#Foreign Gist

[cabinetofotherthings]

i have a historiographical quibble with how the antisemitic campaigns in the soviet union in 1948–1953 are often framed as an extension of the holocaust in the scholarship rather than being fully considered within the context of the soviet nationalities policy. except when i'm applying for funding from institutions that do holocaust studies. then i'm fine with it

[wonder-worker]

Friendly reminder that Francesco Coppino and Prospero di Camulio, contemporaries who were literally getting their information from predominantly Yorkist circles, were both explicitly clear that it was Henry VI who decided to surrender Berwick to Scotland.

Camulio: "King Henry has given away a castle [town] called Berwick, which is one of the keys of the frontier between England and Scotland." Coppino: "[Scotland has] received from the same Henry the town of Berwick, on the frontiers of Scotland, which the Scots have long claimed as their right from the English, as the excellently well furnished guardian of their frontiers, and the place to which King Henry repaired as an asylum after the battle."

The idea that Margaret of Anjou was principally involved in the surrender, or that she was the one who actually made the decision, is based on the claims of later chronicles. Two direct contemporaries, both speaking of ongoing events as they unfolded, who were both getting information from Yorkist-held England, both clearly believed it was Henry who was responsible for this course of action. Neither of them mention Margaret. Sure, you can argue that it was merely rhetorical, and that they were simply automatically attributing such an important decision to the King rather than the queen - but rhetoric is nonetheless extremely important and helps us understand how historical figures were perceived at the time. Margaret's enemies would surely not have hesitated to broadcast her involvement had it actually been true, and Coppino in particular had shown no qualms about criticizing her in favor of the Yorkists before. If she was genuinely believed to have been responsible, and if the Yorkists were actually claiming that she was at the time, I see no reason why Coppino or Camulio would not have emphasized her role in their letters. What these samples instead indicate is literally the opposite: that their contemporaries - probably including the Yorkists who were putting out the information that Coppino and Camulio reported - actually believed that Henry was the one making the decision. I think it's a very large and very unnecessary stretch to go against actual evidence and claim otherwise by placing the responsibility on Margaret instead.

Additionally, these small samples may also reveal what people at the time - once again including the Yorkists - actually thought of Henry's role in the war on a broader level, away from direct Yorkist propaganda which would obviously and perhaps understandably seek to de-emphasize it: namely, that Henry was perceived as the one making decisions and deciding the courses of action for his own side.

Source: Excerpts from the Calendar of State Papers and Manuscripts, Existing in the Archives and Collections of Milan

[shattered-pieces]

Dream last night -

President Bush was doing some sort of official visit or speech and afterwards he appeared outside on this sort of hilly lawn in the dusk. He talked to me about something then I said "what do you think about the war?"

He said "Israel-Palestine?" (Like. Of course what else would it be)

I said, "no, the war in Ukraine."

He was like, I don't know about that war. (Like, why should i? - implied)

I was a bit annoyed he didn't know about it as it is important.

He said, "well, there are 2 scenarios. Either the US and allies wants to win and drive the bad guys out, or we are looking for a way to end it, slowly withdraw so we don't have anything to do with it anymore."

I said, "well. The 2nd one probably. Because we can't get to putin. It is unlikely we can get that far. We won't want to go all the way. We can get to the leaders in Donetsk and Luhansk, but they're just putin's people he put in place. It takes too much effort to get to him."

He said, "you should go into foreign policy."

I was happy that I could get this boost from his recommendation and gain some connections rather than starting from the bottom and I could fulfill my dreams of going into foreign policy and affecting world events.

[beheadable]

New bb guy is like. Oc I call a self insert. He’s kissing valt.r in a puddle of blood and sneaking him into his apartment in town for cuddles and make out sessions and long conversations while drunk on blood

[worstloki]

Thor: aye, mate, Loki's about evenly matched to me on a good day--and you'd be a drongo to claim I'm talking about mine, haha!!

[326 deaths later]

Thor: oh yeah, he's mad as a cut snake. i don't think that's normal. he's a bit gone that's all. we'll get him back in the paddock, I just need 1 win on him!

Avengers, skeptical: if you're so strong then why are you sounding nervous about this...?

Thor: Don't worry about it. HAHA!

[another 204 deaths later]

Thor, venting to the Avengers who are underground in hiding right now because Loki's invasion basically succeeded in this latest loop: He was never the best tussler on Asgard. i just... idk what he's so aggro about! he used to be a fair ankle biter and now he's gone full kooky

Time loop fic but it’s just Thor stuck confronting Loki during Avengers 1 except Loki is actually evil this time and wants Thor dead so Thor just. keeps dying. He tries not to hurt Loki the first few loops but keeps getting killed and starts taking it personally so he steps up his game to actually try to win/kill Loki back but he still keeps losing.

[reality-detective]

“I gathered all vaccine ingredients into a list and contacted Poison Control. After intros and such, and asking to speak with someone tenured and knowledgeable, this is the gist of that conversation.

Me: My question to you is how are these ingredients categorized? As benign or poison? (I ran a few ingredients, formaldehyde, Tween 80, mercury, aluminum, phenoxyethanol, potassium phosphate, sodium phosphate, sorbitol, etc.)

He: Well, that's quite a list... But I'd have to easily say that they're all toxic to humans... Used in fertilizers... Pesticides... To stop the heart... To preserve a dead body... They're registered with us in different categories, but pretty much poisons. Why?

Me: If I were deliberately to feed or inject my child with these ingredients often, as a schedule, obviously I'd put my daughter in harm's way... But what would legally happen to me?

He: Odd question... But you'd likely be charged with criminal negligence... perhaps with intent to kill... and of course child abuse... Your child would be taken away from you... Do you know of someone's who's doing this to their child? This is criminal...

Me: An industry... These are the ingredients used in vaccines... With binding agents to make sure the body won't flush these out... To keep the antibody levels up indefinitely...

The man was beside himself. He asked if I would email him all this information. He wanted to share it with his adult kids who are parents. He was horrified and felt awful he didn't know... his kids are vaccinated and they have health issues...”

~  By  Iris Figueroa

Here are just SOME vaccine ingredients present in routine vaccines:

◾️Formaldehyde/Formalin - Highly toxic systematic poison and carcinogen.

◾️Betapropiolactone - Toxic chemical and carcinogen. May cause death/permanant injury after very short exposure to small quantities. Corrosive chemical.

◾️Hexadecyltrimethylammonium bromide - May cause damage to the liver, cardiovascular system, and central nervous system. May cause reproductive effects and birth defects.

◾️Aluminum hydroxide, aluminum phosphate, and aluminum salts - Neurotoxin. Carries risk for long term brain inflammation/swelling, neurological disorders, autoimmune disease, Alzheimer's, dementia, and autism. It penetrates the brain where it persists indefinitely.

◾️Thimerosal (mercury) - Neurotoxin. Induces cellular damage, reduces oxidation-reduction activity, cellular degeneration, and cell death. Linked to neurological disorders, Alzheimer's, dementia, and autism.

◾️Polysorbate 80 & 20 - Trespasses the Blood-Brain Barrier and carries with it aluminum, thimerosal, and viruses; allowing it to enter the brain.

◾️Glutaraldehyde - Toxic chemical used as a disinfectant for heat sensitive medical equipment.

◾️Fetal Bovine Serum - Harvested from bovine (cow) fetuses taken from pregnant cows before slaughter.

◾️Human Diploid Fibroblast Cells - aborted fetal cells. Foreign DNA has the ability to interact with our own.

◾️African Green Monkey Kidney Cells - Can carry the SV-40 cancer-causing virus that has already tainted about 30 million Americans.

◾️Acetone - Can cause kidney, liver, and nerve damage.

◾️E.Coli - Yes, you read that right.

◾️DNA from porcine (pig) Circovirus type-1

◾️Human embryonic lung cell cultures (from aborted fetuses)

You can view all of these ingredients on the CDCs website: 👇

You are always welcome to do your own research, in fact I encourage you to do so. 🤔

[i-hate-accidents]

i hate accidents: the ball

femme!reader x benedict bridgerton, femme!reader & the bridgerton family, femme!reader & penelope featherington

summary:  the adventures of a working class femme who befriends a fellow writer, a boisterous family, and a bewitching second eldest son

sections:  I. the beginning / II. the between / III. the ball

y/n:  bipoc, she/her, afab, nonbinary femme, queer, working class, of immigrant parents

content warnings:  classism, mentions of financial survival, microaggressive sexism, microaggressive gender assumption, intersectional low self-image of y/n, positive/supportive families, nondescript mention of gagging (not related to self-image) in [III.iii], sexually charged 18+ interactions in middle to end of [III.iv]—minors dni, please stop at the end of the paragraph that begins "you repeat his words with sped up mockery"; you may resume at "you jut out your hip"

word count:  15.7k (of 38.8k)

story context:  everything in s1 and s2 of the tv series is canon for this story except for the s2 epilogue with the bridgertons.  this story takes place leading up to and into the 1815 season. 

additional notes:  this story is incomplete. scenes that are not written are described in chevrons <> with third person pov or are delineated by isolated ellipses. additionally, the author has only watched s2!  she has not watched any of s1 aside from clips, and they have not read the books aside from quotes used in edits.  they have not yet watched queen charlotte.  the author kinda knows the gist of an offer from a gentleman; they are familiar with sophie beckett (and are excited to meet her/them in the tv series!).

author’s note:  this is the first time the author has written fanfic in 13-15 years.  :)  it is her hope that they have made some progress since her pre/teens.  additionally, this fanfic has been written, on and off, over the course of two years.  the author sincerely hopes you find some sort of joy in it, especially the readers who maybe hope to see themself a little more specifically in the world we so love.

tagged: @omgsuperstarg @stvrdustalexx @bedobeeeee @crazymar15 @kahhorri @mayalopes @benedictbridgertonss @athensflower @02wrldz @queerlavalier @merlslrem @pillsbury-doughgirl @lamourdure3ans and all who have read either/both sections one and two—thank you. <3

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.i ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“you look like a princess, y/n!” hyacinth squeals in delight.

“i regret not being of age yet to attend balls,” gregory sighs.  “i would have been honored to ask you for your first dance.”

you beam at the youngest bridgertons with all the fondness in your heart.  judith, an elderly maid of number five, had attempted to dispel hyacinth and gregory from the room as your hair was done, but you had asked her to please allow them to stay.  the two kept you at ease throughout the foreign process, and their sweet sincerity kept you grounded amidst the anxiety that still floods your veins.

“you are both too kind.  and fear not; tomorrow morning we will have a ball all of our own,” you lean in for a whisper, them following suit to listen.  “and perhaps we will need the talents, and bravery, of a young sorceress and a young knight to save the guests from the intrusion of an unruly wyvern.”

“you promise?!” hyacinth and gregory yell at the same time.  you hold out your pinky finger, just as you used to do with your siblings, and the two young ones wrap their pinkies around yours.

“i promise.”

“you are all done, miss y/l/n,” says alice, placing the last pin into your hair.  she steps back and curtsies.  her formality towards you renders you uneasy; she treats you as above her but you are of the same world.  you school your facial features from showing your unease; you do not want to upset her or have her wrongly think that she has done something wrong.

“no need to call me ‘miss.’  i am simply y/n!”  you grin at alice.  “a friend.”

she smiles, albeit a bit sheepishly. 

“of course, y/n.  are you ready to see yourself?”

you shudder in a breath.  you had asked not to be prepared in front of a mirror.  to have seen your transformation so readily reflected at you at every point of this process—

you exhale frantically.  the maids and genevieve had graciously accommodated your wishes, both going so far as rearranging this room and her fitting room to avoid any lines of your sight with a potential reflection; you were, and are, utterly grateful.  

but i am unable to delay the inevitable any longer.

standing up and squaring your shoulders, you give alice a feeble nod.  she bows her head in response, a small, encouraging smile on her lips, and leads you to the mirror as hyacinth and gregory turn in their seats to watch you cross the room.  

it is just a dress.  it is just a tiara, and just some jewelry, and just some gloves, and just some shoes, and just a bit of makeup.  it is just you.  it is still you.  be the courageous person you are, y/n.

or—

just before you see even a miniscule bit of your reflection in that accursed mirror, you shut your eyes tight.

—be a coward.

you continue step by agonizing step, approximating where the mirror is, and shudder in another breath.

perhaps i am being too dramatic.  perhaps i can faint and feign illness.  perhaps i shall run away by way of the nearest window.  perhaps i—

“the mirror is to your left, y/n; whenever you are ready,” coaxes alice.

you exhale once more.

or perhaps, i should open my eyes.

and so you do.

oh.

“oh,” you say aloud.

the person you see in the gilded full-length mirror is, somehow, a complete stranger and entirely you.

the one time you’ve worn makeup before was for your elder sister’s wedding:  a bit of your mother’s rouge on your cheeks and lips to have some color to your otherwise dull face.  now, your cheekbones glow with a blush much more complimentary to your complexion than a mere red as your lips shine with a gossamer of a similar shade.  entirely new to you are the glimmering minerals on your eyelids that magically bring attention to your eyes and make them shine like starlight.

your eyebrows have been plucked (much to your initial pain but your current appreciation), maintaining their shape and fullness but now without strays.  

soft tendrils of curls frame your face, and your hair—normally worn down when not working—has been pulled back into a loose coiffure and styled with sprigs and small blooms, the crown of your head graced with a silver tiara.

“this,” violet smiled fondly when she first set the tiara on top of your head, “is the tiara i wore to my first ball after my presentation.  i had insisted on keeping it, thinking i could pass it on to my daughter when her first ball had come.  but daphne was resolute on having her own tiara, and eloise was resolute on not wearing any,” violet laughed, her eyes shining when they connected with yours, “i see now, though, perhaps it was always meant to be yours.”

“violet, i— i cannot wear this.  it is too— it’s too—”

sumptuous?  opulent?  regal?  

no.

well, yes, the tiara is all those things.  but those were not what had concerned you then.  it’s too—

“beautiful,” you admitted quietly.

something as beautiful as that surely does not belong on the head of someone like you.

“well,” violet smiled, “then you are merely proving my point, my dear.  it perfectly suits you.”

you hold out your hands, flare out your fingers, and stretch out your arms, examining the dark forest green of your long satin gloves, mesmerized that a muted color with such depth and richness could be achieved through dyes.

moving your hand, you touch one of the small rosewhite pearls adorning your earlobes and, with your other hand, touch the inky oblong pearl that shimmers violet, indigo, and green as it hangs from the thin, black velvet choker around your neck.

“my dear,” mama appeared in your doorway one evening as you wrote at your table, “do you require jewelry for your occasion?”

“oh.  i suppose i do?�� i hadn’t given it much thought.”  jewelry had been the last thing on your mind of things that terrified you of the impending ball.

“well, if you have not been offered anything by the bridgerton family yet, i thought— i thought perhaps you might like these.”

she approached you, a small wooden box in her hand, and placed it on your table.  taking the box into your hands, you looked at it and then up at mama.  she smiled at you but something of her countenance seemed strained.  nervous.  you offered her a smile in an attempt to assuage whatever concerns preoccupied her mind and, turning back to the box, unclasped it open.

“these are the earrings and necklace i wore when i married your papa.  they were gifts from your grandmama that were gifts from her mama.  i had tried giving them to your sister when she was to be married, but she thought…  they are plain, nothing like what those fashionable people wear, i am certain; but if you have nothing else, i—”

you shot up from your seat, throwing your arms around your mama, feeling how she reeled from the ferocity of your sudden embrace, as you clutched onto the box of her wedding jewelry.

“they are beautiful, mama,” you said quietly but emphatically as the vehemence of your emotions tried to trap your words in your throat.  “they are the most beautiful things i have ever seen, and i am so— i am so honored to be bestowed with the blessing of wearing them, and of wearing them proudly.  thank you.”

you heard how mama sniffed her nose, and how she tried to hide it, as she gently rubbed your back, as she always had in your moments of vulnerability.

“i love you, my child.”

“i love you, mama.”

you then touch your exposed shoulders.  the neckline of your dress, nowhere near your neck, follows the curved peaks of your breasts to meet and form a small v-shape in the crevice of your bosom.  

“where is the chemise?” was the first thing you had said when you first tried on the gown at the modiste.

genevieve grinned.

“there is none.”

your jaw dropped.

“then what of a stay?  what sort of stay would be worn with this?”

turning slightly, and noting your rather bare upper arms in the process, you angle your exposed back towards the mirror.  another v-shape, its furthest point down a third of your bare spine.  

“my dear, both you and i know that you already know the answer to your inquiry.”

“oh, my good g—”

never, in your life, has the expanse of your upper body been so naked and on display than in this ball gown.

“i do not mean to doubt your artistry, genevieve; truly!, the dress is magnificent, but—” you turned to kathani, who had exclaimed and clapped with immense delight upon seeing you in the gown, “is this—— permissible?”

the viscountess had arched an eyebrow at you then.

“y/n y/l/n, concerned with the rules of society?  and of high society, at that?”

“no— no!” you yelled all too loudly as genevieve chortled and placed pins for final alterations into the dress.  “i just, i just do not want to embarrass you and your family, is all.”

you had not meant for your voice to come out so quiet and small.  the older women’s faces softened immediately.

“you could never embarrass us, y/n,” kathani stated with such tenderness.  then she smiled.  “you look beautiful.”

the off-white base layer of the dress feels luxurious against your skin, the fabric hugging your upper body, puffing out at the sleeves, and, from the underbust, flowing and falling into a cone silhouette for the skirt—but what truly awes you is the artistry of the outermost layer.  a cream translucent silk, the piña seda (you recall genevieve proudly naming it as) of the outermost layer glistens while you sway and turn your body, light shifting and transforming the ever beauty of the dress, the swish of the skirt moving like how waves are described in the passages of your books and in the reminiscing of your parents’ memories.  lined at the underbust begins the intricate thicket of embroidered foliage, painstakingly threaded with innumerable shades of greens and blues, a shimmering teal threaded throughout to gleam in tandem with the sheen of the fabric.  the embroidery of foliage then grows and thickens as it cascades down the middle of the dress and comes to an encircling end a few inches above and around the floor-length hem.  in the negative space of the piña seda are spread out, small ivory embroideries of floral motifs.  

it is a dress deserving of someone most beloved in titania’s garden court. 

“indeed,” genevieve affirmed, a smile on her lips akin to kathani’s.  “those in attendance will not be prepared.  you will look the most beautiful of all.”

and perhaps…

perhaps you should be unnerved by how different your dress will be from the others’ of the ton.  perhaps you should be unnerved by how easily you will stand out from the crowds.  perhaps you should be unnerved by the attention, the whispers, the stares you will inevitably receive with your dress, with your appearance, with your presence, with your very existence.  but, instead— 

“i do look like a princess,” you say finally.  quietly. 

you do look beautiful.

like you could belong amidst the ton.  

like you could belong with the bridgertons.  

like you could belong with him.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.ii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“are you anxious, y/n?”

you turn to gregory at your side and see the swell of worry in his eyes.

“what gives you that impression?”

“you are shaking terribly,” hyacinth comments from your other side, replacing her usual pluck and wit with a worry akin to her brother’s.  

the two had volunteered to escort you from the dressing room that you had been prepared in to the grand staircase of number five.  with their arms hooked around yours, gregory on your left and hyacinth on your right, the youngest bridgertons have been walking you down the corridor.  your heart aches with anguish:  you know you have failed when the children are the ones to care for the adult.

“i am sorry to have concerned you both.  yes, i— i am anxious.”

“it is reasonable to be anxious.  but there are a great many cakes at these balls, or so i’ve heard, so you can eat one, and then another, to help ease your nerves!”

“how is that of any help, gregory.”

“it is plenty of help!”

“to eat and eat when she is already uneasy?  the last time you were uneasy, you nearly—”

“do not recount that in front of y/n!”

“why not!”

“it is not— it is not proper!”  gregory’s voice jumps in pitch, causing a swift blush to form on the apples of his cheeks.  hyacinth snorts.

“why does your voice do that?”

“i do not know!  kate said it is natural for bo— for young men to experience such a thing!”

“aren’t young men meant to be tall?”

“i am an inch taller than you now!”

“you are not!”

“i am too!”

you laugh.  the youngest bridgertons halt their dispute and look at you. 

“i must say, your usual squabbling is keeping me much at ease,” and you offer a sympathetic smile to gregory.  “i am sorry that it seems to be at your expense, however.”

his eyes shine.

“you need not worry about me!  i am glad to see you smile.”

“i as well,” hyacinth adds.  you turn to her and see how her eyes shine too. 

“i am most grateful to you both for being at my side on such a night.”

“we are most grateful for you, y/n.”

“that is something, and probably the singular thing, hyacinth and i can agree upon.”

you plant soft kisses on the tops of their heads, just as mama and papa and your elder sister had done when you were their ages.  gregory and hyacinth nestle their heads into your upper arms and only part from you when the three of you reach the top of the first set of steps.  

“are you ready?” 

though you wish to say ‘no,’ you brace yourself with a deep inhale and nod.

your heart quickens with each step as time around you slows.  your mouth has gone dry, and your body feels entirely numb, sensation only returning to you when you feel hyacinth and gregory unhook their arms from yours.  turning your head, you see them stepping backwards, away from you, leaving you at the center of the landing to the rest of the grand staircase.  you face forward once more, and ahead, below, you see the gentlemen and ladies of bridgerton house, waiting for you, looking at you.  

you swallow. 

for the very first time, in your dress, by yourself, you take a step forward.

breathe, y/n.  shoulders back; tilt your chin up, but not too much; just as kathani had taught you.  and just, breathe.

but it is hard to breathe with all eyes on you.  with—

i must control myself.   i must not seek him out.  i must not seek out his face.  i must not seek out those o—

you step on the hem of your dress and feel yourself start to fall forward.  thankfully, god, for whatever reason, has blessed you with enough dexterity in this very moment, and you manage to catch yourself from tumbling down the steps as you hear gasps from above and below you.  you mumble an apology (you don’t know why; it is not nearly loud enough for anyone to hear) and offer everyone a smile.  upon seeing their relaxed shoulders and reassured expressions, you continue to descend the staircase.

stupid benedict.  distracting me in remembering how to walk, and how to breathe, and how to— 

oh.  

i am doing it again.

shit.

goddamnit, stupid benedict!

somehow, you reach the landing of number five’s entrance hall without any additional accidents and, approaching the bridgertons, immediately look to the viscountess.  as if knowing you seek her approval, kathani nods her head; a beam illuminates her countenance.  you feel yourself ease, your shoulders relaxing (that you promptly square again; you are, after all, pretending to be a lady for the night), your heart racing less, if only minutely, and manage a smile.  you feel someone take hold of your gloved hand and, turning to face the source, see violet gazing at you. 

“beautiful.”

it is all she says, but with such tenderness in her voice, it makes your heart swell.

“the importance of appearance,” rasps eloise, causing you to turn to her, “and the lengths gone to achieve so-called perfection of such, especially for those of feminine disposition, is an entirely antiquated, offensive concept that must be eradicated from our, and all, societies—— but you do, look, beautiful, y/n.”

you grin. 

“we’ll eradicate it together; and with help along the way, i am certain.”

when she responds in kind, you turn to the gentlemen, and, to your mortification, colin and anthony bow at you.  the high society etiquette directed towards you from your friends overwhelms you with an embarrassment that you cannot even begin to fathom; they haven’t performed such formalities towards you since your first meeting all those months ago.  but, in spite of your horror, the sincerity of their intentions, as well as their countenances, touches you deeply.

“madame delacroix and the maids have outdone themselves,” remarks anthony.  “as mother and eloise have said, you look beautiful, y/n.”

“indeed,” colin beams.  when he turns to benedict, however, his smile transforms into an expression befitting of a fairytale creature; one with mischievous intentions.  “what say you, brother?”

you follow his line of sight and connect with ocean eyes.  the flood of self-consciousness and the tempo of your heartbeats magnify hundredfold under his gaze, the butterflies within you fluttering the most violently they ever have, and you feel as though your entire body has been set ablaze.

anthony, with what looks like a smirk, nudges his brother with his elbow.  as if suddenly aware of where he is, benedict hastily bows at you and, returning his ocean eyes to yours, says,

“you look— well.”

you hear eloise snort.  turning your head towards her, you see she has completely sucked in her lips.  to her left, kathani smiles massively.  to kathani’s left, violet remains ever poised but with wide, sparkling eyes.  you still feel self-conscious but are infinitely amused by whatever is happening to the bridgertons and, with a playful smile on your lips, return your gaze to benedict.

“thank you, mr. bridgerton.  i had felt uneasy with an unnerved stomach earlier, but i am glad to know that my health appears to be in proper order.”

and you deeply curtsy at him. 

from above you hear the sweet giggles of the youngest bridgertons.  ahead, in your periphery, you see how anthony closes his eyes as he sucks in air through his nostrils and how colin, with an unabashed laugh, clasps his hand onto benedict’s shoulder.

“well!” anthony booms, attempting to control his smile on what ought to be an authoritative expression. “i believe we have a ball to commence.  shall you lead the way, viscountess?”

and with an expression both equal in authority and warmth, kathani declares,

“i shall.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.iii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you had grown ease of mind knowing that you would not be asked to dance.  not only were you a stranger to everyone in the ton aside from the bridgertons and penelope, you were also not handsome like the debutantes flitting about the room, swishing prettily in their gowns, strategically but delicately fluttering their eyes at a gentleman with which they wished to dance.  with anonymity and a plain face, you enjoyed the haven of people observing, snickering at the artifice and smiling at the sincerity.  kathani chatting with her guests.  anthony standing by her side.  penelope dancing with colin.  eloise hiding behind a plant.  violet beaming at her family.  (you tried to convince yourself that you had not noticed the absence of a particular person.)  your nerves have finally begun to calm, finding content in your station at the margins of the dance floor.

when colin bridgerton approaches you, hand outstretched in your direction, with a twinkle in his eyes.

“miss y/l/n, may you do me the honor?”

“i’m sorry, what?”

he laughs.

“will you dance with me?”

you gape at him.

“you’re mad.”

“my mind is perfectly intact.”

“this is unwise.”

“this is the best decision i have made this night.”

“i shall surely step on your toes.”

“i have worn my sturdiest shoes for the occasion.”

the corners of your mouth tug down into a moue at the third bridgerton’s stubborn charm.  his grin merely widens as your eyes narrow to slits at him.  penelope approaches from behind the beguiling imp and smiles warmly at you.

“it will be fun,” she encourages. “i promise.”

penelope!  no!

“et tu, brute?” you bemoan.

she shrugs.

“what is a ball without dancing?” penelope offers.  sweet innocence colors her voice, but the delighted glint in her eyes reveals her true duplicitous nature.  she knew exactly how to play the game of this conversation, no doubt a devious plot concocted between her and her beau.

you sigh.

“fine,” you huff, slapping your hand into colin’s palm.  “i would be honored, mr. bridgerton.”

the diabolical duo laughs at the sarcasm that drips from your words as colin leads you to the lineup on the dance floor.  

–

“how is the dance treating you, miss y/l/n?” 

“i hate you.” 

colin guffaws.  (you see in your periphery how heads shift towards him and how eyes narrow at you.  the partner you had just left looks at you with particular scrutiny.)

“if your hatred towards me is the cost of you enjoying the ball, then it is a burden i shall carry, and happily so.” 

“has anyone ever told you how infuriating you bridgertons are?” 

“no, but we very well know that we are,” he grins, “and we take immense pride in it.”

you groan, throwing your head back.  (you hear murmurs around you.  not ladylike.)

“are you truly not having fun?”  the gentleness in his voice makes you look back at him.  his expression is soft.  sad.  guilty.  “we can leave the lineup, if that is what you would like.” 

you consider his words and his offer.

“i am having fun,” you reply truthfully.  his eyes light up at that and your heart warms at the sight.  “it is just— being in a circumstance so wholly unfamiliar— it’s overwhelming, is all, i think.  but…” you feel a smile form on your lips, “knowing that you all—as infuriating as you bridgertons are—are here with me, by my side, wanting me to enjoy myself, wanting me to be happy, it makes all the overwhelming feeling worthwhile.  i am happy.  you all make me happy.”

colin doesn’t say anything.  he just stares at you as the two of you dance still.  you are about to inquire—

“i am grateful to call you my friend, y/n.  becoming your friend has been one of the greatest blessings to have been bestowed upon me and my family.”

you suck in a breath. 

as is becoming yours has been one of mine.

but another thought also lives in your mind.  so, on the exhale of your breath, you smirk.

“only second to falling in love with penelope, yes?”

he laughs, an uncharacteristic shy smile forming on his lips as he looks at his feet and then back at you, eyes shining incandescently.

“i hope you do not take offense to being second.”

“being second to penelope is truly, sincerely, still a victory in of itself.  you are very blessed, indeed, to be her premier.”

you did not think colin’s eyes could shine brighter than they had mere moments prior, but you suppose— no, you are certain that this is the effect that the love of penelope featherington has on the third eldest bridgerton:  the light in colin’s eyes is absolute radiance.

“‘very blessed’ is to put it very lightly.”

with unabashed grins, you and colin continue to dance.  you have to walk most of the steps, often keeping good on your promise and stepping on his toes, but your partner is deterred neither by your incompetence nor by his injuries.  the two of you laugh (drawing leers from the other guests, you notice but brush off) and end your dance with exaggerated flourishes of a curtsy and a bow to one another.

“you underestimate your dancing skills, miss y/l/n,” colin remarks with a beam.

“see if you feel the same after tending to your bruises, mr. bridgerton,” you beam back.

“colin bridgerton!”

you both whip your gazes to the call of colin’s name and see a man fastly, eagerly approaching.

“hastings!” 

hastings?  why does that sound familiar? 

colin and the absurdly handsome man embrace, smiles broad and sincere. 

“i was uncertain you would be joining us on this occasion.”

“we would have seen to arriving early, as we had intended, but augie is proving to be quite unpredictable with his tantrums as of late.”

“he must take after his uncles,” colin smirks with odd pride.  that makes the other man chuckle.

“unfortunately, it seems to be so.”

he then shifts his gaze onto you.  his expression is curious and— sweet?  kindly.  you feel yourself become rather self-conscious as you notice, in your periphery, colin assuming a posture of gentlemanliness.

“my apologies for my dreadful manners.  simon, this is miss y/n y/l/n.  y/n, this is simon basset.”

simon bows most graciously at you.

“good evening, miss y/l/n.  it is a true pleasure to finally meet you.  i am simon basset, daphne’s husband.”

daphne?  

as in daphne bridgerton?

you recall the day you and benedict toured the art gallery:  a portrait, a fairly recent one, it seemed, of a beautiful young woman and a beautiful young man—the duchess and the duke of hastings, the plaque read.

your jaw drops.

“you are the duke!”  you remember the etiquette kathani taught you.  “your grace!”  and you sloppily curtsy.

simon laughs.

“that is hardly necessary.  please, if you feel comfortable in doing so, call me simon.”

“yes— of course!, your— simon,” you compose yourself.  “and you may call me y/n; i would prefer it, actually.”

simon grins.

“then, y/n, may i have the honor of having your next dance?”

your jaw drops again, your composure completely falling away.  you look at simon, who is utterly amused by your reaction, and then to colin, who is utterly delighted by the turn of events, and back to simon.

“that is a mistake.”

that earns guffaws from both of the men.  (you feel stares falling upon them and, once again, scowls falling upon you.)  

“i am more than willing to make that discovery for myself, if you will allow it.”

you throw back your head (ignoring the additional glares shot your way) and, with a sigh, whip it back to look at simon with a fatigued, but earnest, smile.

“i shall allow it.”

colin bows his head at you, his grin having never left his countenance since the end of your dance together, and steps to the side as you place your hand into simon’s outstretched one and are led to the next lineup by the duke.

–

“has the duchess accompanied you to the ball this evening?”

“while it is poor courtesy to speak on behalf of my wife when she can speak for herself, i can say, with confidence, that she would much rather you call her daphne.”

“kathani had taught me your society’s etiquette in preparation for the ball, in the event it would be necessary,” you roll your eyes.  “while i find it all utterly ridiculous, and entirely unnecessary for me in particular, i want to honor the knowledge that my teacher has bestowed upon me as a way to honor her.”

simon grins.

“you are a dedicated student.  indeed, she is in attendance.  the last i had seen her, she was tending to benedict.”

your heart sinks.

oh no.

“tending to benedict?  is he unwell?  did something happen?  is he all right?”

you hear how your voice rises in pitch and grows louder and more frantic with each word.  (you try not to care for the stares that you feel on you.  they are not of importance right now——or ever.)

is that why i have not seen him all night?  because he is in poor condition?  shall i leave the ball?  shall i see where he is being tended to?  shall i—

“y/n?”

oh.  yes.  you were having a conversation with simon.

“sorry, what did you say?”

“i had said that i did not mean to worry you,” simon says sincerely, but there is something in his smile.  not suspicious, neither mocking nor teasing.  it is as if he is withholding the full expression of his emotion.  “i simply mean that she is speaking with him and— encouraging him, is all.”

you feel the entirety of your body, mind, heart, and soul ease; but now, you are perplexed.

“encouraging him?  whatever for?”

“i had not stayed with them long enough to hear the details of their conversation; i had sought you out rather immediately.”

“me!”

the dance had timed perfectly that upon receiving such information, you are forced to turn to another partner (who is unnerved to have you as a temporary companion).  when you reunite with simon, his chuckling has mostly subsided.

“indeed.  the viscount had encouraged me to ask you for a dance.  the viscountess then stated that you required the practice.”

“i—— am utterly lacking in words in how to respond to that.”

“if it is of any comfort to you, it was something i had already intended on doing.”

“that is, rather strange?”

he grins.

“i can see how that is so from your perspective, yes.  but from mine,” and it surprises you how suddenly simon’s countenance softens, “i had to find out for myself how wonderful this y/n y/l/n is to have so easily won the affections of all the bridgertons at number five.  daff and i, as well as francesca, were becoming quite jealous that we did not have the good fortune to spend time with you as the rest of the family has had.”

“the family has… spoken of me?”

“in these past months of knowing you, you have become their most beloved topic of conversation.  hyacinth and gregory idolize how resplendent of a storyteller you are.  eloise adores being challenged by your intellect.  colin aspires to your ferocity of quick wit.  kate cherishes every discussion you share together.  anthony reveres your unwavering resolve.  violet becomes overcome with delight at every recounting of a memory in which you are involved.  and benedict…”

you swallow.

“yes?” 

you hear how feeble and quiet your voice has become.  

“never stops speaking of you; so much so that it would be impossible to abridge what he loves in you.”

you shut your eyes closed at the words “he loves” and attempt to control the tears that threaten to flow at the word “you.”  

the love he has for you is not the love you have for him.

“i— i did not know that they held me in such high regard,” you whisper.

you flutter your eyes open, grateful that no tears have fallen, and are greeted by the gentlest of smiles from simon.  it assuages your soul.

“the highest of regards.  they care very deeply for you.”

“and i care very deeply for them,” you declare softly.  you then feel yourself break out into a smile.  “i cannot say the same for you, yet, but i can see it forthcoming.”

simon throws his head back with a loud laugh, your smile transforming into a large grin (as you ignore the scowls that fall upon you).  simon whips his head back to you, and he too wears a large grin.

“i am honored that you see the potential within me.”

with a final spin, you and simon release the other’s hand, ending the dance in a curtsy and a bow, both of your grins non-faltering.

“thank you for bestowing me the honor of dancing with you.”

you snort.  (you hear scoffs and other suppressed noises of disapproval.)

“i fail to see how much of an honor it is to have someone incessantly knock into you, but if such is your feeling,” you curtsy with much theatricality and, upon your rise, let out a sigh of relief.  “now, i shall retire to the margins once more.”

simon, once again, looks as if he is withholding the full expression of his emotions, but in it you detect— delight?  you narrow your eyes.

“what?”

“you are not meant for the margins, y/n; please forgive me,” and with that, simon bows, his smile still non-faltering, and turns to leave you in the middle of the dance floor.

you are about to call out his name, curious and agitated by his vagueness—

“y/n?”

you turn around to the familiar voice and are greeted by a smiling anthony.

“oh no.  are you going to ask me for the honor of having my next dance?”

the viscount looks as if he is about to howl with laughter and attempts to mask it, poorly, with his absurdly elated smile.

“is the idea of dancing with me truly so appalling?”

“the idea of dancing more is what i find so appalling.”

“i shan’t force you to do anything you do not want to do.”

“but how will your pride take it?”

this time anthony fully howls (earning looks of confusion at the host and their looks, predictably, turning to glares when they trace the impropriety back to you).

“i am always working on humbling myself,” he says, his expression softening.  “i assure you that i, as well as my pride, can manage your rejection if it means that you are happy.  you need not worry about my well-being.”

these damned bridgertons, and their damned charm, and their damned sincerity.

despite your internal accusations, you smile.  you offer your hand (hearing a gasp or a few around you), and beaming, anthony takes it.

–

“you look like a princess, y/n!”

the saccharine words of hyacinth echo in your mind.  with the transmutative magics of your fairy godmothers in mama, violet, kathani, genevieve, judith, alice, and the maids of bridgerton house, the impossible was made possible:  you look like a princess.  but it is not until this very moment, after descending a regal staircase, after entering this enchanting ball, after dancing with two dashing gentlemen and now a third, that you feel like a princess.  you recall how you and your siblings played imagination; how you often asked to be the princess; how you did it so often that mama sewed you a dress from scraps of fabric and papa crafted you a crown out of discarded branches and your elder sister announced you as princess y/n whenever you played and your younger sibling waltzed with you around the first floor of your home.  it makes you elated with childlike wonder how fortunate you are to be here and how lovely it is to be here, how strange and wonderful it is that imagination has become real life; as if it is all a wish for which you did not know you had wished, a wish that you did not know you had wanted to come true until it came true.

but—

“is there something on your mind, y/n?” you hear anthony ask, sometime after returning to him as your partner.  “you seem pensive.”

“ah, yes.  despite my gripes with you, and your brother, and your brother-in-law insisting on dancing with me—”

“i gave you an option not to do so!”

“i am not finished speaking!”

he huffs out air through his nostrils, waiting with what seems to be a morsel of patience for you to continue.

“despite my gripes with you, your brother, and your brother-in-law insisting on dancing with me—” anthony gives you a tired look that of an older sibling; you grin, “i am enjoying myself.  i just wish, i just wish my family could be here with me, to enjoy it too.”

anthony’s expression softens immediately, and it makes your heart tighten.  you know with what gravity, duty, and love he looks after the entirety of his family; you have witnessed it at every given second since becoming his friend.  if someone were to be with you as you navigate this pain, you are glad that it is anthony.

“we shall invite them to the next ball we host,” he declares.  your jaw drops.  “it was a lack of foresight on my part for not doing so for this occasion, and i shan’t make that error again.”

you try to do rough estimations of what costs that would entail for the bridgertons— dresses and coats and shoes and four to six sets of two abstained days of work at least.

“anthony, i cannot possibly ask you to—”

“you did not ask,” he grins.  “i offered.  and i do so wholeheartedly.  it shall not be a trouble for us, just strategic planning as kathani and i work the books.  and before you protest—” you frown, both disappointed and flattered that anthony could sense your retaliation, “it is something i—as well as the rest of the family, i am certain—wish to do.  if you won’t consider it for yourself and your family, then perhaps consider it as a gift to us selfish bridgertons.” 

that makes you laugh loudly as you feel tears form in your eyes (whispers of you be damned).  expression turning gentle once more, anthony continues,

“it would be an honor to finally meet your family.  if they are even an inkling like you, then they must be truly wonderful, indeed.”

with a small sniffle of your nose and all the gratitude in your heart, you smile.

“they are.  they are truly wonderful.  i love them so much.”

anthony smiles in return with a nod of his head.

“then it is settled.”

“you are a good brother, anthony.”

you have wondered often if that is something anthony knows.  while the bridgertons’ love for one another is apparent in all that they do and say and breathe, you haven’t heard them say very complimentary things to one another, particularly to the eldest.  it is typical of families to tease and to jest, you know that intimately, but you also know how important, then, it is to tell your family what you truly think of them, how you truly feel of them.  they ought to know just how much they are loved.

though his overall demeanor is composed and dignified, the softness in anthony’s eyes reveals his true emotion.

“and you are a good sibling, y/n.”

< their dance eventually comes to an end.  someone approaches them. >

“good evening, brother,” benedict turns his ocean eyes to you.  “good evening, y/n.”

“good evening, benedict.”

you vaguely hear something in your periphery.  you turn to it and see a brilliant grin lighting up the viscount’s countenance.

“huh?”

“i had said that the viscountess is calling me over to her.  i must pardon myself.”

“oh.  yes.  farewell, anthony.”

his grin broadens, dimples forming in his cheeks, and he bows.  you see how, as he brings himself upright, his eyes shift towards his brother, the delight in his grin never leaving but something in his eyes… softening?  before you can fully process it, he has turned and now walks towards kathani.

you turn back to benedict.

“i—— good evening, y/n.”

“good evening, benedict.  though, we have already greeted each other this night, just moments ago.”

“ah, yes— that—— that would be correct.  and— is… correct.”

he is anxious.  your heart aches at the sight, and you want to reach out and touch him, comfort him, ease whatever his concerns are—but you refrain.

benedict clears his throat.

“are you— are you enjoying yourself?”

while heavy by benedict’s current state, your heart cannot help but glow brighter at his question.

“yes, tremendously so.  the dancing has been plenty fun, despite how horrendous i am at it.”

that makes benedict laugh, and relief floods your body, mind, soul, and heart.  it is good to hear him laugh.  to see him smile.

“i do not think you are as horrendous as you think you are.  your form has been quite good.”

you cock your head, feeling the scrunch of your eyebrows and the smirk on your lips.

“you have been observing me?”

his jaw drops, his body stiffening again.  suddenly shy, he looks at his shoes and, with a cough, looks back up at you, and you attempt to hold in your gasp.

how.  

how is that, after all this time, he makes these butterflies within me flutter still.

“i— i do not have a clever diversion for that.  yes; yes, i have.  i suppose i have been building the— the courage within myself.”

“‘the courage’?  the courage for what?”

he swallows.

“to ask you to dance with me.”

oh.

“oh.”

he looks… he looks scared.  exposed.  vulnerable.

you feel them within yourself, too.

he offers his hand.

“may i dance with you, y/n?”

you place your hand in his.

“yes.  yes, you may, benedict.”

i am terrified of nothing else and would love nothing more than to dance with you.

benedict leads you to the floor, his ocean eyes never leaving yours, your eyes never leaving his.

the quartet starts up, and you detect how it is music for a waltz.  of all the dances you were taught, even you can admit that you were best at learning the waltz.  

…

you curtsy as he bows.  benedict places his hand on your waist, and you try not to elicit your gasp from feeling his touch.

< their dance commences.  they are silent.  a lot of staring and shit.

< notably, y/n is not cognizant of the ton’s perception of her while she dances with benedict as she had been with her previous partners.  it seems her sole focus in this moment is dancing with benedict, being with benedict.  her heart, mind, body, and soul is with him.

< y/n’s mind goes Rampant when benedict places his hand on her exposed shoulder. >

do not close your eyes, you reprimand yourself.  if you close your eyes, you will indulge.  you will indulge in this sensation.  in this touch.  in his touch.  in benedict’s bare hand on the expanse of your exposed skin.  in imagination.  in fantasies.  in thoughts.  in other thoughts on other parts of your body that you so, so very much want him to—

“i had not spoken properly.”

you try not to shudder a gasp upon hearing his voice.

“pardon?” you say, a bit breathless.  the dance calling for it, benedict twirls you, and you are now face to face again.

“earlier; when i had commented on your appearance, i had said you looked well.”

you snort, recalling the peculiar word choice, and that earns a smile from benedict.

“what i had meant to say is—“ he swallows, “you look beautiful, y/n.”

“i think,” you respond perhaps too swiftly, “that is testimony to genevieve’s skill and not to my appearance.”

“i think genevieve only enhances what is already there.”

you want to change, you don’t want to change— you do want to change the topic.  you cannot handle whatever— whatever benedict is insinuating.  the indecipherable, intense, attentive gaze of his ocean eyes on you.  it is so much; it is too much.

“she spoke of you.”

shit.  why did i say that?

his face immediately falls, ocean eyes transforming with it.

shit.

“genevieve spoke of me?  with you?  why?”

“kathani had accompanied me to the modiste, and i had shared with genevieve how i became acquainted with penelope and the bridgertons,” you half-truth.  “talking about the family, and then you, was a natural consequence.”

“what did she say?  about me?”

you try not to wince at the urgency in his voice.

“she shared how you and she had— an intimate and passionate acquaintance,” you divulge, using the words your friend had to describe the artists’ relationship.  perhaps you imagine the sensation, but you feel benedict wince as you dance.  “and that it was brief and no more.”

“she said that?  ‘brief and no more’?”

“indeed.”

he sighs.  you detect relief in the exhale, but perhaps you had, once again, imagined it.  you always had an active imagination; trying to bend what you perceive to what you wish was real.

“i see,” is all benedict says.

“do you care for her?” you inquire.  it is truly masochistic, what you are doing.  but you cannot help yourself.  it is something you often do when benedict is near.  when you and he are so close.

there is a small silence.

“i did.  at least, i think i did,” he shares. “i was hurt when our— acquaintance came to an end, but i was not heartbroken.  i had known nothing of heartbreak, not until—”

and he suddenly stops speaking, sucking in his lips.

“until?”

“nothing.  nevermind.  forget i had said anything,” he says all too quickly.  you laugh, and he scrunches his face in adorable disapproval at you.

“well, that only makes me the more curious, benedict!  the mystery of it, and your very clear blush, indicate it must have been quite the event.”

“i am not blushing!”

“you cannot lie about something i can literally see.”

“you are infuriating.”

“and what do you think you are?”

benedict just pouts at you, though you see the twinkle in his ocean eyes.  you want the twinkle to be of affection, but you will settle for amusement.  for friendship.  you take pride in how you can elicit this reaction out of him.  you take joy in how he can elicit this reaction out of you.  you love him, and you are grateful that is something you can say and know and feel.  even if he does not love you as you love him.

“the first time i felt heartbreak,” he begins, finally giving in.  you perk up in anticipation.  “was when— was when you had walked out of the house after i had crumpled the paper to the floor.”

you nearly stop in your tracks, halting your waltz with benedict entirely, until you find a way to recover and continue the steps with him.  he is looking intently at you, waiting for your response.  you inhale a breath and on the exhale say,

“oh.”

it is a pathetic response, but it is the only one you can muster at this moment.  breath has entirely left your lungs, your heart palpitates at a maddening rate, the lightning of benedict’s touch and proximity magnifying at every passing second.

“i had hurt you, this person whom i—” he swallows, “whom i care for, deeply and completely.  i was, and am, ashamed of my deed and the arrogant thoughts and beliefs that led me to do it.”

“i have long forgiven you for that, benedict.”

“it is something of which i am not deserving.”

“you cannot tell me what to think or do,” you challenge, arching an eyebrow at him to add levity to the conversation.  benedict smiles, despite himself, and it makes your body flood with relief and joy. 

“i would never dare.”

“as you shouldn’t,” you grin, then inhaling and exhaling through your nostrils.  “you need not flagellate yourself for what you did.  that accomplishes nothing, and guilt is entirely useless in the structures that be,” you say resolutely.  more softly, you continue.  “my forgiveness is something i gave you willingly because it is what i truly wanted.  because i knew, and know, how you wish to do better.  i see that in everything you do; in your art, in your character.  it is something i admire in you.”

benedict simply stares at you, his ocean eyes impossible to decipher again.  his gaze is overwhelming, but you refuse to break it.

“i was about to say how undeserving i am of your compassion,” he says, “but then swiftly realized you would have just admonished me.”

you laugh.

“you were correct in thinking so, yes.”

he looks at you still, his expression still impossible to decipher, but there is something soft about it.

“thank you, y/n.”

the butterflies within you flutter once more.

“and if you ever wish to discard your paper again,” you diverge from your feelings, “simply hand it to me.  i am always in need of more.”

he laughs fully, the corners of his eyes crinkling with delight, and you feel the flutterings violently rage within.  perhaps diversion was not the wisest choice (or perhaps it was, if it meant that you were the one to make benedict laugh like that).

“i have gotten quite good at maximizing the amount of negative space on a sheet, but nothing would delight me more than to support your writing.”

“i am most grateful for your patronage, mr. bridgerton.”

benedict makes something of a gagging noise, and you snort loudly.

“you are making it strange with the master-servant relation, y/n.”

“ah, so you are learning,” you comment with a sagacious nod of approval.  it is now benedict’s turn to snort.

“what can i say?” he grins.  “i have the greatest of teachers.”

“they have done quite well; please give them my regards.”

“i shall.”

and with the music coming to an end, you turn to face one another, wide and wild smiles on your faces.  you curtsy as benedict bows.  

“may i fetch you a drink?” he inquires after you are both upright again.

“is alcohol served at these occasions?”

benedict laughs.

“champagne it is.”

he gives you one more bow, lingering a moment more with one more smile, before taking off to retrieve your drink.

you try to bite back your smile, but it’s entirely useless.  you twirl in your spot, feeling the swish of your dress in the spin, for you cannot help yourself.  you cannot help how much joy radiates off of you in this moment, how giddy you are.  it feels like a fairytale.  you look in the direction benedict took off and feel your smile widen.

it is dangerous what you are doing— indulging in this.  but you do not care.

this is undoubtedly the most wondrous night of your life.

“so you’re the pauper that the bridgertons have invited to their ball.”

you freeze.

“how else would you have been asked to dance by the host—the viscount and a bridgerton, nonetheless; his two brothers; and the elusive duke of hastings?  it is an endearing sight, really.”

her posse snickers.

“the bridgertons have always been so kind and thoughtful in that way, extending their hands to the less fortunate.  why they chose you, however, remains a mystery.  if it were a pretty face that appealed to them, i perhaps could have understood, but you are simple at best.”

“you are cressida cowper,” you state.

penelope and eloise had warned you about a cruel creature amongst the ton, and the young woman before you matches all of the criteria they had described:  icy platinum hair, draconian eyes, and a haughty disposition that ought to be reserved for the royals.

cressida daintily gasps and smiles at you with what seems to be all the mockery she can muster.  

“i see that my reputation precedes me!  though, only those of my standing can refer to me as such.  cannot have my name tainted by the mouths of the lowly.”

you feel the gazes of other guests on you.  you hear muffled sneers.

this is entertainment for them.

you should say something, stand up for yourself— against cressida, against her posse, against the ton— but you don’t.  you can’t.  your mouth has gone dry, your mind has gone silent, your body has gone numb.  you have never, ever felt more powerless.

“your dress— did the bridgertons pay for it?  of course they did.  pity, though, for their wealth to go to waste on such an offensive thing.  allow me to assist you—”

and she pours her drink onto you.

you try not to gasp at the chill of the liquid making contact with your skin.  looking down, you see a reddish purple stain seep into the cream fabric of your ball gown as it continues to travel downwards.

you hear cressida giggle.  you look up.

“better,” she simpers.  “beautiful at last.”

her posse sneers with delight.  the guests who had tried to suppress their laughs do nothing to hide their mirth now.  

this is entertainment for them.  my humiliation— it is entertainment for them.

you step into cressida’s space, eliciting a stunned gasp from her as the others follow suit, and shove your face as closely to hers as possible.

“if we were not in your domain, i would rip out your delicate hair and strike my hand across your pretty little face.  but i am a lady—not in blood nor in title, but in character.  and with your words and your deeds, you have shown just how utterly undeserving you are of such a title with your complete void of morals, compassion, and integrity.  i do not care what you think of me, cressida, or what drinks you pour on me because i can rest easy in my sleep and waking hours knowing with perfect certainty that i am nothing like you.  i bid you good night.”

and maintaining the ferocity of your glare on her horrified eyes, you muster up the most mocking, deep curtsy you can, turn, hitch up your skirt, and run away.  you cannot care for the booming silence from that creature and her posse, for the murmurs and glowers of the ton thrown your way.  you cannot take time to process what words a flutters-inducing voice snarls at cressida.  

no. 

you must simply run away, quickly and efficiently, because you refuse to give into these monsters’ satisfaction of seeing your tears.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.iv ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

the cool air of the night whips your face as you run as far and as deep as you can into the gardens.  you curse your damned shoes, for they are slippery and nothing like your sturdy boots, and they make you realize even further how much you have fucked up in allowing yourself to get this far.  in allowing yourself to go to the ball, in allowing yourself to dance, in allowing yourself to fall in—

feeling your shoe catch on something, you fall forward and throw your hands out in front of you, your gloved palms digging into the bark of a tree trunk as you attempt to steady yourself.  you attempt to control the staggered rhythm of your breath, the sobs that choke out of your throat, the palpitations that threaten to collapse your heart.

why did i allow myself to get this far?

“y/n—”

you snap your gaze over to the call of your name as your stomach knots, somehow, even now, with flutterings upon hearing his voice.

“benedict, no— just— no,” you manage to croak out, stepping away from where he approaches.  you hold up your hand, as if it is a magical force that will push him away.  it does not.  “just go, please, just go.”

“i refuse to leave you, y/n, you are hurt—”

you cackle, sniffling the snot that tries to escape your nostrils.  you push your remaining hand off the tree and turn towards him.  

“hurt?  what gave you that impression?  is it the tears?  they are just water, benedict, they will dry.”

“this is not the time to jest!”

“then what do you want of me!”

“to allow me to help you!”

“why!  why do you care!  why do you care for some, some low status person like me!”

“that is not how i see you!”

“THAT IS WHAT I AM.”

he freezes.  you feel yourself clenching your hands into fists, your nails digging into your palms through the satin of the gloves that were bought for you.

“you are the son of a viscountess, a brother to a viscount.  i wonder every day if my family will have enough food to eat at our one meal.  we—” you gesture between the two of you, “—are not of the same world.  and maybe, maybe it should have stayed that way.  to, to have stayed in our own worlds.  we should have stayed in our own worlds!”

“and is that what you want?” he shoots back.

“what?”  you snark.

“is that what you want?  for us to stay in our own worlds?”

you fall silent, words suddenly failing you, breath suddenly leaving you.  he huffs out a breath and continues.

“if that is what you want, i shall stay away from you.  i shall never bother you.  i shall never hurt you as i have.  we shall—” benedict swallows, “we shall forget each other.  if that is what you want, y/n, i shall give it to you.”

you do not respond to him.  you stare into him as he stares into you.

“is that what you want?”

you shake your head as you feel fresh tears rush to your eyes.

“then what do you want?” he softly asks.

you flutter your eyes closed and breathe in.  on your exhale, you open your eyes to the tear-blurry sight of benedict still looking at you with such tenderness in his ocean eyes.

“i want you,” you whisper.

you barely have time to process anything else when benedict surges forward and wraps his arms around you in a crushing embrace.  tears fall even harder than before as you cry into his chest and wrap your arms around him.

benedict pulls back from the embrace to look at you, to cup your cheek, to wipe away the tears that fall so quickly from your eyes.

“i want you, y/n.  i want to be yours.  i want to be in your world, i want our worlds to be one.  i want to go wherever you go.  i want to make you laugh and to make you smile every day and every night; i want to do everything with you.  i want to be with you, to share this life with you.  from the moment i met you, from the moment you intended to shake my hand, i have wanted nothing more than to share all the time i have on this earth with you.  i do not care for balls, i do not care for the ton, i care— i care for you, y/n.  these are not the circumstances in which i wanted to confess this, with you crying and us yelling at one another, but i must be true with you.  i—”

“benedict?”

“yes?”

“may i kiss you?”

benedict’s jaw drops and you laugh at his shock, sniffling your nose as you beam at him.  he quickly recovers, breaking out into the smile that has always made you flutter with butterflies, the smile that you always secretly hoped, dreamed, wished was reserved for you.  and you begin to think that, after all this time, perhaps it is.

“good god, please, yes—”

he barely completes his ‘yes’ when you jump forward to crash your lips into his.  benedict practically trips backwards with the force of your eager leap, the two of you laughing into your kiss at the messiness of it all, as he holds you both steady.

this is your first kiss.  you are so glad that it is benedict.  

and somewhere within you blooms the hope that he is your last first kiss.  

you have no idea what you’re doing, or what you should be doing, but you are far too much enjoying having benedict’s lips on yours, your hands on his cheeks, his hands on your waist, and your bodies pressing more and more into each other to give the slightest care.  and the smile you feel against yours makes you think that benedict doesn’t mind—at all.

you pull apart to breathe, but your lips do not move far from one another.

“i love you.”

“i love you, too.”

“and i am sorry.”

“for loving me?”

you feel benedict jump back as he holds you, his face absolutely crestfallen, panic flooding his eyes, and he’s about to open his mouth to speak when you giggle and peck his parted lips with yours.

“i’m teasing you, my love.”

benedict’s eyes soften but quickly glint with mischief.  you’re curious about the expression when you feel him tickling the sides of your waist.

“okay, okay!” you gasp with laughter as he tickles on. “i— i yield, i yield!”

benedict grins victoriously, his tickles fading into him softly rubbing circles on your waist.

“i am sorry for saying that is not how i see you, when you spoke of your social standing.  i had not meant it that way, but i understand now how it was understood, and i should not have said it as i did.  i know that i have lived a life of unfathomable ease with the wealth and circumstances into which i was born.  the privileges i hold are not things i had reflected on, really, until— until i met you.”

you soften at his earnestness, by the way he humbles himself before you.  but you cannot help the giddy mischief that bubbles from within.

“did you only reflect on your privileges as to win a femme’s favor?”

benedict’s jaw drops again, but you see how his ocean eyes shine with like-minded playfulness. 

“do you truly think so lowly of me?”

you grin.  

“perhaps.”

you feel benedict teasingly threaten his hands into tickling position onto your waist, and laughing, you shoo them away.  he grins and softens his gaze once more.

“what i wanted to say to you earlier is— i wish you did not speak of yourself so harshly.  as if you are unworthy of care from me because of your status.  i care for you, i love you, y/n,  as you are.  as you were, as you will be.  with all your circumstances, all your experiences, all your deeds, all your words, all your thoughts, all your feelings.  for your heart, for your mind, for your soul.  i love you because you are you, and i wish for you to see that, for you to see you as i see you.  as so many of us see you.”

“i— i do not know what to say.”

“you do not have to say anything; just to, if i may ask of you, seed my words into your heart and mind and soul and know them to be true, wholly and completely,” a playful smile forms on his lips.  “though, i must say, i am rather pleased with myself for rendering a writer with ferocious conviction speechless.”

you roll your eyes, but your voice is soft.

“you have had that effect on me for quite some time, benedict.”

benedict swallows and gently rubs circles onto your waist again.

“i love you, benedict.”

“i love you, too.”

< y/n and benedict, hand-in-hand, start to walk towards the house; they are taking their time. >

“are you certain you want to return the ball?” benedict inquires.  “we can stay here in the gardens and wait until the last of the guests have gone.”

you hum.

“i would like to dance.”

“ah, was there a gentleman or a lady who caught your eye, miss y/l/n?”

“oh, loads.  i hope it won’t make you terribly jealous, mr. bridgerton.”

“it will, but i shall simply stare at them maliciously if their hands are to roam.”

“yes, my form is reserved for your hands and your hands alone.”

you exchange grins.

“indeed.”

benedict nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, and you laugh.  he lifts his head and plants a soft kiss on your temple.

“are you certain?  i do not mean to doubt you or your wishes to dance.  we can dance out here, under the bright light of the moon.  i want you to feel content and safe.”

“i do feel content and safe.  with you.  with the family.  within myself.  i shan’t let the ton or cressida ruin my first ball.  though, the idea of dancing in the moonlight is quite enticing.  perhaps another night?”

“you have my word,”  and bringing your hand to his lips, he kisses your knuckles.  a serene silence falls between you two until benedict makes some sort of a noise in his throat, as if to clear his voice.

“i, uh, must say,” benedict begins, “your confrontation with cressida was, uh, quite— alluring.”

you stop, letting go of his hand, and stare at him.

“alluring?”

a delicious blush colors your love’s face.

“indeed.”

a newfound bravery blooms in you.

you step into his space, not breaking eye contact with his blown out pupils, the ocean of his eyes mere outlines.  you sneak your lips towards his ear and hear a soft whimper emit from his lips.

“is that something of interest to you, mr. bridgerton?” you murmur, your bottom lip barely grazing his earlobe.  you feel him shiver and inhale.  “when you see someone be put in their place?”

he exhales frantically.

“it is something of interest to me when— when you do it,” he admits, as if out of breath.  you smile, pressing your bottom lip softly into his earlobe.  he does nothing to hold back his moan as you do everything in your power to hold in yours.

“that is good to know,” and quickly rip away from him.  

in your step back, you take in benedict’s state—flustered, expectant, ruttish—and wink at him.  you turn and walk away at your leisure, putting on a performance of superiority as you hide your own arousal.

it is only a few moments later that you hear benedict follow you.

“you,” he says, voice still fraught with desire but full with love, “will be the death of me.”

you look back at him and grin.

“and what would you like me to put on your epitaph?”

“benedict bridgerton, he who, in life and in death, loves the best soul to have ever existed.”

you cannot help your giddy self and close the distance between the two of you once more, grabbing his face and pressing your smile into his.  benedict happily obliges as he places his hands at the low of your waist and pulls you closer into him.

< they get into it! 

< y/n takes off her gloves so that she can touch benedict; she is about to throw them on the ground. >

“wait—”

and he takes your gloves.

“hm?”

“your gloves.  they were costly to make,” benedict states as he stuffs them into the inside pockets of his jacket.  “i don’t want to be flippant in letting them be discarded to the ground.”

you gape at him.

“you concern yourself with the cost of my gloves?”

“why, yes, of course, it is something i—”

you clutch onto the lapels of benedict’s jacket and push him backward into a nearby hedge, his mouth now agape and his pupils dark with a desire you very much want to satisfy.

“i find your consideration quite alluring.”

in the midst of his apparent arousal, benedict giggles, and that makes you grin.

“what is it?”

“a hedge, y/n?  of all things to anchor me against?”

you roll your eyes.

“it was this, benedict, or the bark of a tree.”

“ah, so i should be grateful then.”

you repeat his words with sped up mockery, making him laugh and the corners of his eyes crinkle in the adorable way that is so very distinctly benedict, and you capture your love’s lips again to shut him up, smiling and laughing into the kiss.

…

“what do you want?”

“you.  whatever you want, benedict, i want it.  please.”

“are you certain?” he breathes into your ear.

“god, yes, benedict, please, yes.”

“then—”

benedict positions his head downward, burying his face into the crevice of your bosom, and before you can even begin to tease him for his absurdity, you feel the wetness of his tongue flat against the curvature of your right breast.  your gasp of surprise quickly transforms into an ungodly guttural wail, feeling yourself dig your fingernails into benedict’s back, arching into him to steady yourself, as he painstakingly drags the flat of his tongue from your right breast against the expanse of your exposed chest to the length of your right shoulder.  dazed and euphoric, you feel how benedict sneaks towards your ear, hovers it, panting ragged breaths,

“i’ve wanted to do that since you descended the stairs in that dress.  and—”

taking your left hand, benedict pushes your middle finger and forefinger fully into his mouth.  he methodically works his tongue against them as he guides your hand to pull and push in him, his blown out pupils never once leaving your intoxicated stare.  you feel the desperate urge to throw your head back at the incandescent eroticism that throbs from your fingertips to the rest of your body, but may god smite you if you willingly tear your eyes away from the divine sight of benedict’s almost oceanless eyes gaping into you as his gorgeous mouth sucks on your fingers.  just before you feel as though you are to fully blank out and ascend into the heavens, benedict rips your hand out of his mouth, the action creating an obscenely delicious ‘pop’ sound, and, wrapping his hand around your wrist, pulls you back into him, your face finding respite just below his shoulder.

“i’ve wanted to do that since first drawing your hand.”

you laugh-cry into his jacket.

“shit, benedict.”

your love laughs and nudges his head into yours and rests it there as he softly rubs circles on your back with his thumb.

“please—” good god, breathe, “please remind me to ask you more frequently what you want.”

“did you enjoy it?”

“no, benedict, i quite plainly hated it.”

“i’d be glad to accept your critiques.”

“i know you would,” you smile into his jacket and, lifting your head, are greeted by your favorite sight:  benedict, with his soft smile and his gentle ocean eyes.

“i have never felt like that before,” you admit in a whisper.

“nor have i,” he whispers back.  that shocks you, and you must have made your reaction visible because benedict emits a laugh through his nose, soft smile and gentle ocean eyes unfaltering.

“but you have been with others before; you’ve had similar experiences, yes?”  

you had assumed that your exhilaration must have been, apart from it being benedict, rooted in your lack of experience in such things.

benedict brushes a loose strand of your hair away from your eyes and tucks it behind your ear, his hand moving down to cup your cheek, his thumb gently rubbing it.

“yes, but those were different.” 

you cock your head in response.  he smiles, as if it is apparent.

“because they are not you.”

the sweetness of benedict’s ocean eyes are quickly replaced with shock then delight and then you don’t know what because he closes them as you crash your lips into his.  whatever you had just felt before, you want it again.  you want benedict.  all of him.  and you want all of him to feel what you just had.

you lick his teeth, and granting your wish, benedict opens his mouth more, groaning, bringing his hands to the curvatures of your ass, pushing your bodies even closer together though no space left exists between the two of you.  you move your hand to the back of his head and, gripping a tuft of his hair, pull it roughly just as you capture his tongue with your mouth and suck hard.  the sounds that benedict produce in reaction are entirely inhuman, but you vaguely deduce he is trying to say your name, and you’ve never attended a concert but, my god, nothing will ever sound as harmonious as the symphony that is your name gutturally trapped in benedict’s throat.

continuing with the work you’ve done to undo benedict thus far, you take your other hand and start to rake it against his body, starting at the base of his throat, taking time and leisure to explore, lowering and pressing into his chest, wondering wildly what beauty exists behind his damned shirt, lowering and feeling the firmness of his stomach and trying not to completely undo yourself with the sinful, transcendent thoughts of putting your tongue there, lowering and lowering and touching something curious and unfamiliar and hard and—

when he pushes you off of him.

“benedict, i— i am so sorry,” you panic, “please, what did i—”

“no, no,” he swallows, “you did— you have nothing to apologize for, my love, you were— uh— you were doing quite——” he clears his throat, “you were doing quite well; very well, actually…”

you continue to frown, still concerned.

“then why are you so tottery?”

“because— because if we were to continue, i do not think— i know i would not last for— um, for very much longer.”

you jut out your hip, putting the knuckles of your fist on it, and furrow your eyebrows at him.

“benedict bridgerton, i still do not understand what you are trying to convey.  speak plainly.”

“we should stop.”

your jaw drops, as does your hand from your hip.

“why?” you practically whine.  you should be embarrassed by your desperation, but to be entirely frank, you couldn't care less.  benedict huffs out a laugh, still breathless, and, stepping towards you, lays a tender kiss on your forehead.

“as much as i would love for us to continue, i think being in the family gardens with a ball being held a few meters away is hardly an ideal location for the more— involved aspects of such activities.  the aspects i’d like to explain to you,” he takes another step into your space, lowering his voice to an unfamiliar but enrapturing gravel, “the aspects i’d like to show you.”

you swallow your whimper.

“i—— i would very much like that,” you manage.  and then you grin, “though, exploring such aspects in the family gardens sounds like it would be quite the adventure.  a calculated risk, if you will.”

the alluring tone of benedict’s voice is completely replaced with a giggle, and your grin broadens as you press even closer into him and nudge your nose against his.  benedict rests his forehead against yours and flutters his eyes closed.

“what did i do to have you love me back?” 

you flutter your eyes closed.

“you were you.  you are you.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.v ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< ahead, y/n sees kathani.  she makes the connection that kathani must have accompanied benedict as a chaperone so that y/n wouldn’t be “disgraced” by having a man by himself chase after her.  

< as the two approach the viscountess, kathani recognizes how disheveled y/n and benedict look and promptly fixes them to look more presentable. she takes some hedge leaves out of benedict’s hair. >

“i see that you are well, y/n?” inquires kathani.

“never better, actually.”

she laughs, a smile falling on her lips.

“i am sincerely glad to hear that.”

< they walk closer to bridgerton house. >

“you are fortunate that it was not anthony who volunteered to chaperone.  he would have not reacted well to his loved one being dishonored, as he would say, particularly on family grounds.”

“oh dear,” you say, nervous and suddenly self-conscious.  you do not want to be the target of the eldest bridgerton’s wrath.  “what have i done to dishonor—“

kathani laughs.

“i wasn’t referring to you, chellam.  i was referring to him,” and she juts her chin out at benedict.

“me!”

“anthony will be furious when he finds out that you have been— private,” she says, gesturing to his newly tidied appearance, “with y/n in the gardens.  not very gentlemanly of you.”

“he won’t find out!” benedict pauses. “he won’t find out— right, kate?”

kathani just makes a face of feigned deep thought and you chortle.

“kate!”

“i do not keep secrets from my husband, benedict.”

“but what if it’s for love?” he implores.  he says it facetiously, but you feel with what conviction he exudes his true feeling.

kathani’s expression softens as she looks between you and benedict.  you offer a small nod and a smile, confirming her thoughts.  she beams at you but then narrows her eyes at benedict.  there is no heat to her gaze; she is, however, having the most sublime time making her brother-in-law squirm.

“i do not keep secrets from my husband, benedict,” kathani repeats.  benedict groans, throwing his head back like a disgruntled child, and you belly laugh at him.  

“i hope you are ready for gregory to be your second,” she continues.

you almost double over as benedict snaps his head forward to look at his sister-in-law.

“gregory!”

“indeed.  it is a shame as well— anthony’s accustomed second being the one he has to duel,” she sighs dramatically.  “oh well.  colin will make a fine replacement.”

“this family is ridiculous,” you declare, grinning like mad.  “gregory seems a tad young, though.  what about eloise?  i am sure she would be a more than suitable second for benedict.”

“oh, i have no doubt,” grins back kathani, “but i would not dare involve a woman in the idiocy of men and their ludicrous concepts of honor.”

you and kathani laugh loudly, delighted by how much you are enjoying yourselves, untroubled by benedict’s moping.

“it has been wonderful being in love with you, benedict,” you state simply.  “it’s a pity that it has to come to an end so soon."

kathani snorts.  benedict stops in his tracks and gapes at you.

“you think i would lose the duel!”

“anthony is more stubborn; he would let it fuel his will to live.”

“i think you underestimate how much i love you and how that fuels my will to live.” 

you smile.  in your periphery, kathani smiles. despite his current displeasure with you, your love smiles.

“i suppose i do.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.vi ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< upon returning to the ball, y/n, benedict, and kathani see how anthony and violet are ensuring that the cowpers are leaving.  before the family leaves, y/n approaches cressida. >

“i do hope to see you at another one of these events.  if you find a way, of course, not to have yourself kicked out.” 

and you curtsy.  you turn to your love, his mouth in a wide smile and ocean eyes sparkling, and offer him a wink. you hear the quartet start up. 

“i believe it is time for another round of dancing.  care to be my partner?” 

“i would love nothing more.”

< they dance.  it is sweet, silly, romantic, and delightful.  both y/n and benedict touch each other beyond what is considered proper, like hands laying too low on the waist or eliminating the space between their bodies, but they truly do not care.  their unabashed joy is abundantly evident to everyone in the ballroom, but they are only focused on one another.  they are in their own world.  they giggle, they grin; it is the happiness they both deserve.  

< they dance the next set.

< after her and benedict’s third dance together, y/n makes eye contact with violet, who is at the margins of the dancefloor, eyes wide with joy. >

“as much as i love dancing with you, my love,” you beam, “i think i am in need of a new partner.”

< y/n approaches violet and with a bow asks her for the honor of being her next dance. though delighted, violet remarks how she is too old, and y/n says that the youngsters can learn a thing or two from her wisdom and skill. >

“we would need permission from the host,” offers violet.

“from anthony!  you birthed him!  you granted him permission to exist!”

that makes violet laugh.

< violet agrees, and they walk hand in hand to the dance floor.  in this dance, y/n and violet are partnered, benedict partnered with penelope, kathani partnered with anthony. >

…

“you’ve told each other."

“has anyone remarked how keenly insightful you are, violet bridgerton?"

“no,” the dowager replies with twinkling eyes, “but it is something of which i am well aware, and take great pride in.  i am happy for you both.”

“i am so glad to have your approval.”

“oh tosh!  as if a mother’s approval or disapproval can get in the way of real, true love.”

“perhaps so, but it is affirming to have the blessing from someone you so dearly love in a matter such as this.”

“you make it easy to love you, my dear.”

< the dance calls for a switch in partners.  y/n becomes partnered with penelope, and violet becomes partnered with benedict. >

“thank you, pen.”

“whatever for?”

“for bumping into me at the markets.”

penelope laughs.

“accidents are quite good, are they not?”

“i despise them, actually,” you declare with a grin.

< penelope reveals that benedict shared with her why he was not seen for the first three dances of the night. >

your jaw drops, and penelope merely titters in response.

“is that why i didn’t see him!  because he was lurking in the crowds to prevent men from approaching me?”

“it has been my discovery that the bridgerton brothers do not handle their jealousies well.”

“do you think gregory shall be the same?”

“oh, i am entirely certain.  he shall likely be the worst of all.”

the two of you snort as you are sent back to your partners, penelope with benedict and you with violet.

“and what has you and penelope in such giggles?”

“making barbs at your sons.”

violet laughs.

“they make it awfully easy to do so, do they not?”

< the dance comes to an end.  violet plants a soft kiss on y/n’s head.

< turning, y/n connects eyes with benedict who wears an incandescently happy expression. >

how could you not see it before?  how in love he is with you.

< tired but elated, y/n takes a break from dancing.  she reunites with the rest of the bridgertons at the ball.  y/n finally meets daphne, who remarks that she has heard so much about y/n.  eloise shares how the family wished to check in on y/n when she had returned to the ball to see that she was well; in a rare smile rather than a smirk, eloise shares that, upon seeing her dance and dance again with benedict, that she looked quite well indeed. at some point in the conversation with the bridgertons, y/n inquires when she can meet francesca.

< time passes, and joy is had amongst the bridgertons, penelope, simon, and y/n.  y/n cannot believe her happiness.

< the last dance is called.  benedict approaches y/n. >

“may i have the honor of being your final dance of the night?"

“you aren’t tired of me yet?”

“i shall never tire of you, y/n.”

upon taking your hand, benedict twirls you once then twice as he leads you towards the dance floor.  giggling and grinning, you decide to do the same to him, causing him to giggle and grin right along with you.

< they dance a fourth time. >

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.vii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< the guests have made their leave from the bridgerton ball.  colin, eloise, and violet have gone to their respective bedchambers.  

< anthony, benedict, kathani, and y/n walk up the steps of the grand staircase. anthony has his hand clamped on benedict’s forearm and pulls him up the steps with particular determination and quiet fury. >

“i know where i sleep, brother!  i have slept there since we were children!”

“i am well aware of that, benedict, and i am also well aware of how you— roam when enticed.”

benedict looks at anthony, to you (you just shrug as you look on at the exchange with excitement), and back to anthony.

“do you people really think so little of me!”

“i do not think little of you, brother, i just know you.”

benedict’s shock deepens incredulously, though you see the smile underscoring it all.

“i am a man of honor!  i am a gentleman!”

“yes, as am i, as is colin, as was father; all bridgerton men are, and all bridgerton men are idiots around the persons for whom they have affections.  now, go into your bedchamber,” anthony finishes as he shoves his younger brother into the room.

“you are a nightmare!” you hear your love shout from within.

“and you are to stay here for the remainder of the night!” he shouts back, leaning forward to grab the knob to benedict’s bedchamber and pulling the door shut with a loud thud.  he turns to kathani, composure returning to his senses. 

“my dearest, may you call samuel and lawrence, please?  i shall have samuel stationed here and lawrence stationed outside benedict’s window.  they will be paid double their wage for these extemporary responsibilities.”

you laugh with your whole stomach and feel tears sting your eyes.  you have no concern in hiding your howls until you remember hyacinth and gregory are asleep and promptly clamp your hand over your mouth.  your hand succeeds in muffling your laughter, but marginally.

kathani rolls her eyes at her husband and deeply sighs.

“i shall,” she replies, smiling at her love’s antics.

pleased with her answer, anthony right about turns at benedict’s door, places his hands behind his back, and stands up tall, taking his temporary duty as guard with the utmost gravity.  something then eases in his posture, and he turns to you.

“i hope you have enjoyed your night, y/n.”

your heart swells.

“it was wondrous, anthony.  thank you.”

he beams, brilliant delight in his eyes.

“i wish you good rest.”

and with a bow of his head, anthony turns away from you and assumes his station once more, gravity and perfect posture and all.

the viscountess turns to you, her smile having softened, and says, “let me escort you back to your bedchamber.  i shall help you prepare for bed.”

–

“despite his many flaws,” kathani says with all amusement and fondness in her voice as she removes the pins from your hair, “anthony is, indeed, a man of honor and honesty.”

“i never had my doubts, but—” you snort, “that has certainly proved it.”

“it is because he thinks so highly of you,” she shares, looking at you in the mirror.  you turn around in your seat and connect with her eyes, eyes that are filled with so much warmth.  “he cares deeply for you, y/n.  anthony is only that overbearing and overly protective when it comes to his family, and he sees you as our family.  we all do.”

you suck in air through your nostrils, feeling the swell of your heart.  how did you get so fortunate as to be so loved by this family?  

though, you detect something in kathani.  her words are sincere, of that you are not doubtful, but they do not seem complete.  it is as if she wants to say more, if the blossoming twinkle in her eyes is indicative of anything.  but kathani does not elaborate.  

instead, she picks up the brush on the vanity and gently brushes your hair.  it reminds you of when your elder sister used to brush your hair before bedtime.  you close your eyes, humming.

“i see you all as my family, too.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.viii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< the next morning, late morning.  the dining room. >

“you are infernal,” benedict deadpans to anthony, staring at his brother and taking his seat next to you.

“you are incorrigible; i was correct,” anthony responds, his eyes not leaving his paper.

“correct about what, brother?” hyacinth asks.

despite their current rivalry, benedict and anthony both freeze.  kate speaks on their behalf.

“your eldest had deemed it necessary to have lawrence stationed outside below benedict’s bedchamber window in the early morn and was proved correct in doing so; your second eldest had attempted to escape by way of that route.”

“stationed outside his window?  why would that be necessary?” gregory inquires.  he turns to benedict.  “and why were you trying to leave through your window?” 

in his periphery, benedict sees you whipping your head.  you seem to have suddenly found some interest in the painting on the wall faced away from the current scene.  he notices how you hide your smile behind your fist and how you attempt to suppress the convulsions of your laughter.  kate, on the other hand, unapologetically laughs.

“i am certain you will learn in due time, gregory.  it is something of a tradition, it seems.”

“will i get to participate in this tradition?” hyacinth enthuses.

“NO!” benedict and anthony shout in tandem.  they look at each other, and the elder gives a ‘see!’ face to the younger.  benedict just rolls his eyes.  

his eyes eventually land back on you:  you have now totally hidden your face in your hands with elbows perched on the table for support, any attempts at hiding your laughter now entirely gone.  your entire body vibrates as you somehow squeak and guffaw into the palms of your hands.

“ugh, why do adults always speak in such vague statements!” hyacinth grumbles as she slumps in her chair and crosses her arms.  she then suddenly shoots back up and looks at you.  “y/n, you only speak in riddles when we play!  may we play now?”

“yes!  may we play now?” gregory pipes up.

“please!” the two youngest plead in tandem.  benedict looks to you, and wiping away your hands to reveal your face red from laughter, you say,

“i would be— i would be delighted to do so,” you take sharp breaths in between attempts at controlling your laughter.  “perhaps—” you full on snort, and it makes benedict break out into a grin, “—perhaps, after the young sorceress and— and the young knight slay the wyvern, they— they will save the— the—” you laugh hard again, “the princess, captive and forlorn in her tower.”

gregory and hyacinth shout their joy and take off from the table.  

“you haven’t been excu!— oh, nevermind,” anthony grumbles in an uncanny, childlike resemblance to his youngest sibling.

benedict watches as you use your forefingers to swipe at the corners of your e/c eyes, fits of laughter still bubbling out of your mouth.

i love her, and she loves me, he thinks in awe.  it has been on repeat in his mind since you confessed to one another in the gardens just the night prior.  she is mine, and i am hers.

“your lordship,” you giggle still as you look at anthony, and benedict snickers, “may i be excused to play make-believe with your youngest siblings?”

anthony rolls his eyes with much theatricality, but his smile at you is sincere.

“you are not my sibling,” he states, but benedict catches how his elder brother quickly glances at him with eyes that say ‘yet,’ “you need not my permission, but yes, you may.”

you bow your head in dramatic gratitude, causing kate to titter and anthony to look to the ceiling, and you lift yourself up from your seat.

before you follow after his siblings, benedict reaches out and gently takes your hand.  you look at him, and he feels how his stomach flutters when his blue eyes makes contact with your e/c.  just as it did the first time, just as it did every time after.

benedict feels you softly rub three circles on his hand.  he softly rubs four circles on yours.

“good day, princess,” you say with a wink at your love, slowly slipping your hand away from his and then turning to walk out of the dining room.  benedict stares at you as you leave.

i love her, and she loves me.  she is mine, and i am hers.

“when do you intend on proposing, brother?” anthony smirks as he puts his teacup to his lips.

benedict smiles, looking off at where your laughter is heard. 

“later this afternoon.”  

anthony chokes on his tea, and kate, patting her coughing husband’s back, arches an eyebrow at her brother-in-law, amusement dancing in her eyes. 

“without a ring?” 

benedict turns to look at the couple and grins.  

“who said i don’t have a ring?”

“you are joking,” anthony says matter-of-factly.  “we all are excited at the prospects of y/n officially joining this family, but you just confessed your love for one another not even twelve hours ago.  we are still breaking fast!  there were guards at your door and your window!  how could you have already procured a ring?”

benedict smiles, digging into his pocket.

“i do not jest, brother.”

and, with pride, he holds up a thin band made of twisted paper.

“now, if you will excuse me,” benedict announces, lifting himself out of his seat, giving a kiss to the top of kate’s head, and ruffling anthony’s hair.  “i must be going.”

“and where are you off?” anthony demands as he straightens out his hair.

“do you think i am going to propose to y/n without asking her family’s permission first?  would not be very gentlemanly of me if i did.”

“how do you know where she lives!”

“that is what you were asking penelope last night,” kate answers.  anthony looks at his wife, incredulous and in awe.  benedict grins.

“exactly so, sister.  i’ve always known you held all the intelligence between you two.  i would have seen to it sooner, but—” 

an image of e/c eyes and ink-stained hands flashes in his mind, the flutterings in his stomach intensifying.  butterflies— that is what he will paint next, he decides.  

after he finishes his portrait of you.

“—i was held captive in my tower.”

[shaisuki]

Can you do (separate scenarios of course <3)Bachira, Nagi, Chigiri, and whoever else you’d like to add in a scenario where their chubby and soft girlfriend tries her hardest not to be insecure about her body but the insecurity really sneaks up on her a lot? So like, when the bfs find out, not only do they comfort her, but they show her just how much they love and adore her body if you catch my drift <3 Thank you so much!!

❝ ENDLESS ADORATION. ❞

FEATURING. BACHIRA MEGURU, NAGI SEISHIRO, CHIGIRI HYOMA, BAROU SHOUEI

CONTENT WARNINGS. body insecurities + self-loathing + body dysphoria + smut + mean barou + implied fingering + degradation.

NOTES. i'm so sorry it took so long nonnie. it wasn't deleted or anything but i hope you like it, nonnie. thank you for requesting!

SYNOPSIS. don't ever let them catch you being insecure about your body, they had plenty of ways to show you how much they adore your body and you.

BACHIRA MEGURU

“you could be so mean to me, baby.” he whispers. his hands roaming all over to the expanse of your soft body. his bright yellow eyes glowing more than ever at its reflection in the mirror.

he got you trapped from his grip. his arms snaking to your soft middle while his jaw rests on your shoulder. caught in the middle of you criticizing yourself and bachira wouldn't allow that. “how selfish.” he mutters. his teeth grazing at the shell of your ear and it sends the slightest of tremors throughout your body.

you can't help but to tear up a bit. “h—how am i selfish, megu?” you stammer. avoiding your reflection at the large mirror in front of you. you don't want to see yourself nor catch him staring at you with those round eyes of his. so full of life, enthusiasm. confidence. a thing that you will never attain.

“you're selfish for hating, keeping this body that is mine. who gave you that idea, hmm? it's not your place to judge this body that i dearly love and its owner.” he hums, chuckling that it reverberates to your skin and to your aching core. his palm gliding through your stomach lifting the pesky clothing to reveal the stomach that's far from being leaned nor toned. it is round, the excess fat protruding giving you the impression of a pouch but bachira could careless about it. his fingers sinking to the soft flesh, like paws of cat kneading and pressing the fleshiness of your skin.

“what if this cute stomach of yours is flat? i couldn't hold it. what i am going to do with my hands...” he mutters, pinching your stomach then his fingers glides through the skin of your thighs. “this thighs of yours, how is it going to crush me if this isn't that thick, warm me even. so selfish.” prying your thighs open and his hand settles to the mound between them. slender and nimble fingers brushing through your panties. rubbing your slit and a huge grin plastered in his face when the wetness of your fat pussy began to drench your panties.

“don't be mean to this body of mine, baby. perhaps i'll show you what i'm capable of to make those silly ideas forming in your head disappear.” he says, pressing a chaste kiss to your round cheek.

“i hope you can take me cause i ain't stopping.” bachira's eyes glowing more than ever and you know what it means when he get this riled up. his grin wider and you braced yourself. you know it all too well and you accepted it.

those thoughts of yours wouldn't be visiting you anytime soon after bachira had fucked you into oblivion.

NAGI SEISHIRO

nagi isn't insecure.

the word is foreign to him and the feeling of it. he's lazy, unmotivated and such unwanted thoughts isn't welcome and worth worrying over. why would he bother with such thing when in the first he didn't care. that's what he thought until he met you.

his soft, chubby girlfriend who had been nothing but loving and supporting to him. nagi didn't quite the gist when he caught you staring at yourself in the mirror with a frown in your lips. he only looks at you briefly before going back to his console. paying it no mind since when did nagi felt of being insecure.

then it began to affect him and yours. mostly yours. when you began to push his affections.

“seishiro, not now please.” your voice coming in a low whisper. gently pushing your white haired boyfriend in his head. shifting into more of a comfortable position in your bed. nagi groans, lips curling into a frown. a rare occurrence of him. he doesn't get upset since he don't like giving things the benefit of his time when he can give it to something more important.

he doesn't stop though. his huge build hovering above yours before putting his whole weight to yours. “sei!” you scolded him but nagi didn't listen burying his face in to your neck. nuzzling like a cat, he's almost purring from it.

he shakes his head. interlocking his fingers with yours. placing it beside yours and you were left powerless against your boyfriend's overwhelming strength. his lips finding refuge in your neck, tongue moving to lick the soft spot of your neck.

this isn't nagi who would make an effort to go down in you. well, at times when he's feeling it. the need to show you how much he loves you.

“pretty.” he murmurs. his hand now holding your thigh even though his large palm engulfs the majority of your thigh it wasn't enough to cover how big it was. placing it beside his torso grind his bulge to your cunt. “i always need you, want you.” he says. pressing a sloppy, lazy kiss to your lips.

nagi isn't good at words but he's willing to try for his soft, chubby girlfriend. it would be troublesome if he can't get his girl out of those thoughts of hers.

CHIGIRI HYOMA

chigiri's blessed with his looks that every people that within his eyesight cranes their neck to marvel at his looks. it didn't matter that he was rather feminine than other girls and he gets teased a lot by the guys around him. he just take after his mother.

there's no time to feel inadequate at things let alone how he perceive himself. he couldn't remember when the last time he felt insecure or been really insecure about himself and then he fell in love with you or it is that how being in love is. he have you and he was contented at that and being with you. he has to fight the battles that dwells inside you and chigiri isn't good at it. comforting another human being even it is his significant other.

so he tries. sees your eyes brimming with tears whenever he calls you pretty and he's confused.

“i'm not chigiri! look at you, you're beautiful and i'm not, you're lying.” he was taken aback at your outburst at him but he is quick to wipe your tears away while he whispers the very words that comforts you.

his sweet, crybaby.

“so, i am but you will always be my pretty baby.” brushing the loose strands of his reddish pink hair to see you better. he kisses you desperately like you were the air to fill his lungs to breathe again and you both stared at each other. he smirks when he sees you're already in a daze. mind spinning and only you can think is him.

his nimble fingers working through the garment of your panties. toying with hem before pulling at it downward to show that pretty pussy he's deprived of.

so he pumps his finger full in in your sopping hole. watch as it drips with slick coating his fingers. hear that delicious squelch while he stretches you. his ego inflating the more he hears you moan, call his name in the same breathy way that got you begging from him. all your insecurities dissipating like bubbles from the way his fingers stretches you out. he could do this forever.

wait until he fucks you dumb. you will forget those stupid insecurities along with your name.

BAROU SHOEI

barou doesn't play nice nor comfort you with those silly, sweet words that one needs to hear when in a struggle of battling with themselves. he simply doesn't need to play nice and comfort you and what only to question it again.

his actions says otherwise. he got you on all fours, your ass raised in a position you never knew you could. his hands gripping your round stomach so tight while he pounds you from the back. it is relentless. the groans and the moans mixing with one another while you hold tightly in his muscular arms his other hand cupping your jaw. forcing you to look in the mirror.

“you are nothing but my cocksleeve.” he says in between grunts. his red eyes glimmering, peering at his girlfriend who is currently sobbing, moaning like a broken record while tears streamed down at her round face. you whimper at what he just called you.

“you are. there's no denial in that. look at you, crying a baby and yet your pussy squeezing me like a whore.” the words stung and he spoke it the way he means it and barou isn't known to lie. his tongue made of barbed wires that is meant to hurt, talk about how awful everyone and you believed it that you are his own for him to use. your cries a little louder and thick droplets of your tears falling from your eyes.

it's funny how his words hurt you and it works like magic forgetting your earlier dilemma of hating yourself, of hating the body you live with.

you let him. bruise your body with his thrusts, with his touch. if this is the only way to forget everything so be it.

and so he did. he breathes in your cheek. growling at the way your cunt clenches tightly around him. you did feel so good to him. he cups your jaw harder, squishing it with much strength that you can't speak. your body reeling in sensitivity that you failed to notice how he pays attention to your soft bits. particularly to the parts where it leaves you frowning and he loves every part of you.

that's why he gives them the love, the care that you will never bother to give but available to scrutinize and he's filling out that so one day, you'll stop looking at them that they've wronged you and barou isn't the one to get mushy. he is still the hotheaded, competitive, bulky man that would not admit he loves you but his actions tells another story.

with the tight squeeze of your cunt around him, he finally reaches his high. yours and his orgasm hurling at you both that he can't help but to bite your shoulder and you — only a broken moan that music to his ears.

if this is the only way to shut you up and comfort, he'll do it over and over again until you can't speak no more and your eyes are brimmed with tears.

[chaberkowepole]

So cancelled

I have a super important question for you. Coop Kind oder Migros Kind? Jokes aside I always find it funny when fellow Swiss people are internet celebrities. I just never expect it because so many of them are from Anglophone countries, or just larger European countries, so it's always a nice little surprise, haha. Stay silly <3

coop kind

[circeyoru]

Foreign Reality

[Sung Jinwoo x Memory intact!Reader - Academy Arc]

As weird as it sounds, you recall a world that was the same as this one but different. There were things known as ‘Gates’ and inside them are ‘Dungeons’ filled with all types of beasts and monsters that bring mankind harm. To counter that, there are awakened individuals known as ‘Hunters’ that would go into these Dungeons to defeat the boss and prevent an outbreak. That was the gist of it.

Now there was nothing. When you told your parents about it, they told you that you were dreaming too hard and that you needed to wake up. 

So how could you not feel the chill when the newly transferred student entered the classroom? Somehow you were able to recognize him. In your dream, he was the strongest Hunter, from the bottom to the top, he was famed for his strength and will to protect. Yet most remember him as the one-man army because of his ability to command shadow beasts and monsters. 

While the class teacher gave the former strongest Hunter the time to introduce himself, you already recalled his name like an echo to his introduction. “Sung Jinwoo.”

Over the next few days, Jinwoo was the topic of discussion for many people, both students and teachers. The girls were fonding over his coolness and smart nature, as he was top of his class like you were though you relied on your former knowledge and mentality. The boys were envious of the attention he was getting and his seemingly handsome appearance. The teachers praised him for his academic results and athletic talent. There seemed to be no flaws or faults with him.

Well, almost. It seemed like he was a bit on the dense and serious side. 

You recall the first day when a group of boys taunted him for wearing a single black glove over his hand, only to end up backing down when Jinwoo showed them a nasty scar. At the time, you were just passing by to leave the classroom, but you swore that scar couldn’t be made by normal means. Then again, you never knew what Jinwoo went through in his upbringing, so you kept it to yourself.

Then there were the constant confessions. You lost count of the library or rooftop confessions that you happened to stumble upon during your breaks. The library and rooftop were your go-to places to relax, yet somehow, Jinwoo’s love confessions were always there and sometimes in the hallways. You’d always see girls crying their hearts out and running away, when you looked over, Jinwoo smiled and waved at you. 

Though you nodded your head with a neutral expression before you left. You really wanted to give him a piece of your mind, by then you were sure he rejected and made a bunch of girls cry. If he weren’t the former strongest Hunter and praised and admired by you, you would have given Jinwoo the cold shoulders. You wondered if he had always been like this even before the timeline repeated itself.

But there were times when you wondered if he knew that time repeated like you did. You hoped that there was someone you could connect with. There was so many times that you felt so foreign in your place. Like everything was a lie. Maybe it was because you were used to the you and world in that former timeline, maybe it was because everything felt so real there and to be denied that reality was breaking to you.

So that might have led you to what you did then.

It was any other day after school was done and it was time for the extracurriculars. Jinwoo was in track and field while you were in a literature club. Yours ended earlier than his, and when you left, you’d catch him on his breaks. Like always, he’d be under that tree, sitting at the base of it and holding onto his water bottle while he napped a bit. 

Your legs brought you over to him and you squat down to stare at his features. Your eyes blinked as you waited for any form of reaction from him. If he were like you, he’d still have his Hunter senses, but there was none. Your face crunched together a bit as you tested another method. You slowly and gently took his bottle from his hand, still he didn’t seem to be conscious. So you sat down by him and set his bottle between you two.

“Hey, do you remember something like a portal to dungeons? Like in those games or movies? Haha, it’s silly huh? But I remember a world like that. There were brave Hunters who protected normal people with their powers and strength every day, they risked their lives to protect humanity. No matter their rank.” You stared at the sky as you talked your mind out. For some reason, you felt comfortable saying all this to him, even when he was sleeping.

Of course, you never saw the twitch in his fingers and the various eyes that stared at your form from the shadows. You continued your ranting.

“There was once the weakest Hunter who tried his best just to get by, then he was suddenly the strongest. Despite everything he went through, he never hated others or the world, nor did he take revenge. He was so selfishly selfless.” You clenched your hands as you looked down, “I’m sure, in the end, he did something, but it wasn’t just for himself. I can’t tell, but he was so stupid to just suffer the weight of it all alone.”

You failed to notice how his jaws clenched tightly.

“Haha. Well, I’m just being silly.” You got up and patted your clothes to remove any dirt or grass stuck to your fabric. You looked down to see if his form had changed, only to notice nothing out of the ordinary. You chuckled, picking out a leaf from his hair and blowing it away so that it could follow the breeze. You turned your attention back to him and bowed your head saying, “Thank you, Hunter Sung Jinwoo, for all you’ve done.” You straightened up and smiled before turning away from him. “I wish you the happiest lifetime for your efforts and suffering.”

Not even a few steps in, your eyes widened as your smile fell straight from shock. A pair of strong arms wrapped around your waist as your head tilted to see who it was. Jinwoo.

“Always. You always have a way with words. You know that?” Jinwoo’s voice cracked. 

You flinched, figuring he heard you, “Uh, um, I was just referencing to a novel the literature club had its members read! Nothing too serious! I, really…”

The way Jinwoo’s eyes glowed purple made your words fall short. “Don’t lie. You remember. You remember it all. Please.”

Your heart ached for some reason you can’t explain. In your memories, you were nothing special to the S-Rank Hunter Sung Jinwoo. You were one of the bystanders who cheered him on. You were only something to him when he visited his mother at the hospital, you as the doctor in charge of his mother’s treatment and stay. After his mother was discharged, there was no reason for him to return or visit the hospital because he had no need for it. 

Once, you witnessed his soldiers when his sister was brought to you to check due to some dungeon break in her school. You were so busy calming her down that you ignored the soldiers’ stare. When the Hunter appeared in the room, you professionally relayed his sister’s condition to him and he, in such a troubled state, didn’t spare you greetings of the like. 

After then, you’ve been keeping an eye out on the news for his good work for humanity. Just silently cheering him on from the sidelines because you knew you wouldn’t be able to help him. When you saw him with other S-Ranked Hunters, you felt content and proud, sometimes you can’t believe that was the same small frail E-Rank Hunter that would try to pay his mother’s medical bills with wounds and injuries all over his body. 

You reached your hand to the top of his head as best you could. Perhaps it was a good thing. In this world, he doesn’t need to throw himself into the dangerous dungeons with monsters that want to tear him apart. “Yes, I lied. I remember it all. But aren’t you going to go look for your other friends?”

His grip on you tightened. “I... I’ve wanted to stay by your side for a long time, but it was either you were too busy with your work or I was. There never was a time. When I reversed time, I thought I could correct things. But this time, there were other obstacles.”

“You could have just come talk to me.” You chuckled at his words. “Instead, I got a look good at how you’ve always made girls cry. Can’t you let them down gently?”

“But I was being honest.”

“Brutally honest…” You sighed. 

Jinwoo loosened up a bit, turning you so that he’d meet your eyes and you’d meet his, “What does this make us?”

You poked your finger at the middle of his chest, pushing him away from you, “Nothing serious. We’re starting from rock bottom. As friends.”

Jinwoo smiled, nodding at your words. “Well, we both have the time.”

“Right.” You huffed, content with this result until you recalled something. “Wait, you reversed time!?”

That day, under the tree and with the breeze of the wind, your surprised rambles gave the Shadow Monarch his solace back. For so long, he has dreamed of meeting you again and staying by your side. You were so diligent and caring that he never stood a chance, even when he became an S-Rank Hunter. 

Jinwoo laughed while you continued to speak at the speed of light over what he said. His eyes curled to crescent moons as he watched you stress over what insane thing he had done for the world again. All the while, within his Realm of Eternal Slumber, his Shadows cheered for their reunion, certain few plotting ways to move the relationship faster and deeper. 

With your distracted mind, Jinwoo plopped his form on top of yours while you tried to balance yourself. “It’s so good to have you back.”

“I’ve been here the entire time…” You pouted while you grounded yourself from the sandbag over your head. Still, you can’t help but chuckle, messing up Jinwoo’s hair. “I’ll be in your care this time.”

Note: Another Solo Leveling work! Hope you guys enjoy this one too!

*edited note: I'm opening the request for Solo Leveling request only. Check my masterlist for the rules. Thanks~!

Circe Y.

My Works: MASTERLIST

[plant-ago]

An Open Letter to Dan and Phil

Dear beloved nerds,

This was originally going to be an (even longer) actual letter that I was going to give to you at the tour, but my nonprofit-employed ass can’t afford a meet and greet, so we’re doing this instead. I promise it’s not just trauma dumping— mostly, it’s about saying thank you and trying to cultivate some hope for all of us.

I’ve been a big fan since around 2014, when I was a mentally ill neurotic deeply repressed loner egg (average phannie, let's be honest). Now I’m a whole adult who got therapy and HRT and has joined the legions of transmascs with the Dan Howell haircut! What a legacy.

I’m making jokes because the thing I actually want to talk about, and the reason I decided to make this an open letter, is kind of serious. But in light of the election, I feel like I need to share this, both with you and with all the other queers in this little corner of the internet.

Here’s the gist: I’m a paralegal at a non-profit organization that works to help queer migrants get asylum. Mostly what I do is sit them down in our nasty sterile office and try to be kind, and help them get through telling me all the most terrible things that have happened to them, and then turn around and pare it all down into legalese that is digestible to the government to make the case they should get asylum.

It’s a horrible job, really, and one that shouldn’t have to exist. Some parts are plainly wonderful, like meeting so many queer people from all walks of life. But it’s also heartrending and difficult, and burnout is always looming. My horrible banal work is often literally a matter of life and death for the client, and I’m fighting a broken system for a chance at giving them the happiness and safety is owed to them by international law and, really, by any decent human standard, should never have been in question.

The thing is—and this is reason to hope—queer people really do exist everywhere, no matter how much repression and violence we face. In a tiny village in Colombia, there's a kid who’s all spit and vinegar, dresses like a boy and plays football and fights anyone who says that they can’t, who grows up wiry and gets black eyes because men still can’t handle getting their asses handed to them on the soccer field by a dyke. This client texts me at my work number sometimes to ask if I’ve eaten that day, because they wanted to check in on me. He asked me to call him by a boy’s name, recently. I don’t know that he’s told anyone else. I open every message I send him with "Hola, James."

Then there’s the sweet, babyfaced college freshman who got death threats when he was outed to his classmates back home, and whose parents kicked him out when he refused to marry a girl to protect the family's reputation, leaving him alone in a foreign country. He was couch surfing and just trying not to miss class so he could keep his student status and he was so conscientious I wanted to cry— he’s eighteen, guys. Eighteen. I’ll get him his papers or so help me fucking God I will kill for him. You know? You know. After that meeting I had to sit at my desk with my notebook and fill an entire blank page with the phrase “he’s just a kid,” over and over again, until I felt like I could breathe.

On a Friday morning recently I get up and open my laptop to interpret on a call with a soft-spoken older trans woman who's sat in the bleak phone room of the ICE detention facility because her immigration judge didn’t believe that she was really transgender. “An odor of mendacity pervades everything the respondent says,” the judge wrote in her ruling, where she determined the client wasn't "credible." To this day I’m still floored that she straight up ripped off Tennessee Williams—new frontiers in bigotry, truly. She didn’t even cite. In our meeting now, the client quietly tells us how hard it was when she came out but how happy she was the first time she wore makeup, and she'd rather stay in detention here for indeterminate years as proceedings spiral on than go back to Guatemala, where they'll kill her—boys, if I ever get within spitting distance of this fuckass judge, it is on SIGHT. Absolutely fucking ON SIGHT. For legal purposes, that was a JOKE.

So I finish the call and get up to get a snack. It’s only ten am but feel tired already because I’m angry, which is not unusual but also not something I want to hold onto, because it doesn't help anything. So I make some toast and look at my phone— two texts, which I ignore, a spam email, and, wouldn't you know it, a YouTube notification from Dan and Phil games! Jarring! That’s just sort of how life is though, isn’t it? Deathly serious and lighthearted in the same breath.

But regardless, seeing the notification makes me feel warm, so I have my toast and watch a little video of you two playing Roblox or dress up or whatever it is you do on that channel these days. I have a good giggle and I finish my toast and go back to my desk. It’s a crucial part of my diet really— the giggles, not the toast. I’m not angry anymore. I’ll be angry again, but for now my cortisol levels are manageable and I can put my head back into emails or whatever the fuck. Do you ever think about how plants make food for free out of sunlight but we sit around writing emails all day? And that’s if we’re lucky. Capitalism is hell.

Anyway, there is a point I am trying to make, and it’s not really about the banal horrors of neoliberal nation-state or capitalism or even homophobia. It’s to say thank you for coming back to make silly videos together, because I love them, and you never fail to make me happy. And yeah, maybe something about the story of that scared eighteen-year-old kid at the front of my mind makes it particularly sweet to watch you two goofing off and being openly queer. It reminds me why I’m doing what I’m doing, and it gives me the strength to send another fucking email because sometimes doing “important work that I value and believe in deeply” means having to send another fucking email. And sometimes I’ll rewatch your older videos, and then come back to the more recent ones, and my heart bruises, because you remind me what I’m fighting for and why. It’s nothing grandiose, it’s just— for queer people to get to have the ability to grow into themselves and be outrageous and silly and make mistakes and to love and be loved for who they are. To have the safety and support and security that no one should ever go without. That’s all.

So I am being dead serious when I say thank you for making top-tier light entertainment, and for coming back to a job that wasn’t always kind to you, and that it does actually matter. All this talk about terrible influences and legacies has made me think that sometimes you doubt whether you do good in the world, so let me be clear: you really, really do. I kind of get the sense that in order to accept sincerity Dan needs to be beat over the head with it, so if that’s the case, consider yourself coerced, you dickhead. You matter to me, and especially in times like these, I think I speak for all of us when I say that the joy you share is a precious and treasured gift. So please accept my gratitude in return.

All my love,

Jules

(I removed or changed all identifying information in this letter to protect privacy, but the stories are real).

[yuesya]

According to the legends, the wind barrier surrounding Mondstadt had been raised after a terrible, vicious battle. The Dominator of Wolves had rallied his kin, and sought to slay the hated enemy of all Beast-kin, the Great Hunter who was Lord and Protector of Men. For the Wolf-Lord had heard whispers that the Great Hunter had been injured while fighting a monster from a far-off land, and thus Andrius the King and Father of Beasts finally saw an opportunity to put an end to a hated enemy.

But the Wolf-Lord’s efforts would be in vain; the Great Hunter had struck the beast-god with a wound that would not heal until it renounced its enmity against mankind. Angered, the Dominator of Wolves had attempted to bury Mondstadt in an unending storm of ice and snow in retaliation.

Lord Decarabian had countered this by raising howling winds around the territory of Mondstadt, keeping out the Wolf-Lord’s curse.

…

Ventus is very familiar with the legends. There are at least a dozen versions of it written down in song and poetry, praising Decarabian’s might and majesty, and even though the details differ, the general gist of it remains the same. The patron god of Mondstadt had fought a terrible battle against the beast-god of Wolvendom, and the wind barriers that surround Mondstadt to this very day are the results of that conflict.

“… It’s all true?”

Knight-Captain Kairos Imunlaukr nods solemnly. “Legends grow and are embellished over time –but my clan has kept records of this since our founding days. We were not native to Mondstadt; our ancestors once pleaded with many different gods for assistance when disaster struck our homeland… and the Lord of Storms was the only one who stepped forward to help us, even at great cost to themselves. But the Beast-King learned of Lord Decarabian’s momentary weakness, and led his armies to attack Mondstadt. The results…”

The results in the history that Ventus learned painted it as a victory. Lord Decarabian had defeated the King of Beasts and dealt them a near-mortal blow, and the Gale Knights had driven the Horde away and out of Mondstadt’s borders. But at the same time, the curse of ice and snow that the Wolf-Lord had left behind and the impenetrable walls of wind that had been raised in response to that…

“If the wind barrier comes down,” Ventus says slowly, “Does that mean the Wolf-Lord’s curse is still…?”

“From what we’ve heard from foreign travelers that manage to find their way through the barrier, all paths leading to Mondstadt are surrounded by permanent snow,” the Knight-Captain responds. “But… it’s far less severe than what the legends paint it as. Currently, I do not believe that Mondstadt would be overwhelmed by ‘accursed winter’ if the barrier were to disperse… but I know better than to underestimate a god’s strength. If Lord Decarabian has chosen not to lift the barrier, then it must be for a reason.”

A curse was not what Ventus had expected to encounter in his mission to get rid of the barrier surrounding his home. But it’s a valid reason to be concerned. If that is what Decarabian is protecting all of them from… Ventus is thankful.

But at the same time, Mondstadt can’t continue on like this, cut off from the outer world forever. Resources are running thin, and–

And Ventus knows that he’s not the only person who wishes to step outside this cage. A cage made of goodwill is still a cage, in the end. It might sound ungrateful, but…

But compared to slowly withering away under a god’s protection, Ventus would rather brave the unknown dangers that await them outside.

He’s not about to charge into this blindly, though. And since the reason why the barrier exists is because of the Wolf-Lord’s curse, and the potential threat of it is why the barrier continues to stand to this day, then it means…

It means that if Ventus wants to convince Decarabian to get rid of the wind barrier, then the first order of business is to make sure that the Wolf-Lord’s curse isn’t an issue anymore.

Ventus has no idea how to go about breaking an angry beast-god’s curse, but… well. There has to be a way, right?

They’ll find a way to solve this. For Mondstadt, and for the future.

“I will not betray Lord Decarabian and work against their commands. However, I… will ensure that your petition reaches their ears,” the Knight-Captain tells him quietly. “I know of your concerns, and I can’t say that I haven’t harbored similar thoughts before. But I trust that Lord Decarabian would not do anything that would harm Mondstadt. That the barrier continues to stand, with no signs of dissipating… perhaps there may yet be other circumstances that we aren’t aware of as well.”

“We’ll figure it out,” Ventus says determinedly. “And… thank you. For hearing me out, and for agreeing to petition Lord Decarabian regarding this matter.”

“You’re not the only one with concerns about the eternal barrier, Ventus. Thank you for being brave enough to speak of this to me.”

[grits-galraisedinthesouth]

History Repeating Itself 💔

Joe Biden’s Role in the Yom Kippur War

Joe Biden had his first meeting with an Israeli leader, Golda Meir, on the eve of the Yom Kippur war, right after meeting with officials in Cairo. During the then junior senator’s meeting with Meir, Biden suggested that Israel make a unilateral withdrawal from settlements for peace, criticizing the settlement policies of the Labor Party, and suggesting they represent a form of “creeping annexation.” Though Biden assured Meir that Egyptian officials were convinced of Israel’s military superiority, 40 days later, Sadat initiated a surprise attack against Israel.

This is the gist of a bombshell tweet from Israel’s Channel 13 reporter Nadav Eyal containing excerpts from a classified memo from an Israeli official who attended that fateful meeting. While it may have been the first meeting between Biden and an Israeli prime minister, it was certainly not the last. In subsequent meetings with Israeli prime ministers, Biden threatened Menachem Begin with withholding U.S. aid, and publicly upbraided Benyamin Netanyahu because it had been announced in a town council meeting that 1600 homes were to be built in future in the Jewish Jerusalem neighborhood of Ramat Shlomo (more about this here).   

Joe Biden paints that early meeting with Golda as something precious that cemented in his mind how important Israel is to the Jewish people. It is clear, however, that Joe Biden has always been against the Jewish people settling their indigenous territory. The very thought of Jews planning to build homes in Jerusalem makes him furious. Therefore, contrary to the love fest with Golda he has often described, Biden used the first chance he had to meet with an Israeli prime minister to broach the subject of unilateral concessions.

One wonders how much clout the young senator wielded at that time. Not to mention the timing of subsequent events, with the surprise attack on Israel by Egypt occurring just 40 days after Biden’s meeting with Meir. Is it possible that Golda Meir incurred wider U.S. displeasure by refusing to entertain Biden’s suggestion of unilateral concessions? Was Egypt perhaps emboldened by this state of affairs to attack Israel without fear of American intervention?

During its years in office, Israel fought the 1956 Sinai War, the Six-Day War and the Yom Kippur War. Labor agreed to UN Resolution 242 and the notion of trading land for peace. Nevertheless, successive Labor governments established settlements in the disputed territories and refrained from dismantling illegal settlements, such as those established in 1968 at Qiryat Arba in Hebron by Rabbi Moshe Levinger, and others set up by Gush Emunim. By 1976, more than thirty settlements had been established on the West Bank; however, their population was fewer than 10,000.

"TODAY’S BLOG:

Joe Biden’s Role in the Yom Kippur War

In January 1973, Joe Biden was sworn in as Senator from Delaware.

September of that year found him in the Middle East on a trip to Egypt. Shortly thereafter, Biden was in Israel in a meeting with Israeli PM Golda Meir.

In that meeting, Biden convinced Meir that Egypt would not attack Israel by convincing her that Egypt thought that Israel had absolute military superiority.

The meeting was documented on October 2, 1973 in a secret letter (below) written by Israel Foreign Ministry official Gideon Jordan. Four days later Egypt attacked Israel.

Foreign Ministry official Gideon Jordan summed up Biden’s words as follows: “Of all the personalities (in Egypt) he (Biden) met, he heard that there was not one of them who disbelieved in Israel’s perfect military superiority and therefore stated that it is not possible for Egypt to go to war against Israel now. According to the people he spoke to Egyptians, time will take its course and when God wills, he will find the solution.”

What this letter calls into question is Joe Biden’s extreme misreading of Arab “personalities” and their intentions. His misreading–and that of Israeli intelligence–had disastrous consequences in the Yom Kippur War. One cannot help but think of similar Biden misreadings when it comes to Iran, Lebanon, and elsewhere.

Gideon Jordan later notes in the secret document that Biden was interested in more than Egypt: “The senator repeatedly said that Israel should do a unilateral act, that is to withdraw from some territories, of course not from those territories of strategic importance such as the Golan Heights, Sharm el-Sheikh and the Gaza Strip–but to withdraw without even any negotiations or an agreement with the Arabs.”

Jordan remarks that Meir immediately disagreed with Biden about unilateral withdrawals without achieving true peace. Again, one cannot help but think about the disastrous Biden unilateral withdrawal from Afghanistan, and the unilateral concessions that the U.S. has demanded from Israel in the current Lebanon “agreement” talks.

The secret letter is below for those of you who read Hebrew:

When Biden met Meir: Joe Biden advised Jewish PM to trade land for peace - The Jerusalem Post

 Biden meeting between Joe Biden and former Israeli Prime Minister Golda Meir, described in a memo published by Israeli reporter Nadav Eyal, sheds light on the former Vice President's thought process at that time, and what he believed Israel should do shortly before the Yom Kippur war broke out. The meeting took place following his return from Egypt where he discussed with Saadat several things, roughly 40 days before the surprise attack that would turn into the Yom Kippur war.

https://www.jpost.com/us-elections/when-biden-met-meir-joe-biden-advised-jewish-pm-to-trade-land-for-peace-646732

[perseephoneee]

first time w/ Benedict Bridgerton pretty please 🙈 for your kinktober

kinktober 3 (benedict bridgerton x f!reader)

↳ masterlist  ↳ ship exchange ↳ taglist ↳ kinktober masterlist

content warnings: more of a drabble, public place, unprotected, sex before marriage (gasp!)

a/n: so you're probably wondering where i went! the gist is last week one of my best friends texted me that she wanted to talk but then postponed the talk for several days later (so i spent all of the week in anxiety). when we finally did talk, it was for her to say that she a) wasn't interested in hearing from me and b) that she wouldn't offer explanations and then basically broke up with me :) so I've spent most of the past several days sobbing. anyway, this is short and I'll be uploading prompt 4 as well today.

You were never good at following the rules. If you were, Benedict probably would’ve never noticed you, and you wouldn’t be in this situation. If you hadn’t been stealing food off of plates and sticking your tongue out at noblewomen as they turned away, Benedict wouldn’t have found you amusing and sought you out. You both wouldn’t have entered into a tenuous friendship and wouldn’t find yourself in a dark room with the second eldest Bridgerton, kissing like your life depended on it.

You were a scandal waiting to happen, that you were aware, but you couldn’t seem to care. His lips tasted of champagne, and his hands were gripping your waist, one dropping down to bunch up the skirts of your dress. He brought your leg up, letting himself press closer. There wasn’t a part of you that wasn’t touching, yet you yearned for more.

“Ben,” you breathed, breaking apart. “Take off my gown.” Benedict paused, looking at you with caution. “Are you sure? You’re an unmarried woman—”

“Who you have pulled into a dark room to fornicate with, we are past the pleasantries of society, and all I want is you,” you said, brushing your thumb over his cheek, your expression softening. “If you still want me, that is.”

“Darling,” Benedict grinned. “You’re all I want.”

He kissed you again, so much more tender than the fiery passion of before. He spun you around, making quick work of your gown and corset so you were left in your undergarments. Your fingers trembled as you undid his jerkin and tunic, but he covered your hand with his and helped you. You breathed out as his skin was revealed to you. You leaned in, kissing over his collarbone and the column of his throat. You felt Benedict take in a deep breath, hands grasping your hair as you kissed his neck. You started to resent that women were denied such a pleasure until marriage. Benedict pulled your head back, kissing you again, all tongue and teeth. You sighed, so lost in him that you weren’t fully aware of his hand bunching up your slip and brushing over your clothed mound.

“Drenched already,” Benedict chuckled. Your heart was beating fast as fingers dipped beneath the fabric. You let out a choked sound as he touched parts of you that had never been caressed that way before. Benedict helped hold you up as you felt yourself melt in his arms, the circular motions of his fingers sending tingles throughout your body. He lightly pushed a finger inside of you, going slowly as you adjusted to the foreign feeling. Your eyes were squeezed shut as you panted, Benedict caressing every inch of you as he whispered sweet nothings in your ear. His breath was hot against your skin, and you were overwhelmed as a sudden feeling crashed over you. Everything in your body tightened and crested. You bit down on Benedict’s shoulder as you came, muffling the cry of his name for fear of someone finding you. He slowed, and when he removed his fingers, licking them clean with a wink, you recognized that there was never going to be anyone else for you than him. He brushed some of the loose hair away from your face. “Do you still want me?”

“Yes, very much so,” you sighed, lungs still remembering how to breathe. Benedict undid the ties on his trousers, picking you up and wrapping your legs around his waist. You let the wall hold your weight as he carefully pushed into you, letting out a shaky breath in the process. You bit your lip as you got used to the feeling of him, and he was kind enough not to move until you were ready. As he felt your muscles relax around him, he started to push in and out of you slowly. Benedict buried his face in your neck, whispering praises as he tried to control himself from taking you too roughly. You gripped his shoulders, wrapping your arms around his neck as you tried to stifle your moans. When you came the second time, it was much more sudden, and you wrapped yourself around Benedict so you wouldn’t fall, fall, fall. Benedict came soon after you, cursing softly as you felt yourself become infinitely full. You loathed when he had to separate from you, kissing your forehead and cheek with the softness of a lover.

“I should probably ask for your hand in marriage now,” Benedict chuckled.

“Yes, I suppose you should, Lord Bridgerton,” you smiled coyly, kissing him so and feeling thankful that you wouldn’t be spending any more days without him.

[aanoia]

Orphic (pt.2)

pairing; Ao'nung x Sully!reader Orphic; (adj.) mysterious and entrancing; beyond ordinary understanding words; 4,727 warnings; injury, mentions of death Pt. 1; Pt. 3 I'd like to quickly explain why the Metkayina kids call Lo'ak and Kiri "four-fingered" freaks instead of "five-fingered" freaks, because I was confused about it for a while. The gist of it is that the Na'vi don't consider the thumb a finger, so techincally the pure Na'vi have three fingers and a thumb, and those with human blood have four fingers and a thumb :) (maybe I'm just stupid but yeah in case anyone shared the same confusion) Personally, I think this chapter is better quality. Eventually, I'll go back and heavily revise chapter one :) If you have any contstructive criticism PLEASE dm me, I'd love love love to hear from others on how I can improve my writing. It's always been a silly little dream of mine to publish my own novel, and I'll accept any help I can get.

The sea clans are a world unto themselves.

The salty, warm air tickles her nose as she breathes deeply. The sea and the magnificent creatures it houses are truly beautiful. Her father had once explained the concept of a vacation to the girl, a getaway to escape life for a short amount of time. For the time being, the girl has decided to push aside the grief of leaving behind her home, and she'll simply view their absence as a vacation.

Thousands of islands. An known territory into which we could just vanish without a trace.

“Are we there yet?” Tuk breaks the silence, her voice laced with sleep.

Y/n's lips curve upwards, “Look.” She points to the approaching island, thick with foliage and beaches around the edges. Tuk’s face lights up, and upon passing the reef, the water below lightens significantly. The Metkayina people holler and whoop at the sight of newcomers, both out of fear and wonder. The differences between these people and the ones in air are stark and noticeable. A Na'vi blows air through a large conch shell, which emits a horn sound to alert the village of the family approaching. 

The beauty of the village and its intricately woven maruis entrance Y/n, and she gazes at it in wonder.  Her father yips, and the Sully family finally lands on a patch of sand. The ikrans squawk loudly, their wings finally finding rest. the family dismounts, and the foreign feeling of sand beneath Y/n's toes makes her smile. Her leg has healed enough to no longer need crutches, much to her father's dismay, she's able to limp forward without any assistance. 

“Hey, leave it.” Her father gently instructs his mate. “On me.” She glares at Jake for a second, before reluctantly leaving her father's bow on her ikran. 

“Who are they?” Tuk asks her mother softly.

Neytiri's eyes scan the crowd with a scrutinizing gaze, “Be nice.” She responds. 

As a sign of peace, Jake holds his hands up in an attempt to prove he means no harm. He's the head of the family, and Y/n stands next in front of Kiri and her brothers, almost in a protective way. The crowd parts, and a large boy walks through, his held high. A smaller boy with kind eyes follows him dutifully. The first boy intrigues Y/n, and she keeps eyes on him. Her brothers quietly sign ‘I See You’ to the two, but neither reciprocate. 

“Easy, just be cool.” Jake leads his family. The tall boy stalks behind Y/n and her siblings, and studies their tails with a weird look. 

“What is that?” The smaller boy asks, pointing at Neteyam’s tail. 

“Is that supposed to be a tail?” This time it was the taller boy that spoke. The crowd murmurs, a few laughing, and Y/n hisses softly at him, which earned her a stern look from her father. She sighs and instead looks at the sand. A beautiful girl emerges girl emerges from the sea, and Y/n can hear Lo'ak’s breath catch. She exchanges a knowing look with Neteyam, a small grin on their faces. 

“It’s too small. How are they supposed to swim?” The small one questions.

The girl slaps the boy's hand, “Enough, Rotxo, Ao’nung.” She scolds quietly and turns to the foreign family with a gentle face.

“Hey.” Lo’ak says smoothly, and Y/n glances at him weirdly as the girl laughs shyly. Y/n’s attention shifts to yelping, and a man mounted on a large flying fish lands in the water. He dismounts gracefully, and his status as Olo’eyktan is apparent by his dressings.

Tonowari was the chief of the Metkayina, the Reef People. 

“Olo’eyktan. I See you, Tonowari.” Jake touches his hand to his forehead and extends it to the man.

Tonowari does the same, “Jakesully.” His voice is rough, but has a kind undertone to it. 

I knew he was a tough leader. But it wasn’t Tonowari I was worried about. 

An intimidating woman, makes her way through the crowd, staring at the family with caution in her large eyes. Y/n knows she is Ronal, the Tsahik of the Metkayina.

“I See you, Ronal. Tsahik of the Metkayina.” Her mother and father extend the same greeting. 

“Why do you come to us, Jakesully?” Tonowari asks, glancing at the faces in his group.

“We seek uturu.” 

“Uturu?”  Ronal asks incredulously.

Jake nods, “Yes, a sanctuary for my family.” Ronal steps forward as Tonowari speaks.

“We are Reef People. You are Forest People. Your skills will mean nothing here.” Y/n bows her head as Ronal passes her. She silently greets her with her fingers to her forehead. Ronal narrows her eyes at her leg, but moves past her without a word. 

“But we will learn your ways. Am I right?” He asks his mate, who gives a curt nod.

“Yes.” Ronal grabs Neytiri’s tail, inspecting it. She drops it and takes Tuk’s arm.

“Their arms are thin. Their tails are weak.” Kiri yelps as Ronal takes hold of her tail. “You will be slow in the water.” She grabs Kiri’s wrist, and looks at her hands. Y/n has to refrain from showing any irritation. “These children are not even true Na’vi!” 

The crowd gasps as Kiri tugs her hands away, “Yes, we are!”

Ronal moves to Lo’ak’s hand instead, “They have demon blood!” The crowd exclaims, and a few people take defensive stances, growling and hissing at the group as Lo’ak stares at the sand. 

“Look.” Jake holds his hand up to show five fingers. “Look. Look, I was born of the Sky People and now I am Na’vi. All right? You can adapt. We will adapt.”

“My husband was Toruk Makto.” Neytiri adds, her eyes narrowed at Ronal. She steps forward. “He led the clans to victory against the Sky People.” 

“This you call victory? Hiding among strangers?” She glances at Jake. “It seems Eywa has turned her back on you, Chosen One.” Neytiri snarles and hisses at Ronal angrily, and the pregnant woman returns the favor, her eyes widened.

Jake steps between the two slightly, “I apologize for my mate. She’s…”

“Do not dare apologize for me-”

“Flown a long way and she’s exhausted.”

“Jake.”

Tonowari jumps in, “Toruk Makto is a great war leader. All Na’vi people know his story. But we Metkayina people are not at war. We cannot let you bring your war here.” Jake carefully picks Tuk up upon her request.

“I’m done with war. Okay? I just want to keep my family safe.” Tonowari and Ronal share a look.

“Uturu has been asked.” Neytiri finalizes, and Y/n holds her breath. The leaders of the Metkayina people share a silent conversation with their eyes.

Tonowari takes a deep breath before turning to face his people, “Toruk Makto and his family will stay with us. Treat them as our brothers and sisters. They do not know the sea, so they will be like babies. Taking their first breath. Teach them our ways so they do not suffer the shame of being useless. 

Jake nods, looking down at Tuk, “Okay, what do we say?”

“Thank you.” Tuk smiles widely at Tonowari. The rest of the family thank the Olo'eyktan and Tsahik as well. Y/n can feel eyes on her, but she ignores it, assuming it's the judgemental eyes of the crowd.  

“My son, Ao’nung, and our daughter, Tsireya, will show your children what to do.”

The boy steps forward defiantly, “Father, why do-”

“It is decided.”

The girl, Tsireya, steps forward with an easy smile, “Come, I will show you our village.”

Y/n smiles softly at Tuk as the small girl giggles at all the new things. She takes a special liking to a creature the Metkayina ride. Kiri urges her forward, and she bounces to her side. Tsireya leads the family into a large marui, and Y/n looks around the beautifully crafted homes.

“This is for you.” Tsireya says softly. “You’re new home.”

Jake smiles, “Yeah, this will work.” He takes a few steps inside, looking around. “This is great. It’s nice, right?” He asks his wife, who simply drops her mat distastefully. 

A few hours later, Y/n is sitting at the edge of their morai, her dangling feet just barely touching the water as she watches some clan members fish. Her brothers pass by her, but Neteyam lingers by her side, wanting to join his twin.

“Sully’s, fall in.” Their father commands.

Neteyam sighs and offers his hand, “Come on, sis.”

She tears her eyes away from the Fishman, and nods simply, allowing him to help her. The two go inside the morai and kneel down with their family.

“Come on. Take a knee. Let’s go.” Jake urges, looking around at his family.

“Kiri!” Neytiri quietly scolds, shooting the girl a pointed look.

“What?” Kiri mutters as she reluctantly kneels.

“Okay. I need you kids on your best behavior. I mean it. Learn fast. Pull your weight.” He looks directly at Lo’ak. “Don’t cause trouble, all right?” 

Lo’ak nods, “Yes, sir.”

“I want to go home.” Tuk cries, shoulders slumped in defeat. She wipes her eyes with a small sob.

“Oh, Tuk.” Neytiri coos softly, her face scrunching with the pain of seeing her youngest child cry.

“Tuk, this is our home now. Now, we’re gonna get through this. We’re gonna get through this if we have each other’s backs. All right?”

“What does your father always say?” Neytiri asks her children. 

“Sully's stick together.” The eldest three mumble together. 

“Yeah, that’s right. Sully's stick together.” He pats Kiri's knee gently. “Now this time with some feeling.”

“Sully’s stick together.” They all repeat, louder and more proudly.

Tsireya, Ao’nung, and Rotxo dive gracefully into the water as the Sully kids watch. Y/n steps forward, looking at the water curiously. 

“Come on.” Neteyam nudges Y/n as him and Lo’ak run past her. A laugh escapes her lips as she runs after them, pushing through the dull ache in her leg as she jumps. The water feels nice around her skin, cooling it down significantly. Kiri and Tuk jump in after the three, and together the five of them awe at the completely different world that hides beneath the surface. 

Y/n smiles at the fish swimming around, and she carefully swims forward, going in the direction of the other three. She’s rather slow in the water, but she doesn’t mind. It gives her time to marvel at the creatures swimming around her head. They slowly follow their guides, but eventually the Sully kids have to swim up for air. Their heads pop out of the water and they gasp to fill their lungs. 

Y/n laughs softly. “It’s beautiful down there.” She says with a grin, and Lo’ak raises a brow. “You saying that about the fish or fish lips?” He teases and Y/n rolls her eyes, splashing him with water.

“You’re a hypocrite, you know?”

“Both of you are very annoying.” Neteyam sighs. The group stick their heads back into the water, and Tsireya uses her hands to speak to them, but they just stare blankly. She smiles in amusement and instead decides to motion them along. The siblings take another deep breath and swim after them. It doesn’t take long for the kids to need air again and the Metkayina kids swim up to the surface after them. 

“Are you all right?” Tsireya asks kindly, her face showing worry.

“You’re too fast!” Tuk whines. “Wait for us!”

“Just breathe.” Tsireya instructs calmly as her brother pops his head out of the water, a look of disdain on his features. 

“You are not good divers.” He says matter of factly, and Y/n rolls her eyes. “Maybe good at swinging through trees, but…” Rotxo laughs as Tsireya hits his head.

“Come on, bro. We don’t speak this finger talk.” Neteyam complains, irritated at Ao'nung's comments. 

“Yeah, we don’t know what you’re saying.” Lo’ak agrees with a subtle nod, looking at Tsireya.

“I will teach you.” She promises gently. 

“Where is Kiri?” Rotxo asks, looking around. 

“Who?” Ao’nung asks.

“Kiri. Where is Kiri?”

“She’s alright.” Y/n finally speaks and Ao’nung looks at her. “She swam off at the beginning. Let her be.”

Y/n watches curiously as Ao’nung calls to the creatures, clicking and whooping. He’s rude, for sure, and finds joy in making fun of her siblings. But a small part of her can’t deny the fact that he is beautiful.

“These are ilu.” He informs the children. “If you want to live here, you have to ride.”

“Hi,” Y/n smiles softly at an ilu and gently pets the top of it’s head.

“Your leg.” A voice startles her, and she turns to see Ao’nung. “What happened to it?”

She responds cautiously, “It was hurt.”

He deadpans, “Obviously. But how?”

“A gun.”

“A what?”

She sighs softly, “Like a bow and arrow, just worse. Far worse.”

He nods, stepping towards the ilu. He gently pets its neck, “Will you be able to ride an ilu?”

Y/n looks at the creature with a small smile, “I rode all the way here on my ikran. It’s not much different in that sense.”

He hums, “All right.” He glances behind him, at Tsireya and Lo’ak. Lo’ak is taking off on his ilu, holding on tightly. The two watch as Lo’ak is flown off of his ilu, and Ao’nung bursts into laughter. Y/n can’t help but laugh as well.

“Breathe in, skxawng.” Ao’nung instructs, gently hitting Y/n’s stomach. 

She glares at him, her abs tensing, “I am breathing in, dipshit.”

“Calm your heartbeat.” He answers, his hand gently resting on her chest. It's soft and cool. “It’s too fast.”

Y/n takes a slow, deep breath, shutting her eyes, “I can’t help it.”

“Are you scared of me?” He grins.

She scoffs, peaking an eye open, “You don’t scare me.” 

“Then why is your heart beating so fast?” If he had eyebrows, he’d be raising them at that moment. 

She huffs and shrugs, “Because you’re kind of cute.” She stands, stalking over to the rest of the group. She takes a seat next to Kiri, glancing at Lo’ak and Tsireya with a small grin. 

“Try to focus.” She encourages.

Lo’ak nods, “Okay.”

“Breathe in…” Neteyam and Rotxo grin at each other, snickering quietly. 

Throughout the next few weeks, the Sully family quickly learn the way of the water, and how to adapt to their new surroundings. With the need of breathing every minute gone, the Sully kids are able to race on their ilu. It reminded them of home, racing on their ikrans. Their interactions with the sea have become deeper and resonate more. They sign the language with slight difficulty, but it’s understandable. 

Y/n’s love for the ocean has grown, and her disdain for the future Olo’eyktan follows suit. He bullies her siblings whenever he’s around, and despite his face, and his body, and his voice- he’s a terrible person. His mere presence makes her shiver in annoyance. His sister, however, is becoming one of her favorite people. She’s kind and welcoming, allowing Y/n’s family to make mistakes and then fix them. Y/n doesn’t think she has a single bad bone in her body. The current Olo’eyktan, Tonowari, has taught Y/n how to fish. She wasn’t very good, but she was getting better as time went on. Tonowari and Tsireya are very alike, in Y/n’s opinion, like father like daughter. And finally, Ronal. It took a few days for the woman to even look her family's way, but one evening, while Y/n was searching for small shells to add to her father’s necklace, the woman showed her where to find the perfect ones. She’ll forever be grateful for it.

The waves crash softly against the shore as Y/n leans against a palm tree, doing the finishing touches on her father’s necklace. Kiri lay face down in the shallow water ahead of her, simply gazing at the sand and the small creatures within it. Y/n doesn’t notice the posse of boys walking up to her sister until she hears that voice.

“What is she doing?” Ao’nung sneers, and the boys laugh. Y/n looks up from her project, and frowns deeply. “She’s looking at sand.”

“Huh? What’d you say?” Kiri asks, lifting her head out of the water. Y/n stands, dusting the sand off her legs. 

“Are you some kind of… freak?” Ao’nung asks bitterly, and Kiri sighs, averting her eyes and walking past him. 

“No.”

“Are you sure? I mean, you’re not even real Na’vi. Look at these hands.” He takes her hand, and she rips it away. He grabs onto it again. “I mean, look at them!”

“Hey!” Lo’ak calls, walking over. “Back off, fishlips.”

“Oh, another four-fingered freak.”

“Oh, baby tail!” Another boy teases, grabbing onto Lo’ak’s tail. 

“Leave us alone!” Kiri tries, but to no avail. 

Y/n finally rushes over, pushing Ao’nung to the side. She points her finger at him. “You heard what she said. Leave them alone.”

“Awww, big sister com-” A boy tries, but Ao’nung pushes him back, silencing him.

“Back off.” Y/n pushes him back with her finger. “Now.” There’s a tense moment of silence, before Ao’nung lifts his hands in surrender. “Smart choice. And from now on, I need you to respect my sister.” A boy hisses, but once again Ao’nung stops him. She turns to her siblings. “Let’s go.”

The three begin to walk off as Ao’nung speaks up again, “Bah bye!” He teases, before loudly “whispering” to his friends. “Look at them, they’re all freaks. The whole family.” Lo’ak sighs deeply, before turning around. 

“Lo’ak.” Y/n warns.

He holds his hand up, “I got this sis.” He walks up to Ao’nung, displaying his hand. “I know this hand is funny. Look, I’m a freak. An alien.” Ao’nung smirks. “But it can do something really cool. Watch. First, I ball it up real tight, like this. Okay? Then-” He cuts himself off by delivering a hard punch to Ao’nung’s cheek, followed by two more, until the taller boy falls onto the sand. “It’s called a punch, bitch. Don’t ever touch my sister again.”

Y/n sighs as the boys hiss at Lo’ak. Ao’nung pounces on him, and Lo’ak lands another punch before being pulled off by his tail. Y/n scrunches her face as a boy hits Lo’ak with his tail. The boys continue to wrestle, and eventually end up just pulling each other’s tails and ears. Kiri and Y/n laugh quietly to themselves as they yelp and moan. 

“What was the one thing I asked? The one thing!” Jake scolds, Lo’ak stares at the ground in shame, and Y/n sighs.

“Stay out of trouble.” Lo’ak repeats quietly.

“Stay out of trouble- right!” “Look, it was my fault.” Y/n tries to intervene. She understands how difficult her father is on Lo’ak, and she’ll do anything she can to help ease the anger on the boy.

“I don’t think so. You gotta stop takin’ the heat for this knucklehead. I’ll speak to you later.”

“Look, dad, Ao’nung was picking on Kiri. He called her a freak.”

Jake sighs, “Go apologize to Ao’nung.”

“What?”

“He’s the chief's son, do you understand? I don’t care how you do it. Just go make peace. Just go.” Lo’ak leaves the tent, shaking his head. Jake looks back at Y/n. “You should’ve stopped him.”

Y/n sighs, “I didn’t know he was going to punch Ao’nung.”

“Have you met your brother?” Jake runs a hand over his face. “You’re the eldest. It’s your job to take care of your siblings. You need to start acting like it.”

“Dad- I can’t control them. They don’t listen to me-”

“Then try harder. This is a family, we all have roles. You need to start fulfilling yours.”

Y/n shakes her head, “Yeah, fine.” She walks past her father to leave.

“Y/n?” She turns to look at her father in question. “What’d the other guys look like?”

“Worse.”

Jake nods, “Good. You’re dismissed.”

She nods, leaving silently. 

Y/n sits quietly with Neteyam, they quietly share memories from the forest and their clan. Y/n knew how much her brother missed their home. A presence interrupts them, and Y/n glares.

“What do you want, Ao’nung?” She stands, crossing her arms.

He looks down, not able to make eye contact. “It’s Lo’ak.”

“What did he do?” Neteyam asks.

“We led him out to hunt… beyond the reef. And we left him. It was supposed to be a joke- but he hasn’t come back.”

Y/n takes a moment to take in what he just confessed, before anger crosses her face. “Are you fucking serious? What is wrong with you?”

“I’m… sorry.” He whispers.

Neteyam gently pushes past Y/n and roughly grabs onto Ao’nung’s arm, dragging him towards their father and Kiri. Jake looks back questioningly, his brow raised. 

“What is it?”

Neteyam glares at Ao’nung, “Go on. Tell him what you just told us.”

Y/n stands next to Tsireya as a villager brings Lo’ak onto a small dock. The moment Lo’ak sees Ao’nung, he’s ready to pounce on him, but Jake intervenes quickly, stepping in front of his son. 

“Hey, hey. Let’s have a look at you, okay?” He quickly looks over Lo’ak. “He’s fine. He’s fine. Just a few scratches.”

“Lo’ak.” Neytiri gasps softly, jumping down onto the dock. Once she realizes he is not injured, she sneers. “I pray for the strength that I will not pluck the eyeballs out of my youngest son!” She snarls, hissing. 

“No.” Tonowari announces. “My son knows better than to take him outside the reef.” He forces Ao’nung to kneel. “The blame is his.”

“Okay, let’s go.” Jake says, motioning for his son to follow. 

“No.” Lo’ak speaks up, and Y/n looks at him weirdly. “This is not Ao’nung’s fault. This was my idea. Ao’nung tried to talk me out of it. Really. I’m sorry.”

“Come on.” Jake urges and Y/n joins the group.

As they walk away, Lo’ak tries to defend himself. “Dad, you told me to make friends with these kids. I was only trying to-”

“I don’t want to hear it.”

“Dad-”

“You brought shame to this family.”

“Dad.” Y/n intervenes, but her dad just gives her a warning look.

Lo’ak looks defeated, “Can I go now?”

“You cause more trouble, I jerk a knot in your tail.” Jake threatens, and the boy nods. “You read me?”

“Yes, sir. Lima Charlie.” 

Jake studies him for a moment, “Go on.”

Neytiri looks at Y/n and Neteyam, “Where were you?”

Jake glances at them, “Yeah, what happened to “keeping an eye on your brother”?” He looks at Y/n. “Taking care of your siblings, pulling your weight. Sound familiar?”

“Sorry, sir.” Neteyam responds, but Y/n scoffs softly. 

“Seriously? I was too busy being scolded for not parenting my siblings to stop him.” Y/n regrets the words the second they leave her mouth.

“What did you say, girl?” Jake bears his teeth, angrily looking at her. 

“Doesn’t matter.” She turns to walk away.

“Don’t you walk away from me. I am tired of your disrespect, Y/n.” Jake grabs her shoulder, turning her back to face him. “Everyday it’s something new with you. You are the oldest, you need to star-”

“Start acting like it, yeah, I know.” She scoffs, her eyes filling with frustrated tears. She’s not good at confrontation. “I’m the eldest sibling- but I’m not even your daughter! And you aren’t my father.” Jake’s eyes flash with hurt, and he bites his tongue. “I’m tired of you suffocating me.” Her eyes glisten in the dim lighting.. “I only try to be perfect for you, but what’s even the point? All I do is disappoint you.”

“Y/n…” Neytiri tries, but Y/n shakes her head.

“Sometimes I wish it was you that was dead, instead of my real father.” She knows she didn't mean that. But she turns and walks off like she did anyway. She said what she knew would hurt him, because she wanted him to see the way he hurts her. 

She wipes her eyes as she leaves, her throat closing up as she tries to hold in her sobs. The closer she gets to breaking, the faster she moves away from her family, her father. It’s only when she makes it to a secluded spot on the beach does she finally allow herself to quietly cry. She buries her head in her knees, shaking as the gentle waves kissed her feet. 

She doesn’t hear the quiet footsteps behind her, hesitating to comfort her. Ao’nung decides to sit next to her either way, looking out over the horizon. He puts his hand on her knee, and she looks up at him, immediately wiping her eyes. 

“What do you want?” She asks quietly, her voice cracking quietly. She doesn’t have the energy to hate him. 

He swallows thickly, thinking carefully on what to say. “I know I’m probably the last person you want to speak to but… I’m here.” He murmurs softly, his eyes soft. “You can talk to me, or not, but… I am here.”

Y/n stares at him for a moment, dumbfounded, before nodding. “Thank you.” She whispers, allowing herself tonight to accept his comfort. She’ll go back to hating him tomorrow. Or so she hopes.

my masterlist

If you'd like to be added to my main taglist comment or DM me!

[entelodante]

The Atlantic's immune system yay!! BIG info dump below!

Basically when the blood ocean was created it was of course a conversion of all water within the Atlantic to living human blood. The blood of the caster to be exact. This came with the full mix of blood, not just the blood cells themselves. Plasma, immune cells, and even a small percentage of stem cells. For a short time after its revision, a vial of blood from the Atlantic would be indistinguishable from blood drawn from an average person. However while most of it DID decay and rot away it was eventually replaced! For the sanguine sea has a will to live all on its own and it will do what it has to to keep itself alive. Let's just say that magic radiation gave it a boost to adapt before it all would have just turned to sludge!

Also think of this as like a part one as it is not ALL of the bits and bobs.

The Main Gist

The immune system of the Atlantic has undergone slight changes from what goes on within the human body. While in the early days of the ocean, the cells within gorged and swarmed the masses of dead sea life, nowadays all that old death has long since sunk to the anoxic depths. Only the few top meters of blood hold onto the oxygen that can be grabbed directly from the air. This topmost layer is the bastion that these fellas defend and replenish, large colonies working in sync to make sure fresh blood is always around. Thus they are responsible for the bounty of the blood sea, as much as they try to eliminate it. Anything that has different DNA than the blood sea gets a not so warm welcome from it.

1. Shards

These are the scouts of the system, using two fins they meander through the blood at pretty reasonable speeds. The only senses the colonies have reacquired are those of scent and touch, the former for searching out anything strange in the blood column and the latter for when they bump into it. These guys are ill prepared to fight aside from a few acidic tendrils, but once detecting a foreign body they’ll turn tail and rush back to their main colonial swarm. If the poor animal they found out is lucky, it will have time to turn and flee before the cavalry arrives.

2. Marrow Worms

These are not the cavalry, in fact if you were to even poke these guys they are more likely to disintegrate into a plume of sadness. But do not think them worthless for their pitiful offense, for these are SUPPORTIVE WORMS! Being that the colony's individuals are derived from former immune cells, they never regained the ability to self replicate. If they were injured or simply degraded due to age, they could never repair or regenerate the cells they lost within their bodies. Luckily the marrow worm is here to save the day!

Let's say a shard is wounded, its fin torn from its body, whilst it is in no danger of bleeding out, it is in danger of becoming useless to the sea. The solution is that when the immune bodies of the sea take damage, they release a powerful chemical signal to call for aid. This draws in the marrow worms who will swarm the individual and spread their bodies over them like a hot slice of butter. The marrow worms function as mobile stem cells, sacrificing their own bodies to grow into the parts needed for the other members of the colony. Most will have every part of their body replaced throughout their lifetime. And there is a philosophical idea in there somewhere but it's time to get onto the stabby members of this band!

3. Tacks

These guys tend to stay by the main hubs of the colony, defending them from any threats that manage to get by. However they are quite eager to zip off through the blood once called upon by a scouting Shard. Their main weapon is a stabbing keratinized spike through which they inject a powerful mix of digestive enzymes. These same enzymes are used within the trailing tendrils they use to ensnare smaller intruders. With sheer force of numbers they attempt to use this acid to kill any animals they find, though luckily they are lacking in stamina so can be outrun if spotted early enough.

4. Hubs

These function as the housing for the most precious members of the colony, the marrowcores. They provide coverage for these most delicate structures as well as pumping fresh oxygen filled blood from the surface over the tendrils of marrow. Slowly swimming through the ocean they are eternally accompanied by huge swarms of supplementary organisms that feed and defend them at all costs. And with good reason! The hubs allow for the birth of new marrow worms and they are shepherded around as needed through the sea.

5. The Marrowcores

These are the true center of the ocean. Long spindled frames of bone from which long strands of marrow grow and waft. These feathered segments can break off and become new marrow worms, but the main job of these cores is to mass produce blood on a nigh unimaginable scale. So proficient are they, that that topmost layer of the ocean can be completely replaced every two months. Pretty important piece, but these individuals are the strangest of the whole lot, continuously losing and replacing parts yet holding onto some vague memory amongst themselves. Weird.

And that’s the first go of it! I hope ya like these fun lil guys!