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ladyfairhallow · 2 years

Text

CHAPTER 2

The time for the ball has finally arrived. There were hustles and bustles as hems of dresses swept to the floor. It is nerve racking indeed, to be named as the Diamond of the Season by the Queen, Daphne Bridgerton is trying her best to keep up with it and she shall be.

"Mama, is Anthony not coming with us?" Daphne asked as they were about to enter their carriage

"I believe he is still taking his rest, dearest. Don't you worry, Benedict will be there for you" Lady Bridgerton assured her eldest daughter and all Daphne could reply is a small weak smile.

Somehow, she hoped that her eldest brother shall be feeling better by the time that they were about to leave but it seems like luck is not with her today. With a defeated sigh, Daphne turned her body from the house as her second brother, Benedict Bridgerton smiled at her.

"To be honest, I am deeply wounded that you prefer to have Anthony as your escort rather than me" he playfully stated which made the young lady chuckle

"But fret not dear sister, I shall do my best to keep you company tonight assuming that none of the bachelors were bold enough to come to you, as I will be deeply scrutinizing them wit--"

"Perhaps you double think your words, Ben" all of the seven Bridgertons glanced back to their house entrance only to find the eldest Bridgerton marching towards the carriage.

"Anthony!" Daphne squealed as she ran towards Anthony only to be stopped halfway.

"I prefer you my dear sister to maintain your distance and elegance. You look extremely wonderful and beautiful, Daph" Anthony complimented which earned a hint of red color in Daphne’s cheeks

"You too, my dear brother. You look like a fine man in your clothing, very much unlikely with the other one you tried to fix earlier this morning" the Viscount made his way to his family as he nodded to his mother

"Are you feeling better, dear? You know you can just stay in the house" Laey Bridgerton said as she examined her son's face

"Much better, Mama and I told you; I shall be feeling better before you could even go to the ball" the Dowager Viscountess smiled as she cupped the face of her eldest

"You sure did" she whispered before letting him go

"You've killed my moment brother; I was so ready to escort Daphne to the ball tonight" Benedict's spurious pained voice made Anthony chuckle as he gently pats his shoulder

"Maybe some other time, dear Brother" Anthony stated which made Benedict frown

"Well, I think two escort brothers are better than just one, isn't it?" Daphne chimed in as she smiled at them

"Or perhaps three?!" Colin suddenly emerged out of nowhere between Benedict and Anthony as he put his arms around his two brothers.

"It is much better indeed to have three escort brothers for tonight's ball" Daphne concluded as she curtsied to her brother

The four eldest Bridgertons giggled to themselves as their mother watch then in awe. She put her hands over other four children and gave them each a kiss on the forehead. But then, their little moment was cut off when the footman announced that it is now time to go.

"We shall be home as soon as possible" Lady Bridgerton farewelled to her remaining four children who only waved their hands to them.

Anthony, Benedict, and Colin climbed to their carriage while Daphne and Lady Bridgerton climbed to the other. The carriages started moving and the Bridgertons were now on their way to the Danbury Estate.

The Danbury Estate felt much livelier and more colorful than any other occasion. One by one, guests started to arrive as the ballroom began to be filled with numerous debutantes and bachelors.

Lady Danbury is making her way across the room as she greeted the guests one by one. Everyone's face is carved with big smiles and laughter as they enjoyed themselves.

Just as the Lady made her way near the door, it was called open, and it revealed the most anticipated family of the evening. Every eye landed towards the door where the Bridgerton family had just made their entrance.

Daphne was in the center, both arms linking to Anthony and Benedict while Colin had his Mama on his own. Whispers ensued as they all stared at the Diamond of the Season. Daphne felt her breathing hitch as she and her brothers walk inside the hall being greeted by Lady Danbury firsthand.

"My utmost delectations for your acceptance of my invitation, Lady Bridgerton" Lady Bridgerton curtsied to her

"Miss Bridgerton" Daphne did the same

"Viscount Bridgerton" Anthony bowed his head in respect

"And the honourable Bridgertons" both Benedict and Colin bowed their heads to Lady Danbury as they all smiled to each other

"If there's one to be honoured it will be us, Lady Danbury" Anthony replied which made the Lady smirk

"Will you be dancing with someone tonight, Viscount Bridgerton?" it completely caught Anthony off guard as Daphne release herself from him as she was being led by her mother to the other side of the room

"Perhaps I will, Lady Danbury" Anthony replied which occasionally glancing over Daphne's figure

"Brilliant. I shall introduce you to my niece" Lady Danbury said as she place her arm midair waiting for him to take it

"Who?" Anthony was caught off guard as he was busy following Daphne's figure that he almost forgot that Lady Danbury is still talking to him

"Are you saying that your mind has been flying off to somewhere else while I am speaking?" the Viscount suddenly felt cold along his nape as he glance back to Lady Danbury who's now wearing an unamused look.

"My deepest apologies, Lady Danbury. I was just looking after my sister" Anthony confessed

"Leave your sister be and accompany me"

"Yes, Lady Danbury" with one last regretful look, Anthony took Lady Danbury's arm and he escorted her towards the other side of the room, far from where Daphne and his family are.

The first music of the night sounded as Anthony and Lady Danbury made their way to the crowd. Soon enough, the dance floor was filled with bachelors hopefully finding their suitable wife and debutantes who's also hopeful in finding their suitable husband.

"Pardon me, Lady Danbury, but who are we looking for?" Anthony asked as they both stopped at a certain pillar of violets

"So, you're admitting that your mind is flying off to somewhere. What an impertinent man" the Viscount found himself internally laughing at the Lady's remark

"My deepest apologies again, Lady Danbury" Anthony replied instantly as Lady Danbury release him

"Such a frivolous child, I told her to stay here" the Lady muttered under her breath as she scanned their nearby surrounding

"Perhaps we should carry on our walk?" Anthony offered trying to imitate the Lady's gestures but actually failed to register what or who she had been referring to

"Perhaps" Lady Danbury muttered before giving her arm again

Anthony gladly took it and they were about to leave when a small voice called out for them, or more like Lady Danbury's. The two of them turned around trying to find the source of voice until they noticed that some of the people are looking up

"What are these people looking up for?" Lady Danbury asked curiously as she and Anthony followed them suit

Up in the balcony was a lady that no one in ton had ever met or seen yet. All men were captivated by her presence as she made her way down the stairs, including the Viscount. Lady Danbury can't help but to smile inwardly as she waited for her to arrive.

There were offering of dances, whispers of greetings and praises but the the young lady paid no attention. Anthony found himself following her through the crowd as she finally came into their view.

"There you are. You surely knew how to make a talk for yourself" Lady Danbury commented as she stood by her side

Maybe it was the trail of his fatigue but Anthony was so sure that he felt the whole world suddenly halted as his eyes stared at the beauty in front of him. Surely, he just stated earlier this morning that staring is rude but how can you not to such wonderful sight? Anthony had never seen such beauty in his life.

He didn't even realize that Lady Danbury had already move and his arm is still hanging in the midair

"Viscount Bridgerton!" Anthony finally snap back to his senses as he blinks several times. Lady Danbury was staring at him with an unamused look as he cleared his throat in the process

"Forgive me, Lady Danbury. It must have been the trails of my fatigue that had occured this morning that's why my mind is constantly...flying off..somewhere else" Anthony breathed as he steal glances at the lady who only smiled at his antics

"Spare me with your excuses, young man. I want to introduce you to my niece, Miss Y/N Lovelace. Daughter of Earl Augustus Lovelace and Countess Amelie Lovelace, good friends of mine" Lady Danbury stated with a smile

"It is my pleasure to meet you tonight, Viscount Bridgerton" Y/N curtsied to him as Anthony tried to find his lost voice

"My utmost pleasure too" Anthony managed to say as he bowed in return

"I shall take my leave then" Lady Danbury smiled and immediately walk away

There was an unreadable atmosphere between the two until Anthony cleared his throat before offering his hand to Y/N.

"A dance, Miss Lovelace?"

To my dearest readers,

The season has finally begun with the initiation of the Danbury Estate who held the first ball of this season. This Author have also noticed that Lord Bridgerton may have taken a quite liking towards Miss Lovelace as the two are seen last night sharing not only one but two dances.

Surely, this may bloom to something else, it will be this Author's duty to know it first. After all, Lord Bridgerton has yet to find his suitable wife to become the Viscountess so to speak.

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown

#anthony bridgerton x reader #bridgerton #bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton #bridgerton story #bridgerton series #violet bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #colin bridgerton #daphne bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #francesca bridgerton #gregory bridgerton #hyacinth bridgerton

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waterlilyrose · 2 years

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Kathony fic prompt: the queen decides to name Kate her diamond to create some ✨drama✨ and anthony never meets with the gentleman outside during the first ball and says the things that made Kate hate him so he gets excited when he realizes who is the diamond!!

Link to A03

Queen Charlotte looked over the debutantes of her ballroom with a rather tired and uninterested eye. All were very uninspiring – many young ladies looked terrified to be in her presence. That could be flattering but it could also be a bit wearying. How was she meant to pick a Diamond out of this lot?

The evening promised some amusement of course. Lady Danbury had come forward (she was one of the few that the Queen trusted not to sugar-coat her words) with Lady Mary and her daughters. Queen Charlotte couldn’t deny her annoyance at Lady Mary’s reappearance. She had been named the Incomparable of her season and had still thrown that all aside to run off with a clerk. Granted, it seemed to have been a love match which the Queen always liked, but that was beside the point! The Queen had been slighted and she didn’t forgive that easily. Lady Danbury stepped forward in her defence and pointed out that the youngest was a very lovely creature.

“You said you wanted to shake up the season? Now is your chance.” Lady Danbury had told her with an arched eyebrow.

Queen Charlotte pondered those words as the Bridgertons were introduced.

Lady Bridgerton stood before her with her second eldest daughter Eloise, one of her sons (Benedict, was it?) and the Viscount Bridgerton. Queen Charlotte could not help but notice that the Viscount was looking very handsome indeed and was apparently looking for a wife that season. He apparently wasn’t having much success as of yet but that was clearly something they had in common. The Queen was rather charmed by Eloise Bridgerton and the young girl even inspired laughter in the Queen but she looked ready to faint when the Queen showed herself amused. If the Queen named her the Diamond, Charlotte feared she might suffered an apoplexy.

The Queen let her eyes drift across the ballroom as she was left alone once more. Her gaze fell on the Sharma sisters again. The youngest, Miss Edwina, was indeed very lovely. She had a doll-like quality about her and the Queen could well imagine her with flowers in her hair. She would be a most sweet Diamond. But the Queen’s eyes flickered to the eldest.

Miss Kate Sharma was not Lady Mary’s birth daughter as she had been four-years-old when her father met Lady Mary. Indeed, she had heard some ladies talk about her as ‘the child from a previous marriage’ in rather derogatory manner. Yet the Queen looked upon her now. She was tall for a woman with a lithe figure, striking good-looks and flashing eyes. While her sister could be deemed ‘lovely’, Kate could be considered ‘arresting’. She had a different kind of beauty to her sister – a beauty that wasn’t just handsome looks. She acted as a wallflower to her younger sister yet she appeared to be the brains of the operation. She had intelligence and spirit – something told the Queen that as loudly as a proclamation.

A young lady with ideas and a mind of her own. Interesting…

The Queen allowed herself a chuckle. Oh this was going to shake the season to its foundations. The Queen was almost giddy with anticipation.

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

Anthony stood with Benedict and tried not to yawn. No-one told him that trying to procure a wife would be so exhausting. So this led to his current plan – allow the Queen to announce the Diamond and pursue her to be his wife. Anthony had no doubt she would be the best London society had to offer (please, if there was a God, don’t let it be Eloise!).

The ballroom came to a halt as the Queen addressed the room. Here we go…

“Allow it to now be my honour to present to you the season’s Diamond...” The room went as still as stone.

The Queen gave a little smile.

“Miss Kate Sharma.”

There was applause but Anthony could not help but hear the murmurings of shock around him. Was this a controversial choice?

Anthony looked about him. Where was this Miss Sharma?

Anthony looked over the shoulder of the crowd before him and -

Thank goodness he had not taken anything to drink. Because otherwise he would have dropped the glass to the floor in shock.

The crowd had parted to reveal… her.

The woman from the dawn race. Her hair was not wild and she was dressed demurely in a lovely gown but he’d know her anywhere.

The woman in question was not reacting in delight at her new status. She was in fact looking around her wildly at an older woman (her mother maybe?) and another young lady who looked about a foot shorter. She was almost shaking her head as though to deny this was happening. But Brimsley, the Queen’s butler, had come forward and offered her his arm. The older woman had nudged the Diamond forward in an encouraging but firm manner. Anthony knew that look – his own mother had perfected it. It clearly said ‘Do what you are told.’

Anthony watched the woman… Kate… walk towards the Queen on Brimsley’s arm. Anthony’s heart began to hammer in his chest. He had wondered if he would ever see the beguiling beautiful woman again.

“Close your mouth Brother.” Benedict advised, sounding much too smug. “Your tongue is hanging out.”

Anthony barely heard him. The Diamond of the Season was a woman he had not stopped dreaming about for days. It was like Christmas come early.

Kate stopped before the Queen and dipped a curtsey. Her face still looked fraught as though she believed someone was going to declare it a great joke any second. The Queen raised her with a hand under her chin.

“You’ll have to move fast Brother. She’d going to be snapped up quickly.” Benedict pointed out.

Anthony was going to have to lose her again? Not bloody likely!

Xxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

This isn’t happening. It can’t. I’m not a Diamond; Edwina is a Diamond. I’m just… Kate. The spinster. An old maid.

But the Queen was looking at her warmly.

“A very beautiful girl indeed.” She declared. Kate flushed. She wasn’t used to compliments. “And it appears you have something of a following now.”

Kate didn’t want to turn around. She could feel the presence of men behind her. Men who would want to dance with her; maybe call on her.

The Queen looked up and her eyes lit up at one. “Viscount Bridgerton.”

Kate found herself turning around without her consent. Lady Danbury had mentioned that name last night… it couldn’t be…

Kate faced the most prominent suitor. Chestnut hair, deep brown eyes and a little taller than herself. It was him.

“Have you yet met my new incomparable?” He gave a bow and looked into Kate’s face. His face remained the picture of gentlemanly aloofness but his eyes were amused; excited. Kate’s heart pounded in her chest.

Oh yes, we’ve met. I was riding astride a horse, we raced across a field and then he rode alongside me while teasing me. We did not even know each others names.

Kate had followed him with her eyes at Lady Danbury’s soiree when he had been surrounded by debutantes and watched from behind a potted plant as he danced with rather ill-grace. She had felt a little giddy and hot at the back of her neck. She’d dreamt of him that night.

“I am most grateful for the introduction, Your Majesty.” He smiled. So, he wasn’t about to admit their previous meeting. Good. She doubted the Queen wanted the world to know how little her new Diamond seemed to care about etiquette. “I only hope I shall be afforded the pleasure of a dance.” He held out his hand. Kate stared at it before looking back at the Queen. The Queen looked gratified and like she approved. Shakily, Kate put her hand in his.

Without taking their eyes off each other, Kate allowed herself to be led to the floor.

The music began and they moved through the steps.

“I should have known.” The Viscount sounded amused.

“Known what exactly?” Kate answered, trying to keep her voice level. “I did not have any idea this would occur!”

“A little short-sighted of you.” The Viscount circled her in time with the music. “Especially when you come to the Queen’s ball looking like that.”

Kate felt her cheeks grow hot. “It was my sister who I wanted a match for.”

“And yet I’m not dancing with your sister; I’m dancing with you.”

“I can still stand on your toes.” Kate warned as she took her turn to circle him.

The Viscount actually smirked; it should not have been so attractive. “I don’t doubt it.” He looked at her with something in his eyes that made Kate almost misstep. “I was wondering if I would meet you again.”

“Do you really enjoy being beaten so much? I can outstrip you at dancing as well as horse-riding.”

“I am an excellent dancer.” He spun her around in time with the music.

“As am I.” Kate ceased their banter for a moment to hold his eyes. Why did holding his gaze feel so erotic? She had danced with men before – why was this so very different? “I hear you have something of a mission this season. It is rumoured you wish to find a wife.”

“I don’t deny it.”

“Why are you not searching the ton at this moment then?”

“What makes you think I have not already found her?”

Kate looked at him feeling almost scandalised. Was he implying...? He seemed unperturbed – he might have just declared the sky was blue on a sunny day.

“What makes you think I would allow myself to be found?”

“What does the Diamond require of a man who wishes for her hand?” The Viscount asked.

Another horse race? I’ll still win but it would be fun.

“You are merely asking because I am the Diamond.” Kate defused. Even if this was a bizarre turn of events, she must not get swept away.

“The Queen merely saw what I saw myself: that you are the most beguiling woman. I would have named you the Diamond myself if the Queen had thought to ask me.”

“You did not even know my name!”

“I do now. Kate.”

“It’s Miss Sharma, Viscount Bridgerton.” Kate was enjoying this far too much.

“If I call you Kate, you can call me Anthony.” He promised.

“That is far too familiar.” Kate pointed out. They now had their arms about one another and Kate could feel the strength of his biceps. “You have not even sent me flowers.”

“I can rectify that.”

All too soon, they bowed and curtsied to one another as the song ended.

“Did I win that round?” Anthony (why was that such a lovely name for him) asked.

“You dance adequately.” Kate shrugged. If she sang his praises, she had a feeling he would find it insincere. And less stimulating.

“Ah, Lord Bridgerton!” They both turned and for the first time Kate nearly growled with frustration at the sight of Lady Danbury. Her mother and sister were not far behind. Not now! “I see you have met Miss Sharma.”

They proceeded to make small talk before Kate was led away by her family. She glanced over her shoulder at the Viscount. If all she would ever have was a dance then she must be satisfied by that. But his gaze spoke louder than words ever could.

We are not done yet.

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Kate came downstairs to breakfast to Lady Mary chuckling. “You have a gift, Dearest.”

Kate blinked and found her attention pointed to a bouquet of flowers. They were tulips and they came with a card:

Kate,

You won the horse race. I won the dance.

Care to break the draw?

Anthony.

#bridgerton #kate and anthony #kanthony #canon divergence #kate is the diamond as she should be #ao3 fanfic #waterlilyrose #fanfic #fanfiction #anthony bridgerton #kate sharma #anthony is going to make kate his wife and is going to love every minute of it

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miss-bridgerton · 3 years

Text

for real l anthony bridgerton x you l part one

word count: 1,887 words

pairing: anthony bridgerton x you

author’s note: part 1 finally! it’s not much going on, but this is just the beginning.

taglist: @fact-fictionx @alainabooks143 @michael-loves-chickens @misstonybridgerton

summary: Everyone knew that the Viscount was a rake. Except for, apparently, three young women who clung to his every word. Anthony Bridgerton was in fact charming. But he was absolutely terrible at dating three women at once. Some would call him a dunce for doing so. Others might call him a hero. Adelia Byron called him dead when she found out. Set out on revenge, she and the other two young ladies, Bette DuPont and Siena Rosso, decide to transform a lonely bakers girl into someone who can break the heart of the Viscount.

PART 1: THE SOCIETY PAPER THAT CAUSED A SCENE

YOU HAD NO IDEA that a gossip column would be the cause of a brawl in your family’s tea shop and bakery: The Fancy Teapot.

Overly priced earl grey tea? Oh, absolutely.

Chairs that pinched the bottoms of debutantes and their mammas? Pinched bottoms surely caused nasty sneers a plenty.

But the latest gossip from the squares’ paper? You certainly didn’t see that coming.

It was all because of the Viscount. Lord Anthony Bridgerton was indeed charming. He had that smile that they all seemed to fawn over. His hair was swept in all the right places. And he was a British nobleman.

What more could a young lady want?

You rolled your eyes at the words that frequented that paper. What more could a young lady want? Well, for starters, you wanted freedom. You wanted to bake. You wanted to explore different cities. Eat exotic foods. Tell stories to your future nieces and nephews of your adventures. You didn’t care about marriage, no matter how many times your sister-in-law pushed it on to you. You just simply wanted to. . .experience life.

Unlike the young women who frequented The Fancy Teapot. They were all scouring for eligible unmarried men. It was what they were taught. It was all that they knew, really.

And two debutantes who enjoyed sipping tea in The Fancy Teapot had no idea that they were both courting the Viscount. Until it came out on paper, that is.

It was a sunny spring morning and the social season had sprung in London. You loved the social season for the money it brought the tea shop, but you absolutely loathed the social season for the debutantes and their snooty behavior. They were all perfect. Beautiful gowns. Rosy pinched cheeks. The stink of wealth swarmed them like bees attracted to honey.

You had none of those things. You came from a working family. You came from two different countries. Your father had travelled to (a country of your choosing) where he met your mother and they fell in love and married within a week of him being there. Your father had convinced your mother to leave everything behind to be with him in London, but her one condition was to open a tea shop and bakery.

He clung to his part of the condition. Soon after opening the shop, your older brother Jack was born. Five years later, you were born. For a short while, it was the four of you. Kids running through the tea shop, experimenting with teas, you found the love of baking with your mother, and your parents were still so madly in love it was almost embarrassing. Sadly, your mother became ill and passed away two years ago.

The death was stricken. And hard on you. But it was your father that you and Jack worried after, for it was almost as if he became a different person. As if he lost a part of himself when your mother died. He tried to drink his sorrows away at the pubs, and fancied spending too much money on gambles and bets.

That morning, he was nowhere near the tea shop, probably somewhere betting on poker chips, when you had to break apart two debutantes from nearly mauling each other.

Adelia Byron was with her friend, Cressida Cowper, at a small table near the colossal windows. She didn’t say thank you or even acknowledged your existence when you set down her steaming chamomile tea and slice of cornish hevva cake. You rolled your eyes at the way she gloated over the attention she received at the Warwick ball. Adelia was still on a thrill from two nights before, where the touch of the Viscount’s hand on her back as they danced was still on her. She dreamt of his gorgeous eyes. And when she saw the bouquets of roses addressed to her that morning, she was in total bliss.

Her friend, Cressida, was jealous. Adelia knew it. And if there was something Adelia Byron was known for, it was that she enjoyed bragging. Her father was a Baron, which made her quite eligible for marriage to a Viscount. She had elegant features: Dark red hair, stormy eyes, high cheek-bones. She had already received three proposals but Adelia knew what she wanted. Who she wanted.

Simply put, nobody else would do. She was going to marry the Viscount. And God help her and anyone who got in her way.

On the other side of The Fancy Teapot, situated at a round table underneath an elegant painting by your brother Jack, was Elizabeth DuPont and her overbearing mother, Colette. Elizabeth, often called Bette, was the daughter of The Marquess of DuPont. So her marriage to a man of great wealth and a powerful title was extremely vital. To her mother, at least.

Bette was fond of the Viscount. He swept her away with his words, he was impressed with the way she could speak French and German, and the kiss he laid upon her gloved hand sent a thrill through her body. She couldn’t bear to tell her mother that when she went out to the balcony for a quick breath of fresh air during the Warwick Ball, she was accompanied by Lord Anthony Bridgerton.

Her mother would have been furious. She wanted Bette to charm the Prince - not the Viscount. She wanted her daughter to marry a title higher, not a title lower.

You had just set down two tea cups of herbal tea at their table when one of the young newsie boys stopped by the Fancy Teapot to drop off the new Society Paper.

“Hey, Sam,” you greeted the ten year old boy. He often was the one who sauntered in here to deliver the paper and he did it eagerly, knowing fully well that you were going to give him some free wrapped biscuits, like always.

“Y/N!” He greeted with a boyish grin. “What’s on the menu today? I hope it's something drowned in sugar!” He said excitedly.

You laughed and grabbed the box of warm treacle tarts from under the front counter. “It’s not drowned in sugar, but I think you’ll still enjoy them,” you told him.

He grinned widely. “You’re a real magician, Miss Y/L/N!”

You smiled warmly as the little boy went off and you were so busy handing over his desserts that you didn’t even notice, Dorothea, your sister-in-law, completely captivated by the latest Lady Whistledown’s writings.

“Bloody Hell,” she muttered, leaning her back against the counter and reading the paper. A mama and her daughter were standing by the counter, awaiting some assistance and looking very peevish. You sighed at how unobservant Dorothea was.

You took care of the customers and then turned to Dorothea, who looked as if she had acquired the most scandalous news.

“Y/N! Have you read this yet? It’s so scandalous!”

“No,” you replied, though you were a bit curious. “Who is it about?”

“The Viscount.”

“Hard pass,” you replied.

Dorothea rolled her eyes. “You are impossible. It’s not just about him but about the women he’s apparently leading on. And,” she took a moment to look around the tea shop and then in a hushed tone continued, “two of them are in here. Right now. Unaware of all of it!”

Well, surely just a peak at the new Society Paper wouldn’t do any harm. You grabbed the paper and took a look:

At the Warwick ball Thursday evening, Viscount Bridgerton was seen dancing with not one eligible young lady, but two. Now, I assume you dear readers know quite the reputation of our charming Viscount, as this behavior isn’t quite unusual. If you are familiar with the season’s doings, dancing with eligible suitors is normal.

Except Lord Anthony Bridgerton was seen with Miss Bette DuPont awfully close on the brink of the balcony and also seen later that evening with a certain opera singer, Siena Rosso, nuzzling her neck in a dark corner of the opera house.

How will the ladies take this embarrassment? Well, this author predicts that Miss Bette DuPont will turn a rather shade red and Miss Adelia Byron’s eyes will flash with a colour quite similar. Miss Siena Rosso will probably be locked up in a bedroom with the Viscount to even notice.

LADY WHISTLEDOWN’S SOCIETY PAPERS,16 APRIL 1814

Oh, brother, you thought. This better not cause anything stupid in here -

“HOW DARE YOU!!!!”

You and Dorothea looked up in bewilderment at the sudden outburst. And there it was. Lady Adelia Byron, looking absolutely furious, clutching the society paper, and standing over Lady Bette DuPont who was sitting at her table, looking between a mix of surprise and confusion.

“I beg your pardon?” Bette said to her appalled.

“You!” Adelia yelled. “You are involved with my suitor! How dare you?! You - you - harlot!”

Bette’s jaw dropped but it was her mother who spoke. “My, I never! That is quite unladylike behavior, young lady. My Elizabeth is not some harlot, clearly you cannot read because you have been thoroughly mistaken.”

Adelia rolled her stormy eyes and handed over the paper. Bette hastily read it before gasping, throwing a pretty gloved hand over her mouth.

“This cannot be true. My Lord would never do such things.” Bette told her.

“My Lord?” Adelia mocked. “He’s not your anything. I am going to marry him. So this little rendezvous is finished.”

Bette raised a brow. “I don’t think so,” she simply replied and took a sip of her tea.

Adelia looked as if she was going to chuck that steaming tea pot at the young lady’s head, so you had no choice - you had to get involved.

“Ladies, please, there is no need to act in such a manner,” you told them. They both looked in your direction, looking at you as if you were just a nobody. As if they were thinking, who the hell are you and who makes you think you have any say in this?

You cleared your throat. “He’s just a man,” you tried to explain.

Adelia snorted. “Idiot,” she said under her breath.

You narrowed your eyes at her. “You know, instead of getting mad at each other for something neither of you two were unaware of, you should be mad at him. Instead you are fighting over the tosser. Now that is an idiot.”

Both girls’ jaws dropped at what you said. But both didn’t say anything in retaliation. Instead, Adelia lifted her head high and walked away with what dignity she possessed and Bette went back to her tea, ignoring her mother’s angry stares.

Dorothea was nearly bursting in astonishment and the tea shop, which went quiet during the whole argument, went back to the bustling noise it always had.

All went back to normal. Until later that evening.

While you were cleaning up and closing down The Fancy Teapot for the day, you found a folded napkin at the same table that Adelia Byron sat with Cressida Cowper. Inside was a perfectly scrawled note addressed to you.

Not many people can inspire me, but you, Miss Bakery girl, did. Visit my estate as soon as you can manage. We have a lot to discuss.

X Miss Adelia Byron

#bridgerton #bridgerton fanfiction #anthony bridgerton #anthony bridgerton x you #anthony bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton imagine #anthony bridgerton fanfic #anthony bridgerton fanfiction #Anthony bridgerton headcanon #mine #my writing #fanfiction #fanfic #bridgerton fanfic

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baileysbooks · 2 years

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Bridgerton - Season 1, Episodes 1-4

Synopsis

Daphne Bridgerton is the eldest daughter, fourth born in a family of eight children (named alphabetically, as it was orderly), and this season she will finally enter the Marriage Mart. She is named the Diamond of the Season, but her well meaning but ultimately overprotective brother promptly takes her from the top of the Ton to the bottom of the barrel. Whatever is a girl to do? Simon Basset, the Duke of Hastings, has arrived in London after a long absence to get his father's affairs in order. He has no mind to seek a wife, and only shows his face at the events of the Ton to appease his godmother, Lady Danbury. How will the Rakish Duke manage to survive his time in London without being forced to suffer the peckish mothers of London's most eligible ladies?

Rating

⭐️⭐️⭐️⭐️ - The first half of the season is an absolute delight. The music, the sets, the costumes, the chemistry between the cast; every moment is a sparkling feast of television that I can (and have) watched over and over again! Simon and Daphne sparkle and their flirtatious chemistry smolders in a perfectly pastel world.

Review

What to even say about the first four episodes of Season 1 of Bridgerton. The lush scenes are full of beautiful actors acting their absolute pants off in gorgeous costumes set to classical covers of pop songs. It's a dreamy dish of a show that I cannot get enough of. Plus, insanely beautiful Regé-Jean Page in well fitted Regency wear, on a horse, being the best pretend suitor a darling Diamond in search of a husband could ask for? I can (and have) rewatched the first four episodes over and over again, just to soak in all the gorgeousness.

The show starts out so strongly. We have Daphne, a perfect debutante with her eye on the prize: finding a husband on her very first season out in London society. She gets even gets the Queen's blessing, naming her the Diamond of the season! But, thanks to her meddlesome eldest brother, who, as we late discover, is absolutely riddled with uncertainty and insecurity about his role in the family, she finds herself sorely lacking in suitors before the first episode has even ended. Anthony promises her hand to Nigel Berbrooke, a very slimy man who needs a lesson or 5 in consent, and in her moment of need, who would swoop in to to save her?

Simon Basset, the Duke of Hastings, though he finds her very much not in need of any saving. A damsel? Sure! In distress? Absolutely! But she can handle it! The solution is proposed and the entree into society as a coupled pair, complete with one of many extremely charged dance numbers, is a rousing success, and one of the most beautiful sequences in the entire first season. Simon and Daphne sparkle on screen together, and their flirtatious chemistry is absolutely sublime!

As the first half of the season progresses, their friendship blossoms beautifully! They get on swimmingly and have many scenes where they end up in fits of giggles or accidentally gazing into each others eyes longingly. It's a damn delight! My only real complaint about their courting dynamic is that we get very little actual emotional development. They are clearly very good friends, and have spectacular flirtatious chemistry, but at no point does Simon or Daphne ever truly open up to each other and talk about anything true. The scene in the art gallery is the closest they come, and even then, Simon never reveals anything about himself, all serious things Daphne knows about him come from Anthony. That aside, the arc of Simon and Daphne through to episode 4 is a treat.

Anthony manages to be my favourite part of this show, which I know was an unpopular opinion. Even when he's promising his sister to Nigel, he means well. Yes, he doesn't listen to her or her mother, and yes, he's a god damn fool, but this is the moment where he truly realises the weight of the responsibility his father's death has placed on his shoulders. Every man he sees, he knows their faults. A gambler, a drunk, a capital R Rake, all he can imagine is that man destroying his sister's life, and he can't have that, so he chooses someone with good name and title and just hopes it doesn't get fucked up. It does, it absolutely does, but he means well. I also adored his relationship with Sienna. I think it's the closest thing he'll allow himself to feel to true romantic love. She's someone who sees him, and understands him, and he feels safe with her. Loved their relationship, loved the way it comes to a head for him later in the season, and I loved him in general.

The side plots are also all very engaging, which is a testament to the character work done in these first few episodes. Benedict's foray into the art and orgy scene of London's elite is charged and engaging, made all the better by Luke Thompson's ability to capture my heart in every single moment he is on screen. Eloise's battle with her position in society and the expectations placed on her feels earned and honest, as she watches her sister go through the song and dance of a courtship season and clearly fears for her own fate the year to follow. Colin is a less utilized character, but still managed to capture my heart in quiet moments, like coming home late with his slightly drunk mother, all smiles and laughs until he realises his idiot brothers are up to absolutely no good. Even the two youngest Bridgertons, Hyacinth and Gregory, make their mark, making the full family scenes feel lived in and honest. Lady Danbury is an exceptional wise matron figure: the god mother to our beloved Duke, she has a sharp tongue and even sharper wit and helps to guide Simon in whatever way she can while being positively meddlesome at any opportunity. The show makes even its smallest characters feel full and well-rounded, which makes every scene a treat to watch. When you care even about Daphne's ladies-maid, it's easy to stay excited about every scene!

With such a strong start, this show grabbed me and ensure I would remain along for the ride. What else was I going to do when Regé-Jean Page was dancing in beautiful regency clothing to upbeat pop music and fake dating our heroine? I found myself rooting for a heroine who, I'll admit, is a tad dull, and hoping for a happy ending for them. Their isn't much in terms of conflict after episode 2, other than the Duke's persistent refusal to marry, but even the courtship with Prince Fredrich manages to be light and fun and add a layer of tension between the main pairing that elevates their dynamic. The Bridgerton Family is warm and well developed, and I would happily spend 8 seasons watching each of the children find love and pester their siblings endlessly.

#bridgerton #bridgerton season one #daphne bridgerton #simon hastings #bridgerton netflix #bailey talks tv #tv review #tv show thoughts #tv tumblr #tv recommendations #bailey's books

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mochiable · 3 years

Text

— wine drops. | chpt. 1

summary: you and Jimin meet each other for the first time.

pairing: viscount!jimin x workingclass!reader

wc: 1.7k

wd.masterlist

> next

The elegance of the baroque was present in the initiation dance. Some dances you had been told about since you were a child. They told you they were sensational, but that you would never get to see them with your own eyes.

Yet there you were, in the dress that your maid, Agnès, had embroidered especially for you. A dress with a square-necked bodice, allowing the precious gold chain hanging from your neck, which carried a ruby in the center, to stand out noticeably. It also consisted of a triangular, v-shaped bib that slightly covered your chest and stomach, adhering to the corset. The jacket was as long as a housecoat, which opened at the front as the dress came to an end, showing a skirt of the same fabric as this one. A skirt that fell freely from your waist, which was adorned with ruffles and ribbons, exaggerating the sophisticated image of the dress. It was all covered with small flowers and abstract navy blue rhinestones that contrasted with the pale beige at the base of the dress.

Something too lush and ostentatious for your taste, but what could you do. The baroque had taken over people’s minds more than a hundred years ago, turning them into pawns of a demanding and selfish lifestyle that rewarded the rich and condemned the poor.

Trust me, you knew it well. You were born into a humble family, with parents who taught you to survive rather than to spend. They always told you to use that intelligent mind that God had given you, so that no one would take advantage of you, obviously referring to them. The aristocracy.

A real poison that had settled in the rich areas of Lyon, where the workers used to live in small wooden shacks with nails. But those nobles threw them out and caused real massacres, and then enslaved other labourers on their land.

The king, together with his secret advisors, believed that, in order to maximize the economy and the most important sources of energy, they had to get rid of a large part of the population. But they didn’t take the nobles, they decided that those who stood in their way were the harmless laborers, who didn’t even have a few crumbs of bread.

That's how you were separated from your parents. You were only eight, but that didn't stop them. They pushed and shoved and spat on them, while they held you by the arms, and then threw them into filthy floats. Finally disappearing from your sight.

You were never going to forget the fear and pain that was reflected in your parents' eyes. All that suffering, that emptiness they left you haunted you even in your dreams, preventing you from sleeping peacefully at night.

That's why you decided to rise in the aristocratic ranks so that you could find those scoundrels who preferred to leave thousands of children orphaned rather than oppose the orders of the king and his presumptuous advisors.

Yes, you were aware that if they did, they would die. But when you found them they would have the same end as if they had avoided all the chaos the aristocracy caused. You were going to avenge the death of your parents and all the children who died because they had no one to shelter them.

That's why you were here today at the inaugural ball of the young women. The debutante ball, a somewhat elitist way of introducing girls to society on their coming of age.

You found yourself talking relatively boringly to the Baron of Honfleur, who had come all the way from the north of France to meet the Gangoiti's daughter. For a long time, he had been telling you about l'église Sainte-Catherine, which he was so passionate about.

“It's a real wonder, Mademoiselle Leduc. The structure resembles a large ship placed upside down, its inconceivable appearance is thanks to the local shipbuilders.”

“It must be undeniably splendid, Baronnie de Honfleur,” you laughed a little at his animated tone of voice.

“Au fait. Who are your parents, fillette? I don't know any Leduc here in Lyon. Are you related to Viscount Leduc there in Bourges?”

You had to admit that the air was stuck in your throat, preventing oxygen from reaching your lungs for a few seconds. You had to try to conceal and articulate one of your much practiced lies so that the baronnie would not discover you.

“Oh no, pas du tout,” you replied, trying to give him your best smile. “Mon parents are on a trip, they went to Austria a few weeks ago. It would be impossible for you to have crossed paths with them, maybe that's why you don't know them.”

“A verre de vin, Mademoiselle?” a tray where four glasses rested on the silver surface appeared in front of your eyes, being held by a bartender who watched you with a beautiful smile drawn on his face.

“Merci beaucoup,” you smiled back at him and took the glass of red wine in my left hand.

“I must go now, Demoiselle,” the Baron said, holding your hand and placing a soft kiss. “It has been a pleasure talking to you”

“Likewise.”

It was at that moment that one of the majordomes called you to the dance floor, where dozens of young people ran to dance with their partners. You slightly furrowed your brow, shaking your head, all they cared about was the dancing and the parties, something that really frustrated you when you thought that there were millions of families without a roof over their heads.

Music, laughter, and dresses flying by. That was all you could see and hear in that huge hall. As the people around it chatted and drank from their wine glasses.

You decided to stop paying attention to the new dance, the passepied. You peeled off the wall and set off to find the person you were looking for, the Countess of Poitiers.

You were walking around absently while you asked the other guests if they had seen the woman you were trying to locate with eagerness. When you turned around after consulting an Ècuyer, you tripped over someone, causing some of the wine that was left in your glass to fall on top of the stranger's clothes and slip out of your hands.

“Oh, mon Dieu!” you exclaimed, reaching for your handkerchief and rubbing it over his shirt. “Forgive me, Monsieur.”

“Don't worry,” he said, taking your hands off his figure. “But I would appreciate it if you would call me Viscount, Mademoiselle. Of course, as I am the son of the Duke and Duchess of Lyon.”

“Of course, Monsieur,” you mumbled a little ashamed. “Viscount!”, you corrected yourself, feeling your cheeks turn red quickly.

“Now, if you don't mind, you may accompany me to the cooking room,” he suggested, trying to get rid of the red stains that had smeared his suit.

“Do you mean la cuisine?”, you asked, wrinkling your nose slightly.

The Viscount looked at you with furrowed eyebrows as he inspected every feature of your body, as well as your virtues and defects. You felt his brown, intense gaze pass through every pore of yours, perceiving how his eyebrows rose and he licked those pink lips he possessed as he examined you.

“Allez,” he muttered, holding your hand.

“What are you doing?”, you hesitated, nailing your feet to the ground to prevent him from dragging you further.

“I said we would go to the kitchen”, he answered.

“You used a conditional”, you said, letting go of his hand. “Forgive my boldness, Viscount, but that didn't sound like an order to me.”

He laughed, looking at you again with those brown eyes, making you tremble, inevitably. “You are right,” he agreed as he brushed his rings against his lips. “Come with me to the kitchen, it’s an order.”

Leaving you speechless and with a dry mouth, he again held your hand, leading you into the kitchen, passing among all the guests and elbowing them, provoking withering glances from them. He made you move quickly as he squeezed your hands tightly. You cursed yourself mentally for not being careful and bumping into him. Right now you would be talking to the Countess de Poiters and not being dragged into a kitchen for no reason by a man you knew nothing about.

“Well,” he muttered as he reached the kitchen and handed you back your stained handkerchief. “Dip it in that bucket”

Without saying anything, to avoid further discussion, you went over to the bucket and wet the tip of the handkerchief as you listened to the sound of clothes being removed. When you’d finished, you turned cautiously with your eyes slightly closed, waiting for the undressed body of a man.

“What are you doing?”, at that moment you opened your eyes wide, finding yourself with a funny but confused smile. Your gaze shifted from his face to his body, and you frowned as you saw him in clothes, still with his shirt on, but without his blazer. Why wasn't he naked? Your cheeks quickly warmed as you realized what you had been thinking. You wanted to laugh at myself, but I held back.

“I...”, you hesitated and looked away. “I've finished wetting my handkerchief.”

“I thought so,” he said, leaning his lower back against the counter which was full of dishes and moldy food. “Approche, approche.”, he insisted gesturing with his right hand.

You decided to obey to him and approached him, clearing your throat almost inaudibly, bringing the handkerchief close to his shirt.

“Désolé, for having soiled your suit.”

“I apologize to you too,” he whispered a few inches from your face.

He was quite tall. He was about four inches taller than you, maybe. But as he had his head a little lowered so that he could watch you delicately clean his spots. Little locks of hair fell down his forehead, tickling your temples.

“I was looking for someone.”

“Moi aussi,” you smiled, although it looked more like a grimace.

“Who are you?”, he asked in a soft voice.

“Je m'appelle y/n,” you replied, finishing rubbing the stains, which were now almost invisible. “I am the daughter of the Leduc. Perhaps you don't know them, they are on a trip,” you explained, leaving the handkerchief on the counter. “How about you?”

“My name is Jimin, Park Jimin.”

please, give some feedback, your opinion is important to me!

a/n: english is not my first language, so if you see any grammatical or spelling mistakes don't hesitate to tell me. any constructive criticism will be always welcome.

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chikoriita · 3 years

Text

Single Father Seeking Sane Step-Mama Pt. 2

As the hour grew closer to tea time, Eloise strategically chose her seat in the drawing-room. Though not nearly as big as Bridgerton House, afternoon tea at Number Five drew plenty of visitors. With Colin recently returned to town and her mother’s birthday celebration coming up, Bridgertons of all ages flocked to tea. Hence, if Eloise wanted to make her own guests welcome, she needed to make ample space for them.

Amanda and Oliver would fit in with the gaggle of nieces and nephews that accompanied their mothers to tea. Between Daphne, Kate, and Sophie, at least one child of similar age would arrive. If not, Violet always had a marvelous spread. That is if Colin left any for the rest of the family.

No, it was their father Eloise worried about. Would he feel uncomfortable in the midst of all the Bridgertons? Frannie might not come, but Hyacinth was a force of nature in herself. Would he take them up on her spur of the moment offer? What if all her preparations were for naught?

Settled into the armchair by the window, Eloise kept a wary eye on the gate. She did not want to miss them.

“You are here quite early for tea, Eloise.” Daphne strolled in with her two eldest children in tow. “Usually Hyacinth has to bellow for you to “make haste.” Her elder sister gave her a sly smile as she settled on the sofa. Ambrose and Belinda found some sort of entertainment on the other side of the drawing-room.

Eloise made a face. Of course, she would remember something she did at seventeen years old. “You, dear sister, were about to be late for your own presentation. Hyacinth only has to shout if I am in the middle of writing something. They are completely different subjects.”

Daphne laughed. “So you say.”

“Oh good, you brought the older children today.” Eloise did a little clap of excitement.

Her sister furrowed her brow. “Yes, Caroline and Davina had an art lesson this afternoon. Why is it good?”

She leaned close. “The townhome next door was rented out for the Season. I encountered the children as they were moving in today, and invited them to tea.” Reclining once again, Eloise peeked outside to see if anyone else was arriving.

Daphne hummed. “I wonder who they are.”

“I’ve never met them before. The children gave the last name Crane. I have yet to meet their father.”

“Whose father?” Violet asked as two footmen trailed her with a cart full of pastries.

“Mama, does the name Crane ring a bell? I feel like I know someone with the surname, but I cannot place it,” Daphne pondered.

Violet shook her head. “No, dearest. I cannot either.”

Hyacinth bounded into the room with none of the delicacies of a proper debutante. “Are we discussing the new neighbors? Eloise should know all about them.” She smirked. “She’s the one who met the children today.”

“How did you-”

“I was in your room.”

“Mama!”

“Hyacinth,” her mother warned.

She shrugged. “Eloise has the best view of the street. If anyone wants to learn anything, it’s the best place to start.”

“Stay out of my room,” Eloise hissed. Hyacinth stuck her tongue out at her. Violet glared at them both.

Wickham arrived at the door. “A Sir Phillip Crane has arrived for Miss Bridgerton.” He gestured to the Crane family.

“Sir Phillip?” Daphne murmured as they all stood to greet the Cranes.

“I did not know either,” Eloise mumbled in return.

“Sir Phillip, what a pleasure to meet you. Welcome to our home,” Violet warmly said. Ever the gracious hostess, she did not miss a beat. “Thank you for accepting Eloise’s invitation. I am the Dowager Lady Bridgerton, but you may call me Violet.” She held out a welcoming hand.

“It is a pleasure, Lady Bridgerton.” He bowed over her hand. “May I introduce my children?”

Eloise would have glanced behind him to find the twins. However, she could not move past him. Meeting in person confirmed that her initial observation was true. He was large, and it suited him. Sir Phillip. A strong and sturdy name meant for someone such as him.

“Miss Eloise!” Amanda’s voice pulled her out of her reverie. “Are you glad we came?” The adoration in the little girl before her humbled Eloise more than she expected.

“I am,” she softly said. “Let me introduce you both to my niece and nephew.” She held her hands out. It surprised her how well their hands fit in her own.

So these were the Bridgertons, Phillip thought. He felt awkward in a room full of such beautiful people. Lady Bridgerton made the introductions as Eloise took his children away. Besides herself and Eloise, the other two ladies were her daughters as well. “This is Hyacinth, my youngest, and my eldest daughter, Daphne, the Duchess of Hastings.”

“Your Grace.” He bowed once more. He may be rusty, but from what little he knew, a Duchess deserved at least that.

“Oh, we do not stand for such formality in the Bridgerton household. Please call me Daphne.” She steered him toward a long sofa. “We may still have stragglers. Let us chat.”

Phillip held back a gulp. “Are more guests expected?” Should they have postponed it for another day? “If so-”

“Oh no, Sir Phillip. My mother has an open door policy. With eight children, she stopped counting guests for tea ages ago.”

“Eight?”

Daphne laughed. “Is it possible that we have met the one person in all of London that does not know our reputations?”

Violet gave a sharp glance to her daughter. “We do not have a reputation.”

“Yes, we do, Mama. According to Lady Whistledown, you have four handsome sons and four beautiful daughters. All neatly and alphabetically organized,” Eloise returned to the conversation. She made her way toward the armchair she had before when Daphne tugged her into the remaining space on the sofa. Right in between the duchess and himself.

Alphabetically named children? “How delightful.”

The youngest daughter, Hyacinth, snickered. “Not according to Lady Whistledown. She said it was banal.”

With that comment, all of the Bridgerton ladies launched into a lively conversation. All Phillip could do was watch. He had vaguely heard of this Lady Whistledown, but he did not care much for the musings of a gossip columnist. No, he was far more interested in the young lady seated next to him.

Miss Eloise Bridgerton shared the same coloring as her sisters and mother, but on her everything seemed more. A rich brown hue in her hair, deep blue eyes, and a flush in her cheeks that matched her spirit. From everything he observed, Eloise Bridgerton was far beyond his league. All he sought was a quiet mother for his children. Someone who would not mind him spending more time with plants than the local society. Someone who did not resent him for surviving while his brother did not.

Daphne handed him a cup of tea. “Any sugar or cream?”

“No thank you.” He took a sip. It was a nice blend, and one he had not encountered before.

Hyacinth passed him a plate of pastries. “Get your share in before Colin returns. He is the reason we have two carts,” she said with a grin. “Where is your estate?”

“Hyacinth!” Both her sisters hissed.

It was a neatly tucked question. He rather admired the girl for it. “We reside at Romney Hall in Gloucestershire year-round. This will actually be my first Season in town.” And hopefully last, he prayed.

“Do you have any family in town?” Violet kindly asked.

He shook his head. “Not of my own, unfortunately. My late wife’s cousins do live near here.”

“We may know them. Who are they?”

Before he could answer, two more visitors arrived. One had the first familiar face here in London. He stood quickly to greet her. “Miss Featherington.”

Penelope Featherington had been wrapped in conversation with the gentleman beside her. If he guessed correctly, this was a Bridgerton brother. Lady Whistledown was correct, he admitted. The man was quite handsome.

At the sound of her name, she turned to Phillip and gasped. “Sir Phillip!”

“I am pleased to see you still recognize me after all these years,” he said politely. It was a very slight relation, but it was the only available in the city. It was pure luck that he encountered her in Lady Bridgerton’s drawing-room.

Eloise glanced between him and Penelope, as did every other Bridgerton. How did Penelope know their new neighbor?

Daphne was the first to recover from her confusion. Recognition dawned on her face. “Sir Phillip Crane was married to Miss Thompson,” she whispered, clutching Eloise’s hand.

“Miss Thompson?” Eloise parroted. All the pieces clicked together. “That Miss Thompson?” She covertly gestured to Colin. It had been years since anyone mentioned that fiasco of 1813.

Her sister wore her worry on her face. Eloise watched her brother instead. Obviously, Sir Phillip had no idea who he was in regards to his late wife.

Penelope nervously smiled. “It has been some time since our last meeting. My condolences on Marina,” her voice cracked as she spoke her name aloud.

Violet’s eyes widened at the name while Hyacinth nearly fell out of her precarious seat. Colin showed no particular emotion at all.

To her surprise, Eloise saw Sir Phillip grimace. It was slight, but she was sure it was there. “Thank you, Miss Featherington. Might I introduce you to my children?”

As he went to retrieve Oliver and Amanda, she spied another odd happening. Colin whispered something into Penelope’s ear. Eloise narrowed her eyes. What was going on here today? Penelope spoke quietly to him, and he nodded.

“Colin!” Eloise called out to him. “Have a seat next to me.” Daphne took the hint and moved to a seat closer to Mama.

He complied, swiping two pastries on his way over. Even in this awkward situation, Colin had to think of his stomach.

“I’m sorry.”

Colin coughed at her words. He recovered quickly enough to ask, “Why? It’s not as if you brought him here. Why is he at tea anyway?” Her brother, to his credit, did not grumble or sound put out. He had near a decade to get over Marina Thompson and her actions. From the little Penelope had told her of that summer, Marina did what she thought she needed to do.

“I invited them here,” she admitted. Eloise guiltily looked over to where Sir Phillip stood with the twins and Penelope. Amanda looked like a doll with her sun-kissed curls, and Oliver had a mischievous smile on his face. Some of her guilt melted away when she thought back to the solemn look on his face earlier. No, no matter the awkward situation, she was glad to see that the children had enjoyed themselves.

“Lady Bridgerton, I believe we have spent enough of your time,” Sir Phillip spoke. The twins’ angelic faces turned mutinous at his words.

“Nonsense, you are welcome here,” Violet warmly said.

“Nevertheless, we must take our leave.” He reached to take Amanda’s hand when she backed away.

“No! Can we please stay with Miss Eloise?” She rushed over to sit next to Eloise.

Oliver was not far behind his sister. “Miss Eloise wants us here.”

All eyes turned to look at her. Oh dear, what a situation. Sir Phillip pleaded with the exhausted look on his face. “Amanda, Oliver…” She sighed. “You have traveled a long way. It is a time to relax. Even Ambrose is tired.”

Daphne shot a glance at her son that had him yawning within seconds. It was pleasant to see her sister had not lost her maternal touch.

She took both of their hands. “I enjoyed seeing you both again.”

“You are welcome to come to tea any time you like, dears,” Violet added.

Penelope chimed in. “I must be going as well. Mama will be expecting me home soon.” Eloise resisted raising a brow at her friend. Portia Featherington never expected Penelope for anything. “I can escort you out, Sir Phillip.”

He nodded and held his arm out for her to take. Colin tensed beside her. What was going on with him?

“Come children.” Sir Phillip’s tone brooked no more rebellion. Reluctantly, the twins followed him. Before they fully exited, Amanda turned around and gave a small wave to Eloise. She could not help but smile back at the little girl and give her a little wave in return.

It was a few moments later that Eloise realized that all eyes were on her once again. Hyacinth’s were teasing, Daphne’s warm, and Violet’s motherly as always.

Only Colin seemed reserved. “That was an interesting encounter. Is he the latest in your line of suitors, El?”

“There is no line of suitors,” she shot back, crossing her arms. She loved Colin, but there were times she wanted to strangle him with his cravat.

“If there were, Sir Phillip would be right in front. He could barely take his eyes off Eloise,” Hyacinth added. Maybe she would get the cravat treatment as well.

“He is not my suitor! I barely know him.”

Violet patted her on the hand. “Dearest, they are simply teasing you. Do not take their words to heart.” She heaved a sigh. “Anyway, the ton is a small world. Who could have known of Sir Phillip’s connection?”

“I should have recognized him,” Daphne said.

“Why? When would you have met him?” Colin asked.

“I- um… I contacted the Army on Miss Thompson’s behalf after… everything. It was then Sir Phillip found her.”

“Was he the father of her child? Well, children?” Hyacinth could barely hold her curiosity.

“That’s enough Hyacinth,” Violet sharply said.

Daphne shook her head. “It was his older brother, Sir George. He died in the Peninsular Wars.” She looked at Eloise as she said this.

“It is their own personal matter. It does not involve us.” Violet folded her hands in her lap, signaling the end of this topic.

Her mother was wrong though. After the events of that day, it would involve the Bridgertons personally, whether they liked it or not.

And Eloise was caught in the middle, physically and possibly emotionally.

Later that evening, Eloise sat at her desk and stared at the blank parchment in front of her. She was not sure of what she even wanted to say. All she knew was that she needed to say something.

Sir Phillip,

Thank you for your presence at our house…

---

As always, reply if you want to be tagged in future updates.

Thank you to the amazing @thekatesheffield for the lovely banner!!!

#bridgerton #eloise bridgerton #sir phillip crane #philoise #To Sir Philip With Love #bridgerton fic #bridgertons #lightkeykid writes

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hqprotectionsquad · 4 years

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𝒅𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒓 - 𝒊𝒘𝒂𝒊𝒛𝒖𝒎𝒊 𝒉𝒂𝒋𝒊𝒎𝒆

⤷ 𝒊𝒔 𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒓𝒆 𝒆𝒗𝒆𝒓 𝒂𝒏 𝒂𝒄𝒕𝒖𝒂𝒍 𝒘𝒂𝒚 𝒐𝒇 𝒅𝒆𝒔𝒄𝒓𝒊𝒃𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒉𝒐𝒘 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒇𝒆𝒆𝒍 𝒘𝒉𝒆𝒏 𝒚𝒐𝒖 𝒌𝒏𝒐𝒘 𝒚𝒐𝒖𝒓 𝒅𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒉𝒂𝒔 𝒈𝒓𝒐𝒘𝒏 𝒖𝒑? 𝒃𝒆𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏 𝒆𝒎𝒑𝒆𝒓𝒐𝒓 𝒅𝒐𝒆𝒔 𝒏𝒐𝒕 𝒆𝒙𝒄𝒖𝒔𝒆 𝒉𝒂𝒋𝒊𝒎𝒆 𝒐𝒇 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕. ⤷ 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒊𝒏𝒔𝒑𝒊𝒓𝒆𝒅 𝒃𝒚 𝒔𝒍𝒆𝒆𝒑𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒕 𝒍𝒂𝒔𝒕'𝒔 𝒅𝒂𝒖𝒈𝒉𝒕𝒆𝒓 ⤷ 𝒔𝒐𝒏𝒈 𝒇𝒊𝒄 𝒎𝒂𝒔𝒕𝒆𝒓 𝒍𝒊𝒔𝒕

words: 2540

a/n: this is heavily inspired by the lyrics, so please listen to the song! it would mean the world to me if you did. I’m super proud of this piece, so I hope you enjoy!

Eighteen: rebirth.

The smile on his face is unmatched as Hajime’s eyes wait for his daughter to descend the staircase she has fallen, cried, and even mattress-surfed on. Even if he and his wife are adorned in crowns and jewels and dressed in the uniform and dress that has been passed down for generations in the Iwaizumi Royal Family, it is, unequivocally, his daughter’s day. Trying to convince his wife to have another child has been a lost cause for eighteen years now, so she’s the only baby he’ll ever have.

There is the fear behind his smile though, something he wouldn’t even admit to his wife when they are face to face on their pillows at night. Who knows how she will fare in the real world? Her world has been within these walls of gold, teal, and white, spending more time with her tutors, servants, maids than her parents. She won’t be attending a university like the rest of the teenagers her age; she’ll be learning how to lead a country as either a lone monarch or one with a companion.

He wonders if you hated being born into this family and he hates himself for even thinking that.

Hajime understands what it’s like to live in the imperial family. His only friends were the ones he had from boarding school, the best three years of his life. Of course, they were all heirs to a throne somewhere in the world, but nonetheless, they were a great group of four who formed the school’s first men’s volleyball club.

She was never given that opportunity, despite the several boarding schools and even international schools in Japan that were a great fit for his daughter. Her father knew they were a great fit, but the other members of the royal family didn't believe so. Despite the arguments that were shut down, she provided a smile for all to see. Behind closed doors, she yelled at her parents for closing her in. If they had the chance to be a normal student, why shouldn't she?

Eventually, the palace was all she knew.

He hopes that she doesn’t mind and he hopes that she knows the world is her oyster. As a child, she accompanied her mother and her father on "business" trips. She drank high tea with the British children and dined with the Americans. She has seen portions, and soon enough, she'll be able to explore the rest of it.

Travel is just paperwork away to see these amazing countries while getting to discuss international politics with allies is just the bonus. Deep down, he knows that not allowing her that has prevented her from experiencing a whole different world outside of the one she lives in.

Hajime taps on the throne he’s sitting on, his fingers mindlessly creating rhythms on the chair arm farthest away from his wife because he knows she would make him stop if she could.

Having this crown on his head is heavier knowing he’s the leader of this kingdom. With the embellishments, it’s over a kilogram. Actually, the clothing he wears is much more burdensome on the body, but this is different. His crown around the circumference of his head squeezes against his temples and then the front of his head has a pounding ache that never goes away. It hasn’t begun, but it will soon, knowing this debutante ball will not be over until the wee hours of the night.

He taps the bottom of his shoe against the marble flooring. He and his wife are elevated on a platform one meter above the dozen tables, decorated to be identical to the glass and cutlery placement. The inhabitants also wait for the Iwaizumi heir apparent to reveal herself. The chairs are filled with dignitaries and officials, as well as potential suitors, most of whom are connected to Hajime by friend or ally.

What is he going to do when she gets married to another person? This kingdom will always remain hers, but what will happen if she marries another heir? Would she relinquish the throne to a cousin, even if she would break the ten-generation streak of passing down the throne from parent to child?

What would she do then? What would they all do then?

“May I present—”

Zero: birth.

“Iwaizumi Aiko.” It’s the first time Hajime has said her name out loud. Already at the beginning of her life, she holds great power, he already knows. From the moment she was pushed out of her mother’s body, it is decided that this will be her kingdom, and one day, she will have the honors of carrying the crown as her father has done.

Hajime isn’t wearing anything distinguishable; in fact, if they were in a regular hospital, they’d look all the same as the couple in the next room, besides all of the officers guarding the front door. Of course, he is not wearing the finest clothing the world has to offer. In the privacy of his home, none other than the royal palace, nonetheless, his hair is ruffled more than usual and the bags underneath his eyes do not suit him well. Overall, everything that is his looks ruffled.

The sunlight filters in through the thin curtains and he believes it's incredibly appropriate for the day in which their whole lives have changed. Just the night before, the stars in the sky emitted an aura around them, as if there were halos around each of the twinkling lights. It’s as if the universe knew of who would be coming for it. If only he knew what would come next for him as his eyes settle on his wife and then the bundle she's holding between her arms.

That's his daughter.

Her tiny limbs want to expunge the swaddle she is in, but it's clear she's exhausted, so she puts forward half-hearted attempts and Hajime wants to laugh at that. That is a sight he'll never forget and a story he'll never stop telling.

"Hajime, come here." His wife beckons him to approach her bedside, asking the nurse to provide them privacy as they embark on this renewed journey of life as a family of three now.

He scoots onto the bed, which has been cleaned of any medical impurities before he was even allowed to return after helping his wife give birth. Just an hour ago, she was squeezing the hell out of his hand. Now, he cuddles beside her, draping an arm around her shoulder. She passes the baby over to him and he’s about to shake his head — “no, I shouldn’t be taking her, not yet, she should be with her mother” — but his wife doesn’t take any of his excuses. Suddenly, his whole world changes, all because of this one human. She is one of many, but to the two new parents, she is the only one. They look at her as if she were the only one left in the world.

"She has your nose."

"And my eyes. You know, she definitely has your hair. Both of you were born with just the tiniest amount of hair."

Hajime's heart actually clenches as they discuss how beautiful their daughter looks. It squeezes as he traces the features on her face with his gaze. It tightens when he notices that she is a perfect blend of the people who made her out of love. This is the product of their atoms combined. Their daughter is nothing short of perfection.

Where he and his wife end, she will begin. Their ceiling is her floor and whatever she accomplishes will be greater than anything they have done. He doesn’t want to put pressure on her, considering she was just born, but he knows she would make a fine ruler one day. It’s their first child, so as of an hour ago, she’s been appointed the heir to the Iwaizumi throne. If Aiko’s presence can shift the position of the stars and make the sun shine brighter, then she is enough.

The earth welcomes Aiko into her loving arms, and soon, this crown princess will take over to tell her story.

Eighteen: rebirth.

“Her Imperial Highness, The Princess Iwaizumi.”

Hajime's mind goes blank when she is presented to the distinguished guests below her. It is hard to think when you realize your blood and flesh are actually something, someone.

That’s his daughter.

His breath catches in his throat and he forgets to know how to live for the moment. She carefully takes her steps, walking down the staircase as she had practiced with her etiquette tutor all of her life. She takes her sweet time, taking in the sight of every person’s face and features who is here today for her. When she makes it to the floor, her gown dips with her as she settles into a deep curtsy.

That is his sweet child, Aiko. Seeing her as this refined lady makes Hajime think back to her younger years. At five, she tried to feed grapes to the family dog, almost leading in her poisoning it. At ten, she began creating birdhouses and then promptly realizing she made them smaller than the birds themselves. She grew out of that phase though. She’s a natural-born leader, taking over a seat in the legislative part of the government, and in her free time, she works to help the less fortunate. Aiko has always been the kindest girl Hajime has ever met, and he is not saying this because it’s his daughter.

His wife squeezes his hand hard and this takes him back to when she was in labor. Hajime is sure she must have broken something that day because his hand seems to be crooked, but it’s the best reminder he has closest to him of his daughter’s birthday besides his daughter and his wife themselves. All of the parents were not lying; parenthood goes by fast. He’s upset that the only daughter he had with his wife was left behind to play in rooms while her “mommy and daddy talk.” If it’d been any other way, maybe she would’ve had a happier upbringing.

Her smile betrays his thoughts, however. Hajime knows his daughter’s fake smile and the one she’s sporting right now is completely real. “We did that,” his wife comments as she smiles at him. “We did pretty good, didn’t we?”

“We did.”

Soon enough, the royal family is reunited by the thrones, basking in all of the regal glory they were granted by birthright. They greet the crowd of the people most important to them. Aiko’s scanning the crowd for the men who might be the easiest to talk to, but she already knows who she’ll be speaking to when she gets the chance.

“You look beautiful, Aiko.” Her mother hugs her the moment the celebration breaks into several sections. Once again, they’re at the end and the beginning because they are where they began eighteen years ago, cuddled together in this group hug.

When Aiko steps back, Hajime doesn’t know what to say. From head to toe, she sparkles like the sun and the stars. This may be her debutante ball, but Hajime sees nothing but a future empress standing in front of him.

"Go ahead and talk to some of the uncles and aunties," Hajime instructs and his daughter nods at the directive. When he walks to sit back in his throne, the servants ask him if he's okay.

To that, his wife responds, "Don't worry. Just fatherly jitters. Would the two of you send word to the kitchen that we are ready for the first course? I know Miss Maria will be upset about that, but the sooner the better." She says this as if the head chef can oppose the empress, but Hajime knows that she has always had a heart of gold.

"I really can't believe she's talking with Tooru's son," Iwaizumi grumbles, both with his mouth and his stomach. "I guess good for us that Oikawa has always been a good ally and a greater friend, but that's our daughter we're talking about. Son of a b—"

"Oh, sweetheart." As she stands by the side of his throne, her hand cups his opposite shoulder. "I think we should be glad that she'll be courted by someone we know well! Though, of course, it's all up to her."

“That doesn’t mean I’m any happier.”

“Well, now you and ‘Shittykawa’ can be brothers of some sort. Didn’t you say the two of you proposed something like this when you were in boarding school?” When he looks up at her, there’s a smirk on his wife’s face and Hajime rolls his eyes.

“We were eighteen back then, we barely knew what was going to happen. We didn’t even know who we were going to marry back then, let alone know when our children would be born,” Hajime reasons, crossing his arms. He looks back to the crowd, wondering when the courses will arrive. They will be able to eat and then, start the debutante dances and finally see where Aiko’s cards will land. Of course, she’s going to have many interviews with all of the suitors reaching for her hand in marriage, but deep down, the parents know who she will be choosing.

“I just think that the sun and stars aligned for all of their lives and are starting to come together. Who would have known that our children would be born ten months apart and possibly start a union eighteen years later?” She shakes his shoulder and he looks up at her. “Come on, Hajime. Many of these marriages never turn out well, but look at us. We’re the example for her.”

They are the product of an emperor’s son and a diplomat’s daughter, born three years apart and arranged to be married at the ages of twenty-one and eighteen. Even though they were put together for the sake of the monarchy, Hajime found himself falling for his wife, Michiko, through every laugh, smile, and conversation they had. He won’t admit this to anyone, but when they first held hands, he let go quickly and escaped to the nearest restroom because it felt like his hand was on fire.

At the very least, Hajime hopes that Aiko will make the right choice for herself. Of course, there will be arguments and disagreements when it comes down to all of the logistics, but what truly matters is Aiko will be happy. After all, Hajime is a father before an emperor. He only wants the best for his daughter.

He watches from his throne, the one she will take over one day, and observes. He has no doubt of her abilities, and he’s certain she’ll only get better with age. From this point on, he leans back onto the back of the throne, folding his hands in his lap. She’s no longer the baby he’s known. She is the next leader of this country. The next steps she takes will be the ones walking her into the rest of her life.

“What are you thinking about, Hajime?”

“That’s our daughter right there” is all she needed to hear to understand how he was feeling.

a/n: this is a companion piece to my song fic, son, which is for oikawa. they do not connect, but they are companions because of the songs and the parent-child dynamic. also, thank you to @karasunology for looking this over! jae is definitely the reason why this is coming out as early as it is. i didn’t expect to post this early! this piece is probably the one i’m most proud of, and it took about a day to write it, which is super surprising. btw, his daughter does end up marrying oikawa’s son and they’re like the royal power couple LOLOL

also fun fact: i danced to this song with my dad during the 16 roses for my sweet 16 and i told him the name of this song and he had no reaction and i still think about that to this day KFJLSDJFK

general haikyuu tag list: @dorkyama @kingkags @clowninfortodoroki @ykchaos @kingkagss @alienvarmint @gogohaikyuu @keiyoomi @n1sh1n0ya @yams046

please let me know if you’d like to be removed from the tag list via ask!

navi! | master list | tag list form

#haikyuu!!#haikyuu #haikyuu fanfiction #iwaizumi #iwaizumi hajime #dad!iwaizumi #royal!iwaizumi #hq!! fanfiction #haikyuu one shot #seijoh #aoba johsai #haikyuu iwaizumi #anime #anime fanfiction #hq!!#hq!! one shot

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freyaeu · 3 years

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HALSTON SAGE. CIS FEMALE. SHE/HER. ⟩ though the mist might prevent some from seeing it, FREYA ANDERSON-SMITH is actually a descendent of K H I O N E. it’s still a question of whether or not the TWENTY-FOUR year old KINESIOLOGY MAJOR from COPENHAGEN, DENMARK has taken after their godly parent completely, but the demigod is still known to be quite GRACEFUL & SHELTERED.

hello, hello, beautiful friends ! i still need to figure out more things for freya but here’s her bio which i should have really just really written out bc i said it’d be short and sweet and my brain said, i think not ! anyway, i’m super excited to plot with everyone ♡

she knows that there was an entirely different life that she led before she was taken in by her adoptive father, she just doesn’t remember much of it.

memories come back in snippets — like the little cottage nestled in the mountains with the beautiful lake up the hill. or man with the warm smile who she called papa. she remembers the tea parties during the summer and snowball fights in the winters. but most of all, she can still hear the sound of ice crackling beneath her feet as she tried to run across the lake before falling in. how cold she felt as her body hit the water before she felt embraced by the icy temperature and everything turned black.

that aside, her ‘earliest’ memory is being cradling by khione. her icy skin providing comfort as she mused about a brand new life in a place far from the one she had known so far with a new father and a brother who would love her very much. ( the latter is to be debated ).

‘a gift’ was what she called freya when she introduced her to her new family. the hold khione still had over alexander anderson-smith being one so powerful that he didn’t even question who the small child hiding behind khione’s leg was or where she came from. he welcomed her with open arms, believing that the goddess still loved him because why else would he have entrusted her with another demigod?

while she had an extremely affluent upbringing, she didn’t rot from how spoiled she was. she always remained levelheaded, never letting such a luxurious life get to her head. perhaps because of this, she was always seen as the ‘white sheep’ — she was soft like snow, not cold as ice. while her entire family ( goddess mother included ) used whatever mean was necessary to stay on top, freya was always perfectly fine just being freya.

along with her brother, she grew up in one of copenhagen’s most elite hotels — the penthouse, to be exact, and one rarely spent any time in. while to others, the most luxurious suite in the hotel would have been anyone’s dream getaway, to her it resembled a very fancy prison cell.

instead, she’d often sneak out as a kid, watching from afar at the different gala’s that would take place in the ballroom or sneaking into the hotel kitchen for a snack. as the daughter of the hotel’s owner, there was nothing anyone could to stop her. especially considering how much of a daddy’s girl she was. freya may not have done or said anything had anyone complained but it didn’t mean alexander wouldn’t have had reacted badly.

as she grew older, her adventures in the hotel became more specific. spending hours on end learning how to cook from the best chef’s around to spending her time working on homework next to the concierge’s desk as she waited for guests to walk up for suggestions of the best places around town.

the older she got, the more people whispered about her in disapproval. she was the ‘weird’ girl who stayed after social events to help the staff out, the one who at parties sat in the corner of the room with a book stuck in her nose, the one who didn’t care about status or reputation.

while she participated in things like the debutante ball and summer camp, she only did so to please her father. as much as he wanted her to be as cutthroat as nicolai, there was an unspoken understanding that freya was interested in marching at the beat of her own drum and doing things her way.

this became evident when he pushed them to start properly developing and advancing their powers. freya, being a child, didn’t take things seriously. it was the first time and last time he ever made her cry and the only time he took the treasure chest full of books she cherished away.

by the time khione came back once again demanding they get proper training, freya was curious to say the least. camp with other demigod kids? it sounded cool enough. which it definitely was though her interests aligned more with learning as much as she could about the camp and other gods rather than training.

shortly after freya’s arrival, the two demigod’s gained a step-mom and their mutual dislike for the woman is perhaps one of the very few things they have in common til this day. freya can’t stand her. while she chooses to look the other way in regards to her father and nicolai’s behavior, the same can’t be said for her. she may not approve of how they act but love and blood connects her to them. the step-mom? no connection there.

while she excelled academically, the same couldn’t be said about her social life. despite the influence her father had, not even he could save her from falling to the bottom of the social food chain. her indifference toward the status she had due to her last name caused many to be both envious and dumbfounded at how she didn’t take advantage of it. she was pretty and rich, why didn’t she care?

the answer to that was simple, she had better things to do — when alexander came up with the idea to create a training center for his kiddos, he included a rink because children of the goddess of ice and snow~~ well, to no one’s surprise, that caught freya’s interest. despite the traumatic ( and mainly repressed ) event that happened on the ice, freya absolutely loved being on the ice. at first, it became her incentive to train, being able to spends hours afterward skating around the rink. then, alexander noticed her talent, bringing in the best coaches money could ensure she’d become the absolute best.

what started out as a fun pastime turned competitive soon after with freya spending hours in the rink, diving her time between figure skating and school. when she wasn’t training or competing, she was studying.

it wasn’t long before she became one of the most promising individual junior skaters, always placing within the top five and very easily a fan favorite. by the time she hit senior-level, it was evident that she was on her way to the olympics.

she made it as far as placing silver two years in a row in the world championships before it all came crashing down. after performing the best she’d ever done, she ( and everyone else ) were sure she’d take gold in the ladies individual’s section. to her absolute shock, she didn’t and highkey had a mini freakout moment with her ire directed at the gold medalist who she believed stole her spot. it was the one time she used her powers intentionally to hurt a mortal. the girl was fine in the end but freya still feels absolutely bad about it. she retired that same year and decided to focus on academics instead.

which is how she ended up at eonia. it was definitely a huge adjustment at first. not only did she let go of something she’d done for a little over ten years but she also said goodbye to the home she’d known since she was four. it took a second for her to settle but in the end, she found herself straying away from the sheltered routine she’d grown so accustomed from.

at least that’s what she tells herself. honestly, while she did spread her wings a little more in terms of discovering new things, she’s stuck to the same routine upon finding her rhythm. she’s extremely predictable like that.

she’s currently a graduate student in the medicine program and completed her undergrad in chemistry.

#euintro

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cowperviolet · 4 years

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Before Gatsby: the Wildest Parties of the 1900′s

Contrary to what the popular imagination and Julian Fellowes tell us, the upper-class entertainment in the Edwardian era wasn’t all staid dinner parties and debutante balls. If Horrible Histories are ever going to have a book dedicated to this specific decade, I wish they would name it The Extra Edwardians. I couldn’t incorporate all this info into my own f/f Edwardian WIP, so I’d be very glad to share it with you.

If you are a histfic writer looking to spice up your WIP, your characters can take the cues from:

- Marchesa Casati. A daughter of a fabulously wealthy Italian industrialist and a wife of an equally fabulously wealthy Marquis, she lived in Venice, where she could be glimpsed down the Grand Canal under a parasol of peacock feathers, and was dubbed ‘a sun-goddess’ by her contemporaries. When the cloudy sky dared to threaten her party’s Aesthetic, she strung up an artificial moon that actually moved against the sky. She also kept a whole menagerie of pumas and leopards, and commissioned satin-lined boxes from her jewellers so that she could travel with her snakes. She had one particular snake with a golden hue wrapped around her neck sometimes and tricked some guests into thinking it a necklace... until it started to move. Her iconic Look consisted of whitened face, black-lined eyes, and auburn-dyed hair piled high. Think David Bowie meets Queen Elizabeth.

- George Kessler. He made his fortune in the Gilded Age New York as American agent for Moët & Chandon, and spent it rather creatively. His Gondola Party in 1905 could give anything conceived in the Roaring Twenties a run for its money. At first, he wanted to hire a dirigible to perch atop the roof of the Savoy Hotel (as one does) and have his guests dine while floating several hundred feet above the city. After the Savoy objected for some reason, Kessler spent $15,000 to Venice-ize the hotel’s ballroom and courtyard instead. The courtyard was flooded to create a lagoon, and live goldfish, swans, and ducks were let into the water. 120 electricians wired tiny electric lights into the ceiling to create the effect of a starlit sky. 80 guests dined aboard a giant gilded gondola, served by waiters dressed as gondoliers, while Enrico Caruso serenaded them. To mark the end of the evening, a baby elephant called Jumbo Junior was led in. He was carrying on his back an enormous cake.

(His comparatively more modest party included transforming the same hotel’s winter garden into the vision of a North Pole, creating ‘snowdrifts’ out of silver tissue and hiring an army of dwarves dressed as snowmen to be the waiters)

- Anyone swept by the Ballets Russes craze of 1911. The fashionable London hostesses were lucky that Anna Pavlova was so petite, or else they would not have been able to fit her into those large baskets of roses they had her carried into their drawing rooms in to perform at their parties.

- The Savoy Ball. This fancy dress ball offered 250 guineas and a four-hundred-stone diamond and gold pendant as a prize for the best costume in 1913. The competition was stiff: there was Earl of Shrewsbury as an Apache Indian with full feather headdress and a knife, Princess Kawananako of Honolulu in a cape of yellow feathers worn over a black dress (forming, together, the colours of the Honolulu flag), and Jennie Cornwallis-West, a.k.a. Churchill’s mother, as Empress Theodora in an embroidered Byzantine cape, not to mention the countless Pompadours and medieval princesses. Anna Pavolva ended up being a runner-up, getting a 60 guinea-worth beauty case for her native Russian costume.

- Lady Michelham. Her approach was more elegant than over-the-top, but still: one course at her dinner partly was made to resemble a lighthouses, surrounded by ortolans representing seagulls, with surf made of white sauce. Also, those handwritten menus inscribed on the surface of water-lily leaves were nice.

- Hector Baltazzi. He was so exhiliarated by winning the Derby once that he had his chef float a pearl in every plate of watercress soup served at the celebratory dinner party.

#writing reference #writing ref #writing resources #edwardian #edwardian era #edwardian history #historical reference #british history #american history #italian history #writeblr #writers of tumblr #writeblr community #1910s #1900s

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themachiavellianpig · 4 years

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“I’m Telling My Story”: Ainsley Whitly, The Prodigal Daughter

Throughout the first half of season one, we can see a great deal of how Martin Whitly’s actions affected his wife and son, both of whom are still actively struggling with the guilt of having been in some way intimate with such a man. Ainsley, in contrast, seems relatively unaffected by the situation and even describes herself as “lucky” in comparison to her brother- she is at least five years younger than Malcolm and seems to remember little of her father, giving her a significant emotional disconnection from his crimes. In direct contrast to her brother, she can hold down a steady job, engage in close relationships, and doesn’t appear to be in any kind of therapy. Unlike her mother, she isn’t even shown to be self-medicating in any way - she simply does not seem to need such coping methods.

This relative stability is a gift, one for which Jessica explicitly gives herself credit: “Do you sleep at night? ...When you close your eyes, do you find peace? That peace is because of the choices I made. You can thank me any time you like.” (1x03)

And it’s a gift which, arguably, Ainsley squanders over the course of the first half of season 1.

“I don’t remember my dad. I was forbidden.” In the first ten episodes of Prodigal Son, we get to see some of the time immediately before and after Martin’s arrest, all from either Malcolm’s or Jessica’s point of view. We see nothing at all of Ainsley, except for a brief shot of her being held by her mother during Martin’s arrest. Given that Ainsley was only five years old at the time, this is admittedly unsurprising. Her memories of that time, so far as we know, are limited to Malcolm’s reassurances (“I was only five when Dad was arrested, I don’t really remember it. But I remember you. Telling me everything was going to be okay when you knew it wasn’t.”, 1x01).

But she would certainly remember what happened afterwards, in the twenty years between Martin’s arrest and the first episode of Prodigal Son. We do not know exactly how Malcolm and Ainsley grew up following Martin’s arrest, but we can make certain deductions.

Malcolm, as the person who discovered Martin’s true identity, as the one who was clearly and obviously traumatised by the discovery, would likely have been the focus of Jessica’s attention - in the same way that any child in crisis would be. Jessica’s active concern for Malcolm continues into the present day, clearly signposted in the first episode: Malcolm: “I assume you don’t break into Ainsley’s place like this.” Jessica: “God, no! She’s perfect. You’re my only concern.”

Additionally, we know that Martin Whitly, perfectly understandably, becomes something of a ghost in his former home. All reminders of him are packed away - there are no photos of him, his private study in the basement is walled up and forgotten, leading Malcolm to hide certain reminders of happier times in a shoebox under his bed. We don’t know exactly how Jessica navigates this particular transition from well-to-do nuclear family to tabloid fodder - how she told Ainsley the truth about her father or, quite frankly, if she ever did explicitly. Did Martin become something which simply was not spoken of in polite company, or indeed any company at all?

Ainsley’s choice of words in 1x03 (“I was forbidden”) suggests a harsher line than simple silence, potentially indicating that questions about Martin were not only frowned upon but actively discouraged. Martin Whitly, loving father, was gone for good; the Surgeon was all that remained, and the Surgeon was not to be discussed. As early as 1x03, Ainsley even says that she has no idea what being back in contact with Martin will do to her brother’s mental health because she has no knowledge of who or what Martin Whitly really is.

Just like Malcolm and Jessica, Ainsley seems to be struggling with having a connection to a monster. Regardless of the fact that she doesn’t remember having a familial relationship with Martin, he is her biological father - and if her mother and brother can’t give her the answers that she needs about him, she’s going to go straight to the source instead.

“Martin Whitly is your biggest fan.” Ainsley’s decision to meet with Martin in episode four is prompted, I would argue, by a combination of curiosity and, let’s be fair, the sort of spite that springs up when a controlling parent tells you not to do something - after all, she only goes to visit Martin after both her mother and her brother have done the same thing, all while maintaining that nobody should ever go and speak to the Surgeon. But I find it very interesting that she only makes the decision to visit him after her mother lets slip a brand new piece of information:

Ainsley: Thanks to both of you, he doesn’t even know I exist. Jessica: He knows all about you. He watches you every day. He daughter, the ace reporter. Martin Whitly is your biggest fan.

This information, it should be noted, is only news to Ainsley. We, the audience, see Martin watching one of Ainsley’s broadcasts in 1x02; in episode 1x03, he asks Malcolm to “Please tell your sister that her diction is impeccable!” and, in the same episode, he compliments Jessica on her excellent childrearing (“You did well, Jessica. I am so proud of him, and of Ainsley, and of you, for raising our beautiful children.”).

And, from my perspective, this information is also profoundly creepy. A convicted serial killer obsessively watches all of a homicide journalist’s broadcasts? That’s a two-parter of Criminal Minds right there.

But to Ainsley it’s a link, a connection, to a part of her life which she has never really been allowed to engage with. The trauma of Martin Whitly is written large on her mother and brother, but her trauma is second-hand and reactionary, which is admittedly a great improvement on the alternative, but would Ainsley see it that way? All children want to do is feel like they belong, and being the one left out - even the one left out of trauma - is never pleasant.

Now, through an offhand comment from her mother, Ainsley knows that her father is interested in her, and in her work - in direct contrast to her mother, who supports her work idly, never really watching her reports (“Not with the sound on!”, 1x01), who finally starts to tell her something real about her father and his opinion of her and then immediately tries to shut the conversation down (“Can we please talk about something else?”, 1x04).

And so Ainsley heads off to see her father for the first time in twenty years.

“You made him out to be just a monster.” We, the audience, had a full two weeks to wait between seeing Ainsley in Martin’s cell and hearing anything of the conversation that they shared, which was genuinely one of the most infuriating cliff-hangers I’ve seen for a while.

The meeting with Martin undoubtedly rattles Ainsley, albeit not in the way she expected. As Jessica points out, Ainsley went to that cell to meet a monster, and instead found a seemingly loving father (1x06). A man who regretted his absences in his daughter’s life and had filled the gaps with daydreams of “birthdays, piano recitals, dancing with [her] at the debutante ball” (1x06), daydreams in which, judging by the fantasies shared with Ainsley, he plays the starring role of Devoted Father. This conversation could have been repeated between any father-daughter duo separated in television plotlines around the world - the cause of that separation is so overlooked by Martin’s little fantasy to be actually hilarious.

And, by this point in the series, we’ve seen both Malcolm and Jessica be taken in by Martin’s acts, not to mention all the people that Martin had fooled during his days as an active serial killer, so it’s hardly surprising that Ainsley is at least a little taken in as well. The split between Martin-the-father and Martin-the-serial-killer is also one that has preoccupied Jessica and Malcolm throughout the twenty-years and it’s one that Ainsley, through her lack of memories about Martin, has been spared up until the moment she comes face to face with him, and asks him the “most important question”: ” “Was it real? … Did you love us or was it just some psychopathic act?”

The surviving members of the Whitly family may never really know the answer to that question - and it’s a question which has no easy answers. Which would truly be worse - being an unwilling cover story for a monster, or genuinely being loved by a monster?

But, for Ainsley, the question is no longer about what her relationship with Martin was; it’s about what it could be - or, more precisely, about what it could do for her.

“Ambition is not a dirty word.” The decision to interview Martin is one which, full disclosure, makes perfect sense from a professional point of view; an interview with a notorious serial killer, particularly one who had never spoken publicly about his crimes before, would be a feather in the cap of any crime journalist. She is also arguably the best choice to conduct such an interview from a creepy mercenary perspective - her familial relationship to the Surgeon gives the interview a sensationalist angle which would be impossible for any other network to easily duplicate - and, unlike the rest of her family, Ainsley has not yet been traumatised by Martin Whitly.

Of course, it's the ‘yet' in that last sentence that has Jessica and Malcolm so worried about Ainsley - her visiting Martin might be less immediately damaging that Malcolm or Jessica coming face to face with their own personal demon, but it's still very unlikely to be healthy.

Interestingly, Malcolm's concerns about the interview seem to be extremely focused on Ainsley's immediate personal safety ("You’re putting yourself in his cross hairs"), and his reaction on learning that she's already seen Martin is to ask if she is okay. Jessica, as the only member of the family who really remembers the immediate media aftermath of Martin's arrest, becomes far more focused on the potential PR concerns:

Jessica: Ainsley, if you do not have a plan to make him look bad, he will look good. Tell me you understand. Ainsley: Mother, these are the questions I sent. Not the questions I’m going to ask. Jessica: Alright. I see what you’re doing. Ainsley: Good. Can you stop worrying? Jessica: I am far more worried now. Ainsley: What? Why? Jessica: Thinking you are more clever than Martin Whitley, that’s the worst mistake you can make. He’ll exploit that. He’ll find a way to come off sympathetic and you will be sitting there like- Ainsley: Like what? Jessica: His accomplice.

Jessica, as we learn later in the season, was herself questioned by the police about her role in Martin's crimes, and I am sure that the media speculation around the Wife of the Surgeon would have been horrific and heartbreaking. She clearly does not want Ainsley to put herself through the same thing - and she certainly does not want Martin to have any opportunity to manipulate the wider population, as he has so easily manipulated his own family in the past.

This is not to say that Jessica has no concern for Ainsley's safety - her immediate reaction to the potential interview is to get the entire thing blacklisted by the network itself. It's only when Ainsley reveals a willingness to outplay her mother at that particular chess game that she relents - not to give her blessing, but to step back and allow Ainsley the dignity of her own choices.

And, potentially, Ainsley does take some of her mother's fears seriously - she insists on keeping Martin in his restraints during the interview, despite technical concerns from Jin the Cameraman, and she makes sure that the red safety line on the cell floor is in shot. She even refuses Hair and Makeup the chance to make Martin look anymore physically presentable before the interview begins.

The interview itself, however, does not go exactly as Ainsley had clearly wanted it to - first, Martin neatly sidesteps her attempts to throw past crimes in his face, then her brother interrupts with police business, then her cameraman gets stabbed. All in all, hardly a good day at the office.

The interplay between Martin and Ainsley hashes out the timeless question of what really makes a person - Ainsley focuses on the lives her took, complete with grisly details ("Billy Franklin, age 23. Aced his LSATs, wanted to become a civil rights lawyer. You removed his heart to see how long he could live without it. He died a gruesome, agonising death. My question is why?", 1x07), Martin fights backs with the lives he saved ("How about Corey Goldstein, age 10? A brutal car accident left him with a surely fatal aortic rupture. Until he landed in my OR, where I saved his life.") and the medical procedures he developed ("Did you know they named a medical procedure after me? ...I’ve heard a rumour that doctors still call it the Whitley, in hospitals all around the world", 1x07).

It's a far more complicated portrayal of evil that Ainsley had prepared for - she has no good response prepared for the accusation that Martin did some good in the world, unlike her pithy retorts about particular victims and what Martin did to them. We don't get the chance to see if Ainsley would have been able to retake control of the interview, given Malcolm's interruption, as his arrival gives Ainsley a very different line of attack - the only line of attack, it must be said, that ever seems to really rattle Martin. Ainsley is the only character in the first part of season 1 to really get under Martin's skin - but she can only do it by using her own brother as bait:

Ainsley: So. I mentioned a number of your victims earlier, but I’d like to discuss one more. Malcolm. Malcolm Whitly. Martin: I’m not sure I understand Ainsley: You claim to care about your son, but what you did twenty years ago harmed him irreparably. Martin: Well, that’s not true. Ainsley: Isn’t it? He’s been diagnosed with complex PTSD, generalised anxiety disorder, night terrors. Dr Whitley, do you know what happens to the human body when it withstands that much stress for that long a period of time? Martin: I’m not sure that’s relevant- Ainsley: He was fired from the only job he was ever good at. He hasn’t been in a stable relationship for years. And the ten years he went without seeing you were by far the happiest, healthiest of his life. Martin: Well, that’s absolutely not- Ainsley: What does that say about you, except for you’re an absolutely terrible father? Martin: I’m not. Ainsley: He just wanted to love you. And you caused him so much pain. Martin: Stop it. Ainsley: What kind of a father does that? Martin: Stop it! I was a good father, damn it!

This interaction goes on to form a crucial part of the interview - Martin's loss of control is featured in the introduction to the actual broadcast (as seen in 1x10) - and it was not at all discussed with Malcolm beforehand. We, the audience, are not entirely clear on how much information Martin had about his son's condition prior to Ainsley’s disclosure- he would have known some things, noticed symptoms such as the hand tremor, but that is still potentially miles away from Malcolm's having his mental health history spelt out like that in front of Martin and, potentially, in front of everyone who watched Ainsley's interview.

It's a successful and potentially satisfying manipulation of Martin, to be sure, but it's also a heart-wrenching violation of Malcolm, and Ainsley never seems to notice.

In a matter of hours, Ainsley double-downs on the notion of violating the privacy of others when she films Martin perform surgery on Jin the Cameraman, stabbed in the patient-uprising which Martin himself engineered. We never get to see Malcolm's reaction to his violation - he doesn't seem to challenge Ainsley on it directly in any way - but Jin does (1x08). Jin, when he wakes in the hospital to find that Ainsley filmed the surgery and didn't tell him about it, has a very simple and understandably reaction.

Jin: What is this? You filmed my surgery? Ainsley: I was going to tell you. I just- I- I- I got so caught up in the adrenaline and it was so compelling- Jin: Oh, was it? Was it compelling when I almost died? Ainsley: We went there to get a great story and we got one. I was doing my job! Jin: I understand. This is who you are. I just don’t think that’s the kind of person that I want to be with.

And Ainsley doesn’t try to apologise to her boyfriend, or try to explain herself any further - she leaves Jin in the hospital, taking the interview footage with her instead.

“I’m telling my story!” The interview, despite the various dramas around it all, is eventually broadcast. Thanks to Jessica’s well-thrown shoe (seriously), we never get to see the interview in its entirety (which is a great shame, seeing as we only see Ainsley get a few minutes of usable footage in 1x07), but we do get to see the introduction: “Dr Martin Whitley murdered 23 people as the Surgeon, making him one of the world’s most deadly serial killers. I’m Ainsley Whitley for American Direct News and the Surgeon is my father.”

The clips that we see include Martin's lose of control at being called a terrible father, which strongly implies that at least some of the section concerning Malcolm was kept in; we have no idea if the footage of Jin was used, although I'm assuming that he would have had to give permission for his own surgery to be shown on national television and, given his reaction in the hospital to the footage, I'm equally comfortable assuming that he would not have given such permission.

While Malcolm tries to watch the interview, possibly to support his sister, possibly to torture himself futher, Jessica is adament that she will not. Her initial plan seems to have been to pretend that it never happened; she only speaks to Ainsley about it when Ainsley pushes past her joking “no comment” to challenge Jessica on her perceived lack of support for her daughter's professional accomplishment.

This pushes Jessica to have perhaps the most genuine and honest conversation with her daughter about Martin and their past which they had ever had (1x10): Jessica: Your father destroyed us. Your brother and me. You put him on television and let him talk about it. You have gone and soaked yourself in blood. The press devoured us twenty years ago, and now they are at it again.

This information is given calmly, perhaps even dispassionately: for Jessica, the destruction of herself and her son is a simple matter of fact. Not to be spoken of, of course, but ever-present and utterly undeniable. She does not even become angry until Ainsley accuses her of "playing the victim": "I am not a victim! But there are victims. Real ones. How do you think those twenty-three families feel when they see you on television? And why is the story never about them?"

The story is not about them, of course, because for Ainsley, the story is currently about her. Ainsley's newfound 'ownership' over the Surgeon story is clearly spelled out in the interview's introduction ("the Surgeon is my father"), her reaction to the paparazzi outside her mother's home ("Any breaking news about my family is mine to report") and, finally, in her retort to Jessica's challenges over the entire interview: "I'm telling my story!"

But, as we've discussed earlier, Ainsley doesn't actually have a story with the Surgeon. In the real-crime biography of Martin Whitley, she's a footnote at best. Jessica, who married a monster, Malcolm, who unveiled a monster, the twenty-three or more people who died at the Surgeon's hands, the hundreds of people, including Jin, who had their lives saved by the Surgeon, they all have a story with the Surgeon. Ainsley simply does not. And in her attempts to create one during the first half of season 1, she only really gets anywhere when she uses the stories of others - her casual retelling of the horrific things the victims went through, her reveal of Malcolm's mental health diagnoses, her filming Jin's surgery.

Ainsley’s lack of personal connection to the Surgeon was her greatest asset in a very broken family at the beginning of the series; her attempt to create such a narrative when none organically existed has been the cause of pain for plenty of people other than herself.

All that remains to be seen is how this narrative - either genuine or manufactured - continues to develop in the second half of season 1.

#prodigal son #ainsley whitly #character profile #halston sage #themachiavellianpig overthinks

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kickingitwithkirk · 4 years

Text

Beyond Seduction

Summary: Isobella Tennant wants her independence but society dictates she must conform to their ways. Sam Winchester is the most sought after artist in London and one of its most notorious rakes. He also has a secret he’s kept hidden. They come together with their own agendas and find something more than either expected.

Pairing: Artist!Sam Winchester x Isobella Tennant

Word Count: 3137

Warnings: Cursing, appearance shaming, low self esteem, dominating mother, attempted abduction and assault

A/N: for #OC Apprecation Day 2020 #OC’s are People Too

A/N II: Few months ago I came across a stash of old romance novels I’ve had for umpteen years when I had this idea for a series with Sam Winchester. I had been playing with for a while, getting nowhere, and one evening I was watching Thomas Kinkade’s Christmas Cottage with Jared Padalecki and viola Artist!Sam. Not an original title but I liked the sound of it.

Part II Masterlist

*no beta, all mistakes are mine

London 1875

December 21

“Your daughter will marry my son by lent.” Arthur Ketch forcefully stated as he stood in front of the drawing room window.

“Of course Isobella will marry Ernest, but it’s impossible to do it that soon,” Lavinia Tennant, the Duchess of Monmouth huffed out, running her hand down the over skirt of her terre D'Egypte dress trying to hide nervousness running through her, “but she is the only daughter of the Duke of Monmouth, it will take at least a year to plan once the bannes have been read.”

“I have given you too much leeway already Lavi and will not have my son wait any longer,” Ketch said calmly, calling her the beloved nickname her husband gave her on their wedding night. Walking over and reaching out to stroke her cheek, watching with satisfaction as she trembled when he grabbed her arm instead, “or I will go to your husband about us.”

It wasn’t the first time he had inferred he would do it but there was something more in his tone this time.

Ketch’s roughness had been exciting, eliciting intense pleasures she had never felt and had come to crave. He was a far cry from her husband, who possessed a loving countenance and even temperament.

She couldn’t initially understand why Ketch hadn’t been accepted by their society. He was intelligent, charming and a Baron after all, even if the title had been bought by his father, who had been in the coal trade.

It was when she tried to end their affair his true intentions surfaced. Ketch had pursued her for the political advancement of his only son Ernest, who worked for Lavinia’s husband in Parliament.

Ketch planned to make his son Prime Minister of England and the Duke of Monmouth’s connections were his ticket. Blackmailing the duchess into forcing her only daughter Isobella to marry Ernest would solidify his position in society.

“I’ve instructed Ernest to propose again at your party in two weeks and she better not refuse him this time, you’ll make sure of that I have no doubt.” Ketch’s menacing tone said it all, he would follow through on his threat this time.

New Years Eve

“I hear he is indeed very talented,” Alexandra Pembrook informs her companion as they strolled into the library, stopping in front of the newly unveiled portrait of David Tennant, the Duke of Monmouth, “and not just as a painter according to Lady Vance.”

Isobella Tennant looked at her friend raising an eyebrow, “Since when do you listen to the idol gossip of Beatrice Vance? I thought you two weren’t speaking.”

“That juicy tidbit came by way of her ladies maid. Apparently, she overheard Beatrice telling Lady Lucas how her husband came home unexpectedly and almost caught them In flagrante delicto.”

“This is why I’m happy that I got Katie, she would never gossip about any goings on in this household.” Isobella firmly stated.

Katie had been her mother’s governess before becoming hers and then ladies maid after she was presented in society. Katie moved slower with age and hard of hearing so if anything scandalous was said in her presence, she’d never hear it anyways.

“I also heard he spent three months pursuing Lady De Burgh,” Isobella squinted slightly, trying to place the woman, “you know, Queen Victoria’s newest lady-in-waiting. Palace gossip is that he likes to savor his quarry like delicate morsels, bit by bit.” She licked her lips in emphasis, “Too bad he didn’t see you when he was here, I’d bet my new phaeton he would’ve been more than up for the challenge of obtaining you.”

“Lexi!” Isobella gasped, using her best friend since they were both in pram’s nickname, trying to sound scandalized at the implication but grinned at her knowing the notorious Sam Winchester, who she only saw briefly once while her father was sitting for him, wouldn’t have noticed her even if he sat on her.

She did not possess the in favor looks like Lexi; golden blond hair, cornflower blue eyes and envious curves that were enhanced by the fashions of the day, that seemed to tempt him judging by his preferred quarry.

Isobella or Izzy, as everyone but her mother called her, had inherited her grandmother Tennant’s shock of long, thick, unruly copper gold hair, as did her four brothers, who at least had the fortune of being able to keep theirs shorn short, and pale skin covered in cinnamon freckles for days. What couldn’t be overlooked by anyone was, like her brothers, she was tall.

So tall in fact, she stood at least half a head and, in some cases, a full head taller than most of the men in their acquaintance. Her only redeeming qualities, according to her mother, was her title of Lady Tennant and the inheritance that came with it.

Despite being the plainest deb to enter society in years when she was eighteen, Isobella had a line of suitors and was greatly admired for her kindness, quick wit, and intelligence, especially in debate, having learned the skill at her father’s knee.

Now her admirers had drastically fallen away. It seemed what was admired in the girl wouldn’t be tolerated in the woman.

Isabella’s options were dwindling as she was no longer a blossoming flower in society, being just a few months away from turning twenty three.

“Lexi, what kind of scandal could I get into, it’s not like I’ve got suitors beating down my door anymore.”

Lexi looked fondly at her best friend. She didn’t understand what had happened to all of Izzy’s admirers either. Her place in society and her illustrious title as the only daughter of the Duke of Monmouth had drawn a lot of the lesser ranking gentleman showing interest but she knew her friend well enough that their status wouldn’t matter to her if they actually loved her.

“You know Ernest is planning on asking again tonight.”

“You know I will decline again.”

“I can’t understand why you keep turning him down Izzy. He is dependable, would give you everything…”

“You know I love Ernest like a brother but there is no way we could make a go of it. He is too placid and I’m…”

“A damn handful, especially when that hard head of yours gets an idea. I didn’t love Pembrook when I agreed to marry him but now…I can’t imagine my life without him.”

“What I want is a man who will love me as is, let me be myself, not expect me to change for the sake of their ego.”

January 10

“Isobella Tennant, tell me that what I heard is not true!” Lavinia yelled as she swept into the breakfast nook.

Izzy and her father both looked up at the overwrought duchess. “Heard what mother?”

“That you were seen racing Ambrose Murdoch on the commons in a pair of breeches!”

“He said Boudicia couldn’t be as quick as his hunter being a mare…”

“And you were riding astride like some common…”

“… I wasn’t gonna let him get away with insulting my horse!”

“Horses, horses, horses! That’s all you think about! It’s time you stop messing with those animals and start breeding my next grandchild!”

“Lavinia! Don’t speak to our daughter that way.”

“David, I need to speak to you privately.” The duchess replied through her clenched teeth.

***

“Our daughter has turned down Ernest again, he is her last chance of getting married and it’s time you put your foot down and insist on her accepting him.” The Duke opened his mouth to say something, “No David, no more excuses. I know she is your favorite for some unfathomable reason and you’ve coddled her for far to long. She is not a fresh candidate anymore and with her plain looks and stubbornness finding another man to marry her…”

The Duke sighed as she droned on about Izzy turning out to be such a disappointment, too strong willed and independent for a woman, saddened that his wife had such a low opinion of their only daughter.

Isobella had always marched to her own beat, which was completely out of tune with her mother’s, long ago learning how to appease her vanity when it became apparent Izzy would not be the beauty her mother had been in her day.

Lavinia Emerson had been the most sought after debutante of her day, possessing luxurious blond locks, chocolate brown eyes and acres of creamy skin encasing a figure that, even after bearing five children, still turned heads.

When she accepted his proposal, David Tennant was under no illusion it was for anything other than for his title as the future Duke of Monmouth. But over the years she had come to love him and they had a good marriage, raising four fine son’s, all married with families of their own except Richard, the youngest at nineteen.

And yes, Izzy was his favorite, not because she was the only girl but she reminded him of his mother, she had that same free spirit but hadn’t above changing her ways for the sake of her family, as he was sure Izzy would once she was married.

“We’ve discussed this before and it’s time to tell her.”

As much as he hated to admit it, she was right, if she didn’t accept Ernest, who was an upstanding gentleman despite who his father was; Isobella would end up either alone, being exiled to the edge of good society and tainting her brother’s families or forced to marry anyone who would be willing to take her at her age.

Two nights later

Izzy stared out the large window still unable to comprehend the ultimatum her parents had given her.

Marry Ernest or loose Katie, her horses, and her freedom.

Her father knew what it would do to her under this virtual house arrest, to be at her mother’s by your leave and constant verbal assaults.

It would’ve been kinder to send her to a nunnery.

She thought about her visit to Lexi earlier that day.

“What choice do you have Izzy, you have to marry Ernest, you’d lose your sanity if your mother takes over complete control of your life.”

“If I’m gonna consider giving up my life, there’s one last thing I want to do and you’re going with me.”

Lexi sat up, “One last prank?”

Changing into the god awful orange servants dress she had wriggled from Lexi, Izzy ran down the servants staircase and out their entrance at the back of the house and hailed a hack to take her to Lexi’s and then the music hall.

Izzy walked hurriedly along the quiet streets after the variety shows had let out. She had been unable to find another hack after Lexi left for home so she was forced to start walking. It wasn’t the safest thing for anyone to do at night, especially an unaccompanied woman.

She was almost to the back gate of the grounds when she was grabbed by a man hiding in the shadows.

~~~

Sam Winchester pushed his hands deeper into his coat pockets, not actually cold from the night air turning chilly but disconsolate; it was his periodic companion. This last eighteen months all he had produced was portraits of London’s elite citizens, nothing inspiring him to create anything original, which gave him his fame in the first place.

He had decided to walk for a bit after leaving the Duke of Monmouth’s having repaired the loose corner of the frame around the portrait of said man. He liked the Duke, he possessed a sarcastic humor and was personable.

For a Tory.

Sam was halfway along the high wall surrounding the vast estate when he heard a rough voice hissing in the shadows, “Stop struggling bitch or I’ll give it to you far worse.”

He ran to the end of the wall remembering there was an alleyway leading to a back entrance. Pausing at the opening he was thankful a gas light was nearby illuminating a burly man struggling to hang onto a woman in a hideous orange dress who was putting up one hell of a fight to get away.

“Hey, let her go!” Sam shouted, rushing towards them.

“Fuck off, this ones mine!” He yelled, shoving her to the ground.

Sam swung his large fist smashing into the stranger’s face. He grabbed his bloody nose for a monument and then threw a surprise right hook making contact with Sam’s left temple briefly stunning him and making his getaway.

“Bastard,” Sam spit out, rubbing his head knowing he’d probably have a headache later. He turned to the woman on the ground. She had drawn her legs up, arms wrapped around her legs shaking.

“Are you alright?” He asked as he stepped towards her causing her to start crawling backwards away from him till she bumped into the wall.

Sam squatted down in front of her, holding his hands out in a peaceful gesture and spoke softly to her, “ I’m not gonna hurt you Miss, I want to make sure you’re not hurt, can you nod if you understand me.”

She nodded once, finally looking up from the ground at him.

Sam’s breath caught.

Even under the dim gas light he could make out her unique features and felt that particular skittering under his skin urging him to grab a brush and create like he hadn’t in a very long time.

“I’m Sam Winchester,” standing up he holds out his right hand to her.

“Is..Izzy Morgan.” She replies, taking his outstretched hand. A sensation rippled throughout her in a way she never had with any man, not even with Lord Greyson.

He was the only man Izzy had freely offered herself to and had rejected her in a not so polite manner, publicly gossiping about her attempted seduction of him. It was quickly quashed by her brothers paying him a brief visit.

Sam released her hand, staring intently as he lightly ran his long fingers along her jaw, tracing the contours of; her forehead, curved cheekbones, full lips and nondescript nose, fascinated with the freckles he could just make out in the dim, scattered on her soft skin.

If only it wasn’t so dark to make out the color of her eyes but that hair, absolutely wondrous! He dropped his hand and picked up the tendrils that had come loose running them between his fingers fascinated that it was silky, not wiry, with its kinkiness as he assumed.

She was plain and exquisite at the same time.

“I would love to paint you if you’ll allow me,” she scrunched her forehead confused, “could you ask your employer for time off?”

“You want to paint me, why?”

Sam dropped the hand still playing with her hair and pulled from his coat pocket his card to show he was serious.

“I will pay you generously for your time. If you like I can speak..”

“No! I’m sorry but it’s impossible,” Izzy hurried to the gate and opened it, “thank you for helping me, I am grateful..”

“Then repay it by posing for me.” Sam deepens his whiskey-honeyed voice and watches as she shivered, reacting to it as he hoped.

“I’m sorry but I can’t.”

~~~

Izzy awoke late the next morning exhausted from her previous night’s adventures. She shuddered feeling the bruises acquired during the struggle with her would be rapist.

The door to her bedroom opened and a younger woman she didn’t recognize entered carrying a tray of tea and a light breakfast.

“Good morning my lady, I wasn’t sure what you would like so I bought a few things. Please let me know what you prefer.”

“Who are you and where is Katie?”

“I’m Margaret, your mother engaged me to be your ladies maid. I was informed that Katie decided to leave and be with her sister in Brighton, my lady.”

“Please take the tray, I only have tea in the mornings and pull out my dark brown riding habit. I’ll dress myself today and will be gone till dinner, thank you.” Isobella instructed, heading into her bath and waited for the maid to leave. After she departed Izzy threw on her outfit and hurried to the stable, saddling the first horse there and took off to Lexi’s for a confab about what to do next.

January 19

Her fingers shook nervously as she buttoned up the servants dress she had borrowed from Lexi again. From the trunk she pulled out the big overcoat and long scarf that used to belong to Phillip, her oldest brother. He had given them to her years ago when the family was in Scotland and hers had proven inadequate for riding in the climate there. Opening a small drawer she removed her old, worn riding gloves and slipped them on. She closed the trunk and locked it.

Making her way up the exterior stairs to the street Isobella locked the door leading to the cellar of Lexi’s home and walked to the hired hack waiting for her, instructing the driver to her final destination.

As the carriage travels over the cobblestone streets Isobella goes over the plan one more time to make sure nothing was missed.

Lexi had suggested she should come with her to Wales while her husband sorted out the details from his father’s sudden passing making him the new Lord of Whitmore. That sparked an idea in Izzy’s mind and they set about laying out the details to pull it off.

Isobella knew her parents, or rather her father, wouldn’t object to her traveling with her best friend to give her some time to consider Ernest’s proposal; with a slight hint that she was inclined to accept upon returning.

What none of them knew was she had her own plan in place and it was to be the scandal of the decade.

The hack dropped her off at the end of the quiet street and she walked briskly towards the address on the card.

~~~

Sam came downstairs in no better mood than he had been when his butler Crowley had awoken him late in the afternoon. At least he was dressed. Well, as dressed as he was willing to get in a clean shirt, trousers and no shoes. He had an odd exchange with the new boy Crowley had engaged to help since he was, according to Crowley, seriously understaffed with the size of his household. Sam laughed considering it was only him, Crowley, Mrs. Mills the cook and a maid.

The new boy had scurried off the fetch more coal as the door knocker sounded. Sam opened it and was stunned to see who was standing there.

“Are you still interested in painting me?”

tbc

If your interested in a tag shoot me an ask

tagging: @atc74 @alleiradayne

#OC Appreciation Day 2020 #OC's Are People Too #sam winchester fanfiction #Sam Winchester x OFC

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scni · 4 years

Text

chicago’s very own addison sani has been spotted on madison avenue driving a rolls-royce wraith , welcome ! your resemblance to greta onieogou is unreal . according to tmz , you just had your twenty fourth birthday bash . your chance of surviving new york is uncertain because you’re reactive , but being tenderhearted might help you . i think being a virgo explains that . 3 things that would paint a better picture of you would be walking out of a casino with double the money you walked in with, sunkissed skin all year round, drunkenly dancing on a table . ( my dad has ties to the mafia and when things started getting out of hand my mom forced him out of our lives what she doesn’t know is that i meet him for lunch every week ) & ( cisfemale + she/her ) + ( taylor , twenty , she/her , est )

wow ok guys , this took me alot longer than i expected ? i’m TIRED , lol . i’m taylor though , hi legends ! i’m 20 and live in the est + go by she / her pronouns . a little about me before we get to my lil baby — i spend too much time in the timewrap that is youtube where i’ll watch a ricky thompson video one minute then daily vlogs of a raccoon to mgk’s kelly vision vlogs true story , this MAY have happened while i was supposed to be getting this intro up 🥺 i’m a total music whore and love everything that has a good flow idc if it’s rap or country if it’s good it’s lit ! also heads up i have the attention span of a squirrel so if i don’t respond to a thread or ims it’s because im a dumb hoe , i still love ya . anyways , enough about me lets get this intro rolling ! give this a like if you’d like to plot . ALSO ? i know the background is a lil long it was honestly mostly for me to really flesh addison out and give me something to look back to , so if you wanna get to the point of the intro just skip the background ? there is a tl;dr after it followed by her personality / secret / stats + some basic wcs toward the end of the post !

* 𝐛𝐚𝐜𝐤𝐠𝐫𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐝 !

addison mikhailovna sani , was born in saint petersburg , russia where she grew up in a home too big to even be referred to as a house . she wasn’t the first child of ivanka and mikhail but she definitely was their first planned child . a couple that met early in their twenties , had their moments but at the end of the day they loved one another . both extremely traditional and their beliefs , they were given no choice but to accelerate their love story when they turned up pregnant with their son . he was a beautiful and happy little boy , but posed a threat the ivanka and mikhail’s pretty storybook life they wanted to set up for themselves . obsessed with staying on some sort of timeline , ivanka began her campaign for her budding political career . then she turned up pregnant again , with their second child , a daughter this time . in their eyes their daughter was just another bump in their perfect life . they held a sort of resentment against the kids for that , especially given that ivanka had lost her window of political popularity . she’d resigned to the life of a socialite and stay at home mom and they decided the best way to fill her time up was with another child . this time , one they truly wanted . her parents would never admit it , but they hadn’t seen the true “ sani potential “ in their children that wasn’t until they had addison . her parents truly doted on her . from her point of view life was perfect . silver spoon life did her well . that was until the perfect facade the sani’s held up was beginning to crumble before their eyes . her father , a wealthy international real estate investor comes from a crime family , it was a world he hid in the shadows but things grew rather messy and the family was posed with a choice (a) leave russia and start up life somewhere else or (b) stay in russia and chance mikhail going to jail for the entirety of the kids childhood . of course they chose to leave russia , on the one promise to ivanka that mikhail was done with the life of organized crime .

they made the move to chicago , illinois when addison was just ten years old . luckily for her she’d grown up speaking three languages russian , nigerian , and english and so coming to america was made just a bit easier for her as she wasn’t completely fluent but was able to get by and converse with others . her parents quickly integrated themselves into the elite society within chicago’s wealthiest families , which wasn’t too hard with her father’s up - and - up line of work of real estate investing and her mother’s status as an heiress . the same could be said for the kids at school , each one integrating fairly well into their own friend groups . like at home stayed the same , they may have been in a new country but her parents love or obsession with addison knew no borders . she had everything a little girl could ask for and more , plus her busy parents actually made time for her - that was much more than her siblings could say . addison knew the dynamic , she was a smart girl and picked up on it quickly . often apologizing to her older siblings and offering up her own support for their lives in place of their parents . as she grew older the pressure from her family started taking it’s toll . when ivanka and mikhail sani thought you were destined to be great , they really pushed you and placed the highest of expectations on you . addison carried around the fear that one day they’d look at her the same way they did her siblings and so she worked herself in all aspects of her life to be the perfect daughter . she excelled at everything she did - academics , ballet , student government , and even becoming a debutante .

it wasn’t until she was sixteen that the toll really started chipping away at addison . she’d spent a month on a downward spiral; popping pills , drowning herself in alcohol , losing her virginity , and throwing parties . it all came to a head when she stole millions from her father’s secret stash and booked a private jet with a couple friends . the three went missing for nearly two weeks before they were spotted at a resort in ibiza . her parents brought her home only to send her away to an inpatient program for a little over a month . addison spent that month really digging deep , finding out who she was and what she actually wanted . her therapist had told her for her to get out of the dark place she was in she’d need to separate her thinking from her parents and let go of the perfectionist act . when she came back home it was like the last few months had never happened , her parents ignored it all . to them , the issue was fixed and now it was time to sweep it under the rug but for addison it broke her heart . she realized over that next year that her parents didn’t see her as a person with her own choices but instead some sort of maniquin for them to play some weird version of real life sims with . despite this realization she couldn’t help but to fall back in line .

senior year of high school came quick and the four years of student government , mock trial , equestrian , and perfect grades was nearly over but not before addison’s whole world crumbled before her . no matter how perfect she tried to be the sani’s could never run from the truth . they weren’t this perfect family , when her mom caught her dad tied up with the russian mafia within the city of chicago it was over . by the end of the night ivanka was kicking him out of the house , with the threat that if he so much as looked in the direction of her and the kids she’d have him sent to jail for the rest of his natural life . the threat was enough to spook him , he’d known her well enough to know she wasn’t bluffing . just a few months later he moved out of the state leaving secret letters for the children to let them know he loved them . but of course , addison wasn’t allowed to so much as miss a beat . ivanka was still on her like some crazed momager and when she landed multiple acceptances in some of the top schools across the country the two inevitably made the decision for addison to attend yale . secretly she wanted stanford but bit the bullet . she studied finance with a major in philosophy . joined a sorority and mock trial . in truth she took a liking to connecticut and the change of scenery helped her forget about everything happening back in chicago .

during her senior year at yale , her mom broke the news of the family making the big move to new york city . which really just meant addison and her mom were moving to new york city because her brother had started a family in his college town of durham , north carolina + was also playing for the carolina panthers while her sister traveling the world on some sort of instagram model high . her mom rambled on for week about how the move was perfect since addison would be attending columbia for law school so now the two could see one another more often . even at twenty two addison couldn’t put her foot down when it came to her mom and so for the millionth time in her life she held back what she really wanted to do ( finally going to stanford , for law school ) and committed to columbia law .

* 𝐭𝐥;𝐝𝐫 !

basically , addison is the baby of three kids . born in st petersburg , russia but grew up in chicago . she was always the favorite of her parents ivanka ( a russian heiress + philanthropist ) and mikhail ( a international real estate investor ) as she grew older she realized their love was more of a obsession with control + perpetuating a picture of a perfect family + daughter . the pressure to a toll on addison during highschool and she had a break down that led to a major downward spiral landing her in an inpatient facility for a month . when she got out , her parents ignored all the issues within the family and went back to treating addison like some sort of puppet + addison continued to go along with it , as she didn’t really know how else to be . today she struggles with being who she wants to be and who her mom wants her to be . she and her siblings have always gotten along , even though their parents never treated them all the same they were all able to see the struggle in how each one was treated and able to bond through their messy parent situation . as of now addison’s trying to play up a double life sort of situation . having fun + being the perfect daughter . she’s also on the path to becoming a big time lawyer . she’s in her 2L of law school at columbia + also works as a paid intern at the district attorney’s office .

* 𝐩𝐞𝐫𝐬𝐨𝐧𝐚𝐥𝐢𝐭𝐲 !

addison has always been full of love and unlike her parents her love isn’t conditional maybe delusional sometimes but never conditional . don’t worry , after a nation wide search i’ve found the first girl who doesn’t suffer from resting bitch face . instead you’ll always see a smile on her face , to the point where if you ever see her not smiling be worried . something life shattering has happened . she’s the type to say she “ hates drama “ but perk up the minute she hears about drama going on in some else’s life . don’t worry though , after she done being nosy she’ll do all she can to help fix the issue even if you don’t want her too . hey , she may make things worse in the process but atleast she cares , right ? maybe not , i don’t know . incredibly loyal and loves to have a good laugh , she’s incredibly witty and a lover of corny jokes . very talkative . wants everyone to like her and if you don’t like her get ready for her to try at every chance to win you over . very much so the “ pardon me , but you really hurt my feelings “ type . she’s really just a soft , smart rich girl trying to navigate through this big world . also she falls in love quick , although she’d never had a real relationship . not because she’s a T H O T , she’s not , well , she doesn’t mean to be atleast . she just finds her befriending guys more than becoming their girlfriend . despite her naturally affectionate behavior , she just has this weird “ no boyfriend “ curse going on . maybe she’s pushing them away when things get close to serious in fear of losing the guy from her life . on a negative note , addisons hands down worst quality is her inability to control a situation she is incredibly reactive / volatile . she’ll easily fall into a screaming match or crying fit . never the type to walk away . a true virgo , y’all , the girl can and will argue until you’re blue in the face .

* 𝐬𝐞𝐜𝐫𝐞𝐭 !

so basically , her dad is apart of the russian mafia . he was heavily involved while they lived in russia but when the government was catching onto his actions the family fled the country before they could dig any deeper into the case . he was supposed to cut ties when they moved to chicago but it was a way of life he simply couldn’t let go of . when addison’s mom found out she forced him out of their lives threatening to turn him in if he so much of looks at his children . despite this when addison and her mom moved to new york he reached out to addison . they’ve been meeting for lunch once a week for almost a year and a half behind her moms back . absolutely no one but those involved with the mafia know about her dad being within the mafia , which is exactly how he’s always wanted it , which is why her mom could never find out addison and he are continuing their relationship .

* 𝐬𝐭𝐚𝐭𝐢𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐜𝐬 !

full name : addison mikhailovna sani age : twenty - four date of birth : september 7th place of birth : saint petersburg , russia zodiac : virgo label : the facade pronouns : she/her gender : cisfemale orientation : bisexual , biromantic height : 5′8″ weight : 132 lbs ethnicity : nigerian , russian hometown : chicago , illinois occupation : law student , intern @ the district attorney’s office more : allergic to apples , hates takeout food , has an affinity for adult cartoons and stand up comedy, lives for alternative music , believes cuddling is a natural human interaction , loves video games , graduated valedictorian of her high school , loves painting .

* 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐧𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧𝐬 !

soooo i know these are pretty basic but im just throwing things at the wall here and hoping they stick , okay ? im down for really anything so we can take inspo from these ideas ? expand more on them ? or just brainstorm something completely different ? whatever works ! , best friends , GIRL squad , drinking/party buddies , we’re just friend or at least that what we say but i always bring you as my date to big events type of deal , flirtationship , sibling like friendship , someone who has a crush on her , they don’t like her and she’s always trying to get them to change their mind , someone who tries to talk her into standing up to her mom , a confidant , someone she has a crush on , booty call maybe she initially wanted something serious from them but just fell into this booty call dynamic and she wont say anything otherwise because she likes having them around , someone she has a crush on , an ex friend who probably broke her trust .

#wealthyhq:intro #( 🍒 ) a look 𝓫𝓮𝓱𝓲𝓷𝓭 the mask — ooc #rehab tw

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stephcialties · 4 years

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what’s up you guys. i’m jc, and i’m just about the worst person you’ll ever meet. but !! good news. it can only get better from here. anyway, more about maya below if you’re interested.

(( if you’ve ever been in an rp with me before and recognize the intro to my intro, don’t fucking @ me. i’m too stupid to come up with anything else. ))

:･ﾟ✧ * ˏˋ / hi, sorry to disturb you, but can you tell me where the office for MAYA KHATUN is? y’know, SHE’S the TWENTY-FOUR-YEAR-OLD CISFEMALE PUBLISHING INTERN here at Masters? kinda’ looks like MISHTI RAHMAN if you squint? one of the guys over at I.T. said SHE is ANIMATED and FRIENDLY but DRAMATIC and MATERIALISTIC, does that ring a bell? i have HER coffee order right her.

𝕓𝕒𝕔𝕜𝕘𝕣𝕠𝕦𝕟𝕕 !!

in berkeley lake, georgia, born and raised––maya did not spend her days on the playground (( grass stains ?? as if !! )). she spent most of her childhood running around her parent’s estate with her twin brother, avoiding finishing school lessons underneath their overgrown willow tree with her battered copy of wuthering heights in her lap.

her parents are loaded thank to her mother’s side of the family. her grandfather was a successful politician in his home country, and he used his resources to start a vineyard when immigrated from bangladesh to the us. the family business then branched out into california, spain, and italy as its success grew. now, they really don’t do much other than sit on the board and pretend they have opinions that are more important than their hired experts.

her dad married into her mother’s money, and it’s a mandal family tradition that the eldest son, or the husband of the eldest daughter if there isn’t a son, fills his predecessor’s seat on the board. ergo: her dad’s on the board, and her mom goes to the country club and shops obsessively.

maya, however, thinks this is bullshit.

her twin, matthew, does not.

maya’s guaranteed a large inheritance regardless (( so long as she smiles pretty for the cameras and marries a man her parents approve of )), but maya didn’t really envision being the blanche, even though she is devastating beautiful. she’s also the actual worst.

anyway, she applied to masters with her sparkly pink gel pen and scented lavender stationary because she’s a woman on a mission !! her dream is to write a novel that would reduce virginia woolf into tears (( in a good way, duh !! ))

for now, she’s an intern on the publishing floor and writing whenever she has spare time between running coffee errands and avoiding her mother’s calls.

𝕡𝕖𝕣𝕤𝕠𝕟𝕒𝕝𝕚𝕥𝕪 !!

maya has struggled with dyscalculia all throughout her life. she was convinced (( and so were all her teachers )) that she was just born stupid, and there wasn’t anything that she could do about it, so she really leaned into the ditzy, too-cool-for-school, popular girl trope because that was easier than admitting she couldn’t even comprehend the numbers on her worksheets, let alone solve the problems.

she was a cheerleader™ all throughout junior high, high school, and college.

she also did beauty pageants and the whole debutante thing. and tbh. she loved it. you can like sparkly dresses and applause, and 18th-century literature, ‘kay !!

she’s bubbly, and shiny, and that person who talked a million miles an hour until you begrudgingly agreed to go to the senior sunrise pancake breakfast.

but she can definitely also be a giant brat and a pain in the ass when she doesn’t get her way bc she was mcfreakin’ spoiled.

driven as hell, but definitely goes about it in a passive way when interacting with other people bc. ya girl is still insecure and tbh found the best way to get what she wants is to be underestimated anyway.

she never got the hang of math or science, but she did show a propensity for english from a young age. she used to write under a pseudonym for the columbia journal because she didn’t want people to be like, ‘oh, she wrote that ?? there must be a ghost writer involved somehow, sis.’

oh, yes. she went to columbia and majored in english and creative writing.

she’s always up for a good time literally anytime of the day. she loves parties bc she loves people !! and talking !! and mixed drinks !!

she’s really into fashion and cosmetics.

can definitely be a bit of a label whore.

a dolly parton and dixie chicks STAN for life (( hmu about gaslighter right this minute )).

𝕨𝕒𝕟𝕥𝕖𝕕 𝕔𝕠𝕟𝕟𝕖𝕔𝕥𝕚𝕠𝕟𝕤 !!

best friends: ( m, f, nb ), squad ( m, f, nb), childhood friends: ( m, f, nb ), roommates: ( m, f, nb ), fwb: (m, f, nb), casual hookup ( m, f, nb), exes: ( m, f, nb )

all the connections tbh. hmu or like this and i’ll hit you up !!

#masters.intro

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yes-these-obsessions-are-healthy · 4 years

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WIP WEDNESDAY

Yet another one where I try desperately to make friends and tag people that don’t like me to read my work. @solas-disapproves @pikapeppa @scharoux @itsalexistrvlyn

Context: Solas ruminating on his relationship with my Lavellan. I just really love writing internal monologues instead of having my characters actually, you know, interact. (/o_o)/

I should also point out that my Lavellan is 24, despite Solas repeatedly referring to her as a child. When you’re 40+, everyone under 25 is a child. “Kids these days”, etc. Plus remember he considers the Dalish to be “children” across the board like an asshole.

Bracketed parts are what I’m personally debating whether to keep, or else contain text that needs to be replaced with a more appropriate equivalent.

------

She kisses with innocence and an earnest desire to please. He quietly damns himself all the while, but his mind cannot help but dredge up the whisper of a memory from long ago, of similarly wide-eyed and precocious young slave girls gifted to him like furniture. In his youth he acted as much of the part of the rakish black sheep that the Evanuris required of him. [The question that still remained unanswered after all this time, however, was whether he became the character in this particularly decadent play, or if such power afforded him to simply allow such tendencies to flourish unrestrained.]

Whatever the case, it had not been an uncommon occurrence for him to offer the comforts of his bed to two, three, four women on any given night. Servants, slaves, merchants' daughters (and wives).. all eager to please, all determined to curry his favor or catch his eye in the hopes that they would receive a blessing, and what ever that implied. They tried to ply him with distractions--music, art, dance; lewd and debauched scenarios to be acted out for his amusement; as the nights wore on and the wine flowed like a river in his veins, he called for them to submit to more embarrassing requests or risk being permanently ousted from his ever-revolving circle of beautiful nymphs.

Even at his most drunk and at the highest peak of ecstasy, he never lost sight of their motives. To them, he was a meal ticket, a refuge from the painful drudgery of everyday living, a shield from yet another night of painful servitude to his more [visceral] colleagues.

He did not begrudge them: Arlathan swallowed up innocence as readily as a debutante would her first cup of red grape wine. Even the youngest and most inexperienced of his partners still possessed an idea of what to expect from him, either from rumors spread among those beyond his abode or through personal demonstration with a captivated audience.

No, no one was innocent, he had long since been taught, but its absence did not necessarily translate to knowledge. And what he instructed those girls was not wisdom as he once proudly thought, but a functioning form of shrewd cynicism. One did not deserve praise for recognizing the follies of a system they continued to benefit from, and hadn't he benefited from their desperate need for acumen? Indeed, it had always been a secret thrill of his to watch the glimmer of recognition sparkle in someone's eyes, the bittersweet understanding that, ultimately, [knowledge] held as many rewards as it did caveats.

[But as he stared down at the fidgeting ingenue beneath him, he found his heart stir alongside his loins. A crude, blasphemous combination was what he originally thought. [[I have no idea what to do here. This sentence throws off the tone of sincere love but what the fuck do I write]]] An unfortunate side effect of being interred in the Fade for countless centuries. To taste precociousness and sincerity on a person’s skin after all this time..

He was surrounded by shades who unknowingly haunted a false world. Its destruction was imminent, he had resolved that to be its ultimate fate, had accepted that his commitment to the lonely path must continue. He would live, in the loosest sense of the word, among these dead souls, but only for a short time. That was what he had told himself, and in his haste, he had extended the time in which he must dwell in this unbearable purgatory and somehow chained himself to a barely-whelped shadow of his People who now wielded a fragment of his power with as much finesse as a young mage with a training wand.

Still, he would endure. Cordiality where it was required and expected, fleeting pleasure in the spirits he could still approach and the sweet desserts that thankfully never vanished from the imagination, temperance in all else. Another trial, another penance to be paid.

But a self-inventory summarily revealed] that his heart now thrummed with a quiet music not unlike the layered echoes resounding from a strummed harp. Sentiments built like a scale. He closed his eyes and listened, and to his surprise he discovered it whispered the name of the Inquisitor, and in the next breath urged him to recall the moments in their involuntary alliance that shook him from hypnotic stoicism.

Pity, pity for this Dalish girl, this innocent who was to have their life drastically torn asunder by yet another one of his mistakes.

Compassion, compassion for an unprepared child to be enlisted in a cause filled with those just as resolute in condemning her as they were in deeming her a necessity. Like a helpless babe tossed to wolves, she did not so much as whimper for fear of reprisal by forces she could barely comprehend.

Uncertainty, uncertainty at how such a skittish, stuttering, nervous da'len would be able to survive the trials set before her. She lacked understanding in the finer points of what moved the hearts of men. Her shyness intensified when in the company of human nobility to the point that her thoughts were rendered unintelligible. She commanded no presence, projected no confidence, [rested no worried hearts ]. When she spoke it was with a habit of editing her own thoughts in a messy and redundant manner.

Fondness, fondness for the way she listened to him like a child engrossed in a yarn regaled by an elder. The questions she asked, the desire to know and understand the foreign, intangible world he had come to call home long before her grandfather's grandfather's grandfather had been born.

Paternity, paternity because she struggled so very hard with her tremendous self-doubt, her [flagging] sense of belonging, her poor intuition in everything but the art of the bow. The others teased her as colleagues were wont to do but they did not see, as he and Cole saw with such painful clarity, that their words were as damaging as a sharpened knife against the bark of a new tree. That her face was in a near-permanent flush not because of the heat or sun damage but [perpetual embarrassment] at the thought that *she was truly a fool made to be mocked and [unloved]*.

But he kisses back. He kisses back and silently wills that these good intentions--Truly, they were good. Truly, he loved her in every sense of the word. Truly, he now cannot imagine a life having never known her--would leave similar indelible fingerprints on her heart as she has done to him.

When they part, his eyes rove over the glassy sheen of gray eyes holding back nervously-happy tears; the disgusting, artfully-inked crow of Dirthamen marring her full flushed cheeks and child-like upturned nose and soft sweep of her constantly furrowed brow, he is struck by the desire to cherish her for all time. Hold her and kiss her and pour all of his devotion into her ears until she was reduced to a quivering mess. It would be better for her, so his fantasy narrated, because she is too pure for this world as it is, too good.

She was, the rational side of him agreed, but ignorance was not the proper path toward true happiness. Balance, balance and understanding and righteous action were.

#tallin lavellan #solas #solavellan #fanfiction #my fanfiction #wip #wip wednesday #DA:I

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galadrieljones · 5 years

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The Lily Farm - Chapter 41

AO3 | Masterpost

Rating: M (Mature) - sexual content, violence, and adult themes

Summary: To help her process Sean’s death, Mary Beth asks Arthur to take her on a hunting trip, somewhere far away. He agrees, and on their journey to the north, they find quietude and take comfort in their easy bond. They’ve been friends for a while now, but life, like the wilderness, is full of uncertainty and complications, and as they embark on their desperate search for meaning together, they endure many trials, some small, some big—all of which bring them closer to one another, and to their future.

Chapter 41: Animal Kingdom

“Have I told you yet tonight, Mrs. Morgan,” said LaBoeuf. He had removed his hat. He was chewing that cocaine gum. “You look like one million dollars.”

They were standing at the entrance to some sort of grand and ostentatious ballroom on the riverboat—Arthur, Mary Beth, Call, and LaBoeuf. The room was set with a bar at the top and about a dozen poker tables, yet unfilled. The adornments were gold, and the room was teeming with overdressed dandies and their women, posing and looking like birds. Waiters moved about obsequiously, bowing in adulation, their trays overflowing with champagne flutes.

“Why, thank you, Mr. LaBoeuf,” said Mary Beth in her fake accent. Her dress was sleek, indigo lace. Her hair was in many curls all piled atop her head. She curtsied, her arm linked in Arthur’s. “You are quite the gentlemanly Texan.”

“It’s Mrs. Kilgore,” said Arthur. He wore a slick three-piece suit and had a toothpick in his mouth. A waiter came by and offered him a cigar. “Try to get that right from now on. We don’t need to blow our cover quite yet. We only been here ten minutes.” He ran the cigar past his nose. It was obviously expensive, and Cuban. He thanked the waiter and tucked it into his pocket.

“Apologies, Mr. Kilgore.”

“It’s okay.”

Josiah had already melted into the crowd. It was not entirely clear what his role was here. Dapper liaison? Friend with friends in high places? Rogue magician?

“Mr. Kilgore,” said Call, standing stiffly with his hands clasped behind his back. He wore a huge cowboy hat and a belt buckle shiny as can be. “It looks as if the crowd is beginning to disperse.”

“Indeed it does,” said Arthur.

Mary Beth turned to him. She took his hands and looked up into his eyes. “You can do it, baby. I believe in you.”

He smiled down at her. “You listen to these men now,” he said. “You do what they say. You know I mean that in the most progressive of fashions, but they have your best interest at heart, and they are professionals.”

“Okay,” she said.

A valet came along then, a real young guy in gloves and tails. He said to Arthur in a very thick French accent, “Mr. Kilgore? May I escort you to your seat?”

Arthur puffed up then, spat the toothpick, took out the cigar, and placed it between his teeth. “Ab-so-lutely,” he said, clapping the boy to the back so hard he lurched. He turned to Mary Beth, kissed her on the hair. “I love you.”

“I love you, too,” she said.

He then addressed Call and LaBoeuf, and they nodded to him reassuringly. He was off.

Almost immediately, LaBoeuf leaned close to Mary Beth and said, “Mrs. Morgan, we have spotted Angelo Bronte.”

“And?” she said, whipping her fan about.

“He is coming this way, though he is mightily distracted by this and that. He is holding a bottle of what appears to be Limoncello, a common I-talian liqeur. His entourage looks inebriated.”

“Not much surprise there,” she said. She took a deep breath. She glanced at Call. He was the stern and serious one. His brow was set so heavy as he scanned the room, it was like a fallen redwood. She reminded him of her daddy, or at least what she had known of him. His eyes finally settled upon one fixed location. When she followed his gaze, she saw Arthur, accepting his hand of five-card draw and smoking his cigar in handsome concentration. The ballroom was then cordoned off with velvet ropes and armed guards.

It did not take long then for several women of about Mary Beth’s age and stature to seize upon her. They were staples of this heathen society, and she was not. They wanted to know all about her and her beefcake husband. One of them was the daughter of a newspaper man from Philadelphia. She said her name was Heather Moriarty, something like that, and she was stoned off her rocker, swaying to and fro.

“Is that one yours?” she said, pointing across the room to Arthur. “That prime slab of beef at table five?”

“Indeed he is.”

“Well I would sell myself to the devil to let him ruffle my skirts for just one night.” She laughed wildly, and her friends along with her. Their mouths were painted a hideous pink. “Bet he likes it rough.”

“He likes it all sorts of ways,” said Mary Beth, smiling to a different tune. “Though I am not one to kiss and tell.”

“I suppose then he is as good as he looks.”

“He’s better,” said Mary Beth. “Though you’re rather narrow in the hips. Ain’t got the chops to take it, I suspect.”

Heather the newspaper debutante stood with her jaw dropped wide open as a tin can. “Excuse me?”

That is when Josiah came along, out of nowhere, as was his tendency.

“You might want to close that thing, dear girl,” he said to Heather Moriarty. “You’re going to catch flies.”

“Who are you?” said Heather.

He smiled and turned to Mary Beth, fashioned a red rose corsage from behind her ear. “For you,” he said.

The women scurried off like mice. “Ugh, thank god,” said Mary Beth. She had been sucking in her gut as hard as possible. “I was not aware I’d have to entertain the likes of high society vermin.”

“Not a fan of the women here?”

“I’m sure there’s one or two I'd love to entertain,” she said. “But wasn’t her.”

“Did you happen to pickpocket her?”

"I would have,” said Mary Beth. “If I’d let her get close enough. Wasn’t worth it.”

Josiah laughed. He addressed Call and LaBoeuf who stood in their Texan stoicism. “Ah, the cavalry,” he said. “How are we tonight, gentlemen?”

LaBoeuf tipped his hat. “Just fine. Thank you, Mr. Trelawny.”

“How is Arthur doing?” he said. “Can you tell?”

“He is biding his time,” said Call. “Ingratiating himself to the table.”

“Of course he is.” Josiah grasped his lapels and rocked back on his heels dramatically. “Arthur has always excelled at playing the lovable blowhard. People are so easy to underestimate him.” He glanced to Mary Beth. “Except for you, dear girl.”

She went red in the cheeks. “I ain’t so easy.”

There was a ruckus then, an awkward scuffle between two suited geese breaking out over the chips, coming from one of the other tables. Everybody looked to see.

“Oh dear,” said Mary Beth.

“I see the insanity has already begun,” said Josiah. “Shall we walk?”

She went with him, arm in arm. Call and LaBoeuf kept a close distance. They ignored those who inquired upon them, cordially. They did not drink or smoke cigarettes, though LaBoeuf was always chewing. Mary Beth was handed a glass of champagne when they arrived at the bar. She sipped judiciously as she looked around. Bronte had gone on his way, which relieved her for now. She did not see him anywhere, not at any of the tables. She mentioned off-hand then that she was hungry. Josiah snapped his fingers once, and a waiter appeared with a silvery plate of hors d'oeuvres. Mary Beth ate four or five finger sandwiches, absorbed in the debauchery of the room. She watched Arthur win one hand of cards and collect his chips. The men at his table were congratulatory so far. It was just as Josiah had said. They thought him a dumbass. She was very proud.

While Call and LaBoeuf had a conversation about some such to do with their lives back in Texas, Mary Beth forgot momentarily that she was on a boat. She thought about Abigail, and she wondered what had happened, if she had made her move with John, if they had given into love. It was easy to get swindled by the beauty of the room here, and the drunken, oafish herds, and in this she oddly missed Shady Belle. Their room, their bed, and the window that they would lean beside, reading in the evenings. Here, it was cold. The women were foreign beasts. They draped themselves upon total strangers, lavish ornaments of wealth, and the men smoked their fat cigars and became red-nosed and aggressive with drink. She had lived with men all her life, seen the most shameful of that vice-driven void. Booze, women, and dope. This was no exception. In fact, money, she thought, in its proposal toward validation of such behavior, seemed to make it worst. The room smelled of smoke and alcohol. It admittedly made her woozy. She leaned into the bar and closed her eyes. She wished the night would end soon so that she could go home with Arthur.

“Mrs. Morgan?” said Call, steadying her. When she opened her eyes, Josiah had gone away. When she looked around, she saw him showing magic tricks to a group of college boys across the room. He had them looking one way, and then he pulled a rabbit out of his hat. “Are you feeling all right?”

She blinked many times, looked at Call and his deeply lined face. “Yes, I’m fine,” she said, a little embarrassed, patting his hand on her shoulder. “Just the baby. It makes me want to vomit half the time.”

“Perhaps some fresh air,” he said.

She looked around, found Arthur one more time and noted his state of being. He was doing just fine. So she nodded in agreement, set down her champagne. “Yeah that would be nice,” she said.

They went to the deck. It was down a long, narrow, velvety hallway full of grinning sycophants and flickering candelabras. When they got out to the deck, they were not alone. There were many of the women, including a couple Mary Beth had seen before, smoking cigarettes and talking lofty shit to one another. They gave her dirty looks and she plowed into them with a smile and ironic curtsy. It was almost like they could smell it on her, that rambling, orphan existence, even if they couldn’t place it, and she could not have cared less what they thought of her, but she did fantasize about punching one or two of them in the face.

On the far end of the deck was Angelo Bronte and his cronies. They were throwing huge chunks of bread off the boat into the water, chiding the fish, and shouting obscenely in Italian. A huge herring had come along and landed on the rail. They shouted at this, too. Threw bread to distract it. It picked up into the sky and dipped with impressive speed, proceeding to dive in after the bread-addled fish. The men laughed and cheered.

Bronte was smoking a cigar when he finally abandoned the rail and saw her. He became ecstatically loud, boisterous in his excitement. He came over with his cronies, dressed in his tuxedo and some kind of jewel-encrusted slippers and a scarf in the colors of his Italian nation. He bandied about his cigar and drank wine from a huge goblet. He regarded her with courtship appeal, kissed her on both cheeks. His reeked of alcohol and tobacco. He said, “Mrs. Kilgore! I thought I saw you from across the room before, eh? Look at you. A fucking vision in the night. Where is your burly outlaw of a husband? I thought I saw him before, but now he has escaped me.”

Mary Beth had his watch up her sleeve. She was ready, and her Texas cavalry stood by in all of their cartoonish intimidation as well, prepared in their excellence to aid in her plan, of which she had informed them that very night in the coach on the way to the river. She smiled, very coy. “Well, Tacitus is inside, making his mark, I expect.”

“Very good, very good,” he said, chewing on that cigar. "Who are these cowboy men?"

“This is my security detail, ordered by daddy,” she said. “Texas Rangers Call and LaBoeuf.”

“Texas Rangers!” said Bronte. This seemed to entertain him immensely. “Good god I never seen something so American in all my life. How do you do, signors?”

Bronte regarded them. LaBoeuf raised his hat. “Very well,” he said. “Thank you.”

“Tacitus and I wanted to thank you for inviting us tonight,” said Mary Beth, leaning in to place her hand on the side of his arm. “We were indeed surprised, but pleasantly so, of course. The swamps sure do get boring after a while. I’ve been going out of my mind for a party.”

He sort of eyeballed her darkly, puffed off the cigar then tossed it absentmindedly overboard. “Well, bellissima, as thrilled as I am to see you here tonight, know that it was not me who sent for you. Though I wish it had been, of course.”

Mary Beth straightened up, feeling the watch in her sleeve, pressing up against her wrist. “It wasn't you?” she said. "Well, that's a surprise."

“No, it was uh…the mayor,” he said. It was off-hand. One of his cronies handed him another cigar, clipped off the end.

“The mayor?” said Mary Beth.

“Yes,” he said. “Mayor Lemieux, of St. Denis. Foul piece of shit.” He laughed. His cronies laughed. “Owes me big. I remember now. He thought the invitation would be more enticing, coming from me, seeing as he is a bore and a money-grubbing asshole of the highest degree, and I am, well, me. In any case, he said he had some sort of business to conduct with your husband."

"Business?"

"Yes. Something to do with that dreadful good ol’ boy with the mutton chops. What was his name?—the writer.”

“Evelyn Miller?” said Mary Beth.

He slapped his knee once, almost aggressively so. “Yes! Evelyn Miller. That is his name. The native sympathizer Evelyn Miller. Ha ha. I merely reached out to your associate—the magician? I cannot remember his name either, though he did have a big hat and a big fucking mustache.” He had the cigar in his mouth. It was unlit. The stars overhead seemed to be slipping down, a curtain on the night. LaBoeuf took the liberty and lit Bronte’s cigar with a match from the brim of his hat. “Ah, grazie, Signor Texas. You are a man of your order indeed.”

Call took a step forward then. He was standing very tall, imposing, and serious. He spoke softly, very close to her ear. “Mrs. Kilgore, I hate to interrupt, but might I suggest we make our way back inside? Mr. Kilgore may grow concerned if he finds you missing for too long.”

“Ah, yes, yes,” said Bronte. “Go and find your indelible cowboy. And the two of you find me again when this is all over. I’ll get you good and drunk, the most expensive way in town, eh?”

Mary Beth smiled. “We’ll do that,” she said, and she curtsied, emboldened by his candor. “But first—can I ask you something, Mr. Bronte?”

“Anything.”

“Why’d you tell us there was money at the trolley station?” she said, innocent. “Turns out there’s nothing.”

Bronte stared at her. She worried briefly that he may do something regrettable, but he did not. He looked lost, then pissed, but not at her. He puffed off the cigar, looked around, then he turned to one of his entourage and threw the wine from his goblet in the man's face. He then tossed the goblet, smacked the man in the back of the head as hard as he could, then again, and again, was shouting something in angry Italian, and the man shouted back, and after this went on for a while and Bronte's man had been sufficiently shamed, Bronte turned back to Mary Beth and said, apologetically, “You must excuse me, Mrs. Kilgore, for I must go. It turns out I was mistaken. The information I received from my asinine associate here must have been false.” He shouted some more. He smacked the man again, put out his cigar on the man’s lapel and turned him around, shoving him in the opposite direction. He looked back to Mary Beth. “I’ll see you soon, no?”

Mary Beth watched after him, not sure whether she should feel confused or relieved. “Stay outta trouble," she said.

“Oh, you, too, bellissima,” he called back over his shoulder. “You too!”

They could hear his bluster echoing all the way around the corner to the other side of the boat, and then it disappeared.

On their way back to the ballroom, Mary Beth was pensive. She was relieved about the watch, but something didn't make sense. She stopped Call and LaBoeuf in a lonesome corner across from a man chewing on another man’s ear in a drunken fashion. “What the hell is going on?” she said, her voice real quiet. “Everything we thought we knew, it was all bullshit. Is it coincidence?”

“Maybe,” said LaBoeuf.

“Has Arthur ever worked with the mayor before?” said Call. He seemed sufficiently concerned, and he was looking around, eagerly, like a hawk on the wire.

“No,” said Mary Beth. “But he did help Evelyn Miller, right before he helped you all with that bounty hunting business in the Roanoke Ridge."

"How did he help Mr. Miller?" said Call.

"He helped him and some Wapiti men from up the north by robbing a document from an oil field in the Heartlands.”

“Cornwall oil?” said LaBoeuf. He had spit out his cocaine gum. He had his hands on his hips, and he seemed to be thinking.

“Yes,” said Mary Beth. “Leviticus Cornwall.”

"Does Cornwall get on with the mayor? Do they share any connection at all?"

"Could be," said Mary Beth. "Come to think of it, yeah. I think we learnt he does. Why?"

“Mrs. Morgan,” said Call. “Do you have any idea what business the mayor of St. Denis might currently have with your husband?”

Mary Beth thought hard. She tried searching every last scrap of her memory, but her memory felt bonkers. “I don’t know. I mean, they met, at a party. Arthur did steal something from him. On orders from Dutch."

"He stole from him?" said LaBoeuf.

"Yeah, but when we saw Evelyn Miller on the street in St. Denis, he said it weren't no big deal."

"What did Arthur steal," said Call.

"I—”

There was a commotion then, in the ballroom. Some men were coming in the door, but she couldn’t see who they were yet. It was too far away, and there were too many people in between. Mary Beth tried looking for Arthur, but he was not in his spot at the table. Everybody was there at the table, except for him. “Where is Arthur?” she said.

“Hmm,” said Call. He placed his hand on her shoulder, stretching his gaze past hers. “We’ll find him. Don't worry.”

She had shimmied Bronte’s stolen pocket watch out of her sleeve. She squeezed it in her hand. She felt a funny realization coming on, but she couldn't place it. "Let's go," she said.

But then.

“Is those Pinkertons?” said LaBoeuf out of nowhere, tilting his head to see.

“What?” said Mary Beth.

“Just now, coming through the door. It is. What the hell are they doing here?”

Mary Beth whipped around, stood on her tip-toes. She saw two men she recognized coming through the crowd, and several she did not. The one was tall and ugly, with that unforgettable pock-marked face. They were grabbing people every which way, asking questions. She hid her face, and then she turned around.

“Mrs. Morgan?” said LaBoeuf.

"Shit," she said.

She was already halfway down the hall before anybody could stop her. She was headed back toward the deck. She did not know why. She just was. There were the candelabras everywhere, illuminating dark corners and flickering with menace. There were people she had to cut past, bump into, big, dumb, lovely, laughing people. She hiked her skirt up past her knees so that she could move faster.

She felt a hard grip on her arm. She wrenched it away.

It was only Call. He looked concerned. “Mrs. Morgan,” he said. “Where are you going? Don’t run off like that.”

“I gotta find Arthur,” she said, flustered. “Those is Pinkertons. What if they're here for him?”

A trap.

They heard gunshots then, jangling through the chandeliers. It startled Mary Beth. There were footsteps banging on the carpeted floors inside as people fled, women crying out, the same ones she had earlier smited. Looking forward, she could see the deck, see the black hole of the river. Looking back, she saw nothing. She thought to cry out but just as a nightmare, she was choked.

“There’s some sort of disturbance,” said LaBoeuf, catching up to them with his hand on his pistol. “I ain’t sure what caused it. Or who.”

“We gotta find him,” said Mary Beth.

People had begun to rush past them, pressing against the rails. The gunfire picked up behind. Call looked at LaBoeuf who looked miffed, but he nodded in a kind of procedural affirmation. Call then looked upon Mary Beth cautiously, with a great deal of intent. “Mrs. Morgan," he said. "Please do not fret. But we must get you off this boat, pronto.”

#red dead redemption 2 #rdr2 #arthur morgan #mary beth gaskill #arthur x mary beth #josiah trelawny #yes two updates in one day #!!!#it was all one but #it was too long so #i made it two #thank you for your patience #enjoy #and #i'm sorry!#:)

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