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inthedayswhenlandswerefew · 2 months ago

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Where Will All The Martyrs Go [Epilogue: It’s Not Over ‘Til You’re Underground]

A/N: We've finally reached the end of the Oregon Trail, besties!!! Enjoy this one last treat to celebrate the conclusion of Martyrs 🥰

Series summary: In the midst of the zombie apocalypse, both you and Aemond (and your respective travel companions) find yourselves headed for the West Coast. It’s the 2024 version of the Oregon Trail, but with less dysentery and more undead antagonists. Watch out for snakes! 😉🐍

Series warnings: Language, sexual content (18+ readers only), violence, bodily injury, med school Aemond, character deaths, nature, drinking, smoking, drugs, Adventures With Aegon™️, pregnancy and childbirth, the U.S. Navy, road trip vibes.

Both the series title and epilogue title are lyrics from: “Letterbomb” by Green Day.

Word count: 4.1k

💜 All my writing can be found HERE! 💜

Autumn is the harvest, ripping up roots, preparing for the starving time of winter, and so you step through the threshold of your new life as the world is ending again.

“I knew the chances,” Sophie says when you tell her what happened; but she can’t look at you, because of course she wishes it was Rio who made it to Odessa instead, and you don’t blame her. She breaks down and leaves the house, and you sit there—silent, sorry, self-loathing—for a long time with Rio’s weeping parents and Aegon’s arm draped across the back of your chair. But then Sophie comes back inside, and through tears she says it’s nice to meet you in person at last, and then she asks if you’d like to hold Rio’s son.

Here it is commonplace to see M16s and AR-15s, marijuana growing in gardens, a myriad of flags flying from homes—Don’t Tread On Me, Trump 2024, American flags, rainbow flags, porcupines of the Libertarian Party—and order is maintained by an elected council of longtime Odessa residents. For anyone to be allowed into the community, somebody already here must take responsibility for them, and so the seven of you—eight, counting Ice—spend the first few months sleeping on Rio’s parents’ living room floor and eating meals out of their cellar, enough self-stable food to last for years. You join the construction crew and help build houses, Cregan cuts down trees and fishes and hunts, Helaena shows Aegon how to garden and Sophie teaches Luke to bake bread. There are no doctors here, but there are several unlicensed midwives and a veterinarian named Ian Whitted. Rhaena studies under him—attending every appointment and taking copious notes in the spider notebook Helaena gifts her, sharing what she learned from Aemond—and before long her sutures are quicker and cleaner than Ian’s. Daeron, considered too young and inexperienced for the most dangerous work, is posted with his compound bow inside the village to serve as a guard. He resents this until he realizes there are far more women to flirt with here than out in the forest where wolves and bears prowl and the dead rove with incurable hunger.

You work from dawn to sunset; you work so you have no time to think. The baby doesn’t feel real, and neither does Aemond being gone, and the future is so unimaginable you’d rather not try to imagine it at all. Because you’re a good shot, they want you for patrols and raids of nearby towns to search for supplies, and you take every shift you’re offered until Rhaena says you have to stop. She tells you that each time you leave, Aegon watches the door until you walk through it again, that it’s not good for him, that it’s not good for you either. She says you can’t keep running from what’s happened.

“I’m not trying to run away,” you tell her where she’s cornered you by one of the wells, lilac twilight sky and glimmers of stars, hoots of owls and children laughing as they roast marshmallows over crackling fires. “I’m trying to find my way through.”

“Fine,” Rhaena replies firmly, no room for argument. “But you’re going to do that in here where it’s safe.”

The new houses have wooden walls and kitchen fireplaces made of stones, beds with feather mattresses, plots for gardens and pens for ducks, chickens, pigs, sheep, goats, turkeys, cattle. Helaena and Cregan move into one cabin, Rhaena and Luke share another, and you have the last to yourself, the first time you’ve ever lived alone. Aegon and Daeron float around between the houses, more often than not ending up in yours as the sun is dipping below the tree line into the west, Daeron carving wooden cutlery with a hunting knife, Aegon cuddling with Ice on the deerskin rug, luring you into disastrous baking attempts and games of Uno and telling stories about Washington D.C., Djibouti, Key West, Corpus Christi, Chinhae, Diego Garcia, Saratoga Springs before the dead began to walk.

Thanksgiving dinner is at Rio’s parents’ house, Sophie’s baby sound asleep in his blue sling, candles flickering and Ice lying beneath the table to gulp down scraps that fall to the floor: roasted turkey, hazelnut stuffing, buttered carrots, mashed potatoes, pickled beets, salad with homemade ranch dressing, pumpkin pie for dessert.

“God, I miss chilidogs,” Aegon mutters beside you, and you laugh—a real laugh, loud and helpless, a lightness flooding into your arteries and the marrow of your bones—for the first time since Aemond died.

“You have to try this,” Sophie says, pouring you a small glass of moonshine distilled with apples and cherries and cinnamon. Everybody else has already had a taste except Aegon. He doesn’t drink anymore, doesn’t smoke the weed people grow here, only keeps a few tobacco plants in your garden to enjoy on rare occasions.

“I can’t,” you tell Sophie, staring at the amber-colored moonshine. You are over three months along and will be showing soon. It materializes all at once, shifts from a hazy apparition to something in full focus: next Thanksgiving you will have a fatherless infant of your own.

Sophie is puzzled. The glass of moonshine waits untouched on the table. “Why not?”

“Because I’m pregnant,” you say.

Aegon chokes on his pumpkin pie. “You’re what?!”

And everyone except Helaena drops their forks and leaps up to engulf you: How long have you known? How far along are you? Why didn’t you tell us? How can we help?

You stop lifting heavy things and stay off of ladders. Helaena brings you kale and mushrooms, Sophie knits you baby clothes, Rio’s mom makes you candles infused with essential oils, lavender, chamomile, ginger, and you lie and say they make a difference. Aegon helps you build a crib; you don’t need his help, but still, he insists. Smiling to himself, he etches two words into the headboard: Mini Chips. Wheat is planted in the fields to the north of the village. Scrap metal is scavenged for the blacksmiths to melt down to make nails and bullets. You learn to sweeten desserts with honey instead of sugar and to hold your hand flat when you feed the baby goats so they won’t nibble your fingers. You wait for winter to thaw and summer to come back around again.

It is what people would call a bad birth: hemorrhaging and lots of stitches, Rhaena squinting in the glow of the flashlights trying to piece you back together, rain outside and no lidocaine. You can’t stop crying. You feel like you’re going to die, and you’re shaking too badly to hold your own child, and you want Aemond. He would know what to do, he would know how to make the world go quiet. And the truth that he will never meet his daughter hits you over and over again like cold lethal waves, like bullets that pierce the heart.

Aegon is here instead, and you want to cling to him but you can’t; if all the others could die, so can he. But even when you look away from him to stare at the wall he stays, his hand clutching yours and never complaining even when you squeeze it hard enough to leave bruises that paint him maroon and indigo, tilting glasses filled with fresh pomegranate juice against your lips, asking Rhaena and Ian what you will need from him as you recover. Slowly the house empties and everyone goes home, but Aegon stays through the night and never leaves again.

Harmony cries a lot, as if she already knows she’s lost someone. She has trouble nursing and only sleeps for a few hours at a time. People are always coming in and out of the house: Sophie with handknit clothes and blankets for the baby, Helaena with flowers and fruit and vegetables, Rhaena with loaves of Luke’s fresh-baked bread, Cregan with firewood. At first Aegon is better with Harmony than you are. You love her, of course, and you mourn for the life you cannot give her; but you can’t shake the feeling that someone left her on your doorstep, this fragile bewildering creature you are so unequipped to soothe. Yet Aegon picks her up and she stops crying. He carries her around the house and murmurs nonsense—rules of golf, sailing knots—and she gazes up at him mesmerized; and in the peace that grows from him like weeds, wild and inevitable, you can heal.

Aegon helps you walk for the first week after the birth. He brings you meals, overflowing plates you can never finish. He respectfully averts his eyes when you nurse the baby and when he passes the bedroom as you’re changing clothes, slowly and inelegantly, every muscle feeling shredded. He falls exhausted into bed beside you with his arms crossed over his chest so he won’t reach for you in his sleep. You keep waiting for him to start craving marijuana and moonshine, to meet someone who makes him wayward again while you are left here alone, morose and unglamorous and bleeding. You care about Aegon—entirely, violently—but you are convinced you’ll never love a man again. Perhaps love is something that is always doomed to be broken, ruinous, poisoned.

When Harmony is about four months old, you begin to see Aegon differently. You can’t stop staring at the way his hair shags over his eyes when he’s bent low in the garden, you hide behind walls and listen each time you catch him singing to himself, you feel a dark desperate sense of loss when other women flirt with him, though Aegon is never more than polite in return. You find excuses to touch him, and he always acquiesces: Let me bandage the cuts on your hands, let me dab honey on your sunburn.

One night you wake to find Aegon with Harmony in the kitchen, humming and rocking her in his arms as he paces back and forth across the wood floor in his bare feet, the full moon radiant through the window, the fireplace crackling. He glances over when he notices you standing in the doorway and says: “I think this is the only thing I’ve ever been good at.”

“Aegon?”

“Yeah, Chips.”

“I’m in love with you.”

At first he is startled, and then he smiles in the firelight, a slow mischievous curve of the lips that puts stars in his eyes and shows his teeth. “Took you long enough.”

~~~~~~~~~~

Nearly ten years ago, you were learning how to be a builder at Class A Technical School in Gulfport, Mississippi, salt and sun and sweet tea and humidity that lies heavy like a second skin you can’t shed. Today you are hammering nails into boards that will be a wall of the new meeting house, twice the square footage of the old one. The community here keeps growing.

“Watch out for your fingers, Zack Attack.”

Zack looks over at you. He’s a kid, nineteen, and he’s only been here a week. He left Beaumont, Texas with a group of thirty people, one of them the cousin of a council member here. Twelve were left when they arrived. “Huh?”

“You’re holding the nail too close to the bottom,” you say. “If you swing the hammer and miss—and you will miss, everyone does sometimes, even me—you’ll crush your fingers against the wood. But if you hold the nail up near the top, the hammer will kind of knock them out of the way as it comes down, and you won’t have to worry about Rhaena or Ian popping your bones back into place.”

“Oh, cool! Thanks!” Zack readjusts his hands. “Where’d you learn to do all this?”

“The Navy.”

“Right. That makes sense.” He gives you a crooked, conspiratorial grin. “I heard you’re a good shot.”

“I am, I guess.” You don’t do patrols anymore, but you’re on the list of people to call when there’s a security breach, and you go because you have to. If Odessa is ever overrun, that will be the end of the life you’ve made here. The last scare was two months ago, a hoard that wandered up from the south, probably out of Klamath Falls. Someone knocked and you answered, leaving Aegon standing in the doorway with troubled eyes, Noah in his arms asking: Where Mama go? And Aegon had told him She’ll be back soon, buddy, but of course no one had known if that was true.

Now Zack says admiringly: “A real killer.”

You smile and give him a slap on the shoulder as you start climbing down the ladder. “I’d rather be a builder.”

“You heading out?”

“Yeah, my kids probably miss me.”

“See ya tomorrow. Bring more of Aegon’s raspberry crumb muffins.”

You laugh. “If there are any left.”

Down on the ground, bumblebees orbit tufts of wildflowers and cats prowl for mice. Sitting cross-legged on the grass are kids rubbing nails against bars of goat milk soap; it makes them go into the wood easier. They play the same way you did as a child: in the dirt, in the wild, tracking animals and building dams in the creek. They wave as you pass by. Everyone knows each other here. Everyone knows what you can do with the Beretta M9 in your holster.

Beside one of the wells, Daeron is helping a flock of tittering, blushing women pull up their buckets and plucking stray blades of grass and pine needles out of their hair. He is easily the most eligible bachelor in Odessa, and in no hurry to take himself off the market. By the schoolhouse, two teenagers are petting Ice as they listen to Aegon’s pink Sony Walkman and rap along to Gold Digger: “You will see him on tv, any given Sunday, win the Super Bowl and drive off in a Hyundai…”

But at Sophie’s house, the song you hear is Darius Rucker’s Wagon Wheel, drifting from a battery-powered boombox containing one of Rio’s dad’s cassette tapes. Aegon is already here and dusted with earth, your children clamoring around his legs as he chats with Sophie at the edge of the garden: zucchini, snap peas, tomatoes, strawberries, spinach, potatoes, cucumbers, carrots, kale. When Aegon sees you, he lights up and says to the kids: “Look! Look who’s here!” And you crouch down and open your arms so you can catch all three of them as they barrel into you on small, wobbly legs.

The second birth was much easier, the third only lasted an afternoon. Opal, three years old, is named after a gemstone that Sophie told you symbolizes hope and clarity; Noah, two and with unruly blonde hair like Aegon’s, shares a name with the man who started over when the world flooded and all the generations before were lost. You pick him up before he can trip over his own feet.

“Mama, come see!” Harmony shouts, grabbing your free hand and dragging you to a hutch full of fluffy, multicolored rabbits. Aegon is walking over to join you, his hands in his pockets and a soft smile on his lips, long blonde hair and stubbled cheeks.

“Are these the new meat rabbits?” you say without thinking, and Aegon widens his eyes at you.

Harmony peers up with a worried frown. She’s getting too smart to be shielded from such harsh realities. “Why did you call them meat rabbits?”

Aegon swoops Harmony off the ground to distract her. “Because they’re so excited to meet you!” he says as she giggles and kicks through open air.

“What are their names?” you ask to change the subject.

“Arrax,” Opal says in her toddler lisp, pointing to a grey one. And then, indicating a rabbit with long, reddish-tan fur: “Morning.”

“Those are such nice names!” you gush, a bit perplexed. Children have a certain mystery to them, one foot still in the Great Beyond, wherever souls wait to be born and reunited.

“And this one is Sunfyre,” Harmony announces proudly, reaching through the wire to scratch its straw-colored coat.

“Sunfyre?!” Aegon says. “Well now you’re just making shit up.” A pause. “Stuff. You’re making stuff up.”

“And Sunfyre is married to Dreamfyre.”

“Cute,” Aegon says. “Incestuous, but cute.”

“The post-apocalypse dating pool is limited,” you remind him.

“Have you met the Texas people yet?” Sophie asks you as she wanders over to the hutch in a handknit yellow dress, wearing elephant earrings that Rio once mailed home to her from Djibouti.

“Yeah, some of them are working on the meeting house. They seem really nice. And apparently they know how to barbeque, so that’s exciting. New recipes!”

Sophie smirks. “When they dropped by to introduce themselves, I had to have the whole conversation again.”

“Well…you did name your kid Otter.”

“Wait, wait, hold on,” Sophie says, chuckling, showing her palms. “I did not name him Otter.”

“You named him Bryan Otter Osorio. And you call him Otter.”

“Because he’s a little kid and it’s a perfectly fine nickname for now! And then when he’s older…you know…he can decide who he wants to be.”

You smile. “Sure.”

“I think it’s great, personally,” Aegon says. “I’m hoping I’ll get to name my next one Softshell Turtle.”

“Absolutely,” you deadpan. “And what if it’s a girl?”

“Softshell Turtle is obviously unisex.”

Sophie is laughing and shaking her head. “I hate you guys.”

Helaena and Cregan arrive to pick up their children, two sets of twins, all named after species of butterflies: Skipper, Adonis, Tiger, Sara. Rio’s parents bring them outside to the garden to be collected. They and Sophie like to keep the house full of children, especially now that Otter is getting older. And when they need meat or firewood or their roof patched, they know who to ask.

“I’m so sorry,” Sophie tells Helaena and Cregan as they wrangle their brood. “I’m mortified. Adonis ate Harmony’s oatmeal raisin cookie and made her cry, so Otter smacked him in the head with his golf club.” Aegon has carved miniature, lightweight clubs out of pine wood for each of the children; they zip around putting acorns and walnuts. “Adonis was freaked out but I think he’s fine now. I couldn’t find a bruise or anything. Again, I’m so, so, so sorry.”

“You okay, buckaroo?” Cregan asks, and his oldest son—brunette man bun, already pestering his dad to take him hunting—nods adamantly.

“Duh. It didn’t even hurt.”

Cregan guffaws and turns back to Sophie. “See? No harm done.”

Otter trots out of the house, rubbing his eyes like he just woke up from a nap. Harmony immediately runs over to hug him. He’s already six inches taller than her and is always giving her gifts that end up on the fireplace mantle at your house: flecks of quartz, pinecones, bracelets woven from buttercups.

Sophie asks Otter: “Did you think about what you did earlier?”

“Yeah,” he replies cavalierly.

“Would you do it again?”

“Probably.”

“Oh dear,” Sophie exhales, exasperated.

You beam down at Otter. “He’s exactly like Rio.”

“Yeah,” Sophie says wistfully, combing her fingers through his dark curly hair. “He really is.”

Rhaena and Luke happen to be strolling by and stop to say hello. Luke teaches English classes at the schoolhouse, founded the Cultural Preservation Committee, and writes and directs a new play each month. When he is in the lull between original ideas, he draws from pre-zombie pop culture. The June production is Free Britney.

“Hi!” Rhaena says, waving. “Are we still on for dinner tonight?” All the adults offer greetings and confirm they’ll swing by her and Luke’s cabin in a few hours. Then Rhaena shields her eyes from the sun as she sighs incredulously. “Do you realize there are ten women due in the next two weeks? I spend all day rushing around because they’re panicking about Braxton Hicks contractions. If I get one full night’s sleep between now and mid-July, it’ll be a miracle. Am I the only human alive who knows how to use the rhythm method? I explain it! I give lessons!”

You laugh and say: “I think people just really want babies, Rhaena.”

“They’re so sweet,” Helaena coos as she snuggles Sara against her chest.

“Gotta repopulate the planet,” Cregan adds.

Rhaena is disturbed. “I don’t feel ready for that.”

“Totally cool,” you assure her. “Helaena and I are keeping the average up.”

That night, logs pop and hiss in the fireplace and wind howls outside through the forest. On the walls are photographs of Aemond and Helaena and Daeron, drawings that the children have scribbled of you and Aegon. Propped in one corner of the living room is Aegon’s acoustic guitar; Harmony’s current favorite song for him to play is Big Girls Don’t Cry, though a slightly censored version of Fergalicious is a close second. Tomorrow is Aegon’s birthday. You have a cake hidden in one of the kitchen cabinets—cinnamon, honey, buttercream frosting—that you baked this morning before leaving for the construction site, along with 35 small homemade candles dyed green with chamomile. Every year he assumes you’ve forgotten, but you never do. You’re so thankful he was born. You are eternally finding new ways to convince him of this.

All five of you cuddle up in the big bed for story time. You begin as you always do, struggling to capture the kids’ attention as they crawl around giggling and rolling on top of each other: “Hey, hey, everyone look at me. You remember what we say.” Harmony knows this part my heart, Opal has the words mostly right, Noah gives it a solid effort as he mauls on a teddy bear Sophie knitted for him. “You’re beautiful. I love you. You’re doing the right thing.”

“What story should Mama tell tonight, huh?” Aegon asks as you open the book of fairytales borrowed from the makeshift community library, another one of Luke’s projects. “The Little Mermaid, Goldilocks and the Three Bears, Beauty and the Beast…oh wait, I think I might be in that one…”

Harmony says to you: “Tell the story about how Aemond saved us from the tower.”

Children understand death here. People get infections, people succumb to cancer or heart attacks or strokes or diabetes, people go out on raids or patrols and never come back, one man contracted rabies from a bat bite and was—at his request—euthanized via gunshot. Harmony is aware she had a father before Aegon, but that he had to go to heaven early, and so Aegon is her father now and loves her completely. She knows Aemond’s face from the photographs Helaena took from the beach house on the Pacific Ocean. She knows the kind of person he was from the stories she’s been told. Harmony envisions a fantastical castle keep instead of a stark metal transmission tower draped in dead wires, and she’s a bit unclear on the chronology of when she entered the picture, but she has heard about the journey to Odessa. Aegon’s map, annotated with glittery green gel pen ink, hangs on the kitchen wall.

You close the book, looking at Harmony: your hair, Aemond’s eyes. “Okay. I can tell that one.”

“Mama…” Her little forehead crinkles, questions she is at last getting old enough to start asking. “Why do some people have to go to heaven before they’re old?”

You hesitate, trying to decide how to explain; and now embers are glowing hot and scarring in your throat. It’s a fire that cools and rekindles but never burns out. Aegon speaks instead. “Because they’re heroes, Mini Chips,” he says gently. “They go to heaven so other people get to stay here longer. Aemond went to heaven so you and your mom could live here in Odessa with me.”

“So Otter’s daddy was a hero too?”

Aegon leans down to kiss the top of her head, his eyes shining. “Yeah. Exactly.”

Not just a hero, you think. A martyr. Someone who dies for a cause.

Harmony is patting your arm with her tiny outstretched hand. “The tower, Mama. Tell us about the tower.”

Now you are there again with Rio: sixty feet off the ground and clinging to metal beams hot enough to put blisters on your palms, cascading June sunlight and wild emerald fields, blood and madness behind you, the mirage of Oregon ahead, believing without reason that someone out there will save you.

And they will; they will.

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dousangelf · 13 days ago

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TDC Halloween! 🎃🍂

Here I got some Halloween Jen and Kira sketches :) they’re not super complex bc I started doing these yesterday but I hope they’re still good

And here I have a costume idea list, it’s very brief and simple but regardless, I’d like to hear others costume ideas too

Jen & Kira: Gomez and Morticia Addam’s (Bonus) Fizzgig: Cousin It

Tavra & Onica: She-ra and Catra

Seladon & Gurjin: Raven and Beast boy (Seladon’s got to be goth for this)

Deet & Rian: Sophie and Howl

Brea: Princess Bubblegum or Bell

Naia and Armin: Ghost face and Jason (murder duo)

Kylan: Wirt (Over the Garden wall)

#the dark crystal #jen #kira #jen x kira #jen and kira #tdc Halloween #head canons #I definitely did not do this last minute LMAO #also plan on drawing the actual costume concepts soon #especially Rian & Deet and Tavra & Onica <3 #my art

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orangepeelshortbreadcookies · 16 days ago

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by @orangepeelshortbreadcookies

Chapter 1: Business Opportunities

Summary:

- The Experienced Experts’ Ultimate Guide to Guaranteed Success - by Miles Sharma-Bridgerton, VSC and Charles ‘Seong Ho’ Baek-Bridgerton, VSC* *VSC: Very Successful Child

Miles Sharma-Bridgerton finds a beehive.

Ratings: G

Relationships: Charles Bridgerton & Miles Bridgerton, Anthony Bridgerton/Kate Sheffield | Kate Sharma, Sophie Beckett | Sophie Baek/Benedict Bridgerton

Characters: Miles Bridgerton, Charles Bridgerton, Gregory Bridgerton, Anthony Bridgerton, Kate Sheffield | Kate Sharma, Benedict Bridgerton, Sophie Beckett | Sophie Baek

Additional Tags: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Family Fluff, Fluff and Humor, Crack, The babies are back and more chaotic than ever, Children being cute and being children, kids logic

During his summer break, Miles Sharma-Bridgerton, age seven, found a beehive.

It was the saddest of days that this event occurred. Miles was driving his car about the garden, an extremely cool electric vehicle in a sleek black colour that befitted Miles’s despair. His eyes red-rimmed, his cheeks tear-stained. Snot bubbles were under his nostrils and he didn’t even bother to wipe them off, he was so upset. Such was the devastation of the utter tragedy in Miles’s young life.

His parents, his own Amma and Dad, had cruelly refused to let him come along with Edmund to his camp, and no amount of Miles’s pleading, puppy dog eyes, dimples or tantrums could make them budge.

And then, just as Miles was in the midst of his existential unravelling, finding himself the most lonesome and pitiful boy in all of England, he saw it. Up there, partially shaded by the ivy, holding onto the brickwork of the garden wall with such might, was the biggest (the first) beehive Miles had ever seen in his life. It was a glorious sight, a real- life beehive. It looked exactly like the ones he had seen in Winnie the Pooh.

Seeing no bees buzzing about it, the smart boy quickly deduced that it must be because the bees were sleeping. They must have been so tired, he thought, after such a long day pollinating all the flowers in Miles’s big garden. Quietly, he took note of the spot and drove his car back to the house.

~~~***~~~

Miles does not disclose his discovery to his parents. He is still angry at them for not allowing him to camp. And he does not tell Edmund, the traitor. For days now he has been bragging about all the cool things one will get to do at camp, mercilessly rubbing it in Miles’s face.

Well, now Miles has something cool of his own that they have no part of. That will show them.

He does tell his sister, Small Charlie, or Lottie, who is two years old, yet able to talk and the best. Miles knows he has her support.

And on the day his parents take Edmund to camp and leave Miles in the care of Uncle Gregory, he tells his cousin/co-conspirator/nemesis, Charles ‘Seong Ho’/Big Charlie Baek-Bridgerton, six years old, who has been invited over to keep Miles’s company.

After three years, despite their bond, the rivalry between Miles and Big Charlie is still going strong. What the original cause of their contention was, Miles has frankly forgotten. However, Miles firmly believes that a man, even a small and extremely cute man like himself, must have principles, and considering Charlie his nemesis just happens to be one of these principles.

Besides, there are still plenty of other efficient fuels for disagreement between children. For example, the dislike Charlie has for Miles’s advanced age and currently superior height, speed and strength. Meanwhile, Miles is no less perturbed by the fact that his own baby sister is obsessed with Charlie. Every time he comes over, Lottie clings to him, as the younger boy draws better and more often than Miles does, and knows many, many stories. The little girl, arrested in attention, momentarily forgets who Miles even is.

Naturally, Miles, being older and wiser, does not get jealous over this at all (he absolutely does). And if he were to throw a fit and pick a fight with Charlie again after Lottie ignored him, it would be for a completely different and perfectly mature reason.

At least Miles can console himself by actually having a sister. Charlie’s own disappointing sister-deficiency has been a source of his turmoil. With ‘The Baby’ Alex, and it looks to be yet another boy on the way, Uncle Benedict’s kids will be the only ones without a sister.

‘The baby hasn’t come yet.’ Miles tried to console Charlie when he first heard the news the month before. ‘Right now it’s just rumours, you know.’

‘No.’ Charlie pouted and shook his head sadly. ‘Will is definitely a boy. The doctor used a machine to look inside my Eomma’s belly and said she saw a willy.’

Miles pondered this for a minute. Then he remembered something.

‘Maybe it’s a case of mistaken identity! There’s a kid at my school, and everyone thought it was a boy. But then it turns out she has been a girl all along, and the doctor made a mistake because she has a willy. Maybe Will would turn out to be one of those girls who have willies!’ He patted Charlie’s shoulder in a sagely, older-brotherly manner. ‘Don’t give up. You might still have a sister.’

Back to today, being so wise and mature, seven-year-old Miles has learned to put aside their differences and seek out Charlie’s counsel for momentous issues, such as The Case of The Great Kitchen Cake, or on this day, The Matter of The Beehive. Charlie’s Eomma and Miles’s future wife, Auntie Sophie, is a scientist. And Charlie is the son of a scientist, which to Miles, is basically the same thing.

‘What do you think?’ Miles asks. They are both watching the hive in his cool car from a safe distance away, not wanting to alert the bees. Their conversation is carried in hushed tones.

‘That is the biggest beehive I have ever seen.’ Charlie, who has only seen one beehive when he was two and therefore cannot recall the experience, agrees enthusiastically. ‘It looks exactly like the ones from Winnie the Pooh.’

‘That’s what I thought too!’ Miles is overjoyed. ‘There must be at least a ton, no, two tons of honey in there.’

‘Yeah.’ Charlie says. ‘It looks like so much beeswax too.’

‘Beeswax?’

‘I saw a documentary where they make beeswax candles. Loads and loads of candles. It’s very cool.’ The younger boy explains. ‘You can make like, a thousand out of a hive that size.’

Miles considers this information. He has been to Sainsbury’s with his parents. One scented candle, the cheapest kind, costs 5 pounds. The more expensive ones can cost up to 20 pounds each. Miles has no reason not to believe that the beeswax made in his garden is of the highest, most expensive quality. One candle is 20 pounds, a thousand candles, plus honey, which is 10 pounds a jar,...

That is… a lot.

An idea, a brilliant, magnificent, genius idea, bursts forth in Miles’s head, fully formed. He elbows Charlie, his eyes shining on the oblivious hive, smiling machiavellistically.

‘So, how do you get it down?’

#bridgerton #benophie #benedict bridgerton #sophie beckett #sophie baek #my writing #bridgerton fanfiction #kate sharma #kathony #anthony bridgerton #miles bridgerton #charles bridgerton

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eldest-sibling-tournament · 2 years ago

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eldest sibling tournament

here is the bracket for the eldest sibling tournament!

since round one contains 32 matches, it will be split into two parts. the polls for round 1, part 1 will begin tomorrow, march 17th, at 11am EDT.

this post will be updated throughout the tournament with links to the polls! feel free to submit propaganda through asks/submissions/reblogs/tags; i'll try to post/rb all of it.

all polls can be found at #tournament poll

full list of original matchups under the cut!

left side of bracket, top to bottom:

Sokka (Avatar: the Last Airbender) vs Kate Sharma (Bridgerton)

Dmitri Fyodorovich Karamazov (The Brothers Karamazov) vs Tina Belcher (Bob's Burgers)

Jane Bennet (Pride and Prejudice) vs Robb Stark (A Song of Ice and Fire/Game of Thrones)

Raphael Hamato (Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtles) vs Wendy Darling (Peter Pan)

Nani Pelekai (Lilo and Stitch) vs Meg Murry (A Wrinkle in Time)

Itachi Uchiha (Naruto) vs Wirt (Over the Garden Wall)

Meg March (Little Women) vs Jesse Cosay (Infinity Train)

Kendall Roy (Succession) vs Anthony Bridgerton (Bridgerton)

Declan Lynch (The Raven Cycle/The Dreamer Trilogy) vs Elphaba Thropp (Wicked)

Nancy Wheeler (Stranger Things) vs Franziska von Karma (Ace Attorney)

Candace Flynn (Phineas and Ferb) vs Gawain of Orkney (Arthuriana)

Shigeo "Mob" Kageyama (Mob Psycho 100) vs Fitzwilliam Darcy (Pride and Prejudice)

Jiang Yanli (Mo Dao Zu Shi/The Untamed) vs Violet Parr (The Incredibles)

Boromir (Lord of the Rings) vs Bianca di Angelo (Percy Jackson and the Olympians)

Mycroft Holmes (Sherlock Holmes) vs Elsa (Frozen)

Edward Elric (Fullmetal Alchemist) vs Tzeitl (Fiddler on the Roof)

right side of bracket, top to bottom:

Maedhros (The Silmarillion) vs Justin Russo (Wizards of Waverly Place)

Elektra (Oresteia) vs Louis de Pointe du Lac (Interview with the Vampire)

Buffy Summers (Buffy the Vampire Slayer) vs Kai Smith (Ninjago)

Connor Roy (Succession) vs Callum (The Dragon Prince)

Katniss Everdeen (The Hunger Games) vs Mia Fey (Ace Attorney)

Sophie Hatter (Howl's Moving Castle) vs Cain (The Book of Genesis)

Rodrick Heffley (Diary of a Wimpy Kid) vs Jazz Fenton (Danny Phantom)

Violet Baudelaire (A Series of Unfortunate Events) vs Isabela Madrigal (Encanto)

Dean Winchester (Supernatural) vs Rodya Raskolnikov (Crime and Punishment)

Thor Odinson (The Marvel Cinematic Universe) vs Éponine Thénardier (Les Misérables)

Edyn Tidestrider (Just Roll With It) vs Maddie Buckley (9-1-1)

Fiona Gallagher (Shameless) vs Gregor Samsa (The Metamorphosis)

Vi (Arcane) vs Tadashi Hamada (Big Hero 6)

Peter Pevensie (The Chronicles of Narnia) vs Vera Rostova (War and Peace)

Mako (The Legend of Korra) vs Sarah Williams (Labyrinth)

Dick Grayson (DC Comics) vs Julie Molina (Julie and the Phantoms)

#mod.txt

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maturemenoftvandfilms · 1 month ago

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The Duke of Edinburgh

CHAPTER ONE: The Thirst is Real

Featuring Prince Edward, Duke of Edinburgh

I had been invited to join the Royal Family at the Order of the Thistle Service at St Giles' Cathedral in Edinburgh, Scotland. Apparently, the service celebrated Scotland's highest honor of chivalry and appointed Queen Camilla, and Prince Edward, The Duke of Edinburgh, members of the Order of the Thistle. I dressed in formal suit and drove over to the Cathedral, and I was escorted through security to my seat.

Shortly thereafter, the Royal Family arrived, minus William's wife, Kate while her chemotherapy treatment for cancer continues, or Princess Anne who is recovering at home after an incident involving a horse. The ceremony featured plenty of pomp and ceremony, with The King and Queen, The Prince of Wales and The Duke of Edinburgh wearing the iconic green velvet robe and black hats topped with white ostrich feathers while Sophie opted for a soft pink dress and matching hat.

Charles looks every well considering what he's been through, Prince Edward looking more desirable by the day, and their wives looking homely as usual. William looked handsome, with his mother's good looks, and a hint of Charles in him. Maybe in another 10 to 15 years, I'll make a run at him. I greeted each one with a handshake and bow before finding our seats.

Throughout the ceremony, I would scan the crowd admiring the many men at attendance. Occasionally, Edward and would lock eyes, give a small smile before quickly looking away. This happened any number of times. I could not help but stare at him, then look at Charles. With him going though his recovery treatment and I passing Andrew along, I wonder if I should shift my focus the youngest son of the Queen and Prince Phillip.

After the service, the four members of the royal family separately toured the garden party, meeting a large number of guests and despite grey clouds that threatened rain only a few spots fell. Before I left, Edward slipped a note into my palm. After I got in my car, I opened the note and read it. It said, "Meet me at the back gates of Edinburgh Castle at midnight tonight, Edward."

I knew where he was referring to and as midnight approached, I made my way to back gates of Edinburgh Castle, walking in the moonlight. I came to the ruins and as I approached Edward came out from behind a wall wearing a jacket, a light blue button up shirt with sand-colored boots. He turned toward me, smiled nervously, and motioned for me to follow him.

The journey across the grounds of the estate was unbearable. Cameras to dodge, security for the prince to nod away. But we found a small cottage and as soon were inside Edward pulled me towards him and kissing me passionately.

“Well, there’s a nice way of welcoming someone, Your Highness.” I grinned as I pulled back from Edward.

“Call me Edward, please.” He replied breathlessly, “I jacked off thinking about you often after that time in the woods. And no sign of you for months and here you are!”

“Sorry about that." I replied, “It has been a busy year dealing with your brother's affairs."

Dealing with both his brother's affairs, I thought, chuckling to myself as our eyes met, and he kissed me gently on the lips. I could feel the bulge growing in my shorts and could see Edward had noticed as well. With a twinkle in his eye, Edward kneeled and slid my pants and shorts off, throwing them onto a nearby chair.

"What a lovely cock." Edward crowed before he took all of my cock into his mouth. Then he tightened his lips and pressed with his tongue and slowly sucked his head up my shaft. Oh God! He repeated this again and again and my cock got harder and harder. Then his tongue was licking my head and under the ridge surrounding it. Damn, no problems about deep throating with this laddie. He just took me right in without hesitation.

“Oh, fuck yes.” I moaned in delight as I started to thrust, and face fuck the prince.

The feeling was electric and euphoric as he reached around and gently fingered my ass while sucking harder and fast on my cock. As much as I wanted to make it last, my body began to show him an orgasm was coming. He immediately changed course, got up from his knees and kissed me passionately.

Frantically, we both took off our remaining clothes. I partially unbuttoned his shirt and reached in. He wasn’t a bodybuilder by any means, but while his upper torso was wiry it was also surprisingly muscular, especially for a man his age. His chest had a little hair, compared to Charles and his nipples were cute and hard. I began licking one nipple, stroking his cock with one hand and feeling his ass with my other. His eyes told me he was enjoying me, but I wanted more. We both got properly on the bed, laying there with our arms around each other, stroking each other’s neck and shoulders.

I found his nipples again, and after lightly twisting the plump buds. I bent down to suck on them hard as they got plumper, going from side to side while his Edward ran his hand through my scalp. Back and forth I went, sucking on Edward’s nipples while the sounds of my suckling filled the air. His chest heaved as his breathing grew more rapid, working down his lean body until I reached his royal 8" cock which stood upright, surrounding by a cloud of brown fur.

My hand deftly peeled the crinkled foreskin down to expose the head, which my tongue toyed with until my mouth engulfed the cone. My lips slid down his shaft until they were buried in the pubes, and then I bobbed up and down the stiff dick, pausing occasionally to go down to the loose hanging balls as the prince’s legs churned in place. The end came far too soon for Edward as my skills coaxed his orgasm despite his best efforts to delay it.

That orgasm was exquisite however, as once it started it seemed to go on forever. Waves of pleasure kept rushing up and down his aged body as I kept sucking Edward’s dick long after he was drained.

“That was…” Edward said as he searched to find the words, and after failing simply pulled me close to him.

“I thought you weren't new to all of this.”

“I'm not," He replied, "but I have only been with three men before my marriage to Sophie and each has awakened me to more and more pleasure. I like the feel of a cock in my mouth, I enjoy feeling it spasm as I suck it dry. And only one of them had fucked me and I quite enjoyed it.”

I told him that I would be honored to be his second. He nodded his head yes like an excited puppy and turned onto his hands and knees. He spat into his hand and reached around to prepare his royal love hole. I slowly fingered his tight asshole, gently reaming him so he could accommodate my cock. I gently touched my head to his ass ring. I gently circled with it and then slowly thrust forward, he squeaked as I expanded his sphincter with my cockhead. Then he seemed to relax as I slowly pressed on until I was buried up to the hilt in his hot, tight ass. Just then, I started to thrust back and forth, inseminating my third prince.

There I was, fucking the 14th in line to the British throne, and loving every minute of it. We humped like a couple of dogs in heat. I reached down and grabbed the princely cock in my hand and jerked him as he rocked back and forth on my cock. I was stroking his cock and controlling the rhythm during this mind-blowing dance. I was approaching what would surely be an explosive orgasm, and Edward was reading it and responding to it expertly. His breathing quickened exactly in time with my own.

I could hold back no longer, and I soon blew my load into the prince, heaving with every ejaculation. We finished and collapsed to the bed, giggling like a couple of little girls.

#prince edward #The Duke of Edinburgh #royalty #the thirst is real #fan fiction #british royalty #the house of windsor series

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eleanor-bradstreet · 11 months ago

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Let Me Be Your Anchor

Chapter 7: Aubrey Hall

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett An Offer from a Gentleman reimagined Chapter rating: G Word count: 3k

Masterpost Previous chapter Next chapter

The carriage ride to Aubrey Hall passed quietly. Sophie admired the beautiful landscapes of Kent as they trundled along. Every few minutes she glanced over to Benedict to indeed make sure he was still breathing, but he slept soundly for the whole ride, his face pale but peaceful. It was over two hours, just when Sophie was beginning to wonder how much farther they would travel, when the carriage rounded a copse of trees and the grounds of Aubrey Hall spread before her.

Her breath caught in her throat. The house was massive, built of warm brown stone with pillars and rounded turrets. The lawns were dotted with color - pinks, blues, purples - well-tended flower gardens that leant the home a cheery air despite its imposing size. It was grander than any of the houses Sophie had worked in, and settled on an estate that she suspected was as large or larger than the Penwood’s.

When the carriage crunched onto the stones of the drive, Benedict stirred awake. They reached the house and Sophie hopped out, letting the footmen support Benedict as he staggered toward the door. A well dressed man with a grey beard appeared and Sophie watched them have a hushed conversation before Benedict clapped him on the shoulder and allowed himself to be led out of sight.

The bearded man turned to Sophie with the same undeniable look of confusion as the footmen, but he gave her a warm smile nonetheless. “Miss Beckett, I am Mr. Dewitt, the Viscount’s steward.”

Sophie returned a small curtsy, “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Dewitt.”

“I understand you have been of assistance to Mr. Bridgerton and he is employing you as his nurse.”

Sophie nodded, “Only until he is well. We were caught in the rain last night and he needs to recover. I expect I shall only be here a few days.” She knew she was reminding herself of that, as much as she was explaining it to him. “I am experienced as a housemaid as well so please, I am here to help however is needed.”

Mr. Dewitt remained quizzical. “Very well. I shall introduce you to Mrs. Wiggin who is our cook, but also serves as housekeeper during the season. We are not fully staffed when the family is not in residence, you understand. She shall show you to your quarters.”

“Thank you,” Sophie bowed her head and followed him inside.

Mrs. Wiggin met them at the top of the servants’ stairs. A rosy cheeked, curly haired woman, she greeted Sophie politely if somewhat curtly and showed her to a room downstairs. It was a cozy space with plenty of room to move about and a soft mattress. It was a far cry from the cramped eaves she had lived in with Araminta, Cavender, and her other various employers where the hard beds were little more than shelves. Even though she was still a maid and not a princess, everything about Aubrey Hall made her feel like she had stepped into a fairytale.

Then Mrs. Wiggin took her on a tour of the house. She was led through the dizzying downstairs maze of kitchens, butler’s pantry, store rooms and servants’ quarters, then the ground level of the house with one gorgeously appointed room after another. The marbled entry way, the long halls hung with gilded portraits and elaborate tapestries, room after room of pale blue, cream, yellow, and gold walls and furnishings. The silk upholstered drawing rooms, the expansive ballroom, the well lit dining room, the warm wooden library, all breathtakingly elegant. But still the feeling persisted that this was not just an impressive stately home, but one that was well loved and well lived in. It was evident in the worn spines of the books, the chips in the corners of tables, and the trinkets that decorated the shelves - pinecones, a bowl of small stones, a crudely carved four legged animal of indecipherable species. This home sheltered a family and had seen laughter and memories.

Mrs. Wiggin led her into the grounds as well, pointing out the kitchen garden, rose garden, stables and orangery building. She also pointed into the distance, explaining that the estate held acres of forest, several ponds and a lake. Lastly, she led Sophie back inside and up to the wings of the second floor. She didn’t open any doors but pointed out the many bedrooms for family and guests, ending on Benedict’s bedroom door which was positioned in a corner of the hall.

“You can check in on Mr. Bridgerton after you’ve washed and had some luncheon,” she stated as an order rather than a suggestion. Everything about her demeanor was flustered as Sophie followed her back downstairs. No wonder, Sophie acknowledged, with this enormous house to run plus meals to cook, even with a handful of staff in residence it seemed an overwhelming job. She was sure the last thing Mrs. Wiggin had time for was to tend to a strange visiting maid.

Sophie bathed in the servant womens’ washroom, grateful for the warm water and the ability to slough away the memory of Cavender’s hands, the freezing rain, and her long journey. She had one change of clothes in her bag but Mrs. Wiggin found her a maid’s dress in the house colors, a lavender purple. It was slightly too large but she cinched it at the waist with an apron until it looked made for her.

Over lunch in the servants’ dining room she was introduced to the staff: the groundskeeper, the stableboy, two housemaids Lizzie and Anne, and the two footmen who had traveled with her, Joseph and Finian. Mrs. Wiggin bustled around them, doling out portions of roast vegetables and cold meats. She sent Finian to bring trays to Benedict and Mr. Dewitt before finally settling at the table herself. Everyone greeted her politely but Sophie noted how they also regarded her with some degree of curiosity or suspicion. Lizzie was the only one who spoke to her and seemed to want to make friends. They talked about the homes they had worked in before, though Sophie left out the details of her time with Cavender. Lizzie asked about Benedict and Sophie generalized that he had offered her a ride to the village for errands before they were caught in the rain and he had fallen ill.

The housemaid Anne stared moodily at her as she spoke, scowling with evident jealousy. Sophie shouldn’t have been surprised. Benedict was a devastatingly handsome and charming man, as were all of the Bridgerton men. It was well reported by Lady Whistledown and she had seen them herself at the masque years ago. It must have been torturous working for such a family, seeing them move through their life of privilege and beauty, shining like ideal humans, feeling the chasm of the class divide between you, even when you lived in the same home.

Conversely, Lizzie was enthralled by her story of the rainy night on horseback and carriage ride from the inn. Sophie stated facts only, not mentioning her night spent caring for Benedict through his fever, or the maelstrom of emotions she had been enduring. She liked Lizzie but it was pointless to get too close when she would be leaving in just a few days. She ended the conversation by insisting that she needed to check on Benedict.

She stole into the adjacent kitchen and perused the cabinets and shelves for herbs. Finding them amply stocked, she brewed a pot of medicinal tea, fixed a tray and then headed upstairs through the servants’ passages. She had worked as a maid long enough to become quite adept at memorizing floor plans quickly. One had to if they were to succeed as a servant. She found her way to Benedict’s room and rapped at his door softly.

A muffled “Come in,” replied and she let herself inside. Sophie had seen entire family rooms smaller than Benedict’s bedroom. Adorned as always in cream and pale blue, it was furnished with polished dark wood furniture and every inch of the walls was hung with a framed painting or pinned piece of parchment, splashed with color or a charcoal sketch. It was messy, eccentric, making it clear that its occupant was possessed more by his passions than any desire for tidiness. In the four poster bed lay Benedict, propped against a sea of pillows. He was still pale and weak looking with dark circles under his eyes, but he was resting a sketchbook on his knees and setting down a charcoal pen as Sophie entered.

He looked up at her and grinned, “Ah, there you are,” he croaked. “I was worried you had gotten lost or forgotten about me.”

“Hello, Mr. Bridgerton,” she smirked at him, setting the tea tray down on the bedside table. “How are you feeling?”

“Eh,” he shrugged. “I think I’ll live.”

She shook her head, smiled, poured a cup and handed it to him. “I made you some tea.”

He took it and she pulled a chair from the writing desk to sit near the bed. He sniffed the cup curiously. “It’s an odd recipe,” she admitted. “But one that has always helped me when I am feeling ill. Spearmint, juniper, and orange.”

He shot her another crooked grin. “And you said you weren’t a nurse.” He took a tentative sip, raised an eyebrow, then took a full gulp. “It’s very good Miss Beckett, thank you.”

Sophie blushed. Now what was she supposed to do? He seemed perfectly well taken care of with the footmen helping him around and bringing him meals. He was no longer running a fever. So what precisely was she supposed to do to help him recover?

Thankfully, he came up with something to say before she was forced to. “How do you like the house?” he asked.

“It’s magnificent,” she sighed, probably letting too much emotion leak into her voice. “The most beautiful home I have worked in.”

He nodded as if he had heard similar sentiments before. Sophie didn’t want him to think she was only flattering him, so she continued. “Truly,” she held his gaze. “I can tell that these walls have seen many happy memories, which is rarer than you’d think.”

Benedict stared back at her, caught off guard. This maid had a perceptiveness and frankness that was unusual and admittedly engaging. She was right of course, that Aubrey Hall had seen many years of happiness: scores of births, celebrations, holidays. It was where all of his siblings had spent their childhoods and where his mother and father had been happiest. It was where his father had lifted him onto his shoulders and read to him from his favorite books. It was where Benedict had learned to hunt and ride and fence alongside Anthony, and where he had raced down the halls after his siblings, giggling as pranks were pulled and good natured roughhousing broke out. It was where he had his first chaste kiss with a girl whose name he forgot, outside during a country ball hosted by his family, and where he had first started sketching, capturing flowers in the gardens.

What Sophie didn’t know was that it had also been the site of the worst tragedy to befall his family. That the walls had seen the screams and tears of his mother and his siblings when his father had died, yards away on the front lawn. That as a teenager, he had been solely responsible for all five of his younger siblings in the weeks that followed while Anthony struggled through a rapid education in handling business as the new viscount, and his mother had all but disappeared into her grief. That the halls had echoed with his mother’s wailing and Daphne’s haunting singing when Hyacinth was born on a thunderous night while he had rocked tiny Gregory in his arms for hours, wondering if they would still have a mother when the sun rose.

He blinked to stop the chain of his darkest memories, grateful that they were only in his mind and not evident in the house as Sophie had seen it. “I’m glad you like it here,” he said softly, and took another sip of tea.

Sophie’s eyes wandered around the room, taking in the showcase of art on the walls. Mostly landscapes, but a few portraits and figure studies as well. Had he made them? She thought she could see small squiggles in the corners that certainly looked like two Bs. Then there was the sketchbook in his lap. She’d never dreamed that he was an artist. She remembered on the night of the masquerade he had mentioned going to Europe to see the works of masters, but she had assumed it was an appreciation only, not a study he engaged in himself. It seemed appropriate that the man who had captivated her for years with the beauty of his demeanor and his words would be someone that captured the beauty of the world in art.

She asked the obvious. “Do you draw, Mr. Bridgerton?”

He leaned forward, closing the sketchbook and tossing it aside on the bed. “Eh, it’s just a hobby.”

Sophie could sense there was more he wasn’t saying. She looked around the room again. “These are quite good. I imagine you could be a great artist.”

Benedict chewed the corner of his lip, furrowing his brow. “I thought so too once.” he sighed. “I even went to the Royal Academy. But…” he shook his head, staring into the distance. “I was fooling myself. Reaching beyond my capacity.”

No one had spoken to him about his art in years since he had stopped pursuing it as a formal career. Not any of his friends, not even Eloise or Anthony, his two closest siblings and greatest supporters. Once he had told them he was leaving the Academy, they hadn’t asked him about his artistic ambitions again. Maybe they were just trying to avoid upsetting him, or maybe they had enough going on in their own lives to pay much attention to him. Either way, he was touched that someone was showing an interest, even if Sophie was just being polite.

“Now my art is just for me. Just doodles really.” His lips pulled into a thin line, putting an end to her questioning. He asked about her instead, trying to lift his mood, “Do you enjoy art?”

“Oh, yes,” Sophie’s face lit up, then she seemed to pull back into herself. “Of course, I know nothing of the process or even who the artists are, but I admire it very much.”

Benedict’s shimmering blue eyes stared into hers, encouraging her to continue. “Landscapes especially,” she smiled. “Some of them just open up and invite me to stand within them. Though I might be scrubbing the floor or dusting a table nearby, my mind can be somewhere else entirely. In my position there is so much work to do that there isn’t much time for reading. But the paintings are always there, ready to take me to other places.” She realized she was staring off dreamily, imagining her favorite painting in her father’s country home - an expansive landscape of an autumnal field, warm with auburn and golden tones.

After a beat of silence, she snapped back to herself, shaking her head. “I’m sorry, I’ve talked too much.” She had been rambling, daydreaming out loud. She had to remember her place. But that was hard to do with this man, the one member of the ton who had treated her, if only for their brief interactions, as an equal.

Benedict shook his head. In truth, he had been holding his breath as she spoke, realizing that she saw landscapes in the same manner as he did. Not as mere ornamentation on a wall, but as doorways to other worlds. Again, he didn’t know how this maid had become so insightful and eloquent. “Do not stifle yourself on my account. I find you rather…” He paused, obviously searching for the correct word. “Refreshing.”

“Oh,” Sophie blinked. “Thank you.” Her heart started to beat faster. She hoped that she was only an interesting curiosity to him, not anything more. They couldn’t be drawn any closer to each other or she wouldn’t be able to bear it. She would care for him for a few short days and once he was well, she would take her earnings and leave, sparing herself a heart broken by the impossible barriers between them.

Benedict suddenly perked up. “Would you like to read?” His eyes were so gentle they made her quiver inside. “To me?”

“Sir?” she asked.

“While I’m confined to this bed I feel I may go mad with boredom.” She could sense that he was intentionally rasping his voice again. He laid back on the pillows, jutting out his lip in an exaggerated frown.

Sophie smirked, realizing Benedict had probably gotten everything he had ever asked for by pulling a face like the cheeky devil and charmer that he was. “Very well,” she said, standing up. “What would you like me to read?”

“Oh, anything,” he said with a blithe wave of his hand.

Sophie moved to the bookcase and surveyed the titles. “Poetry?”

“Splendid.”

She pulled out two volumes and held them up for him to see. “Byron?” she asked. “Blake?”

“Blake.” he said quite firmly. An hour’s worth of Byron’s romantic drivel would probably send him quite over the edge. She placed the slim volume of Byron back on the shelf and returned to her chair.

For over an hour she read to him, verbalizing Blake’s verse with what she hoped was an appropriate cadence. Benedict leaned back against the pillows and finished the pot of tea, his gaze far off as he listened. By the time she had read through half of the book, she looked up to find him nodding off, fighting to keep his eyes open.

“You should sleep,” she said softly, setting the book on her chair and collecting the tea service from the bedside.

He attempted to say, ‘Thank you, Sophie,’ but was already half-asleep so she heard “Mmmm, Sophie.” She caught her breath, savoring the sound of her name on his lips. As he slipped back into unconsciousness she snuck out of his room as quietly as she could, a wide smile on her face.

Tagging: @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @eg-dr3amer3 @time-to-hit-the-clouds @lyta2323 @autumn-grace @sadprose-auroras @the-other-art-blog @goldrambutan @colettebronte @heeyyyou @musicismyoxygen84 @faye-tale @ambitionspassionscoffee @starchaser325 @malna4903 @sincere-sarcasm @kmc1989

#let me be your anchor #an offer from a gentleman #benedict bridgerton x sophie beckett #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #sophie beckett fanfiction #benophie #benophie fanfiction #benedict bridgerton #sophie beckett #bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #head canon

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aphandgflover · 1 month ago

Text

Trick or Treat !

For the month of Halloween, I'm doing a little challenge instead of any inktober, or kinktober, or flufftober, or any kind of -tober, cause I never finish those x)

Instead, I'm putting out a candy bowl for all the trick-or-treaters! The rules are easy, pick what kind of candy (fanfiction) you'd like, and let me know what it is. You can also ask me to pick one out for you! I'll post it for you as soon as possible ^^ Also, please only pick one at a time, but I don't mind giving out more than one per person!

Candy can have one or several textures and flavors! Tell me what you'd like ;) For example, I love peanut butter-flavored candy that's soft and melty. I don't really like a slimy texture, though I can handle it when it's raspberry-flavored. I also find that orange and peanut butter go well together.

Ooh, and let me know if I should add something to the list!

Texture :

Soft (Fluff)

Hard (Angst)

Melty (Smut)

Slimy (Horror)

Crunchy (Crack)

Chewy (Hurt/comfort)

Flavor :

Original (Canon)

Vanilla (Human AU)

Coffee (Coffee shop AU)

Meringue (Royalty AU)

Marshmallow (Winged AU)

Banana (Kid AU)

Apple (Fairy AU)

Strawberry (Magical girl AU)

Raspberry (Vampire AU)

Blueberry (Werewolf AU)

Orange (Animal hybrids AU)

Sea salt caramel (Mermaid AU)

Pumpkin (Hogwarts AU)

Peanut butter (Omegaverse)

Seasonal exclusivity (not on the list, please give details)

Type of candy :

Well, too many to list x) Let me know what kind you want, whether it's a cute first meeting, a competition, a party, etc. ^^ I have most things, and I'll let you know if I really don't. No restrictions, "problematic" content is also allowed. The one rule is that I won't serve explicit sexual content to minors, please show your age if you ask for that.

All the candy is fun-sized (drabble to ficlet), but as I said, you can ask for more of it once I've given you one!

Brands available :

So many! Check out the read more for the full list, and know that any character and ship is allowed! Also, if you want a brand that's not in the list, you can always ask, I might have heard of it too ;)

Angel's Friends

Black Butler

Cult of the Lamb

Deltarune

Dungeon Meshi

Ever After High

Good Omens

Gravity Falls

Hamilton

Hazbin Hotel

Helluva Boss

His Dark Material

Hetalia

Invader Zim

Lazytown

Monster High

Night in the Woods

Noctilucent

Nu Carnival

Ouran High School Host Club

Over the Garden Wall

Roleslaying with Roman

Sanders Sides

Sense8

She-Ra

Six, the musical

Star vs the Forces of Evil

Steven Universe

The Arcana

Tokyo Mew Mew

Trouble with Sophie

Twilight

Undertale

Wicked

Yuri on Ice

Zombies (Disney)

#trick or treat #ask game #ask challenge #fanfiction #writing challenge #you can set up your own trick or treat challenge too btw ^^ I'll make sure to send an ask #proship safe #proshippers are welcome #in fact #proshippers please interact #I wanna make friends

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bracketsoffear · 1 year ago

Note

Here's my TMA playlist/songs I associate with each entity:

The Eye:

Busted from Phineas and Ferb

Welcome to the Internet by Bo Burnham

Aha! by Imogen Heap

The Lonely:

Mister Cellophane from Chicago

Drift Away from Steven Universe: The Movie

Eet by Regina Spektor

The Vast:

Major Tom (Coming Home) by Tom Schilling

Superheroes from The Rocky Horror Picture Show

Waiting for the Drop from Ride the Cyclone

The Buried:

Why We Build The Wall from Hadestown

Pressure by Billy Joel

Sixteen Tons by Tennessee Erie Ford

The Dark:

Come Wayward Souls from Over The Garden Wall

The Night by Aurelio Voltaire

Snuff Out the Light by Eartha Kitt

The Stranger:

Mr. Roboto by Styx

Brass Goggles by Steam Powered Giraffe

Doll Parts by Hole

The Spiral:

Crazytown from 35MM: A Musical Exhibition

Who's Crazy?/My Psychopharmacologist and I from Next to Normal

Discord by The Living Tombstone

The Slaughter:

Ballroom Blitz by Sweet

Three Five Zero Zero from Hair

Poisoning Pigeons in the Park by Tom Lehrer

The Hunt:

Catch You by Sophie Ellis-Bextor

One Way Or Another by Blondie (obviously)

A Confession by PhemieC

The Flesh:

We Started this Op'ra Shit from Repo: The Genetic Opera

A Little Priest from Sweeney Todd: The Demon Barber of Fleet Street

64 Little White Things by Cake Bake Betty

The End:

The Fall Fair Suite from Ride the Cyclone

Memento Mori: the most important thing in the world by Will Wood

Dust and Ashes from: Natasha, Pierre, and the Great Comet of 1812

The Extinction:

We Will All Go Together When We Go by Tom Lehrer

The End of the World by Skeeter Davis

How Bad Can I Be? from The Lorax

The Desolation:

That's Not How the Story Goes from ASOUE

Arsonist's Lullaby by Hozier

Burn It Down by Daughter

The Corruption:

Sweet by PhemieC

Sticks and Stones by The Pierces

Entomologists by Ghost and Pals

The Web:

Mastermind by Taylor Swift

Red Right Hand by Nick Cave and the Bad Seeds

Kiss Me, Son of God by They Might Be Giants

#asks

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bumblebeeappletree · 4 months ago

Text

youtube

Sophie profiles night-flowering plants to prove gardens can be enjoyed by early-birds and night-owls.

Under the harsh midday sun, it's easy to think gardening is purely a daytime activity, but plants don't put down tools when we do. With careful planning it's easy to bring your garden to life at night, adding extra dimensions for nocturnal pollinators. Sophie shows us that gardens can be enjoyed day in and day out.

Night Flowering Plants

Plants pollinated by butterflies and bees are at their brightest and most fragrant during the day, because that’s when their pollinators are most active. But not all plants are pollinated by bees and butterflies. Some plants are pollinated by nocturnal creatures like moths, bats and beetles, so these plants need to look and smell their best in the dark.

For pollinators that can't see well in the dark, they can be attracted by fragrance. Night-scented plants respond to the temperature drop in the evening. It triggers a chemical change in the petals where the volatile compounds become highly concentrated, and therefore more fragrant.

Some plants don't put on perfume but do respond to the fading of the light. In the plant world, it's called the nyctinastic rhythm, which is a bit like a circadian rhythm for plants. Typically, night flowering plants have white flowers because they have the best chance of reflecting light at night.

Madagascar Jasmine | Stephanotis floribunda *

This evergreen climber produces bunches of perfumed, white flowers over glossy, green foliage. It’s traditionally used in wedding bouquets and is reputed to have the best perfume of any climber. It's cold and frost tender and does best in a protected position next to a wall for radiant heat. In frosty areas, keep it undercover in a polyhouse or indoors. Stephanotis is related to Hoya and is non-toxic to pets so it can be a valuable addition to your indoor collection.

Chilean Jasmine | Mandevilla Iaxa *

This woody-stemmed climber has exquisite flowers with a sweet-vanilla scent that is most prominent in the evenings. Unlike other Mandevilla, which are sub-tropical plants, this one is cold and frost tolerant, even in the Adelaide Hills. The fresh, green leaves are deciduous in colder climates, but it will be semi-evergreen in milder climates.

Chinese Star Jasmine | Trachelospermum jasminoides *

This climber certainly packs a fragrant punch with its small star-shaped flowers, hence its name. Sophie’s grows this together with the Chilean Jasmine over the front doorway, and they are both members of the frangipani family. Star Jasmine are very versatile and can be grown over a topiary frame, on a trellis, as a ground cover, or even indoors if it has access to enough light.

New Guinea Bean | Lagenaria siceraria

It's not just ornamentals that are in the night scene. The New Guinea bean is in the bottle gourd family and produce long fruits with white flesh, and a flavour between zucchini and cucumber. Their white flowers open at night and emit a sweet fragrance to attract their nighttime pollinator, the hawk moth. This plant not only looks and smells good - it tastes good, too.

Cape Jasmine | Gardenia jasminoides ‘Florida’ *

Gardenias love acidic soils. This cultivar has beautifully scented semi-double blooms that appear in warmer months. Plant this in the centre of the pot to enjoy its height.

Star Jasmine | Trachelospermum asiaticum ‘Flat Mat’ *

This groundcover is perfect for a pot and can be planted towards the front, so it trails over the sides. It has dark green foliage and a crisp white star-shaped flower with a heavenly perfume.

Sweet Alice | Lobularia maritima

Perfect for edges, borders and trailing over pots, Alyssum or Sweet Alice gets its name for its wonderful fragrance. This plant is an annual though should self-seed in its pot.

* While Stephanotis, Mandevilla, Trachelospermum and Gardenia have "jasmine" as a common name; a "true" jasmine is from the genus Jasminum. Most Jasminum species are considered an environmental weed in Australia, so plant these instead to enjoy their impeccable beauty and scent, responsibly.

#gardening australia #solarpunk #australia #plants #gardening #garden #flowers #night garden #night flower #pollinators #nocturnal pollinators #Youtube

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zmwrites · 8 months ago

Text

OC Kiss Week Day 4: Lost

WIP: Open Seas

Pairing: Tess x Dorian

CWs: none, other than the obvious kissing

Words: 1,125

Notes: hand wobble on the canon, hand wobble on following the prompt, but I had fun writing it

Tess took a deep breath of the cool night air. She hadn’t forgotten how much work these society balls were, exactly, but she was certainly out of practice. The carefully crafted conversation, the selecting of dance partners, the fashion choices… as much as she enjoyed them, she sometimes missed the frankness of life on a pirate ship. There were only so many polite ways to turn the conversation away from her time with Dorian and the pirates, and she wished she could tell the whole of society to mind their own business and to leave her alone.

The party sprawled across a greenhouse, a garden, and the ballroom of the main house. Every family of any consequence had been invited. It made it easy to avoid the people she didn’t have the patience to deal with, but it also meant she hadn’t been able to find any of her friends. Nicolau Carvalho was supposed to be around somewhere and she was determined to hold him to his promise of two dances so she could show her parents she was trying to find a suitable match and not moping over her missing pirate.

She sighed and pressed her back against the cool stone of the garden wall, gazing at the stars above. Her pirate. That was the problem, wasn’t it? Dorian was a pirate—a rogue, a criminal, and completely unsuitable as a match for an heiress like herself. She didn’t have any siblings to pass the responsibility of suitableness on to. It was just her, and her father’s shipping empire on her shoulders.

Perhaps she was being foolish. Dorian surely knew her parents would never accept if he asked for her hand. He wasn’t willing to give up the sea to belong to her world, and she wasn’t willing to give up her family to belong to his. It was doomed. It was—

“Tess!” Lina scampered towards her and grabbed her hands. “I’ve been searching for you.”

She resisted as her cousin pulled her towards the dance floor. “Lina, I’m tired.”

“You promised you’d dance with me.”

“I know, but—”

“Please.” She dropped her voice. “Sophie’s here and I want to dance with her.”

Tess sighed but allowed herself to be dragged onwards. Who was she to stand in the way of her cousin’s forbidden romance while she bemoaned her own? At least Sophie was a member of polite society, even if her family’s lack of fortune made her an undesirable match per Lina’s mother.

They lined up with the others, Lina in the leading line so when they switched partners she’d be paired with Sophie. Tess curtsied to Lina, who giggled and gave an overdramatic bow. She couldn’t help but smile. As much as Lina had matured during Tess’ absence, she was still young enough to be playful in public.

The music started. It was a dance with lots of spinning and energy and was fast enough that the focus wasn’t on footwork, with multiple partner changes that she was sure Lina and Sophie would somehow avoid making. It was also one of the few dances that encouraged people to join part way through and steal partners so it almost became a game.

Tess spun into her second-to-last partner, one of their hands landing on her waist and the other catching hers to lead in a modified closed position. She blinked once, then twice, her mind going blank as she stared up into an impossibly familiar pair of brilliant emerald eyes. His honey-like brown hair had been cut into the traditional short military cut—not shaved, but shorter than he’d worn it before—but it still had a few errant curls defying his efforts at styling it.

“Miss Bowen,” he greeted quietly, moving her along the next steps of the dance when her own feet failed her.

He looked like Dorian, he sounded like Dorian, but he wore the uniform of the Royal Navy of Astos. And not just any uniform, a captain’s uniform. Captains in the navy were common in polite society, having built themselves into the respectability required to be accepted by the rich and titled. For a moment she wondered if he’d stolen it, but it was tailored to fit him perfectly and there was an extra button sewn near the collar that she recognized from his favourite coat that had been ruined during their time together. If it was true, if he was truly a captain in the Royal Navy, then he would be the perfect match for the daughter of a wealthy man in trade.

“Tess?”

“It’s actually you,” she whispered.

A shadow of pain crossed his features. “I’m sorry it took so long.”

He spun her under his arm, but instead of releasing his hand and joining her next partner, she pulled him out of the line and off the dance floor entirely. No one gave them a second look as she tugged him away from the crowd and into the shadow of the main house. As soon as they were out of sight of the party behind a hedge, she grabbed his lapel and the back of his neck and dragged him down for a kiss.

His mouth was hot and sent a current through her body. He might’ve looked like a gentleman, but the way he responded to her certainly wasn’t gentlemanlike. His hands on her body, leaving searing heat in their wake, searching for any inch of skin or softness. Holding her so close she was bent backwards but still glued to him at every point.

She pinned him against the wall, eliciting a noise of surprise. “Don’t touch my hair unless you can fix it.”

Dorian spluttered a laugh.

“What? It took three of us over an hour to get it to sit right, and people will notice if it’s ruined,” she said, hovering a breath from his face and caressing his jaw.

“I was worried about being indecent, but it’s you I should’ve been concerned about,” he replied.

He captured her lips again, this time softer and slower, savouring the moment. She melted into him and looped her arms around his shoulders. She didn’t even care if someone found them—she was so giddily happy, and was content to miss the rest of the party if it meant she got to spend the rest of the night entangled with him.

“I’m supposed to be respectable now, you know,” he murmured against her mouth.

She hummed, peppering his face with little kisses. “Would you like to go meet my parents instead?”

“Maybe next time,” he said.Her laugh turned into a gasp as his lips found her neck. She threaded her fingers through his soft hair and allowed her eyes to drift closed. Gods above she’d missed him.

#ockiss24 #open seas #os excerpt

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