#heavy lies the heart

[loversatthegreatdivide]

Heavy Lies the Heart - Chapter 1

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Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!OC Word Count: 2k Tropes: mutual pining, fluff, angst with a happy ending, royalty Warnings: death Summary: When two second-borns looking for direction meet by chance, can they find purpose in each other? Or will circumstance keep them apart? A/N: This starts at the beginning of season 3, but some timeline things are a bit different here than in the series. Also I'm changing history--it's fine, it's basically in an alternate universe anyway.

A new season had begun, and it was with an all too familiar sense of annoyance that Benedict Bridgerton found himself arriving once again at the Danbury ball. If not for his mother's insistence and his desire to support Francesca in her first season out, he may not have come at all.

Benedict certainly had no desire to join the mart, and he found society and it's rules disingenuous at best, insufferable at worst. It was another season. Another ball. Another night of counting down the minutes while avoiding the attentions of the more emboldened debutantes and their scheming mamas.

Then again, what else had he to do? With his exit from the academy and Anthony's return, he felt rather unmoored. Adrift with no real purpose or goal. A second son with no role to fill or any steadfast ambitions. Even his younger brother Colin seemed to have truly found himself in his time abroad.

What would it take for Benedict to feel so secure?

The ball had barely begun, yet already Benedict found himself hounded by the attentions of the young ladies of the marriage mart. He suspected this was due, in no small part, to the transformation of his younger brother. Colin seemed to rather enjoy the attention, but Benedict found he did not feel the same. At the first opportunity, he made a quick exit, escaping to the safety of the garden. He stood alone, close enough to hear the music inside but far enough to feel the weight of expectation lift. He took in a deep breath of the crisp night air, and sighed in relief.

As he enjoyed his moment of peace, he heard a commotion from inside. Given the excitement, he could only imagine that the queen was finally in attendance. Always the most anticipated guest, yet always the last to arrive. He thought to avoid the fanfare, sipping the lemonade in his hand as he enjoyed the night's sky.

Benedict spend some time just appreciating the silence, but knew he would have to return soon. With things inside having quieted somewhat, he supposed it was as good of a time as any. He was also aware that certain members of his family would likely be cross with him if he disappeared for too long. He sighed, downing the last of his drink before turning to enter the fray once more.

He set his empty glass on a nearby table as he ventured through the crowd. He looked across the room, making eye contact with both Anthony and his mother. At the very least they would know he hadn't fled the grounds altogether.

He scanned the crowd, thinking he ought to at least check in on his three remaining siblings. Instead, his eyes landed on a young woman.

She was lovely.

Her golden hair was tied up simply, with a few stray curls falling to frame a heart shaped face. Brown eyes sat below worried, upturned brows as her full, rosy lips held a nervous smile.

She stood in a crowd of young men, the lot gathering around her like circling wolves as they vied for the attentions of their pray. The young woman looked anxious as she attempted to hold fast to decorum, her smile wavered but never completely disappeared. Benedict thought perhaps he should rescue the poor girl, but as more stragglers joined the crowd, he wondered if he even could.

Before making up his mind, he saw her address the crowd with a quick word, before turning and, as swiftly as was proper, escaping into a group of debutantes. The men seem to argue with each other as they each tried to follow. But by the time they turned to do so, they had already lost sight of her.

But Benedict hadn't, his gaze following her as she weaved her way through the crowds.

She smoothly slipped between different clusters of people, clearly trying to avoid anyone's notice. Many did catch sight of her, but she quickly moved on before they could entrap her in a conversation. Soon she made it to the wall, which she followed until she had disappeared into the same door Benedict had only just entered from. It seemed he wasn't the only one who desired the calm of the garden.

He debated for a moment if he should follow. She was clearly overwhelmed, and likely didn't want another man pestering her--not to mention unchaperoned. He came up with a few shaky reasons that were in favor of it, but he knew they weren't honest ones. In truth, it was simply that his curiosity had been peaked, and he was attempting to rationalize why it was that he should follow.

Curiosity won out in the end, and Benedict once again made his way back out into the night.

He saw her sitting on a stone bench near the door, her lilac dress flowing out around her. It wasn't one that ladies would consider currently in fashion; having an hourglass shape and a full skirt rather than the more simple, straight shape of the dresses most of the ladies inside were wearing. Still, he thought it quite suited her.

She looked as if she had lept from the frame of a painting. Her face draped in moonlight as she stared up at the sky. A tear slid down her cheek, sparkling in the pale light, and Benedict suddenly felt quite ashamed of himself. He realized he had been selfish, planning to disturb the time she clearly needed to herself. He turned, intent to leave her to her thoughts. However, the scuff of his shoes was enough to get her attention and she turned suddenly. Her eyes caught his, and for a moment he stood frozen in her gaze.

Finally, he came to his senses and addressed her, his tone apologetic.

"Forgive me, miss. I did not mean to disturb you," he said quickly. She looked confused, but soon composed herself as she turned to wipe the tears from her face.

"No need to apologize sir," she began, turning to face him with a small, reassuring smile, "I was just getting some air."

Benedict took a few, small steps forward. He waited for her to object, but when she said nothing he took a few steps more. They were shoulder to shoulder, though he left a healthy amount of space between them.

"It's all rather stifling, isn't it?" he asked. He returned her smile, and she quickly turned her gaze down, running a gloved finger over the embroidered vines that decorated the bottom of her dress.

"Certainly more so than I had expected."

"Am I correct in thinking this is your first year? I don’t recall seeing you at one of these," he gestured vaguely at the manor, "before."

She looked back up at him, searching his face for a moment. Whatever she was looking for, she apparently found it. She smiled with a degree more enthusiasm.

"That's quite a skill, recalling the face of every young lady to grace such a grand event," she joked.

"I could say it was well practiced, but the truth is I would simply be unable to forget a face as lovely as yours," he replied. He could see her cheeks flush through the cool moonlight illuminating her face.

"You give compliments with such ease. Is that skill also well practiced?" she asked as she began to regain her composure.

"I may be prone to the occasional bit of flattery, but in this case I am quite sincere." She looked away in clear embarrassment, and Benedict had to look down briefly to hide the grin forming on his face. "But I have made you uncomfortable, forgive me; I shall say no more about it." Her eyes moved back to him, "I certainly wouldn't blame you for being apprehensive under such circumstances--given what I saw in the ballroom, I imagine you've had quite enough of men and their compliments."

She looked back up at him, "You mean those gentlemen who were speaking to me earlier?"

"The same. They all seemed rather...frenzied to gain your favor."

"Yes, I suppose," she agreed, looking forlorn, "though I believe their intentions were quite different than yours."

Benedict raised an eyebrow, "Oh?" He thought a moment, "If it was not your looks that drew them, was it perhaps the allure of a large dowry? Or possibly some grand title to be inherited?" She actually laughed at that, albeit more to herself than as a sign of amusement.

"Yes, I suppose you could say that," she agreed, "though they may be disappointed; they would certainly be settling for second best. It is my elder sister's family who will inevitably inherit my father's title, and sadly for those gentlemen she has already married."

Benedict was quiet for a moment, looking over her self-effacing expression with understanding and, in spite of himself, a measured degree of affection.

He smirked, "I thought there must be some reason we get on so well; I myself happen to be a second son. Maddening, isn't it? Always feeling like the spare?"

She looked at him in surprise, before relaxing into a grateful smile.

"It certainly can be," she agreed. She hesitated a moment, before deciding to continue, "I often feel as if I don't know what to do with myself. I have always existed to be my sister's replacement, should the worst happen. Now that she is married and with child, a replacement is no longer needed. So what am I, now that I'm no longer what I was born to be?"

Benedict had to think on that for a moment. He was hardly one to advise someone in the exact predicament he found himself in. Still, he hoped he could give her some degree of comfort.

"You're free," he finally answered. She looked up at him, her eyes locking with his. They stared at each other for a long, quiet moment until at last she looked away.

"If only that were true," she said softly to herself.

At that moment, the sounds from inside grew louder. The young woman looked back into the light of the ballroom. She sighed, then looked at him with a soft smile.

"I suppose I should return; I'm sure at this point I'm quite missed," she stood, smoothing out the silken fabric of her dress. "It was a pleasure to meet you, mister…?"

"Benedict. Benedict Bridgerton," he said, bowing gracefully.

"Mister Bridgerton," she repeated, "Well Mister Bridgerton, I do look forward to speaking with you again sometime."

With that she made her way towards the door. Just as she reached the threshold, she stopped. She quickly turned back to him, "Oh, and perhaps you should wait before returning indoors--it would be unfortunate if anyone came to the wrong conclusion."

She was certainly right about that. As she turned back, a sudden thought occurred to him.

"Wait a moment--" Benedict called out suddenly, his hand raised to stop her. But it was too late, she had already disappeared into the warm light of the ballroom. "--what's your name?" He asked to no one, sighing as he turned.

He wandered over and sat on the bench she had been on only moments before. Resting his palms on the cool stone and leaning back on his arms, he couldn't help but grin. He turned his face up to the moon, hoping to meet the curious young woman again soon.

---

Benedict eventually made his way inside, thinking more than enough time had past. As he walk through the ballroom, he searched the crowd. With her nowhere in sight, he accepted that she had already gone. With nothing else to keep his interest, he eventually wandered over to where his mother, Anthony, and Kate stood.

"And just where were you?" Violet asked, annoyance clear in her voice.

"We were quite sure you had run off," Anthony added, smirking. Benedict smiled, turning his face out to the dance floor.

"Not at all brother--I was simply enjoying the ball," he replied. Anthony and his mother shared a perplexed look, but Benedict didn't notice. His thoughts were otherwise occupied.

---

The young woman took the gloved hand that was offered as she carefully stepped into the opulent, golden carriage. She delicately adjusted her skirts as the queen looked her over.

"So Beatrice, tell me--did you enjoy the ball? Was it everything you had imagined?" The queen asked, amused.

"It was certainly different than what I had expected--but I did enjoy it very much," the young woman smiled, looking back at the queen, "Thank you for agreeing to bring me along, grandmama."

[sentientcave]

Heavy Weighs the Crown

Had to stop working on everything else and write a whole bunch of this instead. Usually I like to finish things that I think might be on the longer side before I start posting, but we're gonna live on the edge with this one. Expect updates in 1-2 Bearimys.

Chapter One - Sweetpea

Chapter Index - Next Chapter >

Contains: Generic fantasy setting, Princess Reader, Large men picking up reader like a football, No Y/N, A spot of magic, Some exposition, Reader's dad (deceased) was a real piece of work, Reader descriptions kept as neutral as possible but keep in mind that she is a character to me and does have a specific appearance so things might slip through. This is just me having a bit of fun with a fantasy setting because it is my favourite type.

~3.4k Words - MDNI

Sunlight streams down through the light scattering of clouds above, as you carry your nearly empty basket into town to buy a few things for your auntie Kate. She’s not truly your aunt, but over the past few years it’s hard to think of her as anything less than family. She’s not warm, exactly, but she’s honest, and you know that you can trust her with anything.

Kate would usually be at your side when you go into town, watching the crowd with hawkish intensity, as though she still expects agents of the new king to materialize and snatch you away, but she’s away on business, and her wife much less paranoid. You expect that anyone who was ever looking for you has given up on you now. After the civil war, there was a time of instability, and you laid awake many nights, half expecting armed men to break into your bedroom and snatch you away, but everything is smoothed over now, and there’s no reason why Price would feel like he needed you to cement his rule.

You’re happy to just let him have the kingdom. You have more freedom as an ordinary girl, and you’re happier now than you ever have been. You were miserable living in your father’s halls, just a spindly little flower growing without enough sun or rain. And your people are happy now too. It twists your stomach something fierce, to think that your father was never a good king, but the reality is that he wasn’t. People starved while he feasted behind his walls. He sent good men to wage war on his behalf, to die in far off lands when they should have been home building better lives for themselves and their families. He allowed his chosen men to terrorize the women and children and old men living in the towns still. Things had been bad.

So yes, let Price have the crown, and the castle, and the responsibility and anything he likes. What difference does it make to you now?

What matters now is the sun on your face, and the gentle sound of birdsong around you, and the dull bite of the occasional stone through the soft leather soles of your shoes. The air smells sweet and green, although there’s a slight prickle at the back of your nose that tells you that there will be rain tonight, or tomorrow morning at the latest. There’s nothing to worry about aside from whether or not the children in town will like the end of the book you have tucked into your basket.

You see a young man sleeping by the side of the road on your way into town, his horse tied to a long halter while he lounges beneath a tree. As you pass by, a bird flying too close startles the horse, and it pulls up the peg it’s tied to, and bolts. The young man doesn’t stir, so you dash after the horse without a thought, dropping your basket so you have both hands free to seize the halter.

You try to dig in your heels to stop the big, white-stockinged horse, but it half-drags you a little ways down the road before finally stopping, swinging it’s head around to look at you as though you’ve personally offended it. “Come on,” you tell it, exasperated. “You don’t belong out here.”

Arms wrap around you from behind, hands much larger than yours close over your wrists. “You’re awfully pretty for a horse thief,” a voice says in your ear.

“I’m not a horse thief!” you protest. “I was trying to help!” The horse snorts, as though it intends to tattle on you for something that you most certainly were not doing.

“And you didn’t think to wake me up?” The man behind you lets go of one of your wrists and spins you around, the movement smooth and graceful, like you’re two dancers at a ball, rather than two strangers meeting along a country road. But when you look up, you find the all too familiar face of one of Price’s knights.

“Sir Garrick!” you gasp.

“Princess,” he says, smiling. He’s far too handsome, his smile bright, teeth a little bit too sharp. “How very nice to see you. I thought for sure you’d have left the kingdom by now.”

“No! Oh no.” You push against his chest uselessly. He’s strong, so much stronger than you. Despair claws at your ribs. Your nightmare-come-true may be wrapped in a pretty, familiar face, but you have no desire to return to the capital. “Please let me go. I promise I don’t want the kingdom. Price can have it— You can have it. I just want to be left alone, I swear, I’ll never—”

“Hush, sweetpea.” He tucks a few of your thin braids behind your ear, fingertips grazing down your neck. “I have to bring you in. But you can make your case to Price. Maybe he’ll let you come back, alright? Don’t fret. He’s always been reasonable.”

You’re not certain how to get out of this. Sir Garrick has kind eyes, but his grip is like steel. He lifts you up easily and sets you on his horse before you so much as think of protesting or making a feeble attempt to fight him off.

“We’re not far from the capital. We can make it there before dark,” he continues, voice low and reassuring, as though you’re worried about the travel, and not the destination.

“But— What about my aunt? I should let her know where I’ve gone.”

“We’ll send word. Don’t you worry, your majesty.”

“No, no, don’t call me that. That’s for kings and queens, and I’m neither.” I’m no one, you want to shout.

He's amused by that, amused by you, as if you're just being a silly little girl. "I suppose we'll settle on sweetpea for now." He holds his palm out and three little white birds materialize and fly off in different directions, spectral and iridescent as soap bubbles. And then he swings into the seat behind you and pulls you most of the way into his lap, wraps strong arms around your waist, and nudges his mount into a walk.

“So,” Sir Garrick says conversationally, his voice low, lips far too close to your ear. It’s overly familiar, but you’re already practically sitting in the man’s lap. “What have you been doing out here all these years?”

“Um. Gardening. Embroidery. Taking care of my chickens. Lessons, for some of the children that live nearby. Just letters and arithmetic. I’ve been thinking about organizing a proper schoolhouse.” You can feel your nerves bubbling up as you babble, thoughts coming to you disorganized and stilted. “I never realized how few people can read. It seems a shame. I do a few hours of reading around town, help out at the church. I keep busy. I haven’t any real purpose, so I have to go out of my way to make one.” You sigh, thinking of how you had left things at a particularly gripping point in a story you’d been reading to the town children. They’ll be disappointed if they never hear the end of it, but you still have hope that Price will decide you’ve become something of a country bumpkin with no place in the court, and let you go back home soon. “How have you fared? Is your family well?”

“Quite well. My sisters will be glad to see you again. They always thought you were sweet. Rosie’s opened her own dress shop in the city, and Camellia has five children now. I think Kylie and Jorah were just two or three last you saw them. My mother lives with Cam to help out.” Sir Garrick’s mother and sister used to work at the palace, and he had been apprenticed to the court wizard before he specialized in battle magic and became a knight. You hadn’t been friends, exactly— You’re not sure you ever really had friends— but he’d always been nice enough, when your paths crossed.

“And what of you?” you prompt gently. “Have you found yourself a wife?”

He laughs lightly. “I’m working on it. I’ve a girl in mind, but I think she’ll take some convincing.”

“Oh I doubt that, Sir. You’re perfectly unobjectionable.”

“High praise indeed, princess.”

The two of you chat idly as you travel, mostly about nothing, but it’s pleasant enough. Sir Garrick— Kyle, he insists you call him— is far more charming than you remember, and he makes you laugh so much that you’re certain that you’d simply fall right off the horse if he wasn’t holding onto you so securely. He’s the very picture of a romantic hero, all chivalry and smiles, handsome in the dappled light under the canopy of trees as the road carries you from farmland to forest. You come to a bridge, and he dismounts so his horse can drink, and lifts you down so you can stretch out stiff muscles. His touch lingers, strong hands resting on your hips for a few beats longer than would be appropriate, but you don’t really mind.

You part from his company so you can relieve yourself a little ways into the trees, glad he’s not concerned about you making a run for it. His assurances that Price can be reasoned into letting you go home once you’ve spoken to him is enough to make you cooperative. You’re certain that he’ll take one look at you now and send you right back home. You’ve never had any luck with the young men in town, and if that’s any indication, you’ll be back to your little bedroom in Kate’s house before the week is up.

You fix your clothes and walk back to the road, humming lightly under your breath. Kyle is speaking to a flat glowing disc that hums with energy, floating above his palm. He gives you a smile and a nod and retreats to the tree line while he finishes his conversation. You catch a glimpse of a face on the disc as he turns, searing blue eyes meeting yours for a moment. Price, certainly. You recognize those eyes.

Kyle’s gaze slips over to you again as you kneel by the creek, one arm keeping your skirt out of the water while you trail the other hand through the water idly, the cool stream a pleasant offset to the heat of the afternoon. If you were alone, you would consider stripping down and going for a swim, but as nice as Kyle is, he’s still a man, and not one you know particularly well anymore, if you ever did.

When you look over again, he’s tucking the crystal disc into the front of his tunic, and a wolf is behind him, stalking out of the woods, low to the ground and ready to pounce. “Kyle!” you shout, pointing behind him. He turns quickly, a spell glittering on his fingertips, but the wolf pounces before he can cast it, both crashing into the packed earth along the side of the road.

You rush over, although halfway there you wonder what help you expect to be, and an arm snatches you around the middle, hauling you back. You’re beginning to get a bit annoyed at how much you’ve been manhandled today, and you start kicking as you’re lifted off your feet. “Let me go!”

“Easy, sweet girl. Let the lads say hello,” a deep voice says behind you, the sound rumbling through you like a cat’s purr. “No danger ‘ere.”

You look at Kyle and the wolf again. Only there isn’t a wolf anymore, just a large, naked man laying on top of Kyle, kissing him ardently and more than a little messily. The sound of it makes your cheeks burn. “Oh.”

The man who was a wolf stands up, and you look away, too flustered by the sight of so much bare skin to do anything else. The big man puts you down and turns you to face him, putting your back to the werewolf. “Johnny, put some clothes on before you say ‘ello. We know you were raised by savages, but you don’t need to act like it,” he says firmly, his heavy hands on your shoulders.

You stare at the skull embroidered on the black tunic in front of you, recognizing the emblem, and then the black fencers mask tied around the man’s face, obscuring even the shape of his features. You see a glint of light when he drops his chin to look at you though, gleaming eyes that look at you inscrutably. You know him, by name and reputation and deep, rumbling voice, if not by his face. No one knows him by his face, but he was as highly ranked a knight as Price was, one of your father’s personal guard before the war. Often tasked as your guardian, a solemn but comforting presence always. “Hello, Ghost,” you say, cheeks burning all the hotter. “Been a while.”

“Not as long as you might think,” he says. You can almost hear the smile in his voice. “Been keepin’ an eye on you.”

“What do you mean?” you ask. “For how long?”

“Knew where you were this whole time. Wun’t about to let you disappear, princess.” He tucks you against his side, keeping an arm around your shoulders protectively. “Johnny. Come meet our girl. Best behaviour.”

Johnny the werewolf grins at you as he walks up, still adjusting the drape of the tartan fabric around his hips, broad chest bare and dusted with hair, swirling blue tattoos printed on his scarred skin. His hair is shaved on the sides, a stripe of it left long in the center. “Nice ta finally meet ya, princess. Officially, anyway. We’ve bumped intae each other once or twice, but I was told no’ ta approach unless ye approached first, aye? Shame ye never did.” His smile is crooked, his too-bright blue eyes intent on yours. “Think we’ll get along.”

“The whole time?” you ask, skipping back a few paces in the conversation, glancing up at Ghost. “But Kyle said—”

“Sorry, sweetpea,” Kyle says airily. “I lied.”

“Typical tricksy wizard shite. But dinnae ye worry none, we’ll keep him honest for ye.” Johnny grabs your hand and presses a kiss to your knuckles, and then to the inside of your palm. His rough fingertips push your sleeve back, and he kisses the inside of your wrist too. When you squeak, he gives you a heated look and does it again, teeth grazing sensitive skin as he opens his mouth and licks a stripe across your pulse.

You’re warm from the tips of your ears to your chest, your breath catching on ragged nerves. You tug your hand out of his grip and cradle it with your other, like you’ve been burned by his brash touch.

“Johnny,” Ghost says, exasperated. “S’that what you call best behaviour?”

“She likes it, sir.”

“I most certainly do not!” you protest.

“Oh, aye ye do. Werewolf, ye ken. Can smell ye.” Johnny taps the side of his nose and winks at you. “Ye dinnae need ta be embarrassed, sweetpea. Ye can hardly blame yerself, faced with all this.” He gestures to his admittedly impressive physique, the broad and lean shape of near-perfect manhood on immodest display.

“Let’s move.” Kyle’s hand brushes your elbow. “You can ride with me again.”

Ghost shakes his head and turns, pulling you with him. “No. Come meet Nox.” He whistles, and a huge black shape hurtles down from the sky, glossy black wings snapping open just before the creature hit the ground, flapping a few times so that it lands lightly on four mismatched limbs, stirring up dust leaves. You shrink back against Ghost’s side, eyes wide. A gryphon.

The massive beast has a raven’s head and wings, and shiny black fur on it’s haunches. The catlike tail, with it’s tuft of feathers at the end, twitches back and forth as the bird head tilts to regard you, dark, slit-pupil eyes watching you with interest.

You look up at Ghost for reassurance, and he nods. “Go on. Offer ‘er your ‘and. She won’t bite. Hey, girl?” he scratches the gryphon behind the ear, and it opens it’s mouth to make a vibrating, keening sound that makes Kyle’s horse snort nervously. “That’s right, sweetpea’s a friend.”

You offer your outstretched hand to the giant creature, bolstered by Ghost’s calm, and it sticks it’s beak under your palm, making the same keening sound again. The last of your apprehension melts away, and you step closer, smiling. “Aren’t you a pretty girl?” You scratch the spot where her beak meets her feathers, and her eyes close for a moment.

Johnny reaches for the Nox’s side, and she whips her head around and hisses at him, her throat feathers fluffing up defensively. “Och, yer no’ goan ta git my fingers, ye wee beastie. Thought ye was gettin’ soft.”

“Away, Johnny. Let the girls get to know each other.” Ghost stands behind you and guides your hands to points just behind Nox’s jaw. The gryphon croaks and leans her head on your shoulder, nudging Ghost with her beak.

“Not so scary,” you coo, pressing your face into the soft cloud of feathers. “What a sweet girl.”

“How about it, Nox? Can she ‘op up?” Ghost asks. The gryphon croaks again and backs away enough to lean her front half down. Ghost picks you up and sets you on her back, on a flat saddle that sits right behind the joint of her massive wings, which fold up over your legs like she’s holding you steady. He pats Nox on the neck and starts walking, and she follows, padding beside him, sticking her beak between the joints of his leather armor playfully whenever he takes his hand off her.

You grab the edge of the saddle, mindful of Nox’s feathers, and it takes a moment to adjust to her movement. It’s not the side to side sway of a horse, but she’s steady, like she’s trying her best not to spill an inexperienced rider. Thoughtful of her.

Behind you, Kyle scrambles up onto his horse, and Johnny hustles to catch up, positioning himself on Ghost’s other side, giving Nox a wider berth.

“Thought we weren’t supposed ta tell her we were watchin’,” Johnny said. “Price said—”

“She ought to know. I wun’t too ‘appy about it in the first place, but a deal’s a deal.”

“A deal with who?” you ask.

“I’ll let Price tell you that much, sweetpea. But if it were up to me I’d’ve dragged you back home years ago.”

You shake your head tiredly. “Home is where I was. And I’m going back as soon as this business with Price is done. I don’t know what he wants, but I’m sure we can work something out. Kyle said he’s reasonable.”

“Oh, did ‘e?” Ghost asks, amusement colouring his deep voice. “S’pose that’s ‘ow ‘e had you comin’ along purrin’ like a kitten, hm?”

The blood drains from your face as you turn to look at Kyle, but he doesn’t look guilty, or like he’d been lying to you. “Well, again, I’m perfectly happy to cooperate. There’s no reason why he wouldn’t let me go when he gets what he wants, is there?”

Johnny chuckles, exchanging a look with Ghost that’s inscrutable. “Aye, ye’ve got a point. I’m sure ye’ll have no trouble dealin’ with the old man. Born diplomat, aren’t ye?”

Your stomach twists with nerves. It’s been many years since you’ve seen John Price. You don’t know him as well as you know Ghost. You’d always found the big, faceless man strangely comforting, easy to talk at, if not to, especially when you were still young and silly. But John Price, when he fixed you with those fathomless dark blue eyes, had always rendered you speechless, turned your usually clever tongue to lead. He was a knight captain then, a natural leader of men, a hero. Not someone that your father wanted you to get close to. It’s easy for you to see why now, with your father dead in the ground and Price wearing the crown, but you were glad for any excuse to stay away.

You wish you could ask Nox to fly away with you on her back, maybe home, but maybe somewhere else entirely, where no one knows you, where you can start again without the weight of the crown hanging heavy over your head, an executioner’s ax waiting to fall.

***

Image credits: 1 - 2 - 3 - 4

[thoumpingground]

So I've been pondering on how the Darcy-Bingley friendship came to be for a while, and like most people, I imagine that it was Bingley driven. I have now decided that when Bingley met Darcy - haughty, moody, catty man - he either unconsciously or explicitly reminded him of Caroline. "I must befriend him, he feels like home".

[echosong971]

some miscellaneous P and Eugénie sketches feat. pringles can

[waiting-for-lt3]

it's been a month

i miss you

hope you're okay wherever you are

[tratserenoyreve]

i've struggled to make any progress in elden ring and yet here i am bulldozing my way through new game+ on lies of p because i learned i forgot to check out the epilogue and am determined to get All of the Plot

[ctl-yuejie]

chen nainai doing the most. "i will show you true meddling" *bites into a fresh cucumber*

his friends are also not helpful (whereas her siblings already have a whole detective whiteboard with his picture as the center piece)

[derpinette]

i need a girl to be tomboys with soon. or i will Die

[kikuism]

i finished five broken blades

[loversatthegreatdivide]

A Benedict Bridgerton Story

When two second-borns looking for direction meet by chance, can they find purpose in each other? Or will circumstance keep them apart?

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x F!OC

Tropes: mutual pining, fluff, angst with a happy ending, royalty

Warnings: death

Current Word Count: 19k

» Chapter 1

» Chapter 2

» Chapter 3

» Chapter 4

» Chapter 5

» Chapter 6

» Chapter 7

» Chapter 8

» Chapter 9 - Coming Soon

[screaming--agony]

Dear Diary,

How do I get over it when trust is questioned?

[fantastic-mr-corvid]

ok shen is in a weird position because she is the sanest one and teh one with the most morals out of the authority but its a most not a the shes also completely abnormal in her own way but its weird cause i dont want her to be the woc with the braincellTM. but she is also the sanest.

so mad with grief because she gained an intrinsic connection to the world on top of her massive empathy just as it was dying :) this will have no long term consequences and wont lead to her and the group devolving into a mess.

[farah-blogger]

Don't skip please,

It's urgent !!

Help Us survive the devastating GazaWar

✅ Verified campaign – please check vetteing section below 🔍

My husband Mohanad and I both worked as administrators at the Palace of Justice in Gaza.

We got engaged just two months before the war,

bought an apartment, and began dreaming of a new life together. But the war changed everything. Our workplace and apartment were destroyed, and we lost our jobs. Despite it all, we chose to move forward and got married in the middle of the war, with no wedding ceremony—just a simple union that symbolized resilience amid the devastation.

We’ve been displaced multiple times, each time facing a new eviction order and starting over again. We were forced to leave everything behind and flee with only a few belongings. The displacement was devastating, as we had to leave behind the life we built and the dreams we held for our future.

Today, we live in a small home in Al-Nuseirat, struggling to cover basic needs like food, water, and alternative electricity, facing monthly expenses we can hardly bear. Recently, a new eviction notice was issued for our area, and we don’t know what lies ahead. We’re searching for online work and have skills we can utilize, but finding opportunities has been very challenging under these conditions.

After renting the apartment in Nuseirat, we thought we had found a safe haven from the horrors of war. But on the night of 3-11-2024, explosions erupted nearby, and we never imagined one would hit our apartment. Suddenly, a missile struck; walls shook, parts collapsed, and windows shattered, leaving the room we had just been in destroyed.

We miraculously survived, but the place that once felt like a refuge had become a scene of chaos and destruction. With heavy hearts, we gathered what little remained and moved on once again, hoping to find shelter far from this endless devastation.

Vetted by Butterfly project, Number (#1184) on this list

Vetted by @gazavetters, Number (#42) on this list

Vetted by @90-ghost in this post

Vetted by association in this post

To donate:

Any support would be a new source of hope for us.

Mohanad & farah

Update

On 28-11-2024, our home was shelled for the second time and struck by an artillery shell. We were trying to rebuild our lives amidst all the challenges, but today, our home has turned into rubble once again. 🥺🥺 The dream of safety is fading, and the suffering continues to grow. We need your support to stand on our feet again 💔💔

@90-ghost @heritageposts @gazavetters @neechees @butchniqabi @fluoresensitivearchived @khanger @autisticmudkip @beserkerjewel @xinakwans @batekush @appsa @nerdyqueerr @butchsunsetshimmer @biconicfinn @stopmotionguy @willgrahamscock @strangeauthor @bryor @shesnake @legallybrunettedotcom @lautakwah @sovietunion @evillesbianvillain @antibioware @akajustmerry @dizzymosher @ree-duh @neptunerings @explosionshark @dlxxv-vetted-donations @vague-humanoid @buttercuparry @sayruq @malcriada @sar-soor @northgazaupdates2 @feluka-blog-blog @dirhwangdaseul @jdon @ibtisamsa @sawasawako @memingursa @schoolhater98 @toesuckler @waskvhai @a-shade-of-blue @c-u-c-koo-4-40k

[girlinafairytale]

-khaled juma

if the condition of the children of gaza doesn't move you, i don't know what will. there is no school this year. there was no school last year either. no clean water or healthy food. no medicines for when they hurt themselves. no toys to play with. no way for them to come out of this genocide unscathed. it's with a heavy heart that i've realized that childhood in gaza is an empty promise.

my friend alaa [ @alaakh998 ] lives in gaza. she has two little kids aged 4 and 6. i cannot help but think about them. how are they doing? what lies in their future? are they okay? I've come to the realization that they wont be safe unless they're able to evacuate from gaza.

the rafah crossing is closed as of now. alaa is fundraising in hopes that she can collect enough money to address her immediate needs and eventually evacuate when the crossing opens. she needs to buy a tent and medicine and supplies and food.

please donate to help her buy these things and ensure her children's well being.

verification: 90-ghost/butterfly effect project (#307)

[helllords]

What do you believe when nobody is watching?

[mohammadayyad1]

In the heart of the siege, even bread has become a dream. 🍞💔

In Gaza,hunger is no longer just a feeling; it has become a constant companion, a heavy shadow that follows us at every moment.🕊️

My family of 13 has been worn down by the merciless hunger, and searching for our daily sustenance has become a daily battle. ⚔️🥀

Yesterday, desperation and need drove me to go out in search of a loaf of bread.

What I found was not a "queue," but a scene that resembled a battlefield:

Endless crowds 🧑‍🤝‍🧑👩‍👩‍👧‍👦.

Screams mixed with fear 📢😟.

Eyes burdened with pain 🥺💔.

Every step was a struggle against a tide of hunger and humiliation 💨🌪️.

And in the end?

I returned empty-handed, carrying only shame and sorrow. 😔🪫

My children waited for me with small hopes, their eyes asking

Did you bring us bread ?

But I had no answer. 🥖💭

Donate via 🔻🔻🔻🔻

GFM | PayPal | Cash App

The war is not just in the bombs that destroy homes 🏚️💣,

but in this daily humiliation as we try to secure our basic right: food. 🍽️

This is not a "flour crisis."

It is the voice of an entire community crying from beneath the rubble:

"We are human, don't we have the right to life?" 🌍🕊️

Will there be a day when my children live without fear? 😔🌟

Will the dawn come when we are freed from this hunger? 🌅🍞

Our hope in God still stands 🙏✨, and our call to humanity is:

Wake up, before we become just a memory in the pages of history. 🖤📜

Note :

Vetted by @gazavetters , my number verified on the list is ( #160 )

Vetted by ButterflyEffect Project 🦋, my number verified on the list is ( #599 )

Vetted by PaliLiberation 🍉, my number verified on the lis# is ( #95 )

Verified by me @a-shade-of-blue

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