#if America had royals

[oifaaa]

i thought code geass was just anime britain and anime japan trying to out imperialize each other???

Then you have been fooled bc its not even Britain fighting Japan its America 🇺🇸🇺🇸🇺🇸 here's a map to help you understand

Blue is Britainia orange is iirc the Chinese federation and yellow is the EU

[listen-to-the-inner-walrus]

being on this website right now is just like im being so brave by blacklisting the tags for a new movie thats very popular right now and not responding to any of the gifsets i still see of it with what is rightful criticism of it for being tone-deaf

[seylaaurora]

Started reading a book where a character just moved from the US to Scotland and when she met some people she was like “I feel less weird now about them not knowing anything about where I come from in the US since I’ve never heard of their hometown either”

And then their hometown was Southampton (fair), and she was from Texas LMAO

Like, sweetie, I assure you, us Europeans have actually heard of Texas as possibly the only US state that everyone is guaranteed to know

[space-feminist]

id: #reading history is like the good king leonidionious al-sing the fourth established the largest dynasty in the world #he annexed the moon and established a new age of liberalism eradicated every disease and created an age of happiness and progress #then he died and the country experienced 82 simultaneous civil wars resulting in his fourth son taking control after the first three died badly #this son then established the records for the most human rights abuses ever and wrote into law that all must shit their pants every tuesday #causing three religious schisms and the extinction of the south european angel mole end id.

Every time I watch a one true king narrative these days I wonder to myself if the good king has an idiot fail son later that takes over

[sunrizef1]

Baby Blue

Pairing: Logan Sargeant x fem!reader

Warnings: Slight cursing, not edited

Word count: 3.8k (this was supposed to be short 😭)

Summary: Logan had just misspoke, shouldnt have been a huge problem, right? Wait, what do you mean he said he had a daughter? And is that his girlfriend?

Authors Note: Surpise, not a whiv chapter but instead, an uncharacteristically sweet fic.

Logan had fucked up. Royally. And he knew that, which is why, the second the words had left his mouth, he was grimacing, gaze quickly switching over to Oscar who was sat a few yards away with wide eyes.

It was the United States Grand Prix. Austin, Texas. Logan had been put on the media panel that day since he was the only American present and had the most connection to Austin, Daniel Ricciardo not included.

By pure luck or maybe by sheer will, Logan had been sat next to Oscar, both grateful to have a friend next to them. Fortunately, on Oscar’s other side was Max, a driver who’d always been respectful toward the American. Lewis completed the quartet, another driver that Logan wouldn’t have to worry about in terms of kindness.

When the panel started, almost none of the questions were for him. He’d expected that, he wasn’t exactly having an overwhelming season. Especially compared to the joys and successes of the Red Bull world champion or the unexpected high-placing finishes of the Aussie next to him. And his woes were nothing to write home about when placed next to the declining team performances from the 7-time world champion and future Ferrari driver.

So, as he had expected, most of the questions were asked to his left.

But he’d been put on the panel for a reason, and eventually an America-related question did arise, signaling that maybe he would be of use today.

“Good morning,” the reporter calls out toward Logan and he smiles with a nod toward the darkness where the reporters are all sat.

“Morning.”

“How’s it feel to be back racing in America? You have any family or special guests in the garage this weekend, giving you that extra boost?”

Oscar nudges his knee with his own, causing Logan to let out a small laugh as he glances over. He actually did have some special guests in the garage, not just his own family, who’d come from Miami for this, but also, you, his Fiancée. And his 4-year-old daughter, of course.

Your entire family lived in Texas. So whenever you werent following Logan around the world, you landed back home in Texas, the family home being the best place for your daughter to grow up. It helped that your parents loved her more than the world, constant presents being rained down on the little girl every time you’d bring her. He hadn’t seen you in about two months, not having had a time to come back to America since summer. So having you in his garage for the first time in a while was all that much more of a motivator for him.

He raises the microphone to his lips to say a paraphrased version of that, your relationship not being a very public one yet. Logan wanted to get the wedding done before he paraded you around, not wanting to add the stress of the public on your already existing stress from wedding planning and taking care of your daughter.

“It’s always great to get back home, you know? Uh, got to stay with some family out here for a few days, got some good southern food in me, which was great,” Logan laughs lightly, watching as the reporters grin widens, “And it always feels different when you’ve got important people in the garage, cheering you on. People who don’t usually get to make it, so that’s really nice.”

The reporter nods as Logan puts his mic down, but she raises hers to further the questioning, “Anyone specific? A lot of people were curious about a few different people in your garage.”

Logan nods, your family was pretty well known, especially in Texas. You weren’t famous or anything, but you’d grown up like Logan and when people have that type of money, their names get spoken pretty often.

“Yeah, some close family and friends. You’re probably asking about the l/n’s and I, um, knew them growing up so it’s really nice to see them out here supporting me,” Logan pauses slightly. The internet was pretty sure he had a girlfriend, not that he’d confirmed anything. It wasn’t hard to figure out though, as he almost never shut up about you. But it wouldn’t hurt if he mentioned having a girlfriend, right? Everyone already knew that anyway, it couldn’t do too much damage, “My girlfriend’s here, as well. Really happy to have her here, she hasn’t been to a race in a while.”

Oscar snorts, making Logan glare at the Aussie. Oscar knew you were more than his girlfriend, having been present at the engagement. He also knew Logan was leaving out a key family member in his list, a certain baby being completely unmentioned.

“Well it’s always nice to have your family, right?” The reporter nods with a kind smile, jotting something down on her notebook.

Logan nods with a matching smile, eyes shining as he thinks about you and your family in the garage, “Yeah, and I mean, my daughter-“

Logan pauses, stomach dropping as he takes in the slip-up. He glances over to Oscar whose eyes are wide with shock, mouth dropped open slightly. Max leans forward to lock eyes with the American from Oscars other side, eyebrows furrowed. Lewis looks his way as well, but his expression is soft as he takes in the younger man’s evident embarrassment.

Logan had fucked up.

His cheeks are bright red as all the eyes in the room stare at him, questioning looks on their faces. Logan laughs slightly, rubbing the back of his neck as he looks back out toward the reporter who’s now wearing an incredulous smile, “Shit.”

This breaks some of the shock in the room, laughs ringing out from in front of him. Logan shakes his head with another embarrassed laugh, “My girlfriends gonna be so mad at me.”

Logan drops the mic next to him, reaching his hands up to shield his face in order to avoid some of the embarrassment. Oscar, still laughing, reaches over to pat him on the back, his free hand stifling the laugh threatening to escape his throat.

Luckily for Logan, they run out of time before the questions can get back to him and the surprise child he just revealed he had. He’s quick to rush out of the room, only pausing to allow Oscar to catch up before he’s gone again, practically running to Williams.

He can hear Oscar struggling to keep up behind him, shocked laughs occasionally echoing out as he runs.

“Logan- Come on, slow down man!” Oscars calling out toward the blond, Logan continuing at his fast pace. He only slows when he makes it to hospitality, Oscar slamming on his brakes in order to avoid crashing into the taller mans back.

Logans eyes scan the room in search of you, Oscar reaching a tired arm up to rest agaisnt the distressed Americans shoulder.

Oscars groaning as Logan walks off, apparently having caught sight of your family.

“Hi, Mrs. L/N,” Logan says shyly as he walks up to your mom, a sheepish smile painted on his flushed face. Your mom turns toward him with a smile but after taking in his guilty demeanor, she looks at him suspiciously.

“You’ve known me for 18 years and you’ve never called me Mrs L/N,” your mom looks your fiancé up and down, eyes narrowing as she catches sight of an equally nervous Oscar, “What did you do, Logan? And why did you drag Oscar into it?”

Logan laughs nervously, glancing back at Oscar who ducks his head, looking away from the interaction, “Do you, maybe, know where y/n is? It’s important.”

Your mom pauses, suspicion still rolling of her in waves. But, sensing Logan’s urgency, she nods, “She’s in your room with Nat.”

Logan can’t help the smile that shows at the mention of your daughter’s name, sighing slightly with relief, “Thank you, I need to go talk to her.”

Your mom just nods, watching as Logan starts to walk quickly away, moving toward you in his room. Oscar moves to follow but your mom is calling him back before he can take a step, “Stay here, Oscar. Let him go, you’re going to tell me about the season. Either that or you’ll be the one to tell me what Logan did.”

Oscar, having had plenty of conversations with your mother while growing up, sighs, accepting his fate, “It’s been good.”

Logan, though, has made it to his room, opening the door quietly as he reaches it. He smiles once he looks inside, being met with you dancing around with your daughter, music playing from your phone on the table. As the door opens, your daughter looks over, a grin breaking out on her little face as she practically lights up, “Daddy!”

Logan grins as your daughter jumps up, sprinting over to jump into her dad’s embrace, giggling as he lifts her up into the air, clutching her gently to his chest, “Hi, baby. You having fun with mama?”

Your daughter nods, smiling brightly as she turns to look back at you, “Yeah! Me and mama went to see the cars and they let me sit in it! I wanna be a driver like you, dad.”

Logan grins, looking over to where you’re stood, a small smile on your face as you watch the interaction. When you catch Logan’s gaze on you, you speak up, “They let her sit in your car. They told her about how her daddy races every weekend and she decided that that’s what she wanted to do. She said you’re the coolest person she knows, now.”

Logan laughs, warmth filling his heart as you recap your daughter’s words, “Just don’t tell her Oscar races, too. Can’t have her thinking he’s cooler than me.”

You daughter looks up at the statement, confusion crossing her face, “Uncle Os drives fast too?”

Logan hums, nodding as he sways, your daughter resting her head on his chest, “Yeah, he does. He’s not as cool as me, though.”

You daughter hums, “I think he’s pretty cool.”

You laugh, moving toward the father-daughter pair, a serious look crossing your face, “He is, baby. Do you want to go see him so I can talk to daddy?”

Logan grimaces but lets go as your daughter nods, letting you set her down. She wraps her small hand around one of your fingers, swaying happily at the idea of seeing her Australian uncle.

You push the door open to go find Oscar but when you look up, you see Oscar’s already stood there. He looks exhausted and Logan knows that a conversation with your mom was no doubt the reason why.

“Uncle Ozzy!” Your daughter’s small voice calls from below you, causing a bright grin to burst onto Oscar’s face as he picks her up, the small girls hands immediately moving to push against his face. Oscar laughs, moving an arm to support the small girls weight as she pushes his face around.

You smile at the pair, laughing as your daughter grasps Oscars hair in her small fists and pulls gently, just watching as his head rolls around, “Can you watch her? I have to talk to Logan.”

Oscar smirks, glancing over your shoulder to see Logan standing sheepishly, “Someones in trouble.”

You hum, small smile on your lips, “Can you just hang with her for a minute?”

“Yeah, I can,” Oscar says, smiling down at your daughter in his arms, “Anything for my favourite American.”

You hear Logan mumble “rude” under his breath, warranting a snort from you as you watch Oscar walk away, no doubt about to parade your daughter around to anyone who'd listen.

You turn back around, coming face-to-face with Logans grimacing form, “Saw the panel.”

Logan winces, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck, “Yeah?”

You hum, stepping across the room to reach your fiance, “Mhm, I did.”

“Im sorry,” Logan sighs, looking anywhere but at you.

You can't help the small laugh that escapes you at his clear distress. Logans head snaps up, confusion crossing his face at your apparent glee, “What?”

“Im not mad, Lo,” you laugh, wrapping your arms around his neck. He stares at you, a puzzled look stuck on his previously fear-stricken face.

“You’re not?”

You smile up at him, shaking your head, “I mean, it's not how I would’ve wanted to announce it but I don’t mind too much.”

“Really?” You giggle when you catch the relief on his face, his shoulders dropping dramatically.

“Mhm,” you tangle one of your hands in the hair at the nape of his neck, his head tilting slightly back into your touch, “It was nice to be private for a while during the engagement. We didn’t have concrete wedding plans and Nat was so young. But the weddings basically planned and Nats old enough to handle herself in public, I think it’s a really good time, actually. Do you want to say something official?”

“I will, but until then I’d be happy to not have to hide you guys,” Logan grins, a hand reaching up to grasp the side of your face. You blush as he presses a soft kiss to your forehead.

“That sounds lovely,” you say, untangling yourself from his hold, “But, for now, I think you have interviews to attend to.”

“Yeah, yeah, I do,” Logan replies, but his gaze is still locked on you, love filling his eyes, “I’ll see you in a minute, I love you.”

“Love you too, Lo. Go do your interviews,” Your soft smile shines, lighting up your face.

Logan nods, moving to exit the small room, stopping to send you another grin. You laugh, pushing him out of the room, the door sliding closed behind him.

He moves on practical auto-pilot, feet carrying him to the media pen, thoughts of his family stuck on his mind. He reaches the pen quickly, spotting a group of about 8 drivers all huddled together in a chat. He thinks about walking the other direction but Max spots him first, gesturing for the younger driver to walk over. Logan agrees reluctantly, making his way to his fellow drivers.

“Logan!” Max calls, a smile on his face as he greets the Williams driver warmly.

Logan nods, smiling at Max politely, “Hey, Max.”

Max grins, throwing an arm around the blond driver, “How are you doing?”

Logan hums with a small smirk, knowing exactly what Max was eluding to, “I’m great, actually. Thanks for asking, Max.”

Max tilts his head with a wide smile, raising an eyebrow, “Yeah?”

“Yeah, I mean, you know how my morning went.”

Max seems to catch that Logan’s allowing him to publicly address the situation in front of the other drivers, turning his attention to the slightly confused drivers around them, “How’d the Mrs feel about it?”

“She was fine with it,” Logan smiles, “Honestly kinda happy to be open about it.”

“I didn’t know you had a girlfriend,” Lando says from across the small circle, a confused look occupying his face.

Logan shakes his head lightly, arms crossed across his chest, “Fiancée, actually. Been engaged for like a year now.”

This sends a wave of shock around the group, Daniel being the only one to pipe up, a huge smile on his face, “I know what this is about!”

George turns to the VCARB driver, a questioning look laying beneath his dramatic sunglasses, “What are you talking about?”

Before Daniel can explain, a high-pitched voice yells out from behind Logan.

“Daddy!”

Several drivers turn, being met with the sight of a small girl sprinting her way toward the group, a smiley Oscar trailing along behind her. The girl giggled as she approaches her father, skipping along happily as she gets near him. Logan leans down, opening his arms to let her walk into his grasp. She wraps her arms around his neck and Logan holds her tightly as Oscar stops behind him.

“Hey baby,” Logan says to his daughter as he looks down at her, “Have a good time with uncle Osc?”

The small girl nods excitedly, grinning as she looks back over to the man she’d spent the past 15 minutes with, “Ozzy took me to the orange garage, um, papaya I think actually, and I got to sit in another car!”

Logan hums, running a hand through the girls hair, trying his best to swipe it back into place, “Yeah?”

“Uh huh, it was really fun!”

Logan smiles, turning back to thank Oscar for looking after the girl. He turns back around, catching the gaze of about 8 different F1 drivers, all with varying levels of shock painted on their faces, “I don't know if you guys saw, but, um, I accidently revealed i had a daughter this morning and, um, this is her?”

Max is the first to laugh, having already been through his shock about the young girl currently attached to her father. Logans face heats as the drivers stare, Nat burrowing her head in her fathers neck as she tries to discreetly glance at the men around her without having to make any eye contact.

“Congrats, man,” Daniel grins, moving over to clap the younger driver on the back. Logan chuckles slightly as your daughter finally moves her head away from him, her curiosity at the Aussie overtaking her shyness.

The honey badger smiles at her, nodding his head. She smiles gently, reaching a small fist out toward the man. Daniels eyes widen at the gesture, eyes glancing between the girl and her outstretched arm before he reaches his own hand up to fist-bump hers. She nods with a satisfied smile, turning back toward Logans neck.

“He’s kinda cool, I think,” She mumbles and Logan smiles glancing over to see if Daniel has heard her words. Based on the increased grin on his face, Logan figures he had.

The rest of the drivers take their turns congratulating Logan on his fatherhood and introducing themselves to the small girl, her favourites being Daniel, Max, George and Alex, who she’d already met in the Williams garage over the past few months.

Eventually, all the socializing caused her to fall asleep against her father's chest, her tired eyes slowly drifting closed. Logan sways slightly, trying his best to soothe her in her slumber.

Once she's fallen asleep, he turns to Oscar, "Do you know where y/n is?"

Oscar nods, "I think she'd fallen asleep when I went to drop Nat back off. Didn't want to wake her so I just brought her over here."

Logan nods, glancing over to see the other drivers getting pulled into interviews. He didn't want to wake you, knowing how little sleep you'd been getting lately with all the wedding planning and your daughter. Anyone else in your family would be too hard to find on such short notice.

So, when his pr officer calls him over to do interviews, he holds Nat a little bit tighter, hoping the interviews don't wake her.

He smiles at the shocked interviewer as she hands him a microphone which he holds in his free hand, trying his best to support your daughter with one arm.

"Morning," Logan nods, voice low.

The interviewer nods slightly, shaking herself out of her shock so she can ask the American some questions.

"Good morning!" Logan thanks his lucky stars as the woman catches his drift and tries her hardest to stay cheerful while keeping her voice relatively quiet, "I had a couple questions about the panel from this morning but it seems you've answered them yourself before I could even ask."

Logan laughs, glancing down at his girl before bringing the microphone to his lips, "Yeah, my girlfriend was asleep and I didn't want to wake her so this girl is joining us today."

The interviewer smiles warmly, "Before this I saw she was hanging out with some of the other drivers?"

"Yeah, yeah, she was. She, uh, had a good time getting to meet some of the grid. But, you know, all the socializing tired her out."

The woman in front of him nods again, glancing over his shoulder at who Logan knew to be Max, getting asked questions across the pen, "How'd they react?"

"I think they were pretty surprised, you know? I don't think a lot of them saw the panel from this morning and even then, I didn't really give much of an explanation. Don't think Max even believed me until Oscar brought her over," Logan laughs, grinning lovingly at the girl starting to stir in his arms.

"Hi baby," Logan says gently, watching as the little girl rubs at her eyes, trying to pull the tiredness from them.

"Hi Dad, where'd Ozzy go?"

Logan glances over his shoulder, looking for the Australian in question. He eventually sees him, turning his body so Nat can see him as well,

"Uncle Osc is just over there, angel."

The girls nods, a frown still on her face from having to wake up, “What about Maxy?”

Logan grins, happy that his daughter was already comfortable with his fellow drivers, even going as far to seek Max out. Logan turns straight around, pointing behind them at the Red Bull driver, "He's there. And Danny's next to him."

The girl nods, a satisfied look on her face as she spots her new friends. Logan turns back to the interviewer, the grin not leaving his face.

Max, meanwhile, is in the middle of an interview when he notice the interviewer looking over his shoulder. Max looks at the man in front of him with a confused look, the man quick to explain.

"Think the newest addition to the paddock is looking for you, Max."

Max looks over his shoulder to see a small girl, chin resting on her dad's shoulder as she stares back at Max. When he turns to see her, she grins, moving a small hand to wave excitedly at the driver before moving to tug at her father's hair, looking for his attention.

Max grins, waving back as Logan looks over, indulging the girl. She laughs happily, getting even more excited as she spots Daniel beside him.

"Maxy! Danny!" Max looks beside him and sees that Daniel hasn't noticed your daughters yelling and he quickly leans to the side, poking the Aussie. Daniel turns to the side to see what Max wants but is instead met with Max pointing vaguely across the pen. Daniel glances over and grins when he sees Logan and his daughter, the smaller of the two waving hurriedly at the pair of drivers.

Daniel waves back, a grin practically splitting his face. The interviewer sends him a questioning glance and he laughs lightly, "Seems we've got a new cheerleader, then."

The interviewer laughs, quickly returning to the questions. Max, after waving bye to your daughter, turns back as well.

Your daughter, now properly noticed by her new favorite drivers, turns back around, letting Logan get back to his questions. She wraps her arms around his neck gently, smiling in satisfaction as she leans up to tell him something.

"I like your friends, dad."

Logan smiles warmly, happy to see her getting along with his coworkers, "I'm glad, baby."

———————————————

@casperlikej @evie-119

[georgestraitpridemonth]

i genuinely think the jfk thing is the most annoying and unforgivable thing about myself bc i cant even couch it as like a niche historical obsession like felix yusupov bc he was a very famous president and it makes me come off as some weird catholic but in reality i dont think he was a very good president and hes wasnt even hot but i still refer to him as “jack” like hes my personal friend

[artifacts-and-arthropods]

Emerald Spectacles from India, c. 1620-1660 CE: the lenses of these spectacles were cut from a single 300-carat emerald, and it was believed that they possessed mystical properties

These eyeglasses are also known by the name "Astaneh-e ferdaws," meaning "Gate of Paradise," based on the symbolic associations between the color green and the concept of spiritual salvation/Paradise. That symbolism (which is rooted in Islamic tradition) was especially popular in Mughal-era India, where the spectacles were made.

The lenses were crafted from two thin slices of the same emerald. Together, the lenses have a combined weight of about 27 carats, but given the precision, size, and shape of each lens, experts believe that the original emerald likely weighed in excess of 300 carats (more than sixty grams) before it was cleaved down in order to produce the lenses. The emerald was sourced from a mine in Muzo, Colombia, and it was then transported across the Atlantic by Spanish or Portuguese merchants.

Each lens is encircled by a series of rose-cut diamonds, which run along an ornate frame made of gold and silver. The diamond-studded frame was added in the 1890s, when the original prince-nez design was fitted with more modern frames.

The emerald eyeglasses have long been paired with a second set of spectacles, and they were almost certainly commissioned by the same patron. This second pair is known as "Halqeh-e nur," or the "Halo of Light."

The Halo of Light features lenses that were made from slices of diamond. The diamond lenses were cleaved from a single stone, just like the emerald lenses, with the diamond itself being sourced from a mine in Southern India. It's estimated that the original, uncut diamond would have weighed about 200-300 carats, which would make it one of the largest uncut diamonds ever found.

The lenses are so clear and so smoothly cut that it sometimes looks like they're not even there.

Both sets of spectacles date back to the mid-1600s, and it's generally believed that they were commissioned by a Mughal emperor or prince. The identity of that person is still a bit of a mystery, but it has been widely speculated that the patron was Shah Jahan -- the Mughal ruler who famously commissioned the Taj Mahal after the death of his wife, Mumtaz Mahal. Shah Jahan did rule as the Mughal emperor from about 1628 to 1658.

The emerald and diamond lenses may have been chosen for symbolic, sentimental, and/or cultural reasons, or they may have been chosen simply because they're pretty and extravagant; the original meaning and purpose behind the design is still unclear. Experts do believe that the eyeglasses were designed to be worn by someone, though.

At times, it was believed that the spectacles had spiritual properties, like the ability to promote healing, to ward off evil, to impart wisdom, and to bring the wearer closer to enlightenment. Those beliefs are largely based on the spiritual significance that emeralds and diamonds can have within certain Indic and Islamic traditions -- emeralds may be viewed as an emblem of Paradise, salvation, healing, cleansing, and eternal life, while diamonds are similarly associated with enlightenment, wisdom, celestial light, and mysticism.

The Gate of Paradise and the Halo of Light were both kept in the collections of a wealthy Indian family until 1980, when they were sold to private collectors, and they were then put up for auction once again in 2021. They were most recently valued at about $2 million to $3.4 million per pair.

Sources & More Info:

Sotheby's: Mughal Spectacles

Architectural Digest of India: At Sotheby's auction, Mughal-era eyeglasses made of diamond and emerald create a stir

Only Natural Diamonds: Auspicious Sight & the Halqeh-e Nur Spectacles

The Royal Society Publishing: Cleaving the Halqeh-Ye Nur Diamonds

Gemological Institution of America: Two Antique Mughal Spectacles with Gemstone Lenses

Manuscript: From Satan's Crown to the Holy Grail: emeralds in myth, magic, and history

CNN: The $3.5 million Spectacles Said to Ward off Evil

BBC: Rare Mughal Era Spectacles to be Auctioned by Sotheby's

[olympeline]

Ehh, to be fair, I can see England having mixed feelings about his governments like any other nation-person. But I have a reeeeally hard time imagining him as anything other than a staunch royalist. Even if he disliked the current king or queen, I just can’t picture him as ever wanting the royal family to be gone. It would be like trying to imagine Japan as having no interest in anime, or France not wanting to cook, or Italy not being Catholic. Some concepts just feel too connected to certain countries to be easily ignored, you know?

As a Brit, anti-monarchy England is an interpretation of him I can’t really get behind. It’s too divorced from the reality of what we are as a nation. At least at the moment. That could change someday, but I’d be very surprised if it happened any time soon. Being a royalist suits England culturally, historically, stereotypically, and even personality wise. Since he’s described in his bios as stuffy, old fashioned, and a lover of tradition even when it’s not a good idea. You don’t get much more traditionally English than the royal family. Search any English/British related stuff like mood boards and count just how many crowns, castles, lions, and other royal symbols pop up alongside the tea and rain. I agree England probably wouldn’t dote on every monarch - some of them were real twats I mean let’s be honest - but I think he’d still hold them in a kind of reverence? More for what they represented rather than who they were as individuals. You’d be surprised how many people here have a low opinion of the royals but would still balk at the idea of ditching the monarchy. The history of the royal family and how it changed and was in turn changed by English (later UK) culture is fascinating. How we’ve kept them all this time despite starting to strip their power early with the Magna Carta. How they got tangled up with the European Catholic v. Protestant holy war. How they were used as a way to flex against republican enemies like post-Revolutionary France. How one of the biggest things we ever did was build an empire which they became the faces of, etc.

This is a hard-left website and I think there may be a wee bit of wishful thinking going on when it comes to how nation-people would react to culturally conservative things. For better or worse, the monarchy is still a huge part of the UK’s identity. I mean it’s even right there in our name: the United Kingdom. England is the most pro-monarchy of all the home nations too. If asked to choose a UK brother most likely to start questioning the status quo or even go full republican, he’s definitely the one I’d pick last. I can’t separate a certain reverence for the concept of monarchy from a personification of England. I just can’t do it. It’s baked into him. Yeah, he had a punk period, but that’s one potentially anti-royalist blip vs. like…literally everything else about him. 😂 It’s like saying America would suddenly get king fever and want to change the US back into a constitutional monarchy because he had a Downton Abbey phase.

Imagining England as pro-monarchy is the easy option but, in this case, I think it’s also kinda…I don’t want to say the “right” one because it sounds so dismissive. But…it does kinda feel that way? That sounds so dickish, urgh. Sorry, OP! I’m not phrasing this well. I wouldn’t feel so strongly if I wasn’t from here myself. Sorry to ramble for ages on your post, too. I just find my country’s history and culture really interesting to talk about and our relationship with the monarchy is a big part of that. I hope you don’t mind too much. (/;◇;)/

I know the "nation-tans aren't their governments" conversation mostly comes up in relation to America (at least as far as I've seen but I've got an obvious bias here about what's on my dash)... but I wanna point out another character where I think we really fell down on this even more...

England.

I see way more depictions of England with the royals (not just modern day, but often) than I see him with "common" people... and the fact that fanon has decided that he's wholly pro-monarchy is a huge missed opportunity. If there is more content where he's not, please let me know, because I really want to see it.

I know most English people like the monarchy and would not want to abolish it or anything, but that's not really what I'm talking about here. I'm talking about England. Arthur Kirkland. A being who has lived over a thousand years and remembers each one of them, perhaps can still hear their voices in his head.

We depict England as a punk even more often than showing him with the kings and queens, yet ignore the fact that punk rock was just about as anti-monarchy as you can get and a lot of their music was explicitly political.

I'm NOT saying there aren't a lot of very compelling ideas around him being close to the monarchy, particularly Elizabeth I (the whole married to England thing) and Victoria (I think she channeled and fed into a lot of intense feelings he was having at the time) BUT the history of the English(British) monarchy is messy--just like the history of everything else--and not every monarch was a great leader and to think that England would just unquestioningly dote on and/or favor the royal family just shows an insufficient use of imagination in an otherwise very imaginative fandom, imo (and I've been this way too). His relationships to that seat of power and who holds it at any given time could be so much more complex.

I know it's cozy to think of him playing with little royal children or romantic to imagine him having an intense love for Elizabeth I... and I agree with that. But I think we could do more, if only just to see what comes out of it.

*Disclaimer again that this is based on what I have seen in fandom, which is not everything, and if more content like this exists, I would very much like to see it.

[jimblejamblewritings]

love letters and second sons | part 1.

Summary: The princess is finally ready to debut in society. But before she does, she decides to disguise herself and see the true faces of the ton.

Author's Note: Hello! Yes, I'm here with a wip before finishing my other stuff. The Bridgerton girlies have got me. Congratulations to you all. So before you read this, please read: I Hate Accidents by @i-hate-accidents AND Over The Garden Wall by @homeofthepeculiar AND The Ultimate Deception by @maximoff-pan. These stories are some of my favorites and really inspired this fic.

Warnings for the Series: light sexism in line with the times, light classism in line with the times, mental health stigma, shitty doctor care, smut, suicide attempt (will get it's own warning when the time comes),

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x princess!reader

Word Count: 5.4k

Author's Note: To those who have read my other works, you'll notice that the author Mercutio's stories are something special

My Dearest Ton and Wonderful United Kingdom, 

I am pleased to welcome you all to the start of another social season. Of course, people love and look for love all year round but each year the season just seems to invite love to blossom. I hope all of you find the match to your souls. Marriage is a business but can it not have love as well? A business built with love surely must be a business that tries to last. I ask our respectful citizens and subjects of the United Kingdom to make love a part of their search. 

I would also like to ask about businesses that do not involve marriage or love. How are you? In the business of health, is everyone safe from all sickness? In the business of finance, does everyone have enough to eat and clothe themselves without falling into poverty? Are businesses afloat even if only by a small margin? How are you? Truly, I want to know. If you would like to write to me, please do so. The royal mailboxes should still be in perfect condition. 

Of course, if you have something urgent then I am sorry but you must come to the palace and request an audience. My valets hold all letters for a day or a few out of safety for everyone. But rest assured, I read every letter once received. 

I would also like to say that I can feel the winds of the ton calling me to grace their presence and to stop being rude by ignoring them. Naturally, the wind is very rude to say this and then cut through my dress and chill my bones even when it is snowing. But I digress, the wind is right. The time for introduction must be soon. And a lovely time that will be. I cannot wait to meet you all. 

Yours truly, 

A Not So Young Anymore Youngest Princess Y/N Hanover (Truly, I need a proper surname and not just the name of my father’s house)

My Dearest Ton and Wonderful United Kingdom, 

Would you like to know what I have learned yesterday? I know the Americas are still a touchy subject for some but I hope you don’t mind me talking about it, just to share my studies. Philadelphia is the center of American debate. So many great men (and women that have probably gone unnamed but aided their counterparts in their quest of education) have lived and are currently still living there. 

Going to America simply for a debate sounds terribly dreadful. But what if we had one here that wasn’t relegated to just the universities. An entire city becoming a center of debate seems incredibly foolish, not to mention disruptive to its current residents, but buildings of debate do not seem like a bad idea. 

Even if some feel like they aren’t smart enough, they should participate. Ideas are nurtured by sharing them. May some debates lead to great compromise and understanding and maybe even propositions for laws. 

I, for one, debate with my father every day on which science is the most important to teach to young children and which science can wait until university should they like to pursue that path. He believes all of it. I believe that medicinal science is too much for a young mind and they only need to be taught how to mind their health until they can understand better. What do you think? I am delighted to hear your opinions. Maybe mine will be swayed. 

Yours Truly,

Youngest Princess Y/N Buckingham (I am trying out new surnames until one I like sticks)

My Dearest Ton and Wonderful United Kingdom, 

I apologize if my stance may be radical but nothing in society ever got done if the start wasn’t a little radical. I believe that young women should be properly taught about relations… let me just say it, sex. Not when they are children, no, but when they are about to debut. Consider it. You all know that as a royal, despite being a woman, I have been taught all things. Everyone is aware that I know what sex is. But if I and my sisters were taught sex so that we may be aware of malicious advances and be able to protect our virtue first rather than waiting for our virtues to be saved by someone and risk them being too late, then others should as well. Therefore, I implore all mothers and governesses to teach their young ladies about to debut what sex is. And to fathers who may be without wives, please find any woman to teach your daughters.

I shall return with more radical ideas for a better and more prosperous United Kingdom. 

Yours truly, 

Youngest Princes Y/N Kew 

The printed letters delivered to London, had everyone enthralled in the early morning. Some people that lived close enough to the central town square didn’t bother with the prints and went straight to the wooden pin board there to look at the princess’ handwriting on the original letters. Whenever the Young Princess or the author Mercutio Quick wrote, people stopped and paid attention. 

Princess Y/N was the people’s princess. The one who listened to their complaints and wasn’t cheap on her charitable acts. She was so much like her father, Farmer George. Even with his illness he still ran a good country… when he was in charge. So much better than her eldest brother, George IV. Then again, any royal sibling was better than their eldest brother, even if only by a very small percentage. Everyday the public hoped another child would challenge George the Younger. They would rally their support behind them. 

They were hoping that any day George IV’s daughter, Charlotte, would have an heir. If she was pregnant then it would be so easy for the public to support her and convince either George IV to step down or convince Parliament to present a motion to King George. They would have a ruler and an heir. Charlotte the Younger would be the easiest transition for George IV to understand.

But neither her father nor husband seemed to care about the lack of heir. But the thought of succession and coups and duels was forgotten for a moment to read the Young Princess’ letters welcoming them to the new social season with new balls, debutantes, and drama. 

In the Bridgerton house, the family ran around like chickens with their heads cut off. They were trying to get ready to present Daphne to the Queen while also trying to read the Young Princess’ letters. Benedict laughed as he slapped his copy of the letters. 

“Mother would have a fit if she had to speak with Daphne about sex.” 

“I’m surprised she would even suggest such a thing,” Colin said as he returned to reading the first letter, thinking he might actually write to the Young Princess about his familial concerns and wanting to travel desperately but being unsure about leaving them. 

Eloise finally smiled as she came downstairs with the rest of her siblings. “I for one think it’s rather refreshing. She is right. Our mamas should be teaching us more than just how to meet the Queen… Daphne! You must make haste! Do you think she heard me?” 

Colin rolled his eyes. “She most certainly did. But on the matter of the princess, what is wrong with a woman’s husband teaching her about sex?” 

“Everything is wrong with that.” 

“Hmm.” 

He looked down to reread the paper, wondering if he could understand what the princess actually meant. Even though the letters were left at home, talk of the princess never ceased. How could it? The monarchy’s youngest princess might actually be joining them. Everyone wanted to know what she would look like, not in the face of course. Even her fourth brother didn’t take off his mask until after five months of being introduced to society and he was the shortest time it took to see the royal children’s face. 

“Do you think she will be tall like her eldest sister or short? Plump?” Eloise asked as their carriages started their way towards the palace. “I’d imagine I’d be very lovely and plump if I could be stuck in a palace all day with the most wonderful food imaginable. Not that anyone should ever value a woman based on her body but Penelope has stated that her sisters are terribly upset because all the dress makers have started saying that plump is going to be in fashion once again in only a few years time and by the time they become plump it’ll be out of fashion again.” 

Daphne looked out the window. “I wonder if she’ll look like the Queen or the King. Oh, what makeup do you think she’ll wear? What mask did she have created for herself? When do you think we’ll actually see her face?” 

Violet touched the knees of all her girls. “Whatever she is like, do not be rude and gawk. The poor thing will already have the vultures’ eyes on her all night. If she even comes out tonight. Perhaps it will be at a ball this week. That would be quite a fantastic introduction. I do hope she at least meets us this season.” 

Francesca smiled. “I imagine her dance card would be quite full.” 

“She’d have bracelets of dance cards going up to her arm,” Daphne agreed.  

“But she isn’t coming into society yet. She’s just introducing herself to us,” Eloise said. 

“She’s still a princess royal. A very well-known one at that. There’s no way the men would pass on an opportunity to dance with her. They’d want to start making their intentions known now, get ahead of everyone else.” 

The boys’ carriage was speaking of a different matter entirely. The princess and Mercutio had written to the ton at the same time. With the presentation to the Queen taking up so much of the day, most people wouldn’t be able to read his work until later that evening. Colin and Benedict simply couldn’t wait. Colin sat with his brother as he drove the carriage and read the story out loud: 

“Arsehole,” Cecilia muttered. 

Ignoring the sharp stinging of her backside, she hopped off the bed to find something to put on. All she needed to accomplish was getting back to her room, clothed. She knew there must have been some spare clothes in their dressers. It was just a matter of sorting through which garments were hers and which belonged to the others. She had been sorely mistaken to ignore the three members of nobility behind her, thinking they hadn’t heard her. 

Lovell scrunched up his face, resembling a rat. “Is receiving another punishment something you really care for? Because this attitude you’ve acquired is going to earn you one.” 

“Piss off.” 

“Is that any way to talk to your dominants?” Madison asked, adjusting herself in Tommy’s arms. 

Cecilia scoffed as she walked towards the door, placing one hand on the doorknob. “Lavender.” 

The other three faces fell at the use of that forbidden word. Cecilia’s hand reached up ever so gently and wiped away tears. She wondered if the tears were for her former lovers or for finally realizing her mind was deluded to think she would be with anyone above her station such as Lovell. 

“I don’t want this anymore.” 

“Cecilia.” 

“You never believe that I don’t enjoy breaking our established rules. You only listen to Madison.” 

“Cecilia.” 

“It is clear you both like her more than you desire me. I am down.” 

“Cecilia.” 

“You shall see me around this manor, doing my job as I always have. But that is the extent of our relationship.” 

“Please, just give u—” 

“Good day, Lord Parham. Lord Newall, Lady Wilcher.” 

“Riveting,” Colin said as he finished reading. “Mr. Mercutio has done it again.” 

Benedict nodded. “Indeed he has. I was a bit worried when he announced that he wanted to dabble in the themes of erotic pleasures in his stories but this was just as enjoyable as all the others.”

“Agree… Oh, it says here that they have earned a publishing deal. The penny stories will still come out once a week, chapter by chapter but readers can also purchase a book if they would like to keep the story properly or are in a rush to read it. I for one will be buying the books.” 

“I second that.” 

“I wonder what his next story will be about. Actually, no, I wonder what our dear sisters and mothers can be talking about.” 

“The princess, no doubt.”

”Do you think any of our brothers will approach?” Eloise asked in the women’s carriage, more to herself than anything. 

That made Hyacinth’s face light up. “If one of them marries the princess does that mean we get to be princesses too?” 

“As if any of our brothers even could or want to.” Francesca pulled her face away from the window.

“If anyone is going to bring them to the marriage mart,” Daphne started as she fanned herself. “It would be the princess. Anthony would be a good match for her.” 

Violet laughed, thinking of the idea. “A viscount and a princess are a perfect match.” 

All talk of the princess stopped as they approached. The worst thing that could happen could be a footman overhearing them and mistaking their speech for malicious gossip rather than light-natured and report it to the princess or the queen or even worse, King George himself. They would forever be ostracized from society. 

From upstairs, you watched from a window where you knew no one could see you even if they looked up. How you desperately wanted to be down there. All the men were dressed up and looking like penguins. Handsome they were but still penguin-like in silhouette. And the women’s dresses. Some, while upper class, were of a lower social standing and wore older dresses that looked just as gorgeous as the empire and rather shapeless dresses of today. 

But today was not your day. You actually weren’t sure when your day would be. Your mother and father let their children choose when they would be introduced to society. Of course you all had to wait for a certain age and it had to be a date at the start of the social season but you could pick the day. And unlike your last sibling, you wanted it to be at a ball instead of the selection of the Diamonds. You didn’t even care which ball it would be. Perhaps it was selfish but you did want a day all to yourself or at least a day with you as the main focus. But that wasn’t this year. Or any year perhaps. 

You were excited to finally leave the walls of the palace if you were allowed, having proven yourself capable of not causing an incident. Unfortunately, you couldn’t say you had proven yourself without illness. You weren’t that lucky. You and all your siblings were locked inside until the royal physicians could observe and confirm that you weren’t sick with whatever madness your father had. They didn’t have to observe you. That was also why you picked a ball instead of today. You wanted to prove you didn’t need a chaperone literally holding your elbow. You wanted freedom like your siblings. Freedom to explore that you weren’t sure would get because of your illness. 

After a nearly fatal drowning in the lake — an event your siblings still get chewed out for at least once a month — you started showing symptoms like George did. For you it wasn’t about if you would be as sick like your father. It was about how bad and how quickly the illness would get. 

You didn’t get to see George as often as the others. The doctors thought you shouldn’t be around him for prolonged periods of time unless it was after an episode. They thought that too much exposure would make you more like him instead of better. They wanted to send him to Kew but you promised that you wouldn’t go to his quarters as long as he got to stay at Buckingham. 

Charlotte, silly as it may have been, had hope. They caught your sickness early. Nine was a very young age to almost go mad. Maybe you could be saved from a cruel fate unlike George. They were too late for him but not for you. Of course this only brought jealousy from your siblings who didn’t feel like they got as much affection anymore. Every time you even twitched, it became about you. They could never hate you. It wasn’t like you asked to be sick. But it was hard to be around you. Everyday visits became once a week. Still, you cherished those visits. Like the one yesterday. They expressed their sympathies and hopefulness that you would get to introduce yourself and maybe it could even be this year or maybe this month. 

You could have scoffed. After what you did just two days ago, you were unsure. The daylight came into your room before you were prepared for it and you had been convinced that Buckingham was on fire. You couldn’t be calmed down until you jumped into the water fully clothed. Immediately, you pulled yourself out of the trance but no one really cared. The royal physician had been called anyway and you had ruined all chances of attending the presentation to the Queen. 

“Your Highness!” a voice disturbed your thoughts and your eyes from looking at your siblings’ carriages leave in the morning. Your lady-in-waiting approached you with a paper, an entire pamphlet. “It’s already spread through the ton like a fire. We haven’t read it yet. We figured new literature would be a treat for you.” 

“Thank you, Pandora. Shall we read it in the kitchens this morning when we return home?” 

“Not your room?” 

“I’m so terribly sick of my room and the washroom and the balcony and the bedroom.” 

“You are getting restless.” 

“It’s only a matter of time. Maybe even tomorrow it’ll happen. And soon it will only be a couple of years at most before the mask is gone. By the way,” you said as the two started to leave. “Did you hear about the Feather girl that fainted? Is she alright?” 

“Oh yes, she’s fine.” 

“Good. Have someone send flowers to her tomorrow with an inquiry about her wellbeing after taking such a tumble. Oh and no flowers to the Diamond. I want to meet her myself one day. Now, let’s read about this… Lady Whistledown. She already sounds like an interesting woman.” 

Interesting it was indeed. The maids and kitchen staff hung onto your every word as you read the pamphlet. You weren’t exactly sure how you felt about the pamphlet yet but Pandora was right about one thing. It was literature. Lady Whistledown seemed bold enough to list subjects by name. By their entire name as if she wasn’t afraid of any repercussions. You supposed she wouldn’t be since Whistledown was obviously not her real name. 

It wasn’t the subject of what she published that bothered you. A lot of it was standard gossip that goes around during the social season but it was her personal opinion. She almost seemed to want the ladies she wrote about to have miserable ends like inquiring about Daphne Bridergton’s flame burning out quickly. The lady must know that what she published could ruin a reputation. Gossip is no longer gossip when publicly written down. It has the potential to become fact. 

You slapped the pamphlet against your hand. “Well, I suppose Mercutio Quick from York will no longer be the entertainment of the ton. Sad, and right as I earned a publishing deal too. Perhaps, I should take up a different art. Like making dresses for all my days or learning to play the harp and cello properly so it sounds better than a dying whale according to my brothers.” 

The cook shook his head. “Your stories are very entertaining. Even Lady Whistledown couldn’t stop that.” 

“Thank you for saying that. I am rather jealous that she is penning under a woman.” 

“But you have chosen a name based on your favorite characters, have you not?” 

“I have but maybe I should’ve chosen better. This Lady Whistledown might be making more change for women then I hope to accomplish.” 

At this, the staff scoffed. Pandora cleaned up your dishes from the kitchen island in front of you. 

“Your Highness, with the utmost respect, you are the one who is going to do more for women than this Whistledown. Everybody already wants someone other than your kind brother on the throne. They’re all praying your niece gives them any child so they may protest for her with the added benefit of an heir. They love her and what you write about in your letters make her seem even better. Hell, they love you and they don’t even know you. They listen to you. And with your words, Princess Charlotte the Younger will be on the throne and you will prove women are more than capable of whatever and we might have real change. Is she still on board?” 

“Yes. She hates her father as much as anyone else does. George is nice once you get to know him… sort of. But Lettie approves as long as I agree to be in her court. I said yes of course.” 

“Then it is settled. Thank God we might actually get change in our wretched lives. Now you must wash up and oversee the Bridgerton gowns before they are sent off. Shall we pick certain ones from your wardrobe?” 

“Give the Diamond the one with lace and her family’s colors. Pick whatever you want for the rest of them. Oh and patterns must be on the Feather mother’s dress. I noticed she wears the most ill-favored ornamented dresses but she seems to like them. And put in an order with the modiste, I should like to do this often if this first gesture goes well and the gift wardrobe will need more clothes than it has at present. Clothes for the lower classes as well, nothing that could get them attacked and the clothes stolen off their bodies.” 

“Yes, Your Highness.”  

“And, by the way, I already washed up.” 

“Yes, but now you’ve been sitting amongst smoke and smells.” 

You gave up your fight and nodded as you jumped down from your stool and began the walk to your room. No one was around today. They wouldn’t be for most of the social season as they had other duties, including watching your siblings. Despite your madness, you weren’t the biggest concern at all. It was your rakish brothers in brothels, your sisters constantly leaving their husbands or suitors, and all of them sneaking away. You paused for a moment before walking quicker until you reached your room. 

Why couldn’t you sneak out? Now would be the perfect opportunity. And no one was looking for you. It would be so easy to scale the vines up the garden wall and just have fun for a moment. You washed up quickly and put on a very simple dress — one more like the style of today rather than your father’s time. Grabbing a cloak and your mask, you put them down on the bed before sitting down at your writing desk to pen a letter. The slam of the door nearly made you jump out of your skin. You calmed as you realized it was just Pandora. 

“Oh, good. It is just you.” 

“I have the Bridgerton and Featherington dresses but what do you mean it is just me, Y/N?” 

You stood up, abandoning the letter now that someone was around. “I am going out to see the ton.” 

“What?” 

“It is still dark. I have a map, my cloak, and the mask. And I have a very clear destination with vehicles that will get me back in the most discreet of ways should I need to use them.” 

“Your Highness.” 

“Pandora. I am nearing my introduction to society. You will all have to let me go at some point. I know everyone cares for my wellbeing but my happiness is gone. I am seen as nothing but my illness. Before I have an episode in public like the king, let me meet the ton. Let me not be Farmer Y/N for a brief moment of my life before I am a farmer forever, before I stay in that garden just like Father.” 

Pandora’s mouth shut. She simply locked the door and unlocked the window. “You must return before your midmorning promenade and snack. Since you ate downstairs, I can convince them to overlook your absence of a breakfast request. And don’t take your mask. It’s better if they don’t know who you are at all.” 

She gasped as you hugged her. 

“Thank you, Pandora! Thank you! You are truly the bestest friend a woman could have.” 

“Just go so you can come back quickly and I can have my sanity back.” 

You closed the window, shocking Pandora as you pulled a picture frame off the wall to reveal a staircase that led outside. The door was hidden behind the trellis covered in vines and flowers. You pulled the hood over the cloak over you. The last thing you did was check for your bracelet and if your papers were inside. Until you were introduced to society, all the royal children had bracelets that couldn’t come off unless cut off. There were just in case measures with the eldest two but became necessary after so many nights sneaking out. The bracelet wasn’t going anywhere but you didn’t want to lose your birth certificate. It was your first safety measure. Even if you were kidnapped or harmed, you’d be returned to the palace for a pretty penny. You did pull your sleeves down so your bracelet wouldn’t be noticed.  

You couldn’t contain your smile at the excitement of being out. London was so different without all the noise. The brothels and pubs were starting to close down for their few hours of rest and relaxation. You stuck to streets where you could see all the action but wouldn’t be easily spotted. No one bothered you until you arrived at your destination. 

The footman stood to attention. “May I help you?” 

“Yes, hello. I bring a package from Buckingham House for the Bridgertons, courtesy of Princess Y/N.” You handed him a letter with your official stamp at the end of it. 

The footman’s eyes went wide as he handed you back the letter and ran inside. The Bridgertons looked up at the frantic knocking, pulling slips over Hyacinth and Daphne before telling the footman he could enter. The Bridgerton boys came upstairs after hearing the heavy pounding of their employee’s footsteps running up the multiple stairs. 

“Is there a problem, Marshall?” 

He panted before taking in a deep breath. “The Young Princess’ lady-in-waiting is here, bearing gifts.” 

“WHAT?!” 

The Bridgertons collectively yelled before the scramble happened. You tilted your head when you saw the windows open and a maid shake out some bedsheets. She squeaked when she looked down to see you. You laughed as she ran back inside. It couldn’t have been more than five minutes before you were escorted into the house by a very out of breath footman. The Bridgertons stood on the steps at the end of their entrance hall in chronological order with their mother starting the line at the very bottom step. Nervous smiles graced their faces when you finally reached them. You curtsied to which they curtsied or bowed back. 

You gave them a second to assess you before speaking. Even though it wasn’t true in the slightest, everyone thought the ladies-in-waiting and manservants were reflections of the royals themselves. Not in character or value but in appearance. They figured they could form some sort of picture as to what the young masked royals looked like. If you were ugly then surely the princess was too. You hoped they at least found you to be average looking in appearance. 

Anthony Bridgerton — the new head of house from what you remembered of your studies — stepped from behind his mother to greet you formally. He bowed once again, deeper, before offering up his hand. You settled yours in it to receive a chaste kiss. 

“To what do we owe this sudden pleasure, Mrs…” 

“Beckett,” you lied, just using Pandora’s last name. 

“Mrs. Beckett?” He didn’t recognize the name as one belonging to an upper class member of the ton. He wasn’t sure he recognized the name at all. 

“Apologies, I should explain. The princess doesn’t distinguish in her court, we are all there to work. All women are ladies-in-waitings, all men are valets. Regardless of station, regardless of marriage.” 

“So, I am to take it that my earlier statement was incorrect.” 

You nodded. “Simply Miss Beckett.” 

“Well that sounds like very forward thinking actually. All the same, it is our pleasure to meet anyone in her highness’ court.” 

Violet smiled as she watched the interaction. If her son was close to anyone in the princess’ court, especially someone that seemed so close to the princess as to be sent here, then he would be able to meet the princess with good graces. He’d be ahead of any man by leagues. 

“Princess Y/N has sent me on her behalf. She extends warm greetings to the Bridgertons and the Featheringtons whom I will meet after our encounter. The princess congratulates Miss Daphne Bridgerton for earning Diamond of the Season as well as congratulations to the Dowager Viscountess for raising such a fine woman and to Viscount Bridgerton for chaperoning and keeping the family together therefore allowing his sister to shine.” 

He cleared his throat and started to smile. “Please give the princess all of our thanks for the most kind of compliments.” 

“And she would like to assure Miss Bridgerton that I have not been sent on behalf of any princes. Her brothers will not be bothering you today.” 

They all chuckled when you laughed. 

You set the first box down on the table next to you and opened it. “The princess has brought new dresses for the ball. The Diamond and the rest of her family should have the opportunity to shine with the utmost and wholehearted respect and support of the Crown. Please, enjoy them.” 

The family ran to the table, picking out dresses and suits and matching them to the person’s name on the paper pinned to each garment. They kept singing praises and admiring the outfits. Violet turned back to you. 

“When are you planning on visiting the Featheringtons?” 

“In an hour or so, I must be back before the princess’ morning promenade. She has a very busy day afterwards.” 

“Will the princess be introducing herself this season?” 

“Hyacinth!” Anthony and Violet yelled at the same time. 

You laughed. “It is no trouble. I’m at liberty to answer as the princess’ head valet.” 

“Valet? I thought you said they were all men. They are usually all men.” 

“If the princess should become heir to the throne then she will receive a male valet alongside me. For now, it is just me. The Crown believes someone of the same gender should always be with her should she need to confide in someone about very personal matters.” You took a breath before testing the waters. “Such as affections of the heart.” 

It had dawned on you in that moment that you could spy on the ton. When the time came, you would still have to dance with all the bachelors of the United Kingdom but you at least you would have a better picture of them. You’d have to apologize to Pandora for the countless strokes she was about to earn from you but you couldn’t make this your only time sneaking out.  

Violet smiled, knowing she was right. “Well, would you like to stay for breakfast?” 

“Oh, I wouldn’t want to impose.” 

“It would be no trouble at all. We have more than enough room. Eloise, dear, if Penelope is to come over please request that she do so now.”

(part 2)

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[shadowdaddies]

Distraction

Azriel x Reader

A/N: I keep thinking about how this scene from Captain America: the Winter Soldier would fit so well for Azriel x reader on a spy mission

warnings: none

A knock on your door shook you from your daze, wide eyes alert in a prepared defense until you heard the familiar voice rumble lowly through the wooden doorway.

“Are you ready?” Azriel questioned, rough voice sending an unrecognizable thrill through you as you strode towards the door. Turning the handle, you looked up to see hazel eyes darkening as the striking Illyrian swallowed, gaze raking over your form in the fitted dress you’d donned for the evening.

“Ready, Az,” you nodded, allowing yourself the guilty pleasure of admiring your friend’s appearance. He was dressed in a fitted all-black ensemble, tailored to show his impressive physique and highlight his features. He looked like a Prince of Darkness as he stepped to the side, holding out an arm for you to take.

“You look very nice, Azriel,” you smiled, playfully nudging him with your shoulder as he led you down the hall to the grand ballroom. 

He stiffened slightly at your words, as though shocked by the compliment, before he turned to face you. “You look...” he paused, taking a deep breath when he stepped back to look at you. Something sparked in your chest when he spoke again. “You look beautiful.”

Nodding, you looked away in an attempt to hide your blush as well as Azriel had hidden his shadows for the evening. You were both undercover from the Night Court, attending this ball in Hybern to find information on potential traitors. 

Since the war was won, Prythian had absorbed the kingdom of Hybern, but many were still resistant to the ideals of the Continent. You were sent with Azriel to the new ruler of Hybern’s birthday celebration to gather intel, searching for those who might pose a threat to the High Lord and Lady’s restructured kingdom. 

With Azriel’s shadows, he would be quickly identified as the infamous shadowsinger of the Night Court, but with his shadows hidden and you by his side, you could blend in with the other fae relatively easily. 

Which is why you now carried your shimmering skirts, shoes clicking down the marble floored halls with Azriel on your arm. You had expected to be more nervous going into the event, but something about Azriel’s touch kept you grounded, feeling calmer than ever. 

Approaching the double doors that led to the grand ballroom, you nodded your appreciation to the guards who opened the doors for you both. Words escaped you at the beauty of the room before you, murals of fairies from old lining the walls along with gilded chandeliers and twinkling faelight. It was beautiful and romantic, a far cry from what you had imagined Hybern to be.

Feeling a tug on your arm, you looked up to see Azriel flashing you a knowing grin as he guided you towards a servant. Picking up two drinks from their tray, he murmured appreciation to them before handing you a glass. You half-expected him to say something about the beauty of the evening, but surprise didn’t find you with his words.

“Remember our story. Keep it vague and learn what you can tonight,” Azriel murmured, his warm hand rubbing affectionately on your waist at odds with his words. You nodded, remembering your role new mates as your role for the night, and that his touch meant nothing more.

Twining your fingers with his, you led Azriel to a couple who stood by the hearth, smiling as they both listened to the band play its lively tune. You chatted with them, learning the gossip about several royal families who did not approve of the new structure in Hybern. 

“Well done,” Azriel murmured, his lips warm against your knuckles as he pulled them, twirling you in a playful move across the dance floor closer to the next target for intel. 

You wished the giggle that escaped you was more effort than it was, but something about you was truly drawn to Azriel. He was gentle with you, but fiercely defensive of those he cared for. A skilled warrior and good friend. 

Swallowing, you willed your emotions beneath the surface to plaster on your face of grace. Swiping another glass of faerie wine, you focused on the faux feelings you’d manufactured for the evening, ignoring those you really felt towards Azriel as best you could.

You were deep in conversation, laughing and joking with the female visiting from Vallahan when Azriel’s fingers tensed around your waist. Feigning ignorance, you smiled lazily at your “mate.” 

“Is everything alright, my love?” You asked - the question you’d planned beforehand if anything unplanned were to arise. 

Azriel’s gaze flicked to you, more wild than you had ever seen his bright hazel eyes. “I am just aching for a dance with my mate, is all,” he purred, teasing voice betraying the shaking fingertips that hovered your hips.

With audible “awws” and cooing at two new mates who couldn’t resist to be apart, the other fae ushered you towards the busy dance floor, where Azriel took your hand and waist, back held in surprisingly impressive form.

“I know the male in the opposite corner from where I face,” Azriel whispered in your ear, soft as if he were telling you sweet nothings. You ignored the hitch in your breath, gaze flicking briefly to a tall, burly male in the corner whose own eyes flicked to Azriel with curiosity.

“Come with me,” you whispered back, not missing how Azriel shivered at your lips on his ear. He followed you, hands loosely intertwined while you wove through the crowd towards the dark corner of the room opposite from the suspecting male.

Your heart hammered in your chest as the male moved through the ballroom, gaze scanning the crowd including yourselves as though he were looking for someone. 

“Kiss me,” you whispered, pulling Azriel’s body tight against your own, which was pressed to the cold wall. 

“W-what?” he choked out, and you had to bite back your grin at the uncharacteristically flustered spymaster. 

“Public displays of affection make people uncomfortable. Kiss me,” you demanded, willing yourself not to look to the presence you could sense nearing you.

Azriel’s eyes practically glowed as he searched your face, searching for affirmation before one hand found your waist, the other wrapping around the back of your neck as he pulled you in for a deep kiss.

An electric energy shot through you, the spark hitting your chest hard enough to steal your breath at the feeling of his soft lips on your own. You melted into the kiss with ease, both of your bodies interlacing like two halves of a whole. 

You were dizzy for air, completely forgetting everyone else around you when Azriel pulled away, his eyes wide with something that looked like shock. 

Pushing back, you scanned the area for potential threats before deciding you couldn’t find anything. “Azriel, what happened? Are you okay?” You whispered, thumb stroking his cheek to keep up the charade of new mates.

“I- you’re my...” Azriel stuttered, just as you caught sight of the suspicious male slipping out onto the balcony. 

“Come on, Az. Let’s see what they’re up to,” you whispered, keeping a note in your mind to ask him what he was distracted by at a later time.

[inky-duchess]

Fantasy Guide to Education

I'm always asked what sort of education different people recieve throughout different historical eras and since I'm heading back to college soon, I thought it was high time I made this guide.

Disparity

Education is viewed as a right by many but for some and thoughout history it was a privilege. For the wealthy and those of high status, education can be easily accessed. They can afford to tailor an education to fit their needs, they can hire tutors, and they can afford tuitions to top schools. For the poor, education was a luxury. However this doesn't mean that it was available. Some communities would fund a school or send their children to a local teacher - usually they had to pay a daily fee or at least bring kindling for the heating. Many poorer children also worked so they could not attend school consistently or were pulled out very early into their education. However, some poorer students could gain access to high level education if they were extremely bright or caught the attention of a wealthy benefactor who could fund their education.

Education as a Weapon

Education could also be banned for certain groups in society. It could be illegal to fund schools or host gatherings for students of a certain background, race, religion or gender. Education against the law could be punished by imprisonment, exile or execution. This is a measure usually taken by oppressive governments in order to follow a moral code or restrict the betterment of a certain group. An example would be the Irish Catholics under the Penal Laws.

On the otherhand, there is education that is influenced by the state to inject certain values, moralities and Opinions into a population. This is the intense restriction of reading material, removal of books that contest the teachings of the government or the kidnap of children from their culture, in order to forcibly educated them in alignment to their beliefs. An example would be the residental schools of North America and Canada and the AHS schools of Nazi Germany.

Content

As above, content of what children learn usually falls into a certain category. This is also true for the education offered to the wealthy and the poor. The poor would be offered a basic education, learning literacy and arithmetic, usually with an expectation that the children would not go on to any jobs that needs a broader education. Any higher education would be hard to obtain because of cost and the discriminatory view of the enrollment panels. The wealthy would have access to an array of different subjects including: The arts (drawing, music, painting, poetry, dancing), sports (riding, martial skills, rowing, hunting), arithmetic, geography, languages, geography and history. While progression to higher education will still be difficult, any affluent families are legacies of prestigious colleges or can make a donation to grease a few palms. These schools would be where the wealthy make lifelong connections and get springboarded toward opportunities.

Private Tutoring

Whilst some affluent, aristocratic and Royal families send their children to schools, private tutoring in the home was a popular choice. Children would be educated at home but tutors who either lived in the home or come to the house. The children would be educated alongside siblings or the children of courtiers or neighbours. Private tutoring sessions would often be the only education for upper class women recieved, taught by governesses and tutors.

Premises and Equipment

As mentioned above, wealthy and aristocratic families would usually attend established schools or attend school at home. They would be provided any equipment they needed. If they attend school, they would often wear a uniform. Some schools had multiple variations of the uniform for different activities. Many of the schools attended would be boarding schools. Boarding schools offered education to those who boarded and day students, however day students were often looked down upon as lesser than.

Poorer schools would be relient on donations and fees paid by students. As mentioned above, there may be a building reserved for classes - sometimes an designated schoolhouse or a teacher's home or a public building such as a gathering house or sometimes even outside - hedge schools. Equipment would be provided by the school. Uniforms at poorer schools were not a thing but students were expected to show up neat and tidy.

Corporal Punishment

Corporal punishment at schools was the go to punishment for students. Teachers had free rein to strike children for mistakes and bad behaviour. Punishments include insolation, physical stress positions such as standing on a chair all day, getting objects thrown at them, being slapped on the back of the legs with a cane, being rapped on the palms or knuckles with a crop or ruler. Students may also be humiliated by teachers through the use of dunce hats, encouraging other children to bully them or by the use of verbal abuse. Corporal punishment did extend to all classes except for royal children since that was either taken by proxy by whipping boys or left up to parents.

[julienbakerstreet]

Most audacious claims from Baring-Gould's biography of Sherlock Holmes:

Moriarty was briefly Holmes' childhood math tutor and they hated each other.

Lewis Carroll was Holmes' professor at Oxford and they became good friends.

Holmes met Karl Marx and hung out with his anarchist friends because of their shared interest in assassinations, but wasn’t interested in politics enough to pay attention to Marx's economic theory or attach any significance to it.

Holmes toured America as an actor where he acquired a taste for oysters, met Chicago gangsters, and gained a firsthand knowledge of buffaloes.

Holmes had a lifelong feud with George Bernard Shaw over Shaw's opinion of Sarasate.

Holmes and Irene Adler had a lovechild during the hiatus who grew up to be Rex Stout’s detective Nero Wolfe.

Sherlock Holmes solved the Ripper murders. Watson also solved the Ripper murders, independently of Holmes.

Watson wanted Holmes to marry Violet Hunter so they could have a double wedding.

Holmes particularly liked to assist clients named Violet because it was his mother’s name.

Holmes spent part of the hiatus researching the Yeti at the behest of the Dalai Lama. He discovered the Yeti but found him "a mild, inoffensive creature" and kept its existence a secret so it wouldn't be hunted or imprisoned in a zoo.

During the hiatus, Holmes became the first person to make a partial ascent of Mount Everest. He was able to do this because the Vernet branch of his family are natural-born mountain climbers.

Holmes fought a pterodactyl that his cousin, Professor Challenger, brought to London. Watson saved Holmes from the pterodactyl by killing it.

Watson was an amazing billiards player and he only ever played with the chief maker of billiards in England.

Holmes started eating royal jelly from his bees to prolong his life and lived to 103. He gave Mycroft this royal jelly as well, which allowed him to be the head of the British Secret Service through both World Wars.

Source: Sherlock Holmes of Baker Street: A Life of the World's First Consulting Detective, William Baring-Gould, 1962

[theonottsbxtch]

THE PRINCESS AND THE DRIVER PT.4 | MV1

an: and here we have the final part of this series! i hope you enjoyed it and let me know what you think!!

wc: 9.8k

warnings: mentions of death

part one | part two | part three |

Eight months had passed, and in that time, the princess had learned to hide the cracks in her carefully curated life. The early days of her relationship with Max had been a whirlwind of stolen moments, secret meetings, and late-night calls that left her breathless with excitement. But as time wore on, the reality of their worlds—their vastly different lives—began to close in on them.

Tonight, the palace was eerily still, its grand halls and corridors cloaked in shadows. The heavy curtains had been drawn tight, muting the vibrant light that usually flooded the rooms, as if the building itself sensed the growing tension. Every footstep echoed more loudly than usual, the soft rustle of servants moving with a palpable caution, their faces marked by an unspoken understanding of what was to come.

She sat in her private sitting room, staring blankly at the letter in her lap, her mind swirling with worry. The royal physician’s words felt like a punch in the chest: The king’s condition has worsened. We must prepare for all eventualities.

Her father was a shadow of the man he had once been. The strong, commanding presence that had filled every room now lay weak and frail, confined to his chambers, his illness advancing faster than any of them had anticipated. The doctors tried to remain optimistic, but she knew what was coming. Her future, once distant, was now closing in rapidly, and with it, the weight of the crown.

She placed the letter down on the table beside her and leaned back in her chair, pressing her fingers to her temples to stave off the headache building behind her eyes. The room around her felt cold, impersonal, despite its opulence. The delicate tapestries and gilded furniture, once a source of comfort, now felt suffocating.

Her gaze flicked to the phone lying on the table. She hadn’t spoken to Max in days. The silence between them had grown heavier with each passing hour. He was deep into the racing season, travelling across the Americas, and while they texted when they could, it wasn’t enough—not anymore.

A knock at the door broke through her thoughts.

“Come in,” she called, her voice quieter than she intended.

Lukas stepped into the room, his expression unreadable, though there was a softness in his eyes that spoke of his concern. He bowed slightly, always formal, even when they were alone. “Your Highness,” he said, his voice low. “The advisors are requesting your presence in an hour to discuss the transition of duties.”

Her stomach twisted at his words. The transition of duties. A polite way of saying they needed to prepare for her father’s death—and her ascension to the throne. She had always known this day would come, but she had imagined it years in the future. Now, it was looming over her, closer than ever.

She nodded, swallowing hard. “Thank you, Lukas. I’ll be there.”

Lukas lingered in the doorway, his eyes scanning her face as if weighing whether to say more. “Is there anything you need before the meeting? Anything I can do for you?”

She shook her head, forcing a small smile that didn’t reach her eyes. “No, thank you, Lukas.”

He gave a respectful nod, though the worry in his gaze remained. He stepped back and closed the door behind him, leaving her alone once again.

The silence that followed was thick, oppressive. She stood and moved to the window, pushing aside the heavy curtain to look out at the gardens below. The once vibrant flowers seemed dull under the pale moonlight, the neatly trimmed hedges casting long shadows that stretched across the lawn like dark fingers.

Her eyes drifted toward the phone again, and this time, it buzzed softly. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw Max’s name flash across the screen. She hesitated for a moment, her hand hovering above it, before finally picking it up.

“Hey,” she said softly, her voice barely above a whisper.

“Hey,” came Max’s familiar voice, though there was an edge to it she hadn’t heard in a while. “I’ve been trying to call you all day. Are you okay? I just got out of practice.”

She closed her eyes, the sound of his voice bringing a small wave of comfort, though it was laced with the frustration of their current situation. “I’m sorry. Things have been… difficult here.”

Max sighed on the other end. “Yeah, I figured. I’ve been keeping up with the news. How’s your dad?”

She felt her throat tighten at the mention of her father. “It’s not good, Max. The doctors aren’t hopeful.” Her voice cracked despite her best efforts to keep it steady.

There was a long pause, and she could hear the faint hum of background noise from wherever Max was—likely a bustling racetrack, filled with the noise of mechanics and engines. “I wish I could be there with you,” he said finally, his voice softening. “But I’m stuck in Austin this week and Mexico then Brazil.”

“I know,” she replied, though the words tasted bitter. “I don’t want to pull you away from your career. I just… wish things weren’t so hard right now.”

Max let out another sigh, one filled with frustration. “I hate this. I hate that we’re both so busy, that I can’t just drop everything and be there for you when you need me.”

Her heart ached at his words. She missed him terribly—the easy way they used to be before everything became so complicated. “I know,” she whispered. “But this is what my life is now. I can’t escape it.”

“I get that,” Max said, though his tone suggested otherwise. “But it feels like I’m constantly competing with your royal duties, and I’m always coming up short.”

His words stung, not because they weren’t true, but because they were too true. She was always rushing from one responsibility to the next, with barely enough time for herself, let alone a relationship. “I don’t want you to feel like that,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. “But this is my reality, Max. I’m not just a princess anymore. I’m about to be a queen.”

Another silence fell between them, heavier than before.

“And where does that leave us?” Max asked finally, his voice soft, yet edged with uncertainty.

She closed her eyes, a tear slipping down her cheek. She had been asking herself that very question for weeks now, afraid of the answer. “I don’t know,” she admitted, her voice breaking. “I don’t want to lose you, but I don’t know how to make this work. My life… it’s not just mine anymore.”

Max was quiet for a long moment, and when he spoke again, his voice was softer, more understanding. “I miss you, liefje. I miss us.”

“I miss you too,” she whispered, her chest tightening painfully.

They stayed on the line, the silence between them filled with all the things they couldn’t say. The distance, the obligations, the roles they couldn’t abandon—it all loomed over them like a shadow.

Max sighed again, though this time it was more resigned. “Look, let’s not make any decisions right now. I’ll be back in a couple of weeks, and we can figure it out then. We always do.”

She nodded, even though he couldn’t see her. “Okay,” she said quietly. “We’ll figure it out.”

“Talk soon?” Max’s voice had a hopeful lilt, but she could hear the uncertainty underneath it.

“Talk soon,” she echoed, though the words felt hollow.

When the call ended, she set the phone down and stared out into the dark garden, her heart heavy. She wanted to believe Max’s optimism, but deep down, she wasn’t sure if love alone was enough to bridge the gap between their worlds.

With a deep breath, she pushed the thoughts aside. Duty called. It always did.

She walked into the meeting room, her footsteps quiet on the marble floor, but the weight of her thoughts echoed loudly in her mind. The council was already seated, their serious faces reflecting the gravity of the conversation that was about to take place. The grand room felt cold and imposing, with its high, vaulted ceilings and walls lined with portraits of previous rulers, all of them watching her with what felt like judgmental eyes.

She took her seat at the long mahogany table, her heart heavy. The chair creaked slightly as she sat down, but no one flinched. They were all waiting for her, waiting to begin discussing the future of the kingdom—her future, their future. The advisors spoke in low voices, the conversation flowing around her in a tide of words she couldn’t fully absorb. Something about succession, transitioning responsibilities, securing alliances.

But her mind was somewhere else. It was with Max, thousands of miles away, racing under the sun of some foreign country, oblivious to the turmoil in her heart. She could almost picture him—helmet in hand, his face lit with the easy smile that had first drawn her in. The image of him felt like a lifeline, a reminder of the simple joy she had found with him, of the version of herself that wasn’t weighed down by duty and expectation.

What if I just left? The thought crept in, unbidden. She imagined it—the two of them, disappearing from the public eye. No more council meetings, no more royal obligations. Just her and Max, living a life where she could breathe, where her decisions didn’t affect an entire kingdom. She pictured herself at the karting track again, the wind in her hair, the sound of engines roaring in the background, Max’s laughter filling the air. The world felt so much lighter there.

A voice broke through her thoughts, pulling her back to the present. “Your Highness, do you have any thoughts on the matter of the transition ceremony?”

She blinked, her focus snapping back to the meeting. She glanced around the table, the faces of her advisors all turned expectantly toward her. Her throat felt tight, and she could feel the weight of their expectations bearing down on her again.

“I... I think we need to consider all possibilities,” she managed, her voice steady, though her mind was still reeling from the clash of her desires.

She wasn’t lying. She had considered all possibilities. Including the one where she didn’t go through with this. Including the one where she abdicated the throne, passed the crown to someone else, and lived the life she dreamed of—free of these suffocating walls, free of the expectations that had been draped over her shoulders since birth. It would be so easy. So tempting.

But she knew, deep down, that it wasn’t right. She couldn’t just walk away. Her father, as ill as he was, had been a devoted king, sacrificing so much of his own life for the sake of the country. How could she abandon that legacy? And what about the people who relied on her? The citizens who saw her as their future? The weight of those thoughts pressed down on her like a stone.

Even Max had told her once, half-joking, that he admired how seriously she took her role. “I couldn’t do what you do,” he had said with a laugh. “There’s a lot of pressure in racing, but nothing compared to running an entire country.”

He was right. Her role wasn’t just a title. It was a responsibility. One she couldn’t turn her back on, no matter how much she wanted to, no matter how much the idea of escaping with Max tempted her in moments of weakness.

The conversation around the table continued, moving into details about diplomatic visits and the logistics of transitioning royal power. Her hands rested on the surface of the table, her fingers tracing the delicate wood grain as her mind wandered again, just for a moment.

She knew Max didn’t fully understand. How could he? He came from a world of adrenaline, where decisions were made in split seconds and victories or losses were determined in the blink of an eye. But her world was one of tradition, of slow, deliberate choices, where every move had consequences that rippled through generations. She had tried to explain it to him once, but the look in his eyes told her that he couldn’t grasp the magnitude of what she was saying. Not really.

And yet, she loved him. Loved him with an intensity that scared her at times, because it made her want things she knew she couldn’t have. Things that weren’t hers to take. She wanted to run to him, to leave all of this behind and lose herself in a life where they could be together, free from the constraints of their separate worlds.

But she couldn’t. She knew she couldn’t.

Her gaze drifted to the window at the far end of the room, where the palace grounds stretched out before her. Beyond the manicured gardens, beyond the walls of the palace, was the kingdom she would one day rule. A kingdom that needed stability, that needed someone strong to guide it through the uncertain times ahead.

And that someone was her.

“Your Highness?”

The voice of one of the advisors pulled her back to the present again. She turned her head, realising that they were waiting for her input once more. The room felt stifling now, the tension of their expectations thick in the air.

“I think we need to approach this with care,” she said finally, her voice firm, but her heart heavy with the weight of what she was saying. “The transition needs to be seamless. For the sake of the kingdom.”

The advisors nodded, satisfied with her response. They continued their discussions, but her thoughts were no longer with them. They were with Max, with the life she had glimpsed but knew she couldn’t fully embrace.

Maybe there would be a way to reconcile the two worlds one day. But for now, she knew she had to stay. The crown, heavy as it was, wasn’t something she could just set down.

Her heart would have to wait.

The morning was unnervingly quiet when she awoke. There was no chatter from the staff outside her chambers, no clinking of trays or muffled footsteps through the grand hallways. Instead, there was a thick stillness in the air, like the palace itself was holding its breath.

She blinked slowly, the heavy velvet curtains blocking the early morning light from creeping into her room. Something was off. The kind of wrongness that sits at the pit of your stomach before you even know why. She sat up, her silk nightgown brushing against the cool sheets, and glanced around the room. Everything looked the same, but the silence… the silence wasn’t right.

A soft knock at the door made her heart skip. It was gentle, too gentle, as though whoever stood on the other side didn’t want to disturb the stillness.

“Come in,” she called, her voice quiet but steady.

The door opened slowly, and Lukas stepped into the room. His usual composed expression was strained, his eyes heavy with something that made her heart sink instantly. He closed the door behind him, moving with a kind of deliberate calm, as if he were trying to soften the blow of whatever news he had brought with him.

"Lukas?" Her voice cracked slightly, betraying the rising fear inside her.

He didn’t speak at first. He simply stood there, his hands clasped in front of him, his eyes soft but filled with an unmistakable sadness. For a moment, she thought she might still be dreaming—trapped in some half-awake nightmare that didn’t feel real. But the look in Lukas’s eyes grounded her in reality.

She didn’t need him to say it. She knew.

Her heart stilled. “Is it… is it my father?”

Lukas lowered his head, exhaling slowly before lifting his gaze to meet hers again. “I’m so sorry, Your Highness. The king passed during the night.”

The world seemed to shift beneath her feet. Her breath hitched in her throat, her hands tightening in the fabric of her blanket as if trying to anchor herself in place. She had known this was coming. The doctors had warned them that it was only a matter of time. But no amount of warnings, no gentle words of preparation, could have braced her for this moment.

She felt hollow. Empty. Her father—the man who had been her rock, her guide, the unshakable force behind the kingdom—was gone.

“When?” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Lukas stepped closer, his expression never wavering from that quiet empathy. “Early this morning. Just before dawn. He passed peacefully, in his sleep.”

Her chest tightened. Peacefully. That was supposed to be some kind of comfort, wasn’t it? But it wasn’t. Not to her. Her father was gone, and all the peacefulness in the world couldn’t bring him back.

For a long moment, she didn’t move. She couldn’t. Her mind was racing, but her body felt paralyzed, like she was stuck between the need to scream and the need to collapse.

Lukas knelt by her side, his hand resting gently by her side. “Your Highness…”

She didn’t respond at first, her gaze fixed on the far wall as if trying to process what she had just heard. Her throat felt tight, and a wave of dizziness swept over her. The words Lukas had said—the king passed—rang in her ears like a bell, over and over again.

“I thought I’d have more time,” she murmured, more to herself than to Lukas. “I thought…” Her voice broke. “I thought he’d stay longer.”

Lukas’s face softened further, and for the first time in their years of knowing each other, he didn’t maintain his formal distance. He reached out and took her hand, offering the only comfort he could in this moment of unimaginable grief. “No one is ever ready to lose someone they love.”

She looked down at their joined hands, her vision blurring with unshed tears. The weight of everything—the crown, the kingdom, her father’s legacy—began to settle onto her shoulders, heavier than ever before. She had always known she would take on this role, but she never imagined it would feel like this.

“I… I don’t know if I can do this,” she whispered, her voice cracking under the strain. “Without him, I don’t know if I’m ready.”

“You are,” Lukas said softly but with conviction. “You are stronger than you know. The king believed in you, and so do I.”

She swallowed hard, tears spilling over her cheeks, her hand gripping his like a lifeline. Lukas had always been there—her protector, her confidant—but in this moment, he felt more like a brother, someone who understood the depths of her pain without needing to say a word.

She took a shaky breath, trying to collect herself. She had to be strong. That’s what her father had always taught her. The kingdom needed her now more than ever, and there was no room for weakness. No room for hesitation. But the idea of facing it all—without her father by her side—felt unbearable.

“I don’t know how to say goodbye to him,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Lukas’s eyes shimmered with his own emotion, though he kept his composure. “You don’t have to say goodbye just yet,” he said gently. “You’ll have time. But right now, the kingdom needs you, angel.”

Her breath hitched at the sound of her family nickname. He never called her that—never. It was always “Your Highness,” always formal. But in that moment, hearing that name spoken with such care, she felt a flicker of strength deep inside her. A reminder of who she was. Of who she had to be now.

She nodded slowly, wiping at her tears with the back of her hand. She had to face this. She had to step into the role that was now hers, even though it felt like the weight of the world was pressing down on her chest.

“When do they expect me?” she asked, her voice steadier, though still fragile.

“They’ll be gathering soon,” Lukas replied. “The council will want to discuss the next steps. But you don’t need to rush, angel. Take the time you need.”

She shook her head, already pushing the blankets off her lap and swinging her legs over the side of the bed. “No. I can’t delay this. They’re waiting for me.”

Lukas stood, watching her with quiet respect as she moved across the room, her steps slow but determined. He knew better than to argue. She was the queen now, and he would follow her lead, even in her grief.

As she reached for her dressing robe, her hand trembled, but she forced herself to keep moving. Her father’s death felt like the end of everything she had known, but she couldn’t let herself fall apart. Not now. Not with so much at stake.

But as Lukas turned to leave, giving her privacy to get ready, her voice stopped him.

“Lukas?” she called softly, her throat tight.

He paused at the door, looking back at her with patient eyes.

She swallowed hard, tears filling her eyes once more. “Thank you. For being here.”

Lukas’s expression softened, and he gave a small nod. “Always.”

With that, he left her alone in the quiet room, the weight of her new reality settling heavily around her. She stood there for a moment, staring at her reflection in the mirror. She looked the same—dishevelled hair, tear-streaked cheeks, red-rimmed eyes. But she wasn’t the same.

She wasn’t just a princess anymore.

She was the queen.

And no matter how much she wished she could run to Max, to disappear into a life where this kind of pain didn’t exist, she knew she couldn’t. Her place was here, with her people. It always had been.

With a deep breath, she wiped her tears once more and began preparing herself for the hardest day of her life. She sat herself in front of her mirror, her hands trembling slightly as she fastened the last button on her mourning dress. The black fabric clung to her skin, a stark reminder of the weight she now carried. She could hear the faint murmur of voices from the hallway—preparations for the day ahead—but it all felt distant, like she was floating in a fog of disbelief.

She couldn’t believe he was gone. Her father—the man who had always been larger than life, even in his sickness—was gone. The reality of it still hadn’t fully settled in, and every breath she took felt shallow, tight, as if the grief itself had taken residence in her lungs.

A soft knock on her door broke through her thoughts. Before she could respond, the door creaked open, and her mother stepped quietly into the room. The Queen —or rather, soon to be Dowager Queen —was the picture of regal composure, dressed in black silk, her hair neatly swept back. But there was a fragility in her eyes, a sadness that she wore beneath the surface.

She stood slowly, feeling the familiar ache of tears she had forced back all morning. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The room was filled with the unsaid, the emotions too heavy to name. But then, without a word, her mother crossed the space between them and wrapped her arms around her, pulling her into a tight embrace.

She didn’t realise how much she needed it until the warmth of her mother’s arms was around her. She collapsed into the embrace, burying her face in her mother’s shoulder as the tears finally came. Quiet, stifled sobs, muffled against the fabric of her mother’s dress. Her mother held her tightly, her hand smoothing her hair in a soothing gesture she hadn’t felt since she was a child.

“I’m so sorry, Mama,” she choked out between breaths, feeling the guilt welling up with her grief. Guilt for not being able to save him, for not being ready to take his place. “I—I don’t know if I can do this.”

Her mother pulled back just enough to look at her, cupping her tear-streaked face in her hands. Her mother’s eyes were red, but there was a strength in them, a deep well of faith that steadied her trembling heart.

“You can, my love,” her mother said softly, her voice unwavering despite the sadness etched in every word. “I know this feels unbearable now. But you are ready. More ready than you think.”

She shook her head, blinking back more tears. “But what if I fail? What if I can’t live up to—”

Her mother cut her off, her voice gentle but firm. “You won’t fail. Your father believed in you. He knew you were destined for this, and I believe it too. You have his heart, his strength, and more than that, you have your own wisdom. The wisdom of someone who understands the world in a way he couldn’t.”

Her breath hitched as she stared into her mother’s eyes. She wanted to believe her, wanted to hold onto that certainty, but doubt clawed at the edges of her mind. “But I’m not like him. I’m not sure I’m strong enough to rule this country.”

Her mother’s lips curved into a faint, sad smile as she gently wiped away her tears with her thumb. “No one is like him. Your father was unique. But the strength you need doesn’t have to look the same as his. You have your own kind of strength, darling, and that’s what this country needs now.”

The room seemed to fall silent again, save for the sound of their breathing, the tension of the day settling around them both. She stared at her mother, searching for any crack in her confidence, but she found none. The Queen had been through this before. She had watched her own husband rise to the throne, and now she was passing that same responsibility to her daughter.

Her mother’s hands moved to clasp her own, squeezing them tightly. “I’m ready to become the Dowager Queen, angel,” she said, her voice soft but steady. “I’m ready to step aside because I have complete faith in you. The only person who can lead this kingdom as well as your father did... is you.”

Her breath hitched. The words hit her harder than she expected. She had spent so long doubting her readiness, questioning whether she could ever be the leader her father was, that she hadn’t allowed herself to see that others believed in her. That her mother—who had stood beside her father through every challenge—believed in her.

“I can’t do it without you,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

Her mother smiled gently. “You won’t have to. I’ll always be here, by your side. But this is your time now, darling. The country needs you.”

She swallowed, her throat thick with emotion. Her mother's unwavering belief in her felt like a lifeline, pulling her up from the depths of her fear. Slowly, she nodded, more to herself than to her mother. She had no choice but to be strong now���for the country, for her father’s legacy, and for the people who were looking to her for guidance.

Her mother leaned in, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead. “You are more than capable, my love. You were born for this. And when you step into that room today, they’ll see it too.”

For a long moment, they stayed like that, holding each other, sharing their grief in the stillness of the morning. She felt the warmth of her mother’s strength seep into her, and she let herself draw from it, her resolve beginning to harden beneath the surface of her sadness.

When her mother finally pulled away, she felt steadier. The grief hadn’t left her, and she knew it never fully would, but the weight of it felt more bearable. She had to carry it now, along with everything else. But she wouldn’t be alone.

As she turned to leave the room, she paused at the door, her hand resting on the frame. “Darling?” she said softly, her voice carrying a quiet wisdom.

She looked up, her eyes still glistening with unshed tears. “Yes?”

“Remember this,” her mother said, her gaze filled with love and pride. “You don’t have to be perfect. You just have to lead with your heart. That’s what your father did, and it’s what will make you a great queen.”

She wasn’t just a daughter anymore. She wasn’t just a princess. She was the future of the kingdom.

“There’s one more thing,” her mother said softly, before stepping out of the room.

She tilted her head, waiting.

“You need to tell him,” her mother said gently.

Her heart skipped. “Max?” she asked, though she already knew the answer.

Her mother nodded. “Yes. He’s been in your life long enough to deserve to know the truth about what you’re going through.”

She looked away, chewing her lip. “I don’t know, Mama. He... he has his own life. He’s busy with Formula One. I don’t want to burden him with all of this. It’s too much.” Her voice faltered as she spoke, the idea of leaning on him feeling both comforting and terrifying.

Her mother stepped closer, her presence warm and grounding. “Darling,” she said softly, placing a gentle hand on her daughter’s shoulder, “you need someone in your corner who isn’t Lukas, and who isn’t me. You need someone who can be there for you, not just as the future queen, but as the woman you are. Max could be that person.”

She felt her throat tighten at her mother’s words. She knew, deep down, her mother was right. But admitting that she needed Max meant admitting her own vulnerability—and that was something she hadn’t done in a long time.

“What if he... doesn’t understand?” She asked quietly, her voice barely a whisper.

Her mother’s expression softened even more, a small smile pulling at her lips. “From what I’ve seen, he already understands more than you give him credit for. And if he truly cares for you, he’ll be there. You just need to give him the chance.”

She nodded, but the hesitation remained. She felt torn between the duties of her crown and the need for something that felt real, something that wasn’t bound by the weight of royal expectations.

Her mother brushed a strand of hair behind her ear, her eyes filled with quiet understanding. “It’s okay to let someone in, sweetheart. You don’t have to carry all of this alone.”

For a long moment, she didn’t respond. Her mother’s words settled over her, both soothing and unsettling, as if she were being asked to make a leap she wasn’t sure she was ready for. But beneath the uncertainty, a small part of her yearned to reach out to him, to let him in—if only because the thought of facing this without him felt lonelier than she could bear.

Her mother gave her one last look, one filled with love and confidence. “Think about it,” she said softly. “But whatever you choose, remember—you’re not alone.”

With that, her mother kissed her forehead and quietly left the room.

She stood there, frozen in place, her mind swirling. She knew what she had to do, but the fear still gripped her. She crossed the room to her bedside table, where her phone lay charging. She picked it up, her fingers brushing the screen, and instinctively unlocked it.

Max’s name stared back at her in the text thread. There were a few unread messages, one from earlier in the week, asking how she was. Another a few days before that, checking in on her. She hadn’t responded to either.

Her thumb hovered over his name, the familiar flutter in her chest both comforting and suffocating. She wanted to tell him, wanted to lean on him like her mother had said, but a part of her still hesitated. What if this was too much? What if the weight of the crown pushed them apart even further?

She sighed and locked her phone again, placing it gently back on the table. Not yet. She wasn’t ready.

As she sat on the edge of her bed, staring at the darkened screen, she let out a long, shaky breath. Her heart felt heavy with the decision she knew was coming.

But for now, she couldn’t do it. Not yet.

It was time to face the council. It was time to step into her role as queen.

The next few days blurred together in a whirlwind of meetings, press conferences, and preparations for the coronation. The throne room, once a place of regal splendour, felt like a cage, the high ceilings looming over her as if they were pressing down on her spirit. Each morning, she found herself sitting at the long, polished table in the council chamber, flanked by advisors and ministers, their discussions echoing around her like the distant tolling of a bell.

The council members had officially announced her ascension to the throne to the country the day before, and the press had been relentless, covering every angle of her impending coronation. “A new era,” they called it, but all she could feel was the weight of expectation pressing heavily on her shoulders. She had always known this moment would come, but the reality of it settled over her like a storm cloud, darkening the sunniest of days.

As she sat in the meetings, she tried to focus on the conversations swirling around her—the budget reports, the upcoming legislation, the various projects and initiatives they wanted her to endorse. But her mind often drifted, the words fading into a dull hum as she stared blankly at the documents in front of her. She could hear snippets of conversation, the concerns about the economy, discussions about trade relations, and plans for the upcoming public addresses, but her heart wasn’t in it.

What pulled her focus away was the nagging thought of Max. She had kept her distance, thinking it would be easier for him. But each time her phone buzzed, every time she saw a glimpse of Formula One on television or the news, she felt the ache of wanting to reach out to him. He’d won his first race and as much as she wanted to congratulate him, she couldn’t. They had shared something special—a connection that felt genuine and freeing, and she couldn’t shake the feeling that she was losing that by hiding.

In the afternoon meetings, as the minister of agriculture outlined his proposals, she caught herself staring at the ornate clock on the wall, its hands ticking relentlessly forward. Time was slipping away, and she was losing the grip on everything that had felt so real only a week ago.

“Your Highness?” The sound of her name broke through her thoughts, and she looked up to find Lord Harrington, the lead advisor, peering at her with concern. “We need your input on this initiative. It’s vital to our agricultural sustainability moving forward.”

She nodded, forcing her mind to clear. “Of course,” she replied, trying to summon the confidence she was known for. She scanned the proposal quickly, her eyes catching on various points, but nothing resonated with her. “I think we should explore more sustainable options, perhaps partner with local farms to promote organic practices.”

The room buzzed with murmurs of approval, and she felt a flicker of relief that she hadn’t completely lost herself in the weight of her responsibilities. She had to remember that there was a reason she was chosen for this role; she had the ability to lead, to inspire change. But with every discussion, she felt more like a pawn than a queen.

As the week progressed, the relentless pace of preparations for her coronation only intensified. Staff members rushed around the palace, organising floral arrangements, selecting ceremonial attire, and finalising the guest list for the grand event. Each detail was scrutinised, each decision weighed against the legacy her father had left behind.

She spent late nights poring over documents, trying to prepare herself for the monumental shift that was about to happen. It felt surreal, as though she were watching someone else’s life play out on a screen. The days bled into one another, and the excitement of the upcoming ceremony was overshadowed by the persistent thrum of anxiety that buzzed beneath her skin.

Amidst the chaos, she sought solace in her mother’s company. Her mother seemed to understand her unspoken fears, providing a calming presence in the midst of the preparations. They spent hours going over the details, discussing speeches and strategies, and every time they stood together in the mirror, she felt her resolve strengthen just a little bit.

“Remember, this isn’t just a ceremony,” her mother reminded her gently one evening as they were fitting her coronation gown. “It’s a declaration of your strength and your commitment to the people. You’re not just stepping into your father’s shoes; you’re creating your own path.”

She nodded, though a small part of her still felt like she was stumbling in the dark. But every time her mother spoke, she felt a flicker of hope—a reminder that she didn’t have to carry this burden alone.

On the day before the coronation, she sat at her desk in the late afternoon, glancing out the window at the sprawling gardens below. The sun was beginning to dip toward the horizon, casting golden rays that danced over the manicured lawns. She could hear the distant sounds of celebration and preparation from the town below, where the citizens were already gathering for the festivities. Yet, in the heart of the palace, she felt completely isolated.

She picked up her phone, her heart racing as she scrolled through her contacts. Max’s name was there, tantalisingly close, but still she hesitated. The fear of pulling him into her world, of exposing him to the chaos that now filled her life, held her back.

“What if he doesn’t want this?” she murmured to herself, feeling the weight of the decision hang in the air. “What if he thinks I’m just a royal duty?”

But then she remembered her mother’s words. She needed someone in her corner, someone who understood the real her, not just the princess or the future queen.

With a deep breath, she pressed his name and hovered over the screen, fingers poised to type. Before she could talk herself out of it again, she began typing a message.

I miss you x

The morning of the coronation was uncharacteristically quiet in the grand palace, with only the soft rustle of silk and the gentle chirping of birds filtering through the open window. She lay in bed, her heart racing, thoughts swirling like the delicate clouds above. Today was monumental, yet a profound emptiness echoed in her chest, overshadowed by the grief of her father’s recent passing. She hadn’t slept well, the weight of expectation pressing down on her as the sun rose, illuminating the ornate details of her chamber.

Just as she was about to pull herself from the tangled sheets, a soft knock sounded at her door, breaking the silence. Before she could respond, the door creaked open, revealing Lukas, a mischievous glint in his eye.

“Good morning, Your Highness,” he said, his voice playful. “You might want to hurry up; the world is waiting.”

“Lukas,” she replied with a weary smile, “I’m not in the mood for your antics today.”

But he stepped into the room, a conspiratorial smile spreading across his face. “I have a surprise for you.”

Her curiosity piqued as she raised an eyebrow. “What sort of surprise?”

“Just wait here,” he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief. With a swift movement, he stepped out of the room and closed the door behind him.

Moments later, the door swung open again, and her breath caught in her throat. There, standing in the threshold, was Max, his familiar silhouette framed by the soft morning light.

“What are you doing here?” she blurted out, her heart leaping into her throat. “You have a race tomorrow!”

Max stepped closer, an easy confidence radiating from him, but there was a serious glint in his eyes. “I told them I sprained my wrist,” he said, his voice low, almost intimate. “I needed to be here for you.”

A rush of emotions washed over her—relief, joy, and a deep longing she hadn’t realised had grown so potent in his absence. “You shouldn’t have done that,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper, caught between astonishment and gratitude. “You have responsibilities, Max.”

“I know,” he replied, his gaze steady and unwavering, “but I couldn’t bear the thought of you facing this day without me. You’re about to become queen, and I want to be here to support you, to remind you that you’re not alone.”

Before she could respond, he closed the distance between them, his hands finding her waist, pulling her closer. Time seemed to pause as he leaned in, and the world outside faded away. The moment their lips met, it ignited a spark that surged through her body, overwhelming and electric. It was as if the tension of all their missed moments collided in that kiss, filling the space between them with heat and urgency.

She melted into him, her hands sliding up to his shoulders as she deepened the kiss, losing herself in the warmth and familiarity of his embrace. Every worry about her duties, the impending coronation, and the expectations of the kingdom faded into oblivion. All that mattered was Max, his presence igniting something within her that felt undeniably right.

When they finally broke apart, breathless and flushed, she searched his eyes, both exhilarated and terrified by the intensity of the moment. “What if they find out?” she whispered, her heart still racing.

Max’s expression softened, a playful smile tugging at his lips. “Let them. I’m not afraid. I’d rather face the world with you than race without you in my thoughts.”

She shook her head, unable to suppress a smile of her own. “You’re reckless, you know that?”

“Only for you,” he replied, his tone sincere, his eyes holding hers with an intensity that made her heart flutter.

“But what if they fire you?” she asked, her voice a mixture of concern and disbelief. “You’ve worked so hard to get where you are. You can’t just throw it all away.”

Max’s expression softened, his hands still cradling her face, grounding her. “Liefje,” he said earnestly, “I want to leave Formula One. I want to be by your side.” His tone was steady, unwavering. “I’ve never felt as happy as I’ve been around you. Racing doesn’t compare to what we have. I can’t remember a day when racing made me feel what you make me feel. I’ve won championships. Someone like you doesn’t come around more than once.”

His words hung in the air, heavy with unspoken promises and dreams. She felt her heart flutter, caught between disbelief and overwhelming emotion. “But Max, this is your passion. You’ve dedicated so much of your life to it,” she insisted, a part of her unwilling to let him walk away from his dreams.

“It was my passion,” he replied, his voice low and sincere. “But now… now it feels different. Being with you, knowing you’re stepping into your role as queen, that makes me want to change everything. I want to support you, not just as a driver but as someone who stands by your side through everything.”

Her heart swelled at his words, the tenderness in his gaze making her momentarily forget the looming challenges of her new position. “I don’t want to hold you back, though,” she whispered, biting her lip, torn between the thrill of their connection and the reality of their worlds.

Max stepped back slightly, his hands dropping to her shoulders. “You’re not holding me back. You’re the reason I want to be more than just a racer. I’ve been racing for trophies, for accolades, but they all feel hollow compared to what we have.” He took a deep breath, as if gathering the courage to lay his heart bare. “I want a life that includes you, and I’m willing to fight for that. I can’t do this without you, schatje.”

The sincerity in his voice tugged at her heartstrings, and she felt a rush of warmth at his willingness to sacrifice so much for her. “You really mean that?” she asked, her voice trembling with emotion.

“More than anything,” he replied, stepping closer again, their bodies almost touching. “I’m not asking you to choose between your duty and me. I just want you to know that I’ll always be here, whatever you decide.”

A lump formed in her throat as she considered his words, a whirlwind of emotions swirling within her. The thought of him giving up his career was both beautiful and terrifying, and she couldn’t shake the fear of how their worlds might collide. “But… what will people say?” she murmured, looking down at their intertwined hands.

Max lifted her chin gently, forcing her to meet his gaze. “Let them talk. This is our lives, engeltje. You’re stepping into a new role, and I want to be a part of that. I want to support you in every way I can. Together, we can figure it out.”

Tears pricked at her eyes as the enormity of his offer washed over her. “It’s just… so much,” she confessed, feeling vulnerable yet uplifted by his presence. “What if I’m not ready for this? What if I fail?”

Max’s thumb brushed gently across her cheek, wiping away a single tear that had escaped. “You’re stronger than you realise,” he said softly. “I’ve seen it in you. You’re going to be an incredible queen, and I want to be there, cheering you on, not from a racetrack, but right by your side.”

In that moment, she felt a shift within herself. The weight of her father’s legacy and the impending coronation felt a little less daunting with Max’s support. The uncertainty remained, but so did the flicker of hope. She could see a future where they navigated the complexities of her role together, rather than apart.

As they stood wrapped in each other’s embrace, a sudden playful thought crossed her mind, lightening the moment’s intensity. She pulled back slightly, a teasing smile playing on her lips. “You know there is a protocol for this. You’re meant to propose before you quit everything in your life just to sit beside me.”

Max’s eyes widened with a mix of surprise and amusement, a slow grin spreading across his face. “Oh, is that how it works?” he said, feigning innocence. Then, with a determined glint in his eyes, he let go of her waist, dropping to one knee on the plush carpet of her chamber.

She gasped, her heart racing as he put his hands back on her waist, anchoring himself in place. “Marry me then, princess,” he said, his voice low and sincere, though the absence of a ring hung in the air between them like an unfinished sentence.

A rush of emotions flooded through her—joy, disbelief, and an overwhelming sense of love. Her heart swelled as she looked down at him, the man who had come into her life unexpectedly and changed everything. This was a moment she had never anticipated, yet it felt so profoundly right.

“Max,” she said softly, her voice a mixture of excitement and apprehension. “You don’t have a ring.”

“Who needs a ring?” he countered with a smirk, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “I’m pretty sure I can make do without one for now.” He looked up at her, sincerity radiating from him. “What matters is that I want to spend my life with you, however we make that happen.”

She felt her heart flutter at his words, her earlier worries momentarily forgotten. “This is… wow, unexpected,” she said, her smile growing wider as she tried to process the enormity of what was happening. “Are you really sure?”

Max nodded earnestly, his gaze unwavering. “Absolutely. You’re it for me, schatje. There’s no one else I’d rather have by my side. I want to build a future with you, no matter what it looks like.”

His sincerity warmed her heart, and she felt a rush of affection surge through her. “You’re serious, aren’t you?” she said, her voice breathy and filled with awe. “You’d give it all up for me?”

“Without hesitation,” he replied, the weight of his promise hanging in the air like a soft echo. “You’re the reason I want to redefine everything. I’d rather face the challenges that come with being with you than chase trophies that won’t matter in the end. I’ve already made a name for myself.”

Tears brimmed in her eyes as she knelt beside him, her heart pounding in her chest. “Max, you know this isn’t an easy life. There are protocols, expectations… responsibilities that come with the crown.”

“Then let’s face them together,” he said, his hands slipping to her palms as he held her gaze, his expression earnest and filled with warmth. “I’m not afraid of the challenges. I want to be your partner in all of this, in the crown and beyond.”

His words resonated within her, echoing through the quiet of the chamber. This was what she had longed for—the freedom to be herself, to love without the constraints of her title. “You’re incredible,” she breathed, a smile breaking across her face. “I don’t know how I got so lucky.”

“Because we found each other,” he said simply, still kneeling before her, and in that moment, time seemed to stand still.

As she took in the sight of him—his casual yet earnest demeanour, the way his eyes shone with love—she realised how much she wanted to embrace this possibility. With Max, she could build a life that transcended royal duties and expectations. “Okay,” she said finally, her heart racing with excitement. “Let’s do this. I want to marry you.”

A wide grin broke out across Max’s face as he rose to his feet, pulling her up with him and into a tight embrace that felt like home. “You have no idea how happy that makes me,” he whispered, burying his face in her hair, his arms wrapping securely around her.

“And while you don’t have a ring, I suppose we’ll have to go shopping for one in the family safe,” she said, laughter bubbling up as she stepped back to look at him. “But in the meantime, I guess I’ll just have to get used to being your fiancée without any bling.”

Max chuckled, a sound that filled the room with warmth. “I’ll get you the prettiest ring I can find. One that suits a princess, even if I’m just a guy from the karting track.”

“Not just any guy,” she said, her heart swelling with affection. “You’re my guy.”

Just as she and Max shared another lingering kiss, the moment was interrupted by a gentle but firm knock on the door. Before either of them could react, Lukas opened the door and stepped inside, a playful smirk on his face.

“While it was cute to eavesdrop on this conversation,” he said, crossing his arms with a teasing glint in his eyes, “Your Highness, you have a coronation to get to. Oh and, congratulations.”

She pulled away from Max, her cheeks flushed with a mixture of embarrassment and delight. “Lukas! You could’ve knocked a little louder!” she exclaimed, trying to regain her composure.

Max chuckled, slipping his arm around her waist, clearly unfazed by Lukas’s entrance. “What can I say? The excitement was too much for me to contain,” he replied, winking at her.

Lukas raised an eyebrow, his expression shifting from playful to serious. “As much as I’m thrilled to see you both in such high spirits, we need to focus. There’s a schedule to follow, and the country is expecting you to step into your role as queen today.”

She nodded, her heart racing again as the reality of her responsibilities settled in. “Right, the coronation,” she murmured, glancing at Max, who remained close beside her. The moment felt electric, as if their conversation about love and commitment had wrapped them in a protective bubble against the outside world.

“Do you need a moment?” Lukas asked, breaking her reverie as he gestured between the two of them. “I can come back.”

“No, no. We’re fine,” she said, her voice steadier than she felt. “But I do need to get ready.”

Lukas’s expression softened slightly, and he offered a genuine smile. “Good. I’d hate to keep the kingdom waiting for too long. And, Mr. Verstappen,” he added, turning to him with a knowing look, “make sure she remembers that this is a huge day for her. No distractions.”

Max nodded, his eyes sparkling with mischief. “Don’t worry, I’ll keep her on track,” he said, giving her a mock-serious look. “I promise not to distract her too much.”

She laughed, feeling a rush of warmth and gratitude for the way they interacted—Max, with his playful charm, and Lukas, with his unwavering dedication. “I appreciate that,” she said, smiling at both of them. “I don’t want to keep anyone waiting.”

“Good. Then I’ll let you get ready,” Lukas said, stepping back toward the door but pausing for a moment to meet Max’s gaze. “And you,” he added, “keep it together until the coronation is over. There will be plenty of time for celebrating afterward.”

Max raised his hands in mock surrender. “Understood, Captain Lukas.”

With a final nod, Lukas stepped out of the room, closing the door behind him, leaving her and Max alone once again. The air felt different now—charged with anticipation and purpose.

“So…” Max began, leaning against the foot of her bed with a playful grin, “are you ready to take on the world? Or at least the country?”

She took a deep breath, letting the weight of her new reality wash over her. “I guess I have to be,” she replied, her voice steady. “Today is about more than just me. It’s about the people I’ll serve and lead.”

Max stepped closer, his expression turning earnest. “And you’ll do an amazing job. You’re already a queen in my eyes, and this coronation is just the official part. You have all the qualities that make a great leader—compassion, strength, and a heart full of love.”

Her heart swelled at his words, and she felt a renewed sense of determination. “Thank you, Max. Your support means everything to me, especially today.”

He reached for her hands, intertwining their fingers. “I’m with you every step of the way, princess,” he said, his voice low and sincere. “No matter what challenges come, you’ll never have to face them alone.”

Taking a look at Max, a thought crossed her mind, walking across the room to a small, ornate bell nestled on a table by the window. She picked it up, her heart racing as she prepared to summon the attendants. With a quick glance back at Max, who was still leaning casually against her bed, she rang the bell, the clear chime echoing through the elegant chamber.

Max raised an eyebrow, curiosity etched on his face. “What are you doing?” he asked, a playful grin tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“I need you to get fitted for a suit,” she replied, her tone light but filled with purpose. She turned back to face him, crossing her arms. “You’ll be by my side during the coronation, and that means you can’t just wear what you’re wearing.”

Max chuckled, glancing down at his casual attire—comfortable jeans and a fitted T-shirt. “You don’t think this is enough?” he asked, a teasing glimmer in his eyes.

She stepped closer, her expression turning serious. “No, Max. You need a royal suit. Something that reflects who you are now,” she emphasised, her heart swelling at the thought of him standing beside her during such a pivotal moment. “Oh, and you should probably meet my mother, the Queen Dowager. I’m sure she’d love to see you before the ceremony.”

Max’s eyes widened slightly at the mention of her mother, but a determined smile spread across his face. “Queen Dowager, huh? No pressure there,” he said, chuckling nervously. “What do I say to her? ‘Hi, I’m the guy who’s been dating your daughter while you were busy preparing for a royal coronation’?”

“Pretty much,” she teased, her laughter ringing through the room. “But just be yourself. She’ll appreciate your honesty. And besides, I think she’ll like you.”

A soft knock sounded at the door, and before she could respond, it swung open to reveal one of her attendants, a young woman with a friendly smile. “Your Highness, you summoned?”

“Yes, please arrange for Mr. Verstappen to be fitted for a suit,” she instructed, her tone firm but friendly. “We need to make sure he looks regal today.”

The attendant nodded, her eyes darting between her and Max, clearly wondering who he was. “Of course, Your Highness. Right away.”

As the attendant exited, Max gave her a mock-serious look. “So, do I get to pick my own colours? I’m not sure what would look good on me in royal attire.”

She shrugged, unable to contain her laughter. “I think you’d look good in anything, but maybe we can avoid neon colours,” she suggested, winking playfully. “How about something classic? Navy, perhaps? It’ll suit you and look great next to my gown.”

“Alright, I can work with navy,” Max said, his smile widening. “And what about my tie? Should I go for a bow tie or a regular one?”

“Regular, please,” she replied, trying to keep a straight face. “Just remember, you’re not going to a cocktail party. This is a coronation.”

“Got it. Regular tie, no neon, and navy it is,” he said, nodding seriously. “I’ll do my best to not embarrass you in front of the entire kingdom.”

“You’ll do great. Just remember to breathe,” she reassured him, stepping closer again. “And I’ll be right there beside you the entire time.”

Max took a deep breath, looking her up and down with a smile on his face. “Isn’t it my job to comfort you right now?”

The same attendant returned moments later, followed by another staff member carrying a measuring tape and a selection of fabric swatches. “Mr. Verstappen, if you’d follow us to the fitting room?” the attendant said with a professional smile.

“Time to be royal,” Max said, winking at her as he stepped away. “I’ll see you soon, Your Highness.”

In a whirlwind of emotions, she turned her focus back to the preparations ahead. She had a kingdom to unite and a new chapter to embrace—one that she would navigate with Max’s love and support by her side. It felt right, and for the first time in a long while, the heaviness in her chest began to lighten. Today was the beginning of her reign, and she was ready.

And for the first time since she found out she was going to be queen, she felt free.

the end.

taglist: @iimplicitt @bookishnerd1132 @bratstappen @mastermindbaby @abbyandersonstargirl @itsmathilda

[gardenschedule]

What Happened In India?

(or around that time...)

Before

Shortly before we were due to leave for India John spent the weekend with Derek Taylor, a former journalist who had become the Beatles' press spokesman and a good friend to us all. He, his wife Joan and their five children lived in a big country house where they seemed incredibly contented. When he came home after that weekend John put his arms around me and said, 'Let's have loads more kids, Cyn, and be really happy' Despite my increasingly strong feeling that John was slipping away from me, it seemed at moments like that as though nothing had changed. John was off drugs and seemed almost like his old self. 'We can make it work, Cyn,' he said. 'When we're in India we'll have time for us and everything will be fine.' I hoped he was right.

John (Cynthia Lennon)

Cyn hoped that Rishikesh would afford seclusion, privacy and an opportunity for her and John to rediscover each other and to revive their marriage. ‘Impossible hopes,’ she said sadly. ‘John said to me just before we went to India that he wanted us to have more children. Well that came out of the blue, I can tell you. I was really surprised, as he’d never said a word about that before.

Lesley-Ann Jones - The Search for John Lennon

Cynthia: “It was a time for us all to drop out for a while. The years of fame and fortune had taken their toll on our nerves and minds. John and I both felt closer. There seemed to be a greater possibility of our finding a solution to personal difficulties. If our trip to India wasn’t going to solve our emotional problems, then nothing would.”

The Beatles Off the Record (Keith Badman)

That letter made it crystal clear that they [John and Yoko] had been in contact. How well had they got to know one another? I tackled John, who told me she'd written many times, both letters and cards, but said, 'She's crackers, just a weirdo artist who wants me to sponsor her. Another nutter wanting money for all that avant-garde bullshit. It's not important.' I had no way of knowing whether he was telling me the truth. He sounded genuine, but a sixth sense told me there was more to this than he was admitting. I tried to put it to the back of my mind. We were going to India, and I wanted that to be a special time for us.

John (Cynthia Lennon)

John panicked at the accumulating threats from the Princess of Darkness. That was when he decided to go to India with Cynthia to put some distance between himself and Yoko. If he stayed away long enough, he could hope Yoko would just go away. Maybe she’d go back to America, or vanish in a puff of smoke. Her scissors act might go horribly wrong, or while she was bagged up one day the Royal Mail might frank the bag and deliver it to anywhere but India. Yes, a long trip to the ashram, where he could meditate and learn how to be calm and in control, give up drugs and spend romantic moments with Cynthia and glue his crumbling marriage back together, seemed opportune.

Magical Mystery Tours My Life with The Beatles by Tony Bramwell

“I don’t like the unhappiness she [Yoko] caused. She was horrible. John wanted to avoid her at first. He said, ‘Get rid of the bloody woman!’ But after India, he saw her differently — perhaps filtered through an exotic mindset.”

Tony Bramwell - the band’s ex-road manager

During

“The pressure of being the Beatles had driven a wedge between them individually and that had all percolated in the months leading up to their visit to Rishikesh,” he said. “Once they got there, and they unburdened themselves from all of that, they reconnected with their songwriting and their creativity. It just flowed forth.”

Bob Spitz to the New York Times

 “I was in a room for five days meditating,” said Lennon in The Beatles Anthology. “I wrote hundreds of songs. I couldn’t sleep and I was hallucinating like crazy, having dreams where you could smell. I’d do a few hours and they you’d trip off, three- or four-hour stretches. It was just a way of getting there, and you could go on amazing trips.” Cynthia Lennon said in Bob Spitz’s book The Beatles that for John, nothing else mattered when it came to mediation, adding “John and George were [finally] in their element [at the ashram]. They threw themselves totally into the Maharishi’s teachings, were happy, relaxed and above all found a piece of mind that had been denied them for so long.”

The Beatles in India: 16 Things You Didn’t Know

I was right in the Maharishi’s camp writing “I wanna die” you know. I’m So Tired and Yer Blues where they were pretty sort of realistic, you know, they were about me

Lennon Remembers

Ob-La-Di, Ob-La-Da was born on the steps of one of the low slung cottages where the entourage lived. One day, remembers Saltzman, he was passing by the cottage when he saw Lennon and McCartney sitting on the front steps and strumming the tune on their acoustic guitars. He ran back, picked up the camera and took pictures of the two with a pensive-looking Starr sitting on the side, from outside a wicket gate. Saltzman remembers the two were singing the first two lines of the song "over and over again, going fast and slow, having fun". "That's the riff we have," McCartney told Saltzman, "but no words yet".

filmmaker Paul Saltzman

Jenny Boyd, Patti’s sister “I sat with John a lot, since he didn’t feel well, either from terrible jet lag, and insomnia. He would stay up late; unable to sleep, and write the songs that would later appear on The Beatles’ White Album. When I was at my lowest, he made a drawing of a turbaned Sikh genie holding a big snake and intoning, ‘By the power within, and the power without, I cast your tonsil lighthouse out!’ Sometimes, late at night, I can still hear John singing those sad songs he wrote during those evenings, like ‘I’m So Tired.’”

The Beatles Off the Record (Keith Badman)

John “I went to the Maharishi and, regardless of what I was supposed to be doing, I did write some of my best songs while I was there. It was a nice scene. Nice and secure and everybody was always smiling. The experience was worth it if only for the songs that came out. It could have been the desert or Ben Nevis. The funny thing about the Maharishi camp was that, although it was very beautiful and I was meditating about eight hours a day, I was writing the most miserable songs on earth, like ‘I’m So Tired’ and ‘Yer Blues.’”

The Beatles Off the Record (Keith Badman)

Meanwhile, I was not having the second honeymoon I'd hoped for. John was becoming increasingly cold and aloof towards me. He would get up early and leave our room. He spoke to me very little, and after a week or two he announced that he wanted to move into a separate room to give himself more space. From then on he virtually ignored me, both in private and in public. If the others noticed they didn't say so. I did my best to understand, begging him to explain what was wrong. He fobbed me off, telling me that it was just the effect of the meditation. 'I can't feel normal doing all this stuff,' He said. 'I'm trying to get myself together. It's nothing to do with you. Give me a break.' What I didn't know was that each morning he rushed down to the post office to see if he had a letter from Yoko. She was writing to him almost daily. When I learnt this later I felt very hurt.

John (Cynthia Lennon)

And because the Beatles didn’t know anything about ashrams and they haven’t seen anything before because they went for Maharishi, not for the ashram. Maharishi didn’t allow men to stay with their wives. John was delighted with the idea. He loved it, actually. I think it made Cynthia very unhappy. She wanted to stay with John, everybody had his own problems. My great interest was with John. I was very happy because I found John much healthier. The color in his face was different and he was happier and he took the whole thing very seriously, and he was trying hard and he was so excited when I arrived because perhaps I was part of the reason he was there.

Magic Alex in All You Need Is Love – Peter Brown & Steven Gaines

We all went through a depression after Maharishi and Brian died; it wasn’t really to do with Maharishi, it was just that period. I was really going through the “What’s it all about?” type thing – this songwriting is nothing, it’s pointless, and I’m no good, I’m not talented, and I’m shitty, and I couldn’t do anything but be a Beatle. What am I going to do about it? It lasted nearly two years and I was still in it during Pepper. I know Paul wasn’t at the time; he was feeling full of confidence, and I was going through murder during those periods. I was just about coming out of it around Maharishi, even though Brian had died – that knocked us back again. Well, it knocked me back.

John Lennon, interview w/ Barry Miles, (partially) unpublished. (September 23rd, 1969)

By spending two months in deep meditation in India, John brought his deepest problems to the surface but he was unable to resolve them: the contradiction between his family life and his life as a rock star with all the drugs and groupies was too great. Had he stayed with the Maharishi until the end of the course, he might have avoided some of the pain, but by terminating the instruction abruptly, he was left hanging in thin air. During the weeks at the camp, he had been receiving daily letters from Yoko, though nothing sexual had yet happened between them. He was very attracted by her but he felt tremendous guilt about breaking up his marriage: doing to Julian what his own parents had done to him, repeating the pattern.

Many Years From Now - Barry Miles

He [Mick Jagger] told me with amusement that the real reason why the Beatles left the Maharishi was that he made a pass at one of them: “They’re simple north-country lads; they’re terribly uptight about all that.” Am still not sure if I believe this story.

“The Sixties,” the second volume of Christopher Isherwood’s diaries

After

And I was slowly putting myself together after Maharishi, bit by bit over a two year period. I destroyed me ego and I didn’t believe I could do anything. I let Paul do what he want and say, them all of them do what they want, I was just nothing, I was shit. And then Derek tripped me out at his house after he got back from LA, and he sort of said you’re all right and pointed out which songs I’d written, and ‘you wrote this and you said this, you are intelligent, don’t be frightened’. And then next week I went down with Yoko and tripped out again and she filled me completely to realize I was me and it was alright.

Lennon Remembers

So much had changed since I’d last seen the Beatles just a few months previously. They had come back from their trip to India completely different people. They had once been fastidious and fashionable; now they were scruffy and unkempt. They had once been witty and full of humor; now they were solemn and prickly. They had once been bonded together as lifelong friends; now they resented one another’s company. They had once been lighthearted and fun to be around. Now they were angry.

Here, There and Everywhere - Geoff Emerick, Howard Massey

The rage that was bubbling inside John was the most obvious sign that something was seriously wrong. There was new tension between John and Paul, and even between John and Ringo, in addition to the often strained relationship that Paul had with George and the resentment that Ringo sometimes exhibited when Paul coached him too much on drum parts. In fact, the only two Beatles who seemed to get along during the White Album sessions were John and George. Perhaps that came from the experience they had shared at the ashram—after all, they were the two who had stuck it out, staying on long after Ringo and Paul had gone back home. Maybe they felt deserted by their bandmates, or betrayed. The undercurrents between the four Beatles were so complex at that point, it gave me a headache just thinking about it.

Here, There and Everywhere - Geoff Emerick, Howard Massey

Our first night back in the studio began, as usual, with small talk and catching up. “So how was India?” I asked. “India was okay, I guess… apart from that nasty little Maharishi,” John replied, venomously. Harrison looked deflated, as if it were a conversation they’d had many times before. With a deep sigh, he tried to calm his agitated bandmate. “Oh come on, he wasn’t that bad,” he interjected, earning a withering glance. Lennon’s bitterness and anger seemed almost palpable. Ringo tried deflecting things with a little humor. “It reminded me of a Butlins holiday camp, only the bloody food wasn’t as good,” he said with a wink. I glanced in Paul’s direction. He was staring straight ahead, expressionless and weary. He didn’t have much to say about India that day, or any other. I sensed at that moment that something fundamental in them had changed. They were searching for something, but they didn’t know quite what it was; they had journeyed to India looking for answers, and they were disappointed that they hadn’t found them there… but it seemed to me that they didn’t even know the questions.

Here, There and Everywhere - Geoff Emerick, Howard Massey

“By all accounts, John had hit an all-time low [after India]. “John was in a rage because God had forsaken him,” George recalled. “Then he went and completely reversed himself. He turned from being positive to being totally negative.” According to Pete Shotton, who was spending time with John at Weybridge, there was an overriding feeling of humiliation—from the Maharishi, from the Apple Boutique shambles, from his deteriorating marriage, from what he felt was his shrinking position in the Beatles. “He was more fucked up than I’d even seen him,” Shotton remembers. “It seemed like everything was going to the dogs. He’d been desperately grasping [at] straws, as far as I was concerned, and there wasn’t even a straw there.”

the beatles: the biography, bob spitz

JOHN: How can two women split up four strong men? It’s impossible. You know, The Beatles were disintegrating slowly after Brian Epstein died, it was a slow death, and it was happening. It was evident in Let It Be – uh, although Linda and Yoko were evident then, but they weren’t when it started, I don’t think. It was evident in – in India, when George and I stayed there and Paul and Ringo left.

October, 1971 (St Regis Hotel, New York)

There was little need for me to repeat my instructions. As soon as we got there, it was obvious that things were not hunky-dory with the Beatles. Their recent month-long meditation retreat with the Maharishi didn’t seem to have helped their relationships very much, and the estrangement was definitely having an effect on their work. I don’t think any actual recording got done that night. Paul, George and Ringo were rehearsing some new songs, trying different ways of playing and singing them. Meanwhile, John spent most of his time sitting on the floor next to Yoko, chatting privately with her as she stroked his hair. He seemed no more involved in the proceedings than me and Lawrence, who watched the uncomfortable tension building from the other side of the studio. “Hey John.” Paul turned around to face him at one point. “Are you in this band or what?”

Leslie Cavendish, The Cutting Edge: The Story of the Beatles’ Hairdresser Who Defined an Era

Back at Kenwood John continued to be distant towards me. Now that we were away from the others and the charms of India, I felt increasingly afraid and depressed. John and I were back in the same bed, but the warmth and passion we had shared for so long were absent. John seemed barely to notice me. He was little better with Julian and was more likely to snap at him than give him a hug. There was just one moment of real warmth between us and that was, ironically, when John confessed to me that he had been unfaithful. We were in the kitchen when he said, out of the blue, 'There have been other women, you know, Cyn.'

John (Cynthia Lennon)

On the flight back from India, he had gotten very drunk and, for some reason, decided to confess all his affairs to Cynthia. Brutally, he ticked off a very long list, which included groupies, models, prostitutes, the wives and girlfriends of his and Cynthia’s friends and, possibly cruelest of all, Cynthia’s own girlfriends. Cynthia felt totally betrayed.

Magical Mystery Tours My Life with The Beatles by Tony Bramwell

The shattering of his faith in the Maharishi, meanwhile, had left John spiritually adrift once more; his instinctive response was to return with a vengeance to his former drug habits. (Like the other Beatles, John had totally abstained from alcohol and drugs while in India.) In retrospect, it's easy to see how wide open John was, at this particular juncture, to anything—or anybody—that might conceivably lift him out of his rut.

The Beatles, Lennon, and me - Pete Shotton

PAUL: I gave myself a set period, and then if it was gonna be something we really had to go back for, I was thinking of going back. But at the end of my month I was quite happy and I thought… this’ll do me. This is fine. If I want to get into it heavy, I can do it anywhere. That’s one of the nice things about it, you don’t have to go to church to do it, you can do it in your own room. So I was quite happy.

RINGO: I left just a little disillusioned, and John was a little disillusioned when he came back, and Paul was. [pause] George just loved it.

1993 rough cut of the Anthology series

Although Paul was the first to leave [India] disillusioned, John left in the mind of, ‘OK, well, we tried, we surrendered to God but it wasn’t God, it was Maharishi and this God thing is proving itself to be a total fallacy’ - and then went back to being The Beatles.

I left Rishikesh with John. Alex [Madras] had been the naughty boy who’d stirred everything up. John went in a rage because God had forsaken him (although it was nothing to do with God, really). Then he went and completely reversed himself. He turned from being positive to being totally negative.

I went to South India […] and everything that happened to me went wrong to the point that I felt, like John and Alex, that the Maharishi had put the heeby-jeebies in me.

George Harrison, c/o Derek Taylor, Fifty Years Adrift. (1984)

JOHN: I’ve got no regrets at all, ‘cause it was a groove and I had some great experiences meditating eight hours a day—some amazing things, some amazing trips— it was great. And I still meditate off and on. George is doing it regularly. And I believe implicitly in the whole bit. It’s just that it’s difficult to continue it. I lost the rosy glasses. And I’m like that. I’m very idealistic. So I can’t really manage my exercises when I’ve lost that. I mean, I don’t want to be a boxer so much. It’s just that a few things happened, or didn’t happen. I don’t know, but something happened. It was sort of like a click and we just left and I don’t know what went on. It’s too near—I don’t really know what happened.

John Lennon, interview w/ Jonathan Cott for Rolling Stone: The first Rolling Stone interview. (November 23rd, 1968)

Cynthia Lennon “John had taken acid once more and enthused, ‘Cyn, it was great. Christ Cyn, we’ve got to have lots more children. We’ve got to have a big family around us.’ At this point, I burst into tears … All I could blurt out was that, in no way, could I see us as he did. I was so disturbed by John’s outburst, that I even suggested that Yoko Ono was the woman for him. John protested at my crazy suggestion and suggested that I was being ridiculous. Although life went on as usual, my fears grew and I felt nervous and depressed. John was aware of my depression and suggested that, as he had to work for long hours in the recording studios for a few weeks, I should accompany Jenny, Donovan, Gyspy and Alexis on a holiday to Greece. The very thought of sun and sea really brightened my outlook.”

The Beatles Off the Record (Keith Badman)

During the spring of 1968, John was as confused, lonely, and unhappy as I'd seen him in years. Though his relationship with the other Beatles was still free of serious strain, he was seeing increasingly less of Paul and George, both of whom were now pursuing independent lives and interests of their own.

In My Life, Pete Shotton

The resentment might have been coming from a different place. With his marital problems still unsettled and Cynthia gallivanting around Greece, drugs continued to govern John’s fitful moods. He dosed himself continuously with LSD, tweaking its random effect with any spare pills he happened to find lying around the house. In the right company, it plunged John into a deep, unfathomable trance that altered between indecipherable rambling and deadpan silences. At Weybridge, into which Pete Shotton had moved in order to keep his friend company, he stayed up nights, tripping and battling wave after wave of incendiary rage. One night, after the usual snack of hallucinogens, Shotton says he noticed John moving his arms around very slowly in a circle. “I said, ‘What are you doing?’ ” recalls Pete, “but John couldn’t explain it. He said, ‘I can’t stop. There’s something making me do this. I can’t help myself.’ ” Tears followed, uncontrollable rivers of tears, intermingled with hideous laughter. When Shotton tried to comfort him, John resisted. “I’m not crying,” he insisted peevishly, wiping his eyes with the back of a hand. Suddenly John declared that he was Jesus Christ, back from the grave. “He was convinced of it,” Pete recalls, “saying… ‘This is it, at last—I know who I am.’ ” The next day the Messiah convened an emergency meeting at Apple to announce his identity to the other Beatles. Unimpressed, they said: “Yeah, all right then. What shall we do now?” After someone suggested lunch, the matter was dropped.

That night at Weybridge, in the middle of another drug-induced reverie, the TV flickered off, whereupon John, already chastened and in a self-abasing mood, asked Pete if it was okay if he invited a woman to the house. Shotton, who had no intention of staying up another night with his friend, was relieved. “Well, I think I’ll call up Yoko,” John said.

The Beatles – Bob Spitz

What happened that night can only be left to the imagination, but since it patently wasn’t the coming together of two virgins for the very first time, did Yoko do her hypnotism thing, as some of John’s friends thought she had, or did she have a powerful new drug in her arsenal? Nobody really believed that John fell in love overnight, because why hadn’t he done so before? He’d been kicking Yoko in and out of his life for over a year. Mostly, he had given the impression that he resented and despised her. So it must have been something pretty potent that made John fall headlong out of his casual affair with her into a mad obsession. Perhaps it was that he really was mentally ill and like many schizoid personalities, got religious mania. If he really did believe that he was Jesus, Yoko would probably have convinced him she was the Virgin Mary. A virgin at any rate. John was shortly to tell the world that they spent the night at the top of the house in his bloodred music room, recording the Two Virgins tape. They say that a moose in heat can waken the dead and achieve the impossible with his bellows. John and Yoko spent the night screaming.

Magical Mystery Tours My Life with The Beatles by Tony Bramwell

Whatever her reasoning, Cynthia remained determined to see the marriage through [after finding John and Yoko together]. Convinced that John still needed her, she returned to Kenwood, mollified by his apparent denial that anything improper had occurred. “For a while, everything was wonderful,” she recalled. “We could speak more openly and honestly with each other, and there really was a glimmer of light at the end of the tunnel.”

But the tunnel was short, and the light soon faded. Within weeks their life together had disintegrated into a revolving state of solicitude and withdrawal, resignation and despondence. Following a stretch when John became disturbingly incommunicative, Cynthia packed once again, escaping on still another vacation to Pesaro, Italy, with her mother, Julian, and a favorite aunt and uncle.

The Beatles – Bob Spitz

No sooner were they back from India, than Jane returned to her work at the Bristol Old Vic, and Paul launched into what was probably the most relaxed time of his life. He opened wide the doors of Cavendish Avenue and the groupies, who had camped as faithfully outside as they had in Wimpole Street during the years that Paul had lived there with the Asher family, were astonished to find they were now invited in. Not only were they invited into the house, but also into Paul’s bed. Whenever I went up to see Paul, the house was filled with giggling, half-naked girls, cooking meals, walking Martha, or glued to the phone for hours on end, calling the world.

Magical Mystery Tours My Life with The Beatles by Tony Bramwell

It came as a welcome relief that John and Paul, along with Neil Aspinall, planned a quick trip to New York on May 11, where several press events had been scheduled to announce Apple Records in the States. Friends agreed that getting John away might do him a world of good; being alone, with just Paul to steady him, might have a calming influence. But Paul was grappling with his own set of anxieties. “We wanted a grand launch,” Paul said, “but I had a strange feeling and was very nervous.” Drugs, he later admitted, may have been at the root of his problem; there was a lot of dope-smoking before takeoff and even during the transatlantic flight. But Jane Asher also helped spike Paul’s mood. The grudging engagement between Beatle and actress had been ticklish at best. But since traveling together in India and a subsequent ten-day trip to Scotland, Jane’s eccentricities rankled. Paul was having serious second thoughts about the relationship, which had reached a kind of critical, now-or-never stage.

Between John’s attitude and Paul’s paranoia, the Beatles were a PR nightmare. “It was a mad, bad week in New York,” recalled Derek Taylor, who met the two Beatles there to chaperone a round of press conferences, followed by interviews. Taylor had fashioned himself into a debonair drug aficionado since the Beatles first dosed him at Brian Epstein’s housewarming party, and now he and John gorged themselves on speed and a “mild and extremely benign hallucinogen” called Purple Holiday, courtesy of their New York chauffeur. The effect of it came through in the interviews. John was gallingly withdrawn and dismissive, Paul unusually distracted—which made them come off as two rich, snooty rock stars peddling another product.

The Beatles – Bob Spitz

+ a couple of extra things

A quick timeline

December 25 Paul and Jane announced that they were engaged to be married.

February 15 George, Patti, John and Cynthia flew from London Airport to India.

February 19 Paul, Jane, Ringo and Maureen flew from London Airport to India.

March 26 Paul, Jane and Neil Aspinall flew back to England from Rishikesh, leaving George and Patti, John and Cynthia and “Magic” Alex who had come out to join them.

April 12 John and Cynthia, George and Patti and “Magic” Alex left in a hurry from Rishikesh, India, after “Magic” Alex convinced John and George that the Maharishi was using his position to gain sexual favours from at least one of the female meditators.

May 11 John and Paul, accompanied by “Magic” Alex, Neil Aspinall, Mal Evans, Ron Kass and Derek Taylor, flew to New York to launch Apple in the US.

May 15 Accompanied by Linda, Nat Weiss drove John, Paul and “Magic” Alex to the airport for their flight back to London.

May 19 With Cynthia taking a short holiday, John called Yoko Ono and invited her out to Kenwood. They made a random sound tape, which was later issued as Two Virgins with the notorious sleeve showing them both naked.

May 26 Cynthia returned home from a brief holiday in Greece, to discover Yoko Ono in residence with John.

May 31 Abbey Road. The White Album sessions. Work continued on ‘Revolution 1’ and the last six minutes was removed to form the basis of the chaotic ‘Revolution 9’. Yoko screamed on the track, her first appearance on a Beatles recording.

June 4 Paul began seeing Francie Schwartz.

June 22-23 On this day Paul McCartney addressed a sales conference attended by executives from Capitol Records, where he announced that all future Beatles records would be released through the group’s Apple Records label. The day after they fell in love in Los Angeles, Paul McCartney and Linda Eastman spent much of the day together at the Beverly Hills Hotel, where he was staying as part of an Apple promotional trip.

July 20 Jane Asher, appearing on Simon Dee’s BBC Television show Dee Time, said that her engagement to Paul was off – but that it was not she that had broken it. She told Dee that they had been engaged for seven months, after knowing each other for five years. (She had arrived back at Cavendish Avenue one day to find Paul in bed with a girl named Francie Schwartz.)

The Beatles Diary Volume 1 The Beatles Years (Barry Miles) & https://www.beatlesbible.com/

A comment from Heydullblog, which I find interesting and think sums up how insufficient & unsatisfying most explanations are for how John changed during this period:

Michael Gerber November 25, 2021 at 4:31 pm

What, in all that, makes you HATE Cyn, and divorce her in the most abrupt and vicious way, even attempting to get her to commit adultery so you can give her (and your own son) as little as possible? Why not a quick and amiable divorce from a woman who, let’s be honest, knew she was getting cheated on pretty constantly since 1961.

What, in all that, makes you HATE Paul McCartney, who has been your closest professional collaborator since 1957, and engage in a five-year campaign to smear and demean him in the press? Why do you insist your millions of fans choose you or him? Why not simply pause the group, and everybody goes solo and remains friends, as was predicted at the end of touring?

What makes you DETERMINED to bust up your rock group, the most popular group in the world, the source of all your fame, money, and power?

What makes you pick Yoko Ono IN PARTICULAR out of all the groupies, hangers-on, and even sensible appropriate partners within your current circle? Eighteen months ago you were attracted to Maureen Cleave, Sonny Freeman, Alma Cogan, etc — pretty much the type of women you always picked — but now, you pick a conceptual artist offering total submersion into someone else’s ego?

And what makes you spend the rest of your life pretending all this was the greatest thing ever, the fullest flowering of your genius?

It’s not that John Lennon looked around at his life in early 1968 and thought, “I don’t want this anymore. This isn’t for me.” It’s that he lashed out incredibly fiercely, in every direction, made no distinction between friend and foe, demonstrated a huge amount of resentment and bitterness towards the very people who it would seem had helped him the most, and spent literally the rest of his short life at least arguably LESS happy than he’d been before. He didn’t dump his wife for the nanny and live happily ever after; he started a process of picking things up and throwing them away with great force that, if he’d been that way in 1957, would’ve kept any of his genius from ever emerging.

He changed, fundamentally, in a short time. Why?

Midlife crises happen, they are to be expected, but this one gets more singular the more you look at it. And the thing about post-India Lennon is how he’s no more happy, no more productive, no more self-aware, no more comfortable in his own skin, than pre-India Lennon. What does the guy in August 1980 have to be angry about? Really? It was only after I reached middle-age and went through my own version of crisis (crises) that I thought, “How strange.”

[floridaboiler]

Things You Probably Never Knew About The Great Lakes.....

1. Lake Superior is actually not a lake at all, but an inland sea .

2. All of the four other Great Lakes, plus three more the size of Lake Erie, would  fit inside of Lake Superior.

3. Isle Royale is a massive island surrounded by Lake Superior. Within this island are several smaller lakes. Yes, that’s a lake on a lake.

4. Despite its massive size, Lake Superior is an  extremely young   formation by Earth’s standards (only 10,000 years old).

5. There is enough water in Lake Superior to  submerge all of North and South America in 1 foot of water.

6. Lake Superior contains 3 quadrillion gallons of water (3,000,000,000,000,000). All five of the Great Lakes combined contain 6 quadrillion gallons.

7. Contained within Lake Superior is a whopping 10% of the world’s fresh surface water.

8. It’s estimated there are about 100 million lake trout   in Lake Superior. That’s nearly one-fifth of the human population of North America!

9. There are small outlets through which water leaves Lake Superior. It takes two centuries for all the water in the lake to replace itself.

10. Lake Erie is the fourth-largest Great Lake in surface area, and the smallest in depth. It’s the 11th largest lake on the planet.

11. There is alleged to be a 30- to 40-foot-long “monster” in Lake Erie named Bessie. The earliest recorded sighting goes back as early as 1793.

12. Water in Lake Erie replaces itself   in only 2.6 years, which is notable considering the water in Lake Superior takes two centuries.

13. The original publication of Dr. Seuss’s The Lorax contained the line, “I hear things are just as bad up in Lake Erie.”Fourteen years later, the Ohio Sea Grant Program wrote to Seuss to make the case that conditions had improved. He removed the line.

14. Not only is lake Erie the smallest Great Lake when it comes to volume, but it’s surrounded by the most industry.Seventeen metropolitan areas, each with populations of more than 50,000, border the Lake Erie basin.

15. During the War of 1812, the U.S. beat the British in a naval battle calledthe Battle of Lake Erie, forcing them to abandon Detroit.

16. The shoreline of all the Great Lakes combined equals nearly 44% of the  circumference  of the planet.

17. If not for the the Straits of Mackinac, Lake Michigan and Lake Huron might be considered one lake.Hydrologically speaking, they have the same mean water level and are considered one lake.

18. The Keystone State  was one of the largest and most luxurious wooden steamships running during the Civil War.In 1861, it disappeared. In 2013, it was found 30 miles northeast of Harrisville under 175 feet of water.

19. Goderich Mine is the largest salt mine in the world. Part of it runs underneath Lake Huron, more than 500 meters underground.

20. Below Lake Huron, there are  9,000-year-old animal-herding structures   used by prehistoric people from when the water levels were significantly lower.

21. There are  massive sinkholes in Lake Huron that have high amounts of sulfur and low amounts of oxygen, almost replicating the conditions of Earth’s ancient oceans 3 million years ago. Unique ecosystems are contained within them.

22. Lake Huron is the second largest among the Great Lakes, and the  fifth largest in the world.

23.  In size, Lake Michigan ranks third among the Great Lakes, and sixth among all freshwater lakes in the world.

24. Lake Michigan is the only Great Lake that is entirely within the borders of the United States.

25. The largest fresh water sand dunes in the world line the shores of Lake Michigan.

26. Because water enters and exits Lake Michigan through the same path, it takes 77 years longer for the water to replace itself   than in Huron, despite their similarity in size and depth. (Lake Michigan: 99 years, Lake Huron: 22 years)

27. When the temperature of Lake Michigan is below freezing, this happens.

28. Within Lake Michigan there is a “triangle” with a similar reputation to the Bermuda Triangle, where a large amount of “strange disappearances” have occurred. There have also been alleged UFO sightings.

29. Singapore, Mich., is a ghost town on the shores of Lake Michigan that was buried under sand in 1871. Because of severe weather conditions and a lack of resources due to the need to rebuild after the great Chicago fire, the town was lost completely.

30. In the mid-19th century, Lake Michigan had a pirate problem. Their booty: timber. In fact, the demise of Singapore is due in large part to the rapidly deforested area surrounding the town.

31. Jim Dreyer  swam across Lake Michigan in 1998 (65 miles), and then in 2003, he swam the length of Lake Michigan (422 miles).

32. Lake Michigan was the location of the first recorded “Big Great Lakes disaster,” in which a steamer carrying 600 people collided with a schooner delivering timber to Chicago. Four hundred and fifty people died.

33. Lake Ontario is the smallest of the Great Lakes in surface area, and second smallest in depth. It’s the  14th largest lake   on the planet.

34. The province Ontario was  named after   the lake, and not vice versa.

35. In 1804, a Canadian warship, His Majesty’s Ship Speedy, sank in Lake Ontario. In 1990, wreck hunter Ed Burtt managed to find it.  Only, he isn’t allowed to recover any artifacts until a government-approved site to exhibit them is found. He’s still waiting.

36. Babe Ruth hit his  first major league home run   at Hanlan’s Point Stadium in Toronto. It landed in Lake Ontario and is believed to still be there.

37. A lake on Saturn’s moon Titan is named after Lake Ontario.

[featherandferns]

angel (fic)

jj maybank x fem!shy!kook!reader | technically the sequel for fascinating new thing, but can be read as a stand-alone too

content warning: pure filth, to be honest; sex (f and m self-pleasure; protected, p in v)

word count: 3k

blurb: jj knows there's something hidden beneath all the layers of quiet and meek; he just has to coax it out of you.

Nobody expected JJ Maybank to end-up having a thing for you, including JJ himself. He couldn’t explain how it happened, or when exactly, but it went from him being somewhat wary of you to completely desperate to have your gaze on him. It seemed that one day you just had him: hook, line and sinker. JJ had sort of accepted that he didn’t have a chance, especially with a certain ginger haired boy lingering in the background. He’d admire from afar and settle for friendship if that’s all you could offer him. But then you kissed him, and everything seemed to fall into place. JJ was allowed privy to your thoughts and the different facets of yourself: watching you song write and waking you from a nightmare and indulging in the late-night baking. He liked every part of it. Everything that was you.

Well, almost everything.

“You can’t seriously enjoy this crap?”

“Be quiet, please,” you mumble.

JJ rolls his eyes. He has one arm under his head, propping it up so he can see the screen of your laptop, and the other on your stomach, resting atop your tee shirt. He’s spooning you, cosy under the sheets of your bed.

It’s the second time he’s been in your bedroom. It’s a nice room; perfectly encapsulates you. Vinyl records and CDs and a million and one potted plants and succulents. Fairly lights draped above your bed and around a pinboard of pictures and keepsakes, shining a delicate golden hue on your belongings. An acoustic guitar rests against the wall by your bedroom door. It’s wide open right now. No need to have it shut; your parents aren’t home.

Looking back to the screen, JJ tries and fails to hold in a sigh.

“Can you be quiet, please?” you repeat.

“Who is that? The guy?”

“George the third.”

“The third? Is that the one that murdered all his wives?”

“JJ, I can’t hear it,” you complain quietly.

“Sorry,” he mumbles. He barely pays attention to the drama on the screen, too busy foraging through his brains for the history of English royals. “Is he though?”

You sigh, annoyed. “No. That’s Henry the Eighth. And he didn’t murder all of them. Just two.”

“Oh, well, that’s okay then,” JJ sarcastically replies.

For some reason, he feels as though you’ve rolled your eyes. He attempts to watch the show that you’ve become obsessed with lately. The characters don’t talk like normal people. Everything is so flowery and over-the-top that he hardly understands what they’re talking about. It’s boring and dull and overdramatic. He lets his mind wander.

“Baby?”

“JJ?”

“Just a quick question.”

“Yes?” you sigh, patience clearly dwindling.

“Is George the Third the one that got really fat?”

“No, that’s George the fourth,” you say.

“Which one’s George the third then?”

“George the third is the one that was ruler when America won its independence. I mean, do you listen to anything in history?” you chuckle. JJ feels the muscles in your belly tighten and loosen as you do.

“Sometimes,” he shrugs. “When it’s interesting. Like, I don’t get how all of this—”

“Shush! I can’t hear what they’re saying!” you snap.

JJ can’t help but snigger. He likes when you lose your temper with him; let the good-girl side of you slip for a moment to put him in his place.

He nuzzles his face into your hair. It smells like cedarwood and salt water. Maybe he’ll just have a nap. You’re not coming away from the show anytime soon – not until the episode’s done, anyway. JJ closes his eyes and vaguely tunes into the droning of dialogue. Lady this and sire that. He’s just about to properly drift off (maybe it’s been five minutes or so) when he’s woken by the feel of you pushing back against his groin. His hold tightens on your stomach and he reluctantly inches his body away slightly.

“Baby don’t do that,” he mumbles sleepily into your hair.

“Do what?” you reply, absentmindedly.

You’re still watching the Goddamn show. He’s not sure if you’re playing dumb or not.

Then, you do it again.

JJ inhales sharply. “Stop doing that.”

“Doing what?”

“Rubbing up on me like that,” he tells you, half-laughing. “S’not fair.”

“Sorry,” you mumble.

He opens his eyes and looks down at the laptop screen. The moment he makes out what’s happening in the show, it clicks. Oh.

Smirking, JJ can’t keep from taking the piss.

“You didn’t tell me that you’re into regency era porn.”

“Shut up,” you reply all too quickly.

“Is it like all royal era stuff or just Henry the third things?”

“George the third!”

“Tomata-tomato,” JJ mutters. Quiet. Then: “Does it have to be in a bathtub or…”

“JJ!” you whine, embarrassed. He laughs into your hair. “Stop it!”

“Alright, alright! I’m just messing around,” he sniggers.

You don’t reply, don’t even seem to be listening to him, with your eyes shamelessly fixated on the screen. JJ starts to watch too, half-curious as to what has you so entranced.

The lighting is dark. Who JJ has finally come to grasp as king George the third is fucking his wife in the bath. She’s riding him, grinding down on him, still in her dress. The music swells with sharp, dramatic violins. This time, when you push back reflexively against JJ, he doesn’t complain. Instead, he uses his hand that’s placed on your stomach to keep you there. He’s only half ashamed to admit that he’s turned on by the regency-era-sex-scene from your corny, cheesy TV show.

Half hard, he rubs against you, sighing into your hair as he does. You don’t shake him off. Instead, you push back against him.

And then, the scene stops. It’s daylight. Cutting to a scene in a conservatory.

JJ shifts his hand so it’s under your tee shirt, moving to stroke at the skin. He feels your stomach constrict underneath his touch, as if you’re holding your breath, and then relax. He places a kiss to your neck, then another, and begins to work on a hickey. You let out a shaking breath, eyes only half-focused on the show, now. One of your hands comes down to lay atop of his, though not in discouragement. JJ can’t help but rut against you again. In the haze of kissing at your throat, he finds himself wishing a silent prayer that you won’t pull away this time.

He doesn’t mind waiting. Really, he doesn’t. He’d probably wait forever for you (if he really had to). He knows how nervous you get; knows all of this is new to you. Understands. Doesn’t want you to feel pressured. But, God, JJ would be lying if he said that he didn’t want to fuck you. That he didn’t jack off almost every night to the thought of it. That seeing you, drenched head to toe, stood in nothing but a bikini after surfing didn’t have him shifting in his seat. That having you pressing up against him like you had been tonight didn’t make his mind shoot off to the darkest, dirtiest places. So, yes, he’ll stop if you ask, but he’s praying, borderline close to begging, that you don’t.

Your fingers loop into his hair, pulling him off your neck. He shifts enough back so you can turn your head, meeting his eyes. Your breathing heavier than usual, lips wet as if you’ve been licking at them. Your eyes are dancing over his face, back to his eyes, glancing at his lips. JJ’s hand on your stomach continues scratching softly at your skin. He gently rubs himself against you. Please.

“I’ve never done this before,” you whisper. There’s a tinge of nerves to your voice.

JJ nods. Swallows. “I know.”

“But…I want to,” you quietly say. A smile teasing at the corner of your lips as you nod. “If you do, that is.”

JJ leans down so his forehead bumps against yours. He exhales a chuckle against your lips. “It’s all I’ve been able to think about since the hammock.”

You giggle, perhaps a little stunned at the confession, and then your lips are on his.

JJ’s rolling onto his back, sighing into the kiss, pulling you atop of him. His hand that was under his head now reaches out to close the laptop, shoving it to the foot of the bed (hopefully where it won’t fall off). Then he’s kissing you with newfound hunger. Tongue slipping into your mouth lewdly, brushing against yours, swallowing your sighs and breaths. Whenever you break apart, it’s for less than a moment. Your hands have come up to cradle his face, fingers splayed across his cheek and jaw. One of his resides on your waist, squeezing at the skin, and his other has fallen onto your bare thigh; the pyjama shorts you’re wearing having ridden up.

When you lean back against him, rolling down on his crotch, JJ groans against your lips. The gasp you let out is small, startled, as you feel him, hard against you.

“We don’t have to,” JJ reminds you, though the id in him is crying out yes, we do. Please.

You shake your head, hands still on his face. “I want to.”

Thank fucking God.

As the two of begin to kiss again, JJ lets his hand creep up your stomach. His fingers gently trace up the soft skin. He feels the ripples of your breaths as he goes; they’re uneven. Bringing his hand up to your chest, cupping at the bare skin, you sigh against him. He begins to tenderly palm at your breast, running a finger back and forth over your nipple, grinning to himself as he feels it harden at his touch.

You’re grinding back on him now, making him uncomfortably hard under his boxers, sensitive as he rubs against the fabric. JJ opens his eyes to look up at you, your kiss naturally breaking as you begin to breath more and more heavy. Frowns as he sees you dig your teeth into your lower lip. He lifts his hand from off your thigh to bring his thumb to your lips, tugging it free.

“I wanna hear you,” JJ mumbles, tone only slightly demanding.

You open your eyes. They’re angel-like; innocent and shining under the fairy-light glow. Then, you do something that has him twitching, horny past the point of no return. You take his thumb into your mouth and suckle at his finger. JJ groans at the sight. Jesus Christ. Something in you seems to shine through and take control. You don’t say anything as you hold his hand in both of yours, guiding his thumb out your mouth only to begin sucking on his pointer finger. Your eyes slip shut as you do, as if you’re getting off on doing so, and you sigh out a quiet moan. JJ feels himself begin to smirk, taken aback somewhat. Okay…

Pulling his finger from out of your mouth tentatively, he lets his thumb pinch at your chin. The dampness of your spit streaks onto your skin, if only slightly. JJ suddenly knows what his new favourite thought of you is. Your chest is rising and falling, lips parted, cheeks warm as if there’s a part of you longing to be embarrassed. But you’re not. Not shying away from him, at least. JJ’s hands find the hem of your shirt and coax it over your head. As he goes, he guides you to lie down on your back – head at the foot of the bed – and crawls on top of you. One of your feet hesitantly rubs at the back of his calve. Then your fingers are tugging at the bottom of his top and he leans back to take it off. Easing back down to kiss at your chest, he can’t help but sigh against the sensitive skin.

“You’re so fucking beautiful.”

Your nails dig into the skin of his back. You don’t reply, but he feels as though you’re shaking your head. Glancing up, he frowns.

“You are,” he repeats.

“Can you not say things like that to me right now…” you mumble, retreating back into yourself.

JJ sighs, somewhat disappointed.

“Sorry,” you add. It makes JJ chuckle, his breath fanning against your chest.

“You don’t gotta be sorry, baby,” he replies, moving to kiss at one of your nipples. One of your hands creeps up to his face, fingers slipping into his hair. A small gasping exhale at the sensation. “Just wish you saw yourself the way I see you, sometimes.”

You’re sighing at the attention he’s giving your body. His hand comes up to grope at your neglected breast. More gasps, more breaths. You’re still so quiet. JJ knows it’s in there, could see it trying to break out when you were sucking on his fingers, he just has to coax it out of you.

Leaning back (a string of spit following), JJ sits back on his haunches and takes you in. Wonders what to do with you, as if you’re fully at his mercy. You’re looking at him, watching him. Laid out on your back, near bare and gorgeous, breathing heavy. You're half covering your chest, not used to being so exposed before someone.

Maybe he’ll just fuck you now. JJ's barely holding it together as it is. No, you’ll be too tight if he does. He has to remind himself that this is new to you. He wants it to be worth it. Wants it to be perfect. Not only that, but he also wants you to appreciate yourself and your body the way he does. Words clearly aren’t gonna cut it; you go squeamish at the faintest of compliments. But maybe…

JJ feels the shadow of a smirk grow on his face with an idea. Makes your lips twitch with a frown, as if confused where his mind might be. The he’s reaching for your spare hand that’s found purchase in the bed sheets. Taking it by the wrist, he guides it over your body, down to your shorts. Your eyes dart up from following it, meeting his eyes. Your lips move as if to say something, but you don’t. So quiet.

“I got an idea,” JJ tells you. He’s so hard it hurts, but he can’t pass up on this opportunity.

Your gaze doesn’t break apart from JJ’s as you let him guide your hand with his under the hem of your shorts. He manoeuvres your fingers easily (you pliant like a doll) and slides it through your folds. You’re soaking. The feel of it makes you gasp. Leaning down, using his other arm to prop himself above you, he guides your conjoined touch back and forth, skimming over your clit. The brief, fleeting touch makes you moan.

JJ smirks. There it is.

“Feel good, huh?” he breaths against your ear, teasingly. You don’t reply but he feels your hand gain more control, working to finger yourself. JJ chuckles. “Knew you were dirty underneath all the good-girl shit you put on.”

It seems that whatever strap was holding you together has snapped. Your honeyed voice is crying out, in moans and whines. Eyes shut, head tilted back, and JJ basks in the sight of you. He gradually lets his hand leave yours, slipping out of your shorts, and watches as you continue getting yourself off underneath your shorts. Chews on the inside of his cheek as he does, bucking against your leg desperately. He can’t help but pull himself out of his boxers, jacking off at the sight. At your sweet, hopeless sounds. Your spare hand is coming to his throat, pulling at his jaw, guiding his lips to yours in a lustful, messy kiss. You’re moaning into his mouth, gasping, voice high and desperate.

“Good girl,” JJ croons. It spurs you on. He’s smirking again, gasping through his own pleasure. Fuck. You’re perfect. How are you so Goddamn perfect?

“You close, baby? You gonna come?”

Your reply comes in a stammered, broken gasp. Yes.

JJ forces his hand from himself, quickly moving to grab at your wrist, pulling your fingers away. They’re drenched. You whine at the loss of contact, so close to the edge it seems, and he chuckles darkly against your jawline.

“Not yet,” he simply says.

As JJ moves to take off your shorts, shucking off his boxers in this process, he catches a glimpse of your hand moving back up your body. His eyes flick up just in time to see you slip your used fingers into your mouth, sucking them clean. Fuck. How JJ doesn’t come on the spot is beyond him. You open your eyes, catching his gaze, and meekly pull them from your mouth. Before you can form the inevitable apology you’re bound to give, JJ’s darting down to capture your mouth in a kiss. Then, he’s climbing atop of you, rubbing at your entrance. Has the both of you gasping against one another.

“Wait,” you mumble, pulling back. “We need a condom.”

“Shit, yeah,” JJ pants. He’d forgotten about that. You point vaguely to your bedside table.

“There should be one in there. Somewhere.”

JJ chuckles slightly and nods, leaning back to riffle through. He can’t help but notice the vibrator, making a mental note of that for another day. Finding one, he’s coming back to you, sliding it on, desperate to be inside of you.

Pressing his forehead against yours, he keeps his eyes on you.

“Tell me if you need me to stop, okay?”

“I will,” you quietly reply, a hand coming up to cup at his jaw.

JJ nods and begins to slide in. His eyes reflexively shut; he can’t help it. It feels fucking amazing. Sex with feelings is better than any kegger hook-up he’s ever had.

But you’re tight, too tight, and it’s like your body is trying to push him out. Opening his eyes, he looks down to see your face twisted in pain, lips pursed and eyes squeezed shut.

“Hey, hey,” he mumbles, thumbing at your cheek. You force your eyes open, gazing up at him. “You gotta relax, alright? Just breath out for me.”

You take a moment then do as he asks. He feels your body soften. Nudging a bit further in, you actively try not to go tight again.

“It’s just me,” he reminds you. “You’re doing so good, alright?”

To keep you lax, he rubs gently at your clit. Eventually, your body opens up to him. Once JJ’s eased all the way in, you’re squeezing him like a vice.

“You can move, JayJ,” you say, almost anxious that he isn’t.

JJ laughs a little. He won’t last a second if he moves right now. Closing his eyes, composing himself, he replies, “I really can’t. Gimme a second.”

Soon enough, the two of you sink into a rhythm. JJ places a hand one side of your head, another on your hip, angling you up slightly. Your back begins to arch and you’re moaning again, and JJ decides that it’s the best sound he’s ever heard. Prettier than when you sing. The sounds echoing off the bedroom walls are filthy enough to make Satan himself blush.

"Fuck baby. Feel so fucking good."

Groaning against your shoulder, moaning into your ear, JJ feels his resolve begin to break. He’s close. The way your body is reacting to him has him thinking you are too. His hand leaves your hip to rub at your clit. Quick, firm circles. You start to gasp, high pitched and euphoric, and JJ know he can’t last much longer. It’s too good.

The moment you finish, JJ lets go. The two of you come almost together, riding it out, clinging to each other as if you’ll float away if not. JJ eventually let’s himself collapse on top of you, breathing shallow and frantic. You’re still clenching around him, body dealing with the aftershocks.

JJ’s not sure how he’s supposed to go about the rest of his life knowing what it’s like to have you in bed. How he’s meant to get anything done with the memory of how you sound, gasping out his name. The picture stained in his mind of you sucking your fingers clean.

He presses a kiss to your damp neck, then another and another until he somehow finds your mouth. You sigh as you kiss him back, a hand coming to cradle at his face yet again. He pulls back, opens his eyes into yours, and you give him the sweetest smile he’s ever seen. Bashful and blissed out and beautiful.

“I love you,” you tell him, still a little breathless.

JJ smiles back. Heart stammers.

You wanted him. You picked him.

Kissing you once more, tender and fleeting, JJ sighs. “I love you too.”