#mark langston

[gummyartstradingcards]

[cryptocollectibles]

Team Stadium Club Angels Premiere Edition (1993) by Topps

[alternativeproject]

This is like when kids start being rude to you because they feel comfortable around you.

[ms-demeanor]

In my college American poetry class we had to do memorized readings of three poems, one of the ones I chose was Langston Hughes' "Weary Blues" because I'd already built a dramatic performance of it in high school.

This was an interesting college class because it was tiny (16 students at the start of the quarter, 12 at the end) and because it was *poetry* a lot of people in the class fudged the readings and did them the day of class, which meant that they weren't really prepared to discuss them. After two excruciating classes in a row where I was the only person ready to discuss the readings (in the second class I literally had to sit on my hands to keep myself from trying to speak after the professor said "Alli cannot answer for the rest of the hour, somebody else say something" and then nobody did for another ten minutes of the most awkward silence I have ever encountered), the professor brought in lyric sheets for "Summertime" from Porgy and Bess.

He started the class with our normal written quiz, then asked who was ready to talk. I was, because of course I was, but nobody else raised their hands.

"If you're not going to talk, then you're going to sing," he said, and handed out lyrics to everyone. "We are all adults, and we have an adult agreement that you will read the assignments and be prepared to discuss them, and I will lead discussions and teach you about the readings. You are not holding up your end of the agreement like adults, so I'm treating you like children, and your participation for the last three classes will not be based on your quizzes - which is good news for a lot of you - but on doing a sing-along today. So I'm going to sing this first, then we're going to sing it five times together, and then we're going to talk about the song together, and you are going to do your readings before my next class or I am going to be handing out more lyrics and we'll sing another song together like kindergartens."

That class is why the four students who dropped did so, but everyone who stayed was prepared for discussions for the rest of the quarter.

Anyway, that was before our second poetry presentation so by that point I'd already sung with these people and had no shame, so i decided I was going to actually sing the singer's part in "Weary Blues."

I recorded it on my phone and asked my friend Lindsey, who was in the class and happened to be a choir director, to listen to it and tell me if it sounded terrible. She said that it did not and asked if I had any vocal training and I said no and she said "you should join a choir" and i felt very flattered and continued practicing and memorizing the poem.

We had to give critiques of each person's performance, and most people were generally polite like you normally would be when giving feedback, but apparently one young woman was still pissed at me for being a suck-up and doing the assigned readings.

"First of all i couldn't even pay attention to the rest of the poem because you sound like a man. I think singing was a weird choice and singing like a man made it impossible for me to take your reading seriously" and i was a bit surprised (so were other people) but simply said "thank you, that's good to know, i was trying to sound like a man because the speaker in the poem describes the singer as a man, it's good to know i hit that mark" and we moved on.

Lindsey and the professor both checked in on me at the end of class, Lindsey to say "practice made that sound really really really good you should join a choir" and the professor to say "i was leery when you asked to sing part of your poem, i don't usually allow that but I'm glad i did" and both to ask if I was upset by the other student's comments.

I was not upset. Mentally i was jumping up and down and doing backflips and was bummed because the other student was probably just being mean and didn't actually think my voice sounded masculine.

But now I'm finding videos with titles like "is that my mom or a dude? Learning about the contralto range" and I'm like haha wait yeah, gender euphoria is stored in the vocal cords.

[whencartoonsruletheworld]

Hey so like many of you, I saw that article about how people are going into college having read no classic books. And believe it or not, I've been pissed about this for years. Like the article revealed, a good chunk of American Schools don't require students to actually read books, rather they just give them an excerpt and tell them how to feel about it. Which is bullshit.

So like. As a positivity post, let's use this time to recommend actually good classic books that you've actually enjoyed reading! I know that Dracula Daily and Epic the Musical have wonderfully tricked y'all into reading Dracula and The Odyssey, and I've seen a resurgence of Picture of Dorian Gray readership out of spite for N-tflix, so let's keep the ball rolling!

My absolute favorite books of all time are The Haunting of Hill House and We Have Always Lived in the Castle by Shirley Jackson. Classic psychological horror books about unhinged women.

I adore The Bad Seed by William March. It's widely considered to be the first "creepy child" book in American literature, so reading it now you're like "wow that's kinda cliche- oh my god this is what started it. This was ground zero."

I remember the feelings of validation I got when people realized Dracula wasn't actually a love story. For further feelings of validation, please read Frankenstein by Mary Shelley and The Strange Case of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde by Robert Louis Stevenson. There's a lot the more popular adaptations missed out on.

Rebecca by Daphne du Maurier is an absolute gem of a book. It's a slow-build psychological study so it may not be for everyone, but damn do the plot twists hit. It's a really good book to go into blind, but I will say that its handling of abuse victims is actually insanely good for the time period it was written in.

Moving on from horror, you know people who say "I loved this book so much I couldn't put it down"? That was me as a kid reading A Little Princess by Frances Hodgson Burnett. Picked it up while bored at the library and was glued to it until I finished it.

Peter Pan and Wendy by JM Barrie was also a childhood favorite of mine. Next time someone bitches about Woke Casting, tell them that the original 1911 Peter Pan novel had canon nonbinary fairies.

Watership Down by Richard Adams is my sister Cori's favorite book period. If you were a Warrior Cats, Guardians of Ga'Hoole or Wings of Fire kid, you owe a metric fuckton to Watership Down and its "little animals on a big adventure" setup.

A Raisin in the Sun by Lorraine Hansberry was a play and not a book first, but damn if it isn't a good fucking read. It was also named after a Langston Hughes poem, who's also an absolutely incredible author.

Fahrenheit 451 by Ray Bradbury is a book I absolutely adore and will defend until the day I die. It's so friggin good, y'all, I love it more than anything. You like people breaking out of fascist brainwashing? You like reading and value knowledge? You wanna see a guy basically predict the future of television back in 1953? Read Fahrenheit.

Huckleberry Finn by Mark Twain and To Kill a Mockingbird by Harper Lee are considered required reading for a reason: they're both really good books about young white children unlearning the racial biases of their time. Huck Finn specifically has the main character being told that he will go to hell if he frees a slave, and deciding eternal damnation would be worth it.

As a sidenote, another Mark Twain book I was obsessed with as a kid was A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court. Exactly what it says on the tin, incredibly insane read.

If Beale Street Could Talk by James Baldwin is a heartbreaking but powerful book and a look at the racism of the time while still centering the love the two black protagonists feel for each other. Giovanni's Room by the same author is one that focuses on a MLM man struggling with his sexuality, and it's really important to see from the perspective of a queer man living in the 50s– as well as Baldwin's autobiographical novel, Go Tell it on the Mountain.

Agatha Christie mysteries are all still absolutely iconic, but Murder on the Orient Express is such a good read whether or not you know the end twist.

Maybe-controversial-maybe-not take: Lolita by Vladimir Nabokov is a good book if you have reading comprehension. No, you're not supposed to like the main character. He pretty much spells that out for you at the end ffs.

Animal Farm by George Orwell was another favorite of mine; it was written as an obvious metaphor for the rise of fascism in Russia at the time and boy does it hit even now.

And finally, please read Shakespeare plays. As soon as you get used to their way of talking, they're not as hard to understand as people will lead you to believe. My absolute favorite is Twelfth Night- crossdressing, bisexual love triangles, yellow stockings... it's all a joy.

and those are just the ones i thought of off the top of my head! What're your guys' favorite classic books? Let's make everyone a reading list!

[poetrysmackdown]

welcome to the 2023 tumblr poetry smackdown

tumblr has developed something of a canon of poetry over the past couple years, and i figured others might enjoy getting a chance to voice their opinions on a few of those poems! poems i chose for the poetry smackdown had to be more or less widely read on tumblr (generally 10k+ notes, most with more or spread across compilations), and relatively short so as to make voting easier. they also had to be complete—there are a lot of popular lines floating around on tumblr that are excerpted from very long poems and/or poems that are inaccessible via internet, and those aren't included here. a handful of poets are represented here twice reflecting my sense of their popularity, but i arranged the bracket in such a way that it won't be able to stay that way past round 2 at the latest. if i missed a poem that is super popular i'm sorry, that said the bracket is staying as is because this was a shit ton of work to put together and i don't want to. ty.

you can get to the polls by following the links below or going to the #round1 tag on my blog. you can also send me propaganda if you want via ask and i'll post it/add it to the next round's post if the poem wins.

happy voting!

sincerely amelia @poetriarchy :)

ROUND 1: ENDS JULY 17 at 6pm EDT

"The Two-Headed Calf" by Laura Gilpin vs. "Butter Dish" by Leonard Cohen (cow poems)

"Poem" by Langston Hughes vs. "A Meeting" by Wendell Berry

"Miss you. Would like to grab that chilled tofu we love." by Gabrielle Calvocoressi vs. "My Sister, Who Died Young, Takes Up The Task" by Jon Pineda

"Hammond B3 Organ Cistern" by Gabrielle Calvocoressi vs. "Hong Kong" by Sue Zhao

"someone will remember us" (fragment by Sappho trans. Anne Carson) vs. "Wait" by Faraj Bou al-Isha trans. Khaled Mattawa

"The Quiet World" by Jeffrey McDaniel vs "Invisible Fish" by Joy Harjo

"Want" by Joan Larkin vs. "Come, and Be My Baby" by Maya Angelou

"Swan" by Mary Oliver vs. "How I Go to the Woods" by Mary Oliver

"The Orange" by Wendy Cope vs. "The Tenor of Your Yes" by Mary Ruefle

"Here There Are Blueberries" by Mary Syzbist vs. "Instructions on Not Giving Up" by Ada Limón

"To The Young Who Want to Die" by Gwendolyn Brooks vs. "A Litany for Survival" by Audre Lorde

"Night Walk" by Franz Wright vs. "Meditations in an Emergency" by Cameron Awkward-Rich

"Summer Was Forever" by Chen Chen vs. "I'm not a religious person but" by Chen Chen

"How to Be a Dog" by Andrew Kane vs. "Scheherazade" by Richard Siken

"I'm going to Minnesota where sadness makes sense" by Danez Smith vs. "Dream Song 29" by John Berryman

"Having a Coke with You" by Frank O'Hara vs. "Having 'Having a Coke with You' with You" by Mark Leidner

ADDENDUM: at 6pm on July 17th (or possibly a day earlier if there's already a clear sweep), I will be releasing a one-day poll that will give voters the option to sub in "Wild Geese" by Mary Oliver for the winner of matchup #8: "Swan" vs. "How I Go to the Woods". this is to help correct my significant oversight when I was remembering which two Oliver poems I've seen most on tumblr, and it's the only time I'm doing this kind of thing, so don't suggest it for any other poems after this please. that said, a sincere ty to @darkcomedies for first bringing its absence to my attention! and keep an eye out for this extra poll which i am calling ROUND 1.5: A HAIL MARY (OLIVER)

[sallysavestheday]

First Lines Tag

Thank you to @dreamingthroughthenoise @starspray and @queerofthedagger for the tag!

I do like this one, as a writer of many little one-shots, because it always turns up something new.

The task: Share the first lines of ten of your most recent fics and tag ten people. If you have written less than ten, don’t be shy and share anyway. (I will adapt it to say you can also post the first line of your last several chapters, for those who, unlike me, write longfics - there's no reason you shouldn't also get to share!)

I had a bit of a dry spell after getting whacked by DOGE in January, but I'm back in the saddle again...mostly. Even cranked out some cheery bits this week in anticipation of upcoming fandom events. Resilience, dammit.

So here we go with the most recent 10:

1. For the Eldar in Aman in the Years of the Trees, death was an infrequent occurrence.

With All Due Reverence (G: 1,900 words). A little faux-academic reflection on funerary rites among the Elves, ostensibly researched and written by Erestor and Pengolodh. For Silm Epistolary Week.

2. Fist-sized lump of malachite layered with copper ore, from a deposit in the hills behind Mahtan's forge.

Contents of Nerdanel's Strongbox, Preserved When Her Studio Burned (G: 176 words). What it says on the tin. Also for Silm Epistolary Week.

3. Ammë, do you remember how, when I was small and fractious, you would break coimas into the bright blue bowl and add a little water from the springs of Taniquetil, blessing and softening the crumbs?

Tender on the Tongue (T: 1,200 words). Excerpt from Lalwen's journal of the Helcaraxë, written as a letter to Indis. ALSO for Silm Epistolary week. Great event! You should try it next year!

4. It is Celeborn she asks to prick the memorial marks.

Steady Hands, Certain Heart (T: 425 words). Celeborn declares himself to Galadriel.

5. Idril has shed her shoes in their flight to the tunnel’s mouth.

A Bitter Premonition (G: 1,000 words). Idril and Glorfindel, at the Fall of Gondolin.

6. Fingon has never looked more like his father, Maedhros thinks, and winces.

Lodestone (T: 2,000 words). Fingon's plans to marry break Maedhros' heart.

7. The night’s storms have torn the canvas covering off the skeleton of the ship and blown sand around and through its standing ribs.

Hear Me in the Song of the Waves (M: 1,700 words). Sexy Tuor/Voronwë, with feelings (OK, mostly about feelings), for My Slashy Valentine. Honestly a new personal fave.

8. It is hard not to shout their joy to the heavens when they are all still grieving their losses.

Settling in My Bones (T: 300 words). My annual Valentine's Glorthelion, as the latest installment of The Flower and the Fountain.

9. Not even a direct order from Manwë himself could have persuaded Gildor to be King.

No Lark So Blithe As He (G: 730 words). Gildor Inglorion backstory, tra la la lally!

10. Tornel is taken young, swept into the nets of the Enemy’s forces as they descend on the wanderers’ camp.

Your turn, @tobermoriansass @melestasflight @polutrope @grey-gazania @eilinelsghost @idleleaves @shrikeseams @hhimring @dragonridersofficer-fiammag @katajainen. Give us your last 10 openings - old, new, chapters, fics, whatever. I can't wait to read!

Dream Dust (G: 1,500 words). Another Gil-galad origin story, and my first OC-centric fic (with a tiny peep of Maedhros at the end). For the 2025 Poetry Fiction Challenge - another event I highly recommend! This year's inspiration was Langston Hughes.

[simplepotatofarmer]

on the jailbreak and the pain of freedom

technoblade - youtube stream title / alexandre dumas - the count of monte cristo / mark rothko - untitled / damien rice - rootless tree / dreamwastaken & awesamdude - dsmp / franz kafka - blue octavo notebooks / george miller - mad max fury road script / technoblade - dsmp / john everett millais - ophelia / v.e. schwab - the invisible life of addie larue / langston huges - untitled / clifford palmer - blue skies / dreamwastaken & technoblade - dsmp / unknown tumblr tags / ursula k. le guin - the dispossessed

made for @void-chara for the @technoblade-gift-exchange!

[luthwhore]

“nona the ninth,” by tamsyn muir // superman: the last days of lex luthor, by mark waid // hozier’s twitter // superman: birthright, by mark waid // “sorry,” by halsey // superman (2023) #1, by joshua williamson // tumblr user dykeyphantom // smallville s10e22 // “poem,” by langston hughes

[thecrayonindisguise]

Chapter 10 Rebinding of Hearts|| Bonds and Barrier

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Original Female Character

Masterpost || << prev || next >>

Word Count: 11.3k

Warnings: no particular warnings

Author's Note: Hey people, I'm back! I am so so sorry for the absence but I had a little of a lack of inspiration and also I failed my exams at the beginning of this month so I was a little down for a few days but here we go after Christmas! Merry Christmas <3 here is your new chapter! Enjoy :)

In the waning light of late afternoon, the world softened, painted in hues of amber and gold.

On the grassy bank of a secluded stream, a quiet intimacy unfolded.

Much younger than she was now, Caterina lay sprawled across the tender earth, her golden dress cascading around her.

Waves of hair framed her face, loose and untamed, catching the occasional glimmer as the dappled sunlight filtered through the canopy of leaves above.

The melodic trickle of water nearby mingled with birdsong, weaving a cocoon of tranquility around the pair.

Beside her, a young man reclined, his gaze steady and warm as it lingered on her.

His hand, strong yet tender, intertwined with hers.

Their fingers fit together effortlessly, the connection between them as natural as the breeze that rustled through the grass.

Here, hidden from the world, they seemed suspended in their own secret universe, both in place and in time.

Caterina tilted her head, the soft curve of a smile gracing her lips.

She turned onto her side, leaning on one elbow, her other hand still entwined with his.

Slowly, she reached out, her free fingers tracing the contours of his cheek with a feather-light touch.

The familiar planes of his face, the warmth of his skin beneath her fingertips, ignited a quiet joy within her, unguarded and complete.

His eyes softened, their depth reflecting something unspoken but deeply felt.

The air seemed to still as she spoke, her voice a quiet murmur, carrying both the playfulness and vulnerability of youth.

“Will you love me forever?” she asked, tinged with a hesitancy that only deepened her sincerity.

A part of her already trusted the answer, though she longed to hear it aloud.

He smiled, his hand lifting to brush a stray curl from her face. His fingers lingered for a moment, caressing her cheek as if committing every detail of her to memory.

“Forever, my beautiful,” he whispered, his voice rich and steady, a promise etched into the golden air between them. “My love for you will never end.”

Laughter bubbled from Caterina, soft and unrestrained, a sound as light and natural as the breeze around them.

She tilted her head closer, her eyes sparkling with a joy so radiant it seemed to outshine the sun.

Her laughter danced in the air, weaving into the symphony of nature that surrounded them.

Then, as her laughter ebbed, she leaned down, her lips meeting his in a kiss, soft and unhurried.

His hand cradled her face, his fingers tracing delicate patterns along her cheek.

For a moment, the world melted away, the grass beneath them, the sky above, and the stream murmuring nearby, all fell silent.

There was only them.

─────────

Dearest readers, It seems this season has no shortage of delights, surprises, and intriguing visitors! The Medici family continues to dazzle the ton, with each member leaving their unique impression on our glittering society. While much attention has been directed toward the upcoming nuptials of the charming Miss Teresa Medici and the dashing Lord Ducker, another Medici has entered the fray to stir up even more excitement.

Yes, dear readers, the Duke of Lucca himself, Lorenzo Medici, has arrived in London with his enchanting wife and their two young children. Rumor has it the twins, Miss Teresa and Miss Caterina Medici, nearly toppled the household with their joy at their brother’s early arrival, a heartwarming scene that surely melted the hearts of even the most unflappable Londoners. To mark the occasion, the ever-hospitable Langstone family has announced a grand ball in the Duke’s honor, a soiree destined to be the talk of the season. With such a distinguished guest list and the Medici family’s growing influence in the social sphere, one can only imagine the connections and alliances that may be forged on this glittering evening.

But, my dear readers, do not let the splendor of the Langstone ball distract you from the whispers that swirl around one particular Medici sister. Miss Caterina Medici, known for her poise and charm, has been seen promenading with none other than His Grace, the Duke of Richmond. While their conversations appear the picture of propriety, one cannot help but wonder if a subtle courtship is blossoming amidst the preparations for her sister’s wedding.

And what of the ever-elusive Mr. Benedict Bridgerton, whose recent absences have left some speculating whether a certain young lady’s sharp words have cut deeper than she intended? Could there be more to this tale, or is it merely the folly of wishful observers? Time, as always, will reveal all.

Until then, my dearest readers, let us await the Langstone ball with bated breath and polished slippers. Who knows what revelations, romances, and rivalries the evening may bring?

Yours most faithfully, Lady Whistledown

─────────

The morning light filtered softly through the tall windows of Langstone House, bathing the drawing room in a golden glow.

The hum of activity echoed throughout the estate as the Medici family and their hosts began their day.

The spacious room, adorned with elegant furnishings and richly embroidered drapes, bore an air of refinement that perfectly matched its occupants.

Near the hearth, a cheerful scene unfolded as Teresa and Caterina entertained their young niece and nephew, Vittoria and Luca.

The siblings’ joyous laughter rang out as Teresa guided Vittoria through a game of pretend tea, carefully arranging tiny porcelain cups on a child-sized table.

Caterina, meanwhile, knelt on the floor beside Luca, who was determined to build the tallest block tower his little hands could manage.

“You’re doing wonderfully, Luca,” Caterina encouraged with a warm smile.

Luca’s tongue poked out in concentration as he placed a block at the precarious summit. “This one is the roof,” he declared with pride.

Vittoria looked up from her tea set with the superior air of an older sibling. “Luca, towers don’t need roofs. They’re not houses.”

“They do in my world!” Luca retorted, puffing out his chest.

Teresa and Caterina exchanged amused glances before laughter bubbled from them both.

Meanwhile, at the dining table across the room, Lorenzo Medici and his mother, Lady Medici, sat in conversation.

The Duke of Lucca exuded his usual commanding presence, his sharp features softened by the familial setting.

A half-filled cup of tea rested in his hand as he spoke, his deep voice low but firm.

“Madre,” Lorenzo began, leaning back slightly in his chair. “You have told me much about Tess intended, Lord Ducker, but I remain curious. What kind of man is he? Beyond the surface, I mean. Tess seems content, but I want to know if he will truly make her happy.”

Lady Medici’s blue eyes met her son’s with a calm, knowing gaze. “Lord Ducker is a gentleman of good repute, Lorenzo. He is steady and dependable, qualities that will serve your sister well. His affection for her is evident in his manner, and I believe he will honor and cherish her as a husband should.”

“Steady and dependable,” Lorenzo repeated, his brow furrowing slightly. “Worthy traits, certainly. But does he have the strength of character Tess will need? Marriage is not just a convenient arrangement, Madre, it is a union meant to endure through the years.”

A soft smile played on Lady Medici’s lips. “Your protective nature does you credit, my dear. Teresa’s happiness is my priority, as it is yours. You will have the opportunity to judge Lord Ducker’s character for yourself at tonight’s ball. But I trust my instincts about him.”

Lorenzo nodded, though his expression remained contemplative.

He took another sip of tea before voicing a new thought. “And what of Kitty?”

Lady Medici raised an elegant brow. “What of her?”

“I heard that a certain Duke is showing particular interest in her,” Lorenzo said, his tone casual but inquisitive. “Is there something I should know?”

Lady Medici’s smile grew wider, and she set her teacup down with deliberate care. “The Duke of Richmond has indeed expressed interest in your sister. He has called on her several times and shown himself to be most attentive.”

Lorenzo’s brows knit together in a mixture of curiosity and concern. “And what does Kitty think of him?”

Before Lady Medici could respond, the subject of their conversation entered the room, both sisters still laughing over some private jest.

The two young women approached the table, their steps light and their cheeks flushed from the morning’s play.

Lorenzo turned his piercing gaze on Caterina, his question hanging heavily in the air. “Kitty, I was just speaking with Madre about the Duke of Richmond. I heard he has taken quite an interest in you.”

Caterina froze mid-step, her composure faltering for the briefest moment.

The flush on her cheeks deepened, though this time it was not from laughter. “Oh,” she said, her voice unusually small. “I suppose he has.”

“You suppose?” Lorenzo pressed a note of teasing in his voice. “Either he has or he hasn’t. Which is it?”

Teresa, sensing her sister’s discomfort, intervened with a light laugh. “Lori, you sound like an inquisitor! Poor Kitty can’t even have a quiet morning without you interrogating her.”

Caterina shot her sister a grateful look before managing a composed reply. “The Duke has shown himself to be very kind and… attentive. But it is still early days, and I do not wish to rush to any conclusions.”

Lorenzo’s sharp gaze remained fixed on his sister as if trying to discern the truth behind her carefully chosen words. “Do you enjoy his presence?” he asked, his tone both curious and protective.

Caterina hesitated, her fingers fidgeting with the lace edge of her sleeve. “I… I think he is a gentleman of good standing and character,” she said at last. “He is attentive and respectful.”

“But?” Lorenzo prompted.

“But,” Caterina faltered, “I do not know him well enough to say more.”

Lady Medici, sensing that her daughter needed reprieve, stepped in smoothly. “Caterina has always been thoughtful in matters of the heart, Lorenzo. She understands the importance of choosing wisely, and I trust her judgment. The Duke of Richmond is a patient man, and he respects her measured approach.”

Lorenzo nodded slowly, though his expression betrayed a lingering skepticism.

“Very well,” he said at last. “I might arrange an introduction to the gentleman this evening”

“of course,” Caterina assured him, her voice steady despite the turmoil of emotions swirling within her.

As the conversation shifted to the ball’s preparations, Caterina’s thoughts lingered on her brother’s probing questions.

Her gaze drifted to Teresa, who was now playfully helping Vittoria set up a new tea party.

Teresa’s laughter was light and carefree, a stark contrast to Caterina’s own brooding thoughts.

For a moment, Caterina envied her sister’s simplicity, wishing that her own heart could be as easily swayed by kind attentions and steadfast promises.

But deep down, she knew that her heart was anything but simple.

─────────

The sun dipped low in the sky, casting a warm, golden hue across the Medici sisters’ shared dressing room.

The Langstone estate buzzed with activity, the final touches of the evening’s grand ball being perfected by a flurry of servants.

Within the sanctuary of their room, however, the air was quieter, more personal, filled with the rustle of silk gowns and the faint floral fragrance of rosewater.

Caterina stood before the ornate mirror, adjusting the delicate pearl combs in her hair.

Teresa, on the other hand, sat by the window.

Her hands twisting nervously in her lap.

“Tess,” Caterina said gently, glancing at her sister’s reflection, “you’ve been fretting since the moment we returned from luncheon. What’s troubling you?”

Teresa sighed, her shoulders slumping. “It’s Lord Ducker and Lori,” she admitted, her voice barely above a whisper.

Caterina turned from the mirror, her brow furrowing with concern. “What about them?”

“I’m worried about the impression Lord Ducker will make on our brother,” Teresa confessed, her words tumbling out in a rush. “you know well how he could be, What if he doesn’t approve? What if he finds fault with Lord Ducker?”

Caterina moved to sit beside her sister, taking Teresa’s hands in her own. “Tess, you’re thinking too much about this,” she said softly. “Lori may be protective, but he adores you. And as for Lord Ducker, anyone with eyes can see how much he values you. He’ll see it too.”

“But what if he doesn’t?” Teresa pressed, her voice trembling. “What if he thinks Lord Ducker is insincere or unworthy?”

Caterina squeezed her sister’s hands. “Do you truly believe that?”

“No,” Teresa admitted, shaking her head. “Edward is the most honorable man I’ve ever known. He’s kind, thoughtful… everything I could have wished for. But Lori is different. He values strength and forthrightness, and Edward can be so… so reserved.”

Caterina laughed lightly. “Tess, Lord Ducker isn’t shy. He’s measured. There’s a difference. And Lori will appreciate that once they speak. Trust me, our brother isn’t as difficult to win over as you think.”

Teresa looked at her sister with wide, anxious eyes. “You’re sure?”

“Positive,” Caterina replied with confidence. “Besides, Lori has a sharp eye for character. If Lord Ducker loves you, and it’s clear that he does, Lori will respect that.”

A flicker of a smile touched Teresa’s lips, though doubt lingered in her gaze. “I hope you’re right. I couldn’t bear it if they didn’t get along.”

Caterina leaned closer, her tone playful. “Well, if our brother does find fault, we’ll simply remind him of his own less-than-perfect courtship skills. That should humble him.”

Teresa giggled, some of her tension easing. “He did have a rather dramatic proposal to Beatrice, didn’t he?”

“Absolutely,” Caterina teased. “And if memory serves, she made him wait three months before accepting. Lori may be an intimidating Duke, but even he’s had to grovel for love.”

The sisters shared a laugh, their bond easing Teresa’s worries.

After a moment, Teresa’s expression grew thoughtful. “And what about you, Kitty? Are you nervous about tonight?”

“Me?” Caterina asked, feigning ignorance. “Why would I be?”

Teresa arched a knowing brow. “Perhaps because a certain Duke will be in attendance? Or because Lorenzo might decide to interrogate him next?”

Caterina rolled her eyes, though her cheeks warmed. “Lori wouldn’t dare,” she said, a touch defensively.

“Wouldn’t he?” Teresa countered with a sly grin.

Caterina sighed, rising to retrieve her gloves from the vanity. “I’m not concerned about our brother’s opinions tonight. My focus is on ensuring you enjoy yourself without spiraling into a fit of nerves.”

“Nice deflection,” Teresa remarked, smirking.

Caterina shot her sister a playful glare before returning to her seat. “Tess, tonight is about you and Lord Ducker. Let me worry about my own affairs.”

Teresa’s teasing softened into a warm smile. “You’re always looking out for me, Kitty. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

“And you’ll never have to find out,” Caterina promised, brushing a strand of hair from her sister’s face.

The door creaked open, and Teresa’s maid entered with a tray of sparkling jewelry. “Ladies, I thought these pieces might suit the young ladies this evening,” she announced, setting the tray on the vanity.

“Oh, how lovely,” Teresa said, her earlier worry melting away as she admired the shimmering gems.

Caterina selected a delicate sapphire necklace for her sister, fastening it around Teresa’s neck with care. “Perfect,” she declared, stepping back to admire her handiwork.

“And for you, Miss?” the maid asked.

Caterina chose a simple string of pearls, their understated elegance complementing her gown.

As the maid secured the clasp, Caterina glanced at her sister, whose eyes sparkled with anticipation.

“Feeling better?” she asked.

Teresa nodded her smile more confident now. “Much. Thank you, Kitty.”

“Good,” Caterina said, rising to her feet. “Now, let’s make our entrance”

Teresa laughed, taking her sister’s arm. “Lead the way, Lady of Confidence.”

─────────

The Langstone Ball was an affair of unparalleled elegance, a dazzling celebration of the arrival of the Duke of Lucca, and his family.

The Langstone estate, already known for its grandeur, had outdone itself for this particular evening.

Guests began to arrive at twilight, their carriages lining the long drive leading to the stately manor.

As they ascended the marble steps, a murmur of anticipation filled the crisp night air.

The ballroom itself was a masterpiece.

High, gilded ceilings soared above, their intricate designs shimmering in the glow of countless crystal chandeliers.

The walls were lined with tall, arched windows draped in rich velvet curtains of deep burgundy, their edges embroidered with gold thread.

Through the windows, the faint glimmer of lanterns from the garden added an ethereal quality to the scene.

Beneath the chandeliers, a polished parquet floor reflected the light, creating a sense of endless luminosity.

At the far end of the room, an elevated dais held the musicians.

They played a lively yet refined waltz, their melodies weaving seamlessly with the hum of conversation and the occasional burst of laughter.

The music set a tone of joviality and elegance, urging feet to tap and hearts to soar.

The decorations were a sight to behold.

Garlands of roses and greenery cascaded from the balustrades and twined around the golden sconces.

Ornate vases, placed strategically throughout the room, held arrangements of white lilies and crimson peonies, their fragrance mingling with the faint aroma of beeswax candles.

Tables along the periphery bore platters of delicacies, miniature tarts, sugared fruits, and crystal glasses brimming with champagne, attended by an army of footmen.

The guests themselves were a spectacle, a moving tableau of fashion and refinement.

Ladies floated across the floor in gowns of silk and satin, their skirts shimmering in shades of lavender, emerald, and rose.

Jewels glinted at their throats and ears, catching the candlelight with every graceful turn.

Gentlemen, in their impeccably tailored evening coats and cravats, moved with practiced ease, their polished boots clicking faintly against the floor.

The air was filled with the rustle of fabric, the clink of glasses, and the low hum of conversation.

Lady Langstone stood near the entrance, resplendent in a gown of deep blue adorned with silver embroidery.

She greeted each guest with poise, her warm smile a testament to her role as hostess.

Lord Langstone, standing beside her, exuded a quieter authority, his watchful eyes surveying the room with satisfaction.

At the center of attention, however, was Lorenzo Medici, the Duke of Lucca.

Dressed in a finely tailored ensemble of midnight black accented with gold, he cut an imposing figure.

His wife, Beatrice, was equally captivating in a gown of ivory and sapphire, her serene beauty complemented by her gracious demeanor.

Caterina and Teresa were not far behind their brother, each commanding attention in their own way.

Caterina, in a gown of soft green with gold, carried herself with a quiet elegance, her hair swept into an intricate chignon.

Teresa, by contrast, wore a gown of blush pink and radiated a vivacious charm that seemed to light up every corner she entered.

The sisters moved together at first, exchanging pleasantries with acquaintances and admirers.

The atmosphere was electric, charged with the unspoken currents of admiration, intrigue, and ambition.

Conversations ebbed and flowed, ranging from polite inquiries about the journey from Italy to subtle hints of potential matches being observed and judged.

Young ladies glanced demurely at potential suitors, while mothers watched keenly, their eyes flitting between their daughters and eligible gentlemen.

As the evening progressed, the dance floor became the heart of the event.

Couples glided across the floor in perfect harmony, their movements a blend of precision and passion.

The waltz gave way to a quadrille, then a lively reel, each dance a testament to the refined skill and grace of the participants.

Caterina found herself pulled into the festivities, though her thoughts occasionally drifted elsewhere.

She exchanged dances with a few gentlemen, each polite and charming, though none seemed to capture her attention fully.

As she moved across the floor, she caught sight of the Duke of Richmond, his commanding presence unmistakable.

He seemed to be scanning the room, his eyes narrowing slightly when they met hers.

Teresa, meanwhile, was in high spirits, dancing with Lord Ducker and drawing the attention of more than a few observers.

Their easy camaraderie and mutual affection were evident, their shared smiles and occasional laughter painting a picture of a couple deeply in love.

Lorenzo watched them from the sidelines, his expression softening as he saw his sister’s happiness.

─────────

While every corner of the room was alive, amidst the celebration, Caterina’s heart was heavy.

While her lips smiled and her hands gracefully accepted compliments on her gown, her mind was miles away, replaying a moment she wished desperately to undo.

She had decided early that evening, perhaps before she’d even descended the staircase, that she needed to speak with Benedict Bridgerton.

The guilt had gnawed at her since the day of his proposal, her harsh rejection playing on a loop in her mind.

She knew her words had been unnecessarily cruel, a reaction driven more by her own fears than anything he had done.

Tonight, she resolved to set things right.

As the evening unfolded, Caterina slipped away from the crowded ballroom, her heart pounding.

She’d seen Benedict earlier, a fleeting glimpse of his tall frame moving among the guests, his smile warm yet reserved.

Her eyes had followed him until he disappeared, and now, as she scanned the room, she realized he was no longer among the dancing couples or the chatting groups.

Her resolve grew as she moved through the crowd, exchanging pleasantries but always keeping an eye on the corners of the room, hoping for a glimpse of him.

Finally, after what felt like hours, she saw him slipping out to one of the balconies.

The cool night air kissed her cheeks as she stepped onto the balcony.

Moonlight bathed the stone railing, and the sounds of the ball softened to a distant hum.

Benedict stood with his back to her, the moonlight bathed him in silver, highlighting the sharp lines of his profile.

She hesitated for a moment, her courage faltering.

But then she took a deep breath and stepped forward. “A beautiful night, isn’t it?”

Benedict turned, his expression unreadable.

“Miss Medici,” he said, inclining his head politely, “Indeed, it is. Though I suspect it’s even more beautiful inside, where the company is livelier.”

Caterina smiled faintly, encouraged by his light tone. “I think you overestimate the charm of the company, Mr. Bridgerton. I’ve been among them all evening, and yet I find myself out here.”

He raised a brow, a flicker of amusement crossing his face. “Am I to take that as a compliment? Or are you merely admitting to escaping boredom?”

“A bit of both, perhaps,” she replied, her smile growing.

But then her tone turned serious, “Mr. Bridgerton, I’ve been looking for you all evening to… to apologize personally for what happened between us.”

He studied her for a moment, his posture straightening. “You do not need to apologize, Miss Medici.”

“All the contrary,” she insisted, stepping closer, “I do need to. My reaction to your proposal was… disproportionate. Unladylike. Rude, if not even cruel. I cannot fathom what overcame me that day, but I humbly request your forgiveness.”

Benedict’s gaze softened, though there was a guardedness in his eyes, “Miss Medici, you don’t have to explain yourself. I knew the risk when I asked. You gave me your answer; that should be enough.”

“No,” she said firmly, her voice trembling with emotion. “There were a thousand ways I could have refused your kind offer, but I chose the worst. I said things… horrible things about you, about your family. Words I will never forgive myself for. I hurt you in a way I cannot undo, and for that, I am truly sorry.”

For a moment, the only sound was the faint music drifting from the ballroom.

Benedict’s face was unreadable, but then he let out a soft chuckle, surprising her, “You know,” he said, his tone laced with humor, “when we were children, Eloise and I had a game where we tried to outdo each other in saying the most ridiculous things about people. I think you might have won without even trying.”

Caterina blinked, startled, and then a laugh escaped her, soft and genuine. “Is this your way of sparing me from drowning in guilt, Mr. Bridgerton?”

“Not at all,” he replied with a grin. “I simply think it’s unfair that you’re the only one carrying this burden. I should share some of it. After all, I did propose to you in a rather ill-timed and dramatic fashion.”

She shook her head, her smile lingering. “No, the fault lies with me. You’ve been nothing but kind and patient, and I rewarded you with cruelty.”

She hesitated, her voice softening, “I truly value what we had, Mr Bridgerton. Not as it was, of course, but as friends. I know that the love you feel for me is… perhaps momentary, an infatuation that will pass.”

Benedict gave a soft, humorless laugh. “You’re remarkably confident in your ability to assess another’s heart, Miss Medici. Are you certain you’re not mistaken?”

A faint blush crept up her cheeks, but she met his gaze with quiet determination. “I am certain of very little, Mr. Bridgerton. But I do know that I value your presence in my life and would like to preserve it, even in a different form.”

His expression grew thoughtful. “Friendship,” he repeated, tasting the word. “It’s a peculiar thing to aspire to after a rejected proposal, don’t you think?”

“It is,” she admitted, her cheeks warming.

He studied her for a long moment, then smiled faintly. “You’re a rare creature, Miss Medici. Most ladies would simply avoid me. But here you are, seeking to salvage what you can.”

“I’ve never been one to take the easy path,” she replied, a hint of mischief in her voice.

Benedict chuckled, the sound rich and warm. “That much is clear. Very well, Miss Medici. Friendship it is. But I must warn you, I’m a terrible friend. I tell awful jokes.”

Caterina laughed, the sound genuine and free. “I think I’ll manage”

“Wise of you,” he said with a grin.

The moment stretched, their laughter fading into a comfortable silence.

Then Caterina glanced toward the ballroom, her expression turning wistful. “I should return inside. My family will be looking for me… I'm pleased that things have settled between us.”

Before she could step away, Benedict’s voice stopped her. “Miss Medici,” he said, his tone more serious now. “The Duke… is he courting you?”

She froze, the question catching her off guard.

Slowly, she turned to face him, her cheeks tinged with color. “I… yes, I believe he is ” she admitted quietly.

His expression remained neutral, though his gaze seemed to pierce through her. “And does that… please you?”

Caterina hesitated, the question throwing her into confusion. “I, yes. He is kind and attentive,” she said cautiously. “But I do not think it is proper to discuss such matters.”

Benedict nodded, his eyes lowering briefly before meeting hers again. “Of course. Forgive me for prying.”

She offered him a small, polite smile, her composure returning. “Goodnight, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Goodnight, Miss Medici,” he replied, his tone soft.

As she disappeared into the ballroom, Benedict leaned against the railing, his thoughts a tangle of emotions.

Her apology had been heartfelt, her laughter genuine.

And yet, as the night stretched on, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was still more between them, something unspoken, lingering like a shadow beneath the moonlight.

─────────

Benedict remained on the balcony long after Caterina had disappeared into the ballroom, her delicate figure swallowed by the glow of chandeliers and the hum of the crowd.

He gripped the stone railing, its coolness grounding him as his thoughts churned.

The night air was crisp, carrying with it the faint scent of roses from the garden below, yet it did little to calm the storm within him.

Her words lingered like a haunting melody.

“I truly value what we had”

He closed his eyes, trying to make sense of the whirlwind of emotions that her unexpected apology had unleashed.

She had sought him out, searched for him, she had said.

Not for polite conversation, not for obligation, but to apologize.

To make amends.

To heal a wound she had inflicted days ago.

Did it matter that she was sorry?

Benedict wasn’t sure.

The memory of her rejection, sharp and searing, was still vivid.

It wasn’t just the refusal, it was how she had done it.

Her words had been like a whip, tearing into him with precision and purpose.

She had dismissed his love, his sincerity, and him.

The memory still stung.

But tonight…

He opened his eyes and stared into the gardens below, their neatly trimmed hedges and sparkling fountains illuminated by moonlight.

Tonight, she had stood before him, vulnerable and earnest, her voice trembling just slightly as she spoke.

The Caterina Medici who had once cut him down with sharp words had shown a softness he hadn’t seen in her before.

And it unnerved him.

Benedict was no stranger to forgiveness.

In a household as large and lively as his, grudges rarely lasted long.

Eloise’s sharp tongue, Colin’s mischievous pranks, or Hyacinth’s relentless teasing, were daily occurrences, and apologies were often swift and sincere.

But this… this was different.

Caterina wasn’t family.

She wasn’t someone he was obligated to forgive or someone he could easily tease and banter with as if nothing had happened.

She was Caterina Medici.

Beautiful, intelligent, infuriating Caterina.

And she had apologized.

Her words echoed in his mind.

“There were a thousand ways I could have refused your kind offer, but I chose the worst.”

The way she had looked at him, her eyes wide and glistening, had made him believe her.

She had regretted her actions, not just for his sake but for hers too.

Yet, even as he replayed the conversation, he couldn’t ignore the other thing she had said.

The Duke.

Benedict’s jaw tightened as the thought of the man crept into his mind.

He had seen the way her cheeks flushed when he asked about him, the way she had hesitated before answering.

It wasn’t a bashful blush, not entirely, but it was enough to stir something unwelcome in Benedict’s chest.

Jealousy.

The realization hit him like a punch to the gut.

He was jealous.

Not of the Duke’s title or wealth, but of the time he spent with her, the smiles he undoubtedly coaxed from her, the way she might be learning to trust him.

Benedict scoffed under his breath, the sound bitter and self-deprecating.

Of course, she would blush at the mention of the Duke.

He was everything a young woman like Caterina could hope for.

A title, a fortune, and no doubt a charming demeanor to match.

He likely didn’t paint sketches or dabble in pursuits society deemed unworthy of a gentleman.

But did the Duke know her?

Benedict frowned at the thought.

Did the Duke understand the way her voice softened when she recounted stories of her family, or how her eyes sparkled when she talked about art?

Did he know how fiercely loyal she was, or how her wit could both challenge and delight in equal measure?

And then there was her laugh.

He could still hear it, clear and genuine, from just moments ago.

It had caught him off guard, the way her guard had slipped and allowed her to laugh at his teasing.

It had been too easy, too natural as if no time had passed since they were friends.

Friends.

The word felt like both a gift and a curse.

She had offered it so sincerely, her voice steady despite the vulnerability in her eyes.

Friendship.

Benedict let out a long breath, running a hand through his hair.

Could he truly stand beside her as a friend, knowing he still loves her?

Knowing she was being courted by another man, a Duke, no less?

Could he watch her smile, hear her laugh, and not wonder what might have been?

Yet, her words had struck a chord in him.

“I truly value what we had”

what we had.

She had chosen that word carefully, and he couldn’t ignore the weight it carried.

Perhaps she did regret how things had ended between them.

But was that enough?

He thought back to the softness in her voice when she apologized.

There had been no falsehood in her words, no artifice.

Caterina Medici was not a woman who apologized lightly, and tonight, she had laid her pride bare before him.

And yet…

Benedict straightened, his grip tightening on the railing.

The Duke.

Benedict sighed, a mix of frustration and resignation settling over him.

He didn’t know the answer.

Caterina had made it clear she wanted to move forward as friends, and he had to respect that.

And perhaps it wasn’t his place to ask.

But the flicker of hope that had ignited in his chest during their conversation refused to be snuffed out.

As he stared out at the moonlit gardens, Benedict allowed himself one brief, selfish thought: perhaps their story wasn’t over.

Not yet.

And as much as he tried to push the thought aside, he couldn’t help but wonder if Caterina felt the same.

─────────

Caterina stepped back into the ballroom, the vibrant swirl of colors and sound washing over her like a tide.

The chandeliers above cast their golden glow across the room, reflecting off jeweled gowns and polished buttons.

The hum of conversation mixed with the lively strains of the orchestra, and everywhere she looked, people were laughing, dancing, and enjoying the festivities.

Yet, she felt a strange detachment, as though she were merely observing from a distance.

Her thoughts were heavy with her conversation with Benedict.

His words, his tone, the way his expression had shifted, everything lingered in her mind like an unfinished melody.

She had meant every word of her apology and every sentiment about their friendship, but his question about the Duke still echoed in her head.

She shook herself lightly, smoothing her gown and taking a steadying breath.

Focus on the present, Caterina.

Scanning the room, her gaze fell upon a familiar figure.

His brother stood near the far corner of the ballroom, engaged in conversation.

Beside him, tall and impeccably poised, was the Duke of Richmond.

Caterina’s heart gave an involuntary flutter at the sight of them.

Her brother, always charismatic, was gesturing animatedly while the Duke nodded, his expression one of polite attentiveness.

Caterina hesitated only a moment before making her way across the room.

As she approached, the Duke’s head turned slightly, and their eyes met.

His lips curved into a warm smile, and Lorenzo, noticing her arrival, broke off mid-sentence to greet her.

“Caterina,” Lorenzo said, his voice warm. “I was just telling the Duke about your infamous talent for convincing me to get into trouble as children.”

Caterina raised an eyebrow, a small smile tugging at her lips. “Infamous, is it? I recall most of those plans being your idea.”

Lorenzo laughed, clapping the Duke on the shoulder. “Do not believe her, Your Grace. She’s always been far more clever than me.”

The Duke chuckled softly. “I find that entirely believable.”

Caterina felt her cheeks flush slightly under the weight of his gaze.

“The Duke is an excellent conversationalist, though I must say, he is remarkably reserved when it comes to tales of his own mischief,” Lorenzo said with a grin.

“I assure you, I have none worth recounting,” the Duke replied smoothly.

“None worth recounting or none you wish to admit?” Caterina teased gently, her tone playful.

The Duke’s smile widened a faint glint of amusement in his eyes. “A fair distinction, Miss Medici.”

Before Lorenzo could interject, the Duke turned to Caterina. “Miss Medici, would you honor me with a dance?”

The question caught her off guard, though she quickly masked her surprise with a polite smile. “I would be delighted, Your Grace.”

Lorenzo stepped aside, his grin unabashedly teasing. “Try not to step on his toes, sister.”

She rolled her eyes affectionately at her brother before taking the Duke’s offered arm.

He led her gracefully to the center of the ballroom, where couples were already moving in time to a waltz, the soft strains of the orchestra surrounding them in an almost dreamlike haze.

The flicker of candlelight cast a warm glow across the polished floors, and the laughter and chatter of the guests added a lively undercurrent to the atmosphere.

As they began to dance, Caterina found herself acutely aware of the Duke’s presence.

His touch was firm yet gentle, his hand steady at her waist, guiding her effortlessly through the intricate steps.

His posture was regal, as though he were born to lead, and Caterina, in contrast, felt herself falling into the rhythm of his command with a certain quiet ease.

Yet, despite the grace of their steps, her mind drifted, her attention slipping from the Duke for a mere moment as her gaze wandered across the room.

And there, in the far corner of the ballroom, she briefly spotted him.

Benedict.

His eyes caught hers from across the sea of swirling dancers, and in that instant, a wave of emotions rose in her chest, catching her off guard.

So caught up in the sight of him, Caterina’s foot caught on the hem of her gown, and she stumbled slightly, her body swaying dangerously off balance.

Her hand instinctively gripped the Duke’s shoulder for support, and she felt a sharp gasp escape her lips.

The Duke, ever the gentleman, steadied her instantly, his hand tightening reassuringly around her waist.

“Are you well, Miss Medici?” he asked, his voice calm but laced with concern.

Caterina’s heart raced, a flush creeping up her neck.

“I’m fine,” she quickly replied, her words a little too sharp, betraying the sudden flurry of thoughts in her mind. “It was nothing.”

She regained her composure and adjusted herself in the dance, forcing her attention back to the Duke.

The music resumed, and their feet began moving in tandem once more, but her thoughts lingered on the fleeting moment she had shared with Benedict.

His presence always had disrupted the careful mask of composure she had been wearing so tightly.

“You seem distracted, Miss Medici,” the Duke remarked softly after a moment, his tone light but observant.

Caterina blinked, offering him a faint smile. “Not distracted, precisely. There is simply much to think about these days.”

“A fair answer,” he said, his expression unreadable. “Planning a wedding must be quite an undertaking, even if it is not your own.”

She laughed softly. “That is an understatement. My sister has more opinions about flower arrangements than I ever thought possible.”

The Duke chuckled, his gaze warm. “And what of you? Are you fond of such events, or do you merely endure them for the sake of duty?”

Caterina hesitated for a fraction of a second, considering her answer. “I enjoy them, in truth. The music, the dancing, the chance to see familiar faces, it has its charm. But I must admit, there are moments when I long for something simpler.”

“A sentiment I understand all too well,” he replied, his tone thoughtful. “There is a certain appeal in escaping the grandness of it all, even if only for a little while.”

Their conversation ebbed and flowed as the dance continued, light and polite.

His questions were thoughtful, his attention undivided, and yet, despite his charm, Caterina’s thoughts kept drifting.

does that… please you?

Benedict’s question replayed in her mind, unbidden and persistent.

She felt her cheeks warm as she recalled how Benedict had looked at her when he asked it, not with bitterness or anger, but with something deeper, something she couldn’t quite name.

Did she like the Duke?

She couldn’t deny his many admirable qualities.

He was kind, intelligent, and undeniably handsome.

But did she feel for him the same way she felt for Benedict?

The comparison was impossible to ignore, and she chastised herself for even entertaining the thought.

“Miss Medici?” the Duke’s voice broke through her reverie, and she realized she had been silent for longer than was polite.

“My apologies, Your Grace,” she said quickly. “I fear I’ve been a poor conversational partner.”

“Not at all,” he said, his tone reassuring. “If anything, I’m grateful for the respite from questions about the latest political debates or hunting expeditions.”

She smiled, genuinely this time. “In that case, I’m glad to be of service.”

The waltz came to an end, and the Duke led her back toward the edge of the dance floor.

As they paused, he bowed slightly. “Thank you for the dance, Miss Medici. It has been a true pleasure.”

“The pleasure was mine, Your Grace,” she replied with a graceful curtsey.

As he stepped away to rejoin the crowd, Caterina found herself letting out a quiet breath.

She glanced around the ballroom, where she briefly spotted Benedict, and felt a pang of uncertainty.

What am I doing?

She couldn’t deny the Duke’s kindness or the potential of what he offered.

But something about tonight, about Benedict’s words, his presence, and even her apology, had stirred feelings she thought she had buried some time ago.

Taking a deep breath, Caterina turned back to the crowd, determined to face the rest of the evening with poise.

But in her heart, she knew that the questions swirling in her mind would not be so easily silenced.

─────────

The soft glow of the morning sun poured through the grand windows of Langstone’s drawing room, casting a warm, golden light that reflected off the ornate furniture and elegant décor.

It was a peaceful morning after the excitement of the ball the night before, the lingering energy of the evening still hanging in the air like the gentle notes of a sweet melody.

The laughter and chatter of women filled the space, accompanied by the soft sound of teacups clinking and the occasional delighted exclamation from the children playing at the hearth.

Lady Medici, regal as ever, sat poised in her favorite chair near the window, her fingers delicately holding a cup of tea as she gazed out at the well-manicured garden.

Beside her, Lady Langstone looked equally content, her eyes twinkling as she caught up with her cousin, discussing the success of the previous night’s event.

Beatrice, Lorenzo’s wife, sat near her, her calm demeanor almost a mirror image of Lady Medici’s, but with a gentler air.

She glanced occasionally at the two young children, Vittoria and Luca, who were playing near the fire with their toys, their laughter filling the room with lightness.

Vittoria was especially animated, weaving intricate stories with her dolls, while Luca tried to mimic her in the most endearing way possible.

Cynthia and Olympia, ever the lively pair, occupied a chaise lounge, their heads together in whispered conversation, their eyes twinkling with mischief.

The lively discussion of the ball was at its peak, each woman recounting a detail or a fleeting moment from the evening before.

They spoke of the grandeur of the event, the music, the dances, the gentlemen, everything that had made the night unforgettable.

“You know,” Lady Langstone said, her voice rich with excitement, “I think the ball was one of the finest we’ve had in weeks. The atmosphere was so lively, and the guests… well, they certainly kept things interesting, didn’t they?”

Lady Medici chuckled lightly, her voice low but full of warmth. “Indeed. It seemed as though everyone in town was eager to attend. I dare say the guest list alone could have kept some of the ladies up for weeks, debating who was invited and who wasn’t.”

Beatrice laughed, her eyes brightening with amusement. “And the dancing! I haven’t seen such energy on the floor in ages. I think even my feet are still aching from all the waltzes.”

The lighthearted conversation swirled around Caterina and Teresa, who sat quietly together on a loveseat by the window.

The two sisters, though not speaking, were very much in tune with one another.

They shared an almost telepathic bond, their silent communication enough to convey everything that words could not express.

Teresa looked radiant as always, the excitement of her engagement still fresh in her expression, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

Despite the joy that filled the room, something lingered in the air around Caterina, a quiet restlessness, an unease that she couldn’t quite shake.

Her thoughts kept returning to the conversation she’d had with Benedict on the balcony. His words had stayed with her, even as she tried to convince herself that things were fine.

She had apologized for her rude refusal, for the sharp words she had said to him, and he had graciously accepted.

It was the right thing to do, but somehow, the weight of what had transpired between them remained, unresolved in her heart.

As the ladies continued their discussion, Caterina’s gaze wandered to the children again.

Vittoria had just dropped her doll and was now chasing Luca around the room, laughing as the boy, with his round face flushed with excitement, tried to escape her.

The scene brought a soft smile to Caterina’s lips, though her mind was far from the carefree playfulness of the children.

She turned her gaze back to her sister, who was watching her with quiet curiosity.

Teresa noticed immediately.

She always did.

With a gentle nudge of her elbow, she leaned toward her sister, her voice low enough for only Caterina to hear. “Kitty” she began softly, her tone carrying a quiet concern. “What’s bothering you? You’ve been distant all morning.”

Caterina hesitated, her fingers curling around her teacup as she looked at her sister. “It’s nothing, really. Just… the ball, I suppose. Everything feels like it’s moving so quickly. I’m not sure where I fit into all of it anymore.”

Teresa raised an eyebrow, her gaze sharp and knowing. “Don’t be ridiculous. You fit just fine, as always. What’s really bothering you?”

Caterina sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly as she placed her teacup back on the table. “I spoke with Mr Bridgerton last night. After everything that happened, I felt I needed to apologize for the way I treated him.”

Teresa’s eyes widened in surprise. “You spoke to him? I thought you would never do such a thing, you told me”

Caterina looked down, her fingers tapping nervously on the edge of the cup. “I know. But I had to. It wasn’t fair to him. He didn’t deserve the things I said.”

She glanced at her sister, her voice tinged with uncertainty. “I apologized, and we’ve agreed to be friends. But…” She faltered, not sure how to put it into words.

“But?” Teresa prompted, her voice gentle but insistent.

Caterina hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “But it feels strange, Tess. He’s like changed. There’s this distance between us now, something that wasn’t there before. And I don’t know how to bridge it.”

Teresa considered this for a moment before responding, her voice thoughtful. “You can’t expect everything to go back to how it was. But you did the right thing. You apologized. What more can you do?”

Caterina nodded, though she wasn’t entirely convinced. “I suppose. I just… I don’t want to lose that connection with him.”

Teresa smiled, her gaze softening. “It just takes time. Just don’t overthink it. Let it unfold naturally.” She paused, her tone lightening.

The conversation lulled as the two sisters exchanged quiet thoughts, their connection growing deeper with every shared word.

Soon enough, the conversation turned back to the lively chatter of the other ladies, and the children’s laughter again filled the room.

─────────

The Bridgerton dining room, with its high ceilings and wide windows, was bathed in the golden light of a late morning.

The polished mahogany table gleamed beneath a pristine white cloth, laden with a spread of fresh fruits, breads, and steaming pots of tea.

The sounds of laughter, clinking china, and the occasional rustle of paper echoed through the room, creating a symphony of domestic cheer.

At the head of the table sat Lady Bridgerton, her posture elegant as she sipped her tea with an indulgent smile, watching the lively chatter of her sons.

To her left was Anthony, already impeccably dressed despite the early hour, his dark brows furrowed slightly as he buttered a slice of toast.

Benedict, seated across from him, looked far more relaxed, his cravat slightly askew and a mischievous gleam in his eye.

Colin, perpetually the least serious of the lot, lounged in his chair, occasionally snatching a pastry from a passing tray.

Their cousin, Lord Edward Ducker, sat at the other end of the table, a picture of youthful enthusiasm.

Despite his attempts to appear composed, his animated gestures as he recounted the events of the Langstone ball betrayed his excitement.

Beside him sat his mother, Lady Ducker, who watched her son with amused indulgence.

Edward leaned forward, his eyes bright. “I must say, the Langstone ball was a rather splendid affair. Everything was so well-orchestrated, from the music to the decorations. And the Medici family, what a commanding presence they have.”

Colin raised an eyebrow as he bit into a scone. “Commanding, you say? Is that your polite way of saying they’re intimidating?”

Edward grinned, undeterred. “Not at all. Though I must admit, Miss Medici’s brother, the Duke of Lucca, does have a rather… formidable air.”

“Formidable?” Benedict repeated, his voice dripping with amusement. “Now that’s an understatement if I’ve ever heard one. The man looked as though he could cut someone down with a single glance.”

“Perhaps,” Edward conceded, a slight flush creeping up his neck. “But I found him to be perfectly civil. We had a long discussion about estate management and—”

Anthony interrupted, his tone dry. “You mean he interrogated you about your intentions toward his sister.”

Edward blinked, taken aback. “Not exactly. Though I do believe he wanted to gauge my character.”

“And did you pass the test?” Colin asked, leaning forward with mock seriousness.

Edward straightened his shoulders. “I’d like to think so. He even called me a ‘respectable gentleman.’”

The Bridgerton brothers exchanged glances before bursting into laughter.

“Respectable!” Benedict said, feigning astonishment. “Edward, you’ve truly outdone yourself. To earn such high praise from the Duke of Lucca is no small feat.”

Colin clapped his hands together. “We should have a plaque made: ‘Edward Ducker, Respectable Gentleman, Approved by the Duke of Lucca.’”

Even Anthony smirked, his usually stern expression softening. “I hope you realize that’s the equivalent of him saying he doesn’t actively despise you.”

Edward rolled his eyes but couldn’t suppress a smile. “Laugh all you like, but I’m confident I made a good impression. And I’d like to see any of you fare better in his presence.”

“Oh, I’d fare just fine,” Benedict said, leaning back in his chair. “I’d compliment his fine taste in Italian architecture and steer clear of any mention of his sister.”

Lady Ducker, who had been listening quietly, finally spoke up. “Edward, darling, if you spent half as much time focusing on Miss Medici as you do worrying about her brother, you’d be married by now.”

The room erupted into laughter, even Edward joining in despite his reddening cheeks.

“She’s right, you know,” Colin said, grinning. “You’re marrying his sister, not the Duke.”

Edward sighed dramatically, running a hand through his hair. “You lot are impossible.”

“And you’re easy prey,” Benedict countered, his grin widening.

Lady Bridgerton, ever the voice of reason, tapped her teacup lightly with her spoon. “Boys, let your cousin have his moment. He’s navigating uncharted waters, after all. Engaging with the Medici family is no small task.”

Edward nodded, his expression softening. “Thank you, Aunt Violet. Though I must say, Miss Medici makes it all worthwhile.”

The sincerity in his voice brought a brief pause to the table, and even the teasing Bridgerton brothers couldn’t help but smile.

“That’s the spirit,” Anthony said, his tone unusually approving.

“Indeed,” Colin added, raising his teacup in a mock toast. “To Edward, the brave and respectable gentleman.”

As laughter filled the room once more, Edward glanced at his mother, who gave him a small, encouraging smile.

It was clear that, despite the jesting, the Bridgertons were firmly in his corner.

Just as the conversation began to shift, a footman entered the room, announcing that the carriages would soon be ready for their errands.

The brothers rose reluctantly, their morning banter drawing to a close as they prepared for the day ahead.

As the group dispersed, Lady Ducker turned to Edward, her tone teasing. “You handled that well, my dear. But next time, perhaps don’t give them quite so much ammunition.”

Edward chuckled, adjusting his cravat. “It’s a fine line, Mother. But I’d rather be teased by the Bridgertons than face another interrogation from the Duke”

Lady Ducker laughed softly, looping her arm through his as they left the room. “You’ll be fine, Edward. If you can survive this family, you can survive anything.”

In the sunlight-dappled halls of Bridgerton House, the warmth of family lingered, a comforting contrast to the grandeur of the balls and the weight of impending proposals.

─────────

The Langstone gardens bathed in the golden hues of a gentle afternoon sun, were alive with the laughter of children.

Caterina knelt on the soft grass, weaving yet another daisy crown for her niece, Vittoria.

The little girl sat cross-legged in front of her, her cheeks flushed with delight as she chattered about becoming the queen of the garden.

Luca, her younger brother, toddled nearby, clutching a stick he had declared his royal scepter.

Teresa, seated on a cushioned bench nearby, kept an amused eye on them all, her hands busy embroidering a handkerchief. “Careful, Luca,” she called her voice light with affection. “You might accidentally dethrone Queen Vittoria with that scepter of yours.”

Luca turned and gave her a gap-toothed grin. “I’m the king!” he declared proudly, waving his stick.

“And a fine king you’ll make,” Caterina said, tying off the last flower in the crown.

She reached forward, placing it gently on Vittoria’s head. “There. Now you look regal enough to rule the entire estate.”

Vittoria clapped her hands and twirled, her giggles ringing like bells. “Thank you, Aunt Cat! I shall knight Sir Luca as my royal knight!”

“Knight or not, I think Luca prefers wielding that scepter like a warrior,” Teresa quipped, nodding toward her nephew as he brandished the stick in a mock battle against an invisible foe.

Caterina laughed, brushing the grass from her skirts as she stood.

The scene was idyllic, yet beneath the laughter, her thoughts were far from peaceful.

She had spent much of the day trying to untangle the complexities of her heart, though no answers had come.

As if summoned by her unrest, Lorenzo appeared at the far end of the garden path, his tall figure framed by the dappled sunlight filtering through the trees.

He paused, watching his sisters and his children with an expression that blended fondness and contemplation.

After a moment, he strode toward them, his boots crunching softly on the gravel.

“What a picturesque gathering,” Lorenzo called as he approached. “Queens, knights, and their devoted subjects. I almost feel underdressed.”

“Do you ever feel overdressed?” Teresa teased, setting her embroidery aside as she smiled up at her brother. “I believe your wardrobe consists solely of austere tailoring.”

“I’ll have you know, this jacket is quite fashionable,” Lorenzo replied, mock offense lacing his tone. “But I came here seeking the wisdom of my sisters. Kitty, would you walk with me?”

Caterina’s curiosity flickered as she handed Vittoria her scepter and took Lorenzo’s offered arm.

“Seeking wisdom from me? That sounds ominous, brother” she said with a teasing lilt. “Do you have a particularly challenging decision that only I can solve?”

“You’ll see,” Lorenzo replied, leading her down the shaded garden path.

Once they were out of earshot, his tone shifted, becoming more serious. “I wanted to ask your thoughts about Lord Ducker.”

Caterina raised a brow, taken aback by the question. “Lord Ducker?”

“Yes,” Lorenzo confirmed. “You’ve spent time observing them together. What do you think of him?”

Caterina considered her answer, a smile tugging at her lips. “I think Lord Ducker is… solid. Like a fine oak tree. Dependable, sturdy, and quite rooted.”

“An oak tree?” Lorenzo echoed, his lips twitching in amusement. “Is that your way of saying he lacks charisma?”

“Not at all,” Caterina replied, feigning indignation. “I’m saying he’s reliable, which is precisely what one would want in a husband. Tess adores him, and he clearly worships her. He’s respectful and kind”

Lorenzo chuckled, nodding. “You’re right. He does seem to care for her deeply. But as her brother, I still can’t help but worry.”

“That’s your job, isn’t it?” Caterina said, squeezing his arm. “To worry about all of us endlessly. But truly, Lori, Tess is happy. She’s chosen well.”

Lorenzo sighed, though a smile lingered on his lips. “I suppose I should trust her”

They walked in companionable silence for a moment before Lorenzo turned to her with a pointed look. “And what about you?”

Caterina blinked, suddenly wary. “What about me?”

“What are your thoughts on the Duke?” he asked, his tone casual but his eyes sharp with interest.

Caterina felt heat rise to her cheeks. “The Duke is… a gentleman,” she replied cautiously. “Polished, courteous, and every bit the image of nobility.”

“And yet,” Lorenzo pressed, “your tone suggests there’s more you’re not saying.”

Caterina hesitated, her gaze dropping to the gravel. “I suppose I haven’t spent enough time with him to form a complete opinion,” she admitted. “He is… impressive, but I, well, I find it difficult to know what to think.”

Lorenzo stopped walking, turning to face her.

His expression was both serious and curious. “There’s something you should know,” he said after a moment.

Caterina frowned.

Lorenzo exhaled, his voice lowering. “The Duke approached me last night. He asked for my permission to propose to you.”

Caterina froze, her eyes widening. “He… he asked for your permission?”

“He did,” Lorenzo confirmed. “I told him that while I wouldn’t oppose the idea, the decision ultimately rests with you. But I thought you should be aware.”

Shock rippled through Caterina, leaving her momentarily speechless.

The Duke of Richmond, thoughtful, polished, and enigmatic, wanted to propose.

The weight of it pressed on her chest, and she struggled to find her voice.

“I… I don’t know what to say,” she stammered.

“You don’t have to say anything right now,” Lorenzo said gently. “But I wanted you to know”

Before Caterina could gather her thoughts, Teresa’s voice rang out from the other end of the path. “Lori! Kitty! Vittoria insists her royal court requires your presence.”

Caterina exhaled a shaky breath, grateful for the interruption.

As Luca and Vittoria came racing toward them, Lorenzo stepped back, giving her a small, knowing smile.

Their conversation was left suspended, the implications of his words lingering like a shadow over the garden.

Caterina bent to scoop Luca into her arms, but her thoughts were miles away, tangled in questions without answers.

What did she truly feel about the Duke?

The main reason why she and Teresa are in London.

The Duke was everything a lady of her status should desire: handsome, noble, refined, a man of dignity and integrity.

His courtship had been respectful, methodical, and patient.

And his intentions were clear, he was not merely seeking her beauty or her fortune, but the prospect of a genuine partnership.

It was everything she had been taught to want, everything that made sense for her future.

Yet, even as she stood there, surrounded by the quiet comforts of Langstone House, the warmth of her family’s presence beside her, her mind drifted back to a moment that had stolen her breath and shaken her very foundation.

Benedict Bridgerton’s proposal.

The words echoed in her mind, louder than any conversation she had had with the Duke.

Why, did she find herself thinking of him now?

Why, when the Duke’s proposal was no longer just a possibility but an imminent reality, did her mind keep drifting back to Benedict and his words?

The truth was, that Caterina felt conflicted.

The Duke was everything she could want but Benedict…

Could she move forward with the Duke, allowing herself to be swept into a future of security and respectability, or would she always wonder how could have been if she had said yes to him that evening?

─────────

The fading light of the day poured softly into Caterina’s room, casting long golden beams across the lush rug and furniture.

The silk curtains, tied back with braided cords, fluttered gently in the evening breeze, adding a quiet rhythm to the stillness of the space.

In the corner, Vanessa carefully unpacked the accessories for the evening, a shimmering array of pearls, and a delicate gold necklace.

The gown, already laid out on the fainting couch, was a masterpiece of craftsmanship: soft ivory silk with gold embroidery tracing delicate vines along the bodice and hem.

It was perfect for dinner at the Bridgerton estate, a subtle statement of refinement and elegance.

Yet, amidst all this beauty and quiet preparation, Caterina sat at her dressing table, lost in thought.

Her hands rested idly in her lap, her gaze fixed not on her reflection in the ornate mirror, but on some invisible point beyond it.

Vanessa, ever watchful, paused in her task of untangling a pearl necklace. “My lady” she began gently, “if I may be so bold, you’ve been unusually quiet this evening. are you quite well? Is something troubling you?”

Caterina blinked, her gaze snapping back to the present.

She met Vanessa’s eyes in the mirror and forced a faint smile. “oh yes, I am perfectly fine. nothing troubling” she replied, though the lie was evident in her voice.

Vanessa arched a brow, her hands deftly fastening the necklace onto a padded stand. “Forgive me, but I’ve known you long enough to recognize when ‘nothing’ is quite the opposite.”

Caterina sighed, her shoulders slumping slightly. “I suppose I cannot hide anything from you,” she admitted. “It’s just… tonight feels heavy as if there’s more at stake than there should be.”

Vanessa came to stand beside her, resting a reassuring hand on her shoulder. “Dinner with the Bridgertons? Surely it’s nothing to worry about. They seemed charming and kind people”

“It’s not the dinner itself,” Caterina murmured. “It’s what lingers beneath it all. The expectations, the undercurrents.” She hesitated, her fingers toying with the edge of the lace handkerchief on the table. “Vanessa, the Duke is courting me. And… I believe he intends to propose.”

The maid’s expression didn’t change, though her hand on Caterina’s shoulder stilled for a moment. “I suspected as much,” she said carefully. “And how does that sit with you, Miss?”

Caterina bit her lip, turning to face her maid directly. “I don’t know,” she confessed, her voice trembling slightly. “By all accounts, I should be elated. Becoming a duchess is everything a woman could hope for especially when her partner is kind, dignified, and undeniably handsome.”

Vanessa’s gaze softened. “But?”

“But when I think of a life with him,” Caterina continued, “I feel… hollow. Not because he’s lacking in any way, but because I don’t know if I belong there.”

Vanessa took a seat on the small upholstered stool beside her. “Miss Caterina, it sounds as though you’re trying to convince yourself of something you don’t feel. The heart doesn’t obey logic or societal rules.”

“I know that,” Caterina said, frustration creeping into her voice. “But it’s more than that.”

Vanessa studied her for a moment, then asked quietly, “Do you love him?”

The question hung in the air like a challenge, and for a long moment, Caterina couldn’t answer.

Instead, her mind drifted to another man.

Vanessa must have seen the flicker of something in Caterina’s expression because she leaned closer. “It’s not the Duke you’re thinking of, is it?”

Caterina’s cheeks flushed a deep rose, and she turned her gaze to the window, refusing to meet her maid’s perceptive eyes. “That’s irrelevant,” she said softly, though her voice carried a faint quiver. “I did not come here to fall in love, Vanessa. All the ton knows that.”

Vanessa tilted her head, her lips curving into a gentle smile. “Perhaps, Miss, but I’ve found that love rarely cares for plans or intentions. It tends to bloom in the most inconvenient of places.”

Caterina let out a faint, humorless laugh, her fingers nervously tracing the intricate embroidery on her gown. “You speak as though it’s a blessing. For me, it feels like a curse, a complication I cannot afford.”

Vanessa crossed her arms lightly, watching her mistress with a steady gaze. “And yet, you speak of love as though it’s already found you.”

“I never said—” Caterina started, but Vanessa held up a hand, silencing her with a knowing, almost sisterly look.

“You didn’t have to, Miss. Your eyes betray you,” Vanessa said gently, her tone neither prying nor judgmental. “If it’s not the Duke of Richmond who stirs this turmoil in you, then who?”

Caterina froze, her throat tightening as memories rushed forward unbidden.

She clenched her hands into fists, forcing herself to push the memory away.

She shook her head firmly, her jaw tightening as though to physically banish the thought. “Who it is does not matter,” she said with a strained calmness.

Vanessa’s brows lifted slightly, her expression softening with curiosity and quiet understanding. “Oh, but it does matter. It matters if it’s someone who holds your heart.”

Caterina turned abruptly to the vanity, her fingers brushing over the edge of a silver hairbrush as if grounding herself with the sensation. “No, it doesn’t,” she said, her voice sharper now. “Because my heart cannot afford to belong to anyone. Not him. Not the Duke. Not anyone.”

Vanessa approached slowly, her movements deliberate and gentle. “Forgive me, Miss, but you’re not the type to let fear dictate your choices. Why now? Why deny yourself this?”

Caterina let out a bitter laugh, one devoid of mirth. “Because it’s not about what I want. It’s about what I must do. My family needs me to make a wise match. I cannot…will not be a source of shame or disappointment again. I need to repair for what I did.”

Vanessa’s lips pressed into a line, her eyes filled with a blend of empathy and frustration. “My lady choosing love is neither reckless nor shameful. The events of the past now mean nothing, Don't let yourself become a victim of the past, you are still capable of love”

The words struck Caterina harder than she cared to admit.

Her grip on the hairbrush tightened her reflection in the mirror a portrait of poise cracking at the edges. “You make it sound so simple,” she said quietly.

Vanessa tilted her head, a faint smile tugging at her lips. “It’s never simple. But the right thing rarely is.”

Caterina’s gaze dropped to her lap, her fingers fiddling with the lace of her gown.

The weight of Vanessa’s words pressed against the walls she had so carefully constructed, and for a fleeting moment, she allowed herself to feel the truth of them.

But the moment passed, and she straightened her shoulders, donning the mask of composure she had perfected over the years.

“Thank you, Vanessa,” she said softly, signaling the end of the conversation.

Vanessa hesitated, then nodded, stepping back to give her mistress the space she seemed to need. “Of course, Miss.”

As the maid returned to her duties, Caterina’s mind churned with thoughts and emotions she couldn’t quite name.

The mirror before her reflected not just her image but the storm brewing within, a storm she would have to hide before stepping into the Bridgertons’ dinner.

[fleelangston]

TASK ONE — BUILD A PROFESSOR.

fleelangston. admins  sidney,  mack,  &  james. april  25th,  2025.

meow meows,

HELLO  GORGINAS  !!!  today  more  or  less  marks  two  months  since  fleelangston  has  opened  its  doors  to  all  of  you,  and  we  couldn't  be  more  grateful  for  the  muns  and  muses  we've  accumulated  so  far,  the  flowing  dash  activity,  the  insatiable  discord  lust,  the  mini  games  and  contests  and  mun  -  led  community  docs  ...  literally  all  of  it  !  to  celebrate  this,  to  celebrate  us  -  our  beautiful,  thriving  group  with  beautiful,  thriving  people  -  we  introduce  our  first  task  ...  BUILDING  A  PROFESSOR  !

with  our  fondness  for  npcs,  we  figured  it's  about  time  to  put  faces  and  names  to  the  professors  guiding  our  muses'  classes.  below  the  read  more  is  a  mini  stats  list  &  questionnaire  -  your  goal  is  to  create  a  professor  for  the  major(s)  your  muse(s)  is  studying.  they  may  be  either  langston  or  palladian  professors,  and  you  may  create  as  few  or  as  many  professors  as  you'd  like  if  you  choose  to  participate.  graphics  aren't  a  required  part  of  the  task,  but  do  please  attach  a  gif  of  their  chosen  faceclaim  so  we  may  lust  after  them  accordingly  !

professor statistics.

name —

gender & pronouns —

age —

department — theater, dance, music, fine arts, etc.

classes taught — intro to screenprinting, the ethics of monster - fucking, etc.

temperament — i.e. grumpy, exhausted, overzealous, etc. overall personality.

teacher quirks — i.e. reciting every shakespearean monologue by heart, cancelling classes 4x a week, etc.

special interests — strawberry matcha, office - naps, watching the rain race down the car window as they contemplate their life choices, etc.

fierce aversions — dr. warmmouth, self - aggrandizing students, getting mud on their wellies, etc.

fun facts ! — lost the kids in the divorce, is balding, y'know. fun things.

rate a professor rating — on a scale of 1 to 10. may include a review.

mini questionnaire.

how  long  have  they  been  teaching?  do  they  enjoy  the  job  -  or  did  they  have  a  different  career  in  mind originally?

do  they  teach  at  langston,  or  palladian?  what  are  their  thoughts  on  the  opposing  university?

are  there  any  rumors  surrounding  them?  are  they  true?

[sabancii]

pinterest. / connections. / navigation.

── ( derya pinar ak. 22. cis female. she/they. ) thank god you’re here, man - have you seen SUNA SABANCI anywhere? i totally lost them after their rendition of come away with me by norah jones last night. no? they’re like, aye - high and go to LANGSTON - i think they’re a SENIOR studying ECO-SPIRITUAL DESIGN ? but who knows, these days. all i know is that they’re CREATIVE, COSMICALLY UNBOTHERED and a PISCES . last night they kept going on and on about how they won “MOST LIKELY TO START A COMMUNE” last year, which is cool and whatever, but i just wouldn’t expect it out of them, considering they’re so, like, SOFT-SPOKEN and NONCOMMITAL you know? anyways - i’m going to check down by the herb garden behind castle fell, i think that’s where they like to hang. text me if you see them, okay? bye!

basic information.

name:  suna sabancı  ·  nicknames:  su  ·  birthday:  march 12  ·  zodiac: pisces ·  age:  22  ·  hometown:  greenwich, connecticut  ·  birthplace:  izmir, turkey  ·  religion:  islam  ·  education:  college student  ·  relationship status:  single  ·  family:  raised in a multi-generational household, very close with family, has older brother & sister  ·  languages: english, turkish

physical characteristics.

height:  5’5  ·  eyes:  brown  ·  hair:  brown  ·  build:  petite, slender · distinguishing marks:  freckles that cover her entire face

personality and behavior.

+ easygoing, laid-back, free-spirited, creative, earthy - avoidant,unreliable, indecisive, unfocused, nonchalant suna’s your quintessential crunchy, granola girl who flows through life with very little care. there’s a natural coolness about her, though she’d never use that word. she’s hella creative and full of imagination, but lacks follow through– starting things with passion, only to abandon them midway. suna’s tendency to flake on projects, plans, or responsibilities isn’t out of malice, but a desire to live fully in the present, preferring to remain free and untethered.

hobbies: crafting, yoga, gardening, foraging, hiking, meditation, ukelele, attending concerts and festivals, herbalism, aimless meandering likes: being around people, live music, finding random bodies of water and wading in them, anything diy, mangoes, kombucha dislikes: conflict/confrontation, schedules/routines, pollution, negativity, being rushed, overcooked veggies, reading, western medicine quirks: talks to plants, can't finish a project, frequent hiccup-er, humming and dancing while completing tasks, smelling everything, snorting when laughing

about suna.

suna was born in izmir, turkey, a relaxed coastal city known for its arts, culture, and deep connection to nature.

she moved to the u.s. at the age of 12, everything about her still embodies the carefree spirit of her birthplace. 

her family's successful real estate development business brought them to the new york metro area, where they expanded their empire (and already immense wealth).

suna's family has always been close, but they grew closer as they adjusted to life in a new country together

after she graduates high school, she has no fucking clue what she wants to do with her life, but she's accepted to boston university which is conveniently close to her older brother at harvard.

she accepts and leaves her major undeclared. doesn't matter because she ends up failing out for not attending literally any of her classes... structured education just isn't her vibe, she craved something slower, more intuitive.

during this time, suna finds real solace in nature, where she claims to have learned more from rivers and rosemary than she could in any classroom.

inspired, she starts crafting wellness products and selling them at local farmer's markets and on etsy.

her products are 100% natural, organic, herbal, vegan, sustainable, ethically sourced, handcrafted, raw, non-GMO, fair trade, healing soaps and other self care products—under the name herbancı, a nod to her surname. if this sounds obnoxious, it's because it is.

despite how popular her products become, suna is a truly terrible businesswoman, and honestly? she doesn’t care. her parents’ money keeps her afloat while she figures it out.

eventually, she transfers to langston, drawn in by their flexible program structures and the promise that she could design her own major. she’s now technically a senior… if you count eco-spiritual design as a real thing (she does).

headcanons.

vegetarian since 10

it's not uncommon to see her family's name on buildings

style is very boho, probably has like three belly chains and wears a toe ring, definitely has tried the whole dreads thing before getting told off online

would go barefoot everywhere if she could, practices grounding and even wears shoes with copper in their sole

can’t start her day without making her own herbal tea blend, swears it helps her align with the universe

will reference your zodiac sign

more spiritual than dogmatic

[distortedblurs]

──   (  thomas  weatherall.  22.  nonbinary,  they  /  he.  ) thank  god  you’re  here,  man  -  have  you  seen  BLUE  HADDAWAY  anywhere?  i  totally  lost  them  after  their  rendition  of  lover,  you  should’ve  come  over  by  jeff  buckley  last  night.  no?  they’re  like,  aye  -  high  and  go  to  LANGSTON  -  i  think  they’re  a  sophomore  studying  PHILOSOPHY  /  FILM  &  CINEMATIC  STUDIES?  but  who  knows,  these  days.  all  i  know  is  that  they’re  SCATTERBRAINED,  CLOYING,  and  a  CANCER.  last  night  they  kept  going  on  and  on  about  how  they  won  LEAST  LIKELY  TO  HAVE  A  CORPOREAL  BODY   last  year,  which  is  cool  and  whatever,  but  i  just  wouldn’t  expect  it  out  of  them,  considering  they’re  so,  like,  EARNEST  AND  ATTACHED,  you  know?  anyways  -  i’m  going  to  check  down  by  the  maze  garden,  i  think  that’s  where  they  like  to  hang.  text  me  if  you  see  them,  okay?  bye!  /  as  penned  by  james,  twenty6,  est,  n/a.

...content  warnings  for...  implied child neglect, drug use, mental health ( particularly depersonalization ) & hospitalization.

student  file.

full  name  —  blue haddaway.

nickname(s)  — just blue!

place  of  birth  —  brisbane, queensland, australia.

date  of  birth  &  age  — july 4th, 2002. twenty2.

gender  /  pronouns  —  nonbinary, they / he.

sexuality  —  natural born lover bisexual.

major  —  philosophy and film & cinematic studies.

astrology  —  cancer sun, aries moon, gemini rising.

dormitory  —  cerulean;  his  side  of  the  dormitory  is  somehow  a  mix  between  disarray  and  minimalism.  navy  blue  plaid  sheets,  always  disheveled.  cigarette  butts  lining  the  windowsill,  marking  ash  into  stone.  a  single  pair  of  shoes  and  various  cameras  strewn  across  a  desk  with  already  little  surface  space.

interests  —  laying  out  in  the  middle  of  a  big  wide  field,  wild  grass  laid  flat  beneath  them  and  tickling  at  the  exposed  skin  of  their  wrists  and  ankles  as  they  stare  up  at  the  sky,  at  the  clouds  -  at  all  the  stars.  dreaming;  sleeping  for  hours  on  end.  the  color  blue,  and  any  associations  with  it.  the  feeling  of  floating.  taking  too  big  of  a  hit,  too  much  of  a  dose.  the  brush  of  clammy  skin  against  one  another  in  a  dark,  crowded  room.  feeling  the  weight  of  another  press  against  their  chest.  experimental  film;  double  exposure.  the  sound  of  static.  following  and  chasing.  yearning.  the  possibility  of  love,  in  whatever  form  it  wants  to  take.

aversions  —  silent  discos;  psychoanalyzing  himself.  being  alone  for  too  long,  even  if  the  silence  is  sweet  on  the  ears.  falling  from  any  height.  wool  sweaters,  always  too  uncomfortable  against  his  skin.  discomfort  in  general.  summertime,  when  the  sweat  drips  down  their  neck  and  wets  their  collar  -  but  not  the  sun.  feeling  like  a  full  person,  like  a  real  being.  getting  back  up  again.  having  a  backbone.  finding  a  sense  of  individuality.  existing  as  a  whole.

quirks  —  personality  shifts  slightly  depending  on  who  they're  talking  to.  often  bites  their  bottom  lip and licks their canines.  practices  facial  expressions  in  the  mirror  to  determine  what  feels  real,  and  human,  and  normal.  always  looks  disheveled  and  rumpled,  no  matter  the  effort  put  into  their  appearance.  rarely  say  no  to  an  idea,  or  to  a  good  time.  sleeps  past  their  alarm  more  often  than  not  -  is  chronically  late.  believes  there's  an  angel  stuck  beneath  his  skin,  that's  constantly  itching  to  rip  out  from  its  cocoon.  hasn't  happened  yet.

most  played  —  how to disappear completely by radiohead.

notable  features  —  short  hair  that  always  seems  like  someone's  ruffled  a  hand  through  it;  likely  not  their  own.  stubble  that  just  won't  grow.  bushy,  expressive  brows  even  when  their  own  expression  is  lackluster.

general  disposition  —  on  a  constant  sway;  like  the  wind  is  about  to  carry  him  off  somewhere  far,  far  away.  spaced  out  -  generally  not  there.

character  study  —  charlie kelmeckis  (  perks of being a wallflower  )  &  donnie darko  (  donnie darko  ).

public  record.

implied child neglect; there  are  few  things  blue  remembers  of  his  childhood.  he  knows  the  facts  -  that  they  moved  to  queens,  new  york  before  blue  had  turned  four,  that  it'd  just  been  them,  him  and  his  mother.  that  it  was  supposed  to  be  them  against  the  world;  just  them  -  only  them.  blue  knows  that  that  wasn't  the  case.  he  remembers  a  revolving  door  of  faces  in  and  out  of  their  lives;  boyfriends  with  expensive  cars  and  cheap  cigarettes,  landlords  banging  against  wooden  frame  -  coworkers  who'd  gotten  a  little  too  familiar.  they  remember  being  alone  often;  him  and  the  four  walls  of  their  studio  apartment,  face  alight  with  the  glow  of  the  tv  screen.  blue  remembers  loneliness.  how  it  stings  like  smoke  held  in  too  long.

he's  always  tried  to  combat  it  -  combat  the  loneliness,  the  empty  bed  and  the  lack  of  dirty  dishes.  years  of  waiting,  of  clinging  to  his  mother's  legs  before  daycare,  of  crying  and  screaming.  he  should've  learned  independence,  how  to  exist  on  his  own  -  but  instead,  the  concept  of  love  enveloped  him.  of  affection  -  of  attention.  he's  always  been  a  trailer;  lingering  behind  others  like  a  ghost  that  can't  move  on.  a  mimicker  -  doing  what  everyone  else  does,  if  only  to  be  less  alone.  people  like  that  about  them  -  that  they're  easy  to  mold,  easy  to  fold.  that  they'll  do  anything  for  the  taste  of  something.

mentions of drug use; the  end  of  his  teen  years  feels  like  the  hot  stretch  of  summer;  his  skin  is  clammy,  warm  to  the  touch  -  an  ache  swells  in  his  chest  and  he  knows  for  what;  but  it's  an  impossible  thing,  an  impossible  want.  it's  something  to  forget.  and  they  try,  they  do  -  to  forget.  more  days  spent  swinging  off  a  fire  escape  with  a  joint  in  hand;  more  trips  that  are  bad  more  often  than  good.  he's  surrounded  by  people,  but  that  feeling  persists;  settled  deep  in  his  bones,  mixing  into  marrow.

when  blue  meets  their  father  for  the  first  time,  it's  like  staring  back  at  a  rippled  reflection.  the  same,  but  different.  older,  more  tired;  wrinkles  creasing  the  corners  of  the  same  eyes,  smile  lines  lifting  with  each  smile.  the  reasons  for  his  reappearance  are  unimportant,  or  secret,  or  both;  blue  doesn't  care.  they're  barely  an  adult  -  there's  a  lifetime  of  reconciliation  ahead  of  them.  the  summer  -  the  real,  alive  summer  -  is  full  of  cliché  lifetime  movie  montages.  a  childhood  condensed  into  three  small  months.  their  father  mentions  australia  -  of  coming  home,  to  his  real  home.  and  blue  wants  to  go.  for  once,  blue  wants  to  leave  the  comfort  of  the  city,  of  everything  they  know.

dissociation / hospitalization; australia  doesn't  happen.  one  minute  their  father  is  there,  the  next  the  plane  is  arching  over  the  sky,  and  he  is  gone.  blue's  mom  is  there,  briefly,  to  hold  them;  to  console  -  to  say,  i  told  you  so.  then  she's  gone,  too.  everyone  blue  loves,  or  tries  to  love,  leaves,  like  water  that  seeps  between  their  cupped  fingers.  things  get  bad  in  the  following  months;  blue  loses  track  of  time,  of  himself.  they  aren't  there,  they  aren't  themselves;  who  are  they  -  really?  sometimes  blue  thinks  he's  never  been  a  person  to  begin  with.  the  hospital  stay  is  sudden,  and  quick,  and  good  for  them  -  ultimately.  that's  what  everyone  says  -  that  it's  good.  that  they're  getting  help.  blue's  there  for  three  months  before  being  released.

langston  is  an  impulse  decision.  langston  is  chasing  ghosts.  langston  is  an  act  of  desperation.  langston  is  playing  pretend.  higher  education  has  never  been  in  his  plans,  but  he  didn't  have  any  to  begin  with.  it's  not  so  much  of  a  designation  than  it  is  an  obsession.  it's  somewhere  to  go  -  someplace  to  get  away  to.  blue  doesn't  remember  the  application  process;  just  knows  that  one  day  they  weren't  there,  and  the  next  they  were.  and  there  they've  been  since  -  until  the  cotswolds.

personal  details.

a  natural  yearner  at  heart;  everything  about  blue  is  soft.  from  their  mannerisms  to  the  tone  of  their  voice  that  never  lifts  beyond  a  loud  whisper.  they  hold  themselves  languid;  at  ease  despite  a  rabbit's  heart  thumping  away  in  his  chest.  they're  quick  to  fall  -  but  holds  infatuations  like  grudges.  it's  them  -  or  nobody;  that  is,  until  the  next  obsession  finds  them.

depersonalization; struggles  heavily  with  dissociative  episodes where they have frequent out of body experiences;  they  started  young  and  only  worsened  with  age.  he's  medicated  somewhat  heavily  -  or  at  least  he's  supposed  to  be.  they  make  him  feel  -  off.  they  don't  do  what  they're  supposed  to  do;  all  they  do  is  cloud  an  already  clouded  mind.

the  films  he  creates  are  surreal  at  best,  pure  experimental  at  worse.  a  fan  of  double  exposure,  of  bright  clouds  and  chemical  leaks.  the  audio  is  often  garbled,  conversations  muffled.  they  always  feel  oddly  reminiscent  of  a  bad  trip  during  a  house  party,  which  is  where  blue's  mind  tends  to  be.

a  big  yes  man;  rarely  says  no,  and  rarely  dissuades  anyone  from  doing  anything.  an  enabler  without  lifting  a  finger;  if  there's  one  thing  they  know  how  to  do  -  it's  how  to  have  a  good  time.  they're  found  at  nearly  every  party,  wafting  between  rooms  like  a  ghost,  eyes  shot  -  red  and  smile  slow  to  rise.

his  comfort  is  other  people;  he  needs  to  be  surrounded  by  others  to  feel  some  semblance  of  normalcy.  when  alone  -  he's  afraid  of  drifting  away,  of  literally  lifting  off  the  ground  and  floating  back  into  the  sky.  often  latches  onto  others,  both  figuratively  and  literally.  he's  kind,  somewhat  clingy,  and  his  words  are  always  slow,  though  not  always  deliberate.

obviously  a  big  fan  of  the  color  blue;  as  if  not  evident  by  everything  he  owns,  like,  ever.  clothes,  backpack,  phone  case  (  when  they're  in  possession  of  their  phone  -  always  lost,  always  forgotten  behind  );  everything  in  their  life  is  washed  in  shades  of  blue.

in  tune  with  their  emotions  in  the  sense  that  they're  a  casual  crier.  sad  films,  sad  moments;  sad  news.  it's  never  loud  -  but  his  eyes  redden  and  water,  adam's  apple  bobbing  with  each  swallow  as  his  gaze  averts  to  the  ceiling.  whenever  he's  lying,  or  avoiding  a  harsh  truth  -  or  reality,  his  eyes  drift  up  and  away.

drug use; despite  being  quiet  in  tone,  blue's  a  bit  of  a  rambler  if  given  the  chance.  will  go  on  about  anything  and  nothing,  even  if  everyone  else  tunes  out.  fidgets  with  the  hem  of  his  shirt,  or  the  loose  thread  of  his  sleeve,  or  picks  at  the  dry  skin  of  his  knees. it worsens when he's high - which is ... frequent.

more  of  a  serial  monogamist  than  a  hookups  person.  situationships  count,  man  -  they  do  to  them,  at  least.  finds  himself  drifting  in  and  our  of  people's  lives  frequently,  like  there's  no  sure  place  for  him  to  be.

desired  plots.

childhood friends!  while there's one particular person blue was close to in youth, this is open to anyone raised in new yawk, particularly queens. or just visiting ! we'll make it work.  (  infinite  ).

ex relationships! as mentioned above, blue is a serial monogamist, which means they've had several relationships during their time in langston alone. they can be any length, on any terms, but it has to be OVER!! DONE !!. ( 0 / 5 ).

trip partner! not only for psychedelic trips, but generally anyone that blue has spent hours staring at a wall with and having pseudo - intellectual conversations with. ( 0 / 3 ).

current situationship! i think it'd be fun for blue to be in something they're like seventy percent invested in, if only because of their current muse and obsession - which isn't them! sick. this one will be messy, either one of them wants to commit, and the other doesn't, or there's jealousy - it's not going to end well<3 ( 0 / 1 ).

film bros! idk man they talk movies and find out that blue's taste is extremely questionable and not at all pretentious. ( infinite ).

confidant! otherwise known as the closest thing blue'll get to a best friend. they tell each other all the knitty gritty of their lives, and are generally each other's go - to when things go wrong. almost like a pick - me - up, or a cleaner when one of them gets figuratively messy. ( 0 / 1 ).

literally  anything  else  we  can  think  of.  i'm  open  to  anything!

[sunraize]

thank god you’re here, man! ─ have you seen SANTIAGO “ SANTI ” VICUÑA anywhere? i totally lost them after their rendition of sextape by deftones last night. no? they’re like, aye ─ high and go to LANGSTON ─ i think they’re a SOPHOMORE studying FILM & CINEMATIC STUDIES? but who knows, these days. all i know is that they’re VENTUROUS & BULLISH and a SAGITTARIUS. last night they kept going on and on about how they won MOST LIKELY TO WIN A HOT DOG EATING COMPETITION last year, which is cool and whatever, but i just wouldn’t expect it out of them, considering they’re so, like, IMPULSIVE & RESTLESS, you know? anyways ─ i’m going to check down by the ruins, i think that’s where they like to hang. text me if you see them, okay? bye!

ON FILE ...

full   name.   santiago vicuña / nickname(s).   santiago ( by everyone, no exceptions. except his parents. ) / age.   twenty─two / birthdate.   november 30th, 2002    / hometown.   manhattan, new york    / gender.   cisgendered male / pronouns.   he/him / orientation.   homosexual / ethnicity.   latino  / nationality.   american / studying.   film and cinematic studies   / accommodation.   castle fell, lavender    / notable figures.   luis vicuña ( 1975, father ), inés vicuña ( 1978, mother ), sabina vicuña ( 2000, older sister ), sofia vicuña ( 2004, younger sister )

VISUALS ...

height.   5ft 8in    / hair   color.   dark brown / eye   color.   brown    / faceclaim.   xolo maridueña    / notable   features.   a scar running over the span of his chin from a skateboarding incident, usually masked by stubble. a beauty mark situated on the right side of his bottom lip. messy, wavy dark hair that sits in line with his jaw. gold hoops in either ear, accompanied with ( now ) closed former piercings. rings adorning a majority of his rough and tarnished hands. a handful of stick n' poke tattoos that are scattered on visible and hidden areas of his body ( his personal favorite being 'homo' tattooed on his hip. )    / belongings.   skateboard adorning many worn stickers slotted behind tattered backpack, tangled headphones with the adapter, various unfinished gum packets, several joint cases slotted with pre─rolls, scuffed reading glasses situated in his pocket, a cracked iphone pro without it's case & an oversized reworked carhartt jacket.

FUN FACTS !

santi is a middle child and basically knows everything he knows because of his older sister. sabina and him were like the original partners in crime. i don't want to hear otherwise, no one did it like them. but, he's great platonically with girls like he used to do girls night all the time. plaits? nails? gossip? 5 star review on yelp, it's true look it up.

santi and his dad aren't ever on good terms ever, not that his dad has ever tried to rectify or attempt to fix things. he worked a lot when santi was growing up, responsibilities yada yada yada. him and his mom though? he speaks to her every day. don't do wrong by him because he will tell his mom and then you'll be in the bad books forever. momma's boy so bad.

he is like super smart ... academically. street smart? not a chance in hell. he always j─walks, skates into cars and says stuff he shouldn't to strangers. but basically, he doesn't know how he's so academically intelligent. he just is. #gifted. [not sponsored]. so yeah. let him help you do math but do not let him teach you to skateboard. you'll see the ER quicker than you'll see the other side of the road.

has a plethora of [failed] home videos on his phone. did you not see this "major" motion picture mid00s. no. not mid90s (2019) by jonah hill. MID00S, it premiered at uh... his dorm room back at langston? oh. that's right. you're bri'ish, my bad. well, ask him anytime and he'll show you the director's cut. he promises that it'll be shown at cannes this year.

important to note: he has never been mad at anything. ever. don't mention his dad, he doesn't count. "bloods thicker than water" and all that jazz. if you want to try, go ahead. you can yell n' yell n' yell and he'll just ask if you want a hit on his penjamin. penjamin calms down everyone and it tastes of berries! yum, right? but yeah, the world is gonna keep spinning whether you're angry at him or not so why waste your time?

SEEKING ...

these are some songs that match the vibe i have in my head. think vibe / energy over lyrics. don't be an over analyzer.

kids by mgmt ── in santi's film of his life, this is the song that plays in the back when he is with his greatest of companions. these people have been through life with him. however, these can be los angeles residers or new york residers. he grew up in los angeles but moved to new york at 16. so you have childhood pals from LA and new york high school pals onwards. these essentially are people he has picked up and taken in over his years. bonus points: they also skateboard and / or are a raging indie film fanatic.

holiday by confidence man ── this song to me is just so beautiful and i picture someone beautiful alongside it. so, in santi's biopic (self directed, of course), this is a space for romantic feelings. this is a heavy chem role first and is subject to males and nbs, it's not personal ladies. just check the hip tattoo. but yeah, santi is a big romantic and a big sharer. what's mine is yours. not saying this is endgame, hell! this can even be multiple spots and santi can keep getting his heartbroken! maybe a slight love bomber but it's entirely done through subconscious. just know that if he loves you and says it? he means it.

mardy bum by arctic monkeys ── the title very much speaks for itself. this is for someone who santi knows can be a happy smiley person and just needs someone to get it out of them. that person is who? #SANTI! you know santi is unserious and happy, much like a golden retriever. if santi gets even the incline of a smile, it's a win in his books. so, to all those pessimists, come get your daily dose of santivicuña!

step on me by the cardigans ── oh, unrequited hatred. unrequited love is so overdone now. i need someone to hate santi, just for the pure sake of it. and all whilst, santi is trying to make it work. failure every time but he doesn't stop. honestly, he accepts they hate him and just wants to fix it. will he? we don't know but he'll make every excuse to just try and be their friend.

i will honestly take anything you want to give to me but find here some more songs, the lyrics should give some preface but hit me up if you want some more context and are curious. okai bai! :3

[a-way-we-go]

determination and response

anne carson (the glass essay), der herr des waldes, hildegarde flanner (to a dear friend), margaret atwood (a fortification), das herz der schlange, erika meitner (staking a claim), nick nice, hds, marion strobel (growth), hds, hanif abdurraqib (they can’t kill us until they kill us), hds, mary oliver (mornings at blackwater), mary oliver (the journey), hds, raena shirali (conjuring anew), hdw, austrian national library, lisel mueller (heartland), thor alvis, hds, nicole lee (even the dust), hds, nicole lee (even the dust), hds, tim etchells (please come back), langston hughes (tired), ylona maria rybka, hds, mark haddon (trees)

[poetrysmackdown]

WELCOME TO ROUND 2 OF THE POETRY SMACKDOWN

Hello again. First I just wanna say how excited I am at the response to this bracket. I was going to consider it a smashing success if like forty people voted, so needless to say it has outperformed my expectations, and I’ve really really enjoyed talking with folks and seeing everyone's responses to these poems! That said, 14/16 of my votes were in the minority, so actually fuck you guys. 🩷

Anyways Round 2! Transcriptions are included this time in alt text—sincere apologies to everyone for whom Round 1 was inaccessible, and many thanks to @army-of-bee-assassins and @accessibleaesthetics for being so generous with their helpful advice and feedback. I'm still going back and forth about whether to include just alt text or to include the image descriptions in the body of the post as well, but I've reformatted it in my drafts like twice already so at this point I'm just hitting publish and opening it up for feedback.

I've also included links to readings by the author for all the poems where one was available, for anyone interested in getting a fresh perspective.

enjoy! -amelia @poetriarchy

ROUND 2: ENDS JULY 26th at 6pm EDT

“The Two-Headed Calf” by Laura Gilpin vs. “Poem” by Langston Hughes

"Miss you. Would like to grab that chilled tofu we love." by Gabrielle Calvocoressi vs. “Hammond B3 Organ Cistern” by Gabrielle Calvocoressi

“someone will remember us” (Fragment 147 from Sappho trans. Anne Carson) vs. “The Quiet World” by Jeffrey McDaniel

“Come. And Be My Baby” by Maya Angelou vs. “Wild Geese” by Mary Oliver

“The Orange” by Wendy Cope vs. “Instructions on Not Giving Up” by Ada Limón

“To The Young Who Want to Die” by Gwendolyn Brooks vs. “Meditations in an Emergency” by Cameron Awkward-Rich

“I’m not a religious person but” by Chen Chen vs. “How to Be a Dog” by Andrew Kane

“I’m Going Back to Minnesota Where Sadness Makes Sense” by Danez Smith vs. “Having ‘Having a Coke With You’ With You” by Mark Leidner