#ernest sinclair x mc

[bri1234]

What’s one of your favorite scenes from one of your favorite Choices books? Here, I’ll go first:

[storyofmychoices]

Whimsical Walks and Poetic Talks

Valentine's Gift #2 for the wonderful @oh-so-youre-a-nerd! @choicesfandomappreciation

Pairing: Ernest Sinclaire x Tulsi (F!MC) (@oh-so-youre-a-nerd)

Book: Desire & Decorum

Word Count: >550

Rating/Warning: General/None

Synopsis: Ernest and Tulsi take a late afternoon walk around Ledford Park.

This art of Ernest and Tulsi is by @liiyaan!

The orange glow of the setting sun bathed Ledford Park in an amber glow, its warmth welcoming Ernest and Tulsi, who had embarked on a leisurely stroll through the newly renovated garden. The bushes, shrubs, and flowers had just begun to show the first signs of life as spring began ushering in a new season, one which would hopefully allow the couple to put the troubles of the past behind them. 

Ernest breathed in the brisk, cool air settling around them as dusk threatened its approach. He marveled at the colors painted across the sky and how the rays of sunlight danced along the tops of the trees, holding onto the world around them. It reminded him of a poem he had once read. His lips curled slightly, his mouth opening, but before he could share the words of beauty in question, Tulsi had other ideas.

A whimsical query sparkled in her eyes. "If you were a flower, which one would you be and why?"

Ernest paused in his step, not expecting the question. He shook his head; he should be used to her impulsive questions. His guarded demeanor softened as their pace resumed. 

"And keep in mind, there are right answers." She teased, her step light beside him as she eagerly awaited his thoughtful reply. 

His free hand pinched the bridge of his nose, his brow furrowing as he considered his response. "If I must participate—" 

"You must!"

"I thought as much," Ernest chuckled. "Then, in response to your query, a thistle."

"Go on," Tusli encouraged, waiting for his reasoning.

"A thistle is sharp with a protective exterior," he began, watching her reaction. "Some might even describe them as prickly, and yet, they are resilient and can thrive even when faced with challenges."

"I'll allow it." She pressed a kiss to his cheek, his blush warming her lips. "In some cultures, thistles symbolize devotion, bravery, and strength. You, Mr. Sinclaire, possess all of those."

"My beautiful Tulsi, may I regale you with a poem that I am reminded of this evening?" Ernest requested, his eyes brightening at the prospects. 

Tulsi smiled softly, she might not appreciate his poetry as he did, but the way he lit up when speaking those words he held close made every word beautiful. "You may."

His attempt to begin was once more quieted by her words.

"However, as you do, consider what kind of fruit you would be and why," Tulsi added. "Oh, and you cannot say a pineapple. You've already used the prickly on the outside reasoning with the thistle." 

Ernest attempted to stifle the chuckle rising in his throat. There was no use arguing logistics with Tulsi over the questions. It would get him nowhere, and he quite liked the enjoyment she found with these inquiries. He nodded his agreement and then began reciting the poem. 

The cadence of his voice wove a tapestry of emotions, painting the air with the beauty and complexity of the poem's meaning. Tulsi listened, enchanted by the rhythm of his words and the way Ernest's eyes sparkled with passion as he unraveled the layers of the written art. 

They might not find the appeal of the same things, but the love they found in each other, and the appreciation for each other's interests they had, kept their relationship growing with every word they shared.

Thia, I hope you enjoy this little drabble of your Tulsi and Ernest. I hope I captured them in a way that fits your vision. Happy Valentine's Day!

PS-I commissioned the art before I asked about their dynamic 🙈

[princess-geek]

Mr Sincaire & Countess Beatrice Foredale (by @ladylamrian)

Thank you so much, my dear!

Read the fic here.

@jeanele  ❣  @missameliep  ❣  @regencylady1810 ❣ @i-put-the-sin-in-sinclaire   ❣ @whenyourheartskipsabeat ❣ @xjustin-ethansgirliex   ❣@noesapphic  ❣  @gardeningourmet  ❣ @paisleylovergirl   ❣ @dailydoseofchoices  ❣  @rhyssescups ❣  @storyofmychoices  ❣  @a-shining-lucky-star  ❣   @lorircreates   ❣  @lorirwritesfanfic  ❣ @walkerduchess   ❣@indiacater  ❣ @kinkypot ❣ @anotherbeingsworld  ❣ @hellooliviaolivia  ❣ @pixel-writer19   ❣ @sinclaire-ity  ❣ @darknessabovethelite  ❣  @brightningstar  ❣@ezekielbhandarivalleros  ❣ @marlcasters  ❣ @bhartigat81  ❣ @lyannacyrill706  ❣ @daddytyrilstarfury   ❣ @secretaryunpaid  ❣ @allisonreilynn  ❣ @fauxleaves ❣ @twinkleallnight  ❣ @kingliamrys  ❣ @iloveethanramsey  ❣ @surewhyynot  ❣ @yvettegolx  ❣ @itlivesinpixelberry  ❣  @chutchoices ❣ @electroniccreatorwerewolf  ❣ @spookycolorpeanut  ❣ @peonierose  ❣ @quixoticdreamer16    ❣@lilyoffandoms   ❣ @tessa-liam

[kinda-iconic]

Our Last Hope

Author's Notes: And so it is here, the next instalment of Amelia and Ernest's story. I cannot begin to tell you how long I have been working on this - so much so that I have had to split it into two parts! I have loved writing this so much, even though I have broken my own heart once or twice. I hope that you enjoy reading this as much as I did writing it.

Pairing: Ernest Sinclaire x MC (Amelia)

Word Count: Over 3'500

Tagging: @princess-geek

Additional Tag list (due to past interest): @bloodboundismylife, @i-put-the-sin-in-sinclaire, @nala-raines

Song inspiration: Thank You (youtube.com) From the 'Queen Charlotte' Soundtrack

TICK.

TICK.

TICK.

Luke makes his way along the darkened corridor, a beam of silvery moonlight illuminating his path. He walks in silence, the sudden chiming of the grandfather clock causing him to startle. He takes a moment to recover, rolling out his shoulders before continuing, only to stop in front of an all-too-familiar door. He softly raps on the wood, pressing his ear against the door as if listening for movement.

But he hears nothing.

He looks down, frowning as his gaze befalls a slither of light underneath the frame. He knocks once more, this time accompanying his efforts with the verbal announcement of his presence.

“I know that you are in there, Ernest,” he waits for a response, but he is met with crickets; after a moment, he speaks again, his hand gently grasping the doorknob, “I am coming in.”

He justles the handle, just for a familiar voice to call back to him from the other side.

“There is no need. I am fine.”

Luke shakes his head, a soft smile escaping him, “I am afraid that I cannot accept that until I see you with my own eyes.”

When he receives no answer, Luke enters the room, quickly spotting Ernest, who sits quietly in his armchair, a glass of scotch nestled between his fingertips. He appears dishevelled, his hair unkempt, dark circles making their home under his eyes. He lifts the glass to his lips, downing its contents.

“You have seen me now,” Ernest retorts, exhaling harshly; he reaches for the decanter, his eyes focusing on the auburn liquid as it swirls around its encasement, “are you satisfied?”

“Not in the slightest.”

Ernest scoffs, shaking his head in drunken amusement.

“We cannot help but be concerned, Er-“

“It’s Mr Sinclaire to you,” Ernest counters, “my given name is not one that I allow to be spoken that freely.”

“Other than by Amelia, you mean.”

“Amelia is my wife,” he refills his glass, taking a grateful sip; the liquor burns its way down his throat, causing him to grimace, “that certainly is stronger than I remember.”

“Is that not what you were drinking before?”

“I have finished that bottle already,’ he lifts his glass in the air, gesturing to the empty chair beside him with a tilt of his glass, “drink?”

“If it means that I can watch over you for a little while.”

Ernest doesn’t answer; instead, he rises from his perch, pondering over to his liquor cabinet. He retrieves a fresh glass from within, his fingers fumbling over the rim as he tries to better his grip. Luke frowns, walking over with an offer of assistance.

“Let me help you with that…”

He reaches forward, but is stopped by Ernest, who raises a hand in dismissal.

“I am capable of collecting a glass, Mr Harper.”

He places the vessel down, filling it near enough to the brim. Luke winces, the sound being swiftly rebuked by the quip of Ernest’s brow.

“Have I displeased you in some way?”

“N-no, I just…” Luke lifts the glass to his nose momentarily; he takes a swig, clearing his throat soon after, his eyes enlarging as he watches Ernest finish yet another glass, “maybe you should slow down a little bit.”

“I would say that I am going at a fairly reasonable pace.”

“I meant with the drinking, Sir.”

“I drink as I see fit.”

A comfortable silence passes between the pair for a moment, neither daring to so much as utter a single word. It is only after a couple of minutes that Luke speaks, his expression growing sombre as he studies the broken man before him.

“Normally, you would not hesitate to ask someone to join you in this endeavour.”

“Well, I…I guess I just wanted to be on my lonesome for a little while.”

Ernest walks back over to his chair, slumping back into the leather.

“Is there anything that you need?” Luke enquires, “I can get one of the maids to make you something to-“

“You could get me another scotch,” he looks down at his empty glass, his brows knitting together in a frown, “I…seem to be out.”

“Have mine. Or at least…half of it.”

He retrieves Ernest’s glass, dividing the untouched liquor equally. He places the glass on the end table before meandering over to the fireplace, holding his dainty glass in his outstretched palm. After a moment, Luke tilts his head towards the spirit, his expression unreadable.

“I know it is not much,” he admits, carefully pondering the appropriateness of his following admission, “but I thought that it would be best not to supply you with more should the Doctor need to discuss anything with you.”

Ernest collects his offering, bowing his head in quiet appreciation.

“Is that something that you have decided upon yourself, or did the others influence that decision?”

When he is met with no immediate reply, he shakes his head, a despondent sigh escaping his lips.

“The amount I drink is no concern of yours, nor should it have ever been a talking point for your gossip.”

“Forgive me, Sir,” Luke appears hesitant, aware as to the severity of Ernest’s emotional state, “but we had no choice but to discuss it.”

“My,” Ernest retorts, his response almost sarcastic, “has the rumour mill already run dry?”

He downs the contents of his glass without pause, heading back over to the decanter; his brows furrow in concentration as he fixes himself another drink. He takes a swig, only turning to face Luke once his second glass is almost fully depleted.

“I am sorry that you have drawn the short straw tonight, Mr Harper,” his tone is hollow, “I am not exactly what one would call ‘pleasant’ company right now.”

Luke frowns, “that is not true in the slightest.”

“You were previously close to referring to me as a drunkard.”

“We are worried about you,” Luke takes another step towards to his counterpart, yet choosing to remain at a respectable distance, “if ever you would like anyone to step in and look after the child or sit at Amelia’s bedside-“

“I have no desire for either,” he stops himself short, giving in to his frustration, “I will take care of my family. They are my responsibility.” Ernest takes one last sip of his drink, the glass shaking slightly in his grasp as he forcefully slams it onto the table, “I’ll be damned if anyone else shoulders that.”

“You need rest, Ernest,” Luke approaches cautiously, placing a comforting hand on Ernest’s arm, “you have not slept since Amelia delivered, neither have you been eating properly.” He replaces the lid on the decanter, holding it by its neck before moving it elsewhere, “I can go and ask Briar or one of the kitchen maids if they could prepare-“

“I will eat when my wife is well and not a moment before.”

“What if Amelia doesn’t get better?”

The two men regard one another before Ernest looks away, casting his gaze out the window and to the ground below.

“I do not wish to talk about that.”

“But that is exactly why it needs to be spoken about,” Luke counteracts, “we have all spoken to the Doctor. We know the prognosis-“

“He had no right to discuss Amelia’s condition with any of you,” his exclamation is one of anger, his words laced with emotion and unwarranted venom, “the only one that has any right to know what is going on is me; nobody else.”

“So her brother doesn’t have any right to know how critical her condition is? Her family deserve to-“

“They are not the ones that will feel the impact of her absence the most.”

“No,” Luke’s face falls, his voice taking a sombre tone, “they’re not.”

Ernest retires to his chair, his fingertips gently grasping onto the hem of its material.

“How are you doing? I-I know that is a daft question, but…”

“I honestly cannot recall the last time that someone asked how I was,” Ernest murmurs, “that is not to say that people have not bothered with me, but rather…at least not verbally.”

Luke smiles sadly; Ernest takes his silence as an opportunity to continue.

“Amelia has never been one for fuss,” he smiles sadly as his mind begins to reminisce, “all of this…” he gestures softly with his hand, “all the doting and constant upheaval…it is the last thing that she would have wanted.”

“We do this because we care about her,” Luke interjects, “Amelia is one of us; she is, for better words, the glue that holds us all together.”

“That would be a beautiful sentiment if my wife was not lying unconscious in her death bed.”

“Ernest…”

He stands once more, his unsteady feet subconsciously carrying him over to the window, paying the drop of his name no mind. He remains stood in silence for a moment, his eyes fixated on the curtains before he speaks softly, his voice quiet and sombre, as if his hopefulness has diminished entirely.

“My wife…she is going to die. I cannot and will not sugar-coat it.”

“There is still hope that-“

“Hope?!” Ernest scoffs, shaking his head in disbelief, “if that is what you truly believe, then maybe you really are just like the rest.”

There is a short hesitation before Luke stands, brushing away the creases in his jacket.

“I will let that comment pass given the circumstance.”

Ernest remains quiet, his gaze set on the horizon as the sun begins to set once more. Knowing that there is nothing else that he can say to lift Ernest’s spirits, Luke collects his satchel from the ground, eyeing the insignia that has been skilfully carved into the leather.

“You may have given up, My Lord…but I have not,” he pauses momentarily, shouldering the bag, “I promised her father that I would watch over her, and that is what I intend to do.”

He makes his way over to the door, but he is stopped in his path by the sudden intrusion of Miss Sutton, her mouth hanging agape in surprise.

“Forgive me for the interruption…”

“Not at all, M’Lady,” Luke bows his head in acknowledgment before looking over at Ernest, his face aglow with disappointment, “I have nothing more to say.”

He leaves the room, closing the door softly behind him. As if sensing that he is still not alone, Ernest turns to Teresa, taking yet another sip of the liquor, “to what do I owe the pleasure, Viscountess?”

“The Doctor would like a word. He believes that Amelia might wake soon.”

“Has anything changed since I saw her last?”

“She is less clammy…and a little bit of colour has returned to her cheeks,” Teresa smiles warmly, “Percival is at her bedside with Harry and Briar.”

“I told Nanny Weskit to take him upstairs to bed.”

“He wanted to see his Mama,” she frowns, her brows furrowing slightly, “is that not a good enough reason for him to stay up past his bedtime?”

“Amelia is not his mother.”

“And you are not his father,” Teresa retorts, “but he treats you as such.”

Ernest falls silent, contemplating her words. She folds her arms across her chest, waiting for a response, but receives none. After a few minutes, she sighs in defeat, looking to the floor as she collects her bearings.

“Look…I understand that you are hurting…” she takes a cautious step forward, “but punishing yourself and taking out your frustrations on others…it is not helping, Ernest.”

He turns at the sound of his name, having not expected its use.

“I cannot begin to fathom what you are going through…but pushing us all away when you need us the most? It is not going to help you. It is not what Amelia would want.”

“I…understand.”

“Then let us in,” she walks over to him, placing a gentle hand on his arm, “allow us to help you. We can watch over Amelia…take care of the children-“

“That is my responsibility.”

“This is not something that you should have to shoulder on your own. We are here to support you.”

He smiles sadly, “I highly doubt that our mother-in-law would agree with that.”

“Henrietta refuses to agree with anything unless it directly benefits her,” she returns his smile, “I know that as much as anyone.”

“I am sorry that you have to endure her temperament so frequently.”

She shakes her head dismissively, “both yourself and Amelia have been subjected to much more than I, believe me.” She beams with pride, interlacing her arm with his own, “and with regards to Henrietta, I must insist that you remember that we are both interlinked. Neither you nor I need to face the brunt of her crassness alone.”

“How is that?”

“We married into this family,” her smile brightens as she looks down at her wedding ring, seemingly becoming lost in a memory, “we may not agree with how our mother-in-law chooses to present herself, but we endure her and everything that she throws our way out of the love and respect we have for her children.”

She exhales softly, giving his arm a comforting squeeze.

“Now, how about you and I join Harry for dinner. I dare not leave him alone with his mother and her meddlesome nature too long.”

“Henrietta is here?”

“Mmmm,” she nods, her lips pressing together in a thin line, “she arrived shortly after the dinner bell was rung.”

“I did not expect her to visit, especially not when Amelia is gravely ill.”

“I am afraid that I do not believe her visit to be for Amelia’s sake but rather her own.”

“She probably wants to witness Amelia herself, seeing as she so desperately clings to the idea that Edgewater rightfully belongs to the Viscount.”

Teresa frowns, casting her gaze downward, “I do wish that you would refrain from discussing Amelia like that, but I…I will not question your grievance.”

“Where is she now?”

“In the dining room, I believe.”

“Then I shall need you to deliver my apologies to the Viscount, for I do not wish to see her face at this given time.” He pauses, “nor will I sit for a meal whilst my beloved is unwell.”

“At least escort me down there,” her words befall that of a plea, “that way you are not left to stew in your own thoughts any longer than you have to be.”

Ernest hesitates, the notion causing him to bristle…but eventually, he nods.

“I…alright.”

The pair begin to walk down the hall towards the dining room, Teresa trying to engage Ernest in gregarious conversation, but as they turn the corner, a frosty voice calls out to them from ahead. Teresa stops almost immediately, her eyes met by an icy blue glare.

“I see that you have taken it upon yourself to entertain your wiles, Miss Sutton.”

“I was simply checking on Mr Sinclaire, Mother,” her last word spoken hastily with a hint of frustration, “it is his family that we are here to see.”

“Keeping company with your sister’s husband alone?” She tuts slightly, “whatever will the servants think?”

“I should hope that they would appreciate my compassion for the Countess’ husband and her children whilst she is ill.”

Henrietta huffs in annoyance, having not expecting Teresa’s witty retort.

“Careful now, Miss Sutton,” she smiles smugly, her words harsh and condescending, “the last thing you want is to be labelled as his dalliance.”

“To even suggest the notion-“

Henrietta chuckles to herself, swiftly changing the target of her bemusement as Ernest stutters, his cheeks reddening with anger.    

“Why are you getting so defensive over a baseless accusation?” She feigns surprise, a gasp of shock escaping her lips, “unless…unless there is some truth to it…”

“I have not and will never entertain the company of another woman. I am faithful to my wife!”

“But is she faithful to you, my Lord?”

Ernest inhales sharply, his eyes widening as his anger begins to boil over. After a moment of silence, he calls out to a member of his household as the lady passes him by.

“Forgive me for troubling you, Cecelia, but I am afraid that I am in need of a favour most urgently.”

The young woman bows her head in acknowledgement, “of course, Sir. What is it that you require?”

“Have a note sent to the Marlcaster estate. Tell them that my darling Mother-in-Law requires a carriage to escort her home at the earliest convenience.”

“But that is not-“

He holds up his hand, the gesture seeming to silence her immediately.

“Tell him that his mother has grown tired and wishes to rest in the comfort of her guest bed.”

“That is a LIE!” Henrietta snipes, turning swiftly with a scowl to face the maid, “I am not some old crone that takes naps in the daylight or needs assistance to complete the smallest of tasks. I am the mother of a Viscount! I DEMAND to be treated as such, even by YOU, Mr Sinclaire.” She smirks coyly, “you are forgetting your station, Sir.”

“And you seem to have forgotten whose home you currently reside.”

He regards Cecelia once more, his expression shifting to one of warmth, “I have changed my mind. Please forget everything that I told you to write down.”

“Do you…not request a carriage, My Lord?”

“On the contrary,” he looks down at his wrists as he speaks, reaching to adjust the cuffs of his shirt, “I do still require a carriage, though I am afraid that the wait is too long for my taste.” He lifts his gaze once more, fixing it on Henrietta, “ask Mr Harris if he would be so kind as to escort her ladyship back to her residence instead. Tell him that I shall pay him triple for his service.”

“And the note?”

“Kindly inform Edmund that his mother is no longer welcome at the Edgewater estate, for neither myself nor my staff are able to entertain her inexcusable and downright insulting presence any longer.”

“H-how dare you-“

“I am not finished,” he interjects, retrieving a pouch of coins from his pocket; he passes it over to Cecelia, his eyes still fixed on Henrietta, “this is a gesture of goodwill, see to it that Mr Marlcaster receives it. Maybe he might be able to purchase himself some earplugs to drown out her irritating voice.”

“Would you please just stop with that incessant whining,” he replies coldly, “my wife is on her death bed, and rather than be by her side I am stood here with you. Do you still not see why I am insulted by your mere presence at this hour?”

To Teresa’s surprise, Henrietta quietens. A young stable-hand approaches, tipping his head in acknowledgement.

“My Lord.”

“See to it that the lady finds her way to a carriage and out of my sight.”

“Certainly, Sir.”

Ernest responds with a curt nod; he spares her no second glance, instead turning on his heel and making his way back along the corridor in the opposite direction, disappearing as Henrietta is removed from the house. Teresa follows along after him, her footsteps hurried.

“Sir, you are going the wrong way!”

“My apologies, Miss Sutton.” He continues on, quickening his pace as he heads towards the stairwell, “but I must bid you goodnight.”

“What about escorting me to dinner?”

“I have spent so long dwelling on what may come to pass that I have forgotten to focus on the present,” he regards Teresa over his shoulder, “I am sorry, Miss Sutton. I know that I agreed to accompany you, but my priority must be my wife and child.”

Before she can get a word out, Ernest disappears up the stairs, completely blanking those that he passes on his way. Dejected, Teresa turns back in the direction to which she came, only to bump into Mr Harper.

“Where has he gone now?”

“Upstairs,” she sighs softly, looking at the flowers that decorate the railings, “he has gone to be with her.”

“Without dinner?”

“He will not eat, Mr Harper. He will not eat or drink…I fear that he is unwell.”

“He is concerned for Amelia’s welfare. We all are.”

“And what if he decides to journey down the wrong path? I worry for him.”

“As do I,” Luke smiles sadly, “but he is tending to Amelia. He will not leave her side.”

“He should be resting."

“I agree,” he tips his head, “but it is also a good thing.”

“How? I am afraid that I do not follow."

 “If he is with Amelia, then we know where to find him.”

“And if he starts to spiral?”

“Then we will be there to catch him,” Luke’s gaze travels to the landing above, his smile softening as he notes the opening and closing of Amelia’s chamber door, “I made a promise…and I intend to keep it.”

[rosesnink]

Mad Love

Author's Notes

During the holidays, Thia @oh-so-youre-a-nerd and I made a content trade and today I sent the final product to them and wanted to share it with y'all! Read the warnings and tags just in case, though.

English is not my first language, so please forgive any typos and grammar mistakes

Check out Thia's amazing art here!

Summary: Mr. Sinclaire and Tulsi share a sizzling moment in the carriage (based on b1 chapter 8's event)

Word Count: 1.1k

Category: Pining, historical, slowburn

Rating: PG-13

Pairing: Mr. Sinclaire x MC (Tulsi)

Book: Desire and Decorum

The couple ran towards the carriage, the rain turning into a full-blown storm. Mr. Sinclaire dragged Lady Tulsi as far as he could, considering how small she was. At last, he spotted one and shouted “Sir! Sir? The lady needs to go to Grosvenor Square! I can pay!”

The driver, not denying himself good coin, ushered the couple inside and after clarifying the destination, started driving towards the luxurious neighbourhood. Still panting from the exercise and the events of the bridge, Mr. Sinclaire took a breath. He looked at Lady Tulsi, who somehow managed to look beautiful despite being soaked through and panting from such an effort.

He would’ve offered his coat as a relief, but he was as soaked as she was. The last thing he needed was to worsen still her condition. Regaining her breath, she looked at him, and by God, was she beautiful: with her rich brown skin, and her fiery red hair, as red as the end of the flames in the fireplace back at his house.

“That took… a turn.”

“I-it did.”

He couldn’t help being nervous around her. They were soaked, the dress’ fabric was feeble and one could see a glimpse of what it hid. He could see a glimpse of her chemise, which hugged her figure perfectly, allowing him to see certain curves that a man ought not to. Swallowing hard, he looked away. It was improper to gaze upon an earl’s daughter in such a way. Had he not been soaked as well, he would’ve offered his jacket without hesitation.

“Did you mean it?” Tulsi asked “when you said…”

“Of course I did, my lady. With my heart on a fist.”

Her enchanting brown eyes gazed at him intensely, and he gulped, his heart beating impossibly fast. He liked to think that the thrill on his body was due to the cold rather than Tulsi’s effect on him. Not tearing his gaze, he brushed away a strand hair from her face “There’s something about you, Lady Tulsi… The way you challenge me, fuddle me, the way you talk, that beautiful smile that makes my head spin… I can’t have enough, I crave more, I crave—,” He stopped short, swallowing hard. If he continued, he might regret it later. Or not. He did not know which one was worse.

Tulsi leaned in his direction, and he sucked up his breath “Crave what, Mr. Sinclaire?”

He fought against his best senses, but his eyes nevertheless landed on her lips: a dark pink with pink rogue and probably tasted of roses. The thought made his heart beat even faster, and before he could even think of it, he was leaning towards her as well “Can’t you tell, my Tulsi?”

Her hands were on his chest, drawing small and sizzling circles on his damp clothes, and his whole body felt like he was on fire. Her hands were surely smooth, as smooth as a baby’s skin, and warm. Her hands then went up to his upper chest, where he was sure she felt his heartbeat. His body responded by leaning dangerously closer to her, and her hands were then on his shoulders. Against his best senses, his hand went to her untamed red hair, and the other to her gorgeous blue dress, returning the favour. A throaty hum came out of her, which encouraged him to carry on. They flushed their chests together, the damp clothes giving the other a forbidden glimpse of one another. His hands at last found at last her hair, and buried his fingers in its scalp. It was smooth, like touching the finest silk. His other hand found the small of her back, and her body was probably as warm as his own. Her hands then found his jaw, which she traced, and he had to bite back certain noises coming from his throat. He shuddered from pleasure when her fingers found his lips, tracing them, and he nearly ended such torture. He kissed the tip of her finger, and his eyes found hers. They were blown with wanting and yearning, as surely his were, her cheeks warm and her mouth open in a small ‘o’, much like himself. He worked the courage to break the embrace when the carriage passed over a pebble, and both tumbled to the floor, Tulsi on top of him.

Her face was now only a few inches away from him, and Tulsi murmured something. His hands were now on her waist, and felt every inch of her, and her of him. He could not speak, he could barely breathe or move. This position was all too perfect, the woman he had always dreamt of having at his entire mercy, and nothing but a dark carriage all for themselves.

“Will you look at that, Mr. Sinclaire,” mused Tulsi “it seems we have some sort of habit on tumbling onto one another. What will you do now?”

He took a deep breath “I—I don’t… mean to take such liberties with you, my lady?”

She purred sensually in his ear “But what if they’re eagerly given, sir?”

His whole body tensed of anticipation, wanting nothing to end such torture and kiss her until he could no longer remember his own name. Her hand traced his cheeks, drawing their bodies impossibly close, a small, throaty moan coming out of him.

“Don’t, Tulsi.” He whispered.

“Whyever not?”

“Because if we start now, I won’t stop myself from doing… things a gentleman ought not to do to a lady.”

“I don’t wish to be a lady right now.”

By God, she was an expert at driving him mad, was she not? Many sinful thoughts once again raced in his mind, many terrible ones a gentleman ought not to think. If he could, he’d give himself to her, allow her to make him hers, and hers alone. What an incredible feeling that must be, to have Tulsi claim him as he so badly wanted her to.

But the rumours of her came back. He’d only make them true, and Edgewater would sink. Mustering an Herculean effort, he got up, not daring to touch her, for if he did, he’d be back to the limbo where only he and Tulsi would ever exist. Her untamed red hair, her warm brown skin, her full lips, her intoxicating warm body…

He cleared his throat as the driver pulled to her destination. He helped her out and kissed her hand. Suddenly, her lips were on his cheek, and he inhaled sharply “Good night, sir. Let’s do this again sometime.”

If such thing happened, he would surely die of heart palpitations. Coming back onto the carriage, composing himself, indicated the driver to take him home, a few neighbourhoods away from hers.

If it wasn’t clear how maddening his affections for her were then, now all doubts had been cleared in a few minutes.

[whovianwriter]

Just wondering if I started writing again would anybody be interested in reading it? And if so what characters would you like me to write for? Fandoms that I can write for:

Doctor who

Supernatural

Percy Jackson

Harry Potter

Marvel

Kingsmen

A court of thorns and roses (any SJM except crescent city, I haven’t read it yet)

Some of DC

And more

Just message me and I can let you know if I do or not.

[sillyboards]

ernest sinclaire - desire and decorum - choices

[alj4890]

Escaping for a Moment

(Ernest Sinclaire x MC*Catherine Mills) in a Choices Desire and Decorum drabble

Thirty Kisses in Thirty Days Challenge with the prompt: forbidden lovers sharing a kiss in the shadows

Not quite sure who to tag for this one since it has been so long since I last wrote a drabble for this pair. Plus in cleaning out my drafts folder I lost my permatag list 🤦🏻‍♀️Tagging some who won't be too angry at me for doing so, LOL! @hopelessromantic1352 @twinkleallnight @tessa-liam @choicesficwriterscreations @krsnlove

Masterlist

"Enjoying yourself, my dear?"

Lady Catherine Mills stiffened at the sound of her fiancé's voice.

There was nothing that made her skin crawl quite like Tristan Richard's oily tone.

A scathing insult sat on the tip of her tongue to give the odious man the set down he so rightly deserved. One glance at her grandmother's stern demeanor instead had her forcing a smile.

"I am. Thank you, your grace."

The Duke of Karlington leered at her. He purposely moved closer and placed her hand within the bend of his arm. He enjoyed watching her suffer being trapped with him.

The Dowager Countess beamed at the pair. She was pleased beyond measure that her natural granddaughter had managed to capture such a prized suitor. There wasn't a young lady here who had done so well in such little time.

Nor with such a questionable background.

"You should dance and show her off, your grace." She prodded.

"What a marvelous notion." Tristan remarked.

He placed his hand over Catherine's, smiling all the more with her trying to avoid his touch.

"Shall we show them how it's done, my lady?"

Catherine knew she must say yes. It galled her to have to spend a single moment in this man's presence much less dance with him. The thought of his hands upon her body made her wish to find a chamber pot to wretch in.

If only she was allowed to marry the one man whom she so deeply loved. Mr. Ernest Sinclair was so many things to Catherine. He'd been her savior, her friend, and finally the one who stirred her soul like no other.

Why had they tarried so long that night before sharing the joyful news of their engagement? If they'd only found her grandmother sooner, Catherine would be eagerly taking a turn on the dance floor with her fiancé, Mr. Sinclair, instead of the fiend pretending to be a gentleman at her side.

Life seemed determined to be unfair for the young lady. Not only was she denied her true love, she also was denied even a glimpse of him. For reasons she assumed were because she was promised to another, Mr. Sinclair had yet to make an appearance this evening.

If it were not for Ms. Parsons and Prince Hamid being there to bolster her spirits, Catherine would most likely have dissolved into tears. Her heart ached for Ernest. She was near the point of throwing decorum out the window and running off to Gretna Green with him.

She no longer cared if her beloved father had intended to leave Edgewater to her instead of her stepbrother. Mr. Marlcaster wasn't a bad sort. Catherine could see that he truly had a kind heart when not under the thumb of his mother.

If her dear Briar believed he was all that was good in this world, then Catherine couldn't doubt it. Her friend had a way of seeing one's true nature. Mr. Marlcaster might fumble the finances and such, but he would be a good steward to the people of Edgewater.

She knew if she was to run away with Ernest, scandal would be forever associated with her name. Did it matter though? Her questionable birth already tainted her reputation, though she had no control over those circumstances. At least the new gossip would be something she could happily live with.

"Lady Catherine?" Tristan hissed. "Are you not paying attention?"

Catherine jerked her head away from the feeling of his breath on her ear.

The Dowager laughed at the notion.

"She is most likely lost in thought over the notion of marrying you, your grace."

Tristan's smile was one most ladies deemed charming.

Catherine found little to like in it.

"Is that true, my dear? Are you thinking about our wedding?" His voice lowered for her ears alone. "Or is your baseborn nature concentrating on our wedding night?"

Catherine jerked her hand from his. Trembling with suppressed rage, she pleaded for them to excuse her.

Blinded by angry tears, she wound her way through the crush of guests in search of an escape. Since the retiring room was filled with giggling ladies, she next hoped to find a quiet corner outside to try and calm down.

She shook her head when Prince Hamid asked if she needed him. After tripping her way to a side door, Catherine slipped outside and rushed deep into the shadows.

Her exit was halted by a pair of strong arms wrapping around her.

"Catherine?" Mr. Sinclair said softly to try and shush her cries.

"Ernest!" She twirled in his arms, her hands cupping his face as her lips immediately sought his.

Ernest deepened the kiss, holding her even closer within his embrace.

Catherine broke away to catch her breath. "I thought you were not coming."

"I could not stay away." He caressed her cheek. "I do not care what anyone thinks. I refuse to stand by and see you married to such a man as Duke Richards."

Though she couldn't see him well, his voice made her heart sing with his next words.

"You were created for me, Catherine. You are to be no one's wife but mine."

She sighed into the heat of his next kiss. Her hands moved along his broad shoulders, glorying in the fact that he was truly here and still wanted her for his own.

"My love," she breathed as his lips brushed kisses down her neck, "I want nothing more than to be Mrs. Sinclair."

"And so you shall." He fervently promised. "We will find a way out of your betrothal. The Duke of Karlington will not lay another finger on you."

The mention of her fiancé's name forced Catherine to reluctantly pull away.

"I should return before my grandmother sends the duke for me."

"I'll escort you back." Ernest pressed a kiss to the back of her hand before releasing her.

She took his arm, leaning closer than appropriate. She needed a few more moments near him if she was to endure the rest of the ball.

Once inside, notes were played to signal that the Allemande was about to begin.

"Would you do me the honor, my lady?" Mr. Sinclair asked in that proud proper tone of his.

Catherine looked up at him. Her eyes traced his handsome features in the nearby candlelight. Her first genuine smile of the night appeared upon her slightly kiss swollen lips. She could continue to play the part of a respectable noble as long as he was near.

"Thank you, Mr. Sinclair." She said with a polite tilt of her head. "I would love to."

As he took her in his arms to dance, Catherine felt both her hope and courage return.

She would find a way to freedom and celebrate it with the man at her side.

[choicesfannatalie22]

Modern day Ernest and MC

[slytherin-queens-world]

[princess-geek]

🥰🥰🥰🥰🥰

Mr. Sinclaire, my hero ❤️

[choicesfandomappreciation]

Summer Secret Pal Masterlist

Thank you to everyone who joined the Summer Secret Pal event! I hope you had as much fun as I did! It was so wonderful to see the fandom come together, share their talents, and make others smile with their gifts.

Alphabetical by recipient

☀️ To: @aesthetic-aag 🏖️From: @peonyblossom

Gaius x Adeeba (Edit)

☀️ To: @bri1234 🏖️From: @coffeeheartaddict2

A Letter to My Beloved: Trystan x Emily (fan fiction)

☀️ To: @cadybear420 🏖️From: @aesthetic-aag

Aiden x Evie (edit)

☀️ To: @choicesmc 🏖️From: @peonierose

Rin (Art) Jiahao (Moodboard/Aesthetics)

☀️ To: @choiceswithmika 🏖️From: @zhoumeyourlove

Zig x Mikaylyn (Art)

☀️ To: @coffeeheartaddict2 🏖️From: @moominofthevalley

Aailah (COP MC) and Casey (Oph MC) Moodboards

☀️ To: @eadanga 🏖️From: @oh-so-youre-a-nerd

Chris Powell (Art)

☀️ To: @gaiuskamilah 🏖️From: @tveitertotwrites

Ellie (edits and art)

☀️ To: @jerzwriter 🏖️From: @ladylamrian

Sweet Mornings: Tobias x Casey (fan fiction + moodboard)

☀️ To: @kilvalir 🏖️From: @rosesnink

Uluvalir: Tyril x Asphodelus (Fan Fiction)

☀️ To: @ladylamrian 🏖️From: @lover-also-fighter-also

Ernest Sinclaire x Clara (Aesthetic)

☀️ To: @lilyoffandoms 🏖️From: @kilvalir

Maiele (Edit)

☀️ To: @lover-also-fighter-also 🏖️From: @jerzwriter

Anitha (Moodboard)

☀️ To: @moominofthevalley 🏖️From: @choicesmc

Emily Rose (Moodboard)

☀️ To: @oh-so-youre-a-nerd 🏖️From: @thosehallowedhalls

Discovery: Martin x Wind (fan fiction)

☀️ To: @peonierose 🏖️From: @pulpitude

Bryce x Luna (Edits)

☀️ To: @peonyblossom 🏖️From: @cadybear420

Ajay x Matty , Ethan x Sydney, Thomas x Jackie (Edits)

☀️ To: @pupitude 🏖️From: @lilyoffandoms

Euphemia ‘Mia’ Labelle x Amalia de León (Art)

☀️ To: @rosesnink 🏖️From: @storyofmychoices

Kate O'Malley Geometric (Art) May O'Malley (Moodboard)

☀️ To: @storyofmychoices 🏖️From: @gaiuskamilah

Thomas Hunt x Alex (Art)

☀️ To: @thosehallowedhalls 🏖️From: @eadanga

A Paris Proposal Gabe x Quinn (fan fiction)

☀️ To: @tveitertotwrites 🏖️From: @bri1234

Thomas Hunt x Brooklyn (art)

☀️ To: @zhoumeyourlove 🏖️From: @choiceswithmika

Aiden x MC , Trystan x MC (edits)

[princess-geek]

(Modern) Beatrice Foredale X Ernest Sinclaire

by @tveitertotwrites

[kinda-iconic]

Just a little sneak preview of the next D&D fic of mine…this one has been in the works for MONTHS!

Let me know if you’d like tagging!

Hoping to release this angst-fest on Christmas Day - got to make the tears flow, you know? 😭

A quiet, comfortable silence passes between them; without warning, Amelia tries to lift herself up. Ernest reacts almost immediately, gently grasping her shoulders.

‘Amelia, what are you-‘

‘I-I n-need to…our d-dau-daughter-‘

‘You’re not well, my love.’ He holds onto her as her newfound strength begins to waver, carefully laying her back down onto the mattress, ‘you must get some rest.’

‘I-I f-feel f-fine.’

‘I am afraid that you are not. You are pale and clammy,’ he touches her forehead, ‘you are less hot to the touch, but you still appear to have a fever. I will not allow you to tire yourself further.’

She inhales sharply, fresh tears brimming in the corners of her eyes.

‘I…I d-do not w-want to d-die…’

His face falters, his eyes widening at the mention of the word.

‘What?’ He breathes out hastily, ‘why…why would you say that?’

‘I-I have h-heard you…a-all of you…’ her voice remains pained, every quiet word a labour, ‘I-I am dying, am I n-not? The-the doctor, he-he s-said that I-I was not longed for th-this world-‘

‘The doctor knows nothing.’

Amelia smiles sadly, reaching up to cup his cheek. He cradles her hand in his own, holding it against his skin.

[rosesnink]

Meet Marianna

ABOUT MARIANNA

(artwork by @lilyoffandoms )

Full Name: Marianna Erin Sinclaire, neé Spencer, neé Howard

Meaning behind the name: Marianna- Beloved ; Erin- Emerald

Birthday: 25th of February, 1778

Status: Widowed in 1803, remarried in 1816

Nickname: Annie, Rosalinde

Age: 38

Parents: Mr & Mrs. Howard

Sibling(s): Unknown siblings

Further Family: None

How old they appear: 24

Weight: 86kg

Skin Type: Fair

Religion: Protestant, Anglican

Sexuality: Heterosexual

Hair color and lenght: Golden blonde, down till her buttcheeks

Taste in clothes: Marianna dresses in tempting clothes with the colours red, periwinkle, lavender and blue, often with daring décolletages, showing off skin and rarely wears stockings

Music: She loves a good country dance, but has never heard much music or danced it to know which one's which

Good habits: Kind-hearted, strong, self-reliant, independent, wise, cunning and loyal

Bad habits: Self-sacrificing, stubborn, closed-off, has self-worth problems

Guilty pleasure: Good-quality jewelry. Growing up poor and in an economically unstable home, she learned to ask for nothing that costed more than a certain budget, even when she was economically stable and married her second husband, never once spoke of this

Hobbies: Reading, singing, needlework and cooking

Deepest fears: Something happening to her children

Love Interest: Mr. Ernest Sinclaire, second husband

Child(ren): Charlotte, Andrew, Jenna and Joseph Howard with unknown men, Elizabeth Sinclaire by Mr. Sinclaire

Actual Residence: Sinclaire family's personal pantheon

Allies: Mr. Bartholomew Chambers, Empress Joanna Mills

Enemies: Duke Richards (honestly that man has beef with anyone related to Mr. Sinclaire)

Goals: Educating her sons so they never turn out like her first husband, and her daughters to never go through what she did ; having a more stable adulthood

BACKSTORY

Marianna Erin Howard was born in a stormy evening of Worcester on the 25th of February in 1778, from a large family from humble farmers who were economically unstable and there was never enough for everybody, and Marianna being amongst the middle, was expected to tighten her belt for the sake of the eldest and youngest.

That is why, at nineteen, she got entangled with Richard Spencer, a chronic womaniser who managed to trap the lonely and desperate Marianna. He turned out to be abusive, especially during and after her pregnancy, blaming it on her for 'making him this way' and she only got out of there when a band of vengeful brothers revenge-murdered him for having forced and burned down a poor maid.

She escaped to London, where she at first worked at a bakery, but the job backfired and the infamous Mrs. Shirley took her under her wing, training her personally. She'd soon become a renowned woman of the night or 'fallen woman' to the point where she was presented to Prince William during her debut after hearing tales of her beauty and wit.

DURING THE SERIES

When she was 35, Mrs. Shirley insisted that she took this new client, a young man named Mr. Sinclaire and take the nickname 'Rosalinde' and the two of them really connected. He visited her often, and soon entered a complicated relationship where feelings beside desire and attraction were involved, not quite involved, but not quite indifferent about each other. He spent most of his time at Ledford, and she stopped seeing clients because of the situationship.

Seeing how it affected negatively their lives, they both agreed to break things off, and Mr. Sinclaire rewarded her with her freedom and employment. She'd never know of the considerable amount he had paid Mrs. Shirley's son for the price of her actual freedom that ensured that she'd never go back there.

She started working for Mr. Bartholomew Chambers, a kind bachelor man with odd habits who was nothing but kind and generous with her, even when it was revealed that she was expecting her fifth and last child. The pregnancy was rather difficult and the birth was more extrenuous than it normally was, especially at her advanced age.

She gave birth to an absolutely gorgeous and healthy baby girl, whom she decided not to name should she perish during the delicate first years of her life, but the baby thrived.

In April of 1816, she met Lady Joanna Mills, whom she revealed was the future empress of a thriving and magical empire, and her girl had been chosen as her heir. On top of that, it had been discovered that she had uterine cancer and didn't have much long.

After hearing that Joanna had perished during battle a month later, and feeling her end coming soon, she came by Mr. Sinclaire's door and finally revealed the three-year-old secret: their lovechild, whom they decided to name Elizabeth. He proposed days later, and she accepted after thinking about it, for Elizabeth's sake.

Twelve days later, Marianna died peacefully after a tough battle against her cancer, surrounded by her husband, children and dearest friend Mr. Chambers, and buried in the Sinclaire's personal pantheon, dedicated to the greatest masters and mistresses of Ledford, and the only one of Mr. Sinclaire's three wives to have such an honour.

AFTER THE SERIES

Marianna never lived long enough to see her daughter grow up and have a solid second marriage, but her name was often haunting for good and bad her family's lives, leaving big shoes to fill in in many aspects.

In 1828, during his five-year regency, Mr. Sinclaire erected a sanctuary dedicated to the Great Sister Saskia with Marianna as an interpretation of her, making it a safe haven for the women who worked his wife's job and those who sought something else and a safe haven for women who didn't make the mold into polite society. She also had several statues and portraits made during her daughter's reign, honouring her sacrifice, and in 1878, celebrating her hundreth birthday, was made a New Saint of the fallen women, and was nicknamed around Panzuria as Dracaria's Very Own Medusa. Many of her granddaughters resembled her, and despite her being long gone, never once left the hearts of her loved ones.

@choicesficwriterscreations @lizzybeth1986 @princess-geek

[bri1234]

Everything I've created regarding Choices is below. Enjoy!

Desire and Decorum

Ernest Sinclarie x MC Art

Ernest Sinclaire x MC Mood Board

The Elementalists

Beckett Harrington x MC Art

The Cursed Heart Masterlist

Crimes of Passion

Trystan Thorne x MC Art

Trystan Thorne x MC Mood Board

The Princess Swap

Prince Clarke x MC Art

Meet My MC: Daisy Hawthorne

Safe With Me Fic - Prince Clarke x Daisy

Nightbound

Nik Ryder x MC Art

Open Heart

Ethan Ramsey x MC Art

Guinevere

King Arther x MC Art

The Unexpected Heiress

John Somerset x MC Art

Alpha

Channing Lowe x MC Art

Things I’ve created for others

Thomas Hunt x Brooklyn Moore - Red Carpet Diaries for @tveitertotwrites

Gabriel Rose x Trystan Thorne - Crimes of Passion for @lilyoffandoms

Commissions/Gifts I’ve Received

A letter to my Beloved Fic - Crimes of Passion by @coffeeheartaddict2

Daisy Hawthorne x Prince Clarke Edit - The Princess Swap by @peonierose

Miscellaneous

Song survey results