Mind Blurbs

mind blurbs

I am such a slut for Anthony Bridgerton it is a problem

he’s ruined me bc if you’re not a complete whore i don’t want you anymore

🍮 [ pudding party ] — assign me a character to create an aesthetic moodboard/profile theme ( your choice )

Heyy xx decided to join in on the cafe event x

Can you create a Lucy Carlyle moodboard xx?

No worries if not x

Thanks love 💕

thanks for checking out the cozy cafe event !

here is your moodboard…

lucy carlyle — vintage aesthetic ( lockwood & co )

lucy carlyle— unedited ( lockwood & co ) this was so fun to make ! i love lockwood and co, and the ripple effects were so hard but so worth it ♥️

thank you for the tag! mine was so lonnng

x — xnxx by joji

o — our song by taylor swift

b — blank space by taylor swift

r — …ready for it? by taylor swift

i — i did something bad by taylor swift

d — dress by taylor swift

e — enchanted by taylor swift

r — red by taylor swift

t — the great war by taylor swift

o — out of the woods by taylor swift

n — no body, no crime by taylor swift

b — bad blood by taylor swift

l — lavender haze by taylor swift

u — untouchable by taylor swift

e — endgame by taylor swift

s — sparks fly by taylor swift

my no pressure tags: @eviesaurusrex @nix-rose @arrowheadedbitch

@catastrxblues

thank you @malakiwis for the tag. Love you so much

One song for every letter in my username - God that’s too many songs. OMG ITS 14 SONGS!!!

B - Better Than Revenge by Taylor Swift

E - End Game by Taylor Swift

L - London Boy by Taylor Swift

O - Out Of The Woods by Taylor Swift

W - Wonderland by Taylor Swift

T - ‘tis the damn season by Taylor Swift

H - Heather by Conan Gray

E - Enchanted by Taylor Swift

S - Style by Taylor Swift

T - This Is Why We Can’t Have Nice Things by Taylor Swift

A - Astronomy by Conan Gray

R - Red by Taylor Swift

R - …Ready For It by Taylor Swift

S - So It Goes… by Taylor Swift

You don’t know how long it took me to do this, my mind just like died or something. I also feel like my inner swiftie took over when doing this.

Tags: @localorphanage @moonagebooklover @risetherivermoon @olivers-cocoapuffs @lostforgottenspaces

the language of flowers — part one, daises

warnings: angst, of course, and bad writing? ooc anthony bc i suck and thats unwarranted <33

word count: 1.8k (wowza)

author’s note: hello! this is my first published fic, so im pretty sure it’s going to be horrible, but i had this idea after reading Sherlock Holmes, so… im excited, i guess? this is part of a series i will publish, but for now... yay! first fic celebration!

read the other parts! — part two, irises | part three, peonies

i don’t consent for my work to be reposted or copied, translated, or transferred to any other platform, or this one, in part or whole.

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i. 1802, bellis perennis. daisies, platonic love

It was a day in which the sun blazed as though it had a fury against all of England, the sweltering heat resulting in most of the country to stay indoors, and perhaps enjoy a cool glass of lemonade. The unforgiving rays of the sun shone glitteringly on the lake, as if to mock those who stayed inside, flamboyantly displaying its beauty.

Anthony Bridgerton was a boy, (or a man, as he liked to proclaim himself, as he was just a year from being eighteen), who did not like to stay inside, especially on a glorious day like this. He liked to forget the matter that it was well over 35 degrees celsius, but in his words, such a beautiful, sunny day should not go to waste.

“Why have you dragged me out here, Mr. Bridgerton?” You groan against the thick coat of your own horse. As the only daughter of a Duke with three sons, you had to dress up prim and proper, much to your chagrin, before going out, especially with a boy, whether it be one of your closest friends or not. You run your hands through your hair—which you've left open, because, in your words, damn society, no single person should be subject to those horrid pins in their hair on a hot summer's day!, before you stormed out of your estate, to head to the stables to find solace in one of your most trusted companions.

He grins, sending a flutter of butterflies amok in your stomach. Deep inside, you knew that there was no way that he would ever even consider you romantically, as you were exactly the age of his brother, Benedict, who, no doubt, was ever the charmer, but Anthony had a special place in your heart. Your first love, (could one even call it love? You would often dismiss it as infatuation, but when he looked at you like that, how could your youthful little heart disregard it?), and most of all, your first friend. “Well,” he starts, “first of all, you can cease the formalities, or I’ll push you off your horse.” He leisurely rides up next to you, smirking. “And there isn’t any harm in calling on my closest friend for a few hours of her time, is there not?”

“Of course not, but you know how my mother hounds me,” you sigh tiredly, rubbing the nape of your neck. “It is almost as if…” reddening, you bite your lip. You knew that your mother was always on a tirade on how you and Anthony would be perfect together, but you know that he did not feel the same way. You sneak in a gaze at his soft dark hair, and his gorgeous, deep brown eyes, always glimmering with mischief of some sort. 

He turned to you, frowning. “As if? She hasn’t got a problem with me, has she?”

Your eyes widen, and you quickly backtrack on your words. “No! No, of course she hasn’t got a problem with you, she’s just a bit… spirited, that’s all. Just very spirited and a woman very worried about what society has to say about me—not that I care, of course.”

“Just let her know that I’m most definitely not giving up my friendship with you just because of the nonsense the Ton spews on an hourly basis.” You give an extremely unladylike snort at his words, which sends the both of you into a fit of laughter.

The both of you finally reach the site that Anthony must have wanted to show you. It’s a corner beside the lake, with a patch of wildflowers and a small woodland area behind it. The sunlight shines onto the surface of the lake, and small dragonflies lazily float around the flowers. What entrances you most is the flora near the area. While, of course, you've seen flowers before, since your own father boasts one of the most intricate gardens in London, there isn’t any garden that could hold a candle to the natural beauty, the wild, untamed, disorderly allure of this particular strip of land. Fireweed and cattails rub against the agrimonies and bellflowers, and you have to physically stop yourself from letting your jaw drop and stare at the scene in front of you.

The dark-haired boy enthusiastically gets down from his horse, rubbing his eyebrow, and holds his hand out to your stunned self. You bite back a smirk when you notice his actions, and steady yourself against his glove. “I don’t need you to do all this,” you tease. “I can get down from a horse just fine by myself.”

“Really?” He smirks. “Alright then.” Letting go of you abruptly, he wipes off his hands on his breeches, while behind him, you trip to the ground, dust pooling and clouding around you, and you land on your ankle.

“Ow!” You shriek, your hands scratched from the rough, gravelly grass. You examine your ankle, which is slightly swollen and red, along with giving you large, throbbing pains. “Anthony, you’re such a prick!” You steady yourself against a tree trunk when he turns around and sees you, in pain. He quickly rushes to your side, steadying you by placing his hands on your hips, and you try, (and fail), to ignore your heart working on overdrive. “Y/N, I’m so sorry. Really, I didn’t know it would hurt you, I didn't know you were that high up.”

“What do you know, then?” You grumble, trying to hold weight on your foot. When you wince, Anthony immediately carries you in his arms in a bridal hold, and you have to take all the willpower you have to not stare at his biceps, or worse, swoon right there. “Anthony! Put me down!” You cry, halfheartedly, your inner thoughts wishing that he wouldn’t listen to a word you said. “If you drop me, I swear I will hurt you.”

“Y/N,” he smiles at you, “trust me, I know better than to cross you by now.” He readjusts his hands, and one of them, (you’re too frazzled to notice which), lands on the small of your back, and you are sure that you will combust within a second if he keeps this up. “And,” he continues, “I haven’t dragged you all the way here just so you can go home. And trust me, you're not heavy at all.” He smirks, raising one of his hands so that you can see it, and taps your nose.

“Anthony—oh god—what the bloody hell are you doing?”

“Proving you haven't got anything to worry about. Don’t worry, darling.” The word sends a shiver down your spine, and the moment just seems so perfect: you, in his arms, his dark, dreamy eyes gazing into your own, his breath hot on your cheek. He smells of sandalwood and citrus—the same smell that haunts you day and night, in your dreams and nightmares.

You relax into his arms, and are snapped out of your daze only by the soft brush of something against your nose—petals? You open your eyes to a grinning Anthony, tapping your face with a hastily bundled bunch of flowers.

“Anthony,” you frown, “I was relaxing. Do not forget that you caused my devastating injury.” You pout, widening your eyes and biting your lips, trying to play the fact that you’re merely an innocent bystander of his tomfoolery. He sighs, and waves the flowers in front of your face.

“That is precisely what this is for, you hypochondriac—ow! Sorry! I picked you flowers, because you're so microscopic that I can carry you with one hand.” He gently placed you down on a gravelly stone bench, among the wildflowers and its concomitant insects, hurriedly putting a bouquet of flowers in your hand. 

Daises.

The Guide for Flora for Debutantes: Resplendent in its simplicity, the daisy's tender white petals encircle a sunny heart, a poignant reflection of the chaste and enduring affection shared amongst esteemed companions of a non-romantic nature. The suitor that gives this flower to you may not desire to pursue a romantic relation, but shows no ill will towards you, and would in fact like to continue a relationship based purely on friendship. 

Your mind flashes to a paragraph in one of your least-loved books, but one your governess insisted you study. Perhaps he didn’t mean to give you these gut-wrenching, heartbreaking flowers, flowers that left your soul shattered on the ground, due to your dramatics. Men, in particular, were never very observant when it came to flowers. “Well, there might be a privilege to being microscopic then,” you smile, feigning delight. “Say,” you gaze up at Anthony’s eyes, “what made you pick these particular ones? Is there anything special about daises?”

“Er, no…” Anthony frowned. “They were the only ones that looked nice enough to give to you. The others looked like weeds, if I am being completely forthright.” You stifle a laugh, and perhaps there indeed was no symbolism behind the flowers the gave you, nothing other than fate.

As you settle on the stone bench, your ankle throbbing slightly, you peer at the bouquet of daises now cradled in your hand. The delicate blossoms seem to mirror the delicate dance of emotions within your heart, or so your heart believes. Anthony's actions have always been a mixture of exasperating and endearing, and this moment is no different.

"Anthony," you say, suppressing a smile, "your chivalry knows no bounds, it seems." He chuckles, his eyes crinkling at the corners.

"Ah, my dear, a gentleman's duty is to come to the rescue of a damsel in distress, is it not?" You roll your eyes with a playful sigh, though your heart flutters at his words. There's a familiarity between you that goes beyond mere friendship, a connection that has woven itself over years of shared experiences. But society's expectations and the complexities of your own heart keep those feelings hidden beneath the surface. 

"Are you suggesting that I am in distress, Mr. Bridgerton?" you retort, raising an eyebrow. His smile widens, and he takes a seat beside you on the bench. 

"Perhaps not in distress, but certainly in need of a flower-bearing rescuer." He quips, gently nudging your shoulder. You both share a laugh, the tension that briefly hung in the air dissipating like morning mist. There's a sense of ease in his company that you've never found elsewhere, a comfort that stems from him, merely his presence.

A sense of home—of love, and for now, it did not matter if he didn’t feel it, but the warm feeling that enveloped you was merely your own to enjoy.