#ANTHONY IN THAT SHIRT...SIR

[smoshidiot]

Anthony's Funeral Roast Prints

get them here!

[hollcwboy]

soooooo normal about these images

[hughesvolpe]

the tan, the chain, the black jersey, the walk

i’m totally fine about this, obviously

[tookhimtomypenthouse]

Hate Yourself - Chapter One

series warnings: female!reader x oliver quick, past/implied felix x oliver, dub-con, stalker behavior, voyeurism, degradation, dacryphilia, bloodplay, gaslighting, manipulation, untagged story elements (the warnings aren't exhaustive!), DEAD DOVE DO NOT EAT bbgirl

summary: you’re hired as a maid after Oliver comes to own Saltburn, and find your employer to be very invested in your work

minors dni!

Your palms felt sweaty as you gripped your bags, staring into the massive gates of the mansion. You were tempted to turn around and run as the grandiosity of the building overwhelmed you. It felt like the iron jaws of the gate could open and eat you at any moment. Your torment was short-lived, however, as the creaky gates opened as you nudged them forward. Just beyond the courtyard, imposing wood doors awaited. Gravel crunched underfoot as you made your way over to them. Just before you could knock upon the doors, they swung open to reveal a graying, stern man.

"Welcome to Saltburn, miss." The man gives you a tight smile that doesn't quite reach his eyes. "You must be the new housekeeper?"

"Yes, that would be me," you laugh awkwardly, unsure of what to say next. 

"Lovely to meet you. My name is Duncan, head butler. Anthony will take your bags to your quarters. Come, and I'll show you around the grounds." You set your bags down and hurry after Duncan, who, despite his age, has a considerable stride. 

Each room in the house seemed grander than the next. The soft autumn sunlight pouring in from the floor-to-ceiling windows illuminated the formal dining room. Sheer red curtains floated elegantly to the sides, fluttering as you swished by. 

"Wow," you breathe out as you catch a glimpse of the massive garden. You can't help but gape at the massive hedges that seem to form a huge wall of green or at the multiple elegant fountains spraying in the air. "The grounds are so beautiful."

Duncan casts a fleeting glance through the window and continues on with the tour. Your head spins as you try to remember all the rooms and build a mental map of the estate, but the rooms seem to never stop coming. You are lost in the task when you finally arrive in the master bedroom.

"Here is the master bedroom," Duncan says, startling you out of your trance. The room is grand, with large wooden furniture and sumptuous fabrics and paintings. The closet door is ajar, revealing a closet full of crisp suits and hanging shirts without a single wrinkle. Expensive ties are neatly tucked into an organizer above a row of pristine dress shoes. "Sir Oliver is particular about how this room is made up, but Lyuba will teach you the specifics later."

You give him a nod, soaking in the finery and sheer wealth of this place. It's a far cry from the squatty brick council house you grew up in. The momentary thought of home makes your eyes prickle. You push the thought away and follow Duncan as he continues. Tears won't help you navigate the maze that is Saltburn. 

~

You flop into your bed with a deep sigh. The rest of the day passed so quickly as Lyuba, the woman whose job you were taking over, taught you the ins and outs of the job. When you close your eyes, you swear you can still see towels and sheets being folded. Lyuba was impressed at the speed at which you picked up the proper technique for all the linens, but you were no match for her practiced hands. It would take some time before you perfectly replace the experienced housekeeper. No use worrying about it now, you thought as you slipped towards sleep. The room you had in the servant's quarter of the estate was still larger than any you'd ever stayed in.

Right before sleep could overtake you, you heard a loud creaking sound. Icy fear flooded into your chest as you bolted upright. Your eyes weren't adjusted to the room's darkness, but it didn't stop you from frantically peering into the dark for the source. Through the shadows, you couldn't make out anything specific. After a few moments, you noticed that your door was open a crack. Did I leave it open? You aren't sure if you did. Your furiously pounding heart starts to slow, and you rise out of bed to close it. It is an old house, right? Surely some shifting floorboards or creaking of the structure caused the sound. Must've forgotten to shut the door, too. You chided yourself for getting so worked up over the noise. Fears soothed, you climbed back into bed and dozed off.

~

"Not so much water," warned Lyuba as you went to lift the mop out of the bucket. You quickly wrung the mophead out a bit more before starting on the tiled floor. You and Lyuba cleaned one of the guest bathrooms mostly in silence, only interrupted when she caught a mistake you were making. You turn to see Lyuba's snowy white bun bobbing in time with her careful movements. The older woman was only going to stay to teach you until the end of the week before she embarked on her retirement. You were at first shocked to find she was the only maid for the sprawling estate, but you quickly realized why.

This place is a fucking ghost town.

It had been three days since your arrival, but you had only glimpsed the owner of this place a handful of times. He was the only actual resident, not counting the help. Oliver Quick was his name, according to Duncan. You were debating whether to ask Lyuba more or let the mystery about the man of the house linger.

Curiosity won.

"Lyuba," you started cautiously, "what is the owner like?" You notice her movement halt with your question.

"Why?" Her response comes almost as an accusation. She turns fully to face you, and her face searches yours carefully. 

"Oh, I just was wondering because I've hardly seen him," you reply, unsure of how to respond.

Lyuba shuffles close to you until you are nearly touching. She gently grabs your wrist. "Strange. Be careful, girl," she whispers in a gentle tone. "I worked for the family before him," she continues, hushed and serious as the grave, "and then he swoops in and inherits that place." She drops your wrist and stares into your eyes intently. "Practically a stranger when he-"

"Hello." You and Lyuba jump as you see a man leaning against the doorframe.

"H-hi," you stutter, taken by surprise. His eyes meet yours, and you're drawn in by the shocking blueness of them.

"My name is Oliver," he offers, "and you must be Lyuba's replacement?" A small smile makes its way across his face. 

"Yes," you breathe out and offer him your name. Your surprise at being interrupted fades, and you finally take him in. He wears a fine button-down shirt and slacks, his hair combed back without a single strand out of place. You suddenly feel shabby in your black uniform dress and messy hair. You flick your wet hands behind your back to try and appear more together. His unnerving gaze has you self-conscious.

"Pleasure to meet you. I'm sure Lyuba has taught you all you need to know." His eyes dart to her briefly but soon return to you. He stretches in the doorway, and you can't help but see the muscles of his arms under the thin cotton of the shirt. "It's nice to have a new face around."

"Ah," you splutter, face hot. "I'm sure it is." You can't help but feel skittish as he watches you return to your work. He'd always made himself scarce before today, so his presence feels overwhelming so near to you.

"We have much to do," cuts in Lyuba, her annoyance clear, "and we need to finish, sir." She turns her back to him and returns to her cleaning. 

"Of course," replies Oliver, lifting his hands in a gesture of resignation. "Don't stop on my account. I wouldn't dare interrupt her training." He backs out of the bathroom, but not before throwing you a small wink. 

You shake your head and return to your work. Lyuba's hushed condemnation and Oliver's surprise entrance have you cleaning in silence. You could practically taste the animosity between the two of them but get the sense you won't get much more out of Lyuba today. Instead, you pass the day with the gnawing feeling that you're missing something very important.

[sleep-i-ness]

6 Café Confrontations (Anthony Lockwood x Reader)

SERIES MASTERLIST | LOCKWOOD & CO MASTERLIST | GENERAL MASTERLIST

After the whole ordeal the day before, Kipps refused to let you out of his sight, tailing you to work and taking up a permanent position in the corner of the café. You kept his mug topped up with tea, giving him a look every time he tried to sneak money into the pocket of your apron, although you knew already that he would somehow win this battle. He hasn’t had to do this in a while; it’s been long enough since you left that the sweaty nights of tossing and turning had become a thing of the past. But you appreciate it nonetheless, even if you think he’s being rather overprotective. It’s not as if your dreams could follow you into the day.

Arif took one look at you when you’d come to open and shaken his head, eyes creasing at the sight of your dark bags and the slump to your shoulders. It didn’t take a genius to figure out what happened when Kipps hovered over your shoulder, giving him a weary smile that told far too much, and you hated the feeling of déjà vu that washes over the entire day. Much like before, Arif kept you busy with bussing tables and manning the register, not allowing you the opportunity to dwell on the itchy feeling bruised into your flesh. 

And so, you spent your day swept off your feet, darting between customers as you carried a slightly dented tray filled with mugs and various pastries. At least now you have the skill to avoid customers, rather than crashing straight into those who decided to suddenly stop in their path to stare at something interesting they’d spotted. They still irritate you to no end; what on earth could be so astounding outside the window that they needed to come to a complete halt in the middle of the café?

A polite cough interrupts your musings as you lie down the double espresso and almond croissant in front of the man in the bowler hat, who’d spent his entire time ordering trying to get a good glimpse down your shirt and made sure to use your name at the end of every sentence.

“Sorry, sir,” you smile, all teeth, as you turn to face whichever customer had decided that the coffee wasn’t made to their liking or whatever the problem is now. You really hate customer service sometimes, especially on a day like this when half of London chose to descend on the shop, undoubtedly because it had been mentioned in some article or TikTok as a “hidden gem”. Not that you aren’t happy that Arif was getting the business he finally deserved.

And you freeze, smile flickering slightly. “Lucy. What a pleasure. Can I get you anything?”

She nods a hello at you, casting her gaze quickly over your uniform, but whatever conclusion she comes to doesn’t show on her face. “I’m just here to collect some doughnuts; not sure if the boys rang ahead or anything.”

If they had, you hadn’t been the one on the phone and you purse your lips. “I’ll have a look for you; Anna’s been on takeaway orders today, so she’ll probably have written it down somewhere.”

“Anna?” Lucy frowns, and you catch Kipps’ stare as you head to the counter, Lucy trailing behind.

“My coworker; she’s just clocked out actually, so we’ll just hope that she left a list of orders for pick-up.” You grab a sheet of paper laying beside the phone which is covered in Anna’s unintelligible scrawl and sigh. As always, Anna appeared to have spent her time writing pretty lines of poetry rather than putting down anything of note, but you can hardly begrudge her for it. Being by the phone is by the far the most boring job in the store, other than closing, but you’ve done the latter so often that it’s a chore of muscle memory now.

You cast your eyes over her writing, looking for anything that might say Lockwood, Anthony, or Portland Row, but apart from a few strange squiggles, nothing looks quite right. “Sorry, Lucy, doesn’t look like they did. I can see what I can scrounge up from the cabinet, but it’ll be the day’s leftovers rather than your usual.”

“Fine by me. It’s on the boys and if they start complaining, I’ll remind them of it.”

You smile and grab a paper bag from the shelf. “Unfortunately, we’ve got mostly powdered left, and they’ll be pretty dry by now. If you want, I can set aside the last jam one in a separate bag for you.”

Lucy grins, and part of you notes that that was probably the first time she’s genuinely smiled at you before, and she looks quite pretty when she does. Her face is normally settled into a light sneer around you, although you don’t get the impression it’s because she thinks you’re below her. Then again you don’t get much of an impression from her anyway, other than the fact that she isn’t your biggest fan.

“Everything alright?” Kipps appears from nowhere, startling both you and Lucy and shattering whatever fragile amicability is starting to build.

“Yeah, Lucy’s here to pick up some doughnuts,” your mouth tilts, “and Lockwood forgot to order ahead.”

“Classic Lockwood.” Kipps rolls his eyes with a snort, and you catch the glare slipping onto Lucy’s face before she smooths it away. Someone’s protective.

She leans against the cabinet, and you have to bite your tongue to stop yourself from reprimanding her as you would the small children who press their sticky fingers against the glass and panted at the sight of sugar. “He also wanted to know if you two would stop by for dinner.”

“For dinner?” You grimace, not at the thought of having dinner with them – well only slightly – but more because of the strangeness of the invitation. Wasn’t one night in your company enough for them?

“Dinner?” Kipps echoes, and you glance over to see a similar expression as to your own, eyes widened, and one eyebrow quirked up.

Lucy shrugs. “I assume he wanted to have a bit more of a discussion than we managed last night.”

Your palms are sweaty, you realise, fingers white where they clench around the tongs, and so you let it clatter onto the counter to wipe your hands against your apron. Kipps flinches ever so slightly at the sound, head snapping in your direction.

“I don’t think that’s-”

“We could do dinner,” you interrupt, plastering on a better smile than the one you mustered for that customer earlier. “I’m off in half an hour so we can head up straight after.”

“Sounds good, do you mind if I hover around until then?” Lucy gives you a softer look than the complete glare she’s been sporting moments earlier, and there’s something tired about her. You can appreciate that Lockwood isn’t always the person you want to be around, and so you nod.

“Take any table you’d like. D’you want tea or anything?”

“I’m alright, thanks.” She grabs the paper bags you’ve left to one side for her, puts a fiver in their place, and takes up a perch at the table in the corner. How strange. The entire interaction feels like something out of an odd dream, although it does make sense as to why Lockwood would want to have dinner with you both. It would probably be more of a meeting than an actual dinner though.

--

“Good evening, good evening,” Lockwood beams as he holds the door open, Lucy, Kipps and finally you traipsing into the hallway, shivering slightly. He’s made you wait a good few minutes on the porch in the cold, and it got to the point where you were seriously considered huddling for warmth before he finally made it to the door.

As you diligently kick off your shoes and knock them to one side, using the bookshelf to steady yourself, you feel a hand caress your cheek and flinch. Not obviously, mind you; you have gotten used to the echoes in the building over your last few house calls, but it still catches you off guard at times. You glance up at the odd group in the hallway and spot Lockwood’s eyes fixed on you.

“Can I get your coat?” He’s at your side as you let go of the bookshelf, feeling yourself wobble before his hand catches your elbow and steadies you without a word. When you stand back upright, Lucy’s watching you; you can see her head tilted towards the two of you out of the corner of your eye, and the look on her face makes your stomach drop.

You nod, allowing him to help you out of the heavy wool, something you’d picked up for a bargain at a car boot sale when you’d got your first ever paycheck and it had seen you through far too much at this point. His fingers brush against your neck as he clasps the collar, fire trailing in their wake and you don’t know what to say as he continues to just watch you, even when hanging your coat on a hook. You don’t know quite what you’ve done to deserve Lockwood’s undivided attention, but it unnerves you in a way that you can’t quite put your finger on. Heat begins to crawl up the back of your neck at his direct stare, much like last night’s, ensnaring you in their odd fire. You swallow, throat bobbing as you wait for him to say something; you can’t stand the anticipation as his eyes remain fixed.

Until he breaks away at Lucy’s complaining.

“Could you not have got here any quicker?” She grouses, shaking for good measure. “It’s freezing out there.”

“Sorry, sorry,” Lockwood replies rather flippantly, and you aren’t quite sure what is up with his constant repetition. If you didn’t know better, you would assume he’s nervous. “George is busy with dinner, and I didn’t hear you until I’d come up from the basement. Come to the kitchen and I’m sure we can warm you up with tea. Did you get the doughnuts, Luce?”

She presses a crumpled bag into his hands, and you hide a smile at the other still peeking out of her pocket.

Lockwood’s face falls as he rifles through the bag. “Only powdered?”

“Well, someone forgot to ring ahead and so this was all they had.”

He looks so forlorn that you almost feel sorry for him, which is ridiculous, especially over something so trivial. And, as Lucy said, entirely his fault. But, even still, the pout he wore on his face bugs you as you head to the kitchen, hanging back as Lucy and Lockwood fall into a well-rehearsed chatter, tossing around half-hearted jibes which have even Kipps smirking. There’s something stilted in the way they’re holding themselves, an odd stiffness that you’ve never noticed in their interactions before.

George is already grumbling about the amount of people in his way as he cooks, and why Lockwood had decided to bring you all there is beyond him. You chuckle, peeking over his shoulder at the pots on the stove before backing away at his warning glare, raising your hands in surrender.

“Anything I can do to help?” You ask once you’ve reached a safe distance, out of spatula reach. With the way he’s wielding the kitchen implement, you wouldn’t be surprised if he decides to use it as a weapon on anyone who gets to close.

“You can sit down. All of you.” He snaps and turns his back. Okay. Something had definitely happened whilst you were gone, and you don’t blame Lucy one bit for running away to Arif’s. You’d done the same in the past.

As the others hustle into seats, chairs screeching against the tile, you hesitate, hovering at the edge of the counter. “Do you want me to set the table or anything, George?”

He opens his mouth before thinking better of whatever he was going to say, for which you’re grateful, and takes a deep breath. “Yes, that would be lovely, thank you.”

You dart to the cupboard he motions at, finding a stack of slightly chipped and faded floral plates, which you count out slowly, all borne of desire to avoid whatever conversation is going on at the table behind you. There’s a bite behind words, a hidden sneer that you really cannot be bothered to deal with, and perhaps you should have listened to Kipps.

As you rifle through the cutlery drawers, jolting to the side as George nears with a sour grunt, the conversation behind you quietens to a whisper and you strain to hear, but to no avail. All you catch is Lockwood murmuring and Lucy’s hushed ‘No!’ of outrage in response. When you spin around, plates in hand, Kipps and Lockwood are locked into some kind of stare down and Lucy looks just so totally over it all. And when Lockwood is the first to look away to give you a smile, Lucy huffs and rolls her eyes.

[fckwritersblock]

Roommates

DRINKS ON ME

Vampire!Trevante Rhodes

Word: 1,500+

Description: just a brief bit of how Trevante and you met. ( unedited as fuck )

It all kicked off when your sister posted an ad on Facebook looking for a roommate.

Trevante was the third candidate you and your sister interviewed for the roommate situation. Originally, it was the two of you until she got engaged to her now-fiancé. Naturally, she moved in with him, leaving you to handle the bills on your own. Well, you expected that to be the case. Instead, she insisted on paying her half. While she helped you out, it didn’t sit right with you to let her carry that burden, especially as she was about to start a family with her soon-to-be husband. However, both of you were stubborn and wouldn’t budge when finally her fiancé Anthony suggested finding you a roommate.

So, she stepped up to help you find a new roommate. She put up a few notices on the bulletin boards around campus, and within a week, you had several responses.

And then came Trevante Rhodes—a fine, dark-skinned man who seemed to have it all together.

He was looking for a place not too far from the docks, which was perfect for him.

The beginning was a bit awkward, but that was to be expected. You two barely interacted, especially being on opposite sides of the apartment. It was easy to avoid one another, and thank god you each had your own space. Sure, you exchanged pleasantries here and there, but you hadn’t really gotten to know each other until Trevante stumbled upon you studying in the living room.

“Yikes, you gon’ fail.” he teased, leaning against the doorway with a grin.

“Nigga!” Hands up, irritated and getting ready to cuss him out.

“Nah, nah, nah, I’m serious. You doin’ it all wrong.”

“Doing what wrong?” you asked, raising an eyebrow.

“Studying. Fuck you go all these millions of cards for. Bet that notebook full as shit too huh?”

“ do you have anything helpful to offer or?”

“Oh, my fault. Okay, look. Everybody studies differently. Staring at words and shit for 5 fuckin’ hours doesn’t always help. You gotta find key things that’ll help you remember.” He went on to suggest. “Try finding something that’ll stick with you, like a song lyric or something that relates to the definition on the words or process you need to remember.”

You stared at him, confusion written all over your face. “Sir, I’m gonna need you to elaborate.”

---

“Tre!!”

You practically sprinted to the elevator, bouncing on your toes as you waited for it to reach your floor.

“Tre! I passed!”

Looking around, you didn’t see him, but you spotted his keys on the counter. You could hear the sound of running water and raced upstairs to the bathroom, knocking on the door rapidly while squealing in excitement.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Trevante cracked the door, concern etched on his face. “What the fuck? Is everything okay?”

“Tre!!! I passed!! Oh my god, I fuckin’ passed!” You shoved your paper in his face, grinning from ear to ear. “Bitch, I got an A+!”

“Congrats, but you scared the hell outta me, yo.”

“Sorry! I was just so excited that I passed, and you are—naked!” You quickly turned away, covering your eyes.

“I am naked,” he confirmed, a grin spreading across his face, clearly amused by your reaction.

“And I am so sorry!”

“Can I finish my shower, please?”

“Yes! Yes, you can. I will leave you to it.” You rushed the words out as you quickly left his bedroom.

After a short while, he emerged from the bedroom, pulling a shirt over his head that revealed a tantalizing glimpse of his abs. You turned away quickly, hoping he didn’t catch you staring.

“Let’s go,” Trevante said, grabbing his keys off the counter.

“What? Where?”

“Come on, we ‘bout to grab a drink. Celebrate!” he clarified, heading over to the elevator.

He lifted the door from the bottom, opening it for the two of you to step inside.

“You comin’?”

---

The bar Tre took you to was the same one you used to frequent, close to downtown Oakland. Nestled right in Jack London Square, it was a place you’d been dragged to a handful of times by some of your girlfriends.

“Aight, drinks on me. What you drinkin’?” Tre asked as you two snagged a table.

“You sure?”

“Mannnnn, what do you want to drink, woman?!” He laughed, his energy infectious.

“I’ll take a Tokyo Tea and a shot, please!” You squealed trying to contain your smile.

“Of what?” To this you leaned forward and whispered playfully.

“Surprise me.”

He nodded, walking away from the table towards the bar as you took a look around. The place was crowded, but that came as no surprise since the game was on—Lakers versus Warriors. The atmosphere was electric, and you felt a bit out of place, being someone who usually stayed in with friends rather than going out like this.

But Trevante made you feel comfortable, easily breaking down those initial barriers. It’s why you ended up giving him the place so easily. You could tell he wouldn’t be a problem; he’d be easy to live with. It had only been a few weeks and so far he’d cleaned up after himself, never left a mess in the bathroom, and if he was stopping to get food, he’d either text you to see if you wanted something or bring you something universally liked if you didn’t respond. I mean, what woman doesn’t love fries? Although you two didn’t speak often and didn’t know much about each other—except for the background check your sister did—when you did chat, you got along pretty well. That’s why you didn’t mind going out with him tonight.

After about ten minutes, Tre returned from the crowded bar, juggling two shots, a beer, and a drink in hand. He slid the drink and shot across the table.

“Hennessy?” You arched an eyebrow at the dark liquid.

“Nah, that shit’s overrated. It’s whiskey,” he corrected, holding up his shot with a grin.

“To my new roommate, a kick-ass, smart, beautiful Black woman who aced her finals like I knew she would!” He gassed while you playfully rolled your eyes remembering his first comment about you failing.

“Mmm! And to you, my roomie, for helping a sista out with her study habits.” You smiled at his praise, earning a soft chuckle from him.

“Yea, yeah. Congrats on passing your final, mama.”

You blushed, feeling a warmth spread across your cheeks. You clinked glasses before downing the shot. Immediately afterward, you grabbed the waters the waitress had left just seconds after you sat down.

“You chasin’ that shot with water?” Tre said incredulously.

“What? It’s supposed to keep me from getting a hangover!”

“What moron sold you that bullshitt?” he laughed, and you playfully flipped him off.

“Anyway! Mr. Nigga, what’s your major?” You asked before taking a sip of your drink.

“Oh, I’m not in school.”

“What?!”

That was a year and a half ago and now you’d consider him one of your best friends.

[stevetonyweekly]

SteveTony Weekly - Week 20- Royalty AU

Eeeep, I’m so excited!!! This week’s theme is Royalty AU’s which I am SUCH  a sucker for. I love the dynamics and the power exchange, and the pomp of it all. And the stakes that are always so visible and HIGH. 

So here’s a few of my favorites! 

The Ghosts of War by scifigrl47 

(For the Cap/Iron Man Big Bang 2014)

Steven Rogers never wanted to be king, but he knows his duty, and he does it well. Lord Tony Stark, the king's appointed consort, does his duty as well, even though he'd enjoy his duty more if it actually involved sleeping with the king. As it doesn't, he's just resigned. The war that made Steve king and cost him nearly everything may be over, but a meeting of old enemies might stir up some ghosts none of them are prepared for.

the small crown by Areiton for iam93percentstardust 

"You know," she drawls, "you're supposed to be hunting a Consort. Not seducing a King."

Tony's mouth drops open. "I'm--you--that's--that is not what happened."

Natasha tips her head and studies him. "You brought him to your bedroom, Tony. He's allowed in the workshop. It might not be what happened, but it's very clear it's what you want."

He looks away. "A King cannot be a consort," he says, shortly.

until the sun comes up by complicationstoo 

Tony spends most of his day waiting for the moment he can return to his bedroom. When he opens the door, Steve is there, sitting on the edge of his bed and leaning back on his elbows. His shoes and socks have been discarded already, tucked neatly against the far wall, and the top two buttons of his shirt are undone. The deep red of his sheets is a sharp contrast against Steve’s fair complexion, and Tony would be lying if he said that wasn’t why he likes the color so much. He looks up with a brilliant smile, and Tony feels something inside of him settle.

Heavy is the Head that wears the Crown by BladeoftheNebula

“Just remember, and this is essential, you call the King ‘Your Majesty’ during the first introduction and afterwards it’s ‘sir’. Queen Maria is likewise ‘Your Majesty’ and thereafter ‘ma’am’, and Prince Anthony is ‘your royal highness, the Prince of Wales’, and ‘sir’ thereafter.”

Steve was never going to remember all this. Thank god he was never going to meet any of them.

When Steve Rogers moved to London he was expecting the bad overpriced flat and the metric system.

What he never could've expected was that the heir to the throne would fall for a skinny asthmatic from Brooklyn.

What do you see (when I look at you?) by General16

Wherein Tony faces both of his biggest fears: Loosing Steve to someone younger and slowly growing older. The new omega and his asshole alpha do not improve his day at all.

Knight of Wands by Sineala 

Steve has reigned as king for ten years, and in a few days peace will finally come to his kingdom. Representatives of the Kree Empire are soon to arrive for the negotiations that will end the war between them once and for all. Steve is looking forward to settling down, with his hand-picked Avengers at his side -- led, of course, by the masked knight Iron Man -- and also his trusted advisors, the most beloved of whom is Tony, his court magician, the most powerful mage in all the land.

But when Steve's life is endangered, Tony makes the greatest sacrifice of all to protect his king, a sacrifice far greater than his life. And when Tony disappears under mysterious circumstances, Steve learns that even his closest friends keep secrets that he could never have suspected.

A Higher Form of War by sabrecmc 

Tony is a King with a surprising number of people out to kill him. Steve and the rest of the Avengers are fighting for Pierce's rebellion and end up with Tony as their prisoner. Oops.

Basically one of those bodice-ripping romance novels I don't read (ahem) but with far more gay.

[imjustagoldfish]

So I've been wondering recently about the name thing that Mycroft has going on with... well, with the world. He never allows anyone to call him anything but Mycroft. Not even his own mother. Even if the name Mycroft itself is kind of weird and pretty unusual, so having ppl call you Mike would be pretty convenient...

Janine: Was it Mike? John: Mike? Janine: Mike, yeah. His brother. They're always fighting. John: Mycroft? Janine: Do people actually call him that?

And it got me thinking because I also have quite an unusual name (even for the country I live in), which could technically be shortened and I don'talways like people to do it. As in Victoria-Vic, Anthony-Tony. Of course my name is neither Victoria nor Anthony, but for the sake of the argument let's assume it's Anthony.

All my life, my family has been calling me Tony. But when I went to school, people started referring to me as Anthony. So naturally I saved this info in my brain as "at home I'm Tony, outside I'm Anthony".

Fast forward to my teen years, I realised that mixing up these two names and using them in the wrong environment made me very uneasy. Whenever a teacher would call me Tony, to appear cool or just to make it shorter, I would get kind of jumpscared and think "woah, hold on, take a step back. We're not on Tony basis, my good sir!" Same way whenever, for example, my father is feeling like joking around and calls me by my real name, I am suddenly all tensed up, because hearing "Anthony" means I must be on my guard, probably because someone will expect me to do something, be someone and/or be somewhere. It's my business name, so to speak.

So it has become a kind of distinction. People who are close to me may call me Tony. People who are not can only call me Anthony (plot twist: even my best friends still call me Anthony, bc Tony feels too... intimate and weird for them and for me).

So what does all that have to do with Mycroft?

Well of course he wouldn't want his goverment colleagues calling him Mike or Mikey. That would be sort of unprofessional and probably very uncomfortable for someone who holds himself to such standards that even when he's home alone, he's wearing a shirt, a vest and a tie.

But why not let his own mother call him Mike or Mikey?

Mrs Holmes: [...] Sherlock is home from hospital and we are all very happy. Mycroft: Am I happy too? I haven't checked. Mrs Holmes: Behave, Mike! Mycroft: Mycroft is the name you gave me. If you could possibly struggle all the way to the end.

Well, because:

"Caring is not an advantage..."

Mycroft is purposefully distancing himself emotionally even from his own parents. He doesn't want anyone, and I mean anyone in the world, to have access to his more vulnerable side.

I imagine that in his childhood, his parents would refer to him as Mike a lot, probably all the time. Hence the habit kicking in at the Christmas family reunion.

But once Mycroft grew a bit older and formed his own life principles, among which was never showing weakness or vulnerability, he realised that he couldn't have anyone ever call him Mike. He is on business-name basis with everyone and he pretends not to have his "inner child" side at all. He wants to be on business-name basis with his own mother and father, to show how independent (maybe?) and unbothered he can be.

Just as for me Tony is reserved for people with whom I am the closest and Anthony is the "serious name", a sort of facade put up for the rest of the world, Mycroft is the facade, the representative name, while Mike is reserved for close relationships, which in his case is none.

Thank you for coming to my TED-talk

[newtonsheffield]

Black cat Kate and Tattoo golden retriever Anthony is such a vibe and I love them so much.

The lyric, “my father’s snide remarks about your tattoos will be ignored, cos my heart is yours,” springs to mind. So I just have to ask, is there anyone that Kate has to put in their place when it comes to her tattoos hunk of a man?

I think people are generally surprised when they meet Kate and then meet her partner. I think Anthony’s so different than almost everyone else Kate’s ever dated. It’s a little surprising to her parents when they meet Anthony. They’re surprised by the motorbike and the tattoos all over his body but Anthony clearly worships the ground Kate walks on. He’s committed to their relationship and he put on a dress shirt and braces the first time he met them because he wanted to make a good impression. He’s a good guy and when they’ve barely been together nine months and Kate discovers she’s pregnant Anthony is happy. Anthony takes providing for his family and spending time with them seriously. Kate’s happy. She loves Anthony, and he loves her and that’s all they’d ever want for Kate.

There are a few surprised looks at baby things they take Edmund to after he’s born when Kate’s gone in and Anthony arrives after parking the car and the instructor clears her throat nervously,

“Um, can I help you, Sir?”

Anthony raised his eyebrows, “Yeah I’m just-”

“Anthony, honey, over here.” Kate called out, walking over to him anyway. “Ashley, I don’t think you’ve met Neddy’s Dad have you? This is my partner, Anthony.”

Ashley can’t stop staring at him. Kate’s all sundresses and high heels and Anthony’s there with a leather jacket over his arm and a muscle tee, straight from work, tattoos all down his arms but when you see them together they match. Neddy giggles when he catches sight of his Dad and Anthony makes an excited noise, scooping his son up and kissing the little boy’s cheek, with his other arm around Kate’s waist. They match.

[in-my-loki-feels]

@silentxsymphony and I's Sharperton agenda continues! Please check out this absolutely amazing piece by @wolfpup026 of Benedict Bridgerton and Sir Thomas Sharpe sharing a sweet moment together. The detail alone is making me crazy, not to mention the softness. 🥺😭💕

Aaaaand to compliment this gorgeous art, there's a little scene below the cut. You can find other snippets featuring these two in my Sharperton tag or on ao3. (Come, join us... 👀)

Benedict sighed. He was not sure why he had indulged this whim to pick up the brush again but it was clearly a foolish idea. The still life taking shape on the canvas was very still indeed, lacking any element that might draw the eye or hold one’s attention. Perhaps packing away his art materials after that disastrous stint at the academy had been the correct impulse, after all. 

“When I saw the door was open, I feared I would find you with your head bent to more boring correspondence,” said a familiar voice behind him. Benedict turned. 

Now there was a sight more full of life than anything he could ever capture on canvas. Thomas Sharpe stood in the doorway, his coat abandoned so that he wore only his shirt, waistcoat and breeches. His presence lifted Benedict’s spirits, at least until he realized Thomas was coming closer to inspect the painting. 

“This is quite good,” Thomas continued, in that lovely rumble that sent gooseflesh spreading across Benedict’s skin. 

“Flattery is unnecessary,” Benedict said dryly, facing the canvas again. He eyed his work and sighed. “You need look no further to see why I was accepted into the academy because of Anthony’s generous donation and not by my own skill.” 

“Or,” Thomas said, raising an eyebrow as he shifted his attention to Benedict, “perhaps the money found them before your letter did. Regardless, I will hear no more disparaging remarks.” 

He reached out to clasp the underside of Benedict’s arm, his thumb brushing beneath where the palette rested. Thomas let the touch linger as he stepped around behind Benedict, then moved his hand to Benedict’s waist. 

“It is a good start, now you need only finish it,” Thomas murmured, his lips brushing Benedict’s ear. It was the smallest touch, but it sent fire racing through Benedict’s body. Thomas often had that effect on him. It was solely for that reason that Benedict did not immediately understand what the other man was suggesting. 

“What, like this?” he asked with a laugh. Thomas had wrapped both arms around him and the heat of his body warmed Benedict’s back. His lips curved into a smile against the nape of Benedict’s neck.

“I do not see the difficulty.” A soft kiss followed the words. 

Benedict shivered and tried, in vain, to rally his thoughts again. “It is simply that I can think of other ways to more happily pass the time.” 

As close as they were, Benedict could feel the rumble of Thomas’ chuckle in his own chest. 

“As could I, my darling, but first, I would like to see you complete this painting. You have only ever been supportive of my own creations.” 

That was because the toys and gadgets Thomas put together were so clever. Thomas’ hold on him tightened, as if he guessed Benedict’s thoughts and was silently warning him not to give voice to them. 

Shaking his head, even as a smile tugged at his lips, Benedict attempted to return his attention to the canvas. It was no small feat given Thomas did not relinquish his spot, occasionally dropping a kiss to Benedict’s neck or murmuring compliments on his technique. 

“You, sir, are a menace,” Benedict said, as Thomas’ fingers ran back and forth along his waistband. “Did you not say you wanted me to finish this?” It was growing ever more difficult to concentrate with the stirring in his breeches brought on by Thomas’ touch. 

“I’m sure you have it in you to continue,” Thomas said, with absolutely no irony. 

Benedict snorted out a laugh. Not since Tilley had he met someone so delightfully playful. It was a word many would not think applied to Sir Thomas Sharpe, who maintained an appearance of quiet charm at most societal functions. A man with eyes so clear and blue and yet at times darkened by shadows. It gladdened Benedict’s heart to see Thomas showing more of this side of himself, even if only in private. 

Benedict moved his brush to the palette then paused. His growing arousal was momentarily forgotten as he looked between the painting and the bowl of fruit arranged on the nearby table. 

“I do believe I am finished.”  

He realized now that Thomas’ presence had distracted him from the doubts that so often plagued him when he stood at the easel. The finished work was by no means a masterpiece, but neither was it the disaster Benedict had seen it as before Thomas entered the room. 

Thomas was conspicuously silent behind him, also admiring the painting. 

“All right,” Benedict said with an overly aggrieved sigh, “it is not terrible.” Thomas’ hold loosened so that Benedict could move to the table and set down his brush and palette. When he turned back, he found Thomas smiling with a mixture of mirth and fondness. 

“Worthy of being skied in the Queen’s gallery, in fact,” Benedict continued, simply to hear Thomas laugh. He so enjoyed the sound and the way Thomas’ eyes crinkled with his smile. Benedict returned to his side with an impish grin as he tilted his chin up to meet the kiss Thomas pressed to his lips. 

“I suppose this means I should solicit your assistance whenever the urge to paint strikes me?” Benedict said. 

“A wise idea, indeed,” Thomas replied, taking hold of Benedict’s hips to pull him closer. He bent down, bringing his lips to Benedict’s ear. “You may even discover I am quite a willing model, should you find yourself in need of more interesting subjects to study.” 

A delighted laugh burst free of Benedict before he was silenced by Thomas’ lips once again. 

* Skied art was hung at the top edge of a wall, typically the worst place for art to appear.

[walidgoldpreppy]

Anthony gets a dark Golden tie

Sitting in the back of the cab, Anthony feels a slight nervousness rising inside him. As the vehicle speeds through the city, he decides to take a look at his work dress code, one more time, to make sure everything is in order. As he scrolls through the document on his phone, his heart sinks.

The code is much stricter than he remembered:

“Matching two or three-piece suit, never mismatched.” Tie tied perfectly, shoes polished to a perfect shine. Hair must be neatly styled with gel. Belt or suspenders required to complete the ensemble.”

Anthony freezes. He does have a tie around his neck, his shirt is neatly pressed, and his shoes are polished. But he is only wearing black pants without a jacket! The look of a man in full compliance with these increasingly strict rules comes back to him, and he knows that he cannot present himself like that. The simple fact of deviating from this code makes him uncomfortable. He begins to sweat slightly under his shirt collar.

“Excuse me, could you stop me in front of the Brooks Brothers store, right there?” he says to the driver, spotting a familiar sign through the window.

A few minutes later, Anthony finds himself in this prestigious store. The scent of leather and fine fabrics fills the air as racks of impeccable suits line up before him. The interior of the store is luxurious, lit by soft, soothing lights. He immediately heads to the suit section, his heart racing.

Salesman approaches him. He is tall, slim, himself dressed in a crisp three-piece suit, a gray wool vest under a perfectly tailored jacket and a beautiful Dark Gold tie. His smile is professional and polite.

“Hello sir, may I help you?” he asks, his voice calm and assured.

Anthony quickly explains his situation, the urgent need for a formal suit to conform to his work dress code. The salesman nods, understanding, and leads him to a rack where charcoal pinstriped suits are hanging.

“This one is made of Italian wool, lightweight but structured, perfect for a day at the office.” I also recommend adding a belt that matches your shoes.”

Anthony nods, his mind clouded by urgency. The salesman escorts him to the fitting rooms, where he quickly puts on the suit. The fabric slides easily over his shoulders, perfectly adjusted, as if it had been tailor-made. Looking at his reflection in the mirror, he feels a strange satisfaction growing inside him. The charcoal suit, with its fine vertical stripes, gives him a more imposing, stricter, almost intimidating look.

The salesman returns with a brown Brooks Brothers leather belt, then asks him what metal he wants for the buckle. Anthony doesn’t hesitate: “Gold, of course.” It seems obvious to him, almost natural. Gold, the color he increasingly associates with perfection and obedience. He also chooses a brown leather watch with a Gold strap.

As he takes one last look in the mirror, Anthony feels an unexpected sense of pride. The suit is cut impeccably, the tie is neatly tied, the belt is smooth and shiny. Everything is in its place. He briefly thinks about the money he had saved up for a PS5, but that is no longer important. This new style, these new rules, that is all that matters.

Proud of his new outfit, he leaves the store, confident. The taxi drops him off at the office just in time, and as he crosses the entrance, he immediately notices the looks turning towards him. Unlike the day before, he does not feel embarrassed by these stares. He walks with a sure step, his back straight, his leather shoes making a slight, regular clicking sound against the shiny floor.

“Wow, Anthony, you look even classier today!” a colleague says as he passes him.

“Do you have anything special planned? You look like you just came from a board meeting!” " jokes another, an amused smile on his lips.

Anthony smiles, almost satisfied with these remarks. He settles for a slight nod and subtly adjusts the knot of his tie, checking once again that it is perfectly centered. He feels good in this suit, as if he embodies a more serious and disciplined version of himself. Every detail of his outfit seems to resonate with this new mentality he has adopted, this desire to follow the rules to the letter.

Throughout the day, he receives compliments and glances. Even his boss notices him when he passes by his desk.

"Nice suit, Anthony. I like to see that you take our dress code seriously," he says approvingly.

Anthony feels his heart leap with pride. This simple comment reinforces his idea that he is on the right track. As the day goes on, he feels more comfortable in this skin. He continues to check his reflection whenever he gets the chance, adjusting his jacket, checking his gelled hair and the shine on his shoes.

(End of Part 5)

Part 4

[phenphoenix]

Kinda wanna write the swap au meeting their og selves I think that’d be fun

Absolutely, I'll even plant some seeds for you that I've already got

Anthony and Angel Dust - Both see each other as the worst version of themselves. Yet deep down, don't hold too much resentment because they are the same person, just different circumstances.

Husker and Husk - Husk is a bit weirded out at first but warms up to husker cause he reminds him of when he was younger and happier. Husker is just curious where husks shirt went-

Niff and Nifty - Niff lowkey kinda wishes she was as crazy as Nifty. Maybe she wouldn't be so depressed- just blissfully insane. Nifty is confused at seeing another her and thinks she has a long-lost twin.

Swap!Vaggie and Vaggie - Vaggie is uncomfortable with seeing her alternate self, just making her more grateful it was charlie who found her. Swap!Vaggie puts on a front to be as over the top as possible because she's lowkey having a crisis and just feels even worse.

Charlotte and Charlie - Charlie is over the moon to meet her alternate self. Charlotte, not so much. She sees Charlie as a naive little puppy. But she admires her resilience and how even with all of hell seeing her as a joke, she keeps doing what she believes in.

Lady Cherri and Cherri bomb - They get along great. Both are still basically the same person, and if anything, Cherri respects the hell out of Lady cherri for being born in the late 1800s and still achieving what she has. While Lady Cherri loves the fact that her alternate self was able to be as free as she was 100 years in the future.

Pentious and Sir pentious - Again, they get along great. Both are goofy middle-aged men who like to destroy things and be eeeeeeevil. But really have a good heart and just want to prove themselves in the end.

Swap!Vess and The vees - Not much to say other than they are all still toxic besties. Lotta passive aggressive remarks lmao

Swap!Sera and Sera - very much a "if my cards were different, I understand I would have gone down your path," but with both thinking they are the better one.

Swap!Emily and Emily - Emily doesn't even want to look at her alternate self. While Swap!Emily sees her alternate self as a naive fool who needs to take more of a stand. (But is faithful that she will)

Swap!Adam and Adam - Both look at each other and go "Hah what a loser"

Swap!Lute and Lute - Lute is disappointed that her Alternate self seems so,,,boring. But still respects her for her high rank in Hevan. Swap!Lute thinks Lute could use a chill pill...and maybe some therapy.

(Since Lillith and Lucifer are still big question marks within cannon and this AU, I'll leave them out for now)

[asmutwriter]

Just A Lady (Part 4)

DESCRIPTION: After the party you go back home. But you don't go back alone.

A/N: The second half of season 3 came out yesterday (as of me posting this) and I am so excited to watch it! Sadly I go on holiday the day it comes out so I may not be able to watch it until the following week!

I do hope you enjoy this part - it doesn't follow the timeline of the story so no spoilers are in here if you are concerned. Just have some pure Benedict smut and fluff

WORD COUNT: 3383

From Beginning / Previous / Next / Master List

WARNINGS: brothels, sex workers, swearing, smut, oral (f recieving), fingering, biting, use of 'sir', soft dom Benedict, sub reader, hair pulling, unprotected sex, p in v

DISCLAIMERS

- I wrote this in my knowledge of sex workers and I am truly sorry if I got it wrong and/or is offensive, that is not what I intended to do and Im sorry if that is the case

-  This is fiction. Please always talk to your partner before doing anything and make sure they are ok with what you are doing beforehand

You stretch as the morning sun leaks in through your curtains. Sitting up as you look around yourself. Flinging the covers from yourself as you head to the window. Moving the curtains as you take in the sunshine. Taking in a breath, admiring the view. A knock at the door brings you out of your thoughts. You turn to face the doorway.

"Come in". You say. A servant comes in. Smiling at you.

"Ma'am. Breakfast is being served. Lady Bridgerton asked us to come and inform their guests". You nod and smile.

"Thank you. I will get dressed and be down shortly". She nods. Exiting the room and shutting the door behind her. You go over to your bag. Taking off your shirt and placing it onto the chair. Putting on your day dress before you head to the breakfast room.

Ornate food layed out. You stop yourself from uttering a curse in shock at the sight as you see the Bridgertons sat down. Sitting next to Daphne as Anthony sits at one end of the table, Violet the other end. The oldest son giving you a very disgusted look as you pull in your chair.

A silence fills the room as they start indulging in the food. You grab several of the pastries. Stuffing your face with them. Looking opposite you, seeing Colin shake his head slightly. Silently showing you how to eat the items. You smile. Dabbing your mouth with the back of your hand before delicately eating the food laid out before you. Some time passing before Violet speaks up.

"It is getting quite late. What is the time?" she says. Looking around to locate a non existent clock in the room.

"Just after 10 am ma'am". One of the servants says.

"Really?" you say.

"Everything ok?" Daphne asks next to you

"Yes. Yes. I just planned on being home at 10 today"

"No do stay for longer" Eloise says. Smiling at you.

"I cant I'm sorry. I need to go back home. I've got stuff I need to attend to"

"No do stay. Please" she smiles at you. You tilt your head slightly.

"If she needs to go then we should let her leave" Anthony says "For the best, I feel" His gaze harsh as he looks at you. You try not to laugh at his obvious annoyance of your presence. Nodding as you smile at him.

"Exactly Mr Bridgerton" you stand. "Thank you for the food and the place to sleep". You pick up another pastry. "I'll just take this to go". Violet looks at you in a slight confusion as you take a bite from it. Turning as you head out the room. Picking up your evening dress from the chair as you shove it into your bag. Eating the rest of the bun as you push it in with your other hand. Placing the bag onto your shoulder before walking out the door.

It was a long but joyous walk home. A smile plastered on your face as you get to the brothel. In a state of euphoria as you change into your more mundane clothing before walking back home. Being greeted by your girls. Being bombarded by them as they ask you a multitude of questions. You answer them all. Placing your bag onto the sofa as you do your chores. Washing up. Washing in general. Plus the outside animals.

You tend to Rebecca. Her arm seemed to be in good condition. Not seeming to be infected and healing nicely. Going out to grab the clothes from the line as the girls stop questioning you. Well, more you started threatening them with helping you. Causing most to run away. Apart from Sofia and Daisy who started to help you fold the clothes up. The others off admiring the chickens. Playing in the garden.

The day goes by as normal. You all get ready for bed as the day ends. Piling into your overcrowded room at night. Two beds being shared between the 7 of you. It was a squeeze but you were used to it. Different experience to what you had the night before.

You wake up early. Quietly getting out of bed and getting dressed. You go to the chickens. Collecting the eggs. Heading to the house and placing them into a basket. There is a gentle knock at the door. You place the last egg down. Wiping your hands onto you dress as you go over to the door. Opening it your smile is met with confusion as you see Benedict outside.

"Mr Bridgerton" you say. He smiles at your obvious confusion. You step put. Him stepping to allow you room as you pull the door behind you. "What are you doing here?"

"You have my shirt from last night. Or the night before I suppose". You shake your head.

"No I don-" you think back. You remember chucking the shirt on the chair. The chair that had your evening dress on. The same dress you packed in the morning. In a rush. Not paying much attention to anything else. "I may have accidentally picked it up"

"I thought I'd come by and collect it first hand. If I don't take it back then word might get out that you borrowed it. And then rumours will spread about why you would have my shirt"

"Ah. We cant be having that". You open the door again. Going over to the bag as he follows you inside your small home. "How did you remember where I lived?"

"I may have gone to your work and asked about you"

"Yeah I'm sure that's the only reason you went to my work" you smile at him. Taking out his shirt and handing it to him. He takes it. Looking at the material in his hands. "You ok?"

"Yes. I'm fine" he looks up at you. "If I leave this here then it gives me a reason to come back tomorrow". You roll your eyes as you smirk at him.

"You read to many romance books"

"Or I'm just a hopeless romantic" he smiles at you. Causing you to chuckle.

"Either way, you need to get back to your family. I'm sure they're missing you"

"They probably haven't even realised I'm gone".

"Well... I need to do stuff today". you shut the bag with your dresses in "I have a day of housework to catch up on".

"I can help, if you'd like". You look at him. Biting your bottom lip.

"I don't expect you to invite me to a party then 24 hours later help me organise and tidy my home". You pause momentarily. "How about this - I'll be at work later tonight. Why don't you meet me there? We can catch up, away from prying eyes". He raises an eyebrow. A cocky smile on his face as his eyes dart to your lips.

"You want me to meet you in a brothel?"

"I can come round to your house if you'd rather. See your brothers agai-""

"No. No need for that"

"Are you sure? I think Anthony is really warming up to me".

"I'll meet you tonight". You smile.

"I look forward to it". He smiles back. Turning on his heel before walking away. "I start work at 7" you call after him. He turns and waves at you. Walking backwards you see the grin on his face before he turns again. Shirt in hand as you see him walk off into the distance.

-

You say goodnight to the girls before heading off to work. Telling them you'll be back later. You have a quick smoke before meeting with a client. A very, very quick ordeal happens between the two of you. Leaving him very hot and sweaty and you feeling... nothing. You bid him ado. Taking his money and placing it into your knee high sock. Wrapping a silk dressing gown around yourself as you go back out to the main part of the brothel.

You have a drink. A quick shot of whiskey as one of the newer girls comes over to you. Grabbing your arm, she speaks in a very high pitched tone. "You have a friend. This is the second time hes come here asking after you". She turns. Following her gaze you see Benedict. You smile at him, catching his eye he smiles back. You lift a hand, waving him over. "No what are you doing?"

"Telling my friend to come over to me"

"You don't understand. That's a Bridgerton. They are loaded. Plus he is handso-"

"Ladies" he says. His smile enough for the both of you.

"Mr Bridgerton" you smile at him "I'm glad to see you got my invitation"

"Is this your usual type of meeting place or?" Your friend speaks up. Smiling at him as he chuckles.

"No. Not usually"

"Ok. That's good. I think. Isa is that good?"

"I don't know" just as shes about to say something else you cut her off. "Shall we go somewhere more private?" Meeting the males eyes. Both of them looking at you. He nods. Standing up you hold a hand out towards him to which he takes. Leading him to a room and shutting the door. "I apologise about my friend. She's new and doesn't quite understand the etiquette yet". He chuckles and shakes his head.

"Nothing to be sorry for. She seems nice". He watches as you go and sit on the bed. Pulling the robe around you a bit more.

"I don't think I did ever say thank you properly did I?". He tilts his head slightly.

"For?"

"The party the other day. My goodness it was amazing. And..." you lean forward slightly. A smile on your lips "your brothers didn't murder me. Which I'm taking as a good thing". He laughs. Folding his arms as he leans against a wall.

"That was a surprise to be fair". You nod. Leaning back as you look at the ceiling. Resting your hands onto your lap.

"I still cant believe that you live like that everyday"

"We don't have a ball everyday" he says. You tilt your head. Watching as he makes his way over to the bed. Sitting next to you.

"Whats the point of having a house that big if you don't have parties in it at every opportunity" he chuckles. Moving his gaze forward as your head remains turned towards him.

"Its a lot of work. Gone into each party that is. The catering and the dancing"

"I can imagine it gets quite socially draining too. Always needing to say the correct things to the correct people". He nods. Turning his head back to you. "I don't think I could wear a corset for that long either". He chuckles softly.

"Thats why I enjoy your company"

"Because you don't have to wear a corset around me? Oh I'm flattered" you smile as his grin grows.

"I know I don't have to be proper with you. That I can be who I truly am and you wont judge me or think that there's someone better out there". He reaches forward. Taking one of your hands in his. His eyes remaining on yours as he brings your delicate hand up. Gently kissing the back of it. "I am grateful for our friendship". You smile at his words. Softness in your eyes as you look at him.

"You sure you don't want to take up poetry rather then art? It seems to be your calling" he chuckles. Looking downwards. Holding your hand in his as he rests it on his leg. Stroking the back of it with his thumb.

"No words I wrote could describe your beauty and grace. Only an image could do it justice". You smile. He moves his head back up. Your gaze falling upon each other. You move your body. Facing towards him more. Your free hand coming up and gently brushing the stray hairs from his forehead. Tracing down his temple. His cheek. Jawline. Your eyes following your finger as you use it to outline his features.

He brings his hand up. Gently cupping your cheek. Drawing your eyes to look at his. He leans forward, kissing you. You melt into him. Your hands falling to his chest. He brings his hands to the tie of your dressing gown. Undoing it. His hands trailing up the sides as he pushes the soft fabric from your shoulders. He moves away. Bringing his mouth to your neck, then shoulder. Kissing along it. You shut your eyes. A soft sigh leaving your lips as you bring a hand to his hair. He bites at the skin. Causing you to gasp. The suddenness making your back arch. Pressing into him more.

He moves his body. Kissing your lips as he comes in front of you. Pushing you to lie on the bed. His body coming over yours. Your hands coming and cupping his face. He moves away, about an inch. Looking down at you as you lie beneath him. You nudge his nose with yours. Brushing your lips against his. He smiles. Kissing you again. Then your jawline. Throat. Collar bone. Making his way down. Kneeling before you. Gently placing his palms onto your knees as he pushes them apart.

"So beautiful" he whispers. He strokes over your legs. Throwing them over his shoulders before he leans forward. His tongue pressing against you. Your breath hitches, followed by a low groan. One arm wraps around your hip. His hand resting on your stomach. Bringing the other up, he pushes his finger into you. Curling it once his knuckle hits you.

"Holy fuck" you drawn out speech fills the room. Both your hands reach down. Grabbing his hair as he inserts another digit into you. Dragging them along that sweet spot inside of you. His tongue doing wonders on your clit as mewled speech leaves your lips. His hand resting on your stomach pushes down. Adding just the right amount of pressure to your build up.

"Please. Please sir" you beg. Trying to grind your hips against him as he attacks your cunt. He hums against you. Wet sounds filling the room as your high builds and builds. You clutch at his hair. Trying to bring him closer to you. The continuing motions on you causing your orgasm to hit you. You squeeze your legs together. The filthiest moan leaving your lips as you let it wash over you. You breath heavily as he slows his fingers. Removing his mouth from you, he comes up. Gently kissing your neck as his fingers still move inside of you.

You run a hand through his hair. The other running up the length of his arm. "I-I want to feel you. All of you. Please" you whisper. Head tilting downwards so you can speak into his ear. He removes his fingers. Tracing his fingers over your clit, causing you to jolt. A soft whine leaving your lips as he moves off of you. Your eyes on his as he stands before you.

His hand goes to the bottom of his shirt. Bringing it up and over his torso. You lean up on your arms. Biting your bottom lip as your eyes scan over his torso. He brings a hand down. Undoing the button of his trousers. Pushing them and his undergarments down his legs. You take in a breath at the sight. Eyes going back up to his eyes as he gives you a cocky smile. Coming back over he takes your face in his hands. Kissing you harshly. You hands gripping his wrists.

He pushes you back down onto the bed. Resting on his forearm as his other hand stays on your cheek. You put your legs either side of his waist. Lips still connected with his as he removes his hand from your face. Lining himself up with your opening. He moves from the kiss. You hands gently running over his shoulders. Eyes watching your face as he pushes into you. Agonizingly slowly. You moan out. Your hands gripping at him.

"Fuck" he mutters. Filling you up completely. You wrap your arms around him. Your legs crossing over his waist. His chest pressing into yours as he kisses you. Starting to move his hips. A slow grind. His hand comes up. Resting near your head. You moan into his mouth. Moving away as your mouth becomes slightly agape. Soft gasps and moans filling his ears as he watches you. A smile continuing to stay on his face as you break underneath him. You flutter your eyes.

"Keep your eyes on me". You nod slightly. Opening them. Making eye contact with him. A gentle blush coming over your cheeks at the intimacy of the moment. "Good girl" he smiles. Kissing you. Moving his hand from by your head downwards. His hand finding where you two meet. His thumb gently stroking over your clit.

"F-fuck". You mutter. The blush growing more as you keep his steady gaze. His slow movements inside of you matching perfectly with the delicate movements of his thumb. "You f-feel... s-so good...". He smiles. Gently kissing your lips again as he fastens his pace. His thumb stilling on your clit. Pushing down onto it hard as his hips start to piston in and out of you. "Fuck fuck fuck". You groan. Your nails digging into his back. Every ounce of you keeping your eyes open as you keep his gaze.

"Sir. P-please". His smile growing. Kissing your forehead. Your toes start to curl. A moan leaving your lips as you feel your second orgasm hit you. Your legs tightening around him, bringing him close to you as you clench around his length.

"Shit" he mutters. Pulling himself out of your incredibly inviting hole. Seconds later feeling his seed hitting your thigh. You come down from your high. Shutting your eyes as he rests his head onto your shoulder. You kiss his temple. Stroking his shoulder blades. Feeling the small indentations from your nails being left on his skin. He kisses your shoulder before rolling next to you. Lying on his back as he shuts his eyes. His chest heavy as he regains his composure. You stand up. Walking over to where you keep clean towels. Grabbing some and cleaning yourself up first. Going back over to him.

"May I?". He looks at you. His cocky smile having softened as he nods. You clean him up. Gently kissing the centre of his chest before you grab your gown. Wrapping it around yourself, doing the tie up in the front. He sits up. Holding a hand out towards you. You go over to him. Taking his hand as he pulls you onto his lap. Resting his hands on your hips. You kiss him. A soft hum leaving your lips. Wrapping your arms around his neck before you part.

"We should do this again sometime" he says. His smile ever cocky as he runs his hands up your sides.

"That we should. However, I need to get back to work". He fake pouts. "Come on handsome. You need to get back to your home. And I need to get back to mine". He nods. Kissing you. His arms going around your waist. Pulling you close to him. You smile into the kiss. Shaking your head as you stand up. Playfully pushing his arms. "If I stay here with you then I will never leave this room"

"Would that be such a bad thing?". You bite your lip. Smiling at him. He smiles back. Grabbing his shirt and trousers he stands up. You turn to give him privacy. Hearing him shuffling as you assume he gets dressed. Feeling a hand come to your shoulder. You turn, looking up at him as his hand moves from your shoulder to your cheek. Leaning down and kissing you. You have to control yourself not to melt into him. He moves away.

"Thank you for a wonderful evening Isabella. I will remember it". He moves away. Straightening his clothes again before he opens the door. Turning back to face you as he gives you a last smile. You smile at him as you watch him leave through the building and out the front door.

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[thekatebridgerton]

Today on another episode of stories I wish someone would write: Bridgerton flowershop vs tattoo parlour au

I don't know i just thought of an au where Benedict runs a tattoo parlor with Gen Delacroix as a passion project and has overseen the designs for the ink of all his siblings. But with some drama added

Anthony: the most serious of business men, everyone thinks he doesn't have tattoos, because hes so straight laced, but in reality he's got his whole back inked. The tattoo on his back is a very detailed clockwork machinery inside a beehive which he got when Edmund died. The only person outside of his family who's ever seen the tattoo up close outside is Kate Sharma, a woman Anthony has a complicated past with. Kate used to be one of Anthony's business competitors, but after having a falling out with her sister where Anthony was heavily involved, Kate retired from the corporate world and decided to open a Dog Groomer Salon to get her life back on track. 'Sir Newton's Pet Pampering' happens to be right across Bridgerton's Ink and in between Sophie's flower shop and Peneloise bookstore. Anthony finds every excuse he can to visit Benedict and watch Kate from afar, trying to work up the courage to approach her and fix things. Even tho she's under the impression that Anthony ruined her relationship with Edwina on purpose and absolutely hates his guts.

Benedict: with the exception of his siblings he's the artist and Gen is more of the one with the needle, he doesn't ink customers. He's got a very nice tattoo of art supplies intertwined with the Bridgerton family crest all across his chest (a tribute to his family and his lifelong dream), he likes to wear shirts that are slightly open in the front, to give people a peek but also leave them wondering about the full thing. The only person aside from his family that he's ever inked is 'flower shop' Sophie from across the street. He may or may not be totally smitten with her ever since she first came into his business, but she doesn't take him seriously because he's been acting like a wishy washy playboy since meeting her. She's a single mom, who is very secretive about why the father of her little Charlie isn't in the picture and thinks that Benedict is bad news in an ink covered package, but he wants to show her that she's wrong, so wrong, he can help her, now if only she would let him show her that he's not such a bad guy. Then maybe that masquerade tattoo he inked in her shoulder could be joined by a glass slipper

Colin: the consummate travel writer, he's got both arms tatted up with quotes in different languages and artwork of the places he's traveled, and he loves to push up his shirtsleeves to show them off, especially around Penelope. His long time friend who runs the bookstore cafe across the street with his sister. but lately he's been (mooching off) staying with Benedict for a while longer ever since Genevieve let it slip that Penelope might have seen all Colin's tattoos but she's obviously never shown him hers. Now Colin is paranoid about Penelope's secret tattoos, why didn't she tell him? Where did she get inked? Does she have more secrets?. Penelope on the other hand is struggling to hide her secret life as erotic romance writer Lady Whistledown, while she dodges Colin's pursuit and manages the bookstore, as much as she's always wished for his undivided attention, she's not going to show him her tattoos just to satisfy his curiosity. ( Especially not the Quill tattoo she got right below her breast or the matching parchment tattoo she got in the inside of her upper thigh). This, predictably is driving Colin crazy

Eloise: Eloise was never a fan of tattoos like her brothers, sure shes got a small violet in her ankle and a 'Girlboss' and 'Smash the patriarchy' inked in small print around her right wrist. But she's never seen the appeal of huge tattoos... Until Philip the plant guy. Truthfully he's just of one of her bookstore's regulars, who works with Sophie from down the street. And drinks his coffee in El's book cafe, El makes small talk with him on slow mornings but it's not like they're friends ( sometimes he leaves Eloise flowers instead of a tip, but that's a conversation for another day). The thing is that with that nerdy, Frazzled, soccer dad look, Eloise would have never thought that Philip the plant guy was inked all over. Not until she accidentally saw him shirtless when she was over at Ben's. And boy not only is the man ripped, he's got the entire upper part of his body tattooed in plants and flowers, back, front, arms, all the way to his wrists. Now everytime Eloise sees him all she can think about is what he's hiding under all that flannel and her brain blanks out, so much she can't handle a normal conversation with him, not only that, she babbled nervously so much that she somehow ended up volunteering to help him teach his kids how to swim. Now all Eloise can think about is that she just volunteered to be somewhere public, with Phillip in his swimming trunks and children present. Why did things have to get so complicated?? He's Philip the plant guy! She's not supposed to like him ( but she does)

An: and yeah that's the tea

[casadecopia]

My new manager said they’ve loved Thursday for the past 20 years; major kudos now I’m trying to get them to go see Geoff/Anthony with me lmao

Then I asked them about their hand tattoo and I’m like “is that hogwarts castle?”

And they say “it’s a church”

Me: “Oh are you religious?”

They look at me and go “it’s on fire”

Me: “so you like Ghost huh?”

I point at my shirt and they’re like ???

Me: *whispers* “you know satanic popes subliminally converting the masses”

Them: ???? “I don’t really believe that—“

Me: cutting them off “the band?”

Them: *still confused*

Me: “Ghost—the band from like Sweden that was basically banned here…”

Them: “oh I know what you’re talking about. I know what you’re talking about” they nod “I just forgot”

Picture of me in real-time

Ok excuse me sir/bb girl I don’t believe you I’m offended and I’m talking this personally

[splashgal]

Bridgerton Recap- 1x3: 'The Art Of The Swoon'

We open on a very romantic sequence involving wisteria and lanterns and Simon sliding one of Daphne’s opera gloves off as they dance. He leans in to kiss her and she wakes up. Wah wah. She seems very disturbed, as if we haven’t all had that dream about Rege-Jean Page. I wonder if episode three always opens with a Bridger-Sibling dream sequence? Let me know in the comments.

After the title card ( I already miss the theme music), we get shots of men shooting and women shopping as Dame Julie tells us that those that marry in haste must repent in leisure. She gives a shoutout to Daphne, who is fielding proposals out in the streets. What? Who are these guys? Dame Julie continues on that she believes Daphne is still waiting for the Duke to pop the question, hopefully not out on the sidewalk like he’s a pan-handler. Whatever Dame Julie says next is lost on me and Daphne as Simon makes 'Bridgerton' history by establishing the oral fixation this family has by licking the back of his spoon.

Miss Bridgerton gets it together faster than I do, because I have to rewind this section three times to write about it and she is able to snap back to attention after just a few seconds as someone brings her a dish of ice cream.

She reminds Simon (but mostly us) that their ruse is working, but must continue until she finds herself a husband. He agrees and is very charming and calls himself handsome. She looks like she wants to lick the back of him.

Penelope is staring out the window over at Feather-House with a pink dress and some very cute, bouncy curls. Pru and Pippa are expositing that a Prince is on his way as they climb the stairs that Pen is racing down. Together, the three really look like a Lisa Frank TrapperKeeper with the LaffyTaffy- hued dresses. Pen races to the footman who is holding all the new mail on a silver tray. She shuffles through it before sighing and flouncing off cutely with a little sigh.

Marina is in her room (of course) as Pen enters. They establish she didn’t get a single Publisher’s Clearing House letter or credit card offer and Marina flops onto the bed dramatically. Penelope gives her a ‘buck up, lil’ camper’ speech about Sir George writing back and taking a long time to get correspondence to and from him and they’re such a great couple, so much better than she and that stinky Bridgerton boy who was trying to make time with her. What’s his name- Colton?

Portia and her evil henchman Varley burst in and accuse Penelope of ‘cavorting with the expectant’. Ha! Pen tries to defend herself, but her dear mama practically throws her out of the room before turning on Marina and telling her she needs to find a husband asap. Marina doesn’t want to do that. Shockingly, Portia doesn’t care and further threatens Marina that she’s going to start wearing the family colors. Awesome, so she’ll look like a HyperColor shirt in no time!

Across the street as the less toxic Bridger-Home, Violet is already asking Daphne to fill up her dance card for the ball that night as the debutante paces the room. Benedict is sprawled out on a sofa, Anthony is sat at a table reading the newspaper, Colin is eating, and the littles play on the floor. The family group scenes are consistently my faves on this show. Daphne makes Ben move so she can sit next to him as El flops onto an open chair and Greg steals food from Anthony’s plate. Violet asks about Simon and Daphne reminds her that he isn’t one of the guys who has proposed to her. Bridger-Mom notes that Daphne simply needs to marry the person who feels like her dearest friend (drink!). Daphne gets all sarcastic with her mom as Benedict smirks from what has to be an extremely uncomfortable position on the sofa next to her.

We cut to the ball, where the string ensemble is rocking out some Billie Eilish. I listen to this cover way too often, you guys. There’s Skip-To-My-Lou dancing and peacocks, so you know this party is fancy. Oh, there’s also parrots. Daphne has a hair feather and- STOP THE PRESSES! You guys!!! Simon is wearing a cravat! This must be the most formal event we have seen, save for the square dance that is going on. Lord Weaver comes over to add his name to Daphne’s dance card and Simon raises his voice theatrically to bemoan the fact that she doesn’t give him every ounce of her attention. She flirts that he must want a promotion before wandering away.

Oh wait, she’s already dancing with this guy now. They are waltzing (off the beat, which drives me a bit nuts) as she tries to make conversation and Simon prowls the perimeter of the room. She spins away from Weaver and I guess we are in one of those ‘terrible speed dating’ montages from romcoms now. One guy loves to talk about all the land he owns, one is a mama’s boy. She makes crazy eyes at Simon as Ladies Bridgerton and Danbury stand near a birdcage and gossip about how in luuurrrve those two are. What is the theme of this ball? Daphne jokes that she would rather hook up with Genevieve DeLaCroix than any of those dudes. Same, girl.

The Queen enters in a Scary Spice wig and with a cute blonde dude on her arm. Thankfully, the Feather-Sisters are here to let us know that this is the Prince. Pen is in the background near another birdcage, and while I don’t think we saw her doing that in episode two, I will try to be better about noting it, since it is an excellent choice that Nicola has made in the past. Saphne flirt adorably and watch as Cressida, in an inexplicable hairstyle, bows to the Prince and gets a kiss on the hand. Simon mentions that he can tell the Prince just told Cressida that her gown is exquisite and Daphne questions him as the Prince moves away from her. A moment later, the Queen is introducing Prince Fredrick to Daphne herself, ‘the diamond’. He tells Daphne her gown is exquisite and Daphne snort-laughs at him. Hee. The Queen leads Fredrick away as Daphne and Simon get right back to flirting. A dude who I think is Lord Cho comes over and asks her to dance before leading her away with a side eye toward Simon.

Across town, Genevieve is closing up her shop for the night when she hears a noise in the back. She picks up a pair of scissors (good girl!) and calls out before seeing it’s just Anthony’s opera-singin’ lovah, Sienna. Gen immediately drops her French accent (hee!) and scolds Sienna for scaring her. They start drinking and talking shit about Anthony and how Sienna will have a new sugar daddy soon enough. They then talk shit about Cressida, and I could get down with the idea of these two just getting drunk and ragging on every main character once an episode I think. Gen offers to make Sienna a dress out of the same fabric as Cruella’s Cressida’s, but Sienna instantly goes the ‘I’m a whore, so I can only wear black or red’ route. She’s not. That. Innocent. She will find a rich man who will let her spend his money on black dresses and never cares about his family like that stinky Bridgerton boy who was making time with her. What’s his name- Andrew?

We cut to approximately seventy-three men crowded around a card table playing a dice game. Dang, the desperation to not be around women for a couple hours is intense I guess. Anthony, Simon, and Feather-Baron are all there. Archie thinks Anthony is cheating and Anthony calls Archie out on his gambling addiction (foreshadow!) as the Feather-Baron glowers at them. Simon is happy that Anthony isn’t being an insufferable prick at the moment. They argue back and forth a bit about Simon’s intentions towards Daphne, which he says are respectful. A secret bookcase door opens (I’ve always wanted one of those!) and in parade a bunch of courtesans, including Sienna, who’s dressed in red. Wait, is this at the party? I assumed because Simon is still wearing a cravat, but maybe it isn’t. I don’t know, but Anthony makes like Snagglepuss and exits stage right just as Sienna saunters over to the Duke. They openly flirt while Ant watches on. She basically tells Simon that if he watches her sing tomorrow night, she will fuck him. Oops, she did it again!

Well, I don’t know about you guys, but I think Anthony will be very calm and level-headed about this.

Daphne is tossing and turning and thinking about spoon-licking. Or maybe that’s just me? She makes her way downstairs and is spotted by Anthony. She invites him to join her in the kitchen for some warm milk. It’s unfair to say this, because Jonathan Bailey has chemistry with everyone, but these two are so good together.

Cut to them both staring at the stove, not having any friggin’ idea of how to operate it at all, as Daphne stands there with two little jugs of milk. Hee. They argue back and forth over which one of them should know how to do this, when they are obviously both proper ladies who don’t know nothin’ bout starting no burners. They will instead drink it cold. Way to problem solve, Daph!

She asks Ant to hum a few bars with regard to Simon, so that she may pick out the tune of ‘Hot Duke With Daddy Issues In C Minor’ the next time she hears it. Anthony first tries to tell her that her sweet little virginal ears can’t hear why he won’t marry, but he relents pretty quickly and tells her about the Douchke and Sarah, his dead mom who died. Daphne proclaims it’s very sad (word), but Anthony insists Simon prefers to have no on in his life and to not worry her pretty little crimpy-looking head about it. Sometimes people are not meant to be together, as much as they may wish otherwise. He almost made it through a whole conversation without making it about him. Oh Ant, it may seem like a crush. But it doesn’t mean she’s serious.

Dame Julie voiceovers that appreciation of the arts is what lifts humans above animals. Well, that and an appreciation for Kendrick Lamar. Julie tells us there’s a new wing opening at a museum and then tells us that Marina will be there, recovered from her mysterious illness. On rewatch, it becomes so obvious that this is Penelope. Who was talking about her being sick? Even Colin barely noticed that, and he is trying to sail his vessel in.

Oh, ew. Sorry ‘bout that.

Gen is measuring Marina at Feather-House and mentions her measurements may have been off as she tries to truss her up like a Thanksgiving bird. Portia mentions that Marina loves cake ( I bet she does), and it occurs to me I should maybe have a Cake As Sex metaphor counter. I think I will start one! Feather-Mom says Marina is going on a diet.

We swoop over to the art gallery thing. Her comes the Feather-Clan. Pen’s in yellow (she says hello, come sit next to me ya fine fellow) and looks adorable. Portia pushes Pip and Pru in front of the visiting Prussian Prince and they promptly prostrate themselves as he barely passes glances at them. Here comes the Ladies Cowper in their intricate braids and even more intricate social etiquette as Cressida steps on a purple-dyed pump and practically throws an elbow in order to get to the Permed Prussian Prince. Dame Julie tells us a language tutor has been hanging out at Cowper house, implying that it is so Cressida can learn German. Viel durst!

We are inside with the Bridger-Fam now! There’s little Greg! I love him so much, you guys. Violet is arm in arm with Anthony, and immediately starts calling out qualifications for passing ladies like she’s on QVC and needs to sell something in the next ten minutes. Anthony brushes her off as his brothers giggle behind their backs. As soon as he walks off, Vi tries to grab Benedict and then Colin in succession, because those grandbabies aren’t going to birth themselves, boys!

That was a cute scene, and it leads into a cute scene transition as Anthony walks past Pen and El staring up at a large painting of naked ladies. Pen calls it familiar, and El points out that is because all paintings are about naked ladies because men blah blah blah. Penelope turns and sees Marina being dragged by and mouthing for help. Pen excuses herself to attempt to go help her as Portia presents Miss Thompson to an old Lord who is chatting with the Feather-Baron. This guy looks like a cross between Jim Broadbent and Jeffrey Jones. How unfortunate. Marina snaps at him pretty quickly and Penelope quickly insinuates herself into the mix. Portia tries to distract Pen, but Marina holds onto her and continues snapping at Lord Broadbent who is currently trying to purchase her. Said Lord huffs and puffs and wanders off to find another young girl whose mouth has already been sewn shut but whose vagina is still open for business. Portia calls Penelope a meddlesome little wench (ooh, avast ye matey!), and tells Marina she doesn’t understand that she will be pushing a baby out of her in a pretty short time period. She stomps off.

Benedict is giving a rather withering look to a painting before turning to Lady Danbury. Yay! Aga-dict lives on! And I might need to work on that ship name. Ben and his blue velvet coat announce that the work is cold and lacking spirit. There’s another man just on the other side of Lady Danbury, so you know where this scene is going. Benedict continues that the painting should have been skyed, which Google tells me is a regency-era tradition of hanging art work floor to ceiling, the top ones being the hardest to see. Thanks, Google! Lady Danbury turns directly to the other man and asks him why his crappy painting isn’t higher on the wall and therefore easier to ignore. Benedict sputters and Agatha giggles and Mr. Granville runs off to find his wife. Sure, buddy. Ben calls Lady Danbury diabolical. Just kiss already! She says that was hilarious and saunters off.

Elsewhere, Prince Frederick is extricating himself from conversation with Cressida and her mom to follow Daphne. He tells her the art is not the only beautiful thing on display. Dude, take it down a notch. He tries talking to her about travel and music, but she spots Simon out of the corner of her eye and gets completely distracted. She blows off the Prince to follow Simon. She checks her hair at the last moment, which is great. Daphne saunters in and opens with a crack about Lady Whistledown as she stands next to him but facing the other wall. This scene is so well shot and choreographed.

They talk more about how they have everyone fooled into thinking they are a thang. He openly flirts with her as she turns to face the same painting he has been looking at. She is surprised to see this was donated by him. Simon tells her the other things he loaned out were the Douchke’s, but this one was Dead Lady Sarah’s. Daphne talks about how it feels like the best part of waking up (not Folgers in your cup, apparently), and then we get the famous shot of their hands inching toward each other. Wait, she was wearing gloves when she came into this room. The gloves are gone now! They touch hands, and the way Daphne reacts you would think his fingers went under her dress. They hear a noise in another room and pull apart and go to investigate.

Cressida has swooned and is now on the floor, with the Prince holding her. Pru and Pip are there expositing about how romantic it is as Anthony, Pen and El all look on, clearly thinking otherwise. Simon leans in to Daphne and says they need to up their game, which makes her laugh.

Outside, Simon is in a full-on stride to his carriage, where the footman reminds him about the opera. Simon looks back towards Daphne and decides to go home and make an appointment with his hand instead. Later that evening, a man comes into Sienna’s dressing room and informs her he’s locking the doors. She questions whether there is anyone loitering around and that’s a no. She sits at her vanity in her red dressing gown. Oh, he made her believe they’re more than just friends.

Dame Julie voiceovers that debutantes need to all be muti-talented; witty, musical, chatty, and an expert in ‘the art of the swoon’. Roll credits! We see Cressida walking arm in arm with the Prince as her mom herself swoons over Lady Whistledown’s paper. We cut over to the palace, where Charlotte and Frederick are eating breakfast outside as Julie continues that Daphne doesn’t seem to give a crap about the Prince. Charlotte is pissed, and tells Frederick that it needs to be Daphne, because she’s the diamond. ‘Charm her!’ she orders.

Daphne is playing the piano as Benedict draws (yay!) and tears a sheet out of his sketch pad and crumples it up. El begs her sister to stop playing the same four notes over and over again. Daphne needles her, saying she will need to be better soon since she will need to find a husband before too long and El snaps that she should keep playing and scare away all the boys. Daphne correctly tells El she can go read outside, but El ate her bran flakes this morning, because her ass is twitching. Is reading bad? Because it will not get her a husband? Why is it bad that she wants to nurture her mind, huh?! Can someone get Eloise a gummy please? She’s stressing me out. Daphne finally snaps back at El for being self-involved and having no empathy. Word. El rolls her eyes, but attempts to make conversation about the tune Daphne has been picking out (the one from her dream sequence by the way), but even then she gives an order that she needs to name it if she’s going to play it. I want Daphne to smack her.

Over on the set of ‘Les Miserables’, Portia is getting out of a carriage in head-to-toe teal crushed velvet. Yeah, that won’t draw attention at all. She looks particularly like Belle Watling here. Pat yourself on the back if you got that reference. Marina climbs out after her, and we all know where this scene is going too, don’t we? Lady Featherington says this will be Marina’s future. A woman throws a bucket of water, there are trash cans fires, kids are sprawled out on the uneven cobblestone. Come on captain, you can wear your shoes. Marina spits that she ain’t scared of these day players and their Cockney accents. She mentions George, and says she has written to him. Portia points out that men are idiots and don’t understand how babies are made, and Marina stomps back to the carriage.

Back over in the technicolor side of London, Cressida sits under a tent at the park, sipping tea with the Prince. Ladies Danbury and Bridgerton are walking along the serpentine, and Violet calls Lady Cowper horrid. Word. Then we notice that Simon and Daphne are ambling behind them. I’m going to give him credit for wearing a cravat here I think. It’s borderline, at least. Daphne is laughing about Anthony letting a farm animal into their dormitory at school. Did I not call this in the first episode? It always comes down to pig-fucking. Daphne mentions that Violet told her one should marry their dearest friend (drink!) Simon makes a pitch for Santhony, which I’m not opposed to. She asks if marriage is about friendship, as if he knows. The Duke says it is a good start and they wade into a war metaphor that goes on for a while and then they spot a herd of Top Hatters. He makes a show of giving her a rose, but she’s still wanting to know about marriage. Sweetie, he hasn’t been married. Why are you asking him? Although we know why. Let us roll right into The Masturbation Scene, shall we?

Simon says marriage has elements that are physical and intangible, but Daphne knows her vocabulary and says that can’t be. He laughs and she whacks him with her flower and calls him beastly. He rightly says girls should be allowed to know what married couples get up to. Daphne says moms don’t tell them anything and Simon says he can’t, which she challenges. She uses the out of ‘they aren’t really courting, so this isn’t scandalous’ to get him to spill the beans. He continues to say he can’t tell her and then she finally gets in his face and calls him Simon and he relents. He says that what happens between a husband and a wife is a continuation of what happens at night, when she is alone. When she’s sleeping? No, when she touches herself. Daphne stares at him blankly, and he leans in closer and tells her that when she is alone, she can touch herself. When she finds something she likes, she should keep doing it until she reaches ‘a pinnacle’. She looks stricken. He turns. ‘Come’, he instructs and wanders off. Yes, sir.

Now he’s in a carriage with Lady Danbury, who promptly hits him with her cane. She wants to know the 411 on him and Daphne. He demurs and Danbury points out that the Prince is now into Daphne too and if he fucks that up for her, Agatha will be pissed. He argues that Daphne is not an idiot, and Lady Danbury says he’s being cruel and she taught him better than that. He sits with that.

We cut to El, smoking on the swings again. Here comes Ben. He sits next to her and she hands her cigarette over. She says she found his art in the fireplace and he accuses her of spying. She calls him too boring to spy on. He says his drawings suck and she immediately makes it about her. He is a man and he can hire someone to teach him how to draw. She points out that Lady Whistledown is a great writer, but needs to hide herself. Ben correctly points out it’s for self-preservation, since Whistledown says things about the Queen.

El says women have nothing and men have everything, so Ben should be bold so she can live vicariously through him. He asks if she’s Lady Whistledown, and she says no, but she wouldn’t admit it even if she was. I wanted to like that scene more than I did. El is correct, but she just needs to take it down a notch, please. I don’t like the real world feelings of anxiety and dread slipping into my cute, escapist sex drama, thank you very much.

Daphne is majorly fidgety as she locks her bedroom door and climbs onto the bed. She looks at her flower and thinks about Simon and her hand wanders. She seems to finish pretty fast, all things considered. Then, she’s at the piano and is playing her same Simon piece from before. Violet waits until she stops and then says ‘You finished, how lovely’. A-hyuck a-hyuck.

Then we are outside the ice cream shop, where Simon is waiting for her. She joins him and starts excitedely making plans for their day when he cuts her off. He is done. Man, Lady Danbury really got to him. He is a rake and she has a Prince on the line now. She appeals to their friendship and he looks at her. ‘We were never friends. I do not believe there could be a more ridiculous notion than that of us ever being friends’. Ouch. He calls her a pretty convenience, but they both need to move on. Oh, he White Fanged her! She is sad.

Simon stomps into his house and tells the assembled staff that they need to leave quickly as Daphne runs up the Bridger-Home staircase in tears with Rose trailing behind her.

Then we are over with Sienna lip-synching her little whoreish heart out at the concert hall. Everyone is literally chatting over the top of her. That seems a bit rude. She sings loud enough to get everyone to finally shut up and watch her. Her dress is pretty. I wonder if it’s the one Gen made her. After the performance, the same guy from earlier comes into her dressing room to tell her she has a visitor and in trots Anthony. I forgot he was in this show! She is instantly icy toward him, and you can tell she means it, because she’s back in red again. He says he wanted to see her and she correctly says he sees her to escape his own life. She has plans to go dance in a space station. Anthony says she’s trying to use Simon to make him jealous. Does she know about Santhony? Hmm. She says the Duke is way awesomer than Anthony, but he hasn’t been by to see her. Anthony misses her. He gets all up in her personal space and kisses her before she pushes him away and says she’s not falling for that one again. She stomps upstairs, leaving him behind.

We are over at Feather-House, where Pen is once again watching for the mail. Wonder why she’s so invested in Marina and George. Funny, that. She seems pretty despondent, but then perks up at one of the envelopes on the silver tray and bounds up the stairs as well as a four-eleven human can. She bursts into Marina’s room and holds the letter up. Marina reads it to herself as Pen stands in front of her, begging her to share what it says. A moment later, Marina crumples the letter up and falls to the bed. Pen guesses he’s been wounded, but Marina says he wrote that George wants nothing to do with her. She’s very snotty in this scene. As in full of mucus, not as in being a brat. Although she is kind of always that, too. She wails as Pen picks up the letter. We cut over to Portia and Varley, who seem quite pleased. We get a sepia-toned flashback of Mrs. Varley forging the letter. This woman is so talented, you guys. She can do everything. Back in the present, Portia says Marina was going to have to learn that men are scum and George will never come collect her. She then tells Varley to re-draw her eyebrows, or she will look surprised all day long. Hee!

We are at the modiste with Daphne and Violet. Lady Cowper and Cressida are in the front room, watchin’ the swatches. Lady Cowper comes in and wants to talk about how it is so great about Daphne and the Duke, because that means Cressida can have the Prince, saying Cressida may have a fortune, but Daphne has the face. Did she just call her daughter an uggo? Both Vi and Daph look rather ill.

Daphne strides into her room with Rose on her heels again, and she is ready to steal Cressida’s man out from under her now. She’s wearing the white dress and the flowers in her hair.

We are with Anthony in his study, as Violet comes in and asks if he is going to the ball. He is. She gives him a list of women. I guess she’s moved from QVC to more of a catalog situation. He blows her off. She asks after the pocket watch he was looking at a second ago. You know, the one that was his father’s? The Viscount? He cottons on pretty quickly and tells her it’s quarter to. She says it’s quite late (get it?) and then says time is of the essence. Why, exactly?

Then we are at the ball, which is very flowery. The Queen looks bored in a lilac-colored wig as Cressida dances with the Prince. Cressida is in another painful-looking hairstyle as her mother calls her a Princess from the sidelines.

The Feather-Clan descends the staircase to the party, where Marina is immediately asked to dance. Simon and Lady Danbury stand nearby and she calls him out on being quiet. Guys, he’s wearing a cravat again! He’s leaving England early. She calls him foolish. Maybe if you hadn’t spooked him like a horse, Agatha…

And then here is Daphne, in all her glittery, curly glory. Violet asks if she feels okay, and Daphne lies that she feels exceptional. She goes out to the staircase, where everyone looks up at her. Her fan is very feathery, and she starts using it as she descends. The Prince is staring at her and leaves poor Cressida in the dust to go attend to Daphne. There’s Pen again, right behind him. Simon is watching. The Prince asks for her first dance and she says it would be an honor and then oh so delicately drops her fan. She’s very good, you guys. Frederick bends to retrieve it as everyone looks on. Dame Julie comes back to tell us that the diamond might be added to the crown jewels and that Simon is soo jelly. Simon walks out as Lady Danbury and Penelope watch with worry. Julie asks why Daphne should settle for a Duke when she can have a Prince?

Why indeed.

gifs are from: https://dailybridgerton.tumblr.com/post/738545077503377408