#please adopt this plot bunny

[the-booty-crusader]

SVSSS Bingyuan AU idea (if someone adopts this I will make art please please I wanna see this written out so bad and I do not have the time or spoons for it)

Shen Yuan is transmigrated into the body of an unnamed NPC in what he believes to be PIDW. The System wished him good luck and blipped out of existence almost immediately. Shen Yuan, of course, immediately wants to start preparing to go out and explore the world and maybe go see the protagonist from afar, only for the latter to appear about 4 minutes after Shen Yuan opened his eyes.

Without much rhyme or reason he is immediately swept off his feet by the (unfairly handsome and somewhat frazzled-looking) protagonist and deposited into a room deep within Luo Binghe’s palace without much fanfare with the promise that he will be back soon.

Shen Yuan, of course, is deeply confused. Why is he here, why did the protagonist abduct him, was he going to kill him (not that he should have any reason to, unless this body belonged to someone who wronged Luo Binghe in the past… but then why would be be brought to these lovely chambers?)?!

He starts investigating the room and finds a bestiary filled with the most interesting beasts he’d always wanted to know more of. The illustrations are beautiful, the bestiary lovingly crafted. Something about it niggles at Shen Yuan’s brain, but he can’t put his finger on it.

He’s interrupted by Luo Binghe showing up with a tray of absolutely delicious-smelling food… strangely, it’s all of Shen Yuan’s absolute favorite dishes (and everything he wasn’t familiar with on the tray ended up being a new favorite which… was that just a coincidence?) and he enjoys them immensely.

Luo Binghe watches Shen Yuan closely as he eats and smiles when he finishes. “I’m glad to see A-Yuan’s tastes haven’t changed.” he says, and Shen Yuan barely has time to wonder how Binghe knew his name before they’re interrupted and Binghe is called away by some “important business” (which, from the look on Binghe’s face, will not end well for whoever disturbed him).

Shen Yuan continues exploring the rooms and finds a nook with the exact type and amount of pillows he likes, with natural light coming in from a northern angle— his favorite light to read in. The room smells like jasmine and books— Shen Yuan’s favorite scent. It was like someone had taking every one of Shen Yuan’s preferences and put them into a room.

It wasn’t until he spotted the bestiary again that it clicks; it’s written in his own handwriting. Those drawings look like what his own art might look like if he got more practice.

How could he have written a bestiary he’d never seen before? How did Binghe already know him? What was going on?

So what’s going on is that for years now, Binghe kept encountering individuals that helped him unconditionally, assisting him in his darkest times and making his life more bearable. A fellow street kid after Binghe’s mother died who gave him scraps of food and shared blankets with him, a Shizun on Qing Jing that protected him and gave him a safe place to grow up, a demon in the Abyss that told him all the best places to rest and where to get food and water, a Huan Hua disciple that told him the best ways to gain a foothold within the sect, a demon that advised him in his efforts to take over the Demon Realm.

All of them died protecting him. Some of them made it a few months, others a few years. It wasn’t until meeting Shen Yuan in the Abyss that he realized he had the same quirks and traits as that odd little boy, A-Yuan, who had sheltered him on the streets, and his Shizun, Shen Qingqiu. How odd that his name should be a combination of the two who were dearest to him save his mother. How odd that he shared their interest in stories and shared a ranting style and doted on him and were weak to his tears and… Binghe had realized that it must be the same soul, coming back for him.

But Shen Yuan never remembered his previous lives or deaths. He always seemed excited to meet Binghe, but there was no familiarity in the recognition in his eyes.

And he just. Kept. Dying.

Binghe was on his 18th meeting with Shen Yuan; it had been so many times now that he knew exactly what to do and how to find him. He wasted no time in getting him somewhere safe (finding him that one time, an hour after his last death, only to watch him get killed almost immediately after their encounter had traumatized Binghe, so now he made sure to immediately use the soul-tracking amulet he had been using for the last 12 incarnations) and immediately went to cook his beloved dinner. He was working on a way to get his memories from his previous incarnations back, because… how else was he supposed to cope?

——

So. Do you think a new instance of Shen Yuan is plopped into the world every time one dies? Is it the same soul, given a quick reset and spit-spine and put into another body? Let’s discuss this idea please I am obsessed, it haunts me. Let’s brainstorm

[inioranackatori]

Imagine, for a moment, a world where Gento being Blazar’s host became known to his team, his wife (who has Opinions for consideration later), and his son.

Imagine, for a moment, Jun, being seven, becoming interested in getting a pet. Except they can’t do a cat or a dog; the apartment doesn’t allow them.

Imagine, for a moment, Jun, while talking to his dad an about his work with Blazar (who is still the coolest hero ever) having the realization Firdran is Blazar’s pet. Blazar is part of the Hiruma household. Therefore, Firdran is, by default, the Hiruma family pet.

Imagine, for a moment, Jun realizing they have a kaiju firebird dragon as a pet and not a single person in the household has made sure to take it for walks! Or gotten it meals! Or - or - or -!

Imagine Blazar, being Blazar, does not want Jun to be upset. Gento, being Gento, wants to give his son the world. And his brilliant son does have an excellent point: Firdran is an important member of SKaRD, even if he is a giant flaming space kaiju. Now imagine -

Gento: “This is Hiruma.” <pause> “Yes, sir, Earth Garon is deployed in the Japanese Alps.” <pause> “Eh? No, sir! Of course we’re not playing fetch with Blazar’s pet! Firdran is helping us with materials stress testing and pilot training! It only looks like we’re playing fetch!”

[ruthryry]

Look I'm not saying that the vines at Sutton and the way it reacts to Edwin's expressions of fear and joy and sexuality are a perfect set up for repressed Edwardian tentacle porn, but... I am saying that, actually

[iron-mage]

Concept of a transformers soul eater AU is very funny because like several of the characters already turn into guns in canon

Megatron as the weapon & Starscream as his meister lol i imagine them as already being death weapon status or near to it

You don't even have to change the names of the characters at all because of the stagename system especially because as shown with Eternal Feather you don't need someone's consent to give them a stage name just enough signatures

Soundwave would be a meister with the cassettes as his weapons

You could have Shockwave be a weapon that's constructed a golem/magic puppet he dubs Longarm to wield him

I feel like Optimus would be a meister with weapon blood so he can turn into the matrix at some point, what does it do? Who knows (it has a purifying wavelength that can counteract madness)

Since TFA is like the highschool dropout version of transformers that's the one im taking the most inspiration from in what is essentially a magical highschool AU

I have no clue who or what the rest of the meister/weapon teams should be

Could he cool to have jazz and prowl tied to the star clan tho

Or Sari being another meister with weapon blood who wields Bee as a stinger could have them temporarily teaming up with Bee's estranged twin Wasp

Grimlock should get to be a flaming sword

Optimus should be wielding an Axe as his weapon so who should turn into the axe is the real question here

[tentacledsnakelover]

A Wild Kratts Movie Plot Bunny

A few years ago, I came up with a plot bunny for a Wild Kratts Movie. Heavily inspired by Phineas and Ferb: Across the 2nd Dimension, the general synopsis is that the brothers end up in an alternate timeline where Zach is the emperor of the world. While I imagine the upcoming movie will focus on animals like the show does, or maybe the history of the team, I wanted to share something different that has been cooking in my brain.

I have never been able to finish the plot, but here is what I have come up with:

While creature adventuring in Africa with Thornsley’s herd, Aviva reveals she has successfully fixed the Time Trampoline, and has managed to make it possible for users to go back even farther. Inspired by their elephant friends, Chris and Martin decide to go back to the time of Woolly Mammoths. Aviva, Koki, and Jimmy all opt to stay behind and monitor the brothers while they are so far back in time.

Unbeknownst to the crew, Zach has been spying on the crew, and decides to infiltrate and goes through with Chris and Martin, intending to steal the trampoline and leave the brothers trapped in time, but Chris and Martin take the trampoline with them and Zach is accidentally left stranded in the past with his Zachbots.

However, as Chris and Martin return to the present, they arrive in Africa, but cannot see the Tortuga anywhere, or contact their friends. While they do find Thornsley and his herd, all the elephants are extremely agitated and aggressive towards the brothers. 

The bros then find themselves surrounded by an army of Zachbots, led by Paisley Paver, who doesn’t recognize the brothers, and admonishes them for invading on “imperial breeding ground”. Paisley tries to use some of Zach’s Rhino-dozers to kill the brothers, but they activate elephant and rhino powers and try to fight back. However, Paisley manages to capture them, promising that they will be brought forth before the Emperor.

Chris and Martin are shipped off to the center of the “Zachfrican” continent, which they find is the capital city of Zach’s global empire. The brothers are brought before Zach, who explains that after he got stranded in the past, he quickly gained a following when he used his robotics skills to capture and ‘usefulize’ animals. Zach then went on to make himself immortal through science, and established himself as God emperor, uniting all the people of the world under his rule by using his inventions to make animals into tools.

Zach has the brothers shipped off to his private Arctic resort to make the brothers fight animals for his amusement (Based off of Polar Bears Don’t Dance). While they are being shipped there, they are found by Aviva, who in this twisted timeline, is Zach’s mistreated personal assistant. While Aviva used to look up to the Emperor, she quickly became disillusioned after years of being put down by Zach. Aviva agrees to help to break the brothers out when showing her pictures of all the inventions she made in the proper timeline.

----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------

That has been all I have been able to come up with before being hit with writer's block. If any one would like to adopt this idea or expand upon it, please feel free to.

[ninetyminutes]

any ideas/plot bunnies/hc on a touch starved lorne??? one of my FAVV angsty tropes

Oooh my god yes!!! Lorne is so obvi touch starved. Like he’s constantly fighting between desperately wanting attention and being so unbelievably shy that he won’t ask for it.

Throughout his entire life Lorne has taken care of others, putting their needs before his own. Starting with his dad’s passing at fourteen, Lorne has had to suppress his own emotions and force down his feelings. He doesn’t feel like he’s allowed to be vulnerable, like to be vulnerable is to be weak when he needs to be strong for everyone else. And this sort of carries over into the business world too, dealing with executives and such. We definitely see this in the movie too; when Lorne feels large amounts of emotions, anger in particular, he just completely shuts down and internalizes it. Sure he had his minor outburst when he pulled down all the notecards from the cork board, but the look on his face is damn near passive in that he certainly doesn’t look furious.

Rosie and Lorne cuddle a lot. It’s more rare now since their marriage had kind of broken down to something more platonic in nature, but I can imagine them lying in bed together laughing as they watch some tv program or something. It’s times like those that Lorne misses in regard to their relationship, but she’s happy and he would never be selfish as to put his need for physical contact above her. Sure he could hook up with people or even start dating other people, but opening up to new people is daunting. He never had to tell Rosie anything because she just knew him.

Lorne starts opening up a bit to the other cast members, which is natural given how much time they spend with one another. And the rest of the cast are all very much tactile people, that’s immediately obvious to Lorne.

And they’re sort of careful to not touch Lorne too much at first because they presumed that he didn’t really like to be touched. When Lorne gets overwhelmed, he leaves the situation. He does this after George Carlin refuses to do the Alexander the Great sketch and also after he his argument with Dick Ebersol/the fake blood incident. Everyone just starts to assume when he gets overwhelmed he needs alone time when in actually he just really needs physical contact. This avoidance by them just goes to make Lorne feel more lonely, of course, because he feels like an outsider. He’s not sleeping or eating well, and in general starts to kind of suffer mentally from being left out of group cuddle sessions and other casual touches and what have you.

That is of course until they walk into Lorne’s office and see him lying on the couch in his office with his head in Rosie’s lap as she runs her hands through his hair. And he’s total mush under her fingertips, his eyes are closed and he’s dozing off looking actually completely relaxed for the first time in a long time. There may have been tear streaks on his face as well, but no one comments about it. His hair is absolutely his weakness, too. The girls love to tousle his hair and pretend like they’re fixing it as an excuse to run their fingers through it. He half heartedly complains about them messing it up, the faintest hint of blush on his cheeks. Of course then Danny feels the need to join in like “Ooo, let’s all play with Lorne’s hair!”

Everyone learns pretty quick that he’s never going to ask for or seek out human contact. If asked, he’ll probably politely decline because he’s lowkey a bit shy and awkward. But if someone were to just initiate it themselves, throw their arms around his shoulders or wrap their arms around his waist and rest their head on his shoulder, he will totally melt under the touch. Like he’s completely malleable. Lorne in a bad mood after a meeting with network executives? A nice, long hug will make him feel better. Some days are so hectic that it feels like he can’t catch his breath, but even simple touches help to ground him and keep him centered.

And Lorne doesn’t sleep much, right? Even if he does finally go home to his apartment, most days he doesn’t get as good of quality of sleep as he would if he were sleeping with someone else in the bed. They don’t have to be full on cuddling but just even having another presence helps. Maybe if they see that he’s extra tired as of late, one of them makes up an excuse to ask if they can stay the night at his apartment with him in an effort to get Lorne a solid night of sleep.

[eddys-plot-shop]

Faceclaim: Danielle Galligan (Shadow and Bone)

Fandom: BBC Merlin

Love Interest: Merlin

Name: Caelia (Kay-lee-uh) Hartley

Myers Briggs Type: INFP

Quote: "I have always been a part of magic, but I hadn’t expected it to be part of me as well."

Fic Title: The Whispering Grove

Plot Summary: Caelia, guardian of a secret grove where magic thrives, encounters Merlin late one night. Kilgarrah told him of a magical grove and its protector. Drawn to each other by a shared connection to the world's magicks, they embark on a journey to unlock an ancient power that could save Camelot in the war to come. As Caelia grapples with her untapped magical potential, Merlin becomes not just her ally but the key to unveiling the grove's secrets.

[raven-6-10]

So recently I got dragged back into Cosmere, which. Well. Yumi and the nightmare painter is Awesome, alright.

But, unfortunately, Some Plot Bunnies have spawned. Specifically, crossover plot bunnies for ffxv.

[landboundstar-writing]

Some Loose Head Canons and Plot Bunnies

A few thoughts that I have floating around right now.

Ivy confronting Scarecrow after Harley gets hurt - has moved into a WIP.

Just a fun fluff piece of Kurt (Nightcrawler) getting a chance to have fun playing in an empty gym for once.

Garp/Sengoku as a comfort FWB scene - yes, I ship the two of them. They definitely have the old married couple vibes.

A few thoughts with a self-defense wrestling move I learned turning into a very sexy makeout scene - characters undecided.

Gambit and Constantine being luckbending agents of Chaos together.

Let me know if you like any of these ideas. Feel free to adopt a plot bunny if you would like.

[suzukiblu]

Are you close to finishing any of your wips? Some of them surely have to be winding down, right..? 😅❤️ (I mean this lovingly and out of concern for the amount of plot bunnies bounding around your head)

. . . friend, I gotta tell you: it is not as many as it should be. 😬

uhhhhhhhhhh lemme see, the ones I THINK are currently closest to "done" ( for a given value of "closest to" ) are:

alpha!Kon and his supermom

Billy and Damian and the whole soulmate thing

clonecest CNC

Damian gets a Pocket

feral omega murder-nanny Jason and pup Damian in the League

grief-soup clonebaby

hereditary behaviors

if there is a way to find you I will find you

interdimensional kidnapping via Robin

Jason comes home

Match and Kon and the time magic made them do it

Not-Kon/Not-Match

mirror mirror

mirrorverse!Clark and Kon's daddy issues

Superboys Switch

the alchemist's disappointment

the Core Four gangs up on Kon's objectification kink

we are so pleased with this Match

YJ accidental baby acquisition

also, like, technically also the next/current chapters/installments of the following are neeeeearly done:

a fake cryptid and a real romantic

a pocketful of Kons

Billy adopts Conner and it actually goes pretty good!

Jaykon soulmates, Timkon datemates, and the wrong Superboy

love is being stupid together

GOSH I SURE DO HAVE A LOT OF WIPS, HUH.

[malkaleh]

A Mostly Complete List Of Fic Ideas I Want To Read Not Write (A Meme I Just Made Up)

Includes content from TROP (will also have influences from the books because I’m me), Grishaverse, Tortall and TWW. All of these are free plot bunnies just like LINK ME PLEASE.

TROP (this is gold cages unless otherwise specified)

(non gold cages) Sauron did not expect to fall in love with Galadriels husband as well as Galadriel (he is still very much mourning Celebrimbor as well) and WAIT they have a daughter who I am having…parental feelings about (AU Celebrian doesn’t get kidnapped by orcs because of her parents kind of boyfriend).

AU AU: Finrod is there in Gold Cages

Saurons entire arc of falling in love with all of them in Gold Cages, in detail. Especially featuring I Am Screamingly Fucking Jealous Of Everyone Right Now.

Sauron learning about the Celebrian/Elrond wedding and after that, the resulting children.

The day(s) they arrive in Lindon after they have escaped.

The reactions (Durin, Disa, Gil-Galad, Mirdania, Cirdan) when they find out exactly why Sauron has them from someone they captured.

(non gold cages) good!mairon AU who was a captive of Morgoth - the day Eonwe and co broke into Angband in the War of Wrath.

(non gold cages) human!halbrand featuring Halbrand realising that Elrond Really Freaks Hair Bow Fucker Out.

Tortall

Good Duke Roger Verse. Just ANYTHING.

Half Bazhir Jon of Conte

Kel was never put on probation AU

Jon/Numair/Thayet - featuring the aftermath of Wild Magic in this AU.

Spymaster of Tortall Ozorne (he and Numair and Varice all ran away together and are married with children) crosses into regular universe.

Grishaverse

Darkling is in fact who he told Alina he was.

Darkling is as into Nikolai as he is Alina.

Crows-Grisha-Mal polycule/found family.

Grishaverse Hunger Games

TWW

Josh/Donna/Sam modern administration AU (because I’m kind of fascinated by them being in a relationship but social media ala @jessbakescakes Josh/Donna AU).

CJ getting actual proper apologies and like affirmations that she’s part of the family hurt/comfort after people actually realise how much she feels not enough and gets hurt/sick in the process (this is just self indulgence in the extreme okay).

The ‘Sam the rape survivor’ one

Abbey has adopted these kids as much as Jed and Leo and the times she realises it.

Tagging to post your own wishlist (if you want to): @plotdesigner @themalhambird @conundrumoftime @verecunda @shes-a-voodoo-child @mariedemedicis @nocompromise-noregrets @onekisstotakewithme @holy-ships-x-red-lips @scary-grace @seagull-energy @ruffboijuliaburnsides @captainlordauditor @erulasse23 @queenmeriadoc @claudiajcregg @self-destructinganimal @naurielrochnur @eidetictelekinetic and anyone else who wants to do.

[eveningspirit]

WIP Wednesday

tagged by @thewildballyntynesgrow, thank you!

Riiiiight. WIPs... When the muse is in the mood, WIPs thend to proliferate. Like bunnies... plot bunnies. So. (i'll be conscise)

Solid The Pitt WIPs:

Inconsistencies (Chapter 5 being written)

It’s Dana.  She looks worn out, like every single mitochondrion in her body got drained off energy. Her eyes, in pale face, are bloodshot and not from the same source as the burgundy bruise that starkly contrasts her white complexion. She has been crying.  Frank reaches to her as she approaches, and she takes his hand in hers and she tries to smile.  “How are you feeling?” she asks, her voice barely above a whisper.  “I’m good. Mel took care of everything; gonna be alright. How are you?”  “Oh, you know.” She averts her eyes under the pretense of looking for something to sit on. Reaches for a stool with her left hand, her right still in contact with his. She sits close, rests her elbows on the mattress right next to his shoulder. “I got scared when Mel told me and Robby that she treated you for AD. But she said you responded well and then Mateo kept us—and her—updated.” Dana reaches to his forehead and pushes a strand of hair from his eyes. “Good to see you’re awake.”

[untitled Post S1 (aka--I'm really fucking up Frank; treat it as an AU) not yet posted]

He gets out of the T on an empty, deserted station. From here, he’s got about ten-minutes-long walk home, that he’s already dreading. His back is in knots. He’s got one last chance to get his hands on some pills. It's not even a chance, really; he fully expects to be turned down. But still, he takes out his phone and dials Garcia’s number.  “What do you want Langdon?” She’s angry that he’s calling her. At this hour—it’s past 11:00—she’s probably getting ready to sleep. Or maybe she's mad about something else, but that he's not going to think about. “I need your help,” he croaks.  “No.”  “I—I didn’t even tell you what--”  “I don’t need you to tell me. I already know.”  “How--”  “I’m psychic! How do you think?” 

[untitled surprise fic (treat it as an AU) not yet posted]

Emergency Department Medical Education Fellow. It sounded so-- serious. Grown-up. At thirty-three years old, Michael Robinavitch didn’t feel grown-up at all. He still wanted to rage against the system and he still lacked confidence and faith in his skills, despite Dr. Adamson’s faith in him.  He got the position, though, and he couldn’t be happier. He was following in his mentor’s footsteps and he wouldn’t fail the faith bestowed in him.  All he needed now, was to find a worthy successor. Adamson, as he liked saying, had been adopted into this madness by Dr. Safar, same as Robby had been later taken in by Adamson. He was third generation legacy now. It was no joke. This shift new students and interns were coming. One of them better have the spark.

[untited Frank is bipolar fic (not yet posted)]

Abby stops it the hallway, like she sees something strange on his face. And maybe she does.  Frank bits his lips.  “Babe?” Abby asks. She’s careful, like he could be dangerous to her. He couldn’t!   Breath in, breath out, calm down Frank, everything is okay, she’s not coming after you, she loves you.  But it’s today, isn’t it? The Conversation.  “Are you sure you’re good to go to work?” she asks.  “Oh yeah,” Frank seethes, “because you know better?” He holds himself. No. Don’t argue. Calm down. “Sorry.”  “You haven’t slept all night.”  “I’m not tired!” He throws up his hands. Walks down the corridor to the door, turns around, walks back. “I feel fine. Better than fine! Abby, please don’t make that face, I’m not... I know what I’m doing, okay, babe. I am perfectly in control.” 

Original WIPs

Eh. Uh. If you're interested I also have original WIPs (seven of them), but here, have fragments from those I'm currently working on:

The Specters

Neve didn’t say anything out loud. Noel would only laugh it off, or frown, like he did anyway.  “Hey, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to upset you,” he spoke and winced, then tried again, “I don’t mean that like--” he had to pause and cough again. “Damn it, I wish I-- I could have a normal-- conversation with you.”  “You can use sign.” Neve watched him, helpless. “I already understand some of it.”  Noel smiled and nodded. And made a couple of signs.  “Maybe I should?” Neve asked. “You, should? Yeah.” She understood. “You definitely should.”  She stood up and went around the counter to stand in front of him. Touched his arm. “Are you okay?”  He made a gesture for “Fine,” then, “Only hurts breathe.” 

[untitled short story with characters based on The Pitt peoples ;) ]

[the story is in development, so this is half of the synopsis]

The Dimple is a factory where Sentiran fighter spacecrafts are being built. Lander is one of the engineers working under Mikah. On the day Lander is supposed to begin training new cadets he and Mikah get into a disagreement about stolen materials. The disagreement remains unresolved, as the regular day job begins, and they are both called to their duties.  One of the trainees is a bold woman, Sibeal who challenges Lander’s expertise and gets the support of Lander’s rival Nimrod. Lander focuses too much of his energy on trying to avoid being dragged into a petty squabble, while his argument from this morning continues to bother him. He enlists help of his friend who works security, LissaMin, to help with the later. Meanwhile the other trainee, Nysa Ashton who hasn’t had a lot of practice in zero-g, begins to get disoriented and soon develops acute space sickness. Lander has no choice but take him to the Rings, where artificial gravity should let the cadet reorient himself and get better. He leaves Sibeal under Nimrod’s supervision.  Once they are in the Rings Lander takes Ashton to the medical section, so specialists can determine whether he can return to zero-g at all. That's when a huge explosion shakes the entire station. Lander is convinced Sibeal is somehow responsible for it. 

And that's it. :) If you're curious, you may find more of my original stories (a lot of my OCs are disabled / chronically ill / neurodivergent; some are queer too) at @t-lane-writes . Feel free to give a follow, if you find any of my OG WIPs interesting. :)

tagging: @silverhandy , @doughnuts-5ever , @helleboretea (not sure you're writing something? but the Bipolar!Frank was your idea ;), @toofarovertherainbow , @whentheresidentsareevil, @kulliare (maybe some art wip?), @drfranklangdon (I think you are a writer? correct me if i've mistaken you for someone ;) ) and whoever else wants to do it!

So many of you have different nicks of tumblr and different on AO3 and my audhd brain only has so much capacity for remembering people. But I want to get to know more of yous!

ETA to tag @echo-bleu, @hithelleth and @lire-casander, but don't read the first part of this post. ;) I'm curious if you are working on anything fun these days.

Let me know if any of the not-yet-posted stories caught your attention. Such feedback really helps get those writing juices run quicker.

If you read to this point, congrats! <3

[shortstrawberry]

So, we never got the proper slowburn transition we deserve of Bela going from heartless to her heart beating for the MC. So here's some headcannons and plot bunnies for how things would go after Bela finally got her heart back. Heck, how about we make it even more complicated and let Bela have her memories from previous time loops as well?

Okay, so here we go!!

(Also, quick note. MC is super dense here and can't get a hint)

You really didn't expect that just marching up to Headmistress Miranda and demanding Bela have her heart back would work. But it actually did. And it turns out, Bela did have her heart all along. It was just buried away under layers of whatever hoodoo magic Miranda used. You saw the change happen the minute those layers were taken away.

Bela even without her heart was a person who cared too much. That woman was willing to protect you from crazy cult leader Miranda even at the risk of her own life. Bela's care also showed in the love she has for her family. Let's just say Daniela is out of so much trouble only because Bela intervened all the times from background.

And now, Bela has her heart back. So, are there any noticeable changes? Oh, there are plenty! Although not as drastic as you thought. For starters, Bela still had her crazy work ethic to the T. She just doesn't force you to adopt it now. You are too sick to come to the council room? Bela will come to your dorm room with her soup and take care of you. But she'll also work besides your bedside while you sleep.

Another welcome change is Bela's trust issues piping down a bit. Older Bela refused to drink your coffee. Now, she'll actually pout if you forget to bring her coffee. And yes, you heard it right. Bela actually pouts these days. Especially at you, for some reason.

There is one thing though where Bela has gotten even more uptight ironically. And that's her interactions with her Playgirl sister Cassandra. Whenever Cassandra opens her mouth to ask you out on a date, Bela would make sure to threaten Cassandra with blocking funds for the theatre club. You're glad that Bela is being such a protective friend, but you do think blocking theatre funds is a bit overboard.

You also notice that Bela now shows animosity towards people she was completely fine with before. Exhibit A: Donna Beneviento, Angie's aunt had approached you with a job offer as her assistant at her flower shop. Before you could even reply, Bela popped up behind you, gripping your shoulders in a tight grip as she seethingly replied "No, my Vice President is too occupied in Student Council work with me." Hmm, strange. The interaction was almost like Donna has taken something away from Bela in some past life.

You also wish Bela would kind of stop paying for everything you buy. You get it, Bela feels indebted to you, but c'mon, buying you a rose gold necklace that has Dimiterescu family crest for your birthday is totally overboard! And can someone please ask Daniela and Angie to stop teasing you about how you got a sugar mommy for yourself?

Bela also is less uppity about being touched now. At least when it comes from you. You both have actually started to hug each other before going to your respective dorms. Bela now even initiates a lot of touches on her own! Like one time you fell asleep while working in Library with her, and you woke up with feeling Bela's long fingers lazily carding through your hair.

Lastly, you are also happy that you are getting to spend more time with Bela outside of student council work. Bela is a through and through Dimiterescu when it comes to setting up their hangout places. From museums to extraordinary cafes, Bela has taken you to all the places you can never dream to afford. You're no slacker either though, as you too are finally getting Bela to try fast food burgers and arcade games that Alcina will probably turn her nose up at. But Bela assures you that these hangouts mean the world to her. You're curious though why Bela always stumbles at the word "hangout"

Got anymore ideas you want me to write on? Let me know! Requests are open!

[legacydowney94]

Regency Era Penthony Plot Bunny for Adoption.

Pairing: Anthony Bridgerton/Penelope Featherington

Vibe: Found family, secret strength, grumpy/sunshine, slow-burn yearning.

Note: Penelope is taken in by Simon Bassett, Duke of Hastings. He also gifted Penelope a new cane that he had commissioned for her once he took her in and threw out her worn out and used cane.

Penelope’s Cane: Made from dark ebony wood with silver vines and bejewels with sapphire, amethyst and emerald flowers and the handle is a solid obsidian wolf head.

———————————————————————

Newly fourteen and finally freed from the suffocating shadows of her former life, Penelope Featherington stepped into a world that felt startlingly kind. The Duke of Hastings—Simon Bassett, though Penelope had christened him “Grumpet” with unwavering affection—had taken her in like a wayward kitten and given her something she’d never had before: safety.

And choices.

Her old cane—splintered, chipped, and a shameful relic of her past—was the first thing he’d tossed. “This,” he’d said, holding it between two fingers like it might stain him, “is not worthy of you.”

Its replacement, however, was nothing short of breathtaking. The ebony wood was smooth as velvet and gleamed with dark elegance, coiled in silver vines that cradled tiny jeweled flowers—sapphires, amethysts, and emeralds that shimmered like morning dew. At the top perched an obsidian wolf’s head, carved with an expression of regal defiance. Penelope’s fingers curled around it now with quiet pride as she made her way across the drawing room, her limp steady but no longer a source of shame.

Tap. Step. Tap. Step.

“Grumpet!” she called, her voice bubbling with mischief, “I just received a letter from Eloise! She’s invited me for tea and dinner with her family. May I go, pretty please?”

Simon appeared in the doorway like a shadow solidifying into man. Arms crossed. Eyebrows raised. The patented Duke Glower in place. And yet… a twitch at the corner of his mouth betrayed him.

“Must you keep calling me that?” he asked with theatrical exasperation. “It’s an insult, you know.”

“Oh, don’t be dramatic,” she shot back, her cane tapping twice in amused punctuation. “You act like you hate it, but if you truly did, I’d be eating soap for a week and writing lines by candlelight.”

Simon narrowed his eyes but didn’t deny it. “You’re becoming entirely too clever.”

“I’m growing into my environment,” she replied sweetly, stepping forward to give her cane a dramatic flourish. “So, may I go? I’ll be careful, I promise. Cane at all times. Wolfy and I are quite the fearsome duo.”

“Wolfy?” he repeated in deadpan horror.

She grinned. “Don’t pretend you’re not charmed.”

“I’m pretending very convincingly.”

Penelope tilted her head. “Is that a yes?”

He sighed—deep, long-suffering, and just a little fond. “Yes. But you’re not to stay past dinner. And if anything happens—”

“I know. Scream, stab, run, and then scream some more.” She beamed. “Thank you, Grumpet.”

He grumbled something about “incorrigible girls,” but she caught the brief crinkle at the corners of his eyes before he turned away.

Bridgerton House

The carriage ride from the Hastings estate on the outskirts of London was swift, the interior warm with soft velvet cushions and the gentle sway of travel. When Penelope stepped down, her cane clicked confidently against the cobblestone.

Before the footman could announce her, the door to the drawing room burst open.

“Pen! You made it!” Eloise nearly bowled her over with a hug. “How was the trip? Better yet, how is it living with the Duke? It hasn’t been the same since you moved—our street feels positively dull without you skulking about.”

Penelope laughed, leaning into the embrace. “I can finally breathe, El. No more walking on eggshells. No more hiding bruises under sleeves.” Her voice lowered, but her eyes sparkled. “Simon threw out my old cane and had this one made for me. It’s the first thing I’ve ever owned that was made just for me. Not handed down. Not pitied. Chosen.”

She lifted it gently, letting the light catch the gemstones like stars.

Eloise’s breath caught, and she looped her arm through Penelope’s—the one not holding the cane. “It’s beautiful. And utterly you. Come on, Mama’s been counting down the minutes till your arrival.”

As they walked, Eloise leaned closer. “Honestly, I think Anthony has a soft spot for you. Though if asked, he denies it so vehemently I’m beginning to think he really does.”

Penelope blinked. “Anthony? A soft spot for me?”

Eloise grinned wickedly. “Oh yes. The brooding viscount, commander of Parliament and all things grumpy, turns into a mildly frantic, overgrown guard dog the moment you limp into a room.”

Penelope’s laugh was soft and touched with disbelief. “He’s just… protective. He sees someone injured and can’t help himself. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Eloise rolled her eyes. “You say that now, but he practically snarled at Lord Eversham last month when he dared to say ‘crippled’ in reference to you. Mama had to intervene before Anthony challenged the man to pistols at dawn.”

Penelope paused, lips parting in surprise. “I didn’t know that.”

“Well, now you do. And don’t go falling for him too quickly, Pen. He’s a Bridgerton—we’re incorrigible.”

“I think I already have,” she whispered.

They reached the drawing room just as the chatter inside lulled.

“Penelope!” Violet Bridgerton rose with a radiant smile, arms open.

One by one, the family welcomed her, warm and genuine—Colin with a joke, Benedict with a twinkle in his eye, Daphne with a kiss to the cheek.

Anthony stood back slightly, eyes unreadable. But his gaze dropped briefly to her cane, lingered, and then flicked up to her face.

“You look well,” he said, voice quiet but steady. “Stronger.”

“I am,” Penelope replied, meeting his gaze. “Stronger than I was.”

He nodded, his jaw working like he wanted to say more but couldn’t quite find the words.

For now, that was enough.

The Bridgerton dinner had been loud, lovely chaos—the kind that wrapped around Penelope like a soft shawl. She had smiled so much her cheeks ached. The fire crackled, conversation flowed, and not once had she felt like an outsider looking in. No one stared at her limp. No one pitied the cane.

Anthony had been quieter than usual, which for him was still notably talkative. He’d asked after her fencing—“Does the Duke have you training with rapiers now?”—and only flushed slightly when she teased, “Would you like to spar sometime, my lord?”

But now, the night had grown deep and velvet-dark, and the carriage stood waiting at the base of the steps. Eloise had hugged her thrice, Violet had tucked a packet of lemon biscuits into her reticule “for the journey,” and the rest of the family had bid their farewells.

Only Anthony lingered.

He offered his arm, voice low. “May I walk you to the carriage?”

Penelope’s heart thudded stupidly. “Of course.”

The front steps gleamed in the moonlight, the polished stones cool underfoot. Her cane tapped softly beside his boots as they descended. For a moment, there was only the night air between them—crisp and laced with early spring blossoms.

“You’ve changed,” Anthony said suddenly, glancing sidelong at her. “Not just the cane—though it is… quite fearsome.”

She grinned. “Is that fear I hear in your voice, my lord?”

“Healthy respect,” he countered. “And the mild terror that you’ll one day beat me in a duel and refuse to let me live it down.”

“I would absolutely refuse to let you live it down,” she said primly, before her tone softened. “But thank you. It’s the first thing that feels like mine.”

They reached the carriage, and he turned to face her fully, the lamps casting gold light over his features. He looked unsure—Anthony Bridgerton, the man who could floor Parliament with a glare, suddenly shy.

“I… I’m glad you came,” he said at last. “The house feels warmer when you’re in it.”

Penelope blinked. “That’s… kind of you to say.”

“I’m not always kind,” he admitted, looking down at his gloves. “But I mean it. You’ve always belonged here. Even before I noticed.”

Penelope opened her mouth to reply, but her heart had lodged somewhere inconveniently high in her throat.

Anthony cleared his throat. “Right. Yes. Late. Carriage.” He stepped forward and offered his hand as she prepared to climb in. His grip was firm and steady, calloused but warm.

Just before she stepped up, he murmured, “Tell the Duke I said thank you. For the cane.”

She tilted her head. “Why?”

He held her gaze. “Because it reminds you what you are.”

“And what’s that?” she asked, barely a whisper.

“A warrior,” he said simply.

Penelope’s breath caught.

She didn’t say anything else—couldn’t, really. Just smiled, then slipped into the carriage like a girl who had been given a secret.

As the door shut behind her and the wheels began to turn, she peeked through the curtain just in time to see Anthony still standing there.

Watching. Waiting.

Soft.

—-

Hastings House, 1815

While the world was still sleeping, Simon Bassett, Duke of Hastings, sealed the envelope with wax and pressed his signet ring into the crimson pool. Inside it lay his final words, his Last Will and Testament—every estate, asset, and legacy signed away, not to a blood relative, nor to his new fiancée, but to a girl with a limp and lion’s heart.

To Penelope Featherington, the fierce little wolf he had taken in at the age of fourteen.

She had stumbled into his life like a secret waiting to be kept. Broken in body, but not in spirit. Small and clever and so easy to love in the way only a brother could. Simon had not meant to become her family—but somehow, she had become his.

He tucked the envelope into the back drawer of his desk and stood. The fire in the hearth burned low. A clock ticked in the silence, each chime echoing like a drumbeat to his departure.

Without a sound, he climbed the stairs to her room. The house slept. The whole world seemed to hold its breath.

Penelope’s door creaked faintly as he opened it, and there she was—curled up on her side beneath a sea of soft green blankets, hair a tumble of bronze curls across her pillow. Her cane, carved dark and gleaming with silver vines, stood hooked on her nightstand, never far from reach. She slept so peacefully, unaware that Simon was preparing to risk everything.

He stepped closer. Sank to his knees at her bedside. For a long moment, he simply looked at her, committing her to memory—not the wounded child he first met, but the woman she was becoming. Strong. Brilliant. Dangerous with a blade and with her wit.

A curl had fallen across her cheek. He reached out, brushing it back gently, reverently.

“I may not have said it,” he whispered, voice barely audible above her breath, “but I love you, little wolf. You are the best little sister a man could have.”

His throat tightened.

“If I don’t make it back before you wake… I’m sorry, Penny. Just know that I love you. And I’m watching over you.”

He leaned forward, pressed a kiss to her temple—soft, like a blessing—and lingered there for one heartbeat more.

Then he rose, silent as moonlight, and slipped from her room.

Downstairs, his horse was already saddled. The sky was still painted with dawn’s first strokes—mist curling over the fields like smoke from a ghost’s pipe. He mounted up and turned toward the dueling ground.

He was riding out to face Anthony Bridgerton, who had challenged him in a storm of fury and wounded pride. All because Anthony had walked in on Simon and Daphne kissing in the library of Lady Danbury’s estate. Not realizing—refusing to believe—that the kiss had come after Simon had proposed, and Daphne had said yes.

Honor demanded pistols. Pride demanded blood.

Simon only prayed it wouldn’t be his.

—

The Clearing at Dawn

The mist clung to the earth like breath held too long, curling around the ancient trees that circled the secluded glade. It was quiet—eerily so. No birdsong. No wind. Only the dull thud of hooves and the creak of leather and saddle as three figures rode into the clearing.

Anthony Bridgerton dismounted first, his jaw set and his shoulders tight with rage and something rawer—fear, perhaps. Benedict followed silently, casting a nervous glance between the two men who were about to try and kill each other in the name of honor and family.

Simon dismounted last, slow and deliberate, as if savoring each moment before what might be his final act.

The dueling pistols gleamed in the pale light. Benedict moved stiffly, as second, preparing the weapons with a sick feeling in his gut.

Simon stood with the stillness of a man who had already made peace with death.

Anthony was pacing, his hands clenched.

“You kissed my sister,” Anthony growled, low and dangerous.

“After I proposed,” Simon snapped, for what felt like the hundredth time. “You found us after we agreed to marry.”

“That was not what it looked like—”

“Because you weren’t listening. You didn’t want to hear it. You were too blinded by your own temper to stop and ask her.”

Benedict winced. The tension crackled, sharp as gunpowder.

Simon turned away, exhaling slowly, jaw clenched.

“If it’s a duel you still want,” he said, voice cold and even, “let’s end this.”

They took their places.

“Ten paces. Turn. Fire,” Benedict said, but he sounded hollow—like a man watching two friends prepare for mutual destruction.

They stepped apart. Counted.

One. Two. Three. Four…

A voice tore through the mist.

“STOP THIS NONSENSE RIGHT NOW, YOU BLOODY IDIOTS!”

All three froze, blinking into the fog just as Daphne Bridgerton burst into the clearing like a cannonball in silk.

Her skirts were muddy, hair escaping its pins, and her expression could curdle milk.

“Put those pistols down this instant or I swear I will knock both your heads together like coconuts!”

Simon slowly lowered his pistol.

Anthony did not.

Daphne stomped forward, eyes aflame.

“What in heaven’s name were you thinking? A duel? A DUEL? Over a kiss that came after we were already engaged? What would Mother say? What would Penelope say?”

That last name made Anthony flinch like he’d been struck.

Daphne whirled on him.

“Yes, her. What would she think, Anthony? That you were willing to kill the only man she has ever trusted like a brother? That you might’ve left her with nothing but grief and guilt? Do you know what Simon did before he left? He made a will. He left everything to Penelope. That’s how much he loves her. That is the man you were about to shoot.”

Anthony’s mouth opened. Then closed. He looked down at the pistol in his hand, then back at Simon. Something in him cracked—visible, audible, like thunder breaking overhead.

“I didn’t know,” he said hoarsely. “I thought—”

“Exactly,” Daphne snapped. “You thought, and you acted. Without listening. Without asking. Just like you always do.”

There was silence then. Thick and unforgiving.

Anthony slowly dropped the pistol to the grass.

Simon said nothing, only watching Anthony with that quiet, simmering disappointment that could shame even a Bridgerton.

Benedict cleared his throat awkwardly.

“Well… I suppose that concludes the duel?”

Daphne rolled her eyes heavenward and turned to Simon, smoothing her skirts as she took his hand and dragged him away.

“You. Are not allowed to die before our wedding. And certainly not because my brother is a galloping moron.”

Simon managed a tired smile.

“Understood.”

Behind them, Anthony stood still in the mist, staring at the place where Simon had stood, where his pistol lay in the grass, and where the name Penelope had shattered him more effectively than any bullet could.

Anthony remained alone after they left, the mist curling around his boots like ghosts of his own regrets. The pistol lay forgotten in the grass. His thoughts, however, stayed fixed on a name Daphne had spoken with such force it felt like a blade: Penelope.

He’d nearly robbed her of the man who had raised her, loved her, protected her.

And for what? Pride? A misunderstanding?

The weight of it settled on his chest like stone.

That morning changed him—though he wouldn’t understand the full extent of it until later. Until he saw her again, truly saw her, and realized how far she had come… and how far behind he had fallen.

—-

The Queen’s Ballroom, 1816

Under Simon’s care, Penelope had flourished like a rose in a hothouse. She stood straighter now—not just from fencing posture, but pride. Her wit had become rapier-sharp, and her tongue nearly as fast as her blade. By twenty, she was a woman transformed: elegant, composed, and quietly formidable. Raised by a duke, trained by a lady, and adored—openly, stubbornly—by Queen Charlotte herself.

The ballroom glittered with candlelight, crystal, and the suffocating pressure of expectation. Debutantes swept in, one after another, wilting under the Queen’s scrutinizing stare. Until—

“Miss Penelope Featherington, ward of His Grace, Simon Bassett, the Duke of Hastings,” the footman called.

A murmur stirred through the room like a breeze before a storm.

Penelope appeared, poised and radiant, on the arm of Simon. Her gown was emerald silk, trimmed in silver, the color chosen not because it was fashionable, but because it was her. Her hair was adorned with delicate silver vines—no feathers, no frills. Her cane gleamed darkly at her side, wolf’s head glinting like it too was ready to bare its teeth.

Queen Charlotte, who had looked near to dozing, sat forward with sudden interest. Her lips curved into a smile that could have outshone the chandeliers. She looked for all the world like a proud aunt awaiting a particularly cherished niece.

Gasps rippled through the ton like falling dominoes.

“She looks beautiful,” Colin whispered, awed.

“Penelope has always been beautiful,” Anthony said softly, the words pulled from some quiet corner of his soul, as if he hadn’t meant to speak them aloud at all.

Violet Bridgerton, standing beside her eldest son, heard him. She turned slowly, eyes widening just a fraction. But she said nothing. Not yet. Her gaze followed Anthony’s as he watched Penelope cross the room—not with pity or obligation, but something gentler. Warmer.

Reverence.

She had seen that look before. Long ago, in her late husband’s eyes.

Violet’s lips twitched upward.

“Well,” she murmured to herself, more pleased than surprised, “It’s about time.”

—

Bridgerton House, 1816

It’s been a month since Penelope’s debut and two months since Simon and Daphne were married. The two were off on their honeymoon at the moment so Penelope spent most of her time with Eloise at her home with her family.

It was one such day that Penelope was visiting and she was out in the fencing ring with Benedict having a playful little match. While the rest of the family was inside in the drawing room having tea.

“I haven’t been this nervous since Anthony challenged Simon to a duel last year.” Benedict huffed slightly out of breath.

Penelope’s foil lowered slowly, her amber eyes narrowing with glacial precision.

“A duel,” she said, voice soft, dangerous.

Benedict, suddenly realizing the magnitude of what he’d just let slip, gave an awkward laugh and scratched the back of his neck. “I thought you knew…?”

Penelope said nothing. She turned, calm as a hunting cat, and began walking—no, stalking—toward the house, her cane tapping a sharp rhythm against the stone pathway.

Benedict trailed after her. “Pen, I—listen, it wasn’t a real duel. I mean, it almost was, but then Daphne showed up and called everyone idiots, and—”

Penelope raised a single hand, silencing him. “Not another word, Benedict. Unless it’s to tell me where Anthony is.”

Benedict paled. “The drawing room. But—Penelope—just… maybe wait until tomorrow?”

Her only reply was the creak of the drawing room door swinging open.

Inside, the Bridgerton family looked up mid-sip and mid-chatter, suddenly aware of a storm rolling into the room wrapped in an emerald-green pelisse.

Anthony stood near the fireplace, holding a teacup with the kind of poise only sheer Bridgerton stubbornness could maintain.

“Lord Bridgerton,” Penelope said sweetly.

Anthony turned. “Penelope. I didn’t know you’d finished fencing—”

Thunk.

Her cane hit the rug with a little too much force to be polite.

“Did you or did you not challenge Simon Bassett to a duel?”

The cup in his hand wobbled slightly. “That was over a year ago—”

“Did you.” Her tone dropped. “Or did you not.”

Anthony sighed and set his cup down, knowing he’d just been caught in his own battlefield, and his opponent was very well-armed.

“I did,” he said, standing straighter. “But it was a misunderstanding. Simon never intended—”

“In the name of honor?” she cut in, voice rising. “In the name of Daphne’s honor, you nearly shot your best friend? The man who raised me? Who would have left me alone in this world?”

The room had gone still.

Violet gasped. Colin froze. Eloise mouthed, Oh no.

Anthony stepped forward, expression softening. “Penelope, I didn’t think—I didn’t know what they were—”

“You didn’t ask.” Her eyes glittered, unshed fury swimming in gold. “You just acted. You acted like you always do—without thinking.”

He looked down. “I’m sorry.”

“Not good enough.”

Penelope took a deep breath, walked straight up to him—and then with cool, imperious grace, pointed her cane directly at his chest.

“On your knees.”

Anthony blinked. “What?”

“You were willing to duel over honor? Then kneel, Lord Bridgerton. Show me mine.”

Anthony hesitated—then, to the absolute horror and delight of every Bridgerton in the room—he slowly, reluctantly, knelt.

“Now,” she said, voice crisp, “you may apologize properly.”

“I am sorry, Penelope. Truly. I would never have forgiven myself if anything had happened to Simon. Or to you. I didn’t realize how much either of you meant to me until I nearly lost you both.”

Penelope considered this, eyes narrowing as she studied him.

Then she extended a hand. “Get up. Before your siblings start sketching portraits.”

Behind them, Eloise had in fact found a piece of charcoal.

He rose, looking… humbled. Human. Hilariously disheveled.

“I forgive you,” she said at last. “But you owe me cake.”

Anthony blinked. “What?”

“You heard me,” she said, sweeping out of the room with the grace of a queen. “And not from the kitchens. From Gunter’s.”

Violet let out a breath she hadn’t realized she was holding. “Well,” she said faintly. “That was rather magnificent.”

“I think I’m in love,” Anthony muttered.

“Oh, we know,” came four voices at once.

—-

Later that afternoon…

Anthony had survived a duel with Simon Basset, years of Parliament, countless balls, and the utter chaos that was his younger siblings—but nothing had prepared him for Penelope Featherington in a snit.

Or worse: Penelope Featherington in total control.

She had spent the rest of the afternoon surrounded. Eloise had attached herself to Penelope’s elbow like a barnacle with strong opinions, insisting they visit the library to critique Lord Byron’s more scandalous verses. Colin joined in not long after, asking for Penelope’s opinion on a poem of his own, which, unfortunately, involved a metaphor about fruit that made her snort out loud.

Anthony tried to speak with her—once, twice, thrice.

Each time, she breezed past him with a smile as sharp as a rapier and as polite as a pistol.

“Miss Featherington, may I have a word—?”

“Oh, forgive me, Lord Bridgerton, but I promised your mother I’d help her arrange the new tea service!”

“Penelope, if I could just—”

“Oh, look, Francesca’s asking for a waltz lesson! You wouldn’t want to disappoint your sister, would you?”

The final straw came when he cornered her in the hallway just outside the drawing room, where she was quietly adjusting her glove. He placed a hand gently against the wall beside her shoulder, blocking her escape like some absurdly rakish novel hero. His voice dropped low.

“Penelope.”

She looked up at him, unimpressed. “Anthony.”

“We need to talk.”

“About the duel?”

“About… everything.”

For one heartbeat, her gaze softened. Then—

“Perhaps tomorrow.” She sidestepped him as smoothly as if she’d danced it before. “You’ve only just begun groveling, my lord. I recommend pacing yourself.”

And with a swish of her skirts and a very deliberate tap of her cane against the floor, she was gone.

Anthony remained in the hallway, jaw clenched, pride in tatters.

Behind him, Benedict emerged from the sitting room with a steaming cup of tea.

“Do you want the good news or the bad news?” Benedict asked.

Anthony gave him a weary glare.

“The good news,” Benedict continued cheerfully, “is that you’re not dead. The bad news is you might be by the end of the season.”

“I’ve survived worse.”

Benedict sipped his tea. “Not in that cravat, you haven’t.”

—-

The Drawing Room, Bridgerton House – Later That Evening

The family had dispersed. The younger siblings had scattered upstairs, Eloise trailing Penelope with questions about Byron and swords and the inherent feminism of revenge. Benedict and Colin were off arguing about who made the better villain in Penelope’s life: Anthony or that unfortunate Viscount who’d tried to compare her to a “fine horse.”

Anthony, brooding in his favorite armchair, barely noticed Violet enter the drawing room until the distinct clink of a teacup landing on the table beside him broke his thoughts.

She didn’t speak at first.

She simply sat in the chair across from him, poured a cup, added exactly one sugar cube (for him, always for him), and held it out with both hands. A peace offering and a warning all in one.

Anthony took the cup, cautious.

“I take it you’ve had a long day,” she said mildly.

Anthony gave a humorless huff. “You could say that.”

Violet sipped her tea with the serenity of a woman who’d raised eight children and survived. “You should consider yourself fortunate, you know.”

“I feel positively blessed,” he said dryly.

She smiled. “Not because you’re suffering, darling. Because she’s not the type to stay angry forever. Penelope has too much heart for that.”

Anthony’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t mean for her to find out like this.”

“No. But you did mean to keep it from her,” Violet said softly, setting down her cup. “And for a woman like Penelope—who’s been denied honesty and trust her entire life—secrets feel a lot like betrayal.”

Anthony stared into his tea. “I never wanted her to think I didn’t trust her.”

Violet tilted her head. “Then why haven’t you told her how you feel?”

Silence.

He couldn’t meet his mother’s eyes.

“Because if she doesn’t feel the same,” he muttered, “I couldn’t bear it.”

Violet’s gaze was kind. Too kind.

“Oh, my dear boy,” she said gently, “I think the real question is… what will happen if she does?”

A Letter from Simon Bassett, Duke of Hastings

Somewhere quite sunny, far from familial duels and London gossip

My Fierce Little Wolf,

Daphne sends her love, as do I—but I must admit, I am writing you entirely for my own enjoyment. Word has reached me that you have utterly devastated Anthony in a way even a bullet could not. I have rarely been prouder.

Benedict’s letter was particularly colorful. Apparently, you’ve turned my best friend into a man who stumbles into furniture, forgets his own name, and mutters “Penelope” like a prayer or a curse depending on the hour. I trust you’ll continue this campaign until he’s properly broken.

In all seriousness, Penny—your strength astounds me. You stood in a house full of Bridgertons, a lion’s den if ever there was one, and made a Viscount grovel. That is, as you once told me after besting me at fencing, absolutely wicked.

You are the finest sister I could have asked for. And if Anthony has a brain in that thick head of his, he’ll realize you’re also the finest woman he could ever hope to love.

I’ll return soon. Do not duel anyone important without me.

With all my love,Simon

——

Bridgerton Garden Party, 1816

An Evening of Moonlight, Music, and Emotional Mayhem

The Bridgerton gardens had been transformed into something out of a fairytale.

Paper lanterns hung from trees like stars that had come down to earth. Soft waltz music drifted from the string quartet nestled under a silk-draped pavilion. Laughter, champagne, and the hum of conversation filled the night air. But Penelope stood still, apart from it all, tucked in the shadow of a rose arbor, her cane resting lightly at her side like a sword at ease.

She’d been avoiding him all night. Not hiding, precisely. Just… not seeking.

Until now.

She sensed him before she saw him. Anthony moved like a storm trying to be a gentleman—quiet-footed but carrying thunder.

“Penelope,” he said, not a question. A hope.

She turned, her expression carefully schooled. “Lord Bridgerton.”

A faint wince. “Don’t do that. Please.”

“I believe that’s your title, is it not?”

Anthony exhaled, hands flexing at his sides. “I deserve that.”

“Oh, you deserve quite a bit more than that,” she said lightly, but there was a flash of hurt in her eyes that made his heart lurch.

“Then let me explain,” he said softly. “Please. One waltz. That’s all I ask.”

Penelope hesitated.

Then—“One.”

He offered his hand like a knight offering surrender. She took it like a queen deciding whether to spare him.

The music swelled, and they stepped onto the edge of the dance floor. The other couples blurred into background—just candlelight, strings, and the rustle of silk. Anthony’s hand settled at her waist, her cane passed off to Eloise without a word. For a moment, it was just the two of them, moving in time.

“I never meant for you to find out like that,” Anthony began.

“No?” Penelope said, eyes fixed just over his shoulder. “Then when? After the wedding? Never at all?”

“I didn’t want to upset you.”

She laughed—quiet, sharp. “You challenged the man who raised me to a duel, Anthony. I believe we passed ‘upset’ and galloped straight into ‘betrayal’ some time ago.”

He stopped moving. They stood still in the middle of the floor, music swirling around them.

“I was scared,” he said. The words dropped like stones. “Scared of losing my sister. Scared Simon wasn’t who he claimed to be. And lately—God help me—I’m scared of you.”

That caught her. Her brows drew together. “Me?”

Anthony leaned closer, voice rough with truth. “Because I don’t know what to do with what I feel for you. Because you look at me like I’m a better man than I am, and I want to be that man, but I don’t know how.”

Silence stretched. The music slowed, shifting into a new, softer waltz. Penelope was quiet.

Then, almost inaudibly: “You made Simon write a will.”

Anthony’s chest tightened. “I know. And I will never forgive myself for that. But he forgave me. And I would grovel for the rest of my life if it meant you would too.”

She looked up at him then, really looked. The fury had cooled, leaving something sharper behind. Something more dangerous.

Hope.

“I don’t want your groveling, Anthony,” she said, stepping closer. Her voice was barely a breath. “I want your truth.”

His hand found hers again, tighter this time.

“Then dance with me, and I’ll give you all of it.”

—-

Anthony didn’t get to speak his next word.

Because that’s when Lord Augustus Harrow—recently returned from the continent, son of a marquess, and tragically unaware of the very fragile moment he was interrupting—strolled into view like he owned the moonlight.

“There you are, Miss Featherington!” Harrow’s voice rang out far too cheerily. “I’ve been hunting you down all evening. May I have this next dance?”

Anthony’s jaw locked so tightly Penelope could practically hear his teeth grinding like millstones.

Penelope turned, composed but cool. “Lord Harrow, good evening.”

Harrow offered his hand, oblivious to the emotional hurricane brewing two feet away. “You look radiant tonight. Green and silver suit you, like a blade in bloom.”

Anthony made a noise that could only be described as growling-adjacent.

“She’s already dancing,” he said flatly.

“Ah, but the song’s nearly over,” Harrow replied with a grin. “Surely one more wouldn’t hurt?”

“She is dancing with me,” Anthony said, more forcefully now, taking a protective step forward. “And she’s not a prize to be passed around the ballroom like a tray of sugared oranges.”

Penelope raised an eyebrow at that. “Well, thank you, Lord Bridgerton, for making me sound positively delicious.”

“That’s not—you know what I meant.”

Lord Harrow, still smirking and clearly enjoying the sparks, glanced between them. “Oh, I see. Is this… a delicate situation?”

Anthony’s nostrils flared. “It’s about to become less delicate.”

Penelope exhaled, long and slow. Then, with practiced grace, she stepped between them, placing a gentle hand on Anthony’s chest.

“Gentlemen,” she said, voice like velvet laced with steel, “let us not turn a waltz into a battlefield.”

Harrow bowed slightly. “Of course. But if you change your mind, Miss Featherington… I’ll be waiting.”

He turned and retreated, all charm and cluelessness.

Anthony was still fuming, eyes fixed on the man’s back like he could burn holes through his cravat.

“He’s harmless,” Penelope said softly, still close enough that Anthony could feel the warmth of her breath.

“Harmless,” he muttered. “He called you a blade in bloom.”

Penelope tilted her head. “You don’t think that’s accurate?”

“I think if he calls you that again, I’ll show him what it means.”

And there it was—unspoken, thrumming between them like the string of a bow pulled taut.

Possession.

Longing.

Fear.

Love, unshaped and still a little wild.

Penelope smiled slowly, eyes gleaming in the lanternlight. “Careful, my lord. You’re starting to sound like a man in love.”

Anthony swallowed. “That’s because I am.”

And this time, no one interrupted them.

—-

The words hung there between them, fragile as glass and just as dangerous.

That’s because I am.

Anthony hadn’t meant to say it. Not yet. Maybe not ever. But now it was out, and it was real, and it was burning in his throat like brandy.

Penelope’s breath caught, eyes wide—but not in shock. No, she looked… amused. Almost smug.

“Penelope…” he said, low and rough, taking one step closer. One hand lifted instinctively, as if drawn to her like the moon tugging at the tide. His fingertips brushed her cheek, feather-light, reverent.

Her lashes fluttered. Her lips parted. The air between them shimmered with possibility.

So close.

So damn close.

He leaned in—just a breath more, just an inch, just enough to finally—

But she turned her head.

Not sharply. Not cruelly. Just enough that his kiss met the soft curve of her cheek instead of her mouth.

She looked up at him then, coy and composed. “Not tonight, Lord Bridgerton.”

The title hit him like a slap. Formal. Distant. A reminder.

He blinked. “But—”

Her smile was slow and positively wicked.

“You’ll have to try harder than that.”

And then—the audacity—she turned on her heel and walked away, her cane tapping gently against the flagstones, hips swaying with every measured step like she’d just won a duel. Because, well… she had.

Anthony stood there, lips still tingling from the almost-kiss, watching her disappear into the moonlit throng of garden guests with a look of absolute devastation.

Benedict strolled up behind him moments later, holding a glass of champagne.

“Ah. So she didn’t kiss you, then.”

Anthony said nothing, still stunned.

“Did she smile and saunter off like a smug little goddess?”

“…Yes.”

Benedict sipped his drink. “Terrifying, isn’t she?”

Anthony dragged a hand down his face. “I am so in love with her, it’s becoming a medical condition.”

Benedict clapped a sympathetic hand to his shoulder. “Well, you’re in luck. She’s got just the cure. It’s called suffering.”

—-

Bridgerton House, The Next Morning

The Drawing Room – A Battlefield of Teacups and Smirks

Sunlight spilled through the tall windows, gilding the room in soft gold. A gentle breeze played with the curtains, and the scent of lemon biscuits drifted lazily through the air. It was a perfect morning—unless you were Anthony Bridgerton, brooding somewhere upstairs with the look of a man who’d both proposed and been denied in the same breath.

Penelope, however, was the picture of serenity. Draped elegantly on the settee, she sipped her tea with a wickedly pleased little smile. Across from her, Eloise squinted at her with all the suspicion of a woman who knew mischief had been afoot and was determined to pry it out.

“You’re far too smug for someone who spent the night waltzing with my brother,” Eloise said, narrowing her eyes. “What exactly happened in that rose garden?”

Penelope gave an innocent blink. “We talked.”

“You always talk. Did you fence? Did you duel with metaphors? Did he propose with a haiku?”

“Eloise.” Penelope leaned forward, voice low and full of drama. “He almost kissed me.”

Eloise choked on her tea. “Almost?”

Penelope nodded, that smile growing like a fox in the henhouse. “It was terribly romantic. Tension, moonlight, a few heartfelt declarations. He was very sincere.”

“Then why—”

“Because,” Penelope interrupted sweetly, “letting him kiss me would’ve been easy. And Anthony Bridgerton does not get ‘easy.’ He gets effort. He gets devotion. He gets the woman who made him kneel in his own drawing room and grovel.”

Eloise looked utterly delighted. “You wicked, brilliant creature.”

Penelope sipped her tea. “I know.”

Outside, the morning went on peacefully. Inside, Anthony Bridgerton was pacing like a man preparing to storm the gates of Troy with nothing but feelings and regret.

—-

Bridgerton House, 1816

The Study – Scene of Strategy, Desperation, and Utter Ruin

Anthony was mid-rant—something about honor and horsemanship and metaphorical battlefields—when the door to the study opened with the softest creak.

He didn’t notice.

Colin did.

Benedict arched an eyebrow, already suspicious.

“But how,” Anthony was saying, hands gesturing wildly like a general before a losing war, “how does one properly express undying affection without sounding like a complete idiot?”

Colin, ever helpful: “You don’t. You absolutely do sound like an idiot. That’s part of the charm.”

Benedict nodded sagely. “It’s tradition. Like white gloves or embarrassing family dances.”

Anthony opened his mouth to snap something biting in response—only to freeze when he heard the unmistakable sound of her footsteps. Soft. Certain. And laced with mischief.

Penelope Featherington, in a seafoam day dress and a look that could melt steel, walked straight into the room like she owned it—and let’s be honest, at this point, she did.

“Gentlemen,” she greeted, voice lilting, eyes locked on her quarry.

Colin and Benedict blinked. “Pen—”

She raised a hand. “Shhh. I’m not here for you.”

Anthony turned toward her slowly, jaw tight, heart pounding, expression somewhere between awe and devastation.

“I was just—thinking,” he started, because of course he was.

“Oh, darling,” Penelope said sweetly, stepping closer, “you really think too much.”

And before he could so much as fumble a protest, she reached up, grabbed his cravat with elegant precision, and yanked him down into a kiss.

It was not a gentle kiss. It was not a chaste kiss. It was not even, by any measure, a sensible kiss.

It was the kind of kiss that rearranged lives.

Anthony’s world tilted. His breath stuttered. His hands, previously filled with strategy and frustration, now clutched at her waist like she was the only thing tethering him to the planet.

Colin dropped his biscuit.

Benedict actually choked on his brandy.

When Penelope finally pulled back—leisurely, like she had all the time in the world—Anthony looked ruined. Hair mussed. Mouth parted. Eyes glassy. Pride? Shattered. Composure? Burned alive.

Penelope smiled. Slowly. Wickedly. “That’s for making me wait,” she whispered. Then she turned on her heel and left the room, cane tapping cheerfully behind her like punctuation.

Silence.

Then—

“Did she just—?” Colin said, voice an octave higher than usual.

“She did,” Benedict confirmed, stunned.

“She kissed him in his own study,” Colin added.

“And stole his soul while she was at it,” Benedict muttered, wide-eyed.

Anthony stood perfectly still.

“Anthony?”

“Are you breathing?”

“…Do you need a fainting couch?”

Anthony, finally blinking back to life, reached blindly for the desk to steady himself.

“I am going to marry that woman,” he said dazedly.

Colin snorted. “You’ll be lucky if she lets you.”

—-

Bridgerton House, Later That Afternoon

Where Mothers Know All and Sons are a Mess

Violet Bridgerton had raised eight children. She had navigated broken teacups, heartbreaks, actual duels, and more than one surprise elopement. She knew the look of a man recently and thoroughly kissed—and her eldest son was currently wearing it like a second cravat.

She didn’t even need to ask. She merely sipped her tea and waited until he passed by her settee in the hallway, still stunned, hair windswept, and muttering something about emerald silk and ruined reputations.

“A word, dear?” Violet said sweetly.

Anthony froze, pivoted slowly, and offered the look of a man who’d rather face a firing squad.

“Yes, Mother?”

She gestured to the chair opposite her with a soft smile and lethal precision. “Sit.”

He obeyed.

Violet folded her hands, studying him over the rim of her cup. “Is there something you’d like to share with me? Something involving a certain young lady and a rather public display of affection in the study? Which your brothers have recounted in great detail, I might add.”

Anthony groaned. “They were watching?”

“Oh, they were spectating, darling. One might say they were your romantic audience.” She gave him a look. “Which is rather ironic, considering how ferociously you’ve guarded that young woman’s reputation for years.”

“I wasn’t expecting her to—” Anthony gestured helplessly at the air. “She just—grabbed me.”

Violet actually laughed. “Oh, my dear boy. And now?”

“I’m going to marry her,” he said without hesitation.

“Of course you are,” Violet replied, not the least bit surprised. “But if you think for one moment that you’ll be courting her like a common rake finally cornered, you are sorely mistaken.”

Anthony blinked. “What?”

“She deserves formality, Anthony. Flowers. Letters. A proper proposal. Respect.”

“She kissed me first!”

“And now you’ll kiss her feet if she asks,” Violet said firmly. “Go write a speech. Or poetry. Or something that proves to her—and to me—that you are worthy of Penelope Featherington.”

Anthony looked faintly betrayed. “You like her more than me, don’t you?”

“Oh, certainly,” Violet said brightly. “Now go. Before I summon her myself and tell her to take her pick between you and Benedict, who at least writes poetry.”

—

The Bridgerton Study, Chaos Hour

Where Men Attempt Proposals and Words are Useless

“Flowers,” Anthony muttered. “I need flowers. But not roses. That’s too obvious.”

“She likes violets,” Colin offered.

“She also is Violet’s favorite,” Benedict said. “Coincidence? I think not.”

“Do I propose first or do I court her first?” Anthony asked, pulling at his cravat like it had personally betrayed him. “I mean, we kissed. But then she left. She knew what she was doing. That smile—that smile—”

“Have you considered… asking her?” Colin offered.

Anthony glared at him. “You’re both useless.”

“I can write her a sonnet on your behalf,” Benedict offered. “Something like, ‘Oh fairest wolf, with cane so bold—’”

“No. Absolutely not.”

Colin, reclining on the desk like a lounging cat, added, “You could also try not panicking every time she walks into the room.”

“I am not panicking.”

“Your left eye is twitching.”

Anthony turned toward the door. “I’m going to propose. Formally. Properly. Like a gentleman. With words and… meaning.”

Benedict stood. “Do we follow?”

Colin shrugged. “Do we bring wine?”

—

Bridgerton House, The Study (Again), That Evening

Where Grand Romantic Declarations Die Glorious, Fiery Deaths

Anthony stood before the mirror above the fireplace, the very picture of a man on the brink. His waistcoat was buttoned to precision. His cravat, freshly retied no fewer than seven times. In his hand? A folded piece of cream stationery. Covered, front and back, in what might be called a proposal—or, if one were less generous, a Shakespearean tragedy in list format.

He cleared his throat, practicing for the dozenth time.

“Penelope Featherington, I have long admired you—no. Admired is weak. I have long… long been bewitched by your—God, no. Bewitched? Am I eighty?”

From the corner, Benedict was sprawled on the chaise with a sketchpad and smug grin. “I still vote for ‘Oh fairest wolf.’ It scans well.”

“I will throw you out of this house,” Anthony muttered.

Colin piped up from the window seat, mouth full of biscuits. “Don’t mind me. Just here for the fireworks.”

Anthony squared his shoulders and tried again.

“Penelope. My dearest—nope. Nope. Too soon.” He sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose. “I have written sixteen drafts and burned twelve. I’ve practiced in the mirror, to the dog, to Mother’s orchids. If I do not propose tonight, I may simply wither into a husk of pining nobility.”

And then—

A knock.

Three seconds later, the door opened without waiting for permission.

Penelope Featherington stood there. Emerald green again. Hair loose in a way that was absolutely criminal. And that damned knowing smile.

“Are you quite done panicking in here?” she asked mildly.

Anthony froze. Benedict choked on his tea. Colin whispered, “Oh, this is going to be so good.”

“I—I wasn’t panicking,” Anthony said, hiding the crumpled speech behind his back like a schoolboy caught passing notes. “I was… preparing.”

“For what? A duel? Another one?” Penelope arched a brow and stepped into the room. “Or were you rehearsing how to beg properly this time?”

Benedict snorted. “She’s got you there.”

“Out,” Anthony barked at his brothers without taking his eyes off her. “Both of you.”

“No,” Colin said brightly. “This is romantic.”

But Penelope waved a hand. “Let them stay. I like witnesses.”

She walked right up to Anthony, stopping close enough that he could smell the faint scent of tea and ink and something sharp and floral. His undoing. Again.

“I take it,” she said, tipping her chin up, “that you’ve come to a conclusion about how you feel?”

“I have,” he said, voice low, raspy. “But I was trying to—trying—to say it properly. Like a gentleman. Like—”

And just like before, she reached out, grabbed his cravat, and yanked.

The kiss was not gentle. It was not polite. It was not even appropriate, given the fact that two Bridgerton brothers were currently watching with the expressions of men who’d seen the divine and didn’t know whether to applaud or run screaming.

When she finally pulled back, Anthony was wrecked. Speechless. Breathless. Utterly destroyed.

She smiled. Wicked. Victorious. Glorious.

“I believe,” Penelope said sweetly, “that makes twice now.”

And then she turned and swept from the room, leaving the door open behind her and Anthony frozen mid-heartbeat.

Benedict stood up, still wide-eyed. “Did… did she just propose to you by dominance?”

Colin stared. “I think we just got proposed to a little bit, too.”

Anthony, dazed and grinning like a lunatic, finally muttered, “I’m going to marry that woman.”

“You’d better,” said a new voice from the hall.

It was Violet.

Holding a teacup.

Smiling like the devil in pearls.

—-

Bridgerton Gardens, Late Night

The moon hung like a silver promise, soft light draping the garden in a hush of magic and secrets. Anthony and Penelope slipped away from the raucous laughter and chatter of the house, footsteps muffled by the thick grass and scent of blooming jasmine.

They found themselves near the old stone fountain, where the water murmured gently, a quiet soundtrack for the storm of feelings that neither dared speak aloud until now.

Anthony’s hand found hers, fingers curling around hers like a lifeline. His voice was low, raw with the kind of vulnerability he never showed in daylight.

“I thought… I thought if I said it properly, if I did it right, maybe you’d see me not as a reckless fool, but as someone worthy of you.”

Penelope’s smile was soft, almost shy. “Anthony, I don’t need speeches or grand gestures. I need honesty. I need you.”

He swallowed hard, the weight of years of misunderstanding and silence pressing down. “I was afraid. Afraid that if I said the truth, it would scare you away.”

“And what truth is that?” she whispered, leaning closer, breath mingling.

“That… I’ve been jealous from the moment you walked into that ballroom. Not just of your suitors, but of the idea that you could ever want anyone else besides me.”

Her fingers tightened on his. “I was scared too. Scared that my past—my limp, my secrets—would make you see me as less.”

Anthony shook his head, eyes fierce with tenderness. “You are not less. You are everything. And I—God help me—I want you, all of you, forever.”

For a long moment, the night held its breath around them. Then Penelope stepped closer, her voice a soft surrender.

“Then don’t be afraid anymore. Because I want you too.”

He brushed a stray curl from her face, heart thrumming louder than the fountain’s song.

“Together, then. Whatever comes.”

She smiled, fierce and free, and in that whispered promise beneath the stars, everything changed.

—-

Bridgerton House – The Morning After

Somewhere between dreams and dawn, the world softened…

Anthony woke slowly, the golden light of morning filtering through the drapes and spilling like honey across the bed. For a breathless moment, he didn’t move—didn’t dare. Penelope was nestled against his chest, her arm draped across him, curls tumbling wild and beautiful against his shoulder.

She sighed in her sleep, nose scrunching slightly as if disagreeing with the sun, and his heart promptly did something humiliating and poetic like stutter or somersault.

He reached out and gently brushed a curl from her cheek, fingers reverent. “You,” he whispered, “are going to ruin me. Gloriously.”

Penelope blinked awake slowly, blinking up at him like the moment was a dream too sweet to be real. Then, with a sly, sleepy smile, she murmured, “Good. That was the plan.”

Anthony laughed, low and warm. “Wicked little thing.”

She stretched languidly, the sheet slipping scandalously down one shoulder. “You’re the one who said forever. I’m just holding you to it.”

He leaned in, pressing a kiss to her bare shoulder, then her jaw, then her lips—soft and slow and full of all the quiet things he’d never been good at saying. She melted into it, content and radiant, until—

BANG. BANG. BANG.

The door to the room burst open.

“I knew it!” Eloise cried triumphantly, standing in the doorway with Colin and Benedict peering over her shoulders like nosy, chaotic gremlins. “Pay up, Colin!”

“I said they’d crack by the garden party,” Benedict argued, squinting. “This was after. I’m still right.”

Anthony groaned and pulled the sheets higher over Penelope with the air of a man begging God for a meteor strike.

“Out. Now.”

“Do you really want to challenge the woman who made you grovel in your own drawing room?” Penelope said sweetly, arching a brow. “Because I will win again.”

Eloise grinned. “We’ve taught her well.”

“GET OUT!” Anthony bellowed, and the trio scattered, laughter echoing down the hallway.

Penelope turned back to him, utterly unruffled, and smirked. “So… breakfast?”

Anthony flopped back into the pillows, dragging her with him.

“Only if it involves feeding me kisses first.”

—-

Bridgerton House – Later That Morning

“There are consequences for passion, my dear boy—especially under my roof.”

Anthony sat at the head of the dining table like a condemned man, hair rumpled, cravat askew, and the faintest smudge of lipstick still ghosting his jaw. Across from him, Violet Bridgerton was stirring her tea with all the serenity of a lioness lounging beside the bones of her latest kill.

“You know,” she began mildly, not looking up, “when I wished for you to find love, I had hoped for something a bit more… dignified. Perhaps involving flowers. Courting. A ring before bed.”

Benedict choked on his toast. Colin let out a low whistle. Eloise looked delighted.

Anthony pinched the bridge of his nose. “Mother—”

“No, no, no. Do not ‘Mother’ me. Do not look at me like a misbehaving schoolboy, because misbehaving schoolboys don’t sneak the Diamond of the Season into their bedroom overnight under the noses of their entire family and then sleep in.”

Penelope, seated beside Violet with not a hair out of place and tea in hand like the very picture of propriety, blinked innocently. “I was simply up early.”

“Doing what?” Colin asked, brows wagging. “Your fiancé?”

Anthony turned scarlet. “I swear to God—”

“Oh, we’re at God now, are we?” Violet interjected, sipping her tea. “Shall I summon the archbishop, then? Perhaps we can make this proper before lunch.”

“I was going to propose—” Anthony tried, but Penelope, with impeccable timing and a glint in her eye, cut in with a languid sip of her tea.

“He was halfway through a sonnet when I got bored and kissed him.”

“A sonnet?” Benedict wheezed. “You absolute sap!”

“Out,” Anthony snapped, pointing to both his brothers. “Out, out, out.”

But Violet didn’t move. She simply stood, walked around the table, and kissed her son’s cheek. “I’m proud of you,” she murmured. “And now that it’s been so publicly confirmed, I expect the wedding to be soon. This season, in fact.”

Anthony groaned. “That’s hardly fair.”

Violet’s smile was terrifying. “Darling, you brought a wolf into this family. You should have expected her to hunt.”

As she left the room, Penelope turned to him, smug as sin. “So. About that ring…”

“Are you ever going to let me finish a proposal?” he grumbled.

“Unlikely.” She leaned in. “But I’ll let you keep trying.”

—-

The Bridgerton Estate – That Evening

Take two. Or possibly five. Anthony had lost count.

The garden was bathed in moonlight, the roses in bloom, the breeze carrying the scent of summer jasmine. It was perfect. Or, rather, it would have been perfect, if his hands weren’t clammy and his tongue didn’t feel like it was tied in twenty knots.

Penelope stood beneath the arbor, her cane resting gently beside her. She wore a soft blue gown that made her look like something out of a dream—and somehow also like she could run a fencing foil through anyone who dared ruin her peace.

Anthony, attempting dignity, knelt before her on one knee.

“Don’t you dare pass out,” she whispered, a wicked smile tugging at her lips.

“I won’t. Probably.”

She bit back a laugh, but her eyes shimmered.

“Penelope Featherington,” he began, carefully ignoring the fact that his voice cracked like a lovesick adolescent. “From the moment you marched into my life—well, hobbled, really, but quite determined—I have been in awe of you.”

Her smile softened.

“You are… dazzling. Terrifying. Stubborn. Brilliant. And I love you in ways I am woefully ill-equipped to describe, but I promise to spend the rest of my life trying. You’ve ruined me, utterly, and I cannot imagine a single day without you.”

She stared at him, absolutely unreadable. The silence stretched.

Then—

“You may continue.”

He blinked. “What?”

“You stopped talking. I was waiting for more.”

Anthony gaped, floundering for a second, and then grinned. “You—wicked woman—marry me, damn it. Before I combust.”

“Oh, well, when you put it so romantically…” she teased, then gently leaned down and cupped his cheek.

“Yes,” she murmured, voice thick with feeling. “Yes, I’ll marry you, Anthony Bridgerton.”

He surged to his feet and kissed her, arms wrapping around her with a sort of reverence. It wasn’t wild or hurried like before—it was soft and sure and filled with the kind of promise that didn’t need words.

From somewhere behind the hedges, there was a muffled, “Finally!” followed by a smack and a hissed, “Shut up, Colin!”

Anthony ignored them. For once in his life, the only thing that mattered was her.

[blniight]

Hiii, welcome to tumblr!!! I see you haven't written for any requests yet but i was wondering if you would write a idol!Yeosang x reader oneshot where he comes back home after tour and finds that reader has adopted a pet (cat, dog, bunny whatever you want!) And is referring to it as their baby?

𝐌𝐚𝐥𝐭𝐞𝐬𝐞 𝐁𝐨𝐲 | kang yeosang .ᐟ

☆ ᴀᴛᴇᴇᴢ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

☆ ᴋᴀɴɢ ʏᴇᴏꜱᴀɴɢ ᴍᴀꜱᴛᴇʀʟɪꜱᴛ

kang yeosang of ateez x reader !

꩜ synopsis .ᐟ — you adopted a dog to call it your baby but yeosang has other plans

꩜ content .ᐟ — fluff | idol!yeosang | sulky yeosang | soft | heartwarming and cute overall ( me thinks ? ) |

꩜ warnings .ᐟ — none :)

꩜ author’s note .ᐟ — oh my, thank you so much for writing my first request on here! i tried my best to write it according to the plot you’ve given me and i hope it reached your expectations at least a little bit. i hope i did a good job and thank you once again so much. <3 enjoy reading.

꩜ the characters and events in the story are all fictional except for the k-idols taken to fill in the imaginary role of a main character. nothing in my works is an attempt for sexualization nor it’s a hate towards anyone. please keep in mind everything is fiction and the way idols act is not presenting their actual picture nor i want to ruin their image to the society. if you’re staying up for reading. i hope you enjoy. don’t forget to like and leave a comment. it means a lot. thank you. .ᐟ

⋆✴︎˚｡⋆

“ Bravo! Aren’t you the cutest little being? Come here! “ — I squealed excitedly, watching as the little white fluff quickly rushed it’s tiny feet towards my open arms.

“ Good boy! “

The small maltese dog licked the palm of my hand happy with the way I scratched under his ears.

“ Are you hungry hm? I should feed you before going to sleep. “ — I said, looking at the wall clock above the fireplace that showed 10pm sharp.

Standing up from the cold wooden floor I was sitting on, I walked towards the kitchen. Last drawer of the counter was filled with many yellow packages that were especially bought for this occasion and that is — adopting this cute little fluff ball.

Having a whole house for myself now was slowly draining every bit of social and emotional energy left in me.

Most of my friends were way too busy for a meet up, having jobs or children to look after while I was rotting in my bed for the past two weeks, since me going out required more work than usual.

I wasn’t supposed to leave the house at all, only if necessary. “Others must not see you walk out of Yeosang’s house or they’ll suspect things” — is what’s written in the managment message sent by the CEO.

So I made my own little child to look after.

Well not really made… I adopted it.

“ Hetmongie come here boy! “

Quick tiny footsteps echoed through the huge room, as the dog walked up to it’s bowl full of food.

He was happily munching on the food with his tail wiggling around, which decorated my face with a bright smile.

I miss Yeosang.

At the thought of my boyfriend, the phone I left on the dinning table dinged.

‘I’m on my way home! Should be there around 7 in the morning, don’t stay awake! <3’

“ You’re gonna meet your daddy soon little one! “ — I exclaimed, watching as the fluff ball kept on eating, absolutely not caring that I was giggling like a crazy woman.

Once I got ready for the bed, welcoming myself into the warm clean sheets — the sleep immediately crashed over me.

A slight movement on the bed, the warmth of another body next to mine, strong but gentle hands carefully wrapping themselves around my body — pulling me in closer. Neck kiss followed by a deep breath that sent shivers down my spine.

“ I missed you. “ — a deep voice whispered, trying not to wake me up, not knowing I was already aware of my surroundings.

I opened my eyes, sleepily smiling, turning my head to look at the Aphrodie’s son himself.

Kang Yeosang.

“ Yeosang… “ — I mumbled. “ You’re back. “

“ Yes angel, I’ve just arrived. “ — He said, pecking the tip of my nose. “ I didn’t want to wake you up yet, sorry. You should go back to sleep, it’s barely morning. “

“ No, I’m fine. I went to bed early. “ — I said, turning my whole body to completely face him. “ How was the last show? “

“ Intense and truly amazing. Wooyoung teared up a little when we were leaving. “ — He answered, reaching his hand out, fingers brushing against my cheek, tucking the hair strand behind my ear. “ It honestly made me tear up too. “

“ Crybaby. “ — I chuckled.

Yeosang narrowed his eyes at me. “ I’m not. Wooyoung cried more. “

“ Oh, so you’re both crybabies? “ — I teased.

“ I thought you missed me, now why are you clocking me so early in the morning? “ — He asked, eyebrow raising suspiciously.

“ Because it’s funny seeing you all worked up when I tease you about being a softie. “ — I giggled, while his face remained serious.

“ That’s because I’m not. “

“ Mhm. As if I’d believe you. “ — I whispered, brushing our lips together, my eyes seductively dropping — meeting his.

“ What do I need to do for you to believe me? “ — He asked, eyes following the spell luring him to my lips.

“ Show me. “

His lips met mine in a passionate kiss, making my heart increase it’s beatings.

Oh how I missed his lips, his kisses and his gentle touches.

Turning around, my body was trapped under my lover, hands behind his neck as his went to hold my waist.

As Yeosang’s lips trailed their way down my jaw, slowly reaching my neck — Hetmongi jumped on the bed, letting out a strong loud bark.

Yeosang jumped, in progress moving himself from me, letting out a small scream before dropping on his butt on the bed edge.

My eyes scanned Yeosang, who was staring at Hetmongi like it’s a ghost from the scariest horror move he’d ever seen — sitting on our bed. His hands holding his chest, afraid that a heart attack wasn’t far away from catching him.

My laugh broke the silence, almost tearing up at the scene that unfolded a second ago.

“ Y/N it’s not funny, I almost died! What is that doing here?! “ — Yeosang said, trying to calm down his heavy breathing and racing heart.

“ I-I can’t you… I can’t you’re so funny… “ — I spoke in between laughter, trying to catch my own breath as Hetmongi licked the palm of my hand.

“ Is that a freaking dog? “

“ Are you being serious now? Of course it’s a dog, look at him, hello little boy! “ — I said, scratching Hetmongi’s ears.

“ Well I’m sorry for not expecting to see a dog bark at me while I’m trying to have sex with my girlfriend! “ — Yeosang sulked.

I covered Hetmongi’s ears, nasty side-eyeing the boy sitting on the bed.

“ What? “ — He questioned, confused by my deathly stare.

“ It’s still a baby, watch your language. “

He blinked twice, looking at the fluff ball, then back at me.

“ Why do you have a dog? “ — He questioned.

“ Because I adopted it. “

His eyes widened. “ You adopted it? “

“ Yeah, isn’t it cute? “ — I asked, grinning widely as Hetmongi made himself comfortable, climbing in my lap.

Yeosang eyed the dog for a few more minutes, his brain processing what is going on, before speaking up again.

“ You didn’t tell me there was a dog here. “

“ It was supposed to be a surprise. “ — I said. “ Hetmongi meet your daddy! “

Yeosang glanced down at the maltese in my lap.

“ I- What… “

He was completely lost, the cogs probably not doing much work in that beautiful head of his.

“ Are you mad at me? “ — I asked, watching his zoned out stare.

“ What? “ — The trance broke, back to soft eyes looking up at me. “ No, angel, I can’t ever be mad at you. I just didn’t expect to see a dog all of the sudden, plus it scared the absolute shit out me like… God. “

“ His name is Hetmongi. “ — I said with the proud smile.

“ How original. “ — Yeosang commented, rolling his eyes playfully.

“ I thought about adopting a cat but this maltese looked like you so I had to take him home. “

“ Oh not you too… “ — Yeosang said, standing up from the bed like something terrible just happened in his life. “ I will not sit here being called a maltese by my own girlfriend too. “

I giggled at his adorable reaction, all frustrated. “ Cutie. But it means that it’s true now that I’ve said it too. “

“ First of all… “ — Yeosang fixed his posture, his chin proudly up in the air. “ I’m a doberman, second of all, I’m not cute. “

Silence.

Before I brusted out in laughter again, making him scoff at me.

“ Y/N, it’s not funny! “ — He raised his voice, pouting like a five-year old.

Hetmongi barked at him again, making my laughter unstoppable.

“ Even our son agrees with me. “ — I said.

“ You all just hate me. You both turned against me. I see how it is. “ — He dramatically said, tucking literally nothing behind his ear, looking anywhere but me.

“ Mongie I think daddy is having an identity crisis. “ — I spoke to the dog that was still cuddling in the warmth of my lap.

“ It’s not because I know I’m a doberman. “ — Yeosang said. “ Now, you both excuse me while I go and take a shower. “ — adding, he turned around leaving the room. The serious attitude act never dropping.

“ Don’t let him fool you, he’s a maltese. “ — I spoke to Hetmongi.

“ Doberman! “ — Yeosang’s voice rang through the hallway back to us.

About a week later, the noticeable change was kicking in Yeosang and his interactions towards Hetmongi.

He would often feed him, play ‘catch’ around the house and I would even catch him sleeping with Hetmongi in his lap.

Currently Wooyoung and Mingi were over, having dinner at our place as we all witnessed Yeosang feed Hetmongi.

The white maltese happily barked, listening to every order Yeosang would say, patiently waiting to get his food.

“ What are they doing? “ — Mingi questioned. The scene in front of him alerting his brain chemistry.

“ They are communicating. “ — Wooyoung chuckled.

“ Like father like son. “ — I said.

“ I’m literally right here, stop gossiping. “ — Yeosang said, joining us at the table.

“ Does this mean you’re accepting your maltese side finally? “ — Mingi asked.

“ For the billionth time, no. “

“ He’s lying. “ — I mouthed to Mingi, giggling.

“ So, when are you gonna introduce your son to others? “ — Wooyoung added.

“ Once Y/N gets pregnant. “ — Yeosang said, making me choke slightly on the piece of bread I had just biten into.

“ Oh. “ — Wooyoung smirked. “ I see how it is. I hope you also name it Hetmongi. “

Once alone in the house with Yeosang again. I walked up to the couch he was resting on, Hetmongi curled in his lap again.

“ Yeosang… About what you said… While we were eating. “ — my own voice betraying me, gulping nervously.

“ About you being pregnant? “ — He looked up at me sitting down like I’m paralyzed.

I nodded, taking a deep breath to speak up again but he was fast enough to catch on first.

“ I wasn’t joking… If that’s what you wanted to ask. I mean, I really want to have a baby with you one day. A family. So… Like… “ — He spoke, his cheeks blushing, eyes looking everywhere but me in panic. “ Whenever you’re… Uhm… Ready for that… I don’t want to pressure you or anything. I just said it, so you know that, I see the future with you. “ — He stopped for a second, thinking deeply before looking into my eyes, noticing they are full of tears. Removing Hetmongi from his lap, he grabbed my hands immediately.

“ Y/N, why are you crying? I-I… Did I say something wrong? I’m sorry… I know it probably didn’t make any sense… It’s okay if you don’t want to get pregnant… I mean we don’t need to have a child, we-we have Hetmongi and we’ll adopt another one if you want to or if— “

My lips placed on his, breaking his nervous, stuttering and heaven sent speach, taking him by surprise. His lips responded to mine tenderly before I pulled away.

“ I love you. “ — I said. “ I would love to have a baby with you Yeosang. “

I heard him gulp, redness painting his pale cheeks again. His glowing eyes, searching for any discomfort in my own, not breaking the contact.

“ Y-You… You would? “

I nodded.

“ Absolutely. I want to spend the rest of my life with you and also raise our baby together. “ — quickly pecking his lips again before adding. “ Maybe Hetmongi would love to have a brother or sister. “

He smiled, suddenly standing up from the couch pulling me up with him in his arms, which got me gasping in surprise.

“ Then I think we should make you a real baby this time instead of adopting another maltese. “ — He said, walking us out of the living room, taking slow steps upstairs.

“ Don’t need more maltese dogs. I already have two. “

Rolling his eyes, he carried me inside our bedroom.

“ You’re going to be the death of me. “

Hetmongi barked from the living room, making me chuckle and Yeosang to shut the door closed this time — wishing not to have any more ‘interruptions’.

[glitter-stained]

hi hi! for the fic writers ask game:

6 (about The Protector), 9, and 23?

6- What's one fact about the universe of [The Protector] that you didn't get to mention in the fic itself?

> oof good question! I like to think prior to the scene in the library in the final chapter, Bruce and Ollie sat down together at some point while Ollie was still in a cast and Bruce apologized for what happened and asked him for advice.

9-How do you find new fic to read?

Mostly browsing ao3 tags, sometimes through tumblr recs from my mutuals/checking out what my beloved mutuals, whose taste I trust, are writing. And I'll confess: sometimes, when I really like a writer I'll browse through their public bookmarks to see what they're reading. Some of y'all have great taste what can I say.

23- What's a trope, AU or concept you've never written but would like to?

> so much stuff omg you have no idea. Let's go the biggest one:

-high school AU: Mia-centric self-indulgent arrowfam adoption AU. Ollie is Mia's eccentric philosophy teacher, Connor is a librarian at the library Mia goes to after school, Dinah teaches self-defense classes, and they're all very concerned about Mia's homelife.

-hacker movie : Barbara Gordon my love one day you'll get your movie about a librarian moonlighting as a hacker going up against an evil corporation to avoid an industrial disaster while involving a bunch of people in your quest and making them fall in love with you.

-maths movie: Duke thomas maths movie my beloved. I'm such a sucker for maths movies please like something between Marguerite's theorem and Good Will Hunting (and whatever Maths movie you guys can rec me please please please)

-college AU: rebirth Outlaws in college with others, Outlaws are part of the anti sexual violence club during the day but Jill Carlyle leads some of them as a band who beat up/kill rapists at night.

- coffeeshop AU : arrowfam (self-explanatory). Ollie has the coffee shop, Dinah's flower shop is upfront. This one has to come with excessive detail and info about all the different pastries I would cook if I had an oven. Imagine a platonic coffeeshop AU with hurt/comfort and slowburn found family but the writer is trying to make you hungry the whole time.

-fake dating: no cape roy hires jason to act as a terrible date to teach Ollie to stop trash-talking Jade => plot-twist Jason is kinda bad at his job because he assumed he just had to be himself and turns out the things he thought made him a terrible option for a boyfriend were mostly just internalized classism/psychophobia.

-murder mystery: I LOVE a good whodunnit. no-cape batfam murder mystery a la agatha christie, Bruce dies and they need to figure out who did it they're trapped in the manor they're all just as clever as in canon and they're all both detectives and suspects and they all have very good reasons to be very mad at Bruce- with the added pizzaz of the manor being full of secrets and hidden passageways...

I think that's all the biggest ones for now but the bunnies keep breeding, so... For now I'm busy with commissions and my beloved horse movie fic (which I promise I will write the next chapter for as soon as Battle for the Cowl is done, sorry for the wait!!!)