#regency era fic

[writtenfangirl]

Madness

I wrote this so long ago and then abandoned it because I didn’t know if the ending was satisfactory or not. I thought it would have a greater plot as well but when I couldn’t find it, I was dissatisfied until I reread it and realized the prose was too good not to publish.

Fluff but also a little bit of angst if you squint hard enough.

In which Benedict Bridgerton finally reveals the truth.

She was beautiful. Too beautiful, if Benedict was being perfectly honest with himself. Not the kind of beauty that had him picking up a paint brush and painstakingly striking an easel with lovely swirls of color but the kind of beauty that distracted him, made him brood in a dim corner of the room, watching the little twists of her mouth and the subtle way she arched a brow. Beauty to the point of distraction, like spending hours watching shooting stars dash across the night sky, not realizing as dawn approached on the horizon.

It was utterly maddening.

She was utterly maddening.

How was he meant to live, to exist and breathe, to witness such great beauty and yet have none of the capacity, the right, to keep it?

Just a glance from her, a single curve of her lips, and Benedict could feel his faith in God strengthening as easily as he could deny the Lord’s existence. Only a benevolent God could create such ecstatic beauty and yet no benevolent God could exist in this world if Benedict had to bear the cruelty of Y/N’s indifference.

Maddening.

He sighed, the sound bereft as he continued to watch her charm the eligible men of the ton. She had a veritable cabal of men gathered around her and if any other debutant had been in her position, they surely would have been overwhelmed by now.

But not Y/N.

Never Y/N.

With her head held high and her smile demure, she directed the men as easily as if she was holding court. A slight clearing of the throat and already, someone had a glass of lemonade in their hand while a flap of her hand would have the men falling over themselves in an attempt to get her a chair.

A queen holding court, indeed.

Benedict rolled his eyes at the man to her right, who practically shoved at the man on his left in order to catch Y/N’s attention. Not that it really mattered though, especially not when Y/N’s attention was focused on Benedict.

Even from across the room, the tension between them felt palpable. Exhilarating. It always had been with Y/N. Thick and smooth, the connection between them as tangible as their own beating hearts. Just a shared look between them and the world fell silent, the edges of his vision practically darkening at the edges until he saw only her.

Beautiful. Even as her face contorted with hurt for the briefest of seconds, her eyes pulling away from him and returning to the crowd of men that surrounded her.

Benedict gritted his teeth, the only sign of annoyance he let himself show.

“I see you are not quite so enamored with our diamond.”

Benedict’s head whipped to the left, finding Lady Danbury watching him with those shrewd eyes of hers. The old crone had her cane gripped tightly in her hands and Benedict fought his grimace at the phantom pain that shot up from his ankles. The dowager countess had a terrible habit of whacking gentlemen she didn’t like with that sturdy cane of hers and Benedict had felt the brunt of that pain far too many times for his liking.

Still, as a gentleman, he couldn’t very well ignore the woman. It would have been terribly rude of him to and it went against every fiber of the etiquette that had been drilled to him as a child.

He spared Y/N another glance before he spoke. “You think all those men enamored with her?”

“I think they think themselves enamored by her,” Lady Danbury said. “She is quite a beauty and accomplished too, I hear. Are you acquainted with the young lady?”

He had been, when he was young. As recently as a few months ago, Benedict had counted Y/N as one of his dearest friends but with everything that transpired between them…

“We are familiar with one another.”

Lady Danbury arched a brow, directing her attention back to Y/N. She was animatedly speaking with Anthony and Colin, the only time the entire evening where her smile didn’t seem a little bit forced. “Your brothers seem friendly with her. Why aren’t you?”

Because he was a stupid, bloody, idiot who didn’t know how to keep his damn mouth shut, that’s why.

But his pride would never let him say that, especially not in front of Lady Danbury. “We are familiar with each other.” He repeated, voice tight.

Lady Danbury’s eyes flickered. “I seem to recall your mother telling me about how you and the Lady Y/N were thick as thieves not so long ago.”

Bloody hell, the old crone was relentless. He didn’t want to talk about his and Y/N’s falling out, especially not with her.

He suddenly whirled, cocking his head to the side. “Oh, I believe I hear someone calling me.”

No one was calling him but not even his impeccable manners could make him stay.

Lady Danbury harrumphed. “I may be old, boy, but I am not deaf.”

“Definitely hear someone calling me.” Benedict even cupped a hand, placing it on the side of his mouth before he yelled a quick, “I’ll be right there!” He turned back to Lady Danbury, who was looking at him as if she knew his claims were a lie. “Lady Danbury, if you’ll excuse me.”

The dowager countess simply gave Benedict a knowing look yet let him go.

He ducked into the crowd towards… bloody hell he couldn’t find anyone he would rather talk to. His brothers were still off speaking with Y/N and he didn’t feel like speaking with his mother, who would likely hound him about his fight with Y/N. Which left the last person of their party, Eloise. A quick scan of the room revealed his sister in the other side of the room, conspiratorially whispering to her best friend, Penelope Featherington.

He zoomed towards them, turning his back on Y/N and Lady Danbury.

Eloise caught his eye as he approached and her lips pursed in displeasure. “Why do you look as if you’re expecting me to bail you out of a horrible situation.”

“Can’t I see my favorite sister with joy in my face without being suspected of ill intent?”Benedict said with a grin before bowing to Penelope, who returned the gesture with her own curtsy.

Penelope ducked her head to suppress a giggle.

Eloise rolled her eyes at him. “What do you want?”

“To ask you why you’re sulking in a corner instead of dancing despite—“ he pulled at the dance card in her wrist, every single line filled with names that were unfamiliar to him. “Did you put fake names in your dance card?”

Eloise snatched her wrist back. “Yes. I thought that with Y/N grabbing the attention of so many of the gentlemen, I would be spared the embarrassment of having to entertain any gentlemen tonight. Unfortunately, I was wrong.”

Benedict turned to Penelope. “How many approached her?”

“Six,” Penelope smirked, “and those six quickly turned right back around.”

“Well with a full dance card, I’m not at all surprised.”

Eloise rolled her eyes in annoyance. “Spare me the lecture, brother. I’m sure I’ll hear enough from mother tonight.”

“She caught you?”

“After Eloise turned down the sixth one, Lady Violet began to suspect,” Penelope explained.

Benedict grinned. “When have you known me to lecture you?”

She gave him a saccharine smile, the kind that Benedict always knew would end with her barbed words. “Aren’t you meant to be fawning over Y/N? You’d done it most of our life.”

He bristled at her words.

Penelope shot them a curious look. “You never told me you were acquainted with the lady?”

“Hadn’t I?” Eloise frowned. “Lady Y/L/N’s family and ours have been acquainted for ages. Of course, she rarely ever came to London and if it hadn’t been for her father’s recent passing she wouldn’t have had a season at all. Mama had held hope that perhaps one of my dear brothers would begin to take some responsibility and marry her.” She lowered her voice in a conspiratorial whisper that was so loud, it still reached Benedict’s ears. “Personally, I always thought Benedict would offer. He and Y/N had a special bond growing up. Even Daphne thinks so.”

Benedict had never hit a woman before but perhaps, just this once, excuses could be made for one’s sisters.

“So, well acquainted then,” Penelope said with a slight smile.

“I do recall Benedict pining after Y/N for years,” Eloise mused, uncaring as Benedict’s mood soured. “You never did tell me why it is you suddenly became estranged”

“Not that it’s any of your business.” He grumbled.

Eloise batted eyes innocently. “Irritable today, aren’t you, brother? Could it possibly be because of the cadre of men that hound every one of Y/N’s footsteps?”

“I have changed my mind. Francesca is now my favorite sister.”

“I love you too, Benedict,” she all but grinned.

He turned his attention back to Y/N, who, to his surprise, had taken her leave.

“She’s in the garden, if you wish to speak to her,” Eloise said, noting his wandering eyes and nodding towards the open veranda at the side.

“What gave you the impression that I would like to speak to her?”

Eloise simply rolled her eyes before tugging Penelope’s arm. “With Y/N taking her respite, I imagine there will be a sudden influx of gentlemen who would like to dance. Let us make ourselves scarce.” And she pulled Penelope along, the red head offering Benedict an apologetic look.

He glanced at the crowd once again before letting his feet carry him through the veranda and out towards the garden. There were still many people milling about outside that granted them protection from scandal but it was much more intimate than the loud din of the ballroom.

The night was cool, the spring air serene compared to the humidity of the ballroom.

He spied Y/N, her back turned against the door. Upon hearing his approach, she sighed. “Good sir, if you did not understand me, I wish to be al—“ she turned and her words died at her lips at the sight of him. “Oh. It’s you.”

She looked even lovelier up close. She always did. Whether dressed in a simple frock with her long hair flowing down her back or dressed ornately with jewels adorning her, she always looked lovelier up close.

“What do you want, Benedict,” Y/N said, dropping that societal mask she employed inside.

“To apologize.”

She shook her head. “There is nothing to apologize for. You asked for my hand under false pretenses, I rejected you. End of story.“

“Under false pretenses?” He echoed, his own tone turning sharp. “You think my proposal to be insincere? Is that why you rejected me?”

“I did not think it insincere, I knew it to be insincere. I heard you and the Lady Violet discussing me. I heard when you declared your intention to ask for my hand in marriage simply because she had asked you to.”

Oh.

Oh.

He remembered then, the conversation he had with his mother right before he proposed.

“Propose to her,” Violet had urged just as breakfast had been served, with only Benedict and Violet dining.

“I am not even courting her, mama,” he replied exasperatedly. It had been far too early in the morning to entertain his mother’s insistence on seeing him wed to Y/N. She’d pestered him about it in one form or another even before the Y/L/Ns had come to visit the Bridgertons and Benedict knew she would not stop until he and Y/N were formally engaged.

But Y/N had just ended her mourning period for her father. And though societal mandates dictated that it was perfectly reasonable for Benedict to ask for her hand in marriage, he knew how deeply she mourned the man, especially since his death had placed her in such a precarious position. The late patriarch of the Y/L/N family had been fond of his only child, even if she had been born a girl. And Y/N had loved him, even if his death left her and her mother saddled with financial debt despite coming from the longest line of barony in England.

“What does it matter that you are not courting?” Violet demanded. “You have known her since you were both children. You’ve been courting her all your life.”

“Mama, please leave it well enough alone.”

“What is it that you do not like about her?” She insisted. “She is beautiful and accomplished and you have known each other your whole lives. Any young man would be fortunate to be bound to her in marriage.”

“I never said anything that would imply otherwise.”

“Then why do you refuse to ask her for her hand in marriage? Doing so would spare her a season in London and limit their financial troubles.” And then she had gasped in indignation. “Or is their financial troubles the very reason why you refuse? I never raised you to be avaricious!”

Bloody hell. “I am not avaricious, mother. I do not care about her dowry or lack thereof!”

“Then what is it? Do not tell me it is because you do not love her. I have seen the way you look at her.”

Benedict had eyed his fork, had wondered if perhaps, it would be a better to shove it in his ears than listen to his mother’s hullabaloo.

Instead he took a scone, spreading a generous layer of clotted cream and jam so his hands had something to do rather than maim himself.

“And how is it I look at her, mother?” He drawled.

“The same way your father used to look at me.”

At that he had paused, scone half-raised to his mouth. He hadn’t known what to say anymore. Mentions of his own father had always been capable of silencing his mind.

Finally, he had decided on telling her the truth, that his mother may finally stop pestering him.

“Asking Y/N for her hand in marriage had always been the plan, mother,” Benedict relented. “I was simply waiting for the perfect moment.”

Violet smiled at her son kindly. “There are no such thing as perfect moments, dearest. Only moments that can be made perfect. And whether you ask her later or tomorrow or next week, that moment will be perfect by virtue of you asking.”

She was right, of course. Violet Bridgerton was so rarely incorrect especially in matters of the heart and love.

Benedict had given her a smile, and said, voice dripping in sarcasm. “Well, since you so graciously asked me to, I shall propose to the Lady Y/N, if only to make you happy.”

That must have been what Y/N heard. Not the whole story but the end, when Benedict had teased his mother.

Now he was convinced that God existed and that he must be cruel. Only the machinations of a cruel God could have lined up the timing perfectly.

Y/N’s eyes flickered as she regarded him. “I do not wish to bind you in marriage with someone you do not hold any affection for. You have fulfilled your promise to your mother and have asked for my hand. I rejected you. We no longer have any obligations with one another. Good night.” She made a move to pass him, to walk back to the ballroom to her gaggle of men but Benedict’s hand shot up, gripping her arm and keeping her to him.

His hands were gloved and even Y/N’s arms were sheathed in silk. And though he had never felt gloves to be particularly offensive, he wished to burn the ones that covered their hands. If only so he could feel her smooth skin beneath his fingers.

The heady scent of her perfume wafted through his senses. She smelled divine, like walking through a garden of roses under the cover of moonlight as the stars twinkled above his head. Utterly mouthwatering, and capable of driving even the sanest of men into insanity. The scent of distraction.

Always so distracting.

Benedict forced his mouth to speak before his brain could forget the words he needed to say. “Do you think so little of me? Capable of such cruelty especially when it comes to you.”

Y/N’s brows met, a flash of pain in her eyes and then it was gone. “It is the opposite, really. I think the world of you, Benedict. Only a gentleman would offer to marry a girl he has no obligations to simply because of her precarious position in life. You are an honorable man and any woman would be lucky to call you their husband. It is why I cannot accept your proposal, not when you do not love me. Not when there is no one on this world more deserving of love than you.”

Benedict frowned at her. “Why do you continue to insist that I do not love you?”

“Because you do not!” She pulled away from him, wrenching her hand from his grasp. Her eyes were pure anguish as she looked at him and the very sight of her pain had him staggering back. “If you truly held any affection for me, I would know. I have studied you all our lives, Benedict. And in all the time we shared together, you had never shown any affection for me beyond that of a friend. Your proposal hurt, Benedict. I have loved you in every way a man could be loved for so long and for you to ask for my hand in marriage out of pity—“ She choked, eyes widening as if she didn’t mean to say the things she’d said.

“You love me?” He echoed, heart beating quickly in his chest. He wondered, briefly, if his fast beating heart marks the day he really lived. If Y/N’s confession had been the reason he truly felt alive for the first time in his life.

Her face crumpled in pain as she stepped back. “Forgive me, I shouldn’t have said those things. Please take your leave, Benedict. That I may salvage whatever scraps of my dignity is left.”

But Benedict did no such thing.

Instead he took her hands and lowered himself into a kneel, setting his eyes upon her. The arching light of the manor spilled over the veranda casted her in a soft glow that took his very breath away.

Y/N’s eyes widened in alarm and whatever pain she held there was washed away by her surprise. “Benedict, what are you doing?”

“Begging you for forgiveness.”

“What? Benedict, get up.”

But he held firm, his determination cementing his knees to the ground. “Forgive me, Y/N, for my grave transgressions against you. That you had ever lived your life doubting my affections for you, or wondering if I cared for you as more than a friend are sins I will carry with me to my last breath. It will be my great shame that I had not made it abundantly clear that I love you. Because I do love you. Most ardently.”

“Benedict, get up. This is madness—“

“You are right. It is madness. The way I feel for you would drive the sanest of people into lunacy. But if loving you is madness then I don’t ever wish to be sane.”

Her eyes gleamed silver with unshed tears that threatened to fall from her pretty eyes. “B-But that morning, the day you proposed—“

“I did not propose to you out of pity for you, I did it out of pity for me. I needed to put myself out of my misery and finally marry the only girl I ever had the privilege of falling in love with rather than continue pining after you in secret.”

She let out a a laugh through her tears, the sound like bells chiming during a storm. Light and beautiful despite the pouring rain that threatened to drown it out. “Ask me again.”

His heart leapt to his throat, pounding so quickly he struggled to get the words out. But they came nonetheless, the words clear and betraying none of his anxiety. “Y/N, will you marry me?”

“Yes.”

[writteninverses]

the first chapter of @mistressregulus and i’s fic has been posted on ao3!!! hope you all love it🥰

light carries on endlessly click here to go to ao3 directly!!!

[ashleyfanfic]

can we see a sneak peek of the next possession chapter?

ok, well, you caught me in a giving mood. Here is a sneaky peaky from the new chapter (which is almost finished!) but this is not betaed. It's shit so far.

*~*

She nodded and he stood from the bed. He tugged on his breeches and watched her as she rolled to her side and propped her head up on her hand, her eyes sliding over him. Even though he was now wearing trousers, he felt exposed beneath her gaze. Her tongue peaked out to wet her lips and he groaned. “If you keep looking at me that way, I don’t think we’ll leave this room.”

“That doesn’t sound too much like a punishment,” she teased.

He sat on the bed beside her and grinned. “Believe me, it’s not. Rather a reward, I should think.”

She giggled, bringing her hand up to cover her mouth. He captured it and brought it to his, placing a kiss in her palm, then her wrist. She sighed softly and extended her fingers to skim along his cheek. “No more hiding your smile. You’re too beautiful to hide behind your hand.”

Chrissy blinked at him twice, then sat up, cupped his face and kissed him. He wrapped both arms around her, more than willing to climb in bed with her and forget completely about the meal waiting for them in the other room. She pulled back and a tear rolled down her cheek. 

Eddie reached up, brushing it away with his thumb, staring at her in concern. Before he could ask why she was crying, she whispered, “You make me feel... seen.”

He relaxed his hold on her and leaned his brow against hers. “Even if it takes me the rest of my life, I will show you how remarkable you are, Chrissy.” He pressed one more kiss to her then stood. “Wait here a moment.”

[atr3ldes]

i’m absolutely obsessed with Regency au Dreamling from the wonderful fic, Risk and Reward by @signiorbenedickofpadua

[eyesfullofsttars]

— I can't decide if it's a choice getting swept away, I hear the sound of my own voice asking you to stay. . .

sypnosis; the beginning of the relationship between duchess abigail and the new viscountess ellie seems complicated by their own prejudices against each other, causing animosity. although, as they get to know each other better, they may be able to find a middle ground, right?

notes; just finished the second season of bridgerton (way too late...) and got totally obsessed, so i ended up here writing a little something about the beginning of the relationship between these two in a similar universe... (even though none of them wear dresses, i dunno why, but i just can't picture ellie or abby in those dresses!!!)

warnings: none! just historical inaccuracies

The beginning of their relationship sparked a genuine scandal, with Abigail brimming with prejudice toward Ellie's poor manners and defiant nature, never fearing to question everything, excessively abusing her newfound position as a newcomer to the Miller family.

Ellie, on the other hand, proudly rebuffed Abby's feigned courtesy, fully aware of her true sentiments. After all, it was the prevailing opinion when eyes scrutinized her from head to toe.

Thus, their relationship evolved into a constant competition at balls, where they vied to invite more ladies to dance, paying more attention to each other than to their own partners. (Even if Williams detests dancing with her life)

Ellie would purposely brush past Abby, aiming to test her patience, yet she couldn't help but stare whenever Anderson rolled up her sleeves and flexed her muscles, though she would never admit it aloud.

Abigail would murmur uncertain rumors about Ellie in the company of her friends, relishing in how Williams had mastered the skill of lip-reading to uncover secrets and complain about it.

"God! I can read her lips from here and tell she's speaking ill of me," Ellie comments to Dina, completely outraged, rolling her eyes and letting out an annoyed huff, unable to believe it.

Dina simply looks at her curiously. "Why are you even looking at Anderson's lips?" she questions teasingly, causing Ellie to release an even more exasperated sigh.

Though the Anderson dukes' family maintained a cordial relationship with the Miller family, who held the title of viscounts, Jerry often accompanied Joel on hunts, enjoying long evenings discussing business and their families, both having daughters in their legacy.

Thus, in the summer, while in the countryside, Ellie and Abby found themselves forced to spend even more time together, much to their horror, competing in croquet matches in the vast gardens. Ellie used every turn to distance the ball as far as possible from Abby.

However, Anderson returned the gesture, using her strength to push her away, taking up more space than necessary, blocking Williams' view for her next strategic shot, ruining the few occasions Ellie decided to focus on herself.

"It was my turn!" Ellie exclaims, utterly indignant, continuously tapping Abby's shoulder to get her attention. "Move!"

"Miss Williams, you're only going to use your turn to sabotage me, aren't you? Leave me alone," Abigail replies, rolling her eyes and not even paying much attention, too focused on calculating the perfect shot.

"You're tricking. How low you've stooped, Anderson," Ellie mutters under her breath, defeated, crossing her arms and stepping back to judge her with her gaze. "Unfair..."

Ultimately, the supposedly friendly match ended with both arguing, demanding the other to surrender, but neither would yield to the absurd, pathetic victory of a simple family game aimed at improving their relationship.

That seemed impossible until one night, when Ellie, unable to sleep, wandered through the grand corridors of the country house admiring the artwork, she encountered Abby, who seemed to be in the same predicament.

That night, they argued again, but this time not about each other, but about their views on the art talent reflected in the paintings, with Ellie contradicting Abigail, who reluctantly gave her the floor knowing she was an artist, albeit ashamedly denying it.

"You're much more intellectual than I am..." Abby whispers that statement near Ellie's ear with a slight smile on her lips, which the latter isn't sure whether to interpret as genuine or playfully teasing.

"Not at all." Williams quickly shakes her head, her hand moving to tuck a strand of Abigail's blonde hair behind her ear deliberately and effortlessly. "You're not so bad yourself..."

"Shut up." Abigail responds teasingly, letting out a small laugh, her warm breath brushing against Ellie's freckled cheek. Without hesitation, she leans in to accept the touch she offers. "Accept the compliment, will you?"

"You're so irritable, Miss Anderson." Ellie retorts with the same tone, not backing down but also not feigning any innocence about her own words.

Well, it seems they can't even agree on that!

And although they tried to ignore it, that night they both went to bed with a shared complicit smile. Ellie continued to compete relentlessly with Abby, who never seemed to be beaten, willing to play along without any annoyance, but rather enjoying it.

Upon their return, the rumors about Williams ceased within society. And if anyone dared to spread misinformation, Anderson would swiftly intervene, considering it unnecessary to mention Ellie's surname, not because he liked her, but because it was... repetitive.

Thanks to that encounter in the countryside, perhaps Anderson softened towards Williams. They spoke sparingly, but always about specific topics, something they found difficult with others. In Abby's case, it seemed everyone agreed with her due to her position, while with Ellie, no one seemed willing to listen.

And what better than two intellectual women arguing over tea time, where tranquility was supposed to reign? There they were, contradicting each other, but no longer with the desire to feel superior or with pure malice derived from dislike, but rather finding pleasure in the discussion, spending hours without reaching a conclusion.

Over time, Ellie and Abby's discussions became a regular ritual, a moment awaited by both to exchange ideas and opinions on various topics, from politics to art, literature, and science.

"You can never grant credence to such thoughts. It's illogical," Ellie argues with a smug smile, leaning back in her seat with her legs comfortably spread, albeit not in a very ladylike manner. "They should revoke your right to speak."

"And yours to partake in society," Abby retorts wryly, tapping her foot against Ellie's ankle to prompt her to sit upright and formally, even if they were alone.

"Oh, please," Ellie sighs exhaustively, rolling her eyes and ignoring Abby's indirect commands. "I've seen you sit the same way countless times."

"Not that I can recall," Abigail counters, shaking her head slowly, adjusting in her seat similarly, sitting rather ungracefully with her knees apart, her arms resting there, holding her chin with one hand.

Williams, once seen as an intruder, was now a necessary companion in Abigail's life, sought after at every gathering, dance, or event, for a chat, even if only for a few minutes of silly, sarcastic banter. It seemed Ellie was able to amuse Abby like no one else.

Ellie, on her part, was more than pleased to leave behind her indifference toward Abby. Now she greeted her without hesitation, with a smile on her freckled face, offering her hand with the need to maintain minimal contact. She always found herself standing by Abby's side at balls, no longer seeking other dance partners.

[starchaserdreams]

I've posted a couple of chapters of my Regency AU Temptation Eyes on AO3 since the last time I linked it here, so go check it out!

-

“I have never felt that anyone has seen me this clearly before, and I am so glad that when I found that person, it was you.”

“James had always thought of Regulus as one of the handsomest men of his acquaintance, but this smile transformed his face into the most beautiful thing James had ever seen. He had never encountered a man with this pleasing a smile in his entire life. Despite wishing for this exact smile for weeks, James had underestimated it from the beginning. He could never have anticipated that it would be this disarming, this pleasing, in his wildest imaginings. This was the best smile he’d ever seen.”

[theresthesnitch]

Ooh do you have any regency fic recs? I always have a hard time finding good ones

Alright, regency era fics. Let’s goooooo

~*~

For My Impertinence by @synonomy - I’ll be honest that I haven’t read this one yet, but it’s on my to do list. I’ve heard VERY good things about it. The discord is always going crazy for it, and I can’t wait to dive in. 

I trust @burningaurora’s podfics endlessly, and she’s got these: 

The Adventures of Captain Sirius Black and His Most Excellent Dragon Padfoot by @mostlyoptimisticdinosaur (and podfic) 

Coming Across a Silver Moon by @sliebman10 (and podfic) 

How wonderful life is (now you’re in my world) by @neondomino (and podfic) 

A Prince’s Promise by @engie-ivy (and podfic) 

Under the Full Moon by @neondomino (and podfic) 

For Jily: 

The Season by @missgryffin (which I’ve read and greatly enjoyed!)

The Pinkest Bluestocking of the Ton by @wearingaberetinparis (she’s got a few others tagged as Regency, so check that out if you’re interested!)

Not really regency, but it’s got the vibes: 

These are just fics that have the right vibes, but I don’t think they quite count as regency 

Wild and Precious Life by @r33sespieces (I will never stop yelling about this fic. It’s so good) 

Chained to the Moon by MsAlexWP (which is absolutely stunning if you haven’t read it yet!)

I'm sure I'm missing more. Please feel free to reblog with more recs!

[apinchofm]

Which other lady lesbians and nbs were running around regency england aside from gentleman jack?

[kwnblack]

I had the blessing of being commissioned by @sabo-has-my-heart for working on a small Regency Sabo piece for her exquisite Novel series.

Love you. Thank you for doing this to me. 🎩 ➡️Support me on RedBubble !

🌸Instagram | Twitter | Facebook | Artstation | Steam🌸 ☕️ Dm me for commissions!  ☕️

[writtenfangirl]

Kismet

In which Anthony Bridgerton contemplates the meaning of life, death and love

I’ve had this scene in my notes app for so long and I always found it so beautiful but couldn’t find a character to write it for UNTIL Anthony Bridgerton came along.

Pure fluff but mentions of death.

Anthony had always been afraid of death, as much as he’d been afraid of love.

It was difficult not to be when you witness both of your parents’ deaths.

He’d seen the way his father collapsed, face purple, breaths coming out in gasps before they suddenly stopped. He saw his father’s mortal body die, saw the light in his eyes dim before they completely sputtered out. And afterwards, when the doctors could do nothing to help him, he saw his mother’s soul die with him. Her cry of anguish as Edmund Bridgerton collapsed onto the soft grass, the days after the funeral when she would not speak and she only had that vacant look in her eyes, without any sign of that light Anthony grew up seeing.

Death was not a foreign concept to Anthony Bridgerton. The fragility of his mortality and the concept of his demise, as well his failings as the Bridgerton patriarch were his most intimate friends. These were the thoughts that plagued him at night. They were the covetous brothers Benedict and Colin were not. While his brothers of flesh and blood may have been content to let him keep the title, those thoughts had looked over his shoulder, had watched his every move and decision, had waited for a single misstep for the right moment to strike.

They absolutely terrified him.

So much so that he had stopped living.

What good was it, truly, to live and to love, when life could end in a flash. When nothing you do in this world matters, when you realize that everything you held dear could be taken from you in a blink, you begin to believe that such things weren’t worth the risk.

He loves his family, that much he was sure. It was difficult not to love them when they seemed to reside in his very heart, woven into the fabric of his soul. He had no choice but to love them.

But he had a choice when it came to romantic love. He did not have to go through the pain of losing someone else, nor would he ever damn another person into loving him and losing him too. On that, he could decide.

Or, at least he thought he could.

Because love certainly came for him, as surely as he knew death would one day come for him. It came to him in the form of the most beautiful woman in the world.

Y/N Y/L/N. She was the niece of the Viscountess Heathwood. By the ton’s standards, she was nobody. Beautiful yet still, unimportant and without any significant title or dowry aside from her relation with the Viscountess. Had it not been for her staggering beauty or her education and graceful countenance, she would have been dismissed.

If you had asked the Anthony of five years ago what he thought of when he imagined his wife, a woman like Y/N would have been last on his list.

But the Anthony of five years ago was an idiot.

Because Y/N, with all her grace and beauty, had a fierce determination that not only made her befitting of the title of viscountess but also made her a great addition to the Bridgerton family.

And to Anthony, she was everything.

Love in the shape of Y/N knocked on his door, and when he had refused to answer, love barreled its way into his heart like a disease. It burrowed itself into his skin until he flushed at the mere thought of her, wormed its way into his heart until his heart beat only for her. Then, love pounded its way deep into his soul and staked a tether that tied his soul to hers.

Anthony knew that one day, death would come knocking. It would take its bony hand and place it on his shoulder, beckoning Anthony to his side.

He was still undoubtedly terrified of it.

But for Y/N, for the love his life, he would live.

“What’s got you in so morose a mood so early in the morning?” Her voice, sweet and calming, pulled him out of his stupor.

Bathed in the golden light of the dawning sun, she looked breathtaking. It should have been impossible, to be so beautiful when she’d just woken up, but Anthony knew that if anyone could make the impossible possible, it would have been her.

She was pressed against his side, her body warm and flushed against his own. His arm, wrapped around her as her head rested on his chest. The only thing that separated them was the thin fabric of their sleeping clothes but even with them on, he could feel the contours of her body. The rolling curve of her hips, the softness of her skin as his hands trailed down her arm and up again.

He’d awoken to his wife in his arms for three years now but he could never take this feeling for granted. Everyday he woke up like this was a day he was truly thankful for.

Anthony placed a tender kiss on his wife’s forehead, the little hairs on the tip of her forehead tickling his nose. “I was just deep in thought, my love.”

“About what?”

He contemplated lying to her. Admittedly, his thoughts were far too dark to share so early in the morning. But Y/N had always been adept at sussing out any falsehoods, most especially his own.

“Death.”

Her brow shot straight up, pulling away from him and propping herself up on an elbow. The thin strap of her nightgown slipped past her shoulder revealing her glorious skin, her long hair trailing down her back. The golden light that bathed her had turned into a halo against the backdrop of the window, turning her into one of God’s sacred angels. “Why the bloody hell would you think about your death so early in the morning?”

“I wasn’t thinking my death. Just death in its most general sense.”

She gave him a pointed look. “That’s not very reassuring.”

He grinned at her. He couldn’t help it, not when she was looking at him in that certain way that always had him believing he was in trouble but would receive a reward rather than a punishment. “I assure you, it is not so morbid. I was simply thinking of life’s ephemerality, and how one ought to live it for the right people.”

She didn’t look reassured but nevertheless, she laid back down, Anthony’s arm instantly enveloping her, hand absentmindedly resuming its task of drawing lazy circles on her arm. “You would think, that with my husband celebrating his birthday today, he would think of happier things. His beautiful wife, perhaps, or his kind mother, or the veritable gaggle of siblings who adored him. You would think that, perhaps, his mind would wander towards the child his wife is currently carrying. But alas, he thinks of death. I never thought death to be a celebratory topic, but to each his own.”

He flicked her nose playfully at her sarcastic tone, her mouth pulling into a grin. “If you must know, death was on my mind because today marks the day that I am officially older than my father was when he passed.”

Suddenly, whatever joy filled the air died. “Oh.”

It was the truth. In the weeks since his birthday, his every waking thought had been consumed by his father. His father, Edmund Bridgerton, who was 8th viscount of the Bridgerton family. His father, who’s death marked the biggest change of Anthony’s life. His father, who lived through the first 18 years of Anthony’s life but lived no longer.

It was a sobering thought to realize that he would have to live longer than he knew the man he looked up to his whole life.

And it was these thoughts that plagued him.

“He has been on my mind,”he murmured but he knew she would understand, “I wonder if he is proud of me.”

“Of course he is.” She had said the words with such surety, it was difficult to argue with her. But Anthony would certainly try.

“How can you be so sure?”

She gave him a leveling stare, as if he was an idiot for even asking such a question. “I never had the pleasure of meeting him, but I know he is proud of you, as proud of you as I am.” Y/N placed a hand on his cheek, the pads of her finger soft against his stubble. “How can he not be, when you have done right by your siblings? By your mother? How can he possibly feel anything but pride at his eldest son for taking care of his whole family?”

“I make such a mess of things.” He frowned. His thoughts weren’t always so desolate, not since he married Y/N. It was difficult to keep his countenance bleak when he was married to the kind of person who smiled at a family of squirrels, or grinned at the sight of a little girl giggling through the window of a shop. But today of all days, his mind strained to his faults.

But his wife, bless her, would hear none of it. “You are human, Anthony. It is in our nature to make mistakes. I am certain your father once thought his mistakes egregious but yet still, he remains great. As sure as I am of your own excellence.”

“I go days, sometimes, never thinking of him. And when I remember him again, I feel such tremendous shame and grief at having forgotten him that sometimes, I can scarcely breathe.”

Another truth, one that Anthony had been too ashamed to admit. To forget one’s father when they were alive is one thing. To do so when he was dead was another thing entirely.

Y/N’s eyes could only be described as kind. “Did you know that a person dies twice. Once, when they are well and truly buried. The second is the last time their names are ever mentioned.“

This time, it was Anthony’s turn to look at his wife in sarcasm. “This is not the reassurance you think it to be.”

But she simply gave an indulgent grin before her eyes turned serious. “I mean to say that I will never let you forget him. I will say your father’s name everyday, if I must. And one day, I will teach our children to do the same. And they will teach their children, and their children will teach their children. Edmund Bridgerton will not be forgotten under my watch.”

His heart swelled with love. It was a lofty declaration but Y/N was never one to make vows lightly. She would do it too. Y/N was relentless in the pursuit of her goals and once she set her mind on something, she did it no matter what. It’s one of Anthony’s favorite things about her and the reason why he fell in love with her in the first place.

He pressed his lips on hers. Kisses with Y/N always felt like coming alive, like an empty house suddenly having new tenants. She felt like the cool spring air turning into the summer breeze. She felt like hope and joy all at once.

When he pulled away from her, her lips were swollen, eyes twinkling. He would never take a life with her for granted, and so when he spoke, his words came from that little space in his heart reserved for Y/N that no longer trembled at the sight of death. “When I die, I shall have your name carved into my bones”

She looked at him with skepticism. “Your bones?”

“One day, in the very distant future, when my grave is found and my tombstone is missing, they will see my bones but they will say your name. I will allow the world to kill me twice but I will not let it do the same to you.”

Her eyes gleamed silver, a joyful grin pulling at her lips.

There was no declaration of love more serious, more profound, than that. For the woman who taught him to live in spite of his fear, who taught him to love because of it, he would embrace death with open arms. If only so he could meet his wife’s soul once more. Because he was certain of his need for it, as certain as his need to draw breath every morning.

They were kismet, in this life and the next.

[writteninverses]

sneak peek of the second chapter of “light carries on endlessly”!!!!! <3333

i love writing barty and regulus🫶i could write 100k words of them just bickering non-stop

@mistressregulus

[royallyprincesslilly]

Title: Pleasing The Duke {6}*

Duke of Hastings/Rege Jean Page x OFC Jemilla “Jemi” Remmington

Warning: Plot, Regency Historical Piece, Angst, SLOW BURN, 

Words: 5.3k

Summary: After your four weeks on the marriage mart and the tumultuous way your and the duke’s budding friendship that turned into a faux courtship, then a real crisis that could have tarnished your name forever, you are now married to the duke. Only this is no traditional marriage. The duke has professed to never fall in love, never get married, and never sire an heir, a matter you know nothing of. Furious that his wanton, lustful desires have gotten him to forego one of those vows, he is determined not to break the other two. That would usually be an easy feat. Only with you, it might be more challenging to keep those vows, seeing as no matter what, you are the only thing on his mind.

Note: Inspired by Rege Jean Page’s portrayal of Simon Bassett. This fic will not have any other characters from the series, except Lady Danbury, mainly the portrayal version of her by the incredible Adjoa Andoh and maybe Queen Charlotte portrayed by Golda Rosheuvel. This series will focus on The Duke and an OFC female character and will be a sultry and erotic historical romance. Anyone under 18 is advised not to read.

***Glossary of terms at the end of the chapter for period-specific words/items for greater comprehension.

***Disclaimer: I do not own the rights to Julia Quinn’s characters, nor the Characters established by Bridgerton.

I own the rights to the original characters created in this story.

If you enjoyed this please LIKE, COMMENT, REBLOG!! 😘  

As always, thank you so much for reading. ❤️❤️

***NOT Edited/Proofread***

Previous Chapters: 1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 

           Chapter Six: A Gentle Hand

Cold air raced up your spine, but a warmth was settled in your gut. The combination sent a shiver through your body. Moaning, you moved closer to the solid frame you felt against you. The warmth you found there was searing—comforting. Again, you moaned and tried to get closer. You wanted to be so close that the warmth was all your own. You draped a leg over the solid frame and settled falling back into a slumber. However, it was not restful. Your mind was plagued with visions of a storm. Raging winds wracked your person sending you this and that way. Thick, cold mud clung to you, almost pulling you deeper into the earth.

 When your visions calmed, you were met with hypnotizing eyes, full lips, and strong hands. Those hands touched you so possessively, so urgently. The face that came with those features was Simon’s. You could not make much out, but his words came to you in disorganized speech that was difficult to comprehend. When you thought you could make something out, the images changed. His lips remained and they were pressed to yours.

 Slowly, your eyes batted open. It took several moments for your vision to clear and steady. Once it did, you recognized your bedchambers. All was silent, only the soft crackle and pop of a fire could be heard. Early mornings were usually your favorite time of day. Everything was quiet, but you knew that everyone was on the move preparing for the start of the day. You liked to laze around in your bed listening to the birds chirp and watch the sunshine dance across your bed.

 You could hear the sounds of the chirping birds but though the sun brightly beamed through the windowpanes, it did not dance across the bed. Instead, you took notice of something else in your bed—or someone. You trailed your eyes up from the midsection of a body up, up, up until the bare chest of a man peeked from under the bed sheets—a very well-defined bare chest. Your breath caught then your throat tightened. Bringing your eyes higher, you found Simon’s glued on you. He did not move or speak, matter of fact, he seemed to be staring through you rather than at you.

 It took only a few seconds to realize he hadn’t realized you were awake. You glanced around again trying to understand what in the world had happened. On the floor beside the bed, you saw discarded clothes and your imagination went into hyperactivity. Again, you glanced up into Simon’s eyes. They were bloodshot with dark circles around them. He looked downright exhausted. Had he not slept?

 Just then, you recalled the storm and it slowly dawned on you that it had not been a dream, but a memory. Were you ill? Simon sucked in a breath then his body tensed.

 “Jamilla,” he breathed reaching over to you to press his hand to your forehead.

 The touch felt foreign but familiar. An image of him doing the same before filled your mind. Had he done it before? Simon continued to assess you with concerned eyes.

 “Someone come forth! Quickly!”

 You caught his eyes and noticed they looked tear filled. Simon avoided your eyes looking every which way. He tucked you tightly, so you now shared deep resemblance to a log in a lake. The doors opened and in came Mrs. Butler with your maids.

 “My lady,” Leesil began on a shriek. “Thank heavens we all were so worried.”

 Worried, you thought. Had things really been that bad? It was after all, just rain. You’d been caught in plenty of rainstorms. You looked to Simon again, but he still avoided your eyes.

 “My lord, the doctor has come,” Bridget announced as a tall man dressed in plain clothes entered the room.

 “Good. Come doctor, see to my wife.”

 With those words, Simon slipped from the bed whilst grabbing a discarded blanket that rested at the foot of the bed. He used the material to wrap himself from the waist down which told you he was very much nude while he was lying beside you. Oh my, you thought. While the doctor slinked to the side of the bed to tend to you, your eyes roamed Simon’s frame for a few moments taking in every inch of skin that was on display for you. Before long, Simon sprang into motion, excusing himself from the room entirely on some hushed whisper. What in the world was the matter with him?

 ~~~~~

 -Simon-

Blast it!

 The anger he felt was leagues past mere anger. He was fuming. This was all his fault. After hearing a detailed account of the events leading up to your disappearance, he’d learned just how at fault he truly was. If only he’d been more attentive, more accommodating rather than avoiding you. If only he’d been warmer perhaps there wouldn’t have been quite so many misunderstandings. Your words from your drunken delirium in the rain came back to him.

 “Th—they must all la—laugh at—at—m-me seeing you ca—cann—cannot stand to b—be near m—me.”

 Taking the steps two at a time he dashed down them needing to feel the cold morning air whipping against his flesh.

 “Do you not. You have said such in every way since I stepped beside you in that church. You have said such in every move you make, every word you speak no matter how nondescript. In every breath you breathe you wish me gone.”

 His chest hurt from the rapid beating of his heart and no matter what he did to hold the air in his lungs it never worked. He ended up feeling as if he hadn’t gotten any at all. Seeing the door across the stone lobby, he sped his steps.

 “You already hate me so this should be a blessing for you. Wifeless, free to resume your rakish ways.”

 Once the ornate metal doorknobs were tightly clasped in his hands, he yanked them open thrusting himself out into the elements. As soon as he stepped out, the crisp morning air slapped him in the face like a welcomed awakening to the new day. Taking gulp after gulp of the air he forced it into his lungs hoping that chased away the panic surging through his body.

 It did not take long to realize this would not be enough.

 “Horse! F----F--Fe--Fetch—my hor--horse!”

 “Yes, my lord.”

 He did not know who’d said it, he could hardly focus on breathing let alone whose voice he’d heard. Closing his eyes, he tried to focus on the tips of the doctor from his childhood. He had not had a bout of hysteria since he was one and six, He thought he was long past this stage especially having faced his father regarding his abandonment. Apparently not, he thought.

 Before long, a footman approached with his horse, Zeus. Not waiting for the horse to stop he took quick steps and leapt up swinging himself onto his trusted steed.

 With the reins in hand he shouted, “Hiyah!”

 Zeus took off into the open greenery much like a fast-traveling lightning bolt as it split the sky before rainfall. The breeze was now whipping around him sending his banyan flapping behind him. Lightly he flicked Zeus’ reins prompting him to go faster. For as far as he could see it was open land—his land and he had not one worry.

 “Then why have you abandoned me? You hate me so much you would rather not eat with me, not sleep beside me, nor see my face. Just admit it.”

 He clenched his jaw thinking of that word. Abandoned. He wanted to throw himself off the horse. Never in his plans had he wanted to ever make someone feel the way he’d felt his entire life. Discarded, neglected, repulsed, abandoned. You felt abandoned by him because of his actions.

 “Hiyah!”

Turning Zeus toward the dense tree grove, he steered him through the dangerous low hanging branches and broken wood. He only had seconds to make the right decision to keep his head firmly attached to his shoulders and it was what he enjoyed. He had learned long ago that he was somewhat of an adventure seeker. It was evident in his travels to exotic and distant lands and even his interest in boxing, fencing, archery, hunting and a few others. Many of his friends suspected he had a death wish and liked to see which sport would claim his life. Perhaps they were right.

 Giving Zeus a heel to the abdomen, he signaled him to jump over the coming fallen branches. Seconds later he had to duck to avoid his cause of death being beheading by wood. No matter the speed he was going or the danger he was thrusting himself into he still was not going fast enough to outrun your voice or the pain he saw in your eyes.

 He could not believe you did not know. It was in this moment as he ducked and from doom and leapt into the air from danger that he realized just how innocent you were. He had never entrained an innocent, never bothered, or dared to even attempt to. He knew he was far to damaged to be trusted to not twist and morph another to mirror himself. Horror filled his heart, but it was not from the shattered tree trunk that was in his path fiving him no way to avoid it.

 As Zeus’ impulses took hold skidding himself to a stop, he went flying through the air, over the broken wood and flat on his back several feet away. The collision knocked the wind right out of him making him see spots and fog. By the time his vision cleared he was leaned against the tree taking steady breaths.

 “Blazing Devils!”

 Flinging his head back he groaned as it collided with the tree which sent another torrent of curses from his lips. He deserved the pain; he deserved the agony he was in right now. Your face came to mind as did the memory of your body pressed against his all through the night. The ache coursing through him died down and was replaced with the fire of his desire for you. Gods help him he desired you more than he had ever desired any other woman. It baffled him beyond measure.

 Sitting there he slowly went over every detail of the night before, every feeling, every fear and came to terms with them. He was at fault in this situation, and he had to rectify it. He knew his mother would be ashamed of him and how he’s behaved around you. He also knew his father would probably be proud seeing his own coldness and aloofness in him. Perhaps he would finally accept him then.

 “Sod it all,” he mumbled.

 “You must conquer the past Simon, either you conquer it or it will make a fool of you in your present and all the days of your future.”

 Lady Danbury’s words never went too far from his mind. He had heard them echo all through his childhood at the most inconvenient of times. It was as if she knew way back then the struggles he would continue to have well into adulthood. Turning his head upward he caught sight of the sun that was now beaming down on him through the branches of the trees he was surrounded by.

 With the intense glare, more of Lady Danbury’s words flitted to his mind. These words she had uttered on the day you had wed.

 “She hath a kind and quaint heart, tread carefully and be gentle with her. Do not snuff her light out, let it in.”

 She was the closest to a mother he’d had, and he loved her dearly. She had often teased him asking how he could love her but swear to never love anyone. She understood the difference but enjoyed teasing him by pointing out he was capable of the emotion. He still needed proof and if the last few weeks were to be it, only one thing was clear, he was more capable of destruction than love. Something deep inside wished of him to be proven wrong. It was a wish he had never allowed to see the light of day. It lived in the darkest alcoves of his heart.

 After returning to the estate, he had a better hold of his emotions and thoughts. The guilt still wracked him, but it was easier to hold it at bay. As he jumped off his horse, his steward informed him of the doctor waiting in the drawing room to discuss your health. With haste he found the man in the midst of a cup of tea admiring the roses.

 “My lord.”

 “Please, no need for formalities doctor. Thank you for coming with such haste.”

 “Tis a pleasure to serve the Duke and Duchess of Hastings.”

 “Please continue your tea,” he said as he sat across from the man and allowed him to take another sip of tea.

 “To your liking?”

 “Very much, my lord.”

 “Good. How is she?”

 The doctor cleared his throat then set his cup and saucer down before he began.

 “The duchess’ breathing is quite labored, quite too labored if you ask me. I am inclined to believe she has some pulmonary infliction, and a minor draft. She has coughing bouts which is slight worrisome for me. If this is left untreated it could lead to more serious conditions.”

 “Will she recover?”

 “I believe she will. my advice is to keep her warm, ensure she gets plenty of rest, I have written the recipe for an herbal tincture that I wish to be made into tea for her to drink three times a day for sennight. Sun will also do her good. With this there is no reason the duchess will not recover.”

 The relief he felt must have been evident. The doctor smiled.

 “Tis refreshing to see a man who loves his wife so.”

 He nodded but did not reply. “I assure I will bring the duchess back to good health.”

 “Happy to hear it, my lord!”

 After allowing the doctor to finish his cup of tea he relayed the orders to the house instructing them on the proper way to care for Jamilla. Once that was squared away, he retired to his chambers to clean himself up from his impromptu ride.

 ~~~~~

 -Jamilla-

“My lady.”

 Snapping your head to the right you found Brigit and Leesil both standing there with concerned looks on their faces.

 “Y—Yes,” you rasped before clearing your throat ignoring the tightness in your chest.

 “Do you feel well? You gave us quite a fright,” Bridget added.

 “I am sorry to have worried you. But surly it was not that bad.”

 Leesil’s eyes widened even further. “Ma’am, it was a horror. You were unconscious, shivering cold one moment, hotter than a flame the next, your lips were quite blue. Mrs. Butler was certain the estate would have claimed another Duchess of Hastings.”

 Your curiosity piqued then. “An—,” A cough wracked your body that quickly escalated into a bout lasting longer than you liked. Both Bridget and Leesil approached you attempting to sooth and assist you any way they could. When the coughing finally passed you took the glass of water that Leesil held out for you.

 “Goodness.”

 You fanned your face and hoped that the burn in your chest would subside sooner rather than later. When it finally dwindled to a slight ache, you looked at Leesil needing to know more.

 “What do you mean the estate would have claimed another?”

 Leesil looked to Bridget hesitantly before she looked back to you. “Leesil please,” you urged.

 “Do you not know of the history of this estate or the Hastings’?”

 “I have heard the basics. The Duke and Duchess married and eventually had a child, but the duchess passed away.”

 “The previous Duchess did expire—shortly after she delivered the duke, in this estate in a room that has been blocked off for decades.”

 You’d heard that his mother passed on, but you did not know it was during childbirth.

 “She passed on alone, save for Lady Danbury,” Leesil finished.

 Your eyes widened. “Alone? Why? What of the Duke? Where was he?”

 Leesil’s face twisted into a scowl of disgust. “Flaunting his long awaited, newborn son to anyone with eyes. He cared not for the wellbeing of the Duchess. Quite shameful! Me mum loved the Duchess and has never forgiven the man for how her last moments went.”

 Your heart broke hearing the accounts of the past. The late duke sounded like a heartless man. Part of you wondered if that was who Simon aspired to be. Was the way he treated you the way his father had treated his mother? Suddenly a flash of a memory came to mind. It was a memory of Simon treating you completely different than he had for the last several days.

 “Is something the matter?”

 “Was—Was I alone while I was ill?”

 Again, Leesil and Bridget glanced at each other before they turned back to you.

 “No ma’am. The duke accompanied you,” Bridget informed.

 “All night,” Leesil added.

 Your eyes widened again as another image came to mind. Simon’s arms were wrapped around your body pulling you against his very much nude one.

 “The entire night?”

 “Yes, my lady,” they answered in unison.

 You squinted your eyes trying to press the edges of your mind to give you more memories. The more they came the more you did not understand. None of what you imagined made sense because none of it revealed more than flashes. Hands on your body, chest pressed to yours, your face buried in a neck, lips, fabric, and heat, plenty of heat.

 “I would say the duke must possess healing powers to have revived you within one night,” Leesil teased making Bridget giggle.

 Before you could reply, the door opened and in walked Simon like a ray of sunshine on a gloomy morning. Your eyes could not help but follow him as he walked in and around the four-post bed to you. Everything and everyone else faded.

 “Bridget, Leesil I will take it from here.”

 “Yes, my lord,” they replied in unison reminding you that they were there in the first place.

 Once the door closed behind them, you looked back to Simon who was now seated on the side of the bed he’d gotten out earlier in the morning. His eyes were on you as he was trying to read every hidden emotion or thought behind your eyes.

 “Are you well?”

 “Yes,” you whispered.

 Simon pressed the back of his hand to your forehead then hummed. “You are not as hot as you were in the night. That is a bit of good news. I have brought your breakfast and medicine. Would you be interested in eating?”

 Slowly you nodded. Simon began uncovering the dishes and bowls on the trey that was now on the bed. As he revealed the food your hunger awoke reminding you that you had not eaten since the previous day.

 “What shall we begin with? Perhaps a spot of tea?”

 Again, you nodded. As you moved for the teacup, Simon beat you to it and lifted the porcelain to your lips. You hesitated for a moment but took a sip from the cup and rejoiced inside as the fruit and floral notes hit your senses.

 “I found it a delightful surprise hearing you add rose and mulberries to your tea.”

 “It gives it sweetness and turns it--.”

 “Delicate,” Simon finished.

 Your eyes lingered for a few moments before he lowered the cup back to the trey. A soft scoff escaped him, “It suits you.”

 Bit by bit Simon raised fork and spoonfuls of food to your lips, taking care to not give you too much at once and to keep your face clean. You were practically beside yourself seeing this side of him. It was so unlike anything you’d seen from him before. Surly when you’d first met you’d made up your mind of him labeling him as a rake, then it slowly transitioned into him being a libertine. There is where it remained no matter how quickly you found yourself becoming mesmerized by his charm and alluring maleness. He was so unlike any other man you’d met before, so delectably unique. The more you learned of him, the more traits he begrudgingly revealed of himself you found him bearable and quite tortured. Along the way you got it into your mind that perhaps all he needed was a true friend, or someone to heal whatever tortured him so. Was it silly? Perhaps.

 Over the last weeks, his distance, aloofness, and complete avoidance of you of course changed your perspective of him entirely. You had begun to see how silly you were during those weeks of the season where you paraded around with him in hopes of steering prospective suitors away from the both of you. It was clear he was suffering from the ghosts he carried with him, and no one could save any man from that torment, he himself would have to best them.

 Here he was though, sitting across from you taking care of you with such gentleness it made your heart ache. His actions were not hurried, they were the opposite, it seemed as if he wished this moment to stretch on for as long as possible. Even the way he spoke telling you news from the residents of the acreage, well wishes for your health and the distinction between what the residents did for the land was different.

 His tone was softer, there seemed to be a calm melody to his words that relaxed you. It had been weeks since you felt this at ease with him. It was an ease that you did not worry what he was thinking of you or if he disliked you. In this moment you could read him clearly. He was behaving like a man who actually cared about his wife. You would be lying if you said having him there didn’t make you happier.

 Once breakfast and your medicine were finished you rang the bell for your maids, wishing for a bath.

 “Open water is forbidden while recovering.”

 You sighed at Simon’s words dropping your shoulders in disappointment. You’d gained an affinity to regular bathing. There was something peaceful of sitting in scented warm water and being left alone with your thoughts and the sunlight.

 “Yes, my lord, my lady?”

 “Worry not, Mrs. Butler,” you informed.

 “Mrs. Bulter, please begin preparations for the duchess’ evening medicine.”

 “Yes, my lord.”

 “Also, warm a basin of water and bring it here please.”

 “Yes, sir.”

 You were curious what he needed the water for but did not question him. He held up two books before you with a smile on his face.

 “Idealistic poetry or swashbuckling tales of adventure?”

 You smiled and leaned against the wooden headboard. “Only if this swashbuckling adventure you speak of is of a heroine and not a hero.”

 Simon chuckled. “I dare say I have learned my lesson and have steadfastly filled the library with plenty of tales of heroines thrust into in a variety of adventure, some more lewd that genteel company would not dare speak of.”

 Your eyes widened as you gently swat at his arm. “Simon!”

 Again, he chuckled. “Forgive me my lady, a swashbuckling adventure it is. Are you comfortable?”

 “Quite.”

 “Then we begin. “Ahoy, who goes there,” Lady Philomena Vanquest shouted with her sword in hand.”

 You sighed watched him as he read to you. Within the first few pages your eyes closed and you envisioned the story playing out before you. His voice serving as the perfect tool to bring everything to life. His voice was easily your favorite thing about him. He had a voice that could work magic on a lady in the dark pressed against a wall--the voice that could seduce even the most unwilling bedfellow. His voice easily conjured feelings of lust and desire and it had been this way from the very beginning.

 “Jamilla? Jamilla.”

 Your eyes fluttered open and there he was peering at you with concern. The sun that was once beaming in the room was slowly disappearing.

 “Are you well?”

 You moaned then sat up. “I fell asleep.”

 “You did. I did not know my voice bored you so to catapult you into unconsciousness,” Simon teased.

 “I promise it does not.”

 “No?”

 Your eyes met and locked. “No,” you whispered.

 Simon smiled then nodded. “Good to hear.”

 A knock at the door brought both of your heads to watch Mrs. Butler, Bridget and Leesil walk in, each carrying different things. Mrs. Butler carried a trey of clothes, Bridget a basin, and Leesil a stack of fresh clothing and small glass bottles.

 “What is this?”

 “While I cannot in good faith allow you to submerge yourself into water, I can offer a compromise,” Simon said motioning for the items to be put down.

 The steam from the large basin told you it was freshly heated. Across the surface of the water rose, daisy, peony, lilac, sweet briar petals danced while filling the room with the aroma of the garden you loved to spend your time in.

 “My lady, I have also added the honeysuckle and jasmine oils you enjoy,” Bridget added.

 A smile spread across your face as your heart warmed. “Thank you.”

 “I take it this option is to your liking?”

 “Yes, very much so.”

 “Good. Thank you everyone, you may leave.”

 Alarm rushed through you at the meaning of his words. Did he intend to stay as you did it yourself or would he do it himself?

 “Seeing as this terrible predicament is my fault entirely, I offer my services. Tisn’t been a fortnight since we married and already you are battling illness. I fear your mother and brothers would skin me alive.”

 “Twas I who--,” you began only for Simon to cut you off, claiming the blame for himself once again. Accepting defeat, you nodded.

 “Thank you for your consideration.”

 “Bridget you may stay to assist.”

 “My lord,” Bridget replied.

 You watched Simon roll the sleeves of his half unbuttons white shirt and dip his hand into the basin to swirl the water around. He did it so slowly that your eyes could not look away. When he dipped a clean cloth into the water, the flower petals clung to it. Once he’d wrung the water out, he came closer and brought the cloth to slowly wipe your face with gentle strokes.

 Your senses elated from the smells enveloping you. They should have calmed you, made you feel at ease but the way your heart was rapidly thudding in your chest said they were doing the opposite. However, you believed the culprit this time was not the flowers but the nearness of your husband as he for the first time assisted you with something so intimate as a wipe down.

 You wondered if he could hear your heart. Could he hear the horse hoofs’ gallops going off inside of you as loudly as you heard them? He dipped the cloth into the water again and repeatedly his actions then brought the cloth to your neck. Everywhere he trailed the cloth, the heat from the water soothed your muscles taking some of the ache of your ordeal away. When you felt him slip to the back of your neck you lowered your head giving him easier access. The feel of his fingertips along the bone at the back of your neck had you gasping and clutching the blankets across your lap.

 Simon slowly brought the cloth around and dipped inside the lite material of your shift to your shoulder. As he went over it a few times goosebumps broke out over your flesh.

 “Bridget,” Simon uttered, his voice sounded clouded, as if he had to force it out.

 You wanted to look at him so badly, wanted to see if his face gave anything away to how he was feeling or what he was thinking, but you could not. Something inside of you prevented it. As Simon busied his hands in the basin again, Bridget came to your side of the bed and began lifting the shift you wore off of your body replacing it with a lite muslin cloth.

 It was then your heart beating really took off. You were now nude in front of him for the second time and this time was not any less nerve wracking. Albeit this time you were still covered, even the thin muslin left little to the imagination. suddenly an image of your nude body underneath Simon’s came to mind. His lips were pressed against yours as was every inch of his hard, lean and powerful body. The feel of cool air brought you back to see your lower half exposed to Simon’s sight. The muslin rested atop you, but he brushed it aside revealing one leg. Bringing the heated cloth to your ankle he slowly wiped upward then down only to do it again and again until he wiped all around. Your belly was in flight and your heart was seconds away from bursting. How could one man elicit such a strong reaction?

 You watched as the cloth returned to your knee and trail a torturously slow path up your thigh. When Simon’s hand dipped to your inner thigh you noticed a shake. Bringing your eyes to him, you saw the focus on his features. It was as if he were pressing every inch of your skin to memory to revisit later. You could not help but wonder when later he would think of this? In bed perchance?

 When his hand made it several inches up your inner thigh he retreated and moved to your other leg. You watched every move he made but not because you did not trust him to respect you, but because you wanted to remember this for your own revisit. You wanted to watch his hands roam across your body as you envisioned the cloth not there.

 After Simon finished your lower half a new basin that mirrored the first came. On Bridget’s instruction, you leaned forward revealing your bare back for him to wipe. The chance of his fingers raking down your back made you arch, dipping it inward. A groan escaped Simon then, it was a groan that made a part of you that you’d never knew of awaken. It felt like part of you deep inside your gut had fallen and it ached. Oh, how it ached.

 Simon brought the cloth up and again his fingertips made a trail. This time that ache made you moan. Simon sighed out suddenly sending a puff of air across your flesh. Another image came to mind of the same thing happening only along your breast. That made you press your fingertips to your lips. Were these memories? Dreams?

 “My lady.”

Looking to your right you met Simon’s eyes, but he did not speak. You saw the action he inquired in his eyes. Consent. Hesitating you took several breaths, none of them worked to slow your heart, none of them helped to calm your nerves. Your governess’ words rang in your head.

 “Ones husband is entitled to look upon his wife in any capacity he chooses.”

 Before now you’d always wondered just what she meant. Look upon how? Now you understood. Your throat was dryer than barren land in the prime heat of the summer months. You swallowed then slightly cringed hearing a small gulp echo around you. He must think you such a naïve wallflower, you thought. He didn’t budge, he just waited and waited and waited for you to grant him said consent. biting your bottom lip, you chewed at it until you were certine it was raw. Then you released the muslin you grasped so tightly at. The fabric fell to bunch in your lap revealing you in the setting sun’s light to your husband. As it fell you felt his warmed breath brush against your newly exposed breasts.

 Before it was candlelight he’d seen you and from a distance. They both afforded you some mystery but now he was inches away from you with ample light. He could look as he willed. You watched Simon’s eyes lower and slowly rake over your bodice. Every second his jaw jumped showing the definition of his jawline. He was handsome from the front but from the side—his profile was a thing of beauty.

 As he dipped the cloth into the basin again you heard him mumble a curse, you’d heard plenty a time.

 “Blast it.”

 When he raised the cloth to your collar you held your breath. It was not intentional but you felt the only way to get through this without leaping off of the bed either into his lap or out the door was to restrict your brain of oxygen so it would decrease its ability to think. It was perfectly logical, you theorized. The folly in your thinking did not occur to you until halfway through when you realized Simon’s movements were so slow, so torturous that he hadn’t even made it past your collar before white spots danced behind your eyes.

 “Breathe Jamilla,” Simon whispered.

 On command you did just that and that was when you felt the cloth swipe across your breast. Immediately, you felt your nipple pebble as another huff of warm breath skirt across your skin. Simon wiped over, around and under your breast then did the same to the other before dipping the cloth down the center of your body to your stomach.

 Alarm rushed through you. Was he really planning on going that far? Your governess had not given you any tips or information about this. Was he going to touch you? The anticipation made you shiver and just when you were certain you would shoot off the bed into the air, Simon’s hand stopped just below your navel. His eyes were squeezed closed, jaw clenched tightly and hand shaking. Seconds later, he pulled away and held the cloth to Bridget.

 “You can assist the madam better than I.”

 With that, he abruptly stood beside the bed then bowed his head to you.

 “I bid you farewell, my lady. I shall return for dinner—if you will have me.”

 For far too long the silence stretched in the room when Simon’s eyes met yours and his thick brow shot up you realized you’d been sitting there incapable of speech. A nod was all you could muster. Simon’s eyes dipped to your bare breasts and again his jaw went haywire. He turned then strode to the door leaving you alone with Bridget, a body full of anxious energy and a head full of thoughts definitely not suitable for a woman from genteel society. 

One thing was clear, within these images you were having and the current encounter there was one commonality—he had not persisted. He had in fact pulled away from you. He really did not want you at all—in any capacity.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Glossary:

Term “One and Six”: In Regency Era it was common among some to refer to ages over single digits as both numbers. EX: 16 = one and six. Of course, this isn’t always the case, it would depend on the region and the class of people.

Hysteria: Commonly referenced in Regency time which we in modern times would call panic. Could also be referenced to regency word Vapors which is usually when someone is going through a “panic attack” with the hyperventilating, agitation and or bouts of fainting.

Banyan: A men’s dressing robe usually worn at home. Think of a woman’s robe but for men. Could be elaborately designed, thick, or as thin as preferred.

Sennight: A time lasting one week.

Blazes: Euphemism for hell or the devil.

Blast: Equivalent to the modern terms sh** or damn.

Sod It: Equivalent to the modern statement "F**k it" or "Damn it."

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[thehermitavatar]

I'm just thinking about like...when did Jonah fall for the Eye?

We know he must of had some form of power around 1924 when Barnabas got banished because he decided to watch him, he wanted to see what would happen.

Did he gain his powers around the time he established the institute? Maybe he was already an avatar before he met Smirke, and he used Smirkes research to feed himself and the Eye. I got no clue.

Maybe we'll get more backstory to Jonah in the magnus protocol. Perhaps a statement from himself, instead of his story being told from an outside perspective. I think that's why, out of all of the TMA villains, people hate him the most. His story is the one we don't hear. His side of things, what happened.

TMA is a story about choices and the lengths people will go to achieve some ounce of power. Why does he want power and immortality. There must be a deeper reason. All avatars struggled and felt so deeply that they became the thing that both haunted them and they relished in. So why did Jonah become an avatar. Just because he was an obsessive academic? Because he was an elitist snob? There has to be a deeper reason, people!

...Anyway, this won't be my final ramble about Jonah. There's so much more I can say about him

[leupagus]

OK I promise to stop sharing all of my writing praaahcess, but I did figure out the other day that one other reason this Broadchurch fic is giving me trouble is because I haven't written a ball/dance into the story anywhere and that's frankly shocking

She's sweating a bit, her bloody awful hoodie tied loosely around her waist and revealing a monstrously pink top underneath. Her hair's been shaken loose from its ponytail and the curls are everywhere, spilling over her shoulders and sticking to her neck; even as he watches her she blows a strand out of her face. It immediately falls back to where it was.

"I haven't done that that in ages," she says, still breathless. "Didn't think people still played Tubthumping in clubs."

"It's not a club, it's a school dance," Hardy contradicts, because if he doesn't, he's going to reach out and tuck that strand of hair behind her ear or something equally horrific.

She rolls her eyes. "We're supposed to be chaperones, not pedants." Whatever the new song is, it's at least less frenetic, and those who aren't singing along are sorting themselves out into pairs. He's about to suggest they extricate themselves from the throng of adolescent hormones when she holds out her hand. "When in Rome, I suppose."

He takes it, but he's got no idea what comes next — not until Miller puts her other hand on his shoulder and like that, it's decided; his free hand lands gently at her waist, just above the belted sleeve of her hoodie. He swallows and keeps his eyes fixed on the top of her head.

"Were you and Maggie worried about me spilling my guts to Olly?" Miller asks, as if they're bickering in the car instead of… whatever this is. "Is that why you braved the sea of youths to cut in?"

"Not at all," he says, leaning out of the way of someone behind him, enthusiastically singing about laying down his weapons. It moves them closer together, and he curls their clasped hands in to rest on his heart.

"So Maggie wasn't, but you were," she deduces, infuriatingly; her fingers on his shoulder drum in irritation. "I do know how to keep my gob shut about an investigation, you know. I've had practice."

"I think Maggie just wanted to — what's the phrase?" He nods in their general direction. "Take a turn about the room, sort of thing."

"So she asked you to dance?" Miller scrunches her nose up at him. "Did you tell her you were in no mood to give consequence to ladies slighted by other men?"

"Am I Mr. Darcy now?" he asks, looking down at her. A mistake; her top isn't particularly low-cut, but from this angle he's got more of an eyeful than he ought to have.

Not only that, but she's looking up at him, smiling, and that's far more dangerous. "You'd be an absolutely rubbish Mr. Darcy," she says.

"How d'you mean? I'd be outstanding. I don't like anyone, nor does he."

Miller nods, thoughtful. "That's true. You're broody, so is he."

"And I make even more than ten thousand a year."

"Wa-hey, we've got an eligible bachelor here, lads," she laughs. "Or whatever the line is, a single man of good fortune, in want of a wife."

[msmarvelouswinchester]

just yrs.

Pairing: Alexander Claremont-Diaz/Henry Fox-Mountchristen-Windsor

Rating: Explicit

Tags: Alternate Universe - Regency Era; Fluff; Angst with a happy ending; Explicit sexual content; Love letters

Chapters: 4 (Weekly updates - Every Friday)

Summary:

It was at that moment he glimpsed her presence, adorned in silk embellished with golden sequins. Miss Catalina June Claremont-Diaz, her eyes radiating keen intelligence as she engaged in conversation with a man who was simply quite taken by her. Yet, as he allowed his gaze to linger further left, a surge of emotions overwhelmed him, leaving him in a state of bewildered captivation for a long time.

The cause of this mesmerization was none other than a strikingly handsome gentleman who stood guard beside her. Upon further inspection, Henry understood it was Mister Alexander Claremont-Diaz, Miss June's younger brother.

And dear lord, Alexander indeed looked magnificent—truly a sight to behold.

It marked the initial moment he laid eyes on him. Their eyes locked; sparks ignited.

aka, Regency Era AU no one asked for

Read the first chapter - HERE

[starchaserdreams]

Temptation Eyes (Regency AU) Chapter 8 is up!

Sirius shrugged.

“I have met Crouch and Rosier very few times in person. Regulus tends towards being friendly with them, however much I would disapprove of them, or perhaps because of it. I imagine that were he not quite so contrary, he might like them less.”

James raised his eyebrows. 

“You think he does not like them genuinely? Does he not enjoy their presence?”

Sirius raised both hands to gesture as though James’ thought was absurd. 

“It’s my brother. Has he ever in his life enjoyed anyone’s presence?”

Remus leaned his head back silently against the high cushioned back of his chair.

“I believe he said just now that he enjoyed my presence while he waited!” James objected, “he seemed rather grateful that I had accompanied him.”

Sirius and Remus both sat up straighter. Not entirely straight, in the case of Sirius, but certainly straight- er . 

“He said that?” Remus asked, just as Sirius said, “I don’t believe you. He would never say that to anyone, least of all to you.”

James nodded proudly. 

“I think he secretly likes me, despite his own best attempts to hate me.”

Sirius laughed darkly. 

“He likes no one, secretly or otherwise, except dear cousin Narcissa.”