank your lucky stars, the nuns in the nunnery had repeatedly told her, but Maria could tell from their tone that they were just grateful that they could reduce the number of mouths they had to feed. She was already seventeen, and the nuns had decided that she was old enough to take care of herself. The Penwood house was no better than the Asylum; the intimidating building loomed over her, Lady Penwood watching her in disdain as she hurried along the corridors.

But she was grateful, as she braided the young girl’s hair and ironed her silk ribbons, to have landed a job as a ladies’ maid by chance. The young Sarah Gunningworth was a breath of spring air, a beauty, a radiant sun and she did not know that up until that moment, a girl could bring so much happiness to her life.

“I like your hair!” The little girl had chirped at her when Sarah was running out about, cleaning up chamber pots.

“Thank you, Miss. Sarah. I cannot be more pleased, ”

“Can you do the same to mine?”

And just like that she was assigned as Miss Sarah’s ladies’ maid, despite the envious looks from her colleagues.

Maria was arranging Miss Sarah’s braids when she first met Richard Gunningworth.

It was his piercing green eyes that first caught her eye. When his sharp gaze captivated hers in the mirror, Maria almost jerked; her wooden hairbrush dropping to the velvet carpet.

“Brother!”

Miss Sarah jumped up from her chair and ran up to his arms, and Maria softly smiled as the refined young gentleman went down on his knees, taking his petite sister dearly in his arms.

If Maria had seen him on the street, she would have thought of Richard Gunningworth as a cold, distant man. With his icy green eyes, sharp chin, and slicked-back blond hair, he already had an authoritative atmosphere around him, looming and towering over everyone. He was tall, broad, and lean, with a sharp gaze like a hawk.

But now, with his arms wrapped around his sister, she could see his expression soften, breaking into a teasing grin.

He looks handsome when he smiles, Maria secretly thought to herself.

“Oh, I missed you so much!”

“Me too, dear sister,”

He easily picked her up and threw her in circles, and Sarah giggled away happily.

“Do you like my new hair, brother?”

“Huh…I knew there was something refreshing about you.” He grinned, putting one finger on his chin. “It must be your beautiful hair style.”

“Maria did it for me, brother! Don’t I look like a princess? See? See? See?”

Sarah stood on her tiptoes, as her brother softly touched her hair, admiring the intricate ribbons and beads Maria had braided into. As the brother gave her a warm smile, mouthing thank you, Maria could feel herself blushing furiously.

“Is she your new lady’s maid?”

“Yes!” Sarah jumped excitedly, “She is Maria and she is going to be with me until the day I die.”

Richard and Maria both broke out in a chuckle at her firm declaration.

“I’m surprised that you haven’t scared her away.”

“Why would I ever do that dear brother?”

“Because you are terrorizing!!!” Richard reached out to tickle her, and Sarah quickly escaped from his embrace but looked absolutely delighted with his teasing. Maria smiled happily as she watched Sarah sprint away to open the chest her brother had given her, filled with dresses and ribbons, all the gifts from his travels.

“Is this all for me?” She squealed in joy.

“All for you, Princess.”

They were such a cute couple. It was heartwarming to see siblings so close to one another, and she now could see why Miss Sarah had been looking forward to her brother’s visit so passionately. Maria knew how much Sarah craved attention, and her mother and grandfather hardly took notice of her mere presence…

“I hope my dear sister is not causing you any trouble.” He whispered in her ear in a low voice. He sounded deep and seductive, and Maria could feel a shiver run down her spine, she’d never been spoken to in an amorous tone. She timidly fidgeted with her hands, trying to calm herself.

“My, you’re blushing Maria!” Sarah giggled innocently, “I’ve never seen your cheeks so red!”

“What did I tell you about terrorizing ladies’ maids, Sarah?”

“It seems you are the one terrorizing her,” Sarah giggled teasingly, “She already loooooooooooooooves you!”

Maria ran down the servant corridors, and at the same time, she tried to revive her breath. It was such a meaningless endeavor; her heart was beating rapidly from the first moment she first met his eye, and the blush on her cheeks was visible to anyone one mile around her.

I need a glass of water, she vaguely thought.

The next moment, Maria was pinned up to the wall of a broom cupboard, his cold emerald lacing with fire. His nails were biting into her wrist, and she winced as her head hit the tip of the broom. His body loomed over her, as he pressed his hips hotly against hers.

His other hand grabbed the back of her head, forcing her to look into his eyes.

“You like my eyes, don’t you? I like yours too.”

As he pressed his lips against hers, she was surprised at the warmth of his lips, and the warmth of his hands in contrast to the coldness of his eyes. His hands wandered inside her skirt and Maria gasped, the sensation overpowering her. She clung to his arms desperately as he nuzzled her neck, sending shivers down her spine. Drawn to the immense heat she felt against his body, she foolishly melted into him.

---------------------------------------

Annabel had been incredibly supportive from the day that she found out, sneaking peppermint tea under the table, and giving her extra petticoats to hide her baby bump that had started to appear.

“You mustn’t tell anyone,” Annabel had firmly said as she stained her sheets with crushed berries*. “If they find out, you’ll be on the streets in a second.”*

Maria had been writing to Richard, sneaking notes with Sarah’s letters, telling him of the pregnancy. I’m not asking for any money or compensation, she has scribbled in tiny letters. I just need you by my side. I can’t do this alone.

“He’ll take you away if he knows that you have his baby,” Annabel had told her soothingly as Maria grew more desperate day by day.

“Noblemen have by-blows all the time. He’ll have an apartment in London for you to stay in, furnished in the latest style like the magazines you read. And you can raise the baby there with him. No, No, No. He won’t leave you. He’s a terrible, awful man, but he is still a gentleman. He wouldn’t abandon you or the baby. She’ll be brought up just like Miss Sarah. You’ve seen how he adores her. Isn’t it right, Beckett? You’ll be all right. I promise. So please, please, stop crying and give me the knife.”

Maria continued to write to him, waiting for days, for weeks, but there was still no reply. Maria could hear the hope crumbling day by day. Is he truly getting my letters? Is he happy that I’m carrying his child? Will he love her like Miss Sarah? The questions haunted her mind every moment of the day, and not letting her eat or drink.

In the morning of a beautiful spring day, Maria threw up on the breakfast tray, right in front of her ladyship’s eyes. It was the smell of bacon that irked her stomach, and she found herself collapsed on the floor; plates, cups, and eggs scattered around the floor along with the sharp smell of her vomit.

“Good heavens! What’s the matter with you?”

At first, Lady Penwood was surprisingly concerned but she took one hard look at the petite maid whom she employed a year ago, noticing the familiar roundness around her hips.

“You are pregnant,” she simply stated.

Maria could not confirm or deny it, overcome with the dizziness and nausea that flowed through her body.

“YOU ARE PREGNANT.” The second statement was more of a shriek. Maria felt a sharp pain against his cheeks, and the taste of blood made her realize that Lady Penwood had slapped her.

“I CAN NOT BELIEVE THAT I LET A WRENCH LIKE YOURSELF TAKE CARE OF MY DAUGHTER.”

Maria could hear that she was screaming at her, but the sound around her felt all fuzzy and muted.

“DO YOU KNOW WHY I TOOK YOU FROM THE ASYLUM? BECAUSE I WANTED GIRLS WITH INNOCENCE BY MY DAUGHTER’S SIDE, NOT A SELF-SERVING HARLOT LIKE YOURSELF.”

Maria staggered forward on her hands and knees, desperately clinging to the hems of her ladyship nightgown.

“Please, your ladyship…”

“DON’T YOU TOUCH ME, YOU WHORE!”

Screaming frantically, Lady Penwood kicked her in the stomach, looking down at her as if she were a litter on the street. Just as she hitched up her skirts for another blow, Maria instinctively curled herself on the floor, protecting the small bump on her stomach.

“…….I’m carrying your son’s child.”

Maria bearly managed to utter, and just seconds later, she somehow was able to continue.“I am so sorry, My Lady. I’ve never meant to deceive you or Miss Sarah. I am truly grateful for the kindness and charity you have bestowed upon me, my Lady, but Mr. Penwood had granted me his kindness and his love, and this child is…”

“Silence.”

Lady Penwood’s voice did not hold the utter anger and revulsion that dripped in her screams. It was oddly calm, oddly silent. There was shock in her eyes and she saw the color of her face had drained completely.

“She carries the blood of your family…”

“I said silence!”

Her high-pitched cry echoed through the dim hallway. Lady Penwood’s hands were slightly shaking, unable to articulate the next words. Her son and the maid? She could only stare at the girl who looked at her desperately with pleading eyes. Covered in her mess and blood; the girl looked filthy and revolting, her brown curls messy and rumpled with egg yolks and tea.

Lady Penwood averted her gaze. She covered her nose with her pink silk handkerchief beside her table, finally noticing the sharp smell that oozed out of her vomit.

“….Not only did I hire a whore, but a liar as well.”

“Lady Penwood, please, ”

“Not another word.”

Lady Penwood rang the bell by her side, and quickly, the valet came to the room.

“Anything you need, your ladyship…”

His position in the house was all forgotten, Ramsey’s eyes widened in shock as he took a look at the horrific scene. Almost out of reflex, he reached out his hand, passing his handkerchief to wipe off the blood and vomit smeared on the girl’s cheeks, but he was forcefully caught by the collar by Lady Penwood.

“Don’t you even dare, Rumsey,”

Her voice was awfully cold and dark.

“I want this wrench out of the house immediately. If I see anyone, anyone who helped her or even looked at her, tell them that the one is going out on the streets with her as well.”

Lady Penwood saw panic and pain in his eyes that made her shudder. Perhaps the staff knew everything about the affair. Perhaps she had been ignorant about everything, and perhaps it is…

The poor girl was sobbing on the floor, frantically cradling the small curves on her stomach. Lady Penwood could finally see the amount of petticoats she had been wearing under her skirts, the disparity between the thinness of her ankle and the volume of her petticoats was sickening.

“Madam, please, I’m begging you to have mercy on his baby…”

Her small shoulders shaking in sobs, it finally came to Lady Penwood that the young girl was just eight and ten; a petite delicate girl, all alone in the world.

“……Even if it were the child of my son,” Lady Penwoods voice was quiet. “A child with such filthy blood is a disgrace to the family. I must protect the family name, Maria.”

As Maria was half dragged, half carried away from her bedroom by the valet, she stared up at the portrait of her husband, who looked just like her son; piercing green eyes and tall broad shoulders.

This is all for the better, isn’t it?

--------------------------------------

Perhaps I should take a swim in the lake,

Maria mulled over her thoughts as she walked in heavy rain, raindrops drenching her to the bone. The weather suddenly turned south the moment she was kicked out in the streets, leaving her in the rain without an umbrella or a coat. She walked aimlessly on the crooked country road, barely holding to the she had packed in an hour earlier.

“Take this money”, Annabel had squeezed the bundle of money in her hands, “you need it more than I do. Just don’t do anything foolish, all right? You still have your mother’s letters, right? A living kin won’t betray you, I promise. Just don’t do anything foolish, Beckett. Be strong, all right?”

Ramsey had offered to take the carriage to the nearest village, “I can find another job elsewhere Beckett,” Ramsey had told her reassuringly*, “Besides it looks like rain. It can’t be good to walk about in the weather in your condition.”*

“Thank you, Mr. Ramsey, but you have already done so much for me,”

“NO, HE HASN’T”

“OH SHUT UP GIBBONS!”

“NO. YOU SHUT YOUR GODDAM MOUTH RAMSEY, YOU HAVEN’T DONE ANYTHING USEFUL EVEN WHEN YOU BLOODY WELL KNEW WHAT THE MASTER WAS DOING IN EVERY CORNER..”

Maria had softly put her arms around Annabel’s neck, even though she knew that her fellow roommate hated hugs, she had to show something, give something.

“Thank you for everything, Annabel.”

“You should bloody well be thankful,” Annabel cursed but Maria heard her nose sniffling. “Just don’t do anything stupid.”

Don’t do anything stupid.

Annabel’s voice echoed through her head, but Maria could only think of doing something stupid. She was just so cold, her dress drenched to the bone, she couldn’t stop shivering, and her satchel felt too heavy for her fingers.

Nobody would know if she was gone, she thought. Her mother had stopped replying to her letters years ago, and Richard had slipped off from her world, no words, no letters. Everything she clung on to, the warmth, the love, everything was gone, and she was all alone again.

She laid herself down on the side of the road, not minding the mud and the dirt drenching on her dress. She was surprised at how warm the ground was despite the muddiness and the pouring rain.

She softly closed her eyes, still feeling the rain dropping against her face, imagining her dead body. Perhaps a local farmer would find her there, annoyed to discover some waste he’ll have to handle. Perhaps Richard would find her, on his way home to Penwood Park. Would he cry for her, she wondered, would he cry for the girl he once loved…

Perhaps his love was just a fantasy, an illusion she had made in her mind.

Perhaps he never loved me at all.

Maria was slowly slipping into the abyss.

Suddenly, she felt a small flutter in her stomach.

Maria gave a hollow laugh, even at this moment, her body was trying to survive. She closed her eyes again, trying to lose herself in a slumber, but her stomach fluttered again, like the spring butterflies she chased in the gardens when she was a child. It felt like small bubbles, a nervous twitch, a tumbling motion that she had never experienced.

The baby, it suddenly dawned on her. It’s the baby.

Ever since she found out about her pregnancy, her mind was too wrapped up around how to conceal it, how to reach Richard. She hadn’t had the room or the time to think about the little bundle of life that had been nurturing inside her, and she suddenly realized how selfish she had been, only thinking about the relationship between her and Richard.

There was a baby inside her! A cute small baby who was trying to grow, who was trying to come out to the world, ready to be held in her mother’s arms. Maria smiled as she imagined cradling the baby in her arms, she noticed that she wasn’t all alone in the world. There was a little girl inside her, relying on her to live, to love her.

She slowly stood up from the ground, picking up the satchel she had left on the corner of the street. Fumbling about in the bag, she picked up the letter Annabel had crammed in. London, Mayfair, Soho Square. Reading the address out loud, she firmly grabbed the handle of her bag, repeating the words Annabel had told her. Be strong.

Baby, baby, baby. My sweet sweet baby,

Maria sang to herself as she continued her path. The village was at least two hours away on foot; but neither did she feel fatigue nor despair. She was happy, happier than ever as the rain started to become a downpour, raining buckets, mud dripping from the hems of her dress.

The road getting sloppier and sloppier, making her shoes heavier and heavier, but somehow, her steps felt light and pleasant, knowing that she wasn’t alone. She saw a flash of lightning across the sky, thunder roaring in the distance, but she couldn’t stop grinning, knowing her baby would never be alone, she would never be scared of thunderstorms like she was; Maria was going to hold on to her tight, protect her, love her. And her baby was going to love her back. Maria gently caressed her small bump, her rain-soaked dress perfectly revealing the outline of her roundness.

“Baby, baby, baby. My sweet, sweet, baby….”

-------------------------------------------

Richard Gunningworth languorously blew smoke from his cigarette as he stared at the window. Outside was pouring rain, and raindrops were tapping relentlessly at the window. The evenings at Penwood Park had been so lonesome; he was grateful that there was something to distract the melancholic stillness. The sound of thunder in the distance soothed him, as he took a sip of his drink, sinking into his leather armchair by the fireplace.

It was quite ironic, he thought to himself, that he would be all alone in Penwood Park at this time of the season. Normally his mother would expect him to be in London, perhaps making a match with a young debutant, and his grandfather would expect him to be somewhere nothing but here; in the sleepy countryside in Norfolk.

During his youth, he had wished desperately to stay at Penwood Park, wanting to spend time with his dear sister, giving her gifts and spoiling her with everything he could. Just like his father had done with him when he was just a tiny boy. But now he just wanted to leave, the place haunted by the longing memories of his sister.

With his grandfather passing away in old age two years ago, and his mother following him subsequently, Sarah had entered the monastery, only to fall ill a year later.

Her death had been slow and painful. It was devastating seeing his bundle of joy decaying into skins and bones as months passed by. I love you from the depth of my heart, she whispered to him on her deathbed months ago. But even before she gasped for her last breath, he could only feel emptiness in his heart.

How could she say she loved him when she only gave him misery? How could love be beautiful when it left the one remained in despair and sorrow? He contemplated his thoughts as took another smoke.

He finally noticed that he was alone, all alone in the world when he came back to the Penwood Park to bury his dear sister. Only the servants and the butler came to his arrival, and he did not hear the bubbling laughter from his sister. Not even the snitching remarks from his mother. Only the sound of his footsteps echoed through the halls.

With the title and wealth at hand, with nobody to feel a responsibility towards, perhaps he could pursue what he truly desired.

Isn’t it what he truly wanted?

But after 29 years of strict surveillance, he couldn’t figure out what he truly desired, what he truly craved.

Find a suitable match for me, sire an heir, and protect the family name. Make your father proud.

He chuckled darkly; the voice of his mother still engraved in his mind like a curse. It had been his mother’s last words, those exact words, as she clutched his waist on her last breath, scarring his skin with her nails. There was an uncanniness in the strength of her hand that made him shudder.

Perhaps he should get married. Perhaps he should bear an heir. He noticed it was far easier, to not think, to not feel, and simply follow what he had been destined for.

As he lighted a new cigarette, he contemplated which debutant he would court; one with a good family name, one with good hips to bear a child. Perhaps one with brown curls and almond eyes, one that blushed with a flick of his hand…

“My lord,”

Richard hated his butler’s tone. It was quiet but hesitant, the tone that repressed every emotion, hiding the judgment behind his back.

“What is the matter, Ramsey.”

“There is a visitor at the door, my lord.”

“…Send them away. I’m not in the mood for visitors.”

“I believe she is not a visitor, my lord.”

“Whatever do you mean by her?”

Ramsey could sense the irritation in his master’s tone as he gritted his teeth.

“It’s a little girl, sir. She carried a letter in her coat addressed to your lordship…”

Part two from here

[kmomof4]

A Mistress to No One Part 1 Ch3

We are back with the final chapter of Pt1!!! Killian certainly has his work cut out for him, trying to find his lady! Will he succeed? Well... eventually he will... I am so glad y’all are enjoying this fic so much and hope you continue to do so!

All the love and hugs to the ladies who had something to do with the creating of this fic, @hollyethecurious for the inspiration of adapting her favorite Bridgerton sibling, Benedict, to a CS fic, @jrob64 and @zaharadessert for their betaing expertise, @motherkatereloyshipper​ for her manips of Emma, Killian, and Cora in the artwork, and finally to @kymbersmith-90​ for answering all my questions about titles and royalty! Love you all, ladies!

Summary: Bastard Emma Swan enjoys one night of pure magic and romance in the midst of a life of drudgery and abuse- attending a masquerade ball and meeting aristocrat Killian Jones. 

Two years later, the same man she met on the best night of her life reappears, saving her from a dire fate in the process. Now, she must keep herself from falling in love with a man she can never have. But when that proves impossible, is there any hope for a happy ending between two people from such vastly different worlds?

Rating: M (smut in a later ch)

Words: 4100 words of approx 61,6K

Tags: Birthday Fic, Inspired by Benedict’s Story in Bridgerton, Smut

On ao3 from the beginning/ current ch

On Tumblr Prologue Ch1 Ch2

New Tag List! Let me know if you’d like to be added or removed.

@jrob64 @teamhook @winterbaby89 @hollyethecurious @xarandomdreamx @undercaffinatednightmare @the-darkdragonfly @stahlop @superchocovian @pirateprincessofpizza @tiganasummertree @anmylica @cosette141 @motherkatereloyshipper @zaharadessert @jonesfandomfanatic @ultraluckycatnd @jennjenn615 @allons-y-to-hogwarts-713 @kymbersmith-90 @booksteaandtoomuchtv @wistfulcynic @mie779 @snowbellewells @lfh1226-linda @aprilqueen84 @whimsicallyenchantedrose @pirateherokillian @elfiola @ilovemesomekillianjones @justanother-unluckysoul @poptart-cat-78 @myfearless-love @goforlaunchcee @searchingwardrobes @gingerpolyglot @gingerchangeling @djlbg @cocohook38 @cs-rylie @thisonesatellite @donteattheappleshook @deckerstarblanche @veryverynotgoodwrites @wefoundloveunderthelight

Under the cut, unless Tumblr ate it.

More than one masquerade attendee has reported to This Author that Killian Jones was seen in the company of an unknown lady dressed in a blue gown.

Try as she might, This Author has been unable to ascertain the lady’s identity. And if that is the case, you can be sure, it is a closely guarded secret, indeed.

Lady Whistledown’s Society Papers

May 31

~*~*~

“Do you recognize this crest?” Killian asked his mother, before he even sat down in the pale green and soft pink drawing room where she received visitors.

She took it from him and only glanced at it before she nodded definitively. “Glowerhaven.”

“As in ‘Earl of’?” he asked, eyebrow raised in inquiry.

Alice nodded. “And the S would be for Spencer. The title passed out of the family some time ago, I believe,” she added. “The Earl passed without issue, but he had no close blood relative, so the title went to some distant cousin. And don’t think I didn’t notice that you failed to dance with Mary Margaret last night,” she scolded. “You were lucky your brother was there to dance in your stead.”

Killian rolled his eyes and tried to bring her back to the issue at hand. “Who, then, is SLS?”

Alice’s green eyes narrowed. Killian couldn’t meet her perceptive gaze. It reminded him too much of another pair of green eyes. “And why are you so interested?”

He tried to turn his brilliant and disarming smile on his mother, the one that he could usually rely on to get him out of trouble, but her countenance remained unmoved, her eyes narrowing further. Killian sighed.

“I don’t suppose you might just answer my question without posing one of your own,” he asked.

Alice snorted, lifting a delicate hand to her face. “You know me far better than that,” she countered. Her gaze sharpened and her eyes narrowed even further. “Who does the glove belong to, Killian?”

It was obvious she was already putting the pieces together in her head and he knew it’d work out far better for him if he just told her everything. He dreaded sharing these details with his mother. She tended to latch onto anything that even hinted at matrimony and cling to it with the tenacity of a barnacle on a ship. But he had no choice. Not if he wanted to find her.

“I met someone at the ball last night,” he finally said.

Alice all but bounced in her seat and clapped her hands in delight. “Really?”

“She’s the reason I forgot to dance with Mary Margaret.”

“You’re forgiven.” Alice looked like she might die of rapture. “Who? One of Glowerhaven’s daughters?” Her brow furrowed. “No, wait. He didn’t have any daughters. He had two step-daughters. Although…”

“What, Mother?”

“Oh, nothing really,” she replied, waving aside his question. “Having met the girls, I wouldn’t have thought you’d…” she trailed away, uncertain. “But, of course, if you are, I will invite the dowager countess over for tea. It’s the very least I can do.”

Killian started to speak then stopped when he realized his mother was frowning again. “What now?” he asked.

“Oh, well…” she took a deep breath and cut her eyes over toward him. Killian tried to rein in his impatience, raising his eyebrow in question.

“Spit it out, Mother.”

She smiled weakly. “It’s just that I don’t particularly like the dowager countess. I’ve always found her to be a bit pretentious, mean-spirited, and ambitious.”

Killian tried to smother his amused smile. “One might consider you ambitious, Mother,” he pointed out.

Alice looked affronted. “Of course I have great ambition that my children marry well and happily, but I am not the sort to marry my daughter off to a 70 year old man simply because he was a duke!”

Killian wracked his brain for a moment. He couldn’t recall a 70 year old duke making a trip to the altar lately. “Did the dowager countess do that?”

“No,” Alice admitted. “But she would.”

Killian bit back another amused smile as Alice continued, pointing to herself with great flourish. “While I, on the other hand, would allow my children to marry paupers if it would make them happy.” Killian raised an eyebrow at her. “They would be well principled and hard working paupers, make no mistake,” she explained. “No gamblers need apply.”

Killian didn’t want to laugh outright at his mother, so he coughed discreetly into his handkerchief instead.

“But I will put aside my feelings for the dowager countess if you care for one of her daughters.” She paused and looked at him intently. “Do you care for one of her daughters?”

“I’ve no idea,” he shrugged. “I never got her name. Just her glove.”

Alice gave him a stern look. “I’m not even going to ask how you obtained the lady’s glove.”

It was all Killian could do to keep from scratching behind his ear. She’d latch onto that tell before he could even blink. “It was all completely innocent, I assure you.”

Her expression was extremely dubious. “I have far too many sons to believe that.”

“The initials?” he reminded her.

She held the glove up, examining it closely. “It seems quite old.”

Killian nodded. “I thought the same. And I thought it smelled rather musty, as if it had been packed away in an attic.”

“And the stitches show wear,” she continued. “I don’t know what the L is for, but the S could very well be for Sarah, the late Earl’s mother, who has also passed on. Which would make sense given the age of the glove.”

“As I’m quite certain I wasn’t speaking to a ghost last night, who do you think it might have belonged to?”

Alice shook her head. “I have no idea. Someone in the Spencer family, I suppose.”

“Do you know where they live?”

“Of course. They live in Spencer House, just a few blocks away. The new earl hasn’t given them the boot yet. No idea why.” She gave him directions and such was his haste that Killian was already on his feet and halfway to the door before she finished.

“Oh, Killian,” she called as he reached for the door. He turned back around.

“Yes, Mother?”

“The daughters are Zelena and Regina. Just in case you’re interested.”

Killian’s brow furrowed slightly. Neither seemed to really fit. But what did he know? He reached for the door again.

“Killian.” This time his name was drawn out a bit and Killian turned to his mother again with a beleaguered sigh. Her smile was quite amused.

“You will tell me what happens, won’t you?”

“Of course, Mother.”

“You’re lying to me.” She waved at him dismissively. “But I forgive you. It’s so nice to see you in love.”

“I’m not…”

“Whatever you say, dear,” she interrupted.

Killian decided there was little point in replying, so he finally left his mother’s drawing room and hurried out of the house.

~*~*~

“Emmmmmmaaaaaaaaaaa!” Cora screeched.

Emma’s head snapped up from where she was polishing a silver spoon. As ladies maid to Cora, Zelena, and Regina, polishing silver shouldn’t have been on the list of Emma’s chores, but Cora delighted in never giving her a moment’s rest and working her fingers to the bone. She set the spoon down and moved to the door of the room, looking this way and that for her mistress.

“Emmmmmmmmaaaaaaaaaa!” Cora screeched again. Emma couldn’t imagine what had her in such a tizzy, but it was hardly infrequent behavior. Cora was always angry about something.

“I’m here,” Emma called, still unable to ascertain where Cora was.

She finally came around the corner holding something in her hands. “What is the meaning of this?”

She held it up and all but thrust it in her face. Emma gasped in shock when she recognized the slippers she’d worn to the ball the night before. “These are brand new! Brand new! I have never worn them! And they have a scuff mark. How could this have happened?”

Emma’s eyes widened as she thought frantically for some lie Cora might believe.

“I have no idea, my lady.” Cora’s eyes narrowed at her. “Perhaps you accidentally scuffed them yourself as you passed them in your closet?”

“Someone has worn my shoes and I want to know who.” Her voice was low and deadly calm and Emma’s mouth went dry.

“I can ask one of the maids,” she tried to placate her. “See if they know anything.”

“The maids are a bunch of idiots.” Emma waited for Cora to say Present company excluded, but of course, she did not.

“I can try to get the scuff mark out,” Emma offered. “I’m sure I can figure something out.”

“You do that,” Cora huffed. “And while you’re at it, you might as well polish all my shoes.”

“My lady?” The butler entered and Cora spun around to face him. “There’s a gentleman to see you.” He handed her a crisp white card. Emma watched as Cora’s face turned from stunned surprise to pure delight.

She turned to the butler barking out orders. “Tea, and biscuits! The best silver! At once!” The butler hurried out leaving Emma with Cora.

“May I be of any help?” Emma ventured.

“What?” Cora looked a bit confused at Emma’s words, almost as if she’d forgotten she was even there. “No, of course not. I have no time for the likes of you. Go. See to my shoes.” Emma curtsied and hurried to the door. “Oh, be sure that Zelena and Regina are properly dressed. And then you may instruct Zelena to lock you in my closet.”

Emma’s mouth dropped open in shock.

“Do you understand me?”

Emma couldn’t even bring herself to nod. Some things were just too demeaning.

Cora stalked over to her until their faces were only an inch apart. “You didn’t answer. Do you understand me?” Emma nodded, but just barely. Every day there was some new evidence of just how deeply Cora’s hatred for her ran.

“Why do you keep me here?” Emma whispered before she could think better of it.

“Because I find you useful,” was Cora’s dismissive reply. She spun away, leaving Emma pale and trembling in her humiliation and fear.

She climbed the stairs and found Zelena and Regina in the parlor. Both of them looked quite acceptable to her, and so she sighed and approached Regina.

“Lock me in your mother’s closet, if you will, please,” Emma asked quietly.

Regina gasped. “I beg your pardon?”

Emma sighed. “I was told to ask Zelena, but I can’t quite bring myself to do it.”

Regina’s face was pale with dismay. “And what are you supposed to do there?” she asked.

“I’m to polish all of your mother’s shoes.”

“I’m sorry,” Regina said, sincerely.

“I am, too.”

~*~*~

Killian had been waiting in Lady Glowerhaven’s parlor for fifteen minutes now. He huffed with impatience, absently patting his pocket to confirm that the mystery lady’s glove was still inside. Why others didn’t value punctuality the way he did, he’d never know.

His gaze wandered around the room, taking in the fussy and ostentatious furnishings. From what he’d heard from his mother this morning, he wasn’t terribly surprised. Appearances seemed to be overly important to the countess.

He finally heard footsteps coming down the stairs and rose to greet his hostess. A woman in her forties swept into the room. Her emerald green dress complimented her auburn colored hair nicely, but as she held out her hand to him in greeting, he noticed the deep lines around her lips, eyes and across her forehead that her makeup just couldn’t hide. There was a gleam in her eyes that told him she was delighted with his presence, but there was a cunning, grasping, desperate quality to it as well. It was a bit unnerving. He decided his mother’s summation of the dowager countess was spot on.

“Mr. Jones,” she gushed, “How lovely for you to honor our home with a call.”

“Lady Glowerhaven,” he greeted her, taking her outstretched hand in his and bowing slightly over it. “It is very nice to meet you.”

Her smile was wide and made him think of a barracuda. “I’ve informed my daughters of your presence and they should be down shortly.”

Killian nodded. He hadn’t expected anything different. Why else would an eligible bachelor be visiting the home of unmarried young ladies? “I’m looking forward to meeting them.”

The countess’s brow furrowed. “You haven’t met either of them yet?” she asked.

Killian cursed himself. Now she’d be wondering why he was here. It wasn’t exactly common practice to call on someone to whom one had not yet been introduced.

“I’ve heard so much about them, I thought it was high time I met them in person.” He may have scrambled for an explanation, but he was rather proud of how smoothly the words flowed off his tongue.

“Of course,” she agreed. “My Zelena is considered one of the beauties of the season.”

Killian nodded his head in acknowledgment of her words. “And what about Regina?”

The lines around the countess’s mouth tightened and she hesitated a moment before speaking. “Regina… is lovely, of course.” She sent him a smile that told him she thought the exact opposite of her words in relation to her other daughter. Killian felt his distaste for the countess grow by the second. A mother who clearly favored one daughter over another, shouldn’t be a mother.

“I’m very much looking forward to meeting Regina,” he said, curious as to what her response would be. She sent him another tight smile as a servant came in with an elaborate tea service.

Cora huffed indignantly as she looked at the service and hissed at the maid. “I believe I asked for the best silver to be used.” She shot him another smile, but this one seemed more embarrassed than annoyed. Killian could barely keep himself from rolling his eyes.

The poor maid’s face lost all color and she stammered as she spoke. “Em- Emma was polishing the spoons when you sent her upstairs, milady.”

“Silence,” the countess hissed again. “I’m sure Mr. Jones isn’t too high and mighty to be concerned with the monogrammed spoons.”

“Of course not,” he assured her, with a smile at the maid. Her smile in return was shy, but a bit relieved. His attention returned to the countess, whom he thought must be a bit too high and mighty to even consider using monogrammed spoons.

“Begone,” she said to the poor girl. The maid bobbed a curtsy and left quickly. The countess leaned in conspiratorially. “Our better silver has the Glowerhaven crest on it, but the infernal girl can do nothing right, so it’s unlikely to be in any condition to be seen by guests.” She sighed dramatically. “It is so hard to find good help these days. I’m sure your mother says the same thing all the time.”

Killian hummed in response. His mother had never said anything of the sort. Because the Jones servants were treated very well and were utterly devoted to the family.

“One of these days, I’m just going to have to get rid of Emma,” the countess huffed. Killian found himself feeling sorry for the unknown Emma, and couldn’t help feeling like she could do much better than working in the Glowerhaven household. But he wasn’t going to get drawn into a discussion of servants.

“I imagine the tea is well steeped by now,” he observed.

“Oh, yes,” the countess agreed. “How do you take yours?”

“Milk, no sugar, please.”

As she prepared his tea, he heard the countess’s daughters finally descend the stairs. As soon as they entered the room, he knew neither was his mystery lady. The taller one had flaming red hair and had a rather affected manner, much like her mother, and the other had black hair. He tried to not let his disappointment show as their tea was prepared.

“I very much enjoyed your ball last night, Mr. Jones,” Zelena offered once she’d settled on the couch with her tea.

Killian nodded in response. “Well, it was more my mother’s ball, I had nothing to do with the planning of it, but I shall convey your compliments.”

“Please do,” she replied. “I noticed you spent some time with a particular lady. She wore a blue gown.”

The countess’s head snapped toward her daughter so hard and so quickly, Killian was amazed her neck didn’t crack. Zelena’s eyes were intense as she stared him down.

Killian tilted his head in question. “Did you, now?”

“Yes,” she persisted. “What was her name?”

“I never got it,” he admitted. “She left the ball before the unmasking.”

“Did she?” the countess asked, her eyes narrowing.

Killian rose before anything else could be said. There was no point in prolonging the visit. The countess had no other eligible daughters and there were almost certainly no Spencer cousins that the glove might have belonged to, since the title had passed out of the family and gone to a distant cousin.

“I’m afraid I must be going,” he said, with a small bow.

“Oh, so soon?” the countess asked.

“Yes,” he replied. “My mother is expecting me. It was lovely to meet you all,” he lied smoothly. He lightly shook the countess’s hand, then did the same with Zelena, before bowing over Regina’s and bringing her hand to his lips, just for the pleasure of seeing the countess’s face redden with indignation.

As soon as the door shut behind their guest, Cora turned to her daughters.

“What do you suppose that was all about?” she asked, her face a mask of contemplative confusion.

“I suppose…” Regina began.

“I didn’t ask you,” Cora snapped.

“Well then, who did you ask?” Regina asked, showing uncharacteristic fortitude in talking back to her mother.

“Perhaps he saw me from afar…” Zelena offered.

“Don’t be a fool, Zelena,” she bit out. “He didn’t see you from afar.” Zelena gasped. Her mother never spoke harshly to her. “You said he spent time with another lady last night.”

“Well, yes, but…”

“No buts. He was here for a reason.” Cora pulled back the sheer curtains near the door to see Killian standing on the sidewalk holding something in his hand. “What is he holding?”

“It looks like a glove.”

“It’s not a glove,” Cora replied without thinking, too used to contradicting anything Regina had to say. “Why, it is a glove.”

“I should think I know a glove when I see one,” Regina muttered.

“What is he looking at?” Zelena asked.

“Perhaps a bit of embroidery?” Regina speculated. “We have gloves with the Glowerhaven crest on them. Perhaps this is the same?”

Cora went white.

“Mother, are you alright?” Zelena asked. “You’ve gone very pale.”

“He came here looking for her,” Cora whispered.

“Looking for who?” Zelena asked.

Cora’s patience was nearly at an end and she rounded on Zelena. “The woman in the blue gown he was with last night, you clot!” she screeched.

Zelena’s shock at her mother’s treatment was complete and she could think of nothing to say.

“Well, she obviously isn’t here as none of us were wearing a blue gown last night,” Regina commented.

Cora remained contemplative, her brow furrowed as she connected the pieces. “My shoes. My brand new shoes were scuffed. Someone wore them. It had to be her. How did she do it? It had to be her,” she repeated. She pushed past her surprised and confused daughters and rushed from the room.

~*~*~

Emma was on her knees in the closet when the door flew open and crashed against the wall. She screamed, placing her hand over her heart, hammering in her chest with fright.

“Pack your things,” Cora growled.

Emma’s eyes widened in alarm. “My lady?” she asked, her words and the tremor in her voice betraying her confusion. “Why?”

“Do I really need a reason?” she barked. “It is enough that I want you out of my house.”

“Where will I go?” Emma asked, confusion giving way to fear beginning to creep into her words.

“That’s not really my concern now, is it?”

“But…”

“You’re twenty-one years old,” Cora interrupted. “More than old enough to make your way in the world. There will be no more coddling from me.”

“You never coddled me,” Emma muttered under her breath.

“How dare you speak to me like that!” Cora exclaimed.

“And why shouldn’t I?” Emma shouted. “You’re kicking me out of the house anyway. Why have you kept me here anyway?”

The haughtiness on Cora’s face made Emma physically ill. “You’re cheaper than a regular ladies maid, and I do enjoy ordering you about.” Cora’s smile was cruel and Emma swallowed hard. She was serious and Emma looked around, trying to swallow down her sudden fear and nausea. She may have hated Cora and her life, but at least she had a bed to sleep in and food to eat. Granny was a friend, and Regina was nearly so. Where would she go? What would she do? How would she support herself?

“You were there, weren’t you?” Cora asked, suddenly. “You were at the masquerade last night. You were the lady in blue.”

Emma’s heart stopped. How did she know? How could she have possibly found out? Emma shook her head in denial. “No,” she lied.

“I don’t know how you did it, but I know you did.” Cora continued speaking as if she didn’t even hear Emma. She kicked the shoes from last night toward Emma. “Put them on,” she demanded.

Emma stood, with as much dignity as she could muster and put the slippers on. They were, of course, a perfect fit.

“How dare you!” Cora seethed, marching closer until only inches separated them. “I told you to never even think that you were one of us. That you were nothing but a bastard and not fit for polite society. And yet you dared to defy me and attend the masquerade ball last night.”

Emma had had enough. Her fury at all the mistreatment and abuse she’d endured for so many years bubbled to the surface and Emma let it loose, not caring at all anymore.

“Yes, I dared,” she seethed. “And I had every right to. I am the earl’s blood, so I am just as good as you and my heart is far kinder…”

Emma was suddenly on the ground, her cheek stinging where Cora had slapped her.

“Don’t ever compare yourself to me,” Cora raged. “You are to be gone by morning.” And with that, Cora turned on her heel and walked out of the closet, locking her in again.

Emma looked around at the rest of the shoes in the closet. There was no way in hell she was going to continue polishing all these shoes. She’d simply wait here until someone came looking for her and released her from the closet. She thought about her next steps and her chin trembled as she tried to hold back her tears.

In all the years she’d worked for Cora since the earl’s death, she’d never seen a single pound in wages. She’d received a bit from her father while he was still alive, that she’d never spent, always knowing in the back of her mind this day might come. But that money wouldn’t last long. It might not even be enough to get her out of London, and there was no way she could remain here. She wouldn’t be able to find work without references and Cora would never give her one. Plus, there was the fact that Killian Jones was in London. And as unlikely as it was she’d ever see him again, she couldn’t take the chance that if she did, he might recognize her. And if that were to happen…

She couldn’t take the chance. Her eyes landed on a pair of shoes she’d already polished. On the toes were a pair of jeweled clips that could detach from the shoes. Cora never wore anything that wasn’t real jewels, even shoe ornaments, so there was no doubt these clips could fetch a decent amount. Enough to get her out of London.

Emma thought of all the money Cora had at her disposal and how she’d never paid her a single wage in all these years. And then she thought about her conscience. Could she possibly? Emma stuffed that voice down. This was about survival. In circumstances like these, she had no use for that voice.

She took the clips and slipped them into her pocket.

Many hours later, when Regina came and opened the closet, Emma packed her few belongings, bid Granny and Regina goodbye, and left Spencer House forever.

To her surprise, Emma didn’t look back.

~*~*~

Thank you for reading and sharing! Part 2 will begin on Sunday and I’ll be updating weekly thereafter!

[eternal-echoes]

“At this point, as far as understanding of God and thus the concrete practice of religion is concerned, we are faced with an unavoidable dilemma. Is the conviction that acting unreasonably contradicts God's nature merely a Greek idea, or is it always and intrinsically true? I believe that here we can see the profound harmony between what is Greek in the best sense of the word and the biblical understanding of faith in God. Modifying the first verse of the Book of Genesis, the first verse of the whole Bible, John began the prologue of his Gospel with the words: "In the beginning was the λόγος". This is the very word used by the emperor: God acts, σὺν λόγω, with logos. Logos means both reason and word - a reason which is creative and capable of self-communication, precisely as reason. John thus spoke the final word on the biblical concept of God, and in this word all the often toilsome and tortuous threads of biblical faith find their culmination and synthesis. In the beginning was the logos, and the logos is God, says the Evangelist. The encounter between the Biblical message and Greek thought did not happen by chance. The vision of Saint Paul, who saw the roads to Asia barred and in a dream saw a Macedonian man plead with him: "Come over to Macedonia and help us!" (cf. Acts 16:6-10) - this vision can be interpreted as a "distillation" of the intrinsic necessity of a rapprochement between Biblical faith and Greek inquiry.”

- Pope Benedict XVI, MEETING WITH THE REPRESENTATIVES OF SCIENCE - Aula Magna of the University of Regensburg, 12 September 2006

[tozettastone]

Fic excerpt

[Dorian's] at least sure he's in Ferelden.

How is he sure? Well, it's simple. He stumbles into their tiny town, which is little more than a way-stop for merchants and fishermen situated next to a frozen river, and when he finds the general goods store, the first thing that happens when he closes the door behind him is that a painted dog gets up from her bed of rags in one corner to harass him and nobody tells her to stop bothering a paying customer.

Sometimes, the scholars and historians of Quarinus exaggerate. It's an understandable vice, because a university lecturer has to keep his students paying attention by some method or other. But sometimes, their descriptions are painfully exact, and you never really know until you've been to a sprawling Nevarran catacomb and heard the moans of the dead, or seen the horror of an Orlesian alienage, or, indeed, stepped foot inside a grubby Ferelden store and been greeted by a massive, drooling beast.

It's an ugly animal. Mabari are something between a very large wolf and a very large mastiff, with brutish slavering faces and skin so thick and bristly it might just as well be boarhide. This one is an unobtrusive shade of mud brown, undoubtedly useful for ambushing the local mountain goats in spring.

She has a collar made of ram's leather. Hopefully that means she's trained. Dorian tucks all his fingers in tightly but he lets her snuffle wetly at his hand.

The dog is remarkably polite, despite her yellow teeth and sloppy drool. At least her breath is warm, which Dorian has not been for days now and may never be again. The general goods store is warm but the cold is in his bones.

At last, the dog wags her stubby little tail and shoves her enormous head under his hand. This is a benediction, he supposes.

"Well," says the old man manning the store, squinting suspiciously at Dorian. "We don't get too many vints up here, but Belinda seems to like you, so that's good enough for me. She wants you to scratch her ears."

Dorian wonders about asking if it's normal to take the word of a dog in this part of the world and decides that won't be a fruitful line of inquiry. He scratches Belinda's head, fingers clumsy with cold, and wonders if this is some kind of unknown ritual act. It certainly feels like he's sacrificing something. He's getting dog hair on his cloak, at least, which is basically identical to his ancestors bringing a midwinter slave to the temple of Lusacan...

[annastrxng]

since you write Anna and Sarah Phillips could you tell me how their views on Arnold compare and contrast?

Anna's first recollection of hearing about Benedict Arnold came on the heels of his service at Saratoga. He had been around at the outbreak of thew war in Lexington with Ethan Allen. But the papers first heralded him a HERO after Saratoga- so a little bit after October 1777. Her first impressions of him were truly quite favorable given how easily he threw the British into disarray. The papers also touted his bravery at Quebec and Lake Champlain. This opinion is bolstered by words sent from Tallmadge. Ben Tallmadge's opinion of him was also one of shock and reverence.

That favorable opinion began to wane during his occupation in Philadelphia. It is there, that his ego and bad attitude began to take lordship over his life.

Then in late 1780, when Abigail reveals Arnold's treachery and the plot about West Point, the BETRAYAL she felt was INTENSE. Surely, it was nowhere near as intense as what General Washington must have felt, having been closely confiding in the man. But it sent Anna into a PANIC mode. Everything she fought so dearly for was now placed in HORRIBLE JEAPORDY.

After the war, she could NEVER think of Arnold in the same fashion. Though he had served quite honorably at the start, his reputation was well and truly sullied. If she had SEEN him again, she would have likely taken her SHOT.

________________________________________________________

Sarah wasn't too KEEN on rebels after being bound, gagged, and kidnapped by Colonel Ethan Allen and his Green Mountain Boys. She saw him as brassy, unrefined. So when Arnold appeared, ostentatious and on horseback and speaking quite excellently in the Kings English, she FELT a certain level of kinship. He was the kind of man who reminded her of her father.

She sat down to conduct a personal interview with him. Colonel Arnold was eloquent in his approach, almost diplomatic and quite amiable despite her prodding. He was protective of her which, earned a good deal of respect.

May 10th 1775, Sarah decided to accompany him on his attack of Fort Ticonderoga. There she witnessed first had his valor. And though Arnold defects to her side, his treachery never sat quite right with her. Not after he extolled the virtues of the rebels.

On the other hand, let it be said, she abhors Arnold's wife- Peggy Shippen. (not pertinent to the inquiry at hand, but have that hot take anyways)

[the-other-art-blog]

What if Sophie's mother were alive?!

I wrote this expecting it to be a one-shot, ended up being 3 chapters.

Here's a little sneak peek:

Wiltshire, England, 1819

“Sophie,” A rather sleepy Benedict called her. It was past midnight and she was sitting on the bed in the dark. He sat beside her with a concerned look. He had noticed it for the last few days. 

“Is the baby kicking? I thought it was too early for that.” He gently placed a hand over her belly.

“No. It is too early for that. I was just thinking about my mother… about what she must have been feeling when she was carrying me. She must have been scared.”

“I’m sure she loved you from the moment she knew you were coming.”

“I don’t remember much of her. I think she spent most of the time away, working I suppose. I do remember my grandmother taking care of me.”

“Do you think she’d still be alive?” Benedict asked during lunchtime. He managed to get Sophie back to bed and sleep, but he also wondered. If his mother-in-law was out there, he would like to help her and Sophie reunite.

“Maybe. She was young, I think. But I don’t know where she could be.”

“We can make some inquiries.”

“No! It would spark rumors, more than the ones already out there. I don’t want to damage your family’s reputation.”

“Sophie…”

“Your mother went up against Araminta to create a story that would make me look presentable. If we start asking about maids, the truth might come out.”

[dereksetzerart]

Benediction In The Hours of Delirium

Email me at dereksetzerart@gmail.com for commission inquiries. Instagram and Twitter: @derekrsetzer

[1016anon]

Title: Random Vampire AU Author: 1016anon Fandom: Bridgerton Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton/Kathani Sharma Summary: Hartside Ball

A/N -- Dubcon ahead. Kathani's memories are breaking through; due her fluctuating identity/recollection, it's extremely debatable as to whether she can give meaningful consent.

Definitely D/s, lots of dirty talk, begging, crying, orgasm denial, overstimulation. Mention of somnophilia which they never negotiate, Anthony just does it (but if it had been negotiated, Kathani would have consented).

I feel like I need to emphasize that Anthony is not human. This chapter came out unexpectedly dark, but here we are.

-9-

She was avoiding him, and he wasn't certain what steps he should next put into play.

--

"Have you done anything to offend her?" Daphne asked.

"I have not, and I would know if I had."

--

The first indication was when she remained attached to Miss Edwina's side at the Smythe-Smith Musicale. He had been somewhat dismayed to have spent such little time with her at a social event he loathed, but Anthony understood he had been monopolizing her time. It was only natural that she would want to stay with Miss Edwina, especially since her original goal in coming to England was to find her sister a good match.

--

"Bridgerton, I hate to say this, but there's nothing you can do but wait. Her memories are breaking through too quickly and she's panicking."

Anthony sat up, alarmed.

"How do you know this?"

"Miss Edwina has made discreet inquiries about you among the members of the ton," Daphne said. "Particularly among the ladies."

"'Discreet'," Simon rolled his eyes.

"Discreet for a human," Daphne answered. "She is not acting in any way to arouse suspicion. Everyone knows Anthony is courting Miss Sharma and are willing to indulge in what they see as a sister-in-law's curiosity regarding her future brother-in-law."

"Why has no one told me of this?"

"Probably because you've been too busy staring at your flame. You owe me and Daphne two weeks worth of opera duty, by the way."

Anthony waved it away, focused entirely on this new development.

"What has she been asking after?"

"Your general character--"

"Reputation as a rake," Simon grinned.

"She asked if you had ever spent time in France."

"I slipped into French at Vauxhall and she replied in kind. It was a short conversation-- it wouldn't have been sufficient enough to bring back her memories."

"Modern French or Middle French? Because Miss Sharma has suddenly developed an interest in Middle French."

--

The second was when she seemed disproportionately relieved that he and his "family" would not be able to picnic the following week. Simon hated picnics, Daphne could not attend, Eloise and Benedict were interested in attending but were most definitely uninterested in acting as hosts. It was just as well-- Anthony did have his own matters of business he'd neglected whilst enthusiastically courting Kathani.

--

"Did you know Eloise had tea with Miss Edwina at Bridgerton House yesterday?"

"No," Anthony frowned. "I was in Parliament. Then Ibrahim caught me at the club-- he and Dvorah have very strong feelings on the recent vote."

"Well, it seems Miss Edwina and Eloise have become friends, of a sort."

"Eloise? Friends? With a human?"

"Philosophy," Hastings shrugged. "The point is, Miss Edwina told Eloise that Kathani has been having nightmares almost every night."

"You believe them to be memories?"

"It's rather difficult to imagine they could be anything else," Daphne said. "Eloise told us your flame repeats 'amatus' in her sleep, and when she wakes from those dreams, she begins to cry."

"Amatus? She says amatus?"

"Yes, 'amatus'," Daphne replied patiently.

Simon resisted the urge to throw an apple at Anthony's head.

"What the hell happened during your courtship? You told us it was a disaster-- you didn't tell us it was so disastrous your flame would have nightmares."

"I told you everything!"

--

Third was when she'd mistakenly engaged herself for another dinner party the same night Violet was hosting one of her own. Anthony knew she was lying when she claimed to have confused the dates of the two invitations-- Kathani never made such mistakes. Aside from what she was missing of their life in France, her memory was as sharp and her mind was as keen as it ever was. He told her she could make it up to him if he could claim her first dance at the Hartside Ball.

--

"You're certain she hasn't recovered any memories yet?" Simon asked.

"There's nothing."

"Anthony, you must be honest with us. Lady Whistledown has written that your affections towards Miss Sharma have cooled."

"Daph, what reason would I have to hide anything from you? I made enormous mistakes during our first courtship and would do it differently if I could-- but we were happy in our marriage."

"She may be having one dream-- the same dream repeating every night in an attempt to break through. Any idea what it might be?"

"I can venture a few guesses as to events which frightened her," Anthony said slowly.

"Perhaps they are not frightening dreams," Daphne frowned. "Eloise confirmed with Miss Edwina that Miss Sharma only speaks the one word, and that word is always 'amatus'. It's possible it is a memory which brings her great sorrow."

Simon looked closely at Anthony.

"You know what it is."

"I... have a strong suspicion."

"Anthony, what is the matter?"

"If it's the one I believe it to be, I need to be with her when she remembers."

"I wouldn't worry on that score," Simon responded. "She'll seek you out."

"And if she doesn't?"

"She will."

"Another premonition?"

"Intuition."

"They're the same."

--

The final indication was when she did not attend the Hartside Ball; when he inquired after her whereabouts, Miss Edwina lied and said her sister was feeling unwell.

Her delivery was quite convincing; Daphne, Simon, and Anthony were all impressed by her expression of true regret and the sincere apology in her voice. Perhaps she even believed it. She was lying all the same.

Anthony was forced to remain at the ball long enough that the hostess would not take offense (Lord Hartside was completely indifferent, but one must keep up appearances), then rode to Danbury House. He was in the midst of debating whether he ought to make his way up to her chambers when Kathani appeared at the window.

She was agitated. He could hear the tread of her feet as she paced in her room. He wished to know what she was thinking so that he might ease her mind. That he was likely the cause of that unease did not signify.

They were twin flames. That took precedence over everything else.

After a long interval, he heard some noise from her room, the candles blown out, and her footsteps descending as she left the house to go to Lady Danbury's gardens.

--

"What are you doing out here?"

"Lord Bridgerton!"

Her heart jumped. Kathani tried to take deep, calming breaths.

"You frightened me."

"Forgive me, I did not intend to do so."

"Do you always surprise young ladies in gardens at night?"

"No. Only you."

Silence. Lord Bridgerton was watching her intently, searching for something.

"I thought you would be in attendance at the Hartside Ball, my Lord."

"Miss Edwina informed me you were feeling unwell. I came to inquire after your health."

"By lurking outside Lady Danbury's house."

"I prefer gazing upon your window in hopes of glimpsing your fair countenance."

"That was... unexpectedly poetic, my Lord."

"You make me so."

She waited for him to explain himself. Or take his leave.

Anything.

Nothing else was forthcoming, only the sliver of moonlight catching the unearthly brown of her eyes; they seemed to glow like a great room with walls of dark amber.

"Now that you have laid eyes upon my fair countenance and seen I am recovered, I think it best you leave, my Lord."

"This is the second time you've been ill."

"The second?"

"At Gunter's, you said you have not been sleeping well."

"It is nothing. It is merely-- the food here disagrees with me."

"I will send my doctor to Danbury House tomorrow. He is widely traveled and familiar with a number of ailments. I believe he's even traveled to India."

"He has?"

"Only the southwestern coast, if I recall correctly. Will you allow him to see you?"

"It seems I cannot prevent it, my Lord."

"Can you blame me for worrying? I have only just found you again, my love."

She did not know how it happened, but he was quite close. He had moved, or she had moved. Kathani was no longer certain. She only knew they were breathing the same air, and that the intensity of his gaze had softened to a deep longing.

Kathani was suddenly terrified and comforted by the knowledge that holding him at arm's length had not worked. If anything, the nightmares had only intensified; it was difficult not to notice that the only nights of respite she was granted corresponded to the days when she had spent several hours in his presence. To wit: few and far between.

Those nights of respite were filled with entirely different dreams. They sparked a hunger deep within her for a rich, dark pleasure she'd never experienced yet desperately craved. A hunger he had awakened when he claimed she was a person she wasn't. A person she couldn't have been because it was too similar to a person she'd left behind-- a person she'd outgrown.

He reminded her of the silly things she'd fixated on as a child. Kathani herself could not recall, but Appa had told her: when she was four years old, she had been obsessed with dance. For two months, it was the only thing she did or cared about. She could almost see herself: a tiny girl practicing with an all-consuming focus until her footwork was perfect.

They had gotten her a French tutor because there was a song she always sang; Appa had assumed that she had picked it up somewhere-- children were sponges and retained some of the oddest, most obscure things. The French tutor had never heard the song before and claimed it was not French at all.

Nevertheless, she seemed to have an affinity for the language and continued her studies. One day, Kathani had been outside, singing, when her tutor and his friend approached the house. His friend had been shocked because he'd recognized that the song was not in modern French at all, but an older, outdated form.

Kathani had not heard Anthony sing it, but there was a knot of the dread in her stomach that one day, he would.

There was the odd fact that unlike most children, she had never been afraid of the dark; instead, she had been fascinated by it. Once again, she did not recall, but Appa told her that when she was three, she'd named her shadow. She told Appa and Amma on several occasions that she was happy when it was nighttime, because it meant her shadow could go outside without being scorched by the sun.

They had the most difficult time getting her to sleep; she used to speak to her shadow friend for hours. Appa liked to tell her that she gave him his first grey hairs-- no matter how they tried to bar the door, she somehow managed to sneak out of the house to go down to river. Every time they chastised her, she insisted that her shadow was protecting her and would never let her come to harm.

Now that Anthony was in her life, she remembered fragments of these nonsense conversations with her shadow. They had an imaginary house where she pretended to bring home magical fruit (tamarind, bedu, river grapes, amla) from the imaginary orchard; there was a stable full of beautiful horses, all of which had special powers like flight or the power to block out the sun.

Kathani had always been a gifted rider. Appa joked that it was because she had been born on a saddle (she had not. Amma had been an exceptional horsewoman-- it was one of the earliest memories she had, and one of only memories of Amma: the smell of a horse and Amma holding Kathani safe, gentle hand warm on her soft little tummy).

All these little anecdotes had been endearing little tales of her quirks as a child-- special stories she shared with Appa and proof of her unremembered memories which brought her closer to Amma. They were hers, not something to be shared with Mary or Edwina. The past eight years, she'd had precious little that was her own; Kathani had guarded these stories with her heart.

Now they were tainted. After meeting Lord Bridgerton, they felt like a looming threat. They were not the memories he sought, but Kathani could not shake the gnawing feeling, she could not rid herself of the thought now planted firmly in her mind; that they were fleeting afterimages of that woman, manifested in Kathani's childhood before her sense of self had been formed. But once again, they were locked away from her own recollections. She'd been too young.

She dared not tell him; not when it would strengthen his ludicrous claim that she had been his wife. Kathani was not in the habit of feeding a stranger's delusions, no matter how handsome they were or charming their smile.

As a young girl growing into her young adult years, she'd shed those childish habits; like everyone else, life provided the raw materials and she brought into being the contours of her identity. Before Appa died, Kathani-- at the age of seventeen-- had not known every nook and cranny of her character, but there was time to get to know herself.

Then Appa died and she might not have known exactly who she was, but she knew exactly what she needed to be. After Appa died, Kathani always kept iron control and had never allowed herself to fall apart. With Mary turned into a spiritless ghost and Edwina too young to take care of herself, it fell on Kathani to find a way forward. She dedicated herself to their little family of three; it was the purpose imposed on her, the purpose she'd made for herself and its fulfillment was her borrowed happiness.

But.

A small, persistent voice kept asking: could she say she was a complete person when she did not know who she would be once she left? She'd always felt as though she was living on the periphery of her own life, orbiting a binary system which had no consistent gravitational pull; at times it threatened to subsume her, other times it slingshotted her to the furthest, coldest reaches of the two-sunned system.

And now these dreams, which carried the sharp sting of grief for places she'd never been and outlined faces too detailed and too blurry to be either memory or dream, while his presence always lingered in the background.

Lord Bridgerton-- Anthony-- was there, within reach, standing before her, tempting her with impossible answers to questions she had never asked.

Questions she wasn't sure she wanted answered.

She did not know herself outside of what she was able to do for her family; the thought she would never know herself-- that another person would emerge from unknown crevices of her mind to replace her entirely-- made her deathly afraid.

The catalyst of it all stood before her and she was helpless-- helplessly tied-- to his call.

Her shadow, named Andhas-- darkness, in Vedic Sanskrit.

"Kathani," he said softly.

Anthony carefully telegraphed his motions, giving Kathani plenty of time to pull away.

"Darling."

She could not help but close her eyes when he brushed his thumb along her brow and placed his hand on the small of her back.

"Amata."

A small, involuntary noise of contentment escaped as her body responded to him.

"Come with me, my love."

Kathani blinked up at him.

"To Bridgerton House?"

"No, I have my own lodgings."

"But we are in England."

Anthony inhaled sharply, then kissed her with fervor.

"I know, my darling. It is not the same, but I cannot bear to be apart from you."

"Anthony, I don't understand," she said, eyes clouded over with confusion. "Why are we in England? I want to go home."

"I'm sorry, my darling. I'm so sorry," he said, unable to name the feelings welling up in him.

He wasn't certain how much Kathani would remember of this. She seemed almost to be in a trance-- both completely present and in the liminal space of dreams, even as she tried to bury herself in his arms.

"We had to leave France. It was too dangerous."

"Aubrey Hall?"

"I built us another."

She made a deep sound of satisfaction.

"Let me take you home. Let me take care of you, my darling."

Kathani shivered at those words.

"Take me home, Anthony."

He quickly set her on his horse and rode as fast as he dared back to his lodgings. The door swept open; she was firmly in his arms, gazing up at him in adoration as he made his way up the stairs and into his chambers.

Once inside, he laid her carefully on his bed where she stayed, sweet and pliant and patiently waiting for him.

Kathani was wearing only a thin robe and her nightdress. It was nothing for him to untie the front of her robe and gaze down at her while he took off all his evening wear: jacket, waistcoat, cravat, shirt, braces, breeches. He ran his hands up her legs, intent on slowly divesting her of her nightgown but when he reached the tops of her thighs, he found her bare.

She was blushing.

"I dream of you. Every night," she whispered. "And when I wake, I ache for you, every morning."

There was nothing he could say to that except to part her legs and lick, making her cry out from that one simple act.

She had always loved this. She had always been so responsive, begging each time Anthony flicked his tongue against her clit-- all the time he'd spent on her body to make her unbearably vulnerable. She sobbed when she felt a hint of his sharp teeth against her delicate folds, screamed as though she was being tortured each time he thrust his tongue into her and withdrew, writhed and shook when he applied his mouth and sucked her slick out of her core.

But her body ultimately remembered that she could not come until he gave her permission, and he was amazed how deeply the sense memory went in her. It filled him with awe, and pride, and a primal possessiveness to know she may have lain with other men and women in this lifetime, but they did not know-- did not own her body like this. Holding herself back from ever reaching her peak was second instinct, always waiting for him to unlock her body and shatter her mind, knowing she was his to overwhelm with the intensity of whatever he desired.

Anthony stopped abruptly when he saw Kathani pinching her nipples in an attempt to bring her closer to the edge. Her mind was begging him, her mouth was pleading for mercy, but her body lay quiescent under him, simply accepting whatever he had to give her and ceding to him total control. She was divided in mind, body, and spirit, all of them warring within her.

He pushed her hands away and she whimpered, but when he applied his mouth-- and that hint of teeth she'd learned to love-- she arched up, chasing his mouth for the pleasure and pain. He finally rid her of her nightgown and her body felt like a live wire. Sliding one finger into her confirmed that she was clenching rhythmically and if he had been inside her, it would have drawn him deeper into her wet heat. One of her hands was now over the base of her neck where he used to bite and drink from her.

Centuries, and she was still so beautifully responsive to him. Centuries hadn't erased the invisible marks he'd left. Her body was predisposed now to these reactions he drew from her-- the only thing Anthony did bring forth its true potential. She didn't hold her orgasm back because she needed his permission; she held it back because she loved the heightened sensation, and she wanted to give him that control. Her body remembered what she had given him once and offered to him again; Anthony was certain this was the way he could bring her memories back.

There were changes, as he relearned her reactions and remapped all the places she was particularly vulnerable. Four hundred years ago, his wife had often begged, but she had never said please. Never while he was taking her apart. It was something he was fiercely proud of, though he could not take credit for it.

In this life, however, she said the word freely; he felt a different kind of pride. That she trusted him not to deny her, though he may delay it as long as he saw fit.

"Anthony, I need you-- please, I need you inside me, I'm so empty without you, Anthony--"

"Hush, darling. I'll give you what you need. Just a little more patience. Can you do that for me, amata?"

She nodded.

"Say it, Kathani. Say yes."

"Yes, I'll-- I'll be patient for you. Only you"

"I love you, more than words can say."

She didn't even ask to come, he noted. All she wanted was for him to fill her, make her complete again. Renew his claim and take back what was his.

"How do you want to come, darling? I can let you come now, on my mouth, or you can come on my cock."

"On your cock. Inside. Always want you inside me."

"Shh, I'm going to take such good care of you now. You've come back to me."

"Yours. Please, Anthony, I'm yours."

He kissed her brow, her temple, the curve of her ear gently, a complete contrast to the way he was wreaking havoc on her body, then kissed his way down her front, going from her pulse point, to her exposed throat, down between her breasts, taking a moment to bite each one, then soothe the sting with his tongue, trailing down her belly to her navel, scraping his way down until he reached her dripping cunt.

This part he loved most.

He began sucking, beginning slow and gentle, drawing out each new wave of fresh slick from her, then returning his attention to her clit. His wife loved when he brought out his fangs, at their sharpest, to press on it viciously as she screamed, telling him

"I can't, I can't, Anthony I'm going to come, please don't let me come, please I need you inside, I need your cock, please don't leave me empty, I can't"

And he didn't reply, just grinned as he retracted his fangs and went back to sucking from her core.

He knew she'd finally reached the end of her immense self control when she was no longer screaming, but whimpering, each time he grazed his teeth on her made her cry. When he put his finger in her, she was no longer trying to clench down on anything, too tired after having been denied for so long.

"I think you're ready, my darling."

She nodded, unable to do anything else except try to spread her legs wider in offering.

"I need you. I need you, want to feel you, I waited for you."

The words did something to him.

He kissed her long and hard and deep, cock not inside her but just teasing against her entrance. In any other circumstance, she would find a way to get him to fuck into her. Now, she just sighed, satisfied to know he would follow through on his promise.

Anthony didn't have to go slowly, but he did. Agonizingly slowly, because his wife cried mindlessly

"I love you, I love you, Anthony I missed you so much, I waited so long for you, Anthony I can feel you, you're real, I'm yours, I'm yours, I'm yours, please make me yours"

And he could feel her climax growing, finally getting what it needed, building and building and waiting for that moment when he was in her as deeply as their bodies allowed, him filling her and reclaiming the space which had always been his, her feeling the rightness of it, as though she was always meant to be his willing vessel.

As soon as he was hilted, he felt her shatter around him wordlessly, silently, the only outward indication she had come was the tensing of her entire body, and Anthony couldn't have pulled out if he wanted to, he was so deep in her body. It took him everything he had to keep still as she rode out wave after wave, gasping, subtly rolling her hips with each new crest. When he felt her pleasure ebbing, he ground into her again, pressed up against her swollen and overstimulated clit.

The third round was when she began begging for him to stop, but now it was his turn to take his pleasure and he fucked in her long, slow strokes, telling her to move with him and she obeyed. She obeyed, even though she was crying with pain. But she accepted everything he made her take; he drew it out until she was lost in time and sobbing, switching between French and English, uncertain if she was asking him to keep going or to stop

"Anthony, please, it hurts, Anthony, it hurts so much, please"

"Shh, you can take a little more"

"I missed you, it hurts, I missed you Anthony, Anthony"

"You can take this. You wish to please me?"

"Yes. Yes-- want to please you. Anthony I love you."

"Then you will let me take this from you. Do you understand? You don't belong to yourself, my darling, you belong to me."

"Yes, belong to you. Belong with you, I love you so much. Stay in me. Stay in me always."

"And if I tell you that you will come one last time? What will you do, Kathani."

"I'll come for you. I'll come for you, I love you."

"Good. You're taking me so well, my darling. Just a little more."

And he suddenly changed his rhythm so it was a brutal, dirty, harsh thing-- a taking in the truest sense of the word and his wife screamed as if she was dying, as if she was a virgin and he was breaking her maidenhead with malicious violence. But he commanded her, demanded she give him what he wanted, made her prove her need for him

"Tighten up for me, god you're still so wet after everything. One more, pull me in like I taught you."

She obeyed.

"Come for me, amata. Scream for me."

She screamed, used and abused and powerless to stop him. Kathani screamed as sense memory of all the times he'd taken her like this washed over her-- too many times to count-- all the times he withheld her climax when she didn't come on his cock, untouched; all the times he made her withstand his onslaught of tongue and teeth after her body was oversensitive and sore; all the times he punished her when her body failed to obey, punished and rewarded her by biting into her neck and drinking.

He had her, soul already merged with his and her soft, tender human body broken by his will.

When Anthony finally came inside her, filling her with his come, she couldn't help but wrap her arms and legs around him to make him stay. She didn't know who she was, what country she was in, what century. But she knew him, and that was all that mattered in this place of in between memory, dream, and forgetfulness.

She was sobbing and Anthony licked her tears as he always had, completely content.

He could go again-- and would go again while she was sleeping-- but for now was content.

It was not a bond-- not even close to one. But it was his in. He'd fuck her as many as was necessary for her to remember him and for her to remember they were twinned. No one could read her body like him and in time, no one would read his body like her. Anthony had the advantage of experience and memory.

Kathani fell asleep warming his cock. He took her twice while she was unconscious, and once more to wake her from a dream.

--

She dreamed of a dark grey sky and a cold which cut to bone. She dreamed of fields of crops starved of the sun, fields of corpses starved of bread, fields of ice, skating atop corpses.

In the distance there was green--

--

When her eyes cleared, he saw it was her, the woman of the 19th century, and he could see she remembered bits and pieces, but not the entire night.

Come morning, she made a half-hearted attempt to dress herself and leave; neither were surprised when he refused to let her go back to Danbury House. He was addicted to her; he always had been, so took her again without any foreplay. The only concession he made was to have her wet his cock with long, slow strokes with her tongue, not even allowing her to suck, before he pulled her off him and laid her back on the bed.

She was sore from the previous night; he was impatient. He fucked her like he was trying to outrun the inevitable turn of dawn; he tested whether she'd still wait for him to give her permission to come.

Kathani was perfect-- of course she was. She remembered this familiar rhythm, when he hadn't been immune to sunlight and she was free to go outside where he couldn't follow; every morning he extracted promises from her that she would always return to him, despite the fact they both knew she had nowhere to go. She'd remembered so fondly: only her husband could be jealous of the sun.

She was sore-- well fucked, well used, and well sated, the impossible hunger in her satisfied now that his ritual was complete and she felt the tingling warmth of having been claimed and filled again.

Anthony ordered breakfast to be brought up to his chambers. He was in the middle of feeding her a bite of toast (she had been annoyed and swiped it out of his hand) when Owen informed him through the door that Lady Danbury's footman had arrived with a letter.

He didn't even ask to see the letter or read its contents. Kathani saw what he meant to do and tried to head him off, but Anthony said, "Have the footman inform Lady Danbury that I have proposed to Miss Sharma, and she has accepted," he grinned at her and held her gaze, caressing her naked thigh.

A slight pause, before Owen replied, "Very good, my Lord. Is there anything else you wish you convey?"

"Have all her belongings packed immediately and brought here."

The morning sun made her eyes light up from within.

"Will Miss Sharma be staying--"

"With me. She is to be my Viscountess, she will remain with me."

"I shall inform the staff, my Lord."

"Excellent. Ah, and Owen-- we are not to be disturbed. My wife and I are not accepting callers today."

Anthony, who had been marveling at the sight of her in his bed, sheets pooled around her waist, did not stop to hear his valet's reply. He simply put the tray aside and kissed her, groaning when she did not resist.

He'd thought she would protest, but aside from the fact they belonged to each other, this Kathani was also practical-- almost to a fault. She already saw the writing on the wall when he refused to allow her to leave; she knew the consequences of the scandal it would cause, how its repercussions would affect Edwina's chances.

She hadn't known what had come over her, to go out to the gardens and stay to bandy words with him at night. She should have gone inside. She should not have spoken to him.

Yet it was impossible not to go to him. She hadn't known he would be there waiting for her, but she had known; she had known because he was always there for her and she needed safety. He was the only person who could make her real; he knew what dreams lie ahead. She could trust him to keep her safe, and keep her. Anthony would always keep her.

This was always how it was going to end. For all that he charmed and courted, Lord Bridgerton never gave her the illusion of choice. For all that he said there could be no harm in him courting her, he was always going to find a way to trap her in the end. What Lord Bridgerton wanted, Lord Bridgerton got.

Kathani was losing pieces of herself to him as he dragged her under like a riptide. He was the person holding both sides of her together; he found the key in her body. What the mind could not remember, the body kept. And now his mental hold on her was so strong, she did not want-- or need-- to come up for air.

She was safe now. She was home. He would uncover all her pieces and give them to her whole.

--

There was a storm coming, a year without summer.

Kathani was running, and running, and running, desperately reaching for Anthony; he was screaming for her.

They had her tied to a stake-- they had green fire.

She screamed, the child within her burning

--

She woke sobbing, clinging to Anthony, not knowing why. It was a different dream, one she didn't remember ever having before.

Anthony soothed her and she calmed quickly.

There was a different memory waiting to break through and Anthony was happy: he would be there to catch her.

Catch her, and unleash the flood.