#I tried to draw him in the lower window but he wasn't recogniseable

[adjective-noun-uhhhhh-3]

I don’t know *what* I believe in now...

[the-tomato-patch]

'Could the Sith have chosen a wetter, muddier planet?' Rhiasen muttered into her comm, not really expecting a response from the other end. It had gotten scuffed in an all too close call with some of the more rebellious jungle beasts. Said scuffle had also damaged the hooded robes she had been wearing earlier but Rhiasen tried not to think of that, despite the humidity and rain of Dromund Kaas seeping its way into her clothing, preferring to focus on the plan ahead of her, specifically getting back to her temporary lodgings as soon as possible and ridding herself of the muck that was caking itself to her boots.

Rhiasen continued to make her way through the jungle, stepping gingerly through puddles that didn't seem quite deep enough for her liking and cursing whenever she stumbled. However, the night was drawing on and, finally, the familiar shapes and patterns of the structures of Kaas City, which had been rendered obscure through the trees, grew clearer as she drew nearer. The usual guards were easily avoidable, the eyesight of an imperial guard apparently as bad as the eye-rolling at their superiors was good.

Kaas City was far from pretty, yet held a sinister kind of beauty as one saw it. The architecture was jagged and black. Nearly every building, Rhiasen believed, had been sculpted by some kind of brutal force that wasn't at all keen on giving away the warmth and security of a home. The harsh edges, too, spoke of the same coldness, seemingly wanting nothing more than to cut as deeply into the person entering the city as they could. But she supposed this was home, for now. And a tugging at the back of her mind wondered just what it might have been like to come here as an acolyte fresh from Korriban. To look at it through the lens of an acolyte hungry to know its power, instead of the eyes of a jaded, displaced Jedi, or whatever it is she was these days. She sighed, pushed her thoughts aside and continued onfoot to their safehouse, knowing she had someone waiting for her.

Eventually, the warm light from the front room greeted her like an old friend as she stepped past the threshold and futher into the apartment. And sitting near the holovid screen, was her Sith, a man she wouldn't have known she needed, had the Force not seen fit to place her on the same path he once tread. And now…

"There you are." He spoke, voice a soft rasp against the otherwise noiseless backdrop of night, save for the constant thrum of rain against the windows. His tone tinged with a familiar warmth he always had with her.

"Here I am, 'my lord'." Rhiasen called back, a fond quip lingering at the back of her voice, and a small laugh. She reached up, pulled at the cloth she used to secure the cowl at the back of her head. Strands of auburn hair, previously tucked within the cloth, now framed the contours of her face and she let out yet another long sigh. 'Stars, what I'd give to actually have the chance to sleep sometime soon,' She thought tiredly and leaned back against the wall, shrugging off the heavy material of her robes and the packs strapped over top.

Unbeknownst to her, Scourge had risen from the table he'd been sat at. With him, he'd brought her usual cup of tea, setting it down within arm's length from the tired Jedi. His right arm fell lightly upon her shoulder as he lowered himself next to her. There was a twinkle in his eyes she'd recognise anywhere, so Rhiasen gladly accepted the drink, quietly thanking him, and watched as he moved off toward the hallway. She then felt his intention shift and realised his target. Her thoughts scattered, much like the droplets of water against the windows, in anticipation as she heard the refresher door click open and the water begin to draw.

A warm bath was in order and the feeling of Scourge's intent and attention being brought towards her was a comfort Rhiasen welcomed.

She stepped slowly towards the refresher, barely able to refrain from tearing the rest of the ruined clothes off her body, a thought which she acted upon, of course. Then, upon entering, her eyes shifted first toward the steaming hot tub and then towards her lover, who had been busy preparing the soap, hair and skin products that Rhiasen often brought back from Coruscant whenever it was possible. The room was illuminated by a few, low hanging lights on either wall that emitted a very soft purple-pink light which set the mood well. Rhiasen then turned towards the mirror above the sink, suddenly struck by her own reflection. She looked tired, bags forming evermore under her eyes, skin marked in dirt and blood. However, the smitten expression upon Scourge's face, a look Rhiasen was once convinced he wasn't even capable of making, spoke of no care for the sight before him, but more, how he missed her whilst she'd been away.

"Kallat.." He breathed. ur'Kittat for beloved, he had told her. Her gaze shifted from her own image towards his. "Come," He spoke firmly, offering his hands, in which she placed her own. "Your rest awaits."

'Stars, this was going to be a long night.'

Kaas Storm Imagine

Much like a reverse Regina George, I don't usually have the spoons to answer ask games, but I love writing them and unleashing them on the fandom.

--

Imagine your SWTOR oc getting absolutely soaked in the cold rain of a Kaas thunderstorm, wind whipping the drops into them like needles, drenching them. Bold what applies.

Do they like it? Dance under it and laugh with the thunder? Or dart for cover and wait it out, shaking with fear like a tooka? Or do they hate it, but have no choice except to trudge through it, steps squelching as the water that can't absorb into their gear pours off them with every stride?

When they get where they're going, the door opens for them revealing their friend (/comrade/love interest/whatever the fuck the Agent and Hunter have going on/pissed off medic/mother-hen companion/etc).

Do they have a towel ready to swirl around them and scoop them up? Or do they order them onto a mat just inside the door so they won't drip on everything? Do they help them off with the soaking gear, despite how little it actually reduces how badly they're waterlogged?

Do they carry them inside, murmuring reassurance, or drag them by the wrist already lecturing them for being out in that mess?

Is it a real fire they're warmed by, or a soft, heated blanket? A big towel fresh from the dryer? Fluffy, cuddly, comfortable clothes?

Hot tea (what kind? how do they take it?), cocoa, something stronger (what's their poison?) to warm them from the inside?

Does their companion insist on holding them and fussing over them? Are they still irate about how they went out in the rain?

What do they say?

"Get in here!"

"Look at you, you're soaked..."

"You're freezing!"

"Sit down."

"You're going to catch cold..."

"What possessed you to go out in this??"

"Ugh, I'm gonna have to mop..."

And add whatever details you'd like!

Tagging @nekorinnie @grandninjamasterren and @thaniraslegacyswtor and whoever wants to, but no pressure of course!

[imgoingtofreakoutnow]

An old friend - Part 2

Summary: You've been invited for tea at the Bridgerton's household. You'll meet some new faces and perhaps dig in the past with your host...

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton x Fem!reader

Other characters: Benedict Bridgerton, Violet Bridgerton, Gregory Bridgerton, Hyacinth Bridgerton

Warnings: looooots of yearning, face touching (?) if this counts as warning

Words: 3.6k+

A/n: I wasn't planning on doing a second part but here we are! I know it's long, and the start can feel a bit slow, but stick until the end; things get interesting there😏😉

Part 1 - Part 2 - Part 3

As you stepped down the carriage, your eyes were immediately drawn to the facade of the house: even though you weren't a child anymore it still looked majestic to your eyes. The lilac wisteria hanged from the red terracotta wall, swinging his blooming flowers just above the door, giving the compound that vibrant hint of colour that you remembered.

When you heard the wheels of your carriage move against the pebble, you decided it was time to enter the Bridgerton's household. However, you soon realized that your feet were seemingly planted in the ground just before the gates of the estate.

Nervously holding your shaking gloves near your lap, you tried to calm down that sudden wave of anxiety. You truly had nothing to be worried about: your hosts were some of the kindest human beings you had ever met and the house was no stranger to you either. Nonetheless, war drums started playing in your chest at the thought that Anthony was waiting for you inside...

"Can I help you, miss?"

You turned towards the voice that called you back to reality to be met with the tall figure of Benedict. "Mr. Bridgerton"

He bowed as you curtseyed. "Well, this is embarrassing" he muttered, taking off his hat with an apologetic smile. "You know my name, but I don't know yours... should I know you, miss?"

You smiled back, shaking slightly your head. "Probably not, sir. I'm Y/N Y/L/N. I believe I am awaited for tea this afternoon: Lady Bridgerton invited me at last night's ball"

"I recall Anthony mentioning something about a guest..." he started but shrugged afterwards, "however I wasn't listening". His green eyes moved on you, squeezing slightly as they took in your features. "I beg you forgiveness in advance if I'm mistaken, but do you appear to be that little girl that used to play with Anthony when he still possessed a sense of humour?"

You hardly stopped a laugh from escaping your lips. "I shall not know, did Lord Bridgerton used to entertain himself with many young ladies when he was young himself?"

Benedict shook his head, still smiling. "Not that I can remember"

"Then that's probably me" you confirmed, chuckling slightly as the weight on your stomach eased considerably.

"I shall not believe that! The world is much smaller than I thought it was". He rubbed his cheek, his face lit by shock and delight. Then, looking at the front door and then back at you: "Why then were you standing here like a statue?"

At his question you lowered your gaze to your hands, not as shaky as before but still partly trembling. When you opened your mouth to reply, no rational answer came out from your parted lips.

Thankfully, Benedict seemed to notice your distress and simply took your arm in his. "Admit it" he said, smiling cheekily and guiding you inside, "you were waiting for me just to escort you inside. Isn't that right?"

With a giggle you nodded. "You uncovered my plan, sir. I shall hope it remains a secret between the two of us"

Benedict opened the door for you. "I'll take it to the grave, miss Y/L/N"

You flashed him one last smile before your eyes wandered on the interior of the household, leaving you speechless: everything was exactly where your clouded memories placed it, with few errant exceptions, like the china vase in the vestibule or the tiny pottery work on the table next to the door of the drawing room.

It felt almost unreal, like walking in a dream made long time ago... nonetheless, the way your heart jumped in your throat when you saw Anthony slouching on a couch near the window felt very much real to you.

"Miss Y/L/N". When Violet's voice reached your ears she was already in front of you, taking your arm to drag you away from her second-born. "It is a delight to see you again so soon. I believe you haven't met my youngest children, Gregory and Hyacinth".

The two siblings looked at you, Hyacinth smiling fascinated while Gregory was subtly munching something.

You smiled at them. "It's a pleasure to meet you"

"Miss Y/L/N, could I ask you something?"

Your eyes fixed in Hyacinth's, wide with curiosity. "Of course"

She took some steps towards you and you bent down so that she could cup your ear. "Is it true that you and Anthony made all the nurses go mad when you were our age?"

"Who told you that?" you whispered back, grinning. "We made them go mad when we were much younger than you"

Hyacinth covered her mouth, giggling silently as she went back next to her brother. Gregory, still looking at you, finally gulped down his food and turned to his mother. “Can we go play outside now, mama?”

With a sigh and a gesture of her hand, Lady Bridgerton released her youngest from the strings of formality and you watched them running one after the other out of the drawing room.

“Pardon their impatience” sighed Violet, sitting on the sofa next to her. She seemed terribly tired and you couldn’t imagine otherwise: if the other Bridgertons were half the troublemakers you and Anthony were, you were surprised the household was still intact.

You took a seat next to her, your back straightened as a greek column. “There is no need to apologise, I do envy their freedom” you admitted as your gaze fell in your lap. “They should enjoy every moment they have left before they come of age”

“From your tone, miss Y/L/N, it transpires the belief that there is no freedom in our society whatsoever”

You turned to Anthony, now seated a little more properly on the couch. His eyes locked in yours terribly easily, as they already possessed the key to your soul.

"Not if one wants to be accepted by said society, Lord Bridgerton" you clarified. "And we know well enough that not many would risk their place in this - pardon my words - refined golden parade for a semblance of temporary freedom"

"A golden parade". Anthony tasted your words on his tongue. "Shall we ever be freed from the chains society imposed us then?"

"It is possible, yes. Nevertheless, it may not be as easy as one might expect"

Anthony was still looking at you and the fabric of your gloves started sticking to your sweaty hands under his stare. You lowered your gaze. "But of course, this is just my humble opinion"

"Quite pessimistic, if I may" Benedict's voice broke through your thoughts. Slouching like Anthony on the other couch, there was no doubt those two were brothers. "But my word, you and Eloise would get along perfectly well"

"My second daughter. She is quite a free spirit" explained Violet seeing your confusion. "Unfortunately, you won't meet her today: she went for a walk with her friend, miss Penelope Featherington"

“On another quest to find the writer who hides behind the name of Lady Whistledown” added Benedict, earning a glare from his mother.

"I'm sure there will be many other occasions to meet her. And your eldest daughter as well. I’ve heard she married the Duke of Hastings, is that right?"

Her eyes lit as soon as you mentioned her daughter, and before you knew it, your mind was filled with every single detail of the wedding and engagement party, and all the circumstances that preceded and followed it.

A light knock made everyone turn towards the door. The footmen placed swiftly and silently the trays with teapots and cups on the small tables around the room, together with many small plates full of different biscuits and what looked like delicious refreshments.

One of the footmen approached cautiosly Violet, who was now talking about the scandal in which Colin had been unknowingly drawn. "Lady Bridgerton". The woman turned towards him with a smile. "Miss Francesca denies her medicine..."

Violet sighed, putting her cup back on the tray. "Goodness gracious... She went to Bath on her own, she's almost of age and she keeps throwing tantrums for these little things...". She then turned to you: "I shall be back in a few minutes, my dear"

You nodded, watching her leave the room with the young footman. The exact moment she disappeared through the door, Benedict jumped from his seat, almost making you spill the tea on your dress.

"I'm terribly sorry, but I shall leave as well" he explained, putting his tailcoat back on in a hurry. He looked towards Anthony. "If mother asks, I'm in my room feeling unwell and I definitely won't attend dinner"

"Shall I know where you're going?" asked Anthony with a smirk on his face. "Perhaps getting a new suit?"

Benedict ignored him, which made Anthony grin even more. “It’s been a pleasure, miss Y/L/N. We shall talk more next time we meet" he said with a small bow and a smile, before walking out the drawing room as well.

You took a long sip from your small cup, trying to focus on the taste of the tea and not on the fact that you and Anthony were now completely alone. The hot drink had a fresh mint scent and... and then his touch on your skin was everything your mind could think of.

"Are you enjoying yourself, miss Y/L/N?"

"Absolutely!" you replied, your voice an octave higher than normal. Clearing your throat, you attempted to think of something to say that wasn't in any way related to Anthony's hands on you. "The tea is divine"

He chuckled, taking a biscuit from the tray. "I'm glad you like it". He took a bite before asking again: "Does the house do justice to your memories?"

"It does" you nodded. "I'm surprised how few things have changed over the years but I'm glad to be able to recognise every corner. It's like stepping in the past"

Anthony smiled without taking his eyes off you. Looking down on your empty cup you felt your skin itch under his deep stare. Before you could think of anything else to say, you heard the sound of fabric rustling: Anthony Bridgerton had stood up and was now moving closer with every step. He stretched his hand out to you, smiling like he did only around you.

"Would you like to step in the past again, miss Y/L/N?"

With his eyes locked in yours, your mouth was wholly dry. You had no idea what he had in mind but, strangely enough, you didn't care: you just took his hand.

The heat radiating through the thin fabric of your gloves set on fire every nerve of your body. You held tight onto his hand as he pulled you down a maze of corridors, running within those walls like when you were kids. The excitement, and the new feeling that was pushing against your corset, let a wide, joyful smile appear on your face, as you felt lighter than ever before.

Then, after a last turn, he pulled you in a room, closing the door behind him. It took a deep breath for you to realise Anthony had dragged you in the library: it was smaller than you recalled, and even so it held so much knowledge you always found overwhelming stepping inside, as if you weren’t worthy of it.

Still panting, Anthony collapsed on the settee near the window, his smile wider than ever. "Good Lord..." he sighed letting his head fall back, his shoulders shook by laughter. "I haven't felt this alive in quite some time..."

"As much as I enjoy seeing you smiling, did we truly have to run all the way here?" you whispered, trying to steady your breath. "If anyone saw us, they probably thought we were up to something, which is not true at all"

Placing his elbows on his knees, Anthony bended over, his eyes lit by the spark of mischief. "If we're not up to something... then why are you whispering?"

You shook your head, turning your back to him. You walked closer to the atlas, opened on book stand in one of the corner of the room. With your index you gently traced the lines of the continents shown on the page, searching names of places you knew. Then a realization hit you.

“We shouldn’t be here”. Taking a step back from the atlas, you turned to Anthony.

He looked at you with furrowed brows. “Why so?”

"I'm quite sure you're aware that, for a lady, being in the same room as a man without a chaperone is improper and disgraceful" you clarified, rubbing your hands nervously.

"Is it?". You shot Anthony a glare.

"Yes, my lord. Awfully disgraceful". You looked at the door, terrified someone might walk in.

Anthony sighed. “Very well. But before we go... would you please read something to me?”. The request wasn’t exactly what you were expecting and Anthony, as he had read in your mind, added: “There’s nothing improper in that”

You took a sharp breath but then nodded. “Very well”. You moved your eyes on the many books on the bookshelves, the titles and authors embossed on their spines in golden letters: Shakespeare, Edgeworth, Scott.

"Do you want me to read anything in particular, my lord?"

He closed his eyes, slouching again on the settee. "Anything as long as I can hear your voice"

Taken aback by his words, you were glad he couldn’t see your scarlet cheeks. You took a small poetry volume, opening it at a random page. The words written on the paper danced in your mind with the finesse of a butterfly.

You sat down on the other end of the settee as your lungs tried their best to fill with enough air to keep you from fainting. You took a last deep breath before starting to read out loud.

"The curfew tolls the knell of parting day,

The lowing herd wind slowly o'er the lea,

The plowman homeward plods his weary way,

And leaves the world to darkness and to me."

As you kept reading, the book in one hand and the other resting in your lap, the verses rolled on your tongue like candid pearls on velvet; an ancient incantation created to charm minds.

You didn't realise that Anthony had been getting closer and closer by the second until the moment he took your empty hand in his. You stopped mid-verse as your eyes jolted to your joined hands.

"Go on" he gently asked, stroking his thumb on your hand.

Gulping down your beating heart you started reading again, but your attention was nowhere near the words printed on the paper. It was all on the way his fingers rested on yours and moved against your glove, as trying to find a path past the thin fabric.

That small and seemingly meaningless touch unleashed a thunderstorm within you: powerful, destructive and awfully seductive.

You finished the poem, the last word leaving you breathless. Closing the book, the closeness with Anthony felt way too much to handle.

"We should go now". You stood, breaking the contact with Anthony to put the book in its place. Your hand without his touch felt extremely empty.

You heard him sigh. "I believe we should". Anthony stood up, smoothing his blue tailcoat. After a moment of silence, he spoke again, his eyes set on fixing his sleeves: "I must apologise, miss Y/L/N"

You turned towards him with eyes wide in confusion before frowning. "For what, my lord?"

"I'm convinced that my puerile behaviour put you in an uncomfortable and improper position" - his voice and face were completely emotionless, not the face of the Anthony you knew - "and I beg your forgiveness for that. I had no rights to act this way towards a lady such as yourself and I would totally understand if you chose to..." he stopped a moment, searching for the strength to finish the phrase, “...interrupt our acquaintance”

"Lord Bridgert-"

"Of course” he continued, "I would never want for you to interrupt your visits to my mother and family. And, of course, I shall have prepared a carriage to take you home and then, hopefully, everything will soon seem just a-"

"Anthony"

You finally moved from the bookshelf, catching his hand in yours. His eyes moved from the doorknob, first resting on your joint hands and then raising to your face. It had felt like days since he last glanced at you.

"Please, let me speak”. He didn’t move, his face still unreadable but his eyes had your complete attention. You took a deep breath as you put your messy thoughts in the right order.

“You didn't offend me" you explained, even if your trembling voice could've told otherwise. "Your actions, your attentions weren't a discomfort to me whatsoever. They were just-", a shaky sigh escaped your lips, "What I feel in your presence is overwhelming, like standing on a cliff while the wind howls around you, trying to push you off the edge... you wish you could ignore it but it keeps luring you in and-"

His hand on your cheek cut you off. His thumb caressed your cheekbone and slid down, along your jaw, to stop on your chin. "So this pleases you?" he asked, his voice deep as his eyes were staring into yours. At a loss of words, you nodded as fireworks exploded in your stomach.

At his words you suddenly remembered: “Your mother! She’s probably still waiting in the drawing room!”. You took your hands to your face, covering your heated cheeks. “Oh no... she’ll never forgive me...”

Eventually he smiled, and seeing his eyes lighting up was just what you needed to feel relieved. "That's good to hear” he murmured, stroking your cheek again and again, “but now you should really go home: we don’t want your mother to get worried, don’t we?”"

He shook his head chuckling. “My mother doesn’t hold grudges for such ridiculous matters. However, if it could help you sleep better tonight, I shall talk to her. You must trust me: I already have mastered a talent in finding quite believable excuses”

You smirked. “Why am I not surprised?”. Anthony smiled before taking again your hand. A bolt ran through your arm.

"I know it may sound bold, but would you join me and my family at tomorrow’s picnic in Hyde Park? These social gatherings always bore me to death but I’m sure your company would be the perfect remedy"

"Two invitations in a row?”. You grinned. “The ton will talk about this for quite some time"

“Is that a yes, miss Y/L/N?”

You smiled. “Of course it is, my lord. I could never refuse you anything”

<-•☆•->

When the carriage left you in front of your house, there was still enough light for you to see the pathway leading to the front door. As you entered and closed it behind you, your mother appeared at the top of the staircase.

“Thank Goodness you’re back!”. She run down the stairs, immediately cupping your cheeks. “Are you alright? Did anything happen to you?”

“I’m good, mama” you confirmed, with a smile. "Lord Bridgerton invited me to attend the picnic in Hyde Park tomorrow". At your words, every inch of blood seemed to be drained from your mother's face. “Is everything quite alright?”

“I’ve heard some awful rumors at the market today...” she whispered, taking your hands in hers. “About the Bridgertons”

You smiled gently. “Is it about the scandal surrounding Colin Bridgerton? Because I can assure you he had no part in-”

“it isn’t, my dear”. She shook her head, some locks of hair escaping her tight hairdo. “It’s about Lord Bringerton”

Your smile fell in a second. ��What about him?”

Your mother took a deep breath before going on: “I believe him to be a rake, my dear, and from what I’ve heard, he spent most of last season attending the private rooms of different opera singers...”

"What?". You shook your head in disbelief. "No, it can't be... I know him and he's nothing like this"

"It has been years, sweetheart" she said, kindly caressing your cheek. "Maybe he's changed, like you have..."

"But he's not a rake!". You took a step back from your mother. "Lord Bridgerton is a gentleman, he would never-"

You stopped mid-sentence as what happened that afternoon replayed in your mind: surely you didn't dislike his behaviour, as daring as it was, but it was improper. Terribly improper. Something a rake would do with light skirts. Or with young and willing ladies.

Your corset seemed to be tighter than ever, squeezing your lungs until no air was left behind.

"I do not want to push you, my dear..." continued your mother, "but perhaps you should rethink your choice for tomorrow. You could say you had forgotten a previous engagement or-"

"No". Your steady voice didn't reflect the turmoil in your chest at all. "I have already accepted, mother" you said, walking past her to the stairs. "It would be disrespectful to refuse the invitation of a Viscount"

Besides, you wanted answers, and the only people who could give you some was Anthony himself.

Taglist: @ba-cute @xceafh @latekate1807 (if you want to be added or removed, let me know)