#of fire and featheringtons

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Of Fire and Featheringtons: Chapter 8

Well hello friends, and welcome to my second Polin fic! This one builds on The Polin Fic (I Could Have Told You 'Bout the Long Nights on Ao3) so be sure to read that before diving into this one!

Like the other one, this fic is safe for work, but a few warnings do apply! If house fires, house fire injuries and deaths, mild gore, and mild blood aren't your thing, then don't be afraid to give this fic a pass. I'll be updating it twice a week here and on Ao3, so check back for updates.

Please really mind the tags on this one, particularly fire deaths! Take care of you first, and feel free to skip this chapter if you need or want to. This one gets a wee bit intense in spots.

I hope you enjoy this Polin fic, I had a blast writing it!

The morning of Felix’s trial dawned gray and threatening rain. Dressed in a licorice green dress, matching high-necked Spencer jacket, and respectable but slightly severe bonnet over her tightly pinned curls, Penelope walked into the Old Bailey. She was on Colin’s arm; her other arm looped through Gregory’s. The youngest Bridgerton brother had insisted that he was of sufficient age to support the family in the matter, and Anthony had somewhat reluctantly allowed him to come after a closed-door discussion with Kate and a promise that Gregory would be on his best behavior. Benedict was close on Gregory’s opposite side, and the four of them walked behind Anthony and Simon. All five men wore well-cut suits in gray or blue so dark that, like Penelope’s dress, they could be mistaken for black at a glance. Anthony’s and Simon’s strides were purposeful, and their party was given a wide berth most of the way up the walk to the building.

As they approached the stairs, however, Mr. Mondrich approached the party, nodding politely at the gentlemen and bowing briefly to Penelope before falling in behind her and Colin. Something about the man’s presence was calming; Penelope felt less exposed. That feeling only increased as they entered the building. Lord Fife clapped Colin on the shoulder and smiled encouragingly at Penelope before nodding to the rest of the group and moving to walk beside Mondrich. Lord Smythe-Smith and the Earl of Chatteris also joined their group, with Smythe-Smith walking just off Simon’s shoulder, and Chatteris slotting in beside Fife. Other gentlemen who had lost homes to fires that summer also joined their group, so by the time they reached the door to the courtroom, Penelope was securely in the center of a group of gentlemen who had every reason to see Felix convicted.

Her heart twisted; she could not deny that she felt safe in the group, and that she was grateful for both the support and the extent to which that support highlighted that she was there to bury Caesar, not to praise him. That comfort turned to acid in her belly; nothing about this day should be comforting. She swallowed convulsively several times, willing the breakfast that had been pressed on her to stay in place.

Fife and Chatteris held the double doors to the courtroom open, and the party swept inside. They were in an upper gallery across from the royal box. Penelope found herself in the center of a long bench surrounded by Bridgertons and backed by several rows of allies. She was absurdly grateful that Madame Delacroix had chosen a color that would allow her to more or less disappear in the crowd, and that Kate had worked some magic with hair oil to ensure that her hair was firmly tucked away. It would not give her away to a casual onlooker. Felix would, she was sure, be able to pick her out of the crowd, but it was unlikely that anyone who was not specifically looking for her would notice her. Being front and center in the gallery was not comfortable for a former wallflower, but she could blend quietly into the group enough to keep her heart rate merely rapid, as opposed to galloping.

She was absurdly grateful that Colin was predisposed to flaunt propriety when it suited him. As soon as they had gotten seated, he had—unconsciously, she was sure—reached down and twined his fingers through hers, squeezing firmly. She had already spotted several of the queen’s agents, and one had made eye contact with her, then given her a miniscule nod. She had nodded back, and then needed to remind herself to breathe. Although her presence could never have been kept from the queen, it was disconcerting to be identified quite so quickly.

Anthony leaned across Colin, speaking low to Penelope. “Remember, if at any point you wish to leave, we will return home,” he said.

“Thank you,” she whispered. “I shall be all right, Anthony.” His disbelief was evident, but he nonetheless sat back, pensive, as they all waited for the accused to be brought in and the judge to arrive. Colin squeezed her hand again, and she squeezed back. I’m all right.

They did not have to wait long.

A side door slammed open, and two bailiffs dragged a shackled, bedraggled-looking Felix to the prisoner’s box below the judge’s stand. In lieu of gasping, Penelope’s grip on Colin’s hand tightened. His head whipped to her, but she held onto an impassive, if not entirely calm, mask.

Felix looked significantly worse for wear. He still wore the clothes that he had been arrested in, burn marks and all. They hung off his frame more than they had the last time Penelope had seen him. His cravat was loosely tied, giving him a somewhat rakish appearance that was reinforced by the several days’ scruff on his face and hair that was just long enough to be shaggy. There were also bruises on his face, some yellowed and weeks old, others purple and painfully recent looking.

Despite his appearance, once he was left in the box, Felix shook his hair back from his face—chin up, expression imperious—and lounged nonchalantly on the bench. The shackles at his wrists prevented him from spreading his arms and laying them along the edges of the box, but his posture suggested that had he been able to, he would have. Penelope had to give him credit for his performance; he certainly projected the air of an arrogant ton gentleman who was severely unimpressed by his current circumstance. He had not even cast an eye about the room, did not seem to care whether the crowds in the galleries and the main floor were for or against him.

The gallery that the Bridgerton party was seated in was at a forty-five-degree angle to the box, and the bored tilt of Felix’s head certainly allowed him to see who was there. Penelope knew the instant he caught sight of her, his bored sneer slipped into surprise for an eyeblink. She was certain nobody else saw that, but the entire room—and the judge, who entered as Felix stood—noted his insolent two-finger salute to the gallery.

“All rise for her Majesty, Queen Charlotte,” called the bailiff. Rising mechanically with the rest of the room, Penelope’s chest tightened, and rising made her feel alarmingly lightheaded. When had she become afraid of the queen?

The doors of the royal box opened, and in strode Queen Charlotte, flanked by Lady Danbury and several ladies in waiting. The queen nodded to the judge and acknowledged the room with a brief wave before finding her seat. Once the queen and the room were seated again, Penelope risked a glance at the royal box, accidentally locking eyes with the queen.

Although it was not unheard of for debutantes to swoon artfully to make a point to a gentleman—or to simply be overcome with heat at a party and swoon in truth—Penelope had never fainted, intentionally or otherwise. The fury in the queen’s eyes across the courtroom nearly broke that streak. She was suddenly lightheaded, and being already seated, she couldn’t sit to relieve it. Instead, she clutched Colin’s arm, feeling as though the queen’s dark eyes were about to swallow her whole. 

Gloved fingers gently caught her under the chin, turning her face to meet Colin’s eyes. “If you go any paler, we are leaving. I will not have you faint on me,” he murmured to her. “Take a deep breath, Pen. We’re all here for you.” She jumped when the gavel banged. Colin took her other hand as well, as they both faced forward and the trial began.  

Felix, despite the aches and pains from nearly two months of imprisonment and harsh treatment from the guards in the Tower of London, managed to maintain his air of unaffected disdain through the queen’s entrance and the solicitors’ opening statements. He suspected that nobody but Cousin Penelope had seen his shock at seeing her in the upper gallery, and his jauntily insubordinate salute ought to have distracted anyone who might have caught the flicker of expression. 

As the Featherington’s solicitor stepped onto the floor before the judge to argue his case, Felix looped his shackled hands behind his head and slumped down on his bench, closing his eyes. For weeks, the man had prattled at him to be respectful and humble at his trial, particularly since he had been caught red-handed and his workshop had been thoroughly documented by the crown to use against him. His careful forethought and planning had precluded a plea of madness. The only hope, the solicitor had repeatedly emphasized, was for Felix to show remorse and contrition. Even then, the best the solicitor had hoped for in sentencing was lifelong imprisonment.

For weeks, Felix had seriously considered trying to get out of this alive. Lord knew he could grovel when he needed to, but groveling for life in the Tower ultimately seemed pointless. Better to stand tall in the supremacy the fire afforded him and take whatever came with his head high. That would better honor the fire and the responsibility it had given him all those years ago. He grinned, remembering. 

The day after the worst haying season storm in living memory had dawned hot and gloriously sunny, without a cloud in the sky. Felix and a few of his friends–not one of them older than eight years–had escaped their nannies and tutors to play in the hayloft of the Featherington’s massive barn. They had worn themselves out stacking small bales to create forts and shooting clumps of hay and other loft detritus at each others’ walls. Finally, both factions had dissolved, giggling into sleepy stupors and then into true sleep. 

As he grew older, Felix would come to understand that a roof repair had gone neglected in that barn and that a leak had thoroughly soaked some of the bales of hay in the loft. As a seven-year-old child, however, all Felix knew was that he had gone to sleep in a sunny hayloft with his friends, and a strangely cold breeze across his face had woken him to a flaming hellscape. The smoke was so thick he couldn’t see the other hay bale fort, but he could clearly see the motionless, burning bodies of his own fort mates, and the flames that licked at his own clothes, even as his panicked hands slapped them out. Eyes watering, throat too dry to scream, Felix had thrust himself to his feet and nearly passed out, dropping back to hands and knees as quickly as he had risen. 

No child wants to die, but at that moment Felix was certain he was going to. He lacked the strength to stand and find his way to the hayloft ladder–if it hadn’t already burned away. There was no corner to hide in, and if he did nothing, then he would die when the supports burned away and the loft collapsed the twenty feet to the fire below. A lightheaded and panicked Felix was about to curl up next to the charred body of his best friend and wait, but then the fire seemed to move. 

The flames flexed and bowed with more intentionality than he expected from flames, and they seemed to arch, creating a tunnel clear of active flames. Crouched low but not on all fours to avoid burning his hands, Felix followed the tunnel. It wended through the hayloft, encouraged him to scrabble down a beam that was charred but sufficiently sturdy to support his slight weight, and pushed him through the main barn doors as the loft finally collapsed. 

Felix had crouched against the dirt road to the barn, bawling softly, breathlessly, as he stared at the flames licking up the sides of the building. It was beautiful. Eventually, the field workers saw the smoke and came running, but the building was well and truly lost by the time they arrived. 

The first few workers on the scene scattered almost immediately to raise the alarm, not seeing the child on the road. When all the men of the estate and half the nearby country townsmen had arrived to do what they could, a boy of ten or eleven was dispatched to see Felix back to the main house. Felix had dawdled the whole way, turning back and watching the flames play lower and lower as they ran out of fuel. The older boy snapped at Felix several times to come along before grabbing him by the scruff of his neck and dragging him up the walk to the house and promptly depositing Felix into the care of his nanny. 

After the fire was out and the bodies of Felix’s playmates had been discovered, there had been days of questions, many of them directed at Felix. Had any of them started the fire? How had he survived when none of his friends had? How had he gotten out?  The only answer the child had been able to offer–that the fire let him go–had unsettled every adult who asked the questions. After the boys had been buried, other parents had kept their children away from Felix. What might have been a lonely few years for another boy had, for Felix, been a time of exploration. He became fascinated with candles, hearth fires, torches, and lanterns. He wanted to see if the little fires would move for him like the big one had, whether he had really seen what he had seen. Whether the fire had really let him go. 

 Small household fires weren’t enough for him by the time he was ten. He began to slip away from lessons to start campfires in the woods. When those refused to burn hot or high enough, he began experimenting with different tinder, different structures, to see if he could find a fire he liked, and that liked him back. Try as he might, he could not find that moment of connection, of sentience, that he remembered from the barn fire. 

A chance grease fire in the kitchen when he was eleven, and the cook’s subsequent bellowed lecture to the entire kitchen staff about the dangers of pouring water on such a flame inspired Felix to experiment with different cooking fats to see what burned best. 

He buttered and burned a chicken coop for his thirteenth birthday. That time, the explosion of chickens through the entrance of the coop was enough to put out the flame, even with the off butter to coax it along. The next time, he blocked the entrance to the coop. One chicken escaped from that fire, and Felix–seized with an emotion he could not name–released that chicken to live a long and happy life in the wild rather than see its neck wrung for dinner. The fire had spared the chicken, as it had spared Felix all those years ago. Who were the kitchen girls, or even the cook, to kill it? 

After the second chicken coop burned, Felix’s father ordered him to Eton, begging help from the extended Featherington family to afford it. The lessons at school had introduced Felix to historical and literary fires, fire spirits, and an academic take on the beauty of fire that he knew to his bones. The time also taught Felix how to be cagey about his particular love of fire–he had inadvertently frightened off any potential friends by waxing philosophical about it in an early seminar–and how to set them quickly and covertly. He had never been formally named as the instigator of the stable fire at school, but he had saved his money and purchased the single surviving horse. 

When he finally returned home from school, Felix’s father attempted to teach him how to run the estate, but the two men grated on each other unpleasantly. The fire in the new barn had been Felix’s way of handling the growing unease and conflict. He had not even stacked the deck by setting packets of accelerant in the path of the exits. Had the fire judged his father worthy, Felix would have learned to live with the man, perhaps even brought him into the fold on their family’s role in allowing fire to judge peoples’ worthiness. Alas, his father had been unworthy. 

What Felix had not anticipated was having to sit through his mother’s months of weeping. It had reached a breaking point the day that Felix had simply walked into a room, and she had thrown herself at him, sobbing something about how much he resembled his father. He had–somewhat unwisely–tried to comfort her by explaining that the fire had judged his father unworthy and that she ought not mourn something that a higher power had ordained. That had simply made her cry harder for a few moments before she asked him what on earth he thought he meant. He had not explicitly told his mother that he had set the fire that had killed his father, but her eyes told him that she knew. Less than a week later, he had been packed off to Cousin Penelope. 

The Featherington’s solicitor’s account of Felix’s life to the court largely omitted Felix’s fascination and love affair with fire, but it communicated the bare bones of his story, up to and including the fact that his mother had likely known she was sending a troubled young man to a family ill-equipped to handle him. Just how his mother had managed to avoid a criminal charge for not turning her son in, Felix had to hope he would learn in hell, particularly since the family solicitor had told him outright that the crown was advocating to have Cousin Penelope charged alongside him. By her presence in the gallery, either his letter advocating her lack of knowledge had worked, or the fact that she had turned him in had removed her from the fate he was facing. 

He wondered if she had ever received the books he had sent away for. 

An open-handed slap to the face drew Felix out of his memories and thoughts. The bailiff stood before him. 

“Answer the question,” he snapped. 

“And what question would that be?” drawled Felix, ignoring pain in his face. 

The judge snorted. “Have you anything to say in your own defense, Mr. Featherington? Have you any regrets or apologies to issue? Anything at all?” 

“Fire regrets nothing and makes no apologies,” said Felix. “I do not see why I, as its hands, should either.” He caught and held the judge’s eyes, back straight and posture steady. He studiously ignored the wave of mutters behind him; whispers of “he’s mad” had no meaning. Fire couldn’t be mad, and neither was he. Out of the corner of his eye, Felix saw his solicitor throw his hands into the air and stalk toward the bench, stage-whispering some protestation or other at the judge, who shook his head firmly before banging his gavel again. 

“Given the preponderance of evidence before me, and the accused’s shameless disregard for those he has killed, injured, and put out of their homes, I can come to no other verdict than guilty.” The pause was undoubtedly to allow the room to react, but no one, not even the hangers-on in the audience on the main floor, was surprised or objected. They understood, perhaps even better than the ton, the consequences of a second great fire, and arson was particularly despised.

Instead of the expected outcry of voices, the room filled with a sense of impending doom, as though the sword of Damocles itself was hanging over the Old Bailey. Felix cast a quick glance at the gallery, checking Penelope’s reaction. She was sitting on the very edge of her bench, hands clasped in her lap, face an impassive mask. She clearly wasn’t surprised, but she, like the rest of the room, was waiting for the other shoe to drop. Felix kept his eyes on her as the judge resumed speaking. 

“Counsel for the accused has requested imprisonment for life as a sentence, recognizing the accused’s somewhat tenuous connection to an esteemed family of the ton.” He nodded to the wall of Bridgertons in the gallery. “As a judge, however, my responsibility is to more than simply the ton. My responsibility is to the memory and family of the people that the accused killed, and the greater public good. London cannot, shall not, have a second great fire, which means that London must not condone or coddle arsonists. The crown has requested a death sentence in light of the severity and extent of the accused’s crimes.” The judge sat back in his chair, pensive for a long moment. Felix watched what little color that had been in Penelope’s face drain away, accentuating the mask quality of her impassivity, although he still could not tell what she felt beneath it. 

“Mr. Featherington. This court sentences you to death by burning at the stake. You shall be taken from this place to the Tower of London, where the sentence will be carried out on the Tower Green one week hence.” The bang of the gavel was overwhelmed by Felix’s bark of laughter. 

“You are a fool,” he said, still laughing uproariously. “Fire cannot hurt me, man. What shall you do when the flames die, and I am still here? You will have carried out the sentence. Will you let a man who you fail to execute walk free? Just imagine what I shall do then!” He laughed all the way back to his cell in the Tower. 

Penelope nearly fainted when the judge announced the sentence; only Colin and Gregory’s hands at her back kept her upright as Felix–still laughing–was bodily dragged from the room. The shock had so disconnected her from her own body that Colin had to physically lift her from her seat as the room stood as the queen exited the courtroom, and the judge dismissed everyone else. From behind her, Penelope could hear the jubilant discussions about the sentence, as well as the telltale sounds of enthusiastically clasped hands and clapped shoulders. 

There was a light touch on her elbow; Penelope turned to see Mondrich behind her, eyes sympathetic, and with none of the triumph she saw in the faces surrounding her. 

“I’m sorry, Mrs. Bridgerton,” he said softly. He touched the brim of his hat to Colin and moved toward the doors without giving her the chance to respond. Penelope’s head spun. Mr. Mondrich had almost lost his livelihood, and he was apologizing to her? She could not make sense of it just then. Everything else was too much, and she did not seem to be able to block out the noise and hard words of those around her. Every word, every sound, hit her like a physical blow on unprotected skin. 

“Excuse me, beg pardon, excuse me, sir, pardon me!” The polite but insistent refrain came from an imposing man in royal livery who was making his way to the front of the gallery and slid along the line of Bridgertons until he stood before Penelope. The lack of space made his bow oddly abortive; in any other circumstance, it would have been an insult. 

“Mrs. Bridgerton, her Majesty requests that you attend her.” 

“Can it not wait?” asked Colin, just barely civil with both Simon and Anthony over his shoulder. “It has been a taxing day. Surely the queen will understand if Mrs. Bridgerton needs to refresh herself.”

“I’m afraid her Majesty insists,” said the liveried man. 

“Very well,” Anthony broke in. “I, the Duke, and Mr. Bridgerton shall accompany Mrs. Bridgerton.”

“Your pardon, my lord, but this invitation is only for Mrs. Bridgerton.” The liveried man’s tone was so precisely polite as to be excruciating, and Penelope was suddenly tired of charades, machinations, and maintaining a facade for the ton.  

“It is well,” she said. “I shall return shortly.” Gently shaking off all four Bridgertons and Simon, Penelope followed the man to a private room set aside for the royal family. She heard footsteps behind her but did not look back. The last thing she needed just then was a reminder of what was still very much at stake if the queen chose to believe that Penelope was untrustworthy and had somehow skirted consequences for aiding and abetting arson. 

The room was austere in the extreme; the dark wood of the furniture matched that of the floors and wainscoting, and the walls above the wainscoting were covered in licorice green paper with dark gold accents. Thick, matching curtains covered the single window in the room, so the only light came from candles and the small fire in the fireplace. The mantle was practically gothic, with actual gargoyles carved into the columns supporting the lintel. This was a room so oppressive that it could have physically squeezed secrets out of people. 

Lady Danbury and Queen Charlotte stood together by the mantle, whispering furiously as Penelope entered the room and curtsied. No one else was present, and Penelope’s escort was outside the closed door. Breaking protocol, Penelope rose without being acknowledged and waited for the older women to end their conversation. Refraining from eavesdropping would have been a courtesy for anyone else; Penelope simply had no energy for their politics just then. 

As the moments stretched into minutes, Penelope’s temper began to boil. She was exhausted, mentally and physically wrung out, and yet she was forced to stand here and watch the political equivalent of matchmaking mamas decide whether she had performed well enough to suit them. Never mind her own feelings of guilt, betrayal, and sorrow; never mind that she was human, no. She had to be the perfect portrait for their tastes. No more. It was time to consult her own feelings. She had been named a member of this private court; she would damn well act like one. 

“Have I shown the ton where my loyalties lie well enough, your Majesty, or did I drag my brothers-in-law out to no purpose? If you are to censure me, please get on with it so I may return home. I have rather a pounding headache.” Where that bright, debutante tone had come from, Penelope had no idea. She had been aiming for politeness and neutrality. 

Lady Danbury’s jaw dropped, and both women’s heads whirled toward Penelope. The crackling fury in the queen’s eyes would have been terrifying that morning, but Penelope had passed the point of caring. 

“Have a care for how you speak to me,” thundered the queen. “I made you a member of this court, and I can remove you just as easily.”

“That may be a blessing if this entire debacle is a preface of the trust you have in me and how I am to be treated,” snapped Penelope. “I am no child flat on my back with a stab wound today, ma’am. Since joining your private court, I have done nothing, nothing to deserve mistrust and hostility, and yet I have met it at every turn! If you would have me gone, banish me and be done. It could not possibly be any worse than living with the knowledge that I turned over a member of my own family to be burned to death.”

“You may wish to have a care for the rest of your family–” began the queen before Penelope cut her off. 

“Empty threats frighten me not a whit. You have no grounds to threaten my mama, my sisters, or my in-laws, and you do not dare anger the ton with consequences for trumped-up charges. You have not the political goodwill to spare, ma’am.” 

The silence that descended was thick and shocked. An elastic moment that seemed to stretch for eternity snapped as Lady Danbury thumped her walking stick against the hard floor.

“I told you she would call any bluff you might make, your Majesty,” said the older woman, tiredly. “She would be so valuable if you would simply let your mistrust go. Hasn’t the intervening time since the final Whistledown proved that Mrs. Bridgerton can be an asset?”

“Apparently not, since she was entirely willing to allow the crown solicitor to charge me alongside Mr. Featherington,” said Penelope.  Lady Danbury’s eyes widened, and she stared openly at the queen.  Silence reigned for long minutes. 

“Things cannot go on like this,” Lady Danbury said, at last. “Ma’am, if you cannot trust Mrs. Bridgerton, we cannot function. Perhaps letting her go is the wisest course.”

“Absolutely not,” snapped Queen Charlotte. “Nothing in the intervening time since she was brought into the fold has changed the fact that she is too dangerous to remain outside this little…immediate family. The chit would have had the ton rising against me if their precious Lady Whistledown had asked it of them, and she was no great friend of the crown.” 

“I should rather think the crown is no great friend to me,” said Penelope. 

“Penelope!” hissed Lady Danbury. 

Heedless, Penelope continued. “Tell me, your Majesty, what sleight of hand did you have to pull to convince the crown solicitor that I was the one who knew what he was, not Mrs. Featherington? What sentence were you hoping I would garner? One to neatly remove me from your hair?”

“Your dear Aunt Featherington was most eager to make a deal to avoid taking any responsibility,” said the queen, clearly irritated that Penelope had recognized her hand in the backroom dealings. 

“I never fomented rebellion, your Majesty. I never committed sedition. The only thing I ever managed to do was damage your pride. If your pride is so delicate that a scandal sheet can damage it, then I cannot imagine the scandal sheet is at fault. I shall make this simple. I am leaving, ma’am. Watch me forever, if you wish, but I am done with this backstabbing cabal. I make no promises, you would not trust them in any case, but I tell you that I am leaving, and this will remain between the three of us.” Penelope curtsied deeply but briefly, rose, and used both hands and her body weight to tug open the heavy door, startling the man outside as she strode past him. 

She strode past the Bridgertons and Simon, who formed up behind her as she left the building and emerged into the gathering twilight. The cool air and the still, clear evening did nothing to settle her fury. Impulsively, she had refused to return directly to Bridgerton House, insisting that she needed to visit her mama. She had suggested that she would simply hire a hack, but Colin had lifted her off her feet and into the family carriage, saying that they could be dropped off on the way with no issue. She had chosen not to fight his “they,” as she could already see alarm in his eyes and expression. She could say what needed saying as well with him at her shoulder as she could have alone.  

[darklinaforever]

Wallow in your self importance toxic loser

Um... I think you really have a problem, dear anonymous.

[dollypopup]

thinking about how class is never addressed with Penelope, especially with Madam Delacroix. how Theo gave Eloise a well deserved dressing down about how her privileges as a well off white woman with a powerful family shield her from consequences that he would likely lose his livelihood or life over, in particular when she went to check on him after the Queen threatened her.

thinking about how Penelope came to Madam Delacroix with a proposal she literally couldn't turn down. how she'd already written of her favorably in one breath and besmirched the modiste across the street in another. how she showed Gen that she had the means and fortitude to ruin women like her with just one sentence. how “I have proved to you how I can help you in your business, now I’d like you to help me with mine.”

what was she meant to say, No? Gen told her she'd keep her secret. Gen told her she'd never tell. and Penelope came to her anyway afterward, about how she's been sloppy as LW, about how she'd been spotted once so she'd be spotted again. about how this was a business venture and they would both benefit. that they could be partners.

about how, then, Gen finds out that the Queen of England is involved and chasing after them. how Penelope came to Gen's HOUSE, uninvited, in the midst of the Queen's cat and mouse. how terrified she was. that Penelope dismissed her concerns as 'you were aware there were risks when you signed on to this' and how Gen replied 'yes, risks, but not The Queen of England' because she knows that Penelope would be given more grace than she would be. because she knows women like Penelope would *always* be given more grace than she would be. that they always have been.

i wish Genevieve Delacroix had given her a reality check. i wish she pointed out that Penelope masquerades as a working class woman, putting on a fake accent and maid's clothes, cosplays her way into Gen's world, this privileged white woman from a scandal ridden family she besmirches herself, who makes her own money and does not have to worry about overhead or paying for a storefront or a home for herself, who gets to keep all her wages, who gets to leave it, all the while assuming they are equals with equal struggles. that she wears Gen's working class life like a costume and peels it off as soon as she's home

when will we finally acknowledge that, yes, Penelope works, but she is not a working woman? that, yes, Penelope's family has fallen on hard times, but they are very much a 'distinguished family' who live in a huge house in the middle of a rich neighborhood, titled, that Penelope is a lady with a lady's protections and privileges. that Penelope is invited to all the fancy parties Gen would never be considered for. that Penelope wears the expensive, sparkling dresses Gen makes for her, mends for her, that she herself would never have a reason to wear

that Penelope pretends her way into a working world, is more than happy to do so for a day, a night, an excursion: and then disregards so many people who try to survive in it. and is never once asked to recognize that in herself

[bingiessm]

WARNING, LONG POST

Hello, welcome to the Bridgerton Season 3 trailer over-analysis corner. I am bingiessm--a film student that needs an outlet right now and wants to practice some film analysis--and am here to bring forth the FIRE/FLAME/CANDLE motif that was all over this trailer and I feel will be a HUGE motif throughout this season for Penelope and Colin (Polin).

So within the Polin context, let's look at each shot where a flame of a candle or lack thereof could represent their romantic interest in one another--and in particular the understanding/recognition of it.

This show is going all out putting candles EVERYWHERE--yes it was actual lighting in regency era, but you don't have to have it in the shot. That is a CHOICE. Also a choice to have it lit or not.

Also, "I burn for you" anyone?

FIRST SHOT: somewhat obvious but considering the context of both the mirror as well as other future shots within this trailer, this flame represents the feelings Penelope has for Colin, that she is well aware of and has held for a long while.

I also just have an inkling that she is seeing herself differently in this moment (feeling something for the first time possibly)--the way Nicola looks feels shocked/contemplative, but not scared as if it might be Whistledown-related.

SECOND SHOT: they are outside, talking about Penelope being a "lost cause." WHY IS THERE AN UNLIT CANDLE IN A MARKET STALL, if not to represent some unrealized feelings on Colin's part? It is also on his side of the frame. This is similar to this next one, both of which I believe are earlier in the season, as this is the start of him "helping" her.

THIRD SHOT: Once again, right there on Colin's side of the frame, YOU DID NOT NEED THIS IN THE FOREGROUND. It was a CHOICE to put a candle there again. They could have not had it, yes the shot would have had less depth and this does give a better sense of the space, placing them in a corner of the room instead of in an open space--but they didn't need to make it another CANDLE.

Colin has not fully recognized his feelings for Penelope yet, though they have always been there, and these two shots demonstrate that lack of understanding/feeling, but one that is soon to come with an unlit candle.

FOURTH SHOT: this, in the timing of the trailer, does come before the third, but RIGHT THERE IS A MIRROR AND CANDLES. It is on Penelope's side of the frame, but Colin, the mirror, and candles are what is in focus. She might be center frame, but we are drawn to the light as well as the contrast in Colin's outfit. This could arguably be Penelope's perspective, her burning feelings as he compliments her--also her future (we all want that mirror scene).

FIFTH SHOT: a HUGE TURNING POINT--a small flame, barely noticeable suddenly burning brighter as we focus on Colin in the background. This is so clearly him realizing his feelings for Penelope. It is also at the midpoint/turning point of the trailer when there is a big tonal shift. There is no more talk of Colin helping Penelope, but a larger focus on his perspective of her (all the gazing), the idea of romance, as well as mention of Debling--his rival. It will be a turning point for Colin when Debling--an actual suitor vying for Penelope's hand--comes into the picture. EDIT: Also going to add in, the candle is in a lantern--though that might have been easier to manage filming-wise--which could also represent him still holding back, especially with Debling in the picture.

SIXTH SHOT: This comes right after we hear Debling say "You look especially beautiful tonight, Miss Featherington." One of the many examples of Colin staring at the two of them, being jealous/worried. But right behind him? Oh, more candles. That they totally didn't need to have in the frame. Also, it doesn't look so much like a candle, but they are placed so close to one another that it looks like more of a flame. The lack of focus adds to this.

THEN WE GET TO THIS FINAL SEQUENCE--which imo is a FANTASY SEQUENCE

SEVENTH SHOT: Colin is coming from the darkness, with an unseen flame flickering directly behind him (small ember that he can't see).

EIGHTH SHOT: Penelope, also coming out of the dark, but with another flame on (what in this sequence is) her side of the frame. Though it is somewhat hidden behind these bars--some rough patches/guarded emotions? (probably depends on what point this is in the series).

NINTH SHOT: Penelope, already in the light of these fires, Colin entering with the large burning flame in the background covered by some growth.

TENTH SHOT: Penelope, lit by these fires, breathing heavily. A very clear close-up with so much blur to focus just on her face.

ELEVENTH SHOT: Colin, with a flickering/burning flame literally right behind him, lit by these other fires, staring right at Penelope.

So this whole sequence, in my opinion, is a dream sequence. But, in terms of this flame representation, this is Colin realizing he has feelings for Penelope. We see the flickering from the unseen light behind him in the seventh shot build and become the flame right behind him in the eleventh. It feels so obviously representative of the season. (The fog also seems to lift for him in this sequence, he comes out of the fog to Penelope--I could say more about this sequence and why I do think it is Colin's dream, mostly due to costuming and lighting and the fog as well) ______________________

And thus comes to a close my analysis/evidence of the FLAME/FIRE motif between Polin. I am cutting myself off here because this is a lot and I have an actual film shoot to plan. Thank you if you actually read all this. I love film analysis and Bridgerton is so fun and a stress reliever for me, so this was fun for me to write out.

Anyway, if any more of this fire/flame stuff comes up I might add on later.

TLDR: they are using fire and candles to represent the burning love between these two.

[thebadgerclan]

Clueless

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Requested by @imabee-oralizard

Summary: Benedict is clueless to your affection...

It was painful to watch Benedict be so clueless.  The Bridgertons and L/Ns had been friends for as long as anyone could remember, your homes were across from one another’s, your father was a well-respected Earl.  And in your childhood, you and Benedict were as thick as thieves, spending nearly every day together.  Then Edmund had passed and you drifted apart, though you still made efforts to spend time with him.

Through your debut into society, Benedict had remained your closest friend.  However, as time passed and the two of you matured, Benedict found his feelings for you evolving.  Where he once saw a girl, he now saw a woman; a beautiful, graceful, elegant woman.  Where he once saw someone to play tag with, he now saw a woman he wanted to bring flowers to, a woman he wanted to spend…oh.

Little did he know, you were in a similar situation.  Benedict had once been a gangly stick of a boy, but he had grown into a devastatingly handsome man.  He wasn’t the head of his household, he wasn’t titled, but that had never mattered to you.  Your father had always made it clear that you could marry whoever you wished, that money or status needn’t play into it.  And as time went on, you found yourself no longer thinking about Benedict as a friend, but someone you wanted to be with, someone you were slowly falling in lo–oh.

The three eldest Bridgertons stood along the side of the ballroom, watching the dance floor.  Anthony watched as his wife danced with Lord Kent while Colin chatted with Miss Featherington.  Benedict, meanwhile, was staring at you, his gaze positively lovesick.  You were dancing with the Marquis of Winchester, who had apparently just inherited his title, and Benedict realized he would give almost anything to be in his place.

“Need we call the fire brigade, brother?” came Anthony’s voice, drawing Benedict’s focus from you.  “What?”  “Your gaze will certainly burn holes in the back of Lady Y/N’s head if you stare at her for much longer!”  Colin burst out in laughter, and Benedict rolled his eyes.  “Quite entertaining, brother, truly.”  Benedict felt his face warm, and he sought out a servant rounding with drinks.

Colin politely excused himself from his conversation with Penelope, and Anthony followed suit, wordlessly agreeing to continue their teasing.  “You know, ladies have dance cards for a purpose, brother,” Colin said, and Benedict barely suppressed the urge to roll his eyes.  “Yes,” he responded.  “They do; to keep track of the gentlemen vying for their hands for a dance.”  “Precisely,” Anthony chimed in, taking a drink from a nearby table.  “So, Benedict, do you think Lady Y/N still has room on her card?”

Benedict nearly spat out his drink.  “What?  I..whyever would you ask such a question?”  Colin disguised his laughter with a cough.  “Because, brother, she has been sneaking glances at you all evening!”  “She has?”  Anthony nodded, nodding gratefully at the gentleman who Kate had been dancing with as he returned her.  “Benedict, with how much you have been looking at her, I am shocked you have not noticed!”

Even now, Benedict was subtly watching you; watching as the Marquis escorted you to the refreshments table, watching as you smiled, as you laughed.  “Benedict!”  “What?”  “Good Lord, you are absolutely besotted!”  Colin clapped him on the shoulder.  “Go ask her to dance, you fool.  Please, if I have to watch you pine for her for another moment, I may be ill.”  Benedict shook his head, but set off across the room anyway.

“Pardon me, Lady Y/N?”  You turned to face Benedict, a warm smile on your face.  “Mister Bridgerton!  How lovely to see you!”  “Lovely to see you as well.  I know it is late in the evening, but do you have room on your dance card for me?”  Butterflies were running rampant in your stomach, and you held up your wrist, displaying the card.  “I happen to have one spot left.  A waltz.”

You left your waltz vacant at every ball you went to, hoping and praying Benedict would ask you to dance.  If others asked, you could play it off as being too intimate for an unwed lady, something no one would question you on.  It was truly a shot in the dark, but tonight, your aim was true.  Benedict smiled, taking the pencil attached to the card and signed his name.  “It would be my honor, Lady Y/N.”  “Please, just Y/N.”

Benedict smiled, and moments later, the musicians played the opening chords of the waltz.  You followed Benedict onto the dance floor, curtseying as he bowed.  The waltz was controversial, some saying it was far too intimate, some calling it outright scandalous.  But that was the farthest thing from your or Benedict’s minds as you began to dance.

His hand was on your waist, the other clasped in yours; your hand on his shoulder.  There was no more than 6 inches of space between your bodies, and you felt as if your heart could bean straight out of your chest.  “So tell me, Y/N,” Benedict said.  “Has the season been treating you well thus far?”  “Oh, I wish I could say it has.  There are plenty of suitors, yes, but…”  “But what, Y/N? We have no secrets, remember?”

It was a stupid pact you’d made years ago: to keep no secrets from Benedict, but it was a pact you’d stuck to….for the most part, that is.  “I have had my heart set on a true love match for so long, and I have yet to feel that with any men who have called upon me.”  “You will find that someday, Y/N, have faith.”  Benedict was trying so desperately not to get his hopes up, but then you spoke again.

“What if I already have?”  It might have been an innocuous thing to say, had you not pressed yourself ever so closer to Benedict, had you not squeezed his hand, and had you not looked so deeply into Benedict’s eyes.  It was so plain: the love you held for him, the desire to be his and for him to be yours, and how long you had wanted it.

“Y/N, are you…”  “I have no callers in the morning,” you said.  “And I hear the weather shall be wonderful for a promenade.”  Benedict’s heart skipped several beats, and when the dance ended, he made a bold move and kissed your hand.  “Well then, I shall call upon you in the morning.  Be warned, though, I have been told I am quite the romantic.”

You couldn’t hold the laugh that left your lips, and Benedict escorted you back to your chaperone.  In the morning, you were indeed greeted by Benedict, a bouquet of 20 red roses in hand.  No one in London was surprised when you were engaged a mere month and a half later, and married four months after that.

[penspolin]

POLIN JEALOUSY/ADVICE ONE-SHOT

Colin fights his jealousy after watching Penelope and Lord Debling dancing together at a ball, is teased by Benedict, and seeks advice from Violet.

The silver beads threading Penelope's hair seemed to glow like tiny moons. If he'd had parchment and pen, Colin might've noted the perfect juxtaposition of fiery red locks and sparkling silver. He noticed everything--the way her dress swayed so effortlessly against the floor despite her stiff grip on Lord Debling. Was it only Colin's imagination, or did her gloved fingertips hover an inch from his shoulders?

…perhaps he was only imagining it. He reminded himself that Penelope's stiffness was for the sake of propriety. Of course she’d want to touch Debling. He was a gentleman, for one, and even Colin had to admit that he had his own upper-class swagger. A little posh for Colin’s tastes, but from the looks being cast his way across the ballroom floor, Colin knew the lord had made a lasting impression on this season’s eligible debutantes.

Colin hastened for a sip of wine, only to discover that he had drained his glass. He turned away as a certain red-headed beauty twirled across the floor (more gracefully than he had ever allowed himself to notice). He nearly dropped his glass as he struck Benedict in the chest.

“Steady there, brother,” Ben said, putting a hand against Colin’s heaving chest. “What’s the hurry?” He cast a glance over Colin’s shoulder, and the pieces seemed to fall into place. “I’ll say, your friend seems to be enjoying herself. If ‘enjoying yourself’ is best expressed by a scowl, that is.” He tipped his glass. Colin shot him a glare, even though his heart lifted a bit at this last sentiment.

“Oh, don’t be such a grouch,” Ben said, pushing his glass into Colin’s available hand. “While you’re at the table, fetch me another drink, won’t you?”

“I’m not your waiter,” Colin huffed, stifling the urge to turn back to the dance floor once more. It was like an itch, only scratching it burned like a rash.

“You could do with a break. Somehow my ‘sturdy’ little brother has spent the night looking quite pathetic in the corner.”

“I’m not pathetic,” Colin said, and pain tightened his chest. 

Ben rolled his eyes, still looking across the dance floor. “Say, maybe I ought to have a word with this Debling fellow. See if his eye for art is as keen as his eye for a wife.”

“Give him my best,” Colin grumbled, sounding more pathetic by the second.

Benedict gave him a sturdy pat on the shoulder. “And you, give Ms. Featherington your best while I do it. Now, hurry along now and get those drinks before the dance is over.” With a wink, he rejoined the sea of lords and ladies.

Colin gazed across the open floor once more. The waltz was approaching its conclusion. Pen’s hair looked on fire in the torchlight. His mind wandered to the fragments of a dream—Pen in the garden, her eyes twinkling a magnetic blue, her lips a luscious pink. He had leaned in just enough to catch the scent of her hair—like the wisteria garden, only…newer, fresher, somehow, and then—

“Colin, dear. Are you feeling alright?” His mother’s voice stopped him in his tracks. Her brow furrowed, and he hurried to right himself, as he had taught himself to do long before Penelope had pounded her way into the forefront of his mind.

Some things, it seemed, had not changed. He had a guard up, and even his beloved mama could not crumble it.

“Very well, mother,” he managed, swaying slightly on his feet. “Merely...looking for a refill.”

“Not feeling up to a waltz tonight, I take it?” The look she gave him suggested she knew there was a particular reason for it—Colin was not one for skipping dances. 

He had been avoiding his mother, he realized. Was that a flicker of hurt in her eyes? More than his brothers or sisters, Violet Bridgerton had always had an eye out for these things. And if that was the case, should he not be using her knowledge to his advantage?

“Mother,” he began, aware of the blush suffusing his cheeks. “Forgive me, I know we are in company, but I must ask. Do you believe the best foundation for love is friendship?”

She smiled, crinkling the skin around her eyes. Lovely eyes, so open and trusting. He suddenly hated himself for having avoided her, even if it was unintentional. Perhaps it was because of this conversation that he had kept himself from her. 

And something told him that she knew this as well as she whispered, “I think you already know the answer to that.”

[sea-owl]

Thought this be a cute little prompt featuring dragon!Bridgertons aka how Penelope accidentally courted a dragon. 

Penelope Featherington never got why people feared dragons so much. She lived near a nest of dragons all her life and they never bothered her or her village. 

Also all these knights that keep trying to take and take from the dragons. They all claim the dragons stole, but have they ever thought that maybe trading with the dragons to solve that issue? Or giving them some sort of gift? Penelope got lots of neat stuff when she traded with the dragons like her golden embossed journal. Granted she never seen the dragons when she did her drop off for trades but still! It doesn’t have to be much either. All she left was some food and eight coins from her allowance. Sometimes she would tell stories from the village, some of them seemed to like those too. 

It honestly started out as an accident. A stray wind had caught a then 10 year old Penelope’s bonnet and blown it right into the entrance of the dragons nest. It was made out of a very nice silk and lace, but it was a little older. When young Penelope had found out where her bonnet had flown into she had squeaked that they could keep it and ran off. Later that night Penelope found money for a new bonnet outside her window. 

Now years later Penelope sat down at the entrance when she was dropping off some eclairs. 

“I’m sorry I’ve been away for a while,” Penelope said as she counted her sixteen coins. She thought to bring extra since she has been away for a few months. “Mama sent me to meet with some penpals I’ve been writing to for a while. I believe I’ve told you about them before. Kate and Sophie are so much fun. It’s also funny watching them rein in Simon and Michael too. Oh and Phillip! He’s knows so much about plants! I think he might be my favorite. I’ll have to bring them sometime for the you all to meet. I’ll make sure they bring a gift.” 

Unknown to Penelope another group of knights had climbed up to the entrance of the nest.

“Ms back away from the cave! There lies a dragons nest!”

Penelope rolled her eyes. “I know. The whole village knows and they don’t bother us.” 

The group of knights continued to try to argue with Penelope as she continued to ignore them and make sure she put out the right amount of coins. One knight had caught sight of the gift Penelope was leaving for the dragons and he did not like that.

“Let go of me!” Penelope demanded as the knight roughly grabbed her. 

Hearing a roar from inside the cave Penelope looked down in time to see a blue tail wrap around her waist before it yanked her backwards. The sudden grab had knocked the girl to the ground. Laying on her back she could feel herself being pulled further into the cave. What she saw though was beautiful different colors of fire being blown around and above her. 

All too soon the fire disappeared but now in her line of sight were emerald green draconic eyes. They were rather beautiful in her opinion. Penelope soon realized the tail wrapped around her belonged to this dragon. 

“Mate?” 

Penelope looked up to see where the sound had come from but all she saw was seven more draconic eyes staring down at her. “Well, this is the first time I’ve seen the inside.”

[plentyoffandoms]

Main Masterlist ♡ Miscellaneous TV Shows Masterlist

Just like all my other stories, this has not been proofread, but please enjoy.

Gifs and photos do not belong to me. 1st & 2nd gif @dailybridgerton

Warnings: none.

WC 956

All alone on a Sunday mornin'

Outside I see the rain is fallin', whoa oh

Inside I'm slowly dyin'

But the rain will hide my cryin', cryin', cryin'

And you...

Letter after letter from him came, but I did not wish to write him back. The young, hopeful Penelope Featherington would have written Colin back

But after I heard him at my mother's ball, telling the men there that he would not ever court me, I knew my heart was shattered.

Don't you know my tears will burn the pillow

Set this place on fire 'cause I'm tired of your lies

All I needed was a simple "Hello"

But the traffic was so noisy that you could not hear me cry

I still hear him saying it as it plays over and over again in my mind. I hear his voice when I wake up, and it is the last thing I hear before I fall asleep.

"I would never dream of courting Penelope Featherington."

I wait for the fresh tears to fall as I read his latest letter. I lay it on the table, wondering if I should burn them all, but in my heart, I can't. No matter how hurt I am.

I...

I gave you my love in vain

My body never knew such pleasure

My heart never knew such pain

And you...

You leave me so confused

Now I'm all cried out

Over you

I dreaded seeing Colin tonight, but I pushed my hurt feelings aside. The best thing I can do for myself is ignore him and stand off to the side. Walk away when he he comes near me.

I managed to stay away from him, but I needed some fresh air. I walked outside, enjoying the somewhat peaceful and quiet, but Colin came after me.

I knew then that it was time to head home. That tonight was a bad idea.

Never wanted to see things your way, I had to go astray

Oh, why was I such a fool, baby

(Why was I such a fool) Oh, yeah

Now I see that the grass is greener

Is it too late for me to find my way home?

How could I be so wrong?

Leavin' me all alone

I was done with our conversation, and I waited for him to pause. "Good night, Mr. Bridgerton." A confused look came over his face as I never was one to call him that.

"Do you not need a chaperone?" I stopped and turned to face him.

"Spinsters do not need chaperones." A small smirk came over his face as he thought I was joking around.

"You are not a spinster."

Don't you know my tears will cause an inferno

Tears will cause an inferno, baby

Romance often fades, why should I take the blame?

Why should... why should I?

You were the one who left me neglected

Oh, I'm so sorry, baby

Apology not accepted

Add me to the broken hearts you've collected

I thought I would cry as I spoke, but once again, I am all cried out. No more tears left for me to cry.

"I am in my third year on the marriage mart with no prospects to show for it. What would you call that?"

"Something wrong, Pen? Between us, I mean?"

"I wrote to you this summer as I always do, and...you did not respond. Admittedly very few did, but.."

Colin paused, waiting for me to say something, anything, but I did not speak.

"If you are you going to make me say it out loud...I miss you."

I... (Whoa)

I gave you all of me (I gave you all of me)

How was I to know

You would weaken so easily

I...

I don't know what to do (I don't know what to do)

Now I'm all cried out (I'm all cried out)

Over you

How dare he say those words to me. Like I am some toy, he can just toss aside and play with me when he is no longer bored. He seemed proud of himself for admitting that he missed me if I went with the smile on his face.

"You miss me. You miss me, but you would never court me. Is that correct?"

The smile fell from his lips, as he could tell by not only the tone of my voice but no doubt the look on my face. I am angry and hurt, and he deserves to know what he has done to me. How his words have hurt me.

"Pen...I"

I interrupted him. Not wanting to hear another excuse fall from his lips.

I...

I gave you my love in vain

My body never knew such pleasure

My heart never knew such pain

And you... (Left me so confused)

Now I'm all cried out (I'm all cried out)

Now I'm all cried out (All cried out)

I'm so sorry, baby

Over you

"I overheard you..... at my Mama's ball last season.....telling everyone how you would never, ever court Penelope Featherington."

A couple of people walked by, and it seemed like he was trying to hide his face as his body turned slightly.

"Perhaps we should go where there is somewhere more private."

I was not going anywhere. "Because I embarrass you." At least he looked ashamed.

"Of course, you would never court me. I am the laughingstock of the ton, even when I change my entire wardrobe."

Colin didn't know what to say. What else is there for him to say when he has already said enough.

"It just never occurred to me that you, could be so cruel."

I felt good to finally get this all out.

"Good night, Mr. Bridgerton."

[quotergirl19]

Polin’s First Mirror Moment:

A Bridgerton Daydream 🐝💕💭

Colin stands behind Penelope in front of a full length mirror inside Madame Delacroix’s private dressing room. He’s been trying to boost her confidence by pointing out all her best attributes and finally decides to make her look at herself. Colin’s words and the tone of his voice in Penelope’s ear grows unintentionally hot and increasingly seductive… he’s a Bridgerton brother after all… they have a way with the ladies and he is no exception. Much like Kate was when Anthony spoke to her about showing her all the ways a lady could be seduced, Pen is practically hypnotized by their closeness and the feel of Colin’s breath on her neck. The way his touch is feather light as he grazes her arms and sent chills through every part of her.

Look at yourself Penelope. You need to see yourself as you truly are. You’re not an undesirable wallflower, you are delicate and lovely. Your skin is soft and warm, your hair is like fire cascading down your back and your scent is an intoxicating mix of lavender with lemon and honey as sweet as your smile. But when you whisper your clever little barbs there’s a devilish curve to your lips that men will beg to taste. And your eyes… god help the poor bastard who gazes into them. A man could drown in those blue depths. You hold a power all your own Penelope. You are a siren and if you truly wished to, you could have your pick of suitors.

You are the most dangerous sort of woman. A man might not realize he’s been snared in your trap until it was too late. You merely need to choose who you reveal your true self to Penelope, because you cannot fail. The young ladies of the ton should all beware when you enter the room. Let the Queen have her diamond, you are a more rare gem of a woman than most realize at first. My yellow diamond. Lovely, Penelope any gentleman placing his hand in yours, is placing his heart at your feet like an offering to Aphrodite herself and if he’s lucky enough to earn your affection, he would be a fool to ever let you go.

At some point during this interlude, Colin had placed his hands on Penelope’s waist, holding her hips right where they began to curve into the swell of her perfect bottom and he instinctively pressed himself against her. Penelope said nothing. She should have stepped out of reach but she craved this man. She’d let him touch her anywhere he liked. Their eyes locked and the air grew thicker and they were both breathing a bit heavier, which was evident from the heaving of her glorious bosom in the new lower cut bodice she’d requested. The heady feeling that overcame Colin in that moment might have resulted in him claiming her for himself right there on Genevieve’s chaise if it weren’t for the delivery boy who arrived and called out for the modiste, breaking the spell of the moment.

Penelope stepped out of Colin’s grasp to thank him for his help and excused herself to change into a different gown. That was the moment Colin Bridgerton realized that everything he’d just said to her was absolutely true and he was the fool who didn’t realize it soon enough. He was never going to meet another woman as right for him as Penelope Featherington was. Now he just had to find a way to win her heart because he had been so blinded by his infatuation with Marina, he didn’t see what was so clear now. His heart belonged to Penelope. Somewhere along the way she had planted herself within his every dream and if he was ever going to have a chance at a happy future, he needed to make her his. Forever.

[ashleyfanfic]

They're a 10 but...

Found this on Twitter and decided to bring it here!

Tell me about your story/WIP’s love interest using: (Note from Ashley: I apologize for the length of this in advance) Thanks to @arielchelby for the tag

“They’re a 10, but…”

He's a 10 but he's secretly her mate and doesn't tell her about it until she accidently almost kill him. (Beautiful Diaster - Rewrite) - Dramione

She's a 10 but she's a high school cheer coach that's tough as nails on her squad but melty baby for him (Your Biggest Fan) - Hellcheer

He's a 10 but he's unwilling to acknowledge that killing his sister would have been hard on him and just needs hugs from her (The Dragons Dark and Deep) - Jonerys

She's a 10 but she's a sexually repressed lady of the ton with a psychotic mother (Possession)

She's a 10 but she was found in the woods on Christmas with a dress her mother shredded and a whole bunch of tears (Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas)

He's a 10 but her friends all hate him (That's Why I Love You)

He's a 10 but he's a bitter divorced dude who only smiles when she's back in his life (My Heart Whispers for Snow) Jonerys

They're all 10s but they're going through war with the undead and a crazy woman on a throne (Love on the Brain) Jonerys, Gendrya, Jaimsa

She's a 10 but her fear of people not seeing her for the ruler she is instead of a pretty face causes him to take a potion to be blind so he can see her for who she really is (I Am A Man On Fire, You A Violent Desire) Jonerys

She's a 10 but she had never heard of a blow job (The Oral Education of Miss Featherington) Polin (Colin x Penelope) I only did 10 - I have a lot more than that. tagging @frostbitepandaaaaa @justwandering-neverlost @chrissy-n-eddie

[checkoutmybookshelf]

Of Fire and Featheringtons: Chapter 6

Well hello friends, and welcome to my second Polin fic! This one builds on The Polin Fic (I Could Have Told You 'Bout the Long Nights on Ao3) so be sure to read that before diving into this one!

Like the other one, this fic is safe for work, but a few warnings do apply! If house fires, house fire injuries, mild gore, and mild blood aren't your thing, then don't be afraid to give this fic a pass. I'll be updating it twice a week here and on Ao3, so check back for updates.

I hope you enjoy this Polin fic, I had a blast writing it!

Back at Bridgerton House, hot baths were waiting in all their rooms. Colin dismissed Anna and all the servants from the room they shared, insisting he and Pen would manage. In truth, he simply couldn’t manage the costs of propriety through his panic for Pen. She had stopped crying and gone absolutely silent and stone-faced in the carriage back to Bridgerton House. She hadn’t responded to him or anyone else verbally, although she had managed navigating the house without issue. Her mind simply wasn’t present, and that frightened Colin more than the sight of the blood covering her face and torso had in that stairwell. She was strong, he knew that, but he couldn’t free her from whatever hell her mind had trapped her in.

He had shucked off his charred jacket and waistcoat, hoping she would come back to reality as he did so. He was desperate to get the brownish-red dried blood off of her but was afraid to get her directly into the bath—she could do herself an injury if she came back to herself and was in such a vulnerable position. Instead, he sat her in a particularly comfortable armchair, speaking softly about nothing in particular. One by one, he pulled her singed, sooty gloves off, and then held both her hands in his good one—he had slipped his broken arm back into the sling in the carriage to avoid doing himself an injury—holding them over his heart in the hopes that she might focus on his heartbeat and come back.

“Pen?” No response. Colin was trembling. He couldn’t simply do nothing. Gently putting her hands in her lap and going to one knee before her, he reached for a washcloth and dipped it in the bathwater, clumsily wringing it out one-handed.

“Pen, may I get some of that muck off your face?” Nothing. He shook one of her arms gently, repeating the question. Still nothing. Heart in his stomach and sinking rapidly, Colin gently reached up and began to dab her face. The first swipe or two of the warm cloth elicited no reaction, but on the third swipe, Penelope flinched back. Colin reared back, staying below Penelope and holding up his hand as he would if he had startled one of his sisters.  

“It’s only me, Pen. It’s Colin,” he said. For the first time since they had emerged from Lady Danbury’s carriage earlier that evening, her eyes focused and found his face.

“It’s cold,” she said, uncertainly. The blazing fire in the room and the still-steaming tub gave lie to the comment, but Colin was not about to contradict her.

“Let’s get you warm,” he said. She nodded, stood, and reached behind her for the buttons on her dress. After fumbling for a moment, she dropped her arms and turned her back to Colin. Looking over her shoulder, she asked, “Please?”

“Of course.” He draped the washcloth over the edge of the tub and rose, unbuttoning her dress and sliding it off her shoulders. He left it where it fell on the floor as she stepped out of it, back still to him. It was destined for the rag bin, anyway. He splayed his hand on her waist next to the laces of her corset.

“This too?”

“Yes.”

Mentally blessing Anna for using a knot that came undone with only a few gentle tugs on the free end of the lace, Colin undid and loosened Penelope’s stays, the structured garment sliding to the floor. The front stained with blood but not crusted as her overgown was. Quiet questions and simple, clear answers saw Pen undressed, and Colin wrapped an arm around her waist, supporting and balancing her as she climbed into the big copper tub and promptly curled into a ball, only her nose above the waterline. Her skin was covered in goosepimples, and she seemed to shiver in the warm water. Colin went to divest himself of shirt and breeches but stopped, hesitant. Pen’s eyes flicked to his, and she nodded, barely, and leaned toward him without uncurling.

He slid out of the remainder of his clothing and carefully climbed into the tub with her, hanging his splinted arm over the edge of the tub to keep it from getting wet and sitting up straighter than usual to keep direct heat off his still-tender burn scars. Once he was situated, she scooted into his lap and curled back into a ball, head resting on his chest, still only her nose poking out of the water. He wrapped his good arm around her, simply holding her for long moments as the water loosened fire grime, soot, and blood from their skin.

Between the well-stoked fire, warm water, and his body heat, Penelope slowly seemed to warm up, and her muscles relaxed. He reached for the washcloth again. Although the water was getting the blood on her lower face and chest, she had not submerged her entire face, and she had a patch of blood on her forehead. She sighed quietly through her nose and leaned into the washcloth as he wiped away Felix’s blood. As he rinsed the washcloth in the tub, Pen shifted in his lap, sitting up so her shoulders were clear of the water. She lifted both hands and began fishing pins out of her hair. The ones in the front came out without issue, but she grimaced as she yanked on the ones in the back. Dried blood had more or less glued them in place.

Colin lifted the washcloth, meaning to wring it out over her head to try to loosen the pins, but Penelope gently took his wrist and shook her head. Steadying herself with hands on his shoulders, she arched back, dipping her hair into the water. After a few still moments, she gently shook her still-submerged head, releasing a reddish cloud into the water.

We’ll need a second tub for rinsing, realized Colin. Trying to help her, he took some soap in his palm, threaded his fingers into the hair at the back of her head, and massaged gently, loosening things. Her eyes closed, and she went still. She did not smile—Colin suspected she would not for some time yet—but her jaw relaxed, and she released her neck, letting the water and his hand support her head. Slowly, he worked the pins holding her hair up loose, and it relaxed into the water. She sat back up as Colin set the pins in his hand on the table next to the tub, shivering as her hair cooled in the air and looking sideways at the now-cloudy water. She stood at his gentle pat to her hip and stepped out of the tub to wrap a drying cloth about herself. Colin did the same and then pulled the bell for the servants.

A gentle knock at the door a few moments later revealed several footmen with a second copper tub and kettles of hot water. Anna—who Colin made a mental note to submit for sainthood—was also there with a fresh stack of drying cloths, which she left next to the fire so they would be warm. After preparing the second tub, Colin and Penelope were again left alone. Climbing into the clean, hot water with appreciative hisses, Colin and Penelope settled in again. Pen dunked her hair once more, running fingers through it to ensure no pins had been missed and all the soap was out. Then, she settled against Colin’s chest, eyes closed, breathing with him. Time seemed to still.

It was only when Colin felt Pen’s body relax into the posture that meant she had slipped into sleep that he noticed that the curls at the crown of her hair had largely dried and frizzed up, and the water was not warm enough to be comfortable anymore.

“Pen,” he murmured, shifting her gently. She blinked sleepily up at him. She stood with him and stepped out of the tub. He wrapped her, then himself, in drying cloths. The pair more or less fell into bed with Colin clumsily pulling the covers over them in the moments before Penelope’s gentle breathing soothed him to sleep as well.

It hadn’t happened this way! Penelope stood frozen to the stairs, unrestrained by anything but that strange quality nightmares had to hold your body in place. She watched as Felix grabbed Colin by his lapels and grinned at her, saying, “Don’t worry Cousin, I will not be harmed,” before he threw them both into the roaring flames. Colin’s screams echoed in her ears as Felix emerged from the conflagration, and suddenly Augie and Edmund were in his arms, terrified and struggling. They called for her, begged her to rescue them, but she could not move. Felix backed into the flames with them, laughing.

When he appeared again, he held Eloise in a bridal carry. “How did you fail to see what he is?” wailed Eloise as Felix delivered her, too, to the fire, and Eloise’s screams joined those of Colin, Augie, and Edmund. It was the sight of Violet Bridgerton walking sedately into the fire after her children and grandchildren on Felix’s arm that broke Penelope. She screamed, falling to her knees.

A loud thud and babbled voices interrupted her sight for a moment, and the next thing she saw was flames inches from her nose as she screamed again…

“Pen!”

Her eyes flew open; she was wrapped too tightly in a drying cloth, Colin above her in their bed at Bridgerton House, naked to the waist, his own drying cloth and the bedclothes barely keeping him covered. He called her name, telling her she was safe, that he was there. Also in her field of vision were Violet, Kate, and Eloise. She was still screaming, she realized, and Eloise’s face was white, with tear tracks down both cheeks. She was frightening her friend; she had to stop.

A herculean effort that made her jaw crack in her head closed her mouth, cutting off the scream. Bridgerton voices came from the door. Had she woken the entire household? She was still too tightly wrapped; she needed to breathe. Struggling to free her arms and legs, Kate and Violet reached down to help her. Simultaneously, their eyes went wide, and both whipped their heads toward the door, ordering the men out and admonishing them to close the door for heaven’s sake. A resounding slam heralded sudden silence, except for the rustling of fabric as Penelope fought her way loose and resettled the drying cloth loosely around her in a halfhearted nod to propriety. If Violet, Kate, and Eloise had not been before her, she would certainly have tumbled out of bed entirely.

Penelope lifted her head and met Violet’s eyes.

“I didn’t know what he was, I swear,” she whispered, feeling like she was about to fall off a cliff. Violet pulled her into a hug.

“Of course not dearest. There’s no way you could have known,” she said. A tight band around Penelope’s heart snapped, and she sobbed into her mother-in-law’s shoulder. Kate and Eloise wrapped their arms around Violet and Penelope as well, letting Penelope cry. As her tears subsided, she hiccupped, startling a giggle out of herself. She heard Colin sigh behind her, and she felt the bed move as he began to rise before Eloise shrieked, “Colin, do not!”

“Oh for heaven’s sake, Eloise—” he snapped, settling back to the bed as he recalled his own lack of appropriate clothing. Pulling back from Violet, Penelope wiped her eyes on the edge of the drying cloth still wrapped around her.

“Thank you,” she said, for Violet’s ears alone. She received a warm smile and a squeezed hand before the older woman rose.

“Well, we shall let you two compose yourselves. Eloise, Kate.” The three left the room.

Colin rose and pulled on some smallclothes, collecting a clean chemise and shawl for Penelope. Once she was dressed and wrapped in the shawl, she took a tailor’s seat on the bed facing Colin. Her face was down, watching as her fingers fidgeted with a loose loop of yarn in the knitted shawl. Colin sat on the edge of the bed, one foot tucked beneath him, the other on the floor.

“Pen, look at me,” he said softly, almost pleading. Her eyes flicked to his face for a moment and then returned to her hands.

“Penelope, love. Nothing that happened this summer is your fault.”

She did not believe that she held no responsibility for what had happened or for what was likely to come; the guilt weighed too heavily on her heart and roiled too acidly for her to dismiss. However, Colin was exhausted. The dark circles beneath his eyes spoke volumes, as did the heaviness of his eyelids. He held his splinted arm up at an angle across his chest that told her in no uncertain terms that it hurt him. Sleep was what Colin needed right now, and Penelope’s thoughts and feelings were too raw, too tangled for her to articulate fully. If she told him how she felt now, they would be talking about it until the sun rose. Besides, if Penelope was being truly honest with herself, they had insufficient information at this moment to either allay or justify her guilt and fears. So, rather than argue, she pasted a half-hearted smile on her face.

“No, of course. I’m sure I’m simply overwrought from the day,” she said. Colin’s eyes narrowed. 

“Why do I not believe that?” he asked. 

“Colin…I have not the words just now to explain it myself. Please, can we try to sleep?” He shifted, pulling his other foot up and allowing himself to slump back down. He didn’t believe her; she could see it in his eyes, but his own tiredness and pain were enough that he lacked the will to fight her, especially given a cogent, reasonable answer. 

“This is not a period on the conversation,” he warned her as they lay down and his unbroken arm came across her belly, unconsciously settling above her scar. “We will discuss this when you’re ready.” 

“I know,” she whispered, as Colin’s eyes closed. She waited until he was snoring robustly beside her and had turned in his sleep so he was not holding her to carefully slide out of bed and retreat to the library. She was too rattled to read, but paging through books eventually calmed her as pre-dawn light slowly filled the room. 

When Penelope dragged herself into the breakfast room later that morning, a clump of Bridgertons surrounded Anthony, and Penelope was too tired to try to sort through the overlapping voices as she collected herself a cup of tea and a scone. 

“Good morning, Penelope!” trilled Hyacinth. The babble of voices around Anthony cut off immediately. 

“The papers have it already, do they?” she asked, forestalling the inevitable equivocation that they hadn’t all been discussing Felix’s crimes and arrest as she walked in. 

“I’m afraid so,” said Anthony. “I shall meet with our solicitor this morning and prepare. It is entirely likely that the crown solicitor will wish to meet with you, Penelope. I assure you that you have our full support.”

“Full support for what?” Colin had entered the room and was at the sideboard, loading himself a plate. 

“Mr. Featherington’s trial,” answered Hyacinth, completely ignoring the quelling look Anthony sent her way. “The crown solicitor is going to put Penelope on the stand, like as not.” The lid of the chafing dish slammed as Colin spun to face the room.

“Like hell he will,” he growled. 

“Colin, language,” came Violet’s soft voice.

“I am meeting with our solicitor in an hour. Shall I expect your company?” asked Anthony. 

“I should think so. For every meeting, Anthony.” Colin did not return to making up his plate until Anthony agreed that Colin should be present at any and all meetings about the issue. 

Unready to look at what the papers were saying, Penelope leaned over Sophie’s shoulder to read her scandal sheet. She flinched back at the title: The Featherington Firebug Flames Out! If even the scandal sheets had the story, then there would be no hiding any of the details. Her mama would know about this by now, and her aunt would surely hear by tomorrow at the very latest. She could not put off writing a letter explaining things, but she had no explanation. She needed sleep but was sure she would have nightmares if she tried, so she would have to do her best to compose some sort of letter while sleep deprived. Ought she invite her aunt here? 

Her mind was still dully poking at things she really should address until Anthony and Colin left to see the solicitor. They were gone most of the day, and Penelope spent the time struggling to write letters to her family explaining the situation. Overall, it was a quiet day, and it was the last quiet day for quite some time. 

The next day, Penelope received a note from her mama informing her that Aunt Ophelia Featherington, née Allen, was on her way into town from her country home and was expected to arrive in three days’ time. Penelope was strongly invited (ordered, really, but her mama had not used the word) to Featherington House to greet her and explain what on earth had happened.

Penelope had refused all offers of accompaniment from the women of Bridgerton House–although she had been surprisingly tempted to accept Hyacinth’s offer of accompaniment; adding Hyacinth to the situation would be akin to dropping a fox among the chickens, and that level of chaos was appealing. Colin and Anthony had another meeting with the family solicitor, and Penelope was grateful that she had not had to explain to Colin why she did not want him at the first meeting with Felix’s mother. 

The visit had been painfully awkward. Aunt Ophelia was a willowy, nearly translucent woman with deeply sad eyes, and Penelope had nearly broken a seven-year streak of not crying in front of her mother when she saw the lack of blame in her aunt’s eyes. Both Ophelia and Penelope had let Portia prattle on about how important it was to raise young men correctly so that they did not bring scandal to themselves or their families. Penelope had not so much as sighed in protest when Portia spent nearly three-quarters of an hour explaining that Penelope had been doomed to fail Felix because she had no children of her own after over a year of marriage. Aunt Ophelia had simply sat on the old green sofa in the Featherington sitting room and sipped tea, occasionally tilting her head or humming politely in acknowledgement of Portia’s direct assertions.  

After that meeting, Penelope had returned to Bridgerton House and hidden in a back corner of the library to cry herself out. Colin had found her there at dinnertime, trapped in nightmares. She had excused herself to bed rather than come to dinner with the family, somewhat weakly claiming a headache. She had eventually fallen asleep again, and did not hear Colin either come to bed or rise the next morning. Just missing each other became a pattern, and despite Colin’s insistence that they would talk about things, the proper time simply did not materialize.

In the six weeks it took the crown to prepare their case for trial, Colin and Anthony met almost daily with the Bridgerton’s solicitor, as well as the Featherington and crown solicitors. As Anthony had predicted, once the crown solicitor became involved, he did indeed want to interview Penelope. He also sent a request through the Bridgerton’s solicitor for copies of all Penelope’s correspondence with both her aunt and cousin. He had asked for Colin’s as well, but Colin had not directly corresponded with either. He had accompanied Penelope back to their house to collect the letters, but they barely made it to the door through a crowd of gawkers and busybodies who bombarded them with questions and accusations.  Penelope had been obliged to redo several copies of letters that day after tears smudged things into illegibility. After that, the only people who visited Colin and Penelope’s home were servants, and only after dark, through the back door, to avoid causing a riot. 

[darklinaforever]

Not one of the most toxic ppl in both fandoms talking about toxicity... Look at yourself

Yes... if you want darling. In the meantime, it's not me who sends nasty anonymous messages to people to annoy them.

[arcielee]

2023 CHARACTER WRAPPED

Thank you my beloved(s) @black-dread @lonnson @aemondsbabe @sylasthegrim for this tag 💜

☆ Loki returns because I have mutuals who have been reblogging stories or have written masterful pieces (@/poetic-fiasco you specifically) and it made me remember my love for him.

☆ King Alfred. His character arc was wild, from him being a ho to so sexual repressed, it allowed a certain spice to be added to his every exchange with Uhtred... and I loved it.😆

☆ Lucia Aurelius [I Am The Villain, Webtoon]. I am obsessed with the art style, it is definitely my favorite comic for the year for me. It is a reused concept, but its pacing and narrative have me enthralled and I am just cheering for my girl 😭

☆ Freddie Mercury. I feel weird to place him, but it needs a mention since I dove into the BoRap fandom 5 years late and have fallen in love with this remarkable human being. This is because of his characterization by the talented Rami Malek and the literary creations by the masterful @inthedayswhenlandswerefew.

☆ Penelope Featherington. Her struggle between trying to become her own woman, while struggling with her unrequited for now crush and her own independence is relatable.

☆ Literally anyone from the One Piece live action. I am putting Mihawk cause he is pretty and cunty, but the whole damn cast, from MCs to side characters, was fucking amazing. I personally adored every episode, but please note that I have never seen the anime nor while I ever watch it as we are 1100+ episodes into it and I do not have the attention span.

☆ Obi Wan Kenobi and Anakin Skywalker. Returning to break my heart all over again.

☆ Aemond Targaryen. We knew he would be on this damn list. I love Ewan's portrayal of him and I loved the hot mess Aemond is in Fire & Blood. I am ready for season 2, whatever may come.

☆ I am stealing this from @/lonnson and putting the Coccham Gang up as well. The Last Kingdom was my favorite series I indulged with and I have rewatched it quite a bit.

Tumblr kindred spirits (no pressure tag): @poetic-fiasco @itbmojojoejo @gemini-mama @witheredoffherwitch @breanime @helaelaemond @zae5 @boundlessfantasy @bhxrdy @elizarbell @persephones-journey @babyblue711 @myfandomprompts and anyone else, if you see this tag me cause I want to know. 💜

[daphnejane]

Hello, Polin stans! LadyTicklebotham and I have added another chapter to our dirty picture book! This piece started as a LLW Kinktober prompt (voyeur/exhibitionist), but SURPRISE! I didn't finish in time. Then I remembered this smoking hot sketch by Lady T, and I knew I had to work some facesitting in there too, so we could add it to our picture book. This is a slight canon divergence in the name of smut.

Summary: Colin must apologize for acting so beastly when Pen stumbled upon his journal. Will he make up to her?

Rated E

Snippet!

He shouldn't be here. He really shouldn't be here. When he had begun climbing the tree outside of Penelope’s window, he'd only wanted to apologize to her for acting so abominably when he’d caught her reading his journal. She'd completely evaded him when he saw her crossing Berkeley Square, ignoring him when he called her name. Really, he'd had no choice but to surprise her at home. But when he had gotten to the window and seen her like that—gown unbuttoned and pushed down to her waist, breasts straining to be free of her stays, barely covered by her chemise... He couldn't very well tap on the window when she was in the middle of undressing. He would give her a few minutes to change and then speak to her. Colin turned his attention to the night and looked up through the leaves to study the moon and stars. The sky could be so very different abroad, and he appreciated the constellations of his home. He could make out Polaris just above the roof of Featherington House. That brought his mind back to Penelope. When he looked again, he nearly fell out of the tree. She hadn't dressed. Penelope stood naked between her bed and the window, facing what must have been her mirror in the corner. Well, naked aside from the stockings clinging to her calves, paler even than her skin. The flickering light of a fire in the grate painted her body in shades of gold and orange and set her hair aglow. Her soft curves filled his vision, from her full breasts to her flared hips and the swell of her round bottom. The sheer curtain over her window did little to obscure his view. He should have left immediately; he knew he should have. It was wrong to watch her. Yet he was rooted to the spot, leaning forward as she turned this way and that, pawing at her plump figure with a dissatisfied frown. He opened his mouth, ready to call out and tell her she was perfect, before he realized what a mistake that would be.

Continue reading on AO3.

[solariaperegrine]

Art by @celestialsmessy1

A party, there just had to be a party. Penelope always hated parties. They are too crowded and too loud and once in a while, a creep would hoot and holler  at her, thinking she would take it as a compliment.

Penelope is not that desperate for a dick. She may be twenty and still a virgin but no, thank you very much, she is not that starved for male attention.

If anything she's  had enough of it.

The creep this time around is some blonde affluenza kid.

She knew his name.

He wore a name tag.

Did she mention this is a fundraiser she was required by her publisher to attend? It was supposedly a professional event hence the need for nametags. 

Hers  read: Penelope Featherington/Novelist, Danbury House

Great! Now, the creep will have a way to find out her info. 

Penelope shifted her weight on her feet in discomfort. Not only is the Creep asking her if she has a boyfriend, he's  also asking if she's interested in shifting publishers

Full name: Richard Fawker, from Abbott Publishing. If his nickname was Dick, then she would tag him as a Dick Fucker. If it’s Rich, then he's a Rich Fucker. If it's Chard, then he would be a Charred Fucker. 

She giggled to herself as she thought of the many ways he could save his phone number (which he handed to her  in a business card BTW) then block him later. She was being  careful not to offend the asshole.  Abbott is a top competitor and they have been vying to acquire Danbury  House for years. 

Just last year, they attempted  to outdo Danbury House sales by signing Cressida Cowper, a well known "radical" feminist (but in actuality just a misandric narcissist). Only for their sales to be stomped when Danbury  House signed both Eloise Bridgerton (an actual, intellectual, no nonsense, next Simone de Beauvoir, actual feminist) and Lady  Whistledown (the most popular romance novelist Europe has ever seen in the last 50 years) in one month. 

Agatha told Penelope  how butthurt Execs at Abbott would jump at any chance to diminish the Danbury brand,  perhaps even using tactics as low as attacks on grounds of character. 

Additionally, Agatha Danbury herself might pull out her hair if she discovered Penelope humiliated a competitor.   It would relflect badly on the company image. Agatha always prefer for their sales and awards to be their weapon.

Penelope thinks otherwise.  What use was her sharp wit if she can't use it to shatter overinflated egos?

"I've been told Lady Whistledown will attend. Do you know her?" Rich Fucker asked. Penelope bit the insides of her cheeek.

She internally scoffed upon realizing the man in front of her was showing his real intention.

"I wonder if she's a looker" he said. Penelope cringed.

Would the dickwad die in embarassment if Penelope was to suddenly tell him, she is in fact  Lady Whistledown all along.

Tempting. Penelope  thought.  Tempting... but not worth  it.

Not worth it. Her thoughts  echoed inside her.

Not worth it.  She repeated to herself. Besides, Agatha also wants me to scout new talent. 

Penelope looked at the crowd for a sign of Eloise.  She had excused herself to go to the loo. And in the five minutes El left her side, Penelope managed to attract trouble.

A sigh of relief escaped Penelope  when she saw  Eloise finally returning from the loo.

...only for her to do a 360 degree  turn around upon spotting Penelope  with a man.

Damn it!

Penelope's  eyes widened in horror.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. No!

It was truth she wanted dick but not just any dick. And certainly  not the horrid  Gucci wearing man's dick.

He's both a cad and a chad. 

The words died in Penelope's throat. Must have been the glass of Amarone she downed before the man with an assault of color for a wardrobe decided to sour her already unpleasant evening.

There was also the slight buzzing in her head. Damn Eloise and her alcoholic choices!

The Best Friend said it was liquid courage.

...liquid fire more like it.

Everyone knows Penelope  and alcohol don't mesh well together. They seem to always find a way to end up on the floor. 

"Can I get vodka for the lady" Dick Fucker said to the broad shouldered bartender whose back was to them as he was putting some bottles on the shelf. 

The bartender turned around. "Afraid not Sir, the organizer said we can only serve wine"  His voice, honey on her ears as it has always been.  

It cannot be.

"Colin?" Penelope said in surprise. "Colin, you're  home? El never said--"

"Surprise!?" He said, sheepishly. 

Understatement of the entire fucking century. Not only was Penelope  surprised, she was also scared, and horny and shocked and nervous because what the flying fuck is Colin Bridgerton doing in London when he should be in freaking Tuscany?

And damn it Colin Bridgerton  is fit!  Is that a tan? And a new tattoo on his forearm? 

Colin peered over to Charred Fawker, then stared intently at Penelope. "This git bothering you Pen?" 

She nodded softly, feeling  a lump form on her throat. 

Colin stared Fawker down. "The lady's clearly not interested, mate.  Get a hint!" 

Maybe it's the tattoos or the tan, or the black button down shirt, but somehow Colin looked quite scary when he had admonished the annoying man.

Penelope had never pegged Colin as someone intimidating. In her mind he has always been the charming, all smiles, lovable dork who sometimes make her panties wet when he rolls up his sleeves to reveal his inked and toned forearms.

To her distress,  he did roll up his sleeves, then poured a glass of wine  as they both watched Rich Fucker leave them be.

Colin and his forearms and his  voice.

Yum...

"Drinks on me, Pen"  

She did not say anything.

"Pen? You alright?"  He asked in concern. She must have looked flustered.

"I-uh- the Tattoo. It's  new!"  She managed to say.

"They're  my favorite  flowers" He said with a smile. It is so like him to ease in a conversation  with her as if they had not seen each other in six months.

"Roses?" Penelope  asked.

"Not just any rose"   He said with an affectionate expression overtaking his face. 

Penelope  knew Colin's tattoos always signify a person.

A  girl perhaps

She did not dare ask who could be the person which inspired the tattoo. For all she knew it could be Marina, the influencer.

Eloise sent her a picture  of Colin and Marina in France, laughing over Croissants.

What is even funny about Croissants?  Other than it's the only instance where being flaky is the desirable outcome. 

Ah. That had to be it. Colin probably came up with  a ridiculous  joke like that and Marina didn't know what hit her.

Gods, the man made Penelope fall in love with  him because  of a horse joke he made once upon a time, five years ago.

The tattoo IS probably because  of a girl. Penelope resigned.

And I am not that girl 

"Anyway, thanks for that. I owe you Col--catch you later. " She said, then turned her back to him, intending  to leave.

Colin stopped her on her tracks, by  reaching to grab her arm.

"Where do you think you're  going Pen?"

Oh no. Not the voice and the vice-like grip.

"I need to go"  she made an act of swiping through  her phone  as if checking something.

"You didn't even ask me what I'm doing here?" He asked, offended. He then looked from her arm to her face and finally let it go, reluctanctly.

She replied with a smirk. "Oh! I know--New Club? Charity event organized by Danbury House?  You stacking shelves? This is one of your new establishments isn't  it?  Otherwise why would a BridgerBro bother with bartending?" 

He laughed in response. "You know me too well, Penny but...No! This is actually Theo's"

Theo Sharpe, her and Eloise's  Agent Theo  Sharpe.

"I better go. I don't  think I can get home if I drink more"

"Pen you cannot be thinking  of driving--"

"I've had two glasses of wine Mr. Bridgerton" she said. 

"You and alcohol are a match made in hell Penelope" he joked. "You  are not leaving. I forbid it"

She scoffed at him. "Fine! FYI. I didn't drive here so I was thinking of getting a cab. But if you're  so concerned about me, find your ghoster of a sister and tell her to drive me home."

"I don't  think  that's  an option"

"Why?"

"Eloise kinda already left the bar --with some dude" Colin said uncomfortably. 

"Why would she do that? That's dangerous"

"Um.. it was Theo--"  Colin finally confessed. 

"Oh!" Penelope said, realizing.

"Take a chill pill Penny. One can pick up a lover anywhere"

"Speaking from experience" she retorted.

"Guilty" he said with half smile, then bowed his head in embarassment.

"Then-- I have no choice but to  get a cab"

Colin furrowed his brows. "You say that as if I am not an option-- Am I not an option, Pen?"

Was she imagining the strange lilt of disappointment  in his voice.

You're  the only option, actually. She thought.

But of course she did not dare say that out loud. 

It would be friendship sabotage.

She shook her head.

"So I'm not-not an option,  that's  a double-negative. I take that  as a yes"

"Colin..." she groaned in frustration. "Is this  how you usually pick up women? By being insufferable?" 

He chortled. "Yeah. That and my beautiful  face"  He bit back. Penelope laughed too.

Their eyes met then.

Colin stopped laughing, his face suddenly  becoming quite grave.

"Penelope--I must insist. I will take you home. I need to tell you something  anyway"

***

Soon Penelope found herself staring at a Ducati.

"That's  a motorcycle" 

"No--it's an Elephant" Colin said sarcastically, while handing her a helmet. 

Penelope hit him on the shoulder.

"When you said you're  going to drive me. I assumed there would be car"

" I told  you I was going to take you home--not drive you home"

Penelope  shuddered. "Fine"

She put on the sky blue helmet but struggled a bit with the buckle. 

Colin watched her fumbling before deciding to help her. He grasped the buckles, his knuckles grazing  Penelope's chin.

"Look up" he instructed  at Penelope, who kept  her eyes pinned to ground.

"Look up. You're  too short if you don't  look up I will need to bend a bit and my cute ass is gonna be on display for the whole world to see"

Penelope looked up but rolled  her eyes at him.

"What's  up with these buckles. Why are they so hard to fasten" she said, with some annoyance.

"It's  lower tech, but safer for crashes" Colin  explained.

"Wow. Thanks for reminding  me we could crash anytime" She said in sarcasm.

Colin tapped her helmet. Penelope  felt the vibration on her scalp.

"We will not. You're precious  cargo. I'll be extra careful"

[sea-owl]

Inspired by my favorite fairytale Snow White and Rose Red. Was originally gonna be for polin week day six but I'm late, oh well.

In the wooded country side of England sat the Ancestral home of the Featherington family, and on the lands their home grew several flowers in honor of the family's crest of the Butterfly. Among those flowers grew two shrubs, one containing the blush white Penelope Roses, and the other grew the multicolored pink, lavender, and green Felicity Hydrangeas.

The lady of the house, Lady Featherington, loved these two flower shrubs so dearly she had named her younger two daughters after them, Penelope and Felicity. As seemed to follow their namesakes the two girls were also like the flowers. Penelope was the quieter one of the two, preferring to read and write her stories. Felicity loved running through the woods, and causing mischief. The two girl loved one another dearly, often seen walking about hand in hand as they roamed about the woods.

The animals of the woods that surrounded their home trusted the two girls. Little hares would eat cabbage from their hands, deer would graze beside them, and the birds would continue to sing their songs in the trees. Neither girl fearing the woods that surround their home, as they knew they were perfectly safe, and trusted the woods. Many a night the girls laid down on the mossy ground when it had grown too dark to continue forward.

On one such of those nights, the two girls were collecting berries and had lost track of time. A tree root has gently raised itself to stop the girls from going forward.

"Perhaps we should stop here for the night," Penelope suggested. Felicity nodded and the two girls drifted off to sleep.

Felicity's eyes shot open at the sound of her sister's gasp and hands yanking her back. "Penelope?!" Felicity exclaimed, still groggy.

She looked up, but Penelope kept her eyes straight ahead. Not far from where the girls were sleeping was a rocky cliff. The trees last night had stopped them from going over.

When the girls later told their mother and older sisters, Portia did not seem at all shocked. "Remember, girls, so long as we take care of the woods, the woods will take care of us."

As summer turned to fall, Portia had to leave for business in London. She took her two oldest with her and instructed her younger daughters to take care.

"Remember, my daughters trust the woods. So long as you do it will not lead you astray."

Penelope and Felicity nodded. "Yes, mother."

As the girls finished their chores, night fell, and they sat by the fire. Penelope read aloud while Felicity practiced her water colors.

"Then the prince kissed the sleeping princess-"

Felicity wrinkled her nose. "That's creepy."

"-with true love's kiss. The princess had awoken and they live happily ever after."

"Could you imagine how weird it would be if you laid down for a nap, and then some bloke is just standing above you and ruining your good dreams by kissing you!" Felicity said, waving her paint brush around. "Like, good sir, I would like to nap in peace, please!"

Penelope giggled but was soon interrupted by a knock on the door. "Felicity, please open the door. It must be a traveler looking for shelter for the night."

Sheltering travelers was nothing new to the girls. It was often told that part of protecting the woods, they must also protect its travelers so no harm came to either.

Felicity nodded and got up from her spot. Unlocking the door, Felicity was not expecting the sight before her.

Felicity let out a shriek at the sight of a very large brown bear head poking through the door. Throwing herself backward, Felicity quickly hid behind her sister.

"Please," a voice said. "I mean no harm. I only wish to warm myself a little."

Both sisters snapped their full attention on the bear. The brown bear was looking at them with green eyes that almost seemed human.

"It's a talking bear!" Felicity exclaimed, now coming out of her hiding spot. She came closer, excitedly curious about their new guest.

"Oh, you poor thing," Penelope said. "Come in and lay by the fire."

"Thank you," the bear said as he made his way inside. "My name is Colin."

Felicity giggled. "How silly, a bear named Colin."

The girls took a broom and gently sweeped off leaves and early frost off the bear's back. He was patient with the girls especially when they brushed through a particularly knoted tangle. When the Colin's fur was dry and warm from the hearth, Felicity had climbed up onto his back. Colin laid down to make it easier for her.

Penelope sat next to them as she read more stories.

"She's likely to fall asleep up there," Penelope said as she finished another story.

"It does not bother me," Colin said. "She's so small I barely feel her."

Penelope tilted her head. "What's it like being a bear?"

"What's it like being a human?" Colin countered.

Penelope giggled. "We do humans things, I suppose. Eat, sleep, walk, marry, read, paint, and write, among other things."

"Some of those things bears do too," Colin pointed out.

Penelope giggled again. "I suppose you're right."

The two continued to talk until Penelope could no longer hold open her eyes. Unknowingly, she laid against Colin and his warm fur.

Colin couldn't help but smile himself as he laid his head down to sleep. It has been so long since he had been in the company of others. Maybe listening to the woods wasn't a bad idea since it led him to the Featherington sisters.