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uglypastels · 5 months ago

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Ridlington Park | II | Eddie Munson regency!au

Dear reader, my sincerest apologies for the delay in the upcoming chapter. It seems that there had been some technical problems at the printer's shop and some terrible time management on this writer's part. Before we resume this tale of love, however, I would also like to thank all who have read the first chapter and shared their thoughts on it with not only me but others. Know that your support does not go unnoticed, and I cherish it with all my heart.

Word Count: 8.1k

Do be warned, Dear Reader, for this story in its entirety may contain:

female!reader. slow burn. forbidden romance. jealousy. pining. smut. alcohol consumption. swearing. OC family. family disputes. horses. talks of arranged marriage. historical facts as well as trivial inaccuracies.

Due to the adult nature of the story, this author also kindly but sternly requires underage readers to pursue other works.

The Ridlington Park Collection | Correspondence | Join the Taglist - Read Chapter 1 here -

Chapter Two: A Time for Scandal

“At a private ball, no lady will refuse an introduction to a gentleman. It is an insult to her hostess, implying that her guests are not gentlemen. It is optional with the lady whether to continue to drop the acquaintance after the ball is over, but for that evening, however disagreeable, etiquette requires her to accept him for one dance, if she is disengaged, and her hostess requests it.” - The Ladies' Book of Etiquette, 1873

The Royal family's return to London brings a new life to the city each year as its elite congregates fervently for all possible occasions. The notable number of balls, soirees, and other social gatherings mark a particularly eventful point in the year that no eager lady or gentleman would want to miss. And whilst the matchmakings occupy most thoughts, this motivation somewhat overshadows the mere social aspect of the season. The parties offer the perfect meeting ground for all ton members, as they can indulge in all the niceties the hosts provide. Whether it be the music, magnificent foods and drinks, or simply pleasant conversation. To miss a social event, especially for a debutante such as yourself, Dear Reader, is to miss an opportunity to present oneself to her suitors and the entire town. It is to miss the happenings that drive the whole court forward.

Thus, you were obligated to accept every single invitation presented to you and your family. And as spectacular as they all were, weariness settled deep in your bones with each new event. No matter how lavish, it all began to blur together into one repetitive pattern.

Each time, you would find yourself atop a grand staircase, your family trailing behind, as the earlier arrivals looked up in awe and envy. With a shaky breath and a tremble to the hand holding your skirt, you descended the steps onto the dancefloor, where a wonderful yet pesky gentleman awaited to greet you. If fortune were in their favour, they would even gather in a pack, making you the bearer of choice who to greet first, whose offer for refreshment to accept, and whose signature to claim on your dance card in which order. Meanwhile, your mother gawked in a nearby distance with a smile stretching for miles, already planning what cakes to ask the chef about for the next morning’s calling hour.

The lights around you sparkled wonderfully, and you could not deny that Lord and Lady Parsnell had outdone themselves for their annual ball. Theirs was a particularly beautiful ballroom, with windows covering the entirety of the large west wall. It overlooked the gardens illuminated with lanterns of all colours, and the room was in an everlasting golden glow. The music played from the far right corner, where the musicians were located on their platform, all dressed in elaborate costumes and wigs, completely painted in bronze to imitate the likeness of statues and as the bypassing guests were gawking up at them, you felt a twinge of a connection between yourself and the talent across the room.

‘Would you care to dance, miss?’ one of the gentlemen asked, and as you could not find a single polite response in your entire vocabulary, you opted for a kind smile as you extended your hand in agreement.

As with all the others, this was making itself out to be a long and dreadful evening.

On your way to the centre of the floor to join all the other couples, you caught a glimpse of your oldest brother, Nicholas. To no one’s surprise, he had found himself in deep conversation with a young lady dressed in a gorgeous sea-blue dress, a fan to match fluttering purposefully over her bosom. For the entirety of the dance, you kept your eyes on the two of them. No matter how lacking intellectual stimulation your brother’s endeavours may be, they forever remained more fascinating than anything your dance partner had to offer. You only turned your attention to the man at the harsh sound of his laugh. It appeared he had been entertaining himself with his jokes for the duration of the waltz. This and how he slurred you around the room, practically dragging your limbs behind him, made you doubt you were very needed at that moment.

Finally, the music slowed, and you were released from Lord Bramley's harsh hold on your hands. You bid him farewell with a respectable curtsy and walked away before the man could utter another word, let alone request another dance. As you walked off the floor, a most horrid apparition revealed itself in the corner of your eye in the shape of another available man in conversation with your mama. Too occupied by the gentleman, she had not noticed you to have finished your dance, and so you saw the opportunity to make yourself scarce in the crowd, at least for the moment.

‘You cannot hide forever.’ A hum more irritating than a critter tickled at your ear as your second brother, Christopher, appeared by your side at the confectionery table.

‘I certainly can try, can I not?’ you grinned, tasting the icing on a strawberry cake.

‘Because we know how well that turned out for you the last time,’ he reminded you. All you could do was grin at him maliciously as you thought back to the day when—

❀❀❀

Your mother had lovingly retrieved you from the stables as you had attempted to escape one of your family’s countless matchmaking attempts. And while the man you had met, Mr Steve Harrington, had turned out to be quite pleasant, you still struggled to relive the embarrassment of being hunted down by your mother through the garden. Not to mention the judgment of your siblings the very next day at breakfast as you learned they had been told all of what had occurred the day prior.

You walked into the room with an appetite that disappeared as soon as you saw the amusement on your family’s faces and heard the hushed tones with which they spoke as you found your seat. Perhaps if they had been more straightforward, you could have endured it, but they all remained silent as they watched you take your pick of the food, portioning it onto your plate at your own pace. Only as you took your first bite did the first words erupt, nearly leading you to choke.

‘Your lunch with Harrington went well, I take it?’ Nicholas asked, much to his amusement.

‘What makes you say that?’ you asked, answering with your own question, with no intention of looking your family in the eye as you did.

‘Mother has just caught us up with the events of yesterday afternoon,’ your brother stated, his enthusiasm in stark contrast to your discomfort at the moment.

‘I cannot see how there was much to speak of.’ You tore off another piece of the toast with your teeth. ‘It was dreadful.’

‘Dreadful, you say,’ Christopher snickered, barging into the conversation, as unwelcome as the rest, ‘it is not the word I would use, given what we have heard.’

‘Please enlighten me, then, brother? What do you deem an appropriate summary given what I can only assume was mother’s thoroughly accurate recount of what happened?’ You could imagine that she had embellished aspects of the day to fit her narrative; one that most definitely would not suit your future objectives in any way. Truly, since when had the breakfast meal also become the time for your entire family to torture you? It seemed that any moment you all found yourselves in one place, it was deemed the designated time for inquiries regarding your prospects.

‘I had only told them that you seemed to have rather enjoyed yourself with Mr Harrington,' your mother said nonchalantly as if she had not just struck you with a verbal mallet over the head.

‘Mother!’ you said with a frozen-in-shock expression, but your mother only blinked slowly in bewilderment. You blinked slowly as well. ‘How could you?’

‘Is that an offence to say these days?’ She replied, chuckling, underestimating the damage she had caused with that simple phrase. You had rather enjoyed yourself with Mr Harrington. The string of simple words opened the floodgates that until then kept back the unwanted commentary of your siblings, in particular, the vaunting of Nicholas, who had pridefully acclaimed the matchmaking between you and Mr Harrington to himself and would not let anyone forget that for the rest of the meal or the hours, even days, after—

❀❀❀

But you were happy to put all this far behind you. No matter how keen your siblings or parents were to return to that day, you were not one to dwell in the past. You looked forward. More specifically, right ahead of you, where there seemed to be a clear exit route in the form of a pair of large oaken doors—like a gleaming, delicious yet forbidden fruit tormenting you from a distance. You shook the silly thought out of your mind, returning your attention to Christopher, who indulged himself in a puff pastry delicacy.

‘Can you blame me, brother, for acting out after having endured an entire day of the most monotonous, unspirited, and, dare I say, upright dull conversation a man has to offer?’ You watched Christopher pick up a glass of wine, quickly grabbing it out of his hands to consume the drink yourself, leaving him, in turn, in a slightly shocked state of confusion.

He blinked slowly and sighed. ‘You do not have to explain yourself to me, and I hope you do recognise that,’ he said as he watched you finish the last drops of his wine. ‘I am merely suggesting that if you know what is good for you, you will open yourself up to these opportunities, as by defying, you will only end up causing yourself more harm.’

Now it was your turn to heave out a heavy and tired breath. You put the glass down, perhaps a bit too harshly, as the thud against the table spurred on a few looks from the ladies around you, but you were too occupied with your brother’s words. He was right, of course, on both accounts. Of all your siblings, Christopher was most like yourself, never entirely understanding the need for marriage. Of course, as a male and a second-born son, he had no such obligation or needs to fulfil. It was perfectly well for him to remain a bachelor for as long as he pleased, not to mention pursue any interests he might have.

Meanwhile, all of these “opportunities” you had that he spoke of were in matters of either matchmaking or to enhance your appeal for such exact situations. Yes, you had a more than fortunate education. You spoke various languages, understood maths and geography, could play the pianoforte prettily, perform any dance in your sleep, and occupy yourself with perfectly fine needlework. But it was disheartening, as at the end of the day, all these accomplishments were meant as nothing more than to advertise yourself to men who could not care one bit for any of it as long as your face and body were adequate for their tastes.

But you also knew, through your assumptions and fair warnings from others, that if you were not to find a husband yourself, someone else would do so for you, and a last resort comes to be just that for apparent reasons but ones you would rather not familiarise yourself with.

‘Do not tell me I have managed actually to silence you and put a stop to your wit.’ Christopher chuckled.

‘You wish,’ you responded, possibly proving his point. Meanwhile, another song began to play as more couples took to the floor. Your eyes immediately examined the room for any threats of men reaching for your hand for a dance, particularly a certain Mr Bridgerton, who you read to have claimed a spot on your dance card.

‘Rules are rules,’ Christopher sang teasingly as he saw you check the card tied around your wrist. ‘You cannot deny a gentleman’s—’ but he never entirely managed to finish his sentence as he watched you tug at the ribbon connecting you to the list of men waiting for a dance. The material tightened, most likely leaving a nasty red line across your arm as you pulled and pulled until—snap—you broke free. The piece of paper fell to the floor.

‘Oh my!’ You covered your mouth in faux-wide-eyed perplexity as you kicked the discarded card behind a large potted plant, far into the forgotten shadows of the room. ‘How can I remember the gentlemen’s names whom I have promised a dance now?’

Against his better judgement, your brother cracked a smile, ‘I can tell you now, you will regret doing that.’

‘Somehow, I rather doubt that,’ you twirled your wrist, enjoying how freeing it felt not to be tied up any longer.

‘The second that mother finds you without that silly little thing around your hand, you will sing a different tune, sister.’ He finally took another glass of wine, cheering you on, ‘And do not come crying to me about it when that happens.’ The large chug he took was anything but galant. Still, it was his final act before he bid you farewell and left you at the confectionary table to fend for yourself. You had not expected the doubt to settle as quickly as it did, but perhaps the lack of a big brother-shaped guard dog by your side made you feel abnormally self-conscious. For a moment, you considered running after Christopher, but from what you could see through the crowd, he had quickly crossed the room and was already entertaining his friends—each of them a gentleman you were attempting to ignore.

Things only seemed to be taking a turn for the worse when you picked up a foreign accent which deafened all others around you.

Harrington.

You cursed to yourself, quickly turning around to face the tables. What on earth was this man doing here? The Parsnell family was ever the charitable one, but never in the matters of their parties. You could not imagine what would make them want to invite some foreign merchant’s son.

Well, the answer was simple. It was the same as any other question regarding Steve Harrington and his actions towards you. It must have been your eldest brother’s doing, of course. It was all Nicholas from the very beginning, and he would not let you forget it ever since that breakfast the day after you met with the American—-

❀❀❀

‘I knew it from the moment I met the good man; you would make a perfect pair.’ He said as he sat across from you in the drawing room, feet hanging over the couch’s armrest.

‘And how, pray tell, could you predict this exactly?’ You rolled your eyes. While most often, it was Nicholas who attempted to drown out your voice through the words on a page, it was your turn that day to try to ignore his rambling.

‘As much as you would like to think better of yourself,’ Nicholas leaned forward, more than happy to keep talking about the subject, mainly if it covered a topic that could humble you: ‘the truth is that you are as shallow as the rest of us, sister, not to mention as easy to read on the subject of these matters as everyone else.’

‘Even if I had such biases, I would not share them with you,’ you scoffed, flipping an unread page.

‘There was no need for that explicitly, I have conducted my research and come to the right conclusions, have I not?’ It was impossible to wipe the smug smile off his face; you knew that by now, and yet…

‘If you do not shut your mouth this instant, I swear, I will throw this book at you,’ you threatened, putting the book you had occupied yourself with over your head.

‘You are only this upset because you know I am right.’ Nicholas gloated, but you were happy to see him tense up in the shoulders as you began aiming the book in his direction. Not that you would actually throw it… just yet. A lady can do heinous things if pushed far enough, and you felt yourself standing on the edge.

‘I know that you are being completely maddening.’ You dropped the book in your lap. ‘And must be mad if you think I am in love with this man. He was a pleasant conversation partner, that is all. I assume mother has been deprived of social engagements for far too long, if she thinks me laughing at this man’s jests is enough for there to be an engagement already.’ Harrington’s jokes had been funny, you had to admit, but it must have been a joke from the powers above that sent the following footman into the room in that instance, announcing a gift had been left for you at the door.

Before you could say anything, Nicholas requested it to be brought into the room. From the irrepressible smirk on his face, he seemed to have an edge of knowledge on you on what was about to be presented through that door in the following moments.

And indeed, not much later, the man returned holding an oversized vase filled with flowers—a bouquet of colours combined into a lovely smell overpowering your senses.

You said nothing as you walked up to the table where the heavy gift was set, but your lips could not help but part in surprise. You noticed the paper sticking out from between the buds and gently pulled it out.

See these flowers as a token of my appreciation for thy hospitality and benignity.

Sincerest greetings,

S.H.

You groaned out, reading the words. ‘You are despicable, brother!’ Nicholas, who had been reading along with you from behind your shoulder, quickly stepped aside as you turned his way, ‘You set him up to do this.’ the accusation came out of your mouth like venom.

‘I did no such thing.’ But his smile remained easy to read. Although… was it a remnant of his earlier pride, or did he see the flowers as yet another gratification for his unbearable attitude?

‘But you did! It has your grimy hands written all over it.’ You flicked the paper in his face. How many times had you seen your brother write notes to the ladies he attempted to court or send out servants to pick flowers from the garden? ‘Did you scheme this whole thing out on the boat on your way home?’ You could already see it all so clearly. The two of them standing in a corner of the ship, your brother acting like a snake charmer, teaching Harrington everything for him to win you over. It all left a rather sour taste in your mouth.

‘I promise you, I had nothing to do with this.’ He glanced at the flowers, ‘but you must admit that the man has a great taste.’

‘Yes, I am sure his servant has great botanical knowledge. Do you think me to be so dense that I would expect the man to do this all by himself?’

‘You cannot make me believe you were not impressed for even a moment?’ Nicholas argued. You glared at him, eyes formed into narrow poisonous slits, but in the end, all you could emanate from your mouth was another angry groan. Feeling hopeless, you let your body guide you back to the chaise across the drawing room. The smell of the flowers seemed to linger on despite your effort to distance yourself.

‘So you are to say that you have no feelings for Harrington? What so ever?’ Nicholas trotted behind you, taking the seat next to you.

‘No more than I have for you at the moment,’ you said with gritted teeth.

‘Ah, so you do love him!’

‘Ugh,’ you exclaimed—

❀❀❀

Much as you did when you suddenly felt a presence behind you calling your name. To compose yourself in the crowd and avoid further embarrassment for anyone, you quickly turned back around to face the man approaching you. However, by doing so, your sudden movement caused a chain reaction in the glass you had just reached for, spilling all its content on your person.

‘Mr Harrington!’ You gasped. However, any possible enthusiasm you might have felt for the man’s presence was overtaken by the shock as your bodice soaked in the cold beverage, knowing that the material of your dress was gaining more damage with each passing second. Of course, a handful of people nearby stopped what they were doing to gawk at what surely must be a rather embarrassing moment between a young lady and a suitor she was attempting to seduce.

‘Miss Byrnwick,’ Harrington jumped into action, ‘let me find you a maid.’ Within another second, he had disappeared into the crowd, leaving you to cry in shame at your brother’s side—your brother, Nicholas, who did not seem one ounce affected by your dramatics.

‘Have you no shame?’ he asked between tight lips, leaning in your direction to avoid the eager ears of the nearby audience.

‘Oh, brother, I have only begun.’ You smiled with a whisper before taking a step back, and another, until your back was met with the soft texture of the cake placed directly behind you. How ridiculous of you to have forgotten.

You cried out.

‘There there, sister,’ Nicholas failed to find a single sincere vocal cord from what it seemed. ‘Let us get you cleaned up.’ He reached for your arm, smiling at a hoard of ladies standing a few feet away, but you quickly pulled away.

‘Do not be ridiculous, my dress is in ruins!’ You did anything but shout. Anyone paying attention, and by this point, this had included the majority of the gathering, would be no fool to expect your eyes to be on the verge of tears as you attempted to cover yourself up to no avail. Why, after this fiasco, no one could blame you for making a swift departure out of the ballroom.

That is nearly nobody, for your mother caught you just as you were about to exit.

‘Dearest, what has happened to your dress?’ Her face showed an awkward smile filled with concern, but you knew that not that deep inside, she was raging with fury as she took in your state.

‘It was an accident, mama.’ You sniffed, wiping at your dry cheeks. ‘Now, will you excuse me? I would like to go home, please.’

In this instance, with more and more people collecting around you to look at and their whispered words making their rounds around the room faster than the country dance performed just moments ago, there was very little your mother could do. After a final look around the room in hopes of finding a suitable reason for you to stay, yet failing to do so, she had no choice but to let you go.

‘Let me at least find one of your brothers to escort you,’ your mother sighed in defeat.

‘I am perfectly capable of going home by myself, mother.’ You resumed taking steps toward the doors, their appeal practically pulling at your feet eagerly. ‘And besides, I will not be alone. I will have the carriage driver for company.’ This did not make your mother any more confident in the situation, but both your brothers also appeared to have vanished into thin air, and the gossip was only growing more potent the longer you stood there in your stained ensemble.

‘Alright then,’ Mother gave in, ‘just… be careful.’

‘Of course.’ You reached for her hand and squeezed it tightly. ‘Thank you.’ With this farewell, you ran out of the room as politely as it was possible in good society. There had not been many occasions in which you had visited Lord Parsnell’s estate, so it took a moment before you found the main entrance.

‘Everything alright, miss?’ a footman standing by the door called out, clearly having noticed your distress.

‘Perfectly well,’ you caught your breath. I simply require my carriage.’ To this, the man nodded and disappeared into a corridor to call for your transport. The music seeped through the main hallway from across the other side of the large house. Mindlessly, you let your body move in sync with the violins. You took small but correct steps over the marble flooring until the man returned, announcing your carriage would be ready momentarily.

‘I shall wait outside,’ you explained, and just like that, the grand doors opened to reveal the late night. Crickets chirped across the fields nearby as the moon and stars illuminated the gravel at the entrance. With nobody around and the cool night air pleasing to your heated skin, you took a deep breath and let your legs give in.

‘Danced too hard, miss?’ a familiar voice called over the sound of horses’ hooves and carriage wheels rolling. ‘You look like you have just walked through a storm.’

‘Balls have that effect on a lady.’

‘They sure do,’ Eddie chuckled, for a reason unclear to you.

‘Did I say something funny?’

‘No, it’s nothing,’ he shook his head, changing the subject, ‘Will your family be long?’

‘They shall take the second carriage. I will be making my return alone.’ With your numbers, one carriage would have called for a relatively tight, possibly hazardous fit. So you and your brothers had taken the larger coach—steered by your family’s coachmen—whilst your parents drove in the smaller hansom that Mr Munson had kindly offered to operate for the other regular driver had coincidentally fallen ill.

Thus, now that you were returning alone, you had the smaller carriage all to yourself.

‘No chaperone?’ Eddie asked, somewhat apprehensively.

‘I have you, have I not?’ you said as you hiked up your dress to climb aboard. The footman that had so generously opened the coach door looked reasonably stunned as, instead, you took your seat next to Eddie in the driver’s seat. He looked at you with just as much surprise. ‘I’d like to enjoy the mid-night air, if that is alright with you,’ you explained.

‘You won’t hear me complain, miss,’ he smiled, pulling the reigns and setting the horses into motion. As you drove off, you dared to take a peak behind you. The footman remained confused in his place, trying to comprehend what exactly he had just witnessed and whether or not to call it a scandal or not. But, in your modest opinion, you could not find anything scandalous in a young lady who was seeking comfort from one of her family’s employees and one you had, above all, learned to trust a great deal in the last weeks.

As you know, you have always found comfort in the gardens surrounding your house, yet after your first meeting with Mr Munson, you found yourself seeking refuge on the grounds even more often than before. Especially as the arguments regarding your prospects grew more heated and the tensions between you and your family became more tiresome by the day. It became an almost daily routine for someone to shout out obscenities and slam a door in protest, and nearly every fight ended in you needing to catch a breath amongst the flora. And more often than not, you wandered around until you found yourself at the stables. But unlike in your childhood when it was the horses’ company you were looking for, it was now a person’s attention you were hoping to catch—

❀❀❀

You certainly had no intentions of returning to the stables the first time you did so. Initially, you had planned to visit the orangery, but the gardeners were currently occupying it, and in your need for solitude, it did not feel like the right place to be, which is why you surprised yourself as you called out into the empty aisle.

‘Hello?’

No response came. Nobody was around except the stallions and mares, who were comfortably munching away at their hay, unaware of anything happening outside the building.

You stood in front of the entrance, looking ahead of you, unsure of what to do next and still not entirely certain why you had come here in the first place. You listened to the soft, unbothered noises of the horses and fiddled with the fabric of your dress for a moment or two until the silence became unbearable. It could not have been longer than a minute that you stood there, but to you, it felt like an eternity, and with each passing second and no plan on what to do next, you only felt sillier and sillier. You had to leave here before someone caught you standing and waiting like a statue. And as you turned around, you slammed into the arms of the one person you had hoped would not catch you this way.

‘We must stop meeting this way,’ Eddie smiled, but the grin quickly disappeared as he caught a glimpse of your expression. ‘Everything alright, ma’am?’

‘Yes, of course,’ you wiped the folds in your dress nervously. Something about his gaze made it impossible for you to return it. ‘Why do you ask?’

‘You look as if you’d just seen a ghost.’

‘Well, you did just scare me half to death, Mr Munson.’ It was true. You felt your heart leap up into your throat as your bodies collided. ‘You are far too stealthy, you know.’

‘Apologies. I have learned to be quiet around the horses so as not to startle them—’

‘Which has the exact opposite effect on humans, does it not? ' you said, pushing the corners of your mouth into a smile.

‘It appears so, miss.’ He returned the gesture.

It took far too long for you to realise that, according to the general rules of conversation, you were expected to say something next; however, before you could remedy that misstep, Eddie spoke up once more.

‘Are you sure you’re alright?’

‘Yes,’ you shook your head, ‘perfectly so. Is the weather not lovely?’ You looked up, just anywhere but at him, to see the cloudless sky. ‘I er— I thought of taking Barley Sugar out for a ride.’ Suddenly, your intentions of finding yourself in front of the stableman were perfectly clear.

‘Of course, ma’am. Which horse will your chaperone be taking?’ The question stumped you, which must have been clear to the man looking so intently at you, for he quickly asked: ‘You do have a chaperone, do you not?’

‘I do not. I am more than capable of riding the horse on my own, thank you. I have been doing so since I was 5 years old.’

Eddie hovered over his words briefly. ‘I did not intend to question your skills, ma’am; it is only that it had been made clear to me upon my employment that you are required to have someone accompany you when you leave the residence—for the horse’s safety, if anything.’ He quickly added, sensing that it might soften the blow of your horse-riding chastising.

‘I did not think you to be such a stickler for the rules, Mr Munson,’ you found yourself to tease the man. Where the nerve to do so came from, you did not know, but it looked to be appreciated. Eddie shook his head, possibly already regretting his following words.

‘May I at least ask where you will be headed then?’

‘I have not thought of that yet,’ you responded honestly. ‘I might just see where Barley takes me.’ At this, however, the stableman visibly winced. You raised a brow. ‘Is something the matter?’

Eddie shook his head in disappointment. ‘I only wish you had not said that, miss. I cannot, in good conscience, let Barley Sugar go out unprepared like that. The old thing could get lost or, even worse, hurt. To even think of such a thing happening—’ he looked away, reminding you of how the actors moved in the many plays you had visited at the theatre. ‘Well, it is simply too painful even to consider.’

‘I am sure Barley can manage such a venture… and she is certainly not old.’

‘Of course,’ he corrected, ‘But we must consider the risks and wouldn’t want anything to happen to Barley, now, would we?’ As he spoke, you made the grave mistake of finding his eyes and the stare he greeted you with, while warm, was intense and rather dizzying.

You cleared your throat, suppressing a smile, ‘Well, perhaps, if you insist, you should be the one to accompany me on this ride… for Barley’s sake.’

‘For Barley’s sake.’ He echoed your words softer, and just like that, any protocol that should have been considered was thrown out the window. As a newly acquired help, Eddie had no right to accompany you on outings as a chaperone, not without senior permission, at the least. And yet, it was not even ten minutes later that you were both seated on your horses— you upon Barley Sugar and Eddie on the back of a dark brown stallion named Marzipan—and briskly making your way out of the enclosed grounds of the estate.

Ever since, as if by a magnet, you felt yourself pulled towards that particular side of the garden at the sight of any inconvenience. You knew that there was not only an ear always eager to listen but a voice happy to speak to you freely and happily. And though most days, there would be the excuse of a horse or carriage ride for your visit, other times, you would plainly sit by as Eddie worked, chatting away for hours on end or however much time you had to offer.

‘Are you quite sure that it is alright for you to be here, miss?’ Eddie asked after a week’s worth of your visits. You watched him pick up a large sack of feed as if it weighed nothing at all and put it across the stable room. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing that however strainless the carrying of the weight might seem, he had certainly put his muscles to work.

‘I may not own this house directly,’ you answered, ‘but I am the lord’s daughter, and I am free to do as I please… to a certain extent.’ No one could tell you not to roam through the grounds or converse with the groom in your free time, but total freedom you had not.

‘Well, with risk or not,’ Eddie threw another sack on top of the previous, ‘I consider it a great honour to be the recipient of your company.’

‘I am surprised none of the gentlemen have attempted to use such a phrase to charm me.’ You could not help but roll your eyes. ‘And besides, Mr Munson, the honour is all mine. It is rare for me to find a person that finds me agreeable enough to talk to me at such length as you do.’ And one I find as agreeable too, you considered adding but decided against it.

That smile peeked out over his lips again as he walked up to you. ‘Well, I have hardly any choice, I mean, when you come here to my place of work, it’s not like I can just walk away.’

‘Oh, you,’ you pushed at him lightly. But with him having squatted down to meet you at eye level, the slight push was enough to topple him over onto the ground. And to think I wanted to ask you to escort me on another horse ride.’

‘In these clothes?’ Eddie looked at the both of you, him covered in mud and dust, and your dress was much the same. ‘What will people think?’

You got off your makeshift seat to help him back on his feet.

‘Then let us hope there will be no one to see us.’

❀❀❀

The carriage wobbled over the uneven ground as you distanced yourselves from the Parsnell estate, and the quiet of the night was filled with your retelling of the evening.

‘So I am to understand that this,’ Eddie cocked his head your way, referring to your dress, ‘was your own doing?’

‘I thought it quite ingenious,’ you shrugged.

‘And what of this Mr… Harrington? He must still be looking for you with that maid of his I imagine.’

‘No.’ But the image of a disappointed Mr Harrington walking through the room, a maid in tow, with you nowhere to be seen, did sting at your heart a little with guilt. ‘Do you really think he is still looking for me?’ A giggle burst through against your better judgment despite your attempts to suppress it with the hand you covered your mouth with. ‘I am quite cruel, aren’t I?’

‘Absolutely wicked,’ Eddie commented with a weirdly proud smile. As the road went on straight, he took his eyes off it from time to time to glance your way—just briefly and only a handful of times, but enough for you to notice. You could only hope he was not as observant towards your actions.

‘What is it?’ you asked after several more glances directed towards you as a sweet silence fell between you.

‘It is nothing,’ Eddie smiled it off.

‘Which means it is certainly something. Go on, enlighten me.’

He shook his head. ‘I suppose it is just that, from how you described the night, I do not see what must be so awful about it— you speak of delicious food, drinking and dancing. I don’t necessarily see a problem in this.’

‘Because that is not the problem. It is not the dancing, it is who I am to dance with.’ You sighed. ‘Night after night, it is an endless rotation of the same men I am as uninterested in as the very first day I met them. They corner me to ask me a million questions, each shallower than the last, only to then try and coax me into a dance where they will surely trample my feet.’

‘I see,’ Eddie nodded, but perhaps it was only the vibrations caused by the carriage’s movement that made him agree with your ramblings.

‘I apologise. I do not mean to talk of my problems constantly.’ Indeed, the man must have his own issues, and ones that most likely outweighed your marital prospects severely.

‘You have nothing to be sorry for, miss. I am happy to listen,’ he said earnestly.

‘Very well,’ you contemplated your words for a moment until you quickly blurted out with curiosity, ‘but how was your evening?’

‘Mine?’ To your surprise, your question had caused Eddie to chuckle.

‘Yes. I assume you must have done something to fulfil the last hours. Or do carriage drivers freeze up when unattended, only to thaw at their master’s command?’

‘I would say that is partly true.’ He quickly looked your way with a smile before explaining himself. ‘For the most part, when on duty, you have to keep your mind on the job, so I cannot exactly indulge in things and have to be ready in case a lady’s dress is ruined and she is in dire need of her getaway carriage.’ Your eyes met briefly. ‘But that does not mean that I am to sit still in an empty room until you come to call, no.’

‘So? What is it that you do in the meantime?’

‘Card games, for the most part.’ He shrugged, not seeing your interest in the topic, too focused on the road ahead to notice how you eagerly looked at him, awaiting his following words.

You had to admit, until that night, you had never put much thought behind the private lives of those who waited on you. Yes, you understood that not all their day revolved around you or your family, but you also never considered it to be any of your business to follow theirs. You listened whenever your maid, Claire, told you stories about her family, storing the basic information of the names and so on in the back of your mind, but at the end of the day, these were nothing more than anecdotes amid polite conversation. Yet, with Eddie, you were eager to know everything about him. The longer you spoke, the more questions filled your mind, and the less adequate you felt to ask them. You were, after all, friendly, or so you hoped, but you knew there was a thick line in society when it came to friendships such as this one, and you were not sure where that line would be crossed and if to be scared of what would happen once it happened. But now and then, curiosity got the better of you, and you managed to trickle in a question for Eddie to open up to you.

‘What er– kind of card games?’ You nudged on in your questioning.

‘The regular kind, the ones nobody mentions by name, but everyone simply knows the rules of.’

‘I do not think I am familiar with any of such kind,’ you admitted. In the meantime, the carriage drew to a slow halt at the crossing of two roads. ‘You take the left here,’ you told Eddie, who looked at you in surprise.

‘I cannot say my navigational skills are perfect,’ you said, ‘but I pay attention, and I remember going past the large boulder on our way to the party. There.’ You pointed towards the rock some meters away from the crossing in the left direction.

‘You are quite observant, I’ll give you that.’ He brought the horses back to action, and the rattling of hooves and wheels on the uneven ground resumed. As you passed the large boulder once more, Eddie then resumed your conversation. ‘You do not play any card games, then?’

‘I will admit, I prefer chess, but I do often play Cribbage with my siblings—or Brag. My brother Nicholas is also very fond of Piquet, and as I am the only one in the house that can stand his unsportsmanlike antics, he often forces me to play it with him.’

‘Very well,’ Eddie listened, then asked, ‘Do you know Trischaken?’

‘Pardon?’ you barely understood what he had said.

‘Trischaken. It’s a Prussian card game, or perhaps Austrian; you’ll have to excuse my awful memory for geography.’ At this, you both laughed politely,

‘No, I do not think I have heard of it.’

‘Oh, it’s great, I must teach how to play one day.’ Only once his enthusiasm unfogged his mind a second later did Eddie pull back the excitement of his invitation to a polite suggestion, ‘If that is something that would interest you… ma’am.’

‘I would like that very much.’ You smiled, showing a bigger and more authentic smile than you had the entirety of the passing night. And barely did that smile fade for the remaining hours as you drove back home and listened to Eddie talk, trying to explain the rules of the intricate foreign game or tell you about his life outside of work.

‘I did not take you for a music fanatic.’ You admitted as you approached the vicinity of Ridlington Park, its gates already glowing from the lights around it in the near distance.

‘It must be a very sour sort of man that does not enjoy music. Are there really such types?’

‘And he is more common than you’d imagine, I am afraid, and it seems to be the type that my parents see me to marry one day.’

‘I am beginning to understand your problem,’ Eddie said, ‘but yes, music has always had a special place in my heart. My father had taught me how to play when I was a young boy and since then, it’s always brought me a great comfort. It was actually one of the very few things I brought with me from America.’

‘Is it hard? being so far away from your family?’ You asked softly, unable to imagine how you would feel if you were to leave everything and everyone you had ever known to work in some foreign land on the opposite side of the world.

‘There are many things that I am still growing accustomed to, but I cherish the change.’

‘That is a very diplomatic mindset. I for one could not bear a day without the possibility of seeing my family, I think, no matter how meddlesome they are.’

Eddie’s eyes shimmered with kindness for your words. ‘I suppose I have grown used to it. I have been travelling for years now and have not seen my family for an even longer time, so it is actually the lack of independence and presence of…. this closeness of others that I am attempting to grow used to now.’

‘Ah.’ You blinked, not having expected that kind of response. Immediately, as the door of Eddie’s past unlocked, even if just for a moment, a mountain of questions spilt inside you, but you pushed those urges back. ‘I see. Well, if you ever require solitude and wish me to leave you alone, please be not afraid to just tell me so. I shall respect your wishes.’ Had you been too eager to sit beside him for the entirety of the ride, talking his ear off? Or all those other days when you bothered him at work. Oh, the embarrassment. If it was not for the fact that you were already coming through the Ridlington Park gates, you would have jumped off the carriage and walked the rest of the way home.

‘No, I did not mean it like that.’ Eddie quickly recovered his words. ‘Please, do not think I do not greatly appreciate and enjoy our conversations. They— they have been the highlight of my days.’

‘Really?’ Your proud smile was too strong to keep at bay.

‘Yes, really.’ Eddie’s words pushed out a breathy laugh. ‘I see it as a welcome escape from the work.’

‘So do I,’ you noticed the wrong fit of your phrasing, ‘I mean, I enjoy our conversations as well.’ Would it be too much to call them an escape from reality? To him, perhaps. The entire night had already been a far breach of that line of what is proper or not for a lady to do. You knew you were awaiting a scolding the second your mother returned from the Parsnell ball. Now, the territory your and Eddie’s exchange was heading into felt anxiously foreign, somewhere you realised you had never gone to with any of your friends or acquaintances. Your heart picked up its pace as the carriage slowed down for the final time that night, arriving at its destination.

Before you could do or say anything, Eddie had jumped out of the driver’s seat and ran across the back of the hansom to assist your exit. He extended his hand for you to take, and the moment your fingertips met, you knew it had been a mistake. Your hold tightened around his hand as you took the steps onto the ground, and though you found your footing perfectly well, you did not find the power to let go of Eddie.

And neither did he of you.

The two of you stood in front of each other, eyes locked into a deep gaze, only broken by his glances to the point where you were connected. Your hand was in his and burning like a fire between you; for the brief seconds as they pulled you closer together, your fingertips felt like the centre of the entire universe.

A fire that surely would burn and scar if you were to touch it.

It was dangerous. You knew it.

But what was life without a bit of risk?

‘My apologies,’ Eddie cleared his throat, taking a step back, letting your hand fall through the cold air.

‘There is no need for that.’ You shook your head out of all thoughts, or at least attempted to do so. ‘It is I who should apologise. If you will excuse me, I must change into something less… cakey. Good night, Mr Munson.’ You looked down at your dress, which was still, very much, covered in remnants of wine and cake. You were to leave, but Eddie quickly called to you, almost as if the words were faster than his mouth.

‘How many times must I ask you just to call me Eddie?’ His eyes were those of a pleading man, pleading for something you did not quite comprehend, but at the same time, you knew the consequences of giving in to his request.

You looked back at the windows of Ridlington Park. The building was enveloped in darkness, as no one was there to occupy the rooms or to see you. All you could do was remind yourself that there was nothing wrong with you being alone with a carriage driver or any other member of staff, but it certainly did not feel that way. There was undoubtedly something dangerous going on in that instance.

You took a deep breath as he held it in. The line you were scared to cross was getting thinner, and you grasped for something to hold onto as you felt your feet slip away.

‘Good night, Eddie.’

And just like that, with only the hope there was no one around to see it, you both fell.

To be continued...

Thank you so much for reading!! I really do hope you enjoyed this chapter. Remember the best way to support writers is to reblog and share. I love to hear what people think of my stories so feel free to leave a comment or an ask or message. And don't forget to join the taglist if you want to be kept up to date on the chapters [yes, I promise, more will be coming]

#eddie munson #eddie munson x reader #eddie munson x you #eddie munson x y/n #eddie munson fanfiction #eddie munson au #eddie munson fanfic #eddie munson fluff #eddie munson smut #eddie munson angst #eddie munson fic #fanfiction #fanfic #regeny au #bridgerton au

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tpwkwriter · 1 year ago

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Tpwkwriters masterlist🌸

* = personal favourites <3

————————————fluff————————————

personal pillow- where y/n falls asleep and Harry needs a new lock screen.

Till midday- sleeping in till midday has never felt better.

‘Let me think’- *where y/n and Harry participate in the ‘touch your favourite part of me’ trend on TikTok.

I’ll be by your side- where long distance is hard but Harry always has reminders.

Don’t fret-* where Harry’s a gentlemen and y/n awakes in a bloody puddle.

My only angel-* where y/n and Harry realize just how mushy they really are.

I’ll be by your side- Harry may be across the world but his souvenirs from y/n keep him going.

You- Harry’s envy causes a dispute between a popular co-star.

Drowsy-* a sleepy y/n and a soft h.

Front row for you- where y/n is about to fulfil her and Harry wouldn’t miss it for the world.

In sickness and health-* when y/n is under the weather and Harry’s the perfect boyfriend.

Half the world away- y/n just misses her Harry but sometimes he can’t get the hint.

The morning after- where Harry takes y/n’s innocence and y/n loves him.

Annoyingly perfect- where Harry’s accent is the cherry ontop.

Astraphobia- where y/n has a fear of thunder and Harry is in love.

Head in a book- where y/n’s always nose deep in a book.

Princess treatment- first date as fiancés, and y/n gets the ultimate treatment

————————————angst———————————

*please make sure to read all warnings and TWs before reading these fics! <3*

In my remorse-* where y/n reads stuff she wished she didn’t.

Let’s not- *famous!y/n deals with rude interviewers and Harry’s always alert.

Tourbus blues- even the most biggest Popstars get nervous sometimes.

Please?- stress and exhaustion are the ingredients to an argument.

Envious- where y/n refuses to be part of Olivia’s games.

—————head-cannons and smut————————

Sleeping with H. Types of kisses y/n receives.

Things overprotective Harry def does. Petnames

Different dates they have. “Oh honey”. “Jealous H”

Intimate giggles- where y/n has the sneezes in a passionate time and h finds it adorable.

Rainy day pillowprincess- rainy day intimacy

From my eyes- where mirror sex helps y/n feel better

I’ve got you- where y/n uses a safe word, and H doesn’t mind

—————Master-lists I heavily recommend!———

This- by @watermelonlovershigh

this- by @shroombloomm

This- by @harrysfolklore

This- by @musicforastylesrestaurant

This- by @watchmegetobsessed

This- by @finelinevogue

This- by @moonchildstyles

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gwydpolls · 6 months ago

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Shakespeare Genre Battle: Comedies 1

I'm doing all of them. Don't worry if yours isn't in this poll.

I am including some things with disputed authorship and apocrypha just because.

#Shakespeare #The Tempest #The Two Gentlemen of Verona #The Merry Wives of Windsor #Measure for Measure #The Comedy of Errors #Much Ado About Nothing #Love's Labour's Lost #A Midsummer Night's Dream #The Merchant of Venice

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dreamwritesimagines · 2 years ago

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Garden of Secrets [23] - Peonies

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

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

Summary: Every marriage has its first argument.

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

Word Count: 3500

Series Masterlist

There had been multiple moments in your life where you actually saw red because of anger but this?

This was something else.

You more or less threw yourself out of the carriage the moment it came to a stop in front of the Bridgerton House, Lottie rushing after you as you started climbing the marble stairs.

“Y/N, this is exactly why I left because I was very angry as well,” she said in a haste, trying to keep up with your fast steps. “I think perhaps you should take a breath and calm down—”

“I don’t need to calm down,” you said through your teeth and she heaved a sigh.

“Judging by the look of your face I’d disagree.”

“What look is that?”

“Bloodshed?” Lottie said as you walked through the front door, then turned to her.

“Where is he?”

“Maybe you could—”

“Lottie,” you said. “Where is he?”

She licked her lips and took a look at the foyer you were standing in, then pointed at a closed door at the end of it.

“Tony’s study I think.”

“Wonderful,” you said as you made your way to the door, then slammed it open with such force that it hit the wall behind it, the chatter inside the room coming to a stop at once. Benedict was leaning against the desk but as soon as he saw you, a look of realization dawned on his face while Colin sat up straighter and Anthony stole a look at Benedict.

“Hello gentlemen,” you said, leaning sideways to the doorframe. “I’m not interrupting yet another life-and-death situation, am I?”

“…Uh oh,” Colin said, grinning slightly as he looked from you to Benedict. “You’re in more trouble now than a couple of hours ago Ben.”

“Leave the room,” you said and Colin downed his drink, then stood up, making Benedict frown.

“Colin!”

“I’m not putting witnessing manslaughter back in my plans today,” he called out as he walked past you and you snapped your fingers at Anthony.

“You too. Leave.”

“This is my study,” Anthony said, his voice full of disbelief and you opened your mouth to retort but before you could say anything, Lottie’s head popped around the doorframe.

“Tony?”

The look on Anthony’s face changed the moment he saw her. “Charlotte.”

“Could I have a moment with you?”

“No—”

“Yes,” Anthony cut Benedict off, making his eyes widen.

“Anthony, don’t you dare.”

“This is a marital dispute, I have no place here.”

“I risked my life for you earlier today, now is the perfect time to pay back that favor—”

“You’ll be fine,” Anthony said and walked out of the room, closing the door behind him. You crossed your arms as you leaned back to the wall, your eyes narrowing into a death glare.

“Good morning Benedict.”

The eerie calmness of your voice seemed to make him shift his weight.

“Good morning,” he said. “How—how are you?”

You arched a brow, not even answering that.

“I almost forgot how murderous you can look when you want to—I was joking by the way,” he added, motioning at the door where Anthony had just left. “About risking my life earlier.”

“Oh,” you said, feigning cluelessness. “You weren’t at a duel then?”

“…I was.”

“So you were risking your life,” you pointed out and he rubbed the back of his neck.

“It actually depends on how you look at it—”

“I’m looking at it as your wife!” you snapped. “Have you gone insane? Is that it? Are you insane?”

“Anthony needed me.”

“Oh well,” you said, throwing up your hands. “Then that changes things.”

“Does it?”

“No!” you exclaimed. “What were you thinking?!”

“Well—”

“After I specifically asked you not to die? Hm?”

“In my defense—”

“You go off to a duel and not even bother to tell me about it?”

“Can I speak?”

“No!” you pointed at him. “No you cannot!”

He held up his hands, repressing a small smile.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll just stand here and wait for you to finish yelling at me then.”

“That’s the least you could do,” you shot back and he leaned back to the desk, crossing his arms. You shook your head, pacing in the room.

“I cannot believe you went off to a duel,” you said. “And kept it from me.”

“It wasn’t that dangerous.”

“If I’m not here tomorrow morning,” you mimicked his deep voice. “You knew exactly how dangerous it was.”

“Everyone is alright, me included.”

“For now,” you growled. “May I remind you that I have a knife that you gifted me? Has that escaped your notice while you were so ready to die in a duel?”

“Well it would kind of go against the idea if you threatened me with a knife because you are worried about my wellbeing.”

“I didn’t say I was worried about your wellbeing,” you defended yourself almost immediately and Benedict bit back a smile.

“No,” he said, trying to keep a straight face. “Obviously not. I don’t know what made me think that.”

“You should have told me,” you insisted and he heaved a sigh.

“You would have told me to stay.”

“Of course I would have!”

“That’s why I couldn’t tell you,” he said. “Y/N, if you told me to stay…”

A silence fell upon you, your heart skipping a beat at the implication but you tried to focus.

“I could’ve been your second.”

“Seconds don’t have seconds.”

“Well this time they’d have to make an exception because I don’t want to risk my life for goddamn Anthony of all people!”

“But you’d risk it for me?” he asked with a knowing smile and you pulled back slightly, then scoffed.

“I don’t have to answer any of your questions,” you said in a haste, shrugging your shoulders. “That, and—and I take my apology from earlier back.”

He blinked a couple of times. “Why?”

“I’m not going to waste my apologies if you’re going to end up dead in a ditch!” you snapped and motioned at him. “I’m going home, try not to die will you?”

“Y/N…”

“I don’t want to hear it,” you said and pulled the door open, then turned to him when he took a step. “No. Don’t come after me.”

With that, you left the room and passed by the foyer, then walked out of the house to approach the carriage by the stone road.

“Where to ma’am?”

“Back home,” you said as you got in the carriage. “Thank you.”

You made yourself busy for the whole day until the evening, and apparently Benedict had decided to give you your space to at least calm down a little. You weren’t in the mood to have dinner, so you retrieved to your bedroom to lose yourself in a botany book and you managed to do so until a knock on the door made you lift your head from the book.

“Yes?”

The door opened and Benedict peeked his head in, making you narrow your eyes.

“May I come in?”

You shrugged your shoulders. “If you must.”

He stepped inside, the bouquet of tuberoses in his arms capturing your attention in a second but you managed to control your expression, raising your brows.

“For you,” he said, approaching the bed to give you the bouquet and you took it from him, reminding yourself that you were still angry at him.

“Thank you,” you said. “I can put them on your grave if you end up dead like you’re trying to.”

“…And I’m sorry?”

“Your apology is heard but not accepted,” you said, putting the bouquet in your lap, enjoying the lovely scent as you grabbed your book again and Benedict rubbed the back of his neck, shifting his weight.

“If it makes you feel any better I am already being punished by the universe.”

You lifted your eyes from the page again. “Hm?”

“You will not believe what happened,” Benedict said. “And it will come as a shock—”

“Even more of a shock than you trying to get yourself killed?”

“Let’s just take that off the table for a moment because trust me, you want to hear this,” Benedict said. “Anthony and Charlie—”

“Are in love.”

“Are in lo—wait what?” he asked, his jaw dropping as you turned the page absentmindedly. “Did you know?”

“Yes.”

“You knew and you didn’t tell me?”

“Could’ve been worse,” you said, fixing your gaze on the page. “I could have gone off to a duel and not tell you.”

“I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“Are you going to live is the better question here.”

“Y/N.”

“Benedict,” you said with the same tone and he let out a breath.

“How long have you known?” he insisted. “Anthony says he’s been in love with her for years! And he didn’t tell me, and Charlie didn’t tell me and she tells me everything and now my wife—”

“Whom you almost left as a widow.”

“Has kept it from me?” he finished his question as if you hadn’t interrupted him while you hummed, still playing with the petals of the bouquet.

“I’m not to blame if you and all your family are blind,” you said. “It’s not like they were being subtle.”

“They were!” he said. “And—I don’t know how I feel about this. A bit betrayed to be honest.”

“Wonderful, we can form a club together,” you stated. “Like gardening. Only with more backstabbing, which you’re quite familiar with.”

“Anthony and Charlie though?” he asked, shaking his head as he started pacing in the room. “Why would they not tell me?”

“I don’t think you’re in any position to criticize people not sharing things with you.”

“One of them is my best friend, the other one is my brother,” he insisted, then made a face. “Oh God, it just feels wrong. She’s like a sister to me.”

You shrugged your shoulders. “Not a sister to Anthony though.”

“Y/N!”

“Am I lying?” you asked and he ran a hand over his face.

“They wouldn’t get married, would they?”

“Of course not,” you deadpanned. “Because who would want to get married after loving someone for years and keeping it a secret, believing it’s impossible only to finally find out they return those feelings?”

“I think I need a moment,” he said as he sat down on the side of the bed while you raised your brows. “So all these years he has loved her but thought me and her would end up married?”

“Oh don’t worry,” you mused. “I have a feeling they’ll make up for the lost time once they—”

He recoiled, grimacing. “Please don’t finish that sentence.”

“I will finish whatever sentence I want because I’m angry at you,” you hissed through your teeth, leaning in to stress your words, “And you can sit there and think about how your brother and your best friend are going to get married and consummate soon enough, day and night!”

He let out a noise of disgust and you ignored him, returning back to your book, playing with the bouquet in your lap nonchalantly. He stole a look at you, and licked his lips.

“Y/N?”

You raised your glances to shoot him a glare and he took a deep breath.

“Do you want to go to a party tonight?”

“No.”

“We could go see that new garden tomorrow if you—”

“No.”

“Or maybe we could go to this knife shop—”

“No,” you said, looking up from the book again. “I don’t want it.”

His eyes searched yours. “I know you’re angry but I assure you, I wasn’t in that big of a danger.”

You scoffed a bitter laugh. “That would’ve been very convincing if someone from my family didn’t actually get killed in a duel years and years ago so whatever lie you’re selling, I’m not buying it.”

He pulled back slightly. “Who?”

“Does it matter?” you asked back and he swallowed thickly.

“I didn’t know.”

“No you didn’t,” you muttered, turning a page and Benedict ran a hand through his hair.

“Can we—”

“Thank you for the flowers Benedict,” you cut him off, that familiar burning behind your eyes coming back so you quickly blinked back the tears, keeping your gaze on the page. “But I think I’d like to be alone now.”

“…Of course,” he said after a beat and stood up to walk to the door connecting your room with his. “Goodnight.”

You didn’t reply, still looking at the page without even paying attention to the words printed on it, and Benedict left the room, closing the door behind him. You let out a breath, ignoring the way your eyes were still burning with tears and hugged the flower bouquet tighter to bury your face into it, inhaling the pleasant scent.

The next morning you decided to go outside, not only to meet Lottie but also to congratulate Daphne on her engagement. Josie had sent a reply to your letter, saying she and Bess and Andrew would join you in the park later on, and it gave you enough time to get the details from Daphne.

Although, something told you she was holding back a couple of details from you since Lottie was there.

“And mama is taking me to the modiste tomorrow—enough about me, I cannot believe you didn’t tell me that you had feelings for Anthony!” Daphne told Lottie and she gave her a shy smile.

“I honestly didn’t think Tony would ever return my feelings.”

“We’ve been blind all these years, thinking you would marry Benedict…” Daphne said and stole a look at you. “No offense, Y/N.”

“None taken,” you said. “Perhaps if Lottie married Benedict, he would have thought twice before going to a duel.”

“Oh don’t say that!” Daphne said and heaved a sigh. “I tried to stop them, I swear.”

“And you did,” Lottie said. “I don’t blame you at all Daph.”

“Mm hm, I’m blaming a specific someone who’s not you Daphne.”

“And I don’t know if I should say it but I’m kind of glad that duel almost happened,” Lottie said, making you and Daphne turn to shoot her a look of disbelief. “No I mean—obviously I’m still angry at Tony about it and I’m glad no one got hurt, but now albeit some complications along the way, Daphne is marrying the love of her life and I’m in a courtship with the love of my life which I thought was impossible! All’s well that ends well, as they say.”

“That’s one way to look at it I suppose,” you muttered and Daphne pressed her lips together.

“Yes, exactly.”

“Love is the most beautiful thing in the world.”

“Or the most annoying,” you pointed out, making Daphne pull her brows together. “Because one moment someone says he loves you and the next minute he rushes off to a duel, very eager to leave you a widow.”

Daphne and Lottie exchanged glances.

“Y/N, is everything alright between you and Benedict?”

“Sure,” you deadpanned. “What makes you think otherwise?”

“Um—”

“You know what?” you said. “I’m thirsty, I’ll just go and get a lemonade from the vendor. Do you two want anything?”

“No thank you.”

“No I’m fine,” they both said and you got up from where you were sitting under the tree, then made your way through the park to approach the vendor’s cart and got in the line. After only a couple of minutes, it was your turn and you ordered a bottle of lemonade, but before you could take out some coins out of your reticule, you heard a familiar voice beside you.

“Hello Y/N,” Anthony said as he handed the coins to the vendor, then took the bottle from him and held it out for you. “Lovely to see you here.”

You gritted your teeth and eyed the bottle in his hand. “I can’t say I share the sentiment.”

“A word?” he asked and you grumbled under your breath, then took the bottle from him and started walking beside him.

“Is Benedict around?”

“How should I know?” you asked back and he pulled his brows together.

“You two live in the same house.”

“It’s a big house,” you pointed out and he raised his brows, nodding his head.

“I take it things are still not completely alright between you two?”

“Anthony, you know I love nothing more than talk to you about my marriage,” you snarked. “That being said, let’s not this time hm?”

“Well, you did kick my door down the other day.”

“You almost got my husband killed,” you replied, looking down at the lemonade bottle before shrugging your shoulders. “Perhaps it’s not a good idea to point fingers here.”

“Simon is an honorable man and the duel was going to be just us, his second wouldn’t have fired a shot at—”

“You seem to confuse me with someone who wants explanations from you.”

He heaved a sigh. “Y/N.”

“What?”

“I wouldn’t put him in danger.”

“Clearly,” you said. “That’s why you made him your second at a duel. Only logical action to take when you want to keep somebody safe.”

“Are you able to hold an actual conversation without any sarcasm?”

“No,” you said with as much sarcasm as you could have in one word and he shot you a look.

“I wouldn’t have taken him there if I thought for one moment he’d be the one to get hurt instead of me.”

“Do you want me to tell you how a duel works, Anthony?” you growled at him. “Stray bullet, ambush, someone’s aiming being less than perfect…”

“And none of those happened.”

“Because Daphne stopped you,” you spat. “Not because of you or Simon thinking logically for a second. It’s thanks to Daphne.”

“I know that,” he said. “But Benedict is alright.”

“By luck,” you shot back and he took a deep breath.

“If you’re being like this because you worry about your situation in case of his death, he has you covered.”

Your head shot up, anger slowly spreading through your system as your jaw locked in its place.

“I beg your pardon?”

“He put it on your marriage settlement and his will before you two got married, you get everything in case of his death,” he said. “You’d be taken care of even if you became a widow, not to mention you have my family’s su—”

“You know,” you cut him off. “I leave every conversation with you completely convinced that I can’t like you any less, and every single time you somehow exceed my expectations.”

He shot you a look. “No one would blame you if it crossed your mind, Y/N.”

From a completely objective stance, he had a point there, what your financial situation along with your status would be if you were a widow was something you and every married woman in the ton were expected to worry about.

But somehow, you couldn’t even bring yourself to think about that, not when that scenario included Benedict’s death—

The pang in your chest was so sudden that it had you ball your hand into a fist, trying to focus on the reality.

“You think I care about money?” you asked him and he heaved a sigh.

“I think anyone in the ton would want to make sure they were safe,” he said. “It doesn’t make you a bad person if you are worried about that.”

A bitter laugh climbed up your throat and you shook your head slightly.

“I’m pretty sure you’ve looked into my family before Benedict and I got married,” you said. “So I shouldn’t have to tell you that the difference between everyone else in the ton and I is that I know how to survive without all this money and status and luxury just fine, I grew up without any of it.”

“That was before,” he pointed out and you shrugged your shoulders.

“Either way, that was never my priority no matter what you or anyone else thinks of me,” you pointed out. “Even before I got engaged, the only promise I was interested in when it came to marriage was that I would eventually be left alone.”

He tilted his head. “And yet, you are way too angry about this situation to enjoy the promise of being left alone.”

“Plans change.”

“I can see that,” he said and you swallowed thickly, biting at your tongue, trying to focus.

“You wanted to have a conversation without any sarcasm did you not?” you asked, locking eyes with him. “Here it is. The next time you put my family in danger, I will make sure you wish you died in that duel and even Lottie won’t be able to save you. Have I made myself clear?”

He looked almost impressed, a small, proud smile curling his lips before he bowed his head.

“Crystal.”

“Good,” you said and took a sip of your lemonade. “Well, I’d better go before the girls wonder where I am. Congratulations on your courtship by the way, don’t mess it up.”

With that you shot him a forced smile and whirled on your heels, then walked away from him, leaving him there quite dumbfounded.

Chapter 24

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

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nix-writes-mcyt · 9 months ago

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His Reigns Downfall

Drabble Ren x reader Contains: Angst ----------------------

"Are you nervous?" Cub asks, straightening his tie the best he can in the mirror beside you.

"Of course I am, everything rides on today." You look yourself over in the mirror, the all white outfit adorned with tiny glistening diamonds not exactly what you had envisioned for a day like today.

"There is only one hope for this kingdom, and it's you." Cleo says, resting their hand on your shoulder.

"Yeah, no pressure." You grimace, Joe appearing in the doorway. "It's time." He says.

You nod, taking one last look at your hideous outfit before leaving the room.

You can hear a skulk sensor go off, music starting to play as you near the entrance to the throne room. Perfect redstone, likely from the one and only BdoubleO himself.

You take in a deep breath and force a smile onto your face as you see the room for the first time. Your nerves go through the roof, you never wanted to do this. But it's the only way.

As Joe walks you down the aisle you can feel everyone's eyes on you. It's only the whole kingdom, each one of your soon to be loyal subjects. Providing this all goes well.

You know what rides on today, what rides on this ceremony. You have to do it.

The music stops as you do, Bdubs clearing his throat. "Ladies, Gentlemen and Hermits of all kinds, we are gathered here today to witness the wedding of King Ren and Y/n."

Your throat feels dry and scratchy as Bdubs goes on, you're both too cold and too hot. "On with the vows!" Bdubs exclaims.

You pull out your piece of paper, having the honour of going first. A high honour giving that you get to go before the king does.

"King Ren, I vow to you first of my devotion, one that lies with the crown and its owner. I swear to uphold my duties and to take care of Hermitcraftia, by your side or in your absence. With this ring I pledge this to you."

Ren nods approvingly, thankfully missing your plan.

"Y/n, I swear this vow to you, to thine beauty and wisdom that I do so hold dear. I knew from the moment you joined the square table that thee would mean muchly to me, and you do. So I justly go forth and vow myself to thine and thou cause, to me and to the crown."

You're left slightly confused by his words, but it doesn't matter. The two of you exchange rings, both containing far too many diamonds.

"I hereby and henceforth pronounce you married, you may kiss." Bdubs grins. And you do, you and Ren share a short kiss.

The people clap and cheer as Ren takes your arm, walking you toward the throne room exit. Members of the Soup Group bow their heads as you walk by, Doc shooting you a wink.

Those that are against the King are well aware of your plan, some contributing to it.

Ren escorts you out into the royal gardens, the two of you having predetermined that you were going to do this. You had thought of taking advantage of the situation, but it made more sense not to. After all, Ren did have some supporters. Enough of them to pose an issue if everything wasn't perfect.

The crowd follows the two of you out, plenty of witnesses to see this all happen. No one will be able to dispute it. Not even those most loyal to the king.

You and Ren stop under a large arch, turning to the crowd and waiting for them to settle. It takes some encouragement from knights of the square table, but the hermits do settle down.

"My dear subjects I do bring thee one more event before thine party. I do not believe any ordinary title befitting of my love. Bdubs, if you will." You watch as Bdubs pulls the box out of seemingly nowhere, reaching into it and pulling out the crown.

It's more than you were expecting, large gems and small ones too. Certainly more than was necessary. The gold snakes around them, holding them in place beautifully despite how many gems there are. You can't deny Ren, although extravagant, knows how to design a crown.

Ren takes the crown from Bdubs, turning to you. "On this day I hereby and henceforth pronounce thee, Y/n, co-ruler of the realm. By my side or in my absence may you carry out your royal duties with upmost courage and serve Hermitcraftia from now onwards."

Carefully he places the crown atop your head, being met with an abundance of cheers. You smile and wave to what are now also your subjects, getting a nod of approval from Cub.

The hard part is over now, that you're relieved about. The rest won't be easy, but the worst of it is over. Now you've married him and been crowned all that remains is to overthrow him. To liberate the kingdom from the rule of the mad King Ren and bring peace to Hermitcraftia once again.

#ren x reader #rendog x reader #renthedog x reader #king ren x reader #king rendog x reader #hermitcraft x reader #mcyt x reader #hermitcraft #hermitblr #mcytblr #mcyt #hermitcraft season 9 #rendog #renthedog #ren #king ren #angst

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defectivefanboy · 2 years ago

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Hi! I just saw your Crimson HC and you write his character really well! I was wondering if you could write a little sfw something with him, maybe a sort of enemies to lovers kind of thing? You know, since he's so awful I would just love to punch him in the face and he has no right being as attractive as he is, but here I am :,) I think it would be really interesting to see him in a sort of rivalry and totally in denial about his feelings for an enemy. If you don't want to feel free to ignore this, have a nice day/night :)

Oh of course! He needs to be whacked a few times, it would do him some good

I was wondering if you could write a little sfw something with him, maybe a sort of enemies to lovers kind of thing?

Overall notes: Stories written on this blog are GN until specified. While this story uses they/them pronouns, and while I don't mind female readers on my blog/interacting, love my girlies, hey girlies~, but I do not write for y'all, and if you are a fetishizer. fuck off??? ew. How would you even do that on an x reader???

C/W: Soft Angst, Mentions of Murder, Mentions of Alcohol

Notes: mmmmmmmm he's not sure what to do when someone has more power over him and he certainly doesn't understand when they show a form of interest in him, interest that may cost him his sanity.... or his street cred.

Power Hungry...

You would think having power meant you could always get what you wanted. No matter the cost, time, or men it took to get it. So, why have you been forced to deal with this pesky thrown in your side?

One that had taken the form of an equally as pesky Imp.

After making it far into Mammon's little group you could say, you ruled a part of the greed ring. One that held a certain Imp and his gang of loan sharks. That's how you ended up in a game of tug and pull with the man. Well, more so like a cat and mouse. Only difference was you actually held power...

And that's something he hated.

It started when you stopped by an infamous amusement park in the greed ring. Simple check ups here and there, a few money disputes with some sticky fingered imps, even a little Jest with the parks main attraction. Though it was cut short when you heard the muffled moans and groans of someone.

Stepping out of the circus tent, you could see a poor soul tied up and blind folded to a broken pole, with a target painted on his stomach.

"Let's try this again, boy. Since that the broad ain't here to ruin it now."

Raising a brow to the statement you turned a bit to the harsh voice of an imp dressed in a pinstripe suit, pushing a rifle into a child's arms. Sighing, you took a deep breath before walking over,

"Now I know this IS hell, gentlemen, but I don't think public executions is a good look for our overall theme here. So if you could take your... dirty laundry out, that would be great."

You could hear a pin drop if it wasn't for the screaming guest on the rollercoasters behind you and the muffled music from inside of the tent. Crimson turned his head with a click of his tongue,

"Do you know who I even am, doll? I operate this part of greed if you know what's good-"

"Stop."

His eyebrow raised as he looked at you with a confused look while you just shook your head at him. A raised hand held out to him as you looked at your phone before glancing back at him.

"I didn't ask for all that. I asked you to take this, somewhere else. Oh, and before I leave you to it"

You stepped towards young Moxxie, poor thing hugging the rifle unsure of what to do until you took it from his hands with a smile. Which went away as quickly as it came as you pushed the rifle into Crimson chest, stepping away.

"Be a real man and do your own dirty work next time, doll."

Moxxie knew that look on his father face, the snarl of his lips, the twitch of his eye, and the dark rumble from his chest. At least they were nice to him, even if it was for a moment. Not that many people can walk away from his father like that, especially healthy and in one piece. One thought was common between father and son,

"They'll wind up dead tomorrow."

If only tomorrow would come quicker. It started with the occasional thug or grunt coming to your office on some terrible assassin improve before they were dealt with by the guards. Then it turned into loan shark showing up at your house trying to get you to sign some god awful contract, just to be met with the slam of a door.

That lasted for months on end until Mammon sent a personal note via a goon asking why he kept insisting on keeping his assistant distracted from their work. That caused the goons and thugs to stop coming, but that didn't stop him all together.

His latest attempt was to send Moxxie himself, and you must say, Moxxie is wonderfully gifted in music. You even started paying for music lessons recently and plan to surprise him for his birthday with them.

Poor thing was nothing like his father, you could proudly say that after the man showed up at your house, gold tooth shining brightly in the light from your home.

"I was starting to think you god cold feet or better yet gave up, doll."

"I swear to satan, call me that shit again and I'll-"

You rolled your eyes, flicking his forehead. You gently grabbed his hand and pull him inside, and swiftly shutting the door. Instructing him to take his shoes off, you walked deeper into the home as Crimson stood there in shock, unconsciously slipping off his shoes and following behind you.

"Is it normal for you to pull mob bosses into your house or is this a special occasion?"

"No, Only the ones I find cute. be happy you meet the minimum standard."

He was about to retaliate, but he was cut off by the soft smile planted on your face as you slid him a glass of whisky,

"Assuming you like your whisky neat, correct? Don't take you for a wine guy."

"I can enjoy a fine wine, I'm surprised you even have this. Never took you for one to have some class."

"I guess we all have our secrets, right?"

You softly clinked your glass with his as he stared at you with a look of indifference which you could only laugh at. The sound bringing him back as he watched you down the glass of whisky and set it down.

"But we could learn all about them on a proper date, yeah? It's getting late and I have a meeting tomorrow"

"Wait, a proper date? What the fuck did you think this was?"

"Only the worst murder attempt I've seen since the amusement park, but I look forward to the next one. Goodnight Crimson"

Before he even knew it he was on the step of the front door as you held a soft smile on your face once again. He was about to speak, but he was cut off when he felt the feeling of a kiss being planted on his cheek and the soft click of a door closing.

"––FOR SATAN'S SAKE!"

He yelled out, which was quickly met with you swinging open the door and hitting him in the stomach, telling him to stop yelling so late. Maybe power could get you everything you wanted, you just didn't think it would show up on your door step....

in the form of a pesky Imp.

#foolish writing #request #request open #helluva boss x reader #helluva boss crimson #helluva boss crimson x reader #helluva boss crimson x male reader #helluva boss crimson x female reader #crimson x reader #crimson x male reader #crimson x female reader #helluva boss #vivziepop #helluva boss season 2

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mohammedosama91 · 19 days ago

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You see, gentlemen, reason is an excellent thing, there’s no disputing that, but reason is nothing but reason and satisfies only the rational side of man’s nature, while will is a manifestation of the whole life, that is, of the whole human life including reason and all the impulses. And although our life, in this manifestation of it, is often worthless, yet it is life and not simply extracting square roots.

Fyodor Dostoevsky, Notes from Underground

إن العقل، أيها السادة، شيء ممتاز، ولا جدال في ذلك، ولكن العقل ليس سوى عقل ولا يرضي إلا الجانب العقلاني من طبيعة الإنسان، في حين أن الإرادة هي مظهر من مظاهر الحياة كلها، أي الحياة البشرية كلها بما في ذلك العقل وكل الدوافع. ورغم أن حياتنا، في هذا المظهر، لا قيمة لها في كثير من الأحيان، إلا أنها حياة وليست مجرد استخراج للجذور التربيعية.

فيودور دوستويفسكي، ملاحظات من تحت الأرض

#mine #coffee #my coffee black #my cam #fyodor dostoevsky #aestethic #aesthetic #random #photographers on tumblr #my art <3 #artists on tumblr #quotes #dubaivape #coffetime #dostoevksy #notes from underground

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zeravmeta · 4 months ago

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love go rush for the sole reason that it actually gives an in-universe explanation as to why all disputes are settled via card game, said reason being twofold:

1. rush duels are actually a cosmic force akin to physics that allows one to transcend physical barriers in order to communicate with your opponent (but like its explicitly stated in canon unlike past series')

2. there is a universe wide gentlemen's agreement to use rush duels to settle disputes over nuking each other with highly advanced weaponry

#zerav meme #yugioh go rush

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acotrash · 2 years ago

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First Date with Azriel

Azriel head canons

Your friend sets you up on a blind date

And you hate blind dates because they’re so awkward for everyone involved

But they’re your best friend so you agree because they rarely, if ever ask anything of you

The guy they set you up with is named Azriel

The date itself is to an art museum, you don’t hate it because if the guy is boring and self centered like the many other blind dates you’ve been on you can simply wander to a different exhibit, it’s a big museum you can get lost easily

Azriel is waiting outside the main entrance when you get there, his hair is messy like he ran his hands through it one too many times and he keeps looking up whenever someone passes him

He looks better than the half blurry photos your friend showed you, all giddy that you agreed to this stupid date “this is Azriel” wiggling their eyebrows at your reaction

You take a deep breath, walking up to him ready to get this over with “Azriel?” “(Y/N)?”

He looks just as worried about this date as he opens the door for you

He’s such a gentlemen letting you decide which exhibits you want to see

He doesn’t even make a single comment when you get lost trying to find the Degas painting

It takes you about 15 minutes longer than it should’ve as it was right next to the exhibit you were currently in

He’s also nice enough to not mention you almost walking into a wall either as you were too busy studying the map printed on the pamphlet

You’re not sure if the date is awkward at first, or if he just simply doesn’t like you by how quiet he’s being

He opens up, a little, like you find out his favorite artist is Edward Hopper and that he generally likes the art museum as he comes here often with passes

You two comment on your favorite paintings

You also find out he fidgets with a small gold chain around his neck whenever he’s nervous, getting a glimpse of the gold whenever he opens his mouth and his eyes flicker to you before looking back at the painting

He fidgets with that small gold chain around his neck constantly

He buys you a few postcards from the gift shop that you had in your hand, easily slipping money across the counter before you could even open your purse

You go to refuse but he just shakes his head grabbing the small paper bag from the cashier

After the museum you look at him hopefully, you didn’t realize how much time you actually spent in the museum, walking back through a few exhibits multiple times but you generally enjoy his company

You and him walk to a little coffee shop across the street

He orders a double shot, you order a vanilla latte

He listens as you talk about school, your job, your shitty apartment and all the good books you’ve recently read

Both of your coffees are long gone when you look at the time again, apologizing profusely that he didn’t get a change to talk about himself

You hate people who only talk about themselves and yet you just did that

But Azriel just shrugs, a small smirk on his face “How about next time I’ll talk about myself?”

And you blink, taking a second to realize he asked you out on a second date

You smile blushing and nodding “I’d like that very much” “It’s a date then (Y/N)”

You both stand, Azriel walks you back to your car dispute that he passed his own car on the way to yours

He opens up the driver’s side door for you, he second guesses himself before he presses a light kiss to your cheek, you raise an eyebrow “Did you miss there?”

He tilts his head, shaking it slightly as you get in the car “No, I only kiss on the second date” he replies “good think you agreed to a second date” he winks before gently closing your car door

#acotar #a court of thorns and roses #azriel #azriel x you #azriel x reader #azriel fluff #acotar headcanon #azriel headcanons #acotar modern au

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thegreenleavesofspring · 10 months ago

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In reference to that confederate flag post, I’m honestly curious why one would have pride in that flag. I grew up in the north and was taught that that flag symbolized bad things. I know not every southerner was pro-slavery and I don’t think the history and culture of the south should be erased or demonized, but I find it hard to shake the bias. If that flag doesn’t mean pro-slavery, what does it mean for you? I hope this doesn’t sound accusing, I legitimately honestly don’t understand and would love an answer 💕

I appreciate your respect in this matter, I read the same history books you did and I know well what the commonly taught thing is.

I could wax long about the various disputed reasons for the War. I will not, on this post; many better researchers than I have already done so. I do not condone slavery, of course; I would hope nobody would. But that is also not, not really, the subject under discussion.

Of the Confederate States of America, it was a very small percentage of the population who owned slaves - something like 3-5%, if I remember correctly. The vast majority of the people were not plantation owners, but small individual farmers and tradesmen and families.

And then the war started and it didn't matter, anymore, whether they owned slaves or not; all of the South was under attack. Whether one owned slaves or not, it was one's home and wife and children and fields and livelihood being razed and left dead. It was take up arms, or perish.

Condemning all of the South and all the Confederate soldiers for slavery would be the same as condemning every American citizen for Bush's Iraq War or Obama's Syrian bombings.

That flag is the flag of my people who did not deserve to die for the sins of the elites of their day.

That flag is still to be found in the homes and on the trucks and on the tackleboxes and inked into the skin of today's Southerners. Because it's our flag, and it means the rednecks, the jacked up pickups, the crazy stunts, the jacked up trucks who drove into Houston floodwaters when the Army trucks stalled out. It's the gentlemen who will stop to help you with a flat tire and the ladies who will bring over a casserole and it doesn't matter what color your skin is if you're polite and courteous because people are people.

That flag is an emblem of Southern culture.

My home and my people are not without our faults, but the prevalent narrative of our flag meaning slavery is just a smear campaign - and an unfortunately very successful one.

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aglaias-blog · 1 year ago

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"Kindred Spirits" Chapt. 2

Aemond Targaryen x Reader

Author's note: The definition of marriage in this series is not my own, I’m just describing what the faith of the Seven would define as marriage. My blog is a safe space for people of all different sexual orientations! <3 Also, the poem at the end is "The Song of the Seven", it is not my work

TW: afab!reader, soulmate AU, talk about religion/piety, arranged marriage

Summary: Being a highborn lady, a love match is out of the question for you, much less a match with your soulmate. You're not even told about the intricacies of what meeting your soulmate entails. When you are tricked into a betrothal to Aemond Targaryen by your parents, you don't know how to handle things. The Prince's cold demeanor is off-putting, but he is also the only one who is willing to help you, the only one you can depend on. Just how is all this going to play out?

"Kindred Spirits" Masterlist

Marriage was always of the highest significance to Prince Aemond. A most sacred bond between man and woman, woven between the altars of the Mother and the Father, in the gracious gaze of the Seven. The importance of the faith, and obedience to the Gods was instilled in him by his Septons and Septas, as well as his mother. Throughout his young tumultuous life he turned to the Gods whenever he was faced with difficulty, having no one else to talk to except his mother. And it was her who taught him how to pray, how to confide his worries to the Gods, how to entrust his deepest darkest desires and sins to them.

The first time she came to him with talk of marriage, he was sixteen years old. „A good age to give matrimony some thought“, she had said then, following orders from his father to get the boy on the proper path. Aegon and Helaena had been married for a few years by then, their children were already walking around the gardens with their nursemaid. High time that the second-born son fulfilled his duty. Seeing as Aegon had kept the Targaryen blood pure through his marriage to Helaena, Aemond had the privilege of choosing his bride from the selection of young ladies his mother presented to him. It was indeed tradition in the Targaryen House to marry one’s kin, but Aemond had hoped that he didn’t have to go that path, as the faith didn’t look kindly upon it.

His mother had suggested marriage to one of the daughters of the many gentlemen at court. He knew that she meant well, he had an unshakable trust in her, sure of her support. Nevertheless, he had come up with some polite excuse then, not wanting to name the true reason why he refused them. There was no use in whispering in the Red Keep, no, in all of King’s Landing – the rumours were spread in hushed voices, yet they might as well have screamed the insults and gossip about his appearance in his face. Aemond knew about the prejudice, felt the gazes of the young ladies on his face as they tried to hide their giggles behind their hands.

By the time he was eighteen, he was standing tall, always keeping a stoic expression on his face, or that smug half-smile that made people think that he was haughty and cold. But under the surface was a raging current of emotions, feelings of being wronged that he could never express – except to the Gods, or in a moment of indiscretion in a heated dispute with his brother. This tension he could never shake, it manifested in his body, always standing perfectly straight and still. The little boy that had his eye taken was still inside him, not only being physically wounded but also in his innermost core. He had never felt safe again after that scarring event. The walls of the Red Keep may have been tall and massively built, but they were insignificant if the threat was already inside them. He had built walls around himself then, walls meant to protect him from the poisonous arrows that could come from every direction, walls even higher than the ones already around him. He only allowed his fierceness to show, only strength - never weakness.

Aemond remembered clear as day the first time he had gone without his eyepatch. After waking up earlier than usual, he had been desperate to get to the dragon pen, excited to show his older brother a trick that had taken him months to learn. Back then, when he still looked up to Aegon, despite the bullying, despite the constant hurt. In this thrill of anticipation he had forgotten to put on his eyepatch; hells, he had almost forgotten to put on his trousers, so the eyepatch was a negligible mistake.

Running through the corridors, he had nearly reached the outside when he almost bumped into a young girl from the kitchens. He could still hear her shrieking scream ringing in his ears, as if it happened moments ago. At the time, the young boy didn’t immediately understand her horrified expression that wiped his wide joyful smile from his face right then. He had looked around for the threat, but he couldn’t perceive anything that could have caused such a strong reaction. It was only then that realization had struck him with icy terror - hurriedly he had pressed his hand to his left eye, frantically feeling for his eyepatch. The feeling of humiliation, of rejection had been too much - he couldn’t help the tears that sprung to his eye and immediately spilled over, they had never stopped flowing, even when he was back in the safety of his chambers.

Thinking back, Aemond knew that this was the moment he subconciously decided to never let somebody see him without his damned eyepatch again.

So, he came to the conclusion that he would never agree to marrying somebody from court, he’d rather be burned to death by Vhagar. His mother had cast a wider net then, selecting a few young ladies from Houses further away, from regions that weren’t bordering on the Crownlands. Usually, his mother wouldn’t have accepted his general refusal of the ladies she picked, but she was aware of his reasons. He didn’t have to tell her, she had noticed that for weeks after the incident he had slept with his eyepatch on, never taking it off. She had known then that something had happened to make him so protective of his eyepatch, so insecure about his scarred eye. She also knew about the gossip and of the court’s general opinion of her second son’s appearance.

And one day, while talking to Lord Barryn on one of his many trips to King’s Landing, she couldn’t help thinking that one of his daughters would make a good match for her second son. Lord Barryn’s family resided far away enough that his children would have been taught the basics on the House Targaryen and its history, but would know no details of the inner workings of court, wouldn’t have heard any rumours. A marriage would also mean securing an alliance between the two Houses that already shared a good friendship. The commercial relations between them would be strengthened, too.

Lord Barryn was delighted, of course, that the House Targaryen would consider one of his daughters as a prospective bride.

Immediately, he started off with his most extroverted daughter, but he noticed quickly that her qualities weren’t what the Queen was looking for, she also didn’t care for other talents like embroidery or singing. Instead, she was asking about piety and innocence, almost offending the Lord, as he insisted that all his daughters were living sheltered lives and were brought up with reverence for the Gods.

The Queen was much focused on character: she wanted the silently strong type, a maiden that had no need to boast her qualities, stable, calm – tame…docile.

Lord Barryn may have withheld the intensity of his daughter’s stubborness as he offered the daughter whom he thought matched the Queen’s description the most, however he thought that this was better than having no chance at an alliance with the House Targaryen at all. No matter, when they would find out about his daughter’s true character, the couple would already be betrothed.

To the Queen’s relief, Lord Barryn had volunteered to send some portraits of his daughter, as soon as he returned to his residence. She hadn’t dared to require some visual aid in making her decision, as she thought that it would be contradictory to her focus on character, faith, and devotion.

Meanwhile, the pressure on Prince Aemond had become unbearable to him. His father insisted on a marriage, by now he would have agreed to his son marrying a peasant, if only he got married! The Targaryen House could not allow itself to take any liberties with the line of succession, it had to be secured!

But Aemond was just once again reminded of his role in the royal family: the backup, the spare, just in case anything happened to his brother - so close to the throne and yet so far away. His brother who was wholly unequipped to be King. His brother - always in his cups, seeking pleasure in some whore’s arms, studying nothing, learning nothing, being capable of nothing! His useless brother - whom he loved despite everything, in his own twisted way.

Prince Aemond was aware of his duty, however. As much as he hated his position, and wished fervently that his brother and him had been born in a different order, he knew that his only chance at the throne was marriage. A successful marriage - for what was a King without an heir.

He knew immediately what his mother wanted when she sent for him first thing in the morning. King Viserys must have been insufferable with his demands that she find their son an agreeable wife. Aemond already felt hounded by his father, he didn’t want to envision what it would mean to live in close proximity with that man.

A new sense of urgency was laced in the Queen’s voice when she showed Aemond the portraits of his prospective brides. She tried to be as neutral and matter-of-factly as possible in her description of their character and family background, but it was obvious to him that she wished for him to pick a specific one. Lady Barryn. It should be easy enough. The way his mother described her to him, he thought that she would be sufficiently acceptable. Pious, sheltered, calm - pleasant.

Prince Aemond knew that his father would make good on his threat to marry him to a bride of his own choosing, if the Prince didn’t come to a decision quickly. So, he heeded the King’s warning, and when he made his pick, the delight in his mother’s eyes told him that he made the right choice. He had thought then that having done his duty, he would go back to his habits of studying, training, sitting in council with his father and brother, and riding and taking care of Vhagar. He’d thought that the next time he would bother thinking about marriage would be when his betrothed was presented to him.

But once he was in bed at night, when he couldn’t push away the thoughts anymore that he banned to the back of his mind during the day, he wondered what she would be like. For even if he thought of this as his duty, marriage was still something sacred in the eyes of the Seven, and thus should be considered sacred in the eyes of man.

During the many hours he had spent in the libraries as a boy he had also read stories, fairytales rather, about love, about soulmates, kindred spirits, but even then he instinctively knew that this was not what awaited him. When he had asked his Septon about it, his honest boyish curiousity was brutally doused with reality. He was told that this might exist for the lowborn folk, but that he shouldn’t bother himself with it. Aegon had simply broken out into a fit of explosive laughter, then, teasing him about his girlish flight of fancy. Aemond had just felt fury that he had given his brother yet another thing to bully him about.

In the following months the Queen exchanged many missives with the Lord and Lady Barryn in preparation for the couple’s betrothal. The young lady’s dowry needed to be dealt with, all sorts of contracts needed to be prepared and signed, and most importantly, a date needed to be picked to present the young couple to each other.

Meanwhile, Prince Aemond’s curiosity plagued his mind for weeks after he took his pick, and finally he gave into it. He knew about his mother’s correspondence with the parents of his intended. And as embarrassed as he was to ask his mother to do this, he couldn’t bear not knowing. So, he requested the Queen to ask the young lady’s parents about more details. What she occupied herself with during the day, her habits, her relationship to her siblings… He tried to play it off as a most warrantable inquiry, stating his request especially indifferently, but his mother saw right through him and couldn’t help the knowing smile that snuck its way onto her mouth.

It brought the Queen happiness to see her son reading the letters more eagerly than she was, although he sought to keep his carefully built facade of inaccessibility, saying that he was just preparing himself, as he prepared for everything else in his life.

Prince Aemond had awoken unusually early the day the young Lady Barryn was thought to arrive. Tossing and turning in bed, he hadn’t been able to sleep properly – it felt like no time had passed when the first rays of sunshine crept through the curtains.

What was a bad start into the day became worse when he was called to council. He couldn’t stand the sympathetic smiles from the council, when his thoughts had drifted off - due to fatigue! Not because of what they had thought. But explaining himself would have made everything worse, they wouldn’t have believed him anyway.

He knew that Lady Barryn’s arrival unsettled him, lying to himself was of no use. He also was aware that he wouldn’t be able to accomplish anything today, apparently his mind that he usually was very much in control of, was set on letting his thoughts run in circles. So, he contented himself with withdrawing himself to the library, seeking out the one window niche that he had thought to be his favourite when he was a little boy because his brother had never been able to find him there.

He picked out The Seven-Pointed Star from the shelf, the well-thumbed book weighed heavy in his hands. The Seven had often offered him solace and comfort, especially on days when he couldn’t bear his brother’s merciless bullying anymore. Now, Aegon had mostly stopped the maltreatment of his younger brother, he wouldn’t risk seriously angering the younger Prince, Aemond stood much taller now than he did then.

The problems he had then seemed so small compared to the ones he was facing now, Prince Aemond thought. Somewhere in time, his most serious worries gradually went from frustration and sadness about his brother’s teasing to, well, whatever this was. Anticipation, curiosity, anxiety, dread? This marriage would greatly influence the course of his life. He worried that he hadn’t put much thought into his choice of bride. His father had told him to expedite matters, and, the dutiful son he was, he did what he was told. His mother had shown which young lady she wanted him to pick, and he did as he was told. He was already given the privilege of choosing his own bride, yet he had always done as he was told! There was no use in blaming himself though, it was too late now anyways.

The young Prince wondered what she would be like, truly. Was she really as pious as his mother had said? Would she resemble the young lady in the portraits? Would she find him as repulsive as the rest of the Lords’ daughters at court? He quickly felt for his eypatch on his face at the thought. He didn’t want to scare her off at the first chance that he got, if this was to go well. But - what if his worry was misplaced? Perhaps they would get along perfectly fine - knowing how things in life had turned out for him this far though, he seriously doubted it. He didn’t allow himself to think that a happy outcome was possible. Getting his hopes up was the last thing he could afford right now.

Calming down was of the essence, he couldn’t present himself all dishevelled and on edge. He remembered a little song his mother had sung to him to comfort him whenever he had been upset about something – mostly Aegon’s bullying.

The Father's face is stern and strong,

he sits and judges right from wrong.

He weighs our lives, the short and long,

and loves the little children.

Slowly, he began skimming over the familiar pages of The Seven-Pointed Star, continuing to quietly hum the melody to himself.

The Mother gives the gift of life,

and watches over every wife.

Her gentle smile ends all strife,

and she loves her little children.

Immersed in the book of faith, he was rudely ripped out of his thoughts when he heard the heavy doors to the library open, and a servant calling his name. As if stung, he shot up, the book falling from his lap and landing on the floor with a loud thud.

The Warrior stands before the foe,

protecting us where e'er we go.

With sword and shield and spear and bow,

he guards the little children.

He had an inkling as to what this was going to be about. Taking a deep breath, he gathered his thoughts and courage, before taking long strides to where the servant was standing in the door.

The Maiden dances through the sky,

she lives in every lover's sigh.

Her smiles teach the birds to fly,

and gives dreams to little children.

She had arrived.

Chapter Three

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