There were many tucked away nooks and alcoves in the ornate apartment the Featherington’s called home, and youngest daughter Penelope knew them all. She knew which ones afforded her the most privacy outside of her own room, which ones were the most comfortable, and which ones offered her the best views of Grosvenor Square. The latter is where she was currently situated, a window seat tucked away in the corner of the main reception room. She’d managed to avoid her parents and sisters' likely reminders to go to bed at a reasonable hour simply by sitting down in that spot and pulling the curtains which encompassed the window seat. Not enough to block out the evening sun, but enough to obscure her from view.  They only really thought of Penelope when she was in their line of sight, or, in the case of her mother especially, when they needed someone to belittle. Penelope liked that she had the ability to become invisible like this, because there was nothing she wanted less, at times, than to be perceived by her family.

“If it weren’t raining,” She said, “It wouldn’t be England.” Benedict hummed. “You know, whenever I’m away, on a holiday or what not, I do often find myself missing the rain.” Sophie chuckled, shaking her head. Her long hair fluttered around her shoulders at the movement and she smiled as she tucked a strand back behind her ear. “I feel like I spend half my life staring out the window and wishing the rain away.” “You’d miss it, if it were gone,” Benedict found himself saying, and, apparently, it had been the wrong thing. Or, at least, it had sent her into a pensive silence. He watched as a myriad of thoughts flittered across her face, and found his hand twitching once again for a pencil, a paint brush, a fucking biro and post-it note. There was something about the way she continued to absentmindedly hold her hand tucked behind her ear, her elbow resting against her other arm as it crossed over her chest. The way her mask sat against her nose, held on her face by a silver ribbon that tied around her head disappearing under her long inky black hair. The far off look she had in her eyes. “You’re very quiet,” He said softly, after several long seconds of committing the sight of her to his memory. He was glad she’d found her before he’d had more than a glass of Champagne, glad his memories of tonight were unlikely to be fuzzy around the edges from anything other than the intoxication he felt simply by being in her presence. “I was just thinking,” She said, dropping her hand and turning her face to him, then her whole body, her shoulder now leaning against the wall instead of her back. Benedict instinctively mirrored her. “About?” “About what I’d miss - and what I wouldn’t - should my life drastically change.” So she had been in rather deep thought then. Benedict forced his own to not follow a similar path. “And do you expect it to drastically change?” He asked. She sighed, smile turning wistful and ever so slightly sad. “No.” “But you wish it to,” He guessed. “Yes,” She breathed out seemingly unable to stop herself. It was a word full of hope, of sadness, of desire, of longing. Benedict took her hands, bringing them to his lips and kissing them in turn. “Then we shall begin right now,” He told her, “And tomorrow you shall be transformed.” She gave him an ironic smile that wrinkled her nose. “Tonight I am transformed,” She told him softly, “And tomorrow… the woman in front of you will disappear.” Benedict felt his heart clench in his chest at the pure sadness that filled her voice - in exact opposition to the joy of earlier in the night. He drew her into his chest and she fell into him willingly, he placed a fleeting kiss against her forehead. “Then we will pack a lifetime into a night,” He told her.

I'm completely obsessed with my current WIP, a Modern Bridgerton AU! I'm roughly planning to have a story for each Bridgerton sibling, with some of them intertwining. I'm currently writing a rough outline of each story, vaguely following the show (and sometimes incorporating book stuff that might fit) but making it, obviously, modern. So Saphne are going to be a Fake Dating story (I'm thinking actors in a PR relationship) Kanthony are Enimies to Lovers (maybe rival Lawyers? I'm not too sure yet) and Polin are obviously Friends to Lovers! And it is part of the Polin Story (as yet untitled) that I'll be sharing today, because I started re-writing the Carriage Scene and couldn't stop (though I have yet to write the actual smut) and I am incredibly proud of what I have so far

Puck looked down on the doorstep. His duffel, army green and battered, old and weathered, lay on it’s side.The sleeve of a flannel was flopping out of the top of it, like it had been hastily packed, and it lay on the damp doorstep, the cuff directly in a murky puddle of melted slush. He frowned down at it, still high, confused about how it had found its way here. The logical side of his brain had disappeared a few hours ago, but as he lifted the duffle to be upright, opened the top of it to shove the sleeve back inside, his brain kicked back into gear. There, sitting on top of the flannel, was the photo booth strip that was usually held by a touristy New York City magnet on the fridge. Him and Kurt. They’d taken it when they first arrived in New York after High School, not anywhere touristy, but simply sitting in the first photo booth they found, using a dollar of their hard earned money to capture the moment. They hadn’t had a phone between them, had dumped them before catching the first bus out of Lima after graduation, but they had needed to commemorate their escape somehow, so it was with a photo booth strip of photos and a tacky I <3 NY magnet Puck had pilfered from the first souvenir cart they had passed. Kurt had given up on him, and Puck wasn’t exactly surprised by that. He’d given up on himself too, after everything.