#and stop recommending them to me too they are not my thing
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The Artist
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x reader
Summary: sometimes, an artist is far more interesting than the art itself.
Word count: 5.4k
Warnings: fluff, angst? Anthony not being able to mind his own business, briefly mention of parents passing away
A/N:
English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, recommendations, vents or questions are always welcome. I love talking to you guys about anything <3
Happy reading xxx
I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.
Lady Danbury’s soirées were the heart of the social season—part chessboard, part battlefield, where every glance and whisper held strategic importance. Benedict Bridgerton, however, approached such gatherings as an observer rather than a player. He found the art on the walls more captivating than the posturing of the ton.
Wandering through Lady Danbury’s grand halls, Benedict stopped before a painting of a turbulent sea, his thoughts briefly drifting to his own half-finished sketches. A voice interrupted him, sharp and vibrant.
“It’s ambitious, but overworked. The sea churns, but the emotion feels... manufactured.”
He turned to see her: a young woman standing a few steps away, her posture poised yet unguarded. She wore her beauty with an effortless confidence, her eyes a vivid storm of intellect and intrigue. She wasn’t like the other women at the ball, fluttering fans and batting lashes. She observed the world with precision, as though she’d already decided it was hers to command.
“An intriguing critique,” Benedict replied, his interest piqued. “Though perhaps the chaos was intentional. Sometimes life demands a lack of restraint.”
Her gaze flicked to him, assessing. “Chaos is compelling, but it must be tempered with truth. This, Mr. Bridgerton, is a performance.”
“You know my name,” he noted, smiling. “You have the advantage over me, Miss...?”
“Y/N,” she said, a hint of amusement in her tone. “And I find that knowing one’s audience is the first rule of any conversation.”
He inclined his head. “A lesson I’ll remember. Tell me, Miss Y/N, are you always this direct?”
Her lips curved into a subtle smile, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she turned back to the painting. “Do you sketch? You look at this piece as though you’re searching for something beyond the surface.”
Benedict blinked, surprised by her insight. “I do, though I’ve yet to create anything worth showing. You?”
“I paint,” she admitted, her voice softening. “But my work isn’t for the ton’s galleries. Some things are too personal to display.”
“Now you’ve made me curious,” he said, stepping closer. “What would it take to see one of your pieces?”
She tilted her head, her gaze teasing. “Persistence. But I should warn you—I am not easily impressed.”
Benedict smiled, already intrigued by the challenge. “Good. I prefer earning my victories.”
Before she could respond, Lady Danbury’s voice carried through the hall. “Ah, Benedict, I see you’ve met Miss Y/N. And what do you think of her opinions? Sharp as a rapier, aren’t they?”
Benedict glanced at Y/N, his expression warm. “Quite sharp, indeed. But rapier wit is vastly preferable to dull pleasantries.”
Lady Danbury chuckled. “I agree. Well, don’t let me interrupt. Though, Y/N, your brother Charles is looking for you. Something about the carriage.”
At the mention of her brother, Y/N’s composure shifted slightly. “Thank you, Lady Danbury. I’ll find him shortly.”
As Lady Danbury swept away, Benedict offered Y/N a small bow. “Will you grant me the honor of a dance before you leave?”
“Perhaps,” she replied, her eyes glinting with amusement. “If you’re persistent enough.”
Before Benedict could craft a suitably clever reply, a deep voice broke through the moment. “Y/N, it’s getting late.”
Both turned to see a tall man striding toward them, his posture commanding yet measured. He was dressed impeccably, the weight of responsibility apparent in his expression. His resemblance to Y/N—sharp features and the same striking eyes—was unmistakable.
Charles stopped beside them and inclined his head politely toward Benedict before addressing his sister. “The hour grows late, and I believe Lady Danbury is beginning to hint that the soirée is winding down.”
Y/N offered her brother a cool yet affectionate look. “You always did have an impeccable sense of timing, Charles.”
Benedict, recovering quickly, stepped forward with a polite bow. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. Benedict Bridgerton.”
Charles’s gaze sharpened slightly at the name before he returned the bow with measured precision. “Charles Y/L/N, Earl of Whitestone.”
Benedict’s eyebrows lifted in recognition, a warm smile spreading across his face. “Whitestone? I believe my brother, Anthony, has spoken of you. He mentioned you were recently elevated to the title.”
Charles gave a brief nod, his tone guarded but civil. “Anthony and I have known each other for some years. He’s a good man, and an excellent Viscount.”
“As I’m certain you’re an excellent Earl,” Benedict replied smoothly, sensing the protective edge to Charles’s demeanor.
The corner of Charles’s mouth twitched upward, though he remained composed. “I do what I can, though the title comes with its share of burdens. And you, Mr. Bridgerton, seem to have a knack for engaging my sister in conversation.”
Benedict chuckled lightly, inclining his head toward Y/N. “Your sister is an extraordinary conversationalist, my lord. I find myself quite fortunate to have made her acquaintance tonight.”
Charles’s gaze flicked to Y/N, who appeared unruffled by the exchange but wore a faint smile of amusement. “Fortunate, indeed,” Charles said evenly. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I believe it’s time to depart. Y/N?”
Y/N turned back to Benedict, her expression unreadable but her tone cordial. “Thank you for the discussion, Mr. Bridgerton. Perhaps we’ll meet again, should the occasion allow.”
Benedict bowed, his tone warm. “I certainly hope so, Miss Y/N.”
As Charles and Y/N walked toward their waiting carriage, Benedict watched them leave, his thoughts lingering on the sharp wit and quiet allure of Y/N.
Charles, walking slightly ahead of his sister, cast a glance back toward Benedict, then murmured to her, “He seems taken with you.”
Y/N’s lips curved faintly as she replied, “Let him be. I’m hardly an easy conquest.”
Charles smirked faintly, his tone fond but serious. “Good. Just remember, Y/N, you’re worth far more than simple flattery and fleeting interest.”
Y/N nodded, her gaze forward but her thoughts clearly elsewhere.
The clatter of carriage wheels echoed faintly as Charles and Y/N made their way back to their townhouse. The dim glow of gas lamps illuminated the streets, casting fleeting shadows across Charles’s pensive expression.
“You like him,” Charles remarked, breaking the companionable silence. His voice was even, but his words were laced with a quiet observation.
Y/N glanced at her brother, her expression unreadable. “He’s intriguing. Sharp-witted. But liking someone, Charles, is a luxury I can ill afford.”
Charles leaned back in his seat, watching her carefully. “Luxury or not, you seemed more yourself tonight than I’ve seen in months. There’s no harm in entertaining the idea—provided you remain cautious.”
Y/N’s gaze softened at her brother’s concern. “I appreciate your vigilance, my dear Earl of Whitestone. But let’s not rush to paint him as either hero or villain. Men of his world are not often held to the same scrutiny as women of ours.”
“True,” Charles admitted, tilting his head slightly. “But Anthony Bridgerton isn’t one to speak highly of a man without reason. If his brother is half as principled, I’d consider him worth the risk.”
Y/N’s lips twitched at his words. “Risk, indeed. But enough about Mr. Bridgerton. We’ve our own affairs to manage, and I’m certain our tenants won’t care for my musings about art or charm.”
Charles nodded, though he noted the faint pink flush that crept up her neck as she turned toward the window.
As the Whitestone carriage disappeared into the darkness, Benedict stood at the edge of the Danbury estate, his gaze lingering on the path where Y/N had vanished. The warmth of the evening had cooled, but he hardly noticed the chill. His mind replayed their conversation—the sharp wit in her words, the spark in her eyes when she spoke of art, and the measured grace with which she had danced around his charm.
“Y/N,” he murmured softly, as if testing the sound of her name. It felt as striking as the woman herself, an enigma he couldn’t easily solve.
Lady Danbury’s sharp voice startled him from his reverie. “Well, Mr. Bridgerton, if you plan to stand out there all night, you might as well help me escort the remaining stragglers to their carriages.”
Benedict turned, an easy smile masking his contemplative mood. “I was merely enjoying the view, Lady Danbury. Your soiree is, as always, a triumph.”
Her keen eyes narrowed with amusement. “And yet your gaze was fixed on the road, not my ballroom. That young lady certainly left an impression.”
Benedict didn’t deny it. “She’s remarkable,” he admitted, more to himself than to Lady Danbury.
“Be careful with that one,” the older woman warned, though her tone was fond. “She has depth. And depth demands substance in return.”
Benedict inclined his head, her words sinking in. As much as he relished the challenge, he realized he wanted more than a fleeting encounter.
The ride home was a quiet one. Benedict sat in the carriage, the sounds of horses’ hooves a steady rhythm that gave his thoughts space to wander.
He’d encountered many women in his time—clever debutantes, bold widows, and those who wore charm like armor. But Y/N was different. There was a quiet power in her deflections, a vulnerability hidden behind her sharp observations.
His mind lingered on her smile, fleeting yet warm, and the way her brother, Charles, had watched over her like a hawk. Benedict respected that protectiveness—it spoke of loyalty, of family bonds he deeply valued.
When he finally reached the familiar halls of his family home, the house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of old wood and the soft rustle of wind through the trees outside. He retired to his room, but sleep eluded him.
Instead, he sketched—rough outlines of Y/N’s features, her poised stance, the energy in her eyes as she critiqued the painting at Lady Danbury’s. Each stroke of charcoal carried with it an urgency, an attempt to capture the essence of someone who refused to be defined.
By the time dawn’s light began to filter through his window, Benedict set the sketch aside, his resolve clear.
“I’ll see her again,” he murmured, more determined than he’d been in years.
The following morning, the Bridgerton family gathered around the long dining table, sunlight streaming through the tall windows. Despite the sumptuous spread of fruit, fresh-baked pastries, and piping hot tea, all eyes were on Benedict.
“Who was she?” Eloise asked bluntly, buttering her toast with unnecessary vigor. “Lady Whistledown was positively tantalized.”
Benedict sighed, taking a deliberate sip of tea. “Good morning to you too, Eloise.”
“Don’t dodge the question,” Daphne chimed in with a knowing smile. “It’s not every day Lady Whistledown dedicates an entire paragraph to your exploits.”
Anthony leaned back in his chair, an eyebrow raised. “Y/N Y/L/N, wasn’t it? I believe her brother, Charles, is the new Earl of Whitestone. Solid reputation, though he keeps to himself since inheriting the title.”
Benedict nodded, setting down his cup. “The very same. I had the pleasure of speaking with her—she’s sharp, insightful, and refreshingly candid.”
“And beautiful?” Colin teased, his grin wide.
“Extremely,” Benedict replied without hesitation, earning a round of laughter.
Anthony’s amusement faded slightly as he regarded his brother with a calculating look. “Charles is an old acquaintance of mine. We crossed paths during the early years of our titles. A good man, but fiercely protective of his family. Tread carefully, Benedict.”
“Always,” Benedict said, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of determination.
Y/N sat cross-legged on the grass of Whitestone’s modest garden, a sketchpad balanced on her lap. The cool breeze carried with it the faint scent of lavender from the nearby hedgerows, mingling with the crisp aroma of her graphite pencils. The gardens were her sanctuary—a reprieve from society’s endless noise and expectations. Today, her focus was on a half-finished drawing of a willow tree bending gracefully over the garden pond. Yet, as much as she tried to focus, her thoughts drifted back to Benedict Bridgerton.
She had replayed their exchanges from Lady Danbury’s soiree countless times in her mind. His words had been genuine, his curiosity sincere. Yet it was his gaze that lingered in her memory—the way his eyes softened when he listened to her critiques of the art, as though he truly saw her and not just another face in the crowd. Y/N frowned slightly, annoyed at her own vulnerability. He’s intriguing, certainly, but so are countless men who wander into my path. Why should this one matter more?
Her pencil faltered as the sharp rap of a knock echoed from the front of the house. She stilled, curiosity piqued. Guests were rare at Whitestone, and Charles had already mentioned he expected no visitors today. She heard the muffled creak of the door opening and the low rumble of her brother’s voice, but the words were indistinct. Setting her sketchpad aside, Y/N rose and dusted her hands off on her skirts, wandering closer to the house with light steps.
Inside the parlor, Charles extended a firm handshake to Anthony Bridgerton. The Earl of Whitestone and the Viscount Bridgerton cut striking figures in the modest room, both exuding a commanding presence, though Anthony’s was tempered by a composed air of diplomacy.
“Viscount Bridgerton,” Charles greeted, stepping back to motion him inside. “This is an unexpected visit.”
“I thought it past time we caught up,” Anthony replied with a faint smile, his eyes sweeping the room briefly before settling back on Charles. “Though I must confess, my errand isn’t entirely social.”
Charles raised an eyebrow as he led Anthony toward the parlor’s armchairs. “I assume this has something to do with your family’s estates bordering mine?”
“In part.” Anthony seated himself with practiced ease, but there was a guardedness to his tone that Charles didn’t miss. “The other part involves my brother, Benedict.”
Charles stilled briefly, his expression giving nothing away. “Ah, your brother,” he said smoothly, taking his own seat. “I must admit, he did make an impression at Lady Danbury’s soiree.”
Anthony’s lips quirked in a wry smile. “So I’ve heard. I trust my brother behaved himself?”
Charles smirked faintly, folding his hands over his knee. “Mr. Bridgerton was... eager to engage my sister in conversation. Though I’m not sure she was as willing to reciprocate.”
Anthony chuckled, but his tone shifted, his words laced with sincerity. “Benedict speaks highly of your sister. It’s rare for him to show such genuine interest, Charles. He’s not one to court frivolities.”
Charles leaned back, his gaze sharpening. “You understand, Anthony, that Y/N has had her fair share of shallow suitors. She’s cautious, and rightly so. My priority is ensuring her happiness and protecting her from anyone who sees her as a fleeting amusement.”
“Benedict doesn’t play such games,” Anthony replied, meeting Charles’s gaze head-on. “In truth, I’ve never seen him take such an interest in anyone. Your sister seems to have stirred something in him—though, knowing Y/N from your stories, I suspect she hasn’t made it easy for him.”
Charles allowed himself a faint chuckle. “No, she certainly hasn’t. Y/N is not one to be charmed easily. But it’s clear your brother is determined, which could either work in his favor or cause him considerable frustration.”
Anthony inclined his head, his expression softening. “Benedict values substance, as I’m sure Y/N does. They may both surprise you.”
Charles studied him in silence for a moment before offering a measured nod. “We’ll see. For now, I’ll judge him by his actions, not his words.”
Y/N lingered just beyond the doorway, her heart racing at the snippets of conversation she managed to overhear. Charles’s voice, steady and firm, carried faintly through the air. He’s defending me, she realized, a pang of gratitude swelling in her chest. Her brother’s protectiveness had always been her shield against the pressures of society. Yet, there was another voice—smooth and commanding.
The Viscount Bridgerton.
She had never met Anthony before, but his reputation preceded him. To hear him speak so highly of his brother was... surprising. Benedict’s charm had seemed effortless, but perhaps it ran deeper than she had assumed.
Careful not to draw attention, Y/N eased closer to the edge of the doorway, curiosity getting the better of her.
Anthony’s final remark, “They may both surprise you,” was met with a soft clearing of a throat. Both men turned to see Y/N stepping into the room, her expression poised but her gaze quietly assessing.
“Forgive me for interrupting,” she said with a faint smile, addressing Anthony. “You must be Viscount Bridgerton. I apologize for not greeting you sooner.”
Anthony rose immediately, his movements fluid and respectful. “Miss Y/N,” he greeted, his tone warm. “The pleasure is mine. I was just remarking to your brother on your keen sense of discernment. It seems Benedict wasn’t exaggerating.”
Y/N tilted her head slightly, her smile deepening. “He spoke of me?”
Anthony’s smile mirrored hers, though he chose his words carefully. “Indeed. Rarely have I seen my brother so animated in recounting a conversation.”
Her gaze flicked briefly to Charles, whose stern expression had softened, before settling back on Anthony. “That’s high praise coming from you, my lord,” she said lightly, though her eyes gleamed with amusement. “Perhaps I should be flattered—or cautious.”
Anthony chuckled, gesturing toward the chair opposite. “Flattery or caution—either is warranted. But if I may, Miss Y/N, Benedict is many things, but insincere is not one of them.”
Y/N seated herself gracefully, her expression thoughtful. “Then it would seem your brother and I have much in common,” she replied smoothly, though her mind raced. What exactly has Benedict told him?
As Anthony and Y/N exchanged polite conversation, Charles observed his sister closely. Her tone was cordial, her posture poised, but he knew her well enough to detect the subtle sharpness in her gaze—a warning to anyone attempting to pry too deeply. She wasn’t rattled by Anthony’s words, but she was undoubtedly calculating her next move.
Anthony, for his part, seemed at ease. His diplomacy was well-honed, his remarks layered with subtle reassurances. Yet Charles couldn’t help but feel the quiet tension in the room. Anthony was here not simply to visit a friend, but to ensure Benedict’s intentions were made clear—or perhaps to defend them.
“I find it intriguing,” Y/N said, interrupting Charles’s thoughts, “that you’ve taken the trouble to visit us, my lord, when your brother has already made his interest known. Surely, you trust his judgment?”
Anthony’s brow arched slightly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I do, Miss Y/N, though it would be remiss of me not to learn more about the woman who has managed to hold my brother’s attention.”
“And have you drawn your conclusions already?” she asked, tilting her head.
Anthony leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady but not intrusive. “Not entirely. But I do know this: my brother is a man of passions—art, creation, and the search for something meaningful. He finds those qualities rare. I suspect he believes he’s found them in you.”
Y/N’s composure didn’t falter, though her chest tightened slightly at his words. Her response was deliberate, each word measured. “An interesting theory, my lord. I wonder what he might say if he were here to speak for himself.”
As the conversation unfolded at Whitestone, Benedict Bridgerton was oblivious to his brother’s bold intervention. He sat alone in the Bridgerton family’s drawing room, a half-finished sketch resting on the desk before him. It was an abstract piece—a hazy rendition of the way the light had played across Y/N’s face as she’d described the painting at Lady Danbury’s soiree.
Frustrated, he set the pencil down and ran a hand through his hair. He hadn’t seen her since the garden farewell days ago, and the memory of her enigmatic smile lingered like a half-finished melody. Every word she had spoken felt deliberate, each glance calculated. Yet, for all her guardedness, he had glimpsed something more—an intensity that matched his own.
He leaned back in his chair, staring at the sketch with a mix of irritation and admiration. What is it about her that has me so utterly undone?
The door creaked open, and Colin poked his head inside, his ever-mischievous grin firmly in place. “Still brooding over Lady Y/N?”
Benedict scowled, though there was no real malice behind it. “I’m not brooding.”
Colin stepped inside, uninvited, and plucked the sketch off the desk. “Is that so? Because this,” he said, waving the paper, “tells a rather different story. Don’t tell me you’re losing sleep over one of Anthony’s sermons.”
Benedict frowned. “What are you talking about?”
Colin flopped onto the settee, clearly enjoying himself. “Anthony’s gone to Whitestone, hasn’t he? To visit Y/N and her brother. He practically ordered Newton to saddle the horse this morning.”
Benedict shot to his feet, his voice incredulous. “Anthony went to Whitestone?”
Colin’s smile widened. “Oh, yes. Didn’t he tell you? I’d wager he’s there now, making some long-winded speech about Bridgerton honor and the seriousness of your intentions.”
Benedict’s fists clenched, though it was more out of frustration than anger. “Of course he would meddle,” he muttered, pacing the room. “I don’t need him playing matchmaker.”
“Perhaps not,” Colin replied, his tone light. “But I suspect you’ll thank him in the end. Anthony may be insufferable, but he has a way of clearing obstacles—even those you’re too stubborn to see.”
Benedict ignored him, walking around in the room furiously waiting for his brother to come home. He did not need Anthony meddling with his business when even he didn't have the chance to visit you or buy you flowers. He prayed that his brother didn't scare or intimidate Y/N in any shape or form.
Back at Whitestone, Y/N’s mind churned as Anthony’s words settled. The sincerity behind them was disarming, but it also raised questions she wasn’t ready to answer.
She glanced at Charles, who was watching the exchange with his usual stoicism. Her brother was protective, and she valued his judgment, but she also resented feeling like a piece on a chessboard. Why should my life’s direction hinge on the machinations of two Bridgertons?
Y/N straightened, her voice breaking the charged silence. “You speak highly of your brother, my lord. But I can’t help but wonder if his interest is shared equally by the rest of your family. Surely a marriage, that you keep mentioning I might add, between a Bridgerton and an earl’s sister comes with certain expectations.”
Anthony’s expression didn’t falter, though his gaze turned contemplative. “You’re right, Miss Y/N. Family expectations can be... formidable. But we Bridgertons tend to weigh them against the matters of the heart. My brother is pursuing you not for duty, but for something far greater. That is why I came—to assure you that his pursuit is no fleeting fancy.”
Her breath caught for the briefest moment before she composed herself. “And yet you speak for him instead of letting him speak for himself. Tell me, viscount Bridgerton, is it a tradition of your family that the elder brother visit first before the man himself came here to court me or are you just more excited than Benedict?"
Anthony’s smile turned faintly amused. “Perhaps. But as the head of the family, it is not a tradition, but my duty to do so."
The late afternoon sun cast long shadows through the Bridgerton drawing room, where Violet sipped her tea, listening to Eloise debate some pamphlet on societal reform. Colin, seated nearby, was making a show of writing letters while sneakily trying to eavesdrop.
Suddenly, the front door opened with a sharp creak, followed by the heavy sound of deliberate footfalls. The atmosphere in the house shifted.
“Anthony,” Violet remarked, looking up from her teacup as her eldest son entered. His expression was stony, his movements clipped.
“Anthony, you look—”
Anthony!" Benedict’s voice roared through the house, heavy with fury.
"Benedict," Anthony greeted cautiously, straightening. "What’s the meaning of this outburst?"
"The meaning?" Benedict spat, his voice echoing through the room. "You went to the Whitestone estate without even telling me. You had no right!"
Violet, startled by the commotion, stood. "What’s going on here?"
"Ask your eldest son," Benedict said bitterly. "Apparently, he’s taken it upon himself to play matchmaker or, worse, guardian of my personal affairs."
Anthony’s jaw tightened, though he remained outwardly calm. "Benedict, I was only acting in your best—"
"No!" Benedict interrupted, his voice rising. "You were acting in your best interest, Anthony. Or, at the very least, what you think is best. You didn’t consult me, didn’t even think to ask what I wanted!"
By now, the household was gathering in the hallway, drawn by the shouting. Eloise whispered to Colin, "This is far better than the last novel I read."
Anthony’s patience began to fray as he stood taller, his tone hardening. "I went because I thought you might care for her, Benedict! And if you do, it’s only natural to ensure the family is suitable."
"How dare you presume to know what I care for!" Benedict snapped. "And what of her? Did you think she’d appreciate you barging in, uninvited, to assess her worth like livestock? I don’t even know if I care for her, but now I may never have the chance to decide for myself because of you!"
Anthony’s face fell briefly into guilt before he rallied. "I wasn’t trying to ruin anything. I was trying to protect you—"
"Protect me from what, Anthony? From a young woman with a talent for art and a brother navigating his new title? Or perhaps from the whispers you always seem so terrified of?"
"You don’t understand," Anthony said sharply. "These things matter. Reputation matters. If you pursue her—"
"Stop!" Benedict’s voice was loud enough to make the rest of the family wince. "You don’t get to make this about reputation or family honor. You didn’t even think to come to me first, and for that alone, you’ve overstepped!"
Violet interjected, her voice firm. "Both of you, enough. This shouting is unbecoming."
"Unbecoming?" Benedict scoffed, his anger undiminished. "What’s truly unbecoming is my brother meddling in affairs that are none of his business!"
Anthony took a deep breath, his voice dropping but still heated. "I went because I thought it was for the best, Benedict. If I was wrong, then I apologize. But don’t act as if I’ve committed some great crime for trying to protect my family."
Benedict shook his head, his jaw tightening. "If you wanted to protect me, Anthony, you should have come to me first. You should have trusted me to handle my own life."
Without waiting for a response, Benedict turned and stormed out of the room, the sound of the door slamming behind him reverberating through the house.
Benedict rode hard, the crisp autumn air stinging his face as he left Mayfair behind. The rhythmic pounding of his horse's hooves against the packed dirt offered little solace, the anger from his fight with Anthony still churning in his chest. The thought of his brother making decisions about his life—his relationships—without so much as a conversation left him fuming.
The horse slowed as they approached Hyde Park. Benedict hadn’t meant to end up here, but the vastness of the greenery and the relative quiet of the park seemed preferable to the confinement of Bridgerton House. He dismounted near a cluster of trees, tying his horse to a low branch.
Wandering through the park, Benedict eventually spotted a familiar figure seated beneath a sprawling oak tree. Y/N sat cross-legged on the grass, a sketchbook balanced on her knee, her brow furrowed in concentration as her hand moved deftly across the page. She was so absorbed in her work that she didn’t notice his approach.
For a moment, Benedict simply observed her. The sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled patterns on her face. There was a peacefulness about her that pulled at something deep within him, a stark contrast to the chaos of the morning.
He cleared his throat softly.
Y/N jumped, her pencil jerking across the page. Her head snapped up, her eyes wide before recognition dawned. “Mr. Bridgerton!” she exclaimed, a hand flying to her chest. “You startled me.”
“I apologize,” Benedict said quickly, stepping closer. “Startling you was not my intention. I... Well, I didn’t expect to find anyone here, let alone you.”
Y/N narrowed her eyes at him, though there was a trace of humor in her gaze. “Hyde Park isn’t precisely secluded, Mr. Bridgerton.”
“Touché,” Benedict conceded with a small smile. “Still, I seem to have a habit of interrupting you.” He gestured to the sketchbook in her lap. “May I?”
Y/N hesitated, her fingers tightening around the edges of the paper. Then, with a resigned sigh, she handed it over. “It’s not finished,” she said quickly.
Benedict took the sketchbook, his eyes scanning the page. It was a study of a fountain in the park, the water captured mid-flow, the surrounding trees sketched with delicate precision. “This is remarkable,” he said sincerely. “The way you’ve captured the movement of the water—it feels alive.”
Y/N flushed at the compliment, though she tried to mask it with a nonchalant shrug. “It’s nothing special. Just practice.”
“Your modesty does you no justice,” Benedict said, handing the sketchbook back to her. “This is more than practice. It’s art.”
Her lips quirked into a small smile, but she said nothing, her eyes dropping to the sketch.
They sat in silence for a moment before Benedict spoke again. “I owe you an apology, Miss Y/N.”
“For startling me?” she teased, though her tone was light.
“For that and...for my brother’s intrusion at your home earlier today,” he said, his voice more serious now.
Y/N looked up sharply, her expression unreadable. “You knew?”
“I only found out after the fact,” Benedict admitted, frustration seeping into his tone. “Believe me, if I had known what Anthony was planning, I would have stopped him.”
Y/N studied him for a moment, then nodded. “I won’t pretend it wasn’t unsettling to have the Viscount Bridgerton show up unannounced, but your brother was respectful.”
“That doesn’t excuse him,” Benedict said firmly. “He had no right to involve himself. Whatever this is,” he gestured between them, “it’s our business, not his.”
A flicker of something passed through Y/N’s eyes—surprise, perhaps, or even approval—but it was gone before Benedict could decipher it.
“Your brother’s actions are understandable, though,” she said finally. “Family often feels entitled to protect us, even when we don’t need their protection.”
“‘Entitled’ is the word,” Benedict muttered, raking a hand through his hair.
Y/N tilted her head, a trace of amusement creeping into her expression. “You sound angry.”
“I am angry,” Benedict admitted, though his voice softened as he continued. “Not just because Anthony went behind my back, but because I... I don’t want anyone to think I need someone else to make my decisions for me. Least of all you.”
Her brows lifted at his candor, and a small smile played on her lips. “I think I can decide what to think of you, Mr. Bridgerton, regardless of your brother’s interference.”
Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink around them. There was an openness in Y/N’s gaze that felt like an invitation, though to what, Benedict wasn’t entirely sure.
“May I sit?” he asked, breaking the silence.
Y/N gestured to the patch of grass beside her. “Be my guest.”
Benedict settled himself beside her, leaning back against the tree trunk. The tension that had coiled in his chest all day seemed to ease in her presence.
“Do you often come here to draw?” he asked after a moment.
“Whenever I can,” Y/N said, glancing at the fountain in the distance. “It’s one of the few places in London that feels...free.”
“I can see the appeal,” Benedict said. “There’s a tranquility here. A sense of space.”
“And yet you seem restless,” Y/N observed, her eyes studying him intently.
Benedict chuckled, though there was little humor in it. “I suppose I am. My family has a way of...complicating things.”
“Families tend to do that,” Y/N said lightly.
He turned to look at her, a question forming on his lips, but he hesitated. “Do you...” he began, then stopped.
“Do I what?” she prompted.
“Do you find it hard?” he asked finally. “Being the person others look to? Shouldering the weight of their expectations?”
Y/N’s gaze grew distant, her fingers idly tracing the edge of her sketchbook. “I think we all bear expectations, whether we like it or not. The trick is deciding which ones matter and which ones don’t.”
Benedict nodded, her words striking a chord. “And have you decided?”
Her lips curved into a small, enigmatic smile. “I’m still working on it.”
They fell into a companionable silence, the only sounds the rustling of leaves and the faint splash of the fountain. For the first time that day, Benedict felt a sense of calm.
Perhaps, he thought, this wasn’t such a terrible day after all.
( part 2 anyone?)
#fluff#benedict bridgerton#bridgerton#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton x fem!reader#benedict x reader#bridgerton fanfiction#benedict bridgerton x you#benedict bridgerton fanfiction#benedict bridgerton imagine#benedict bridgerton x y/n#bridgerton season 4#benedict bridgerton fic
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blog intro bc i’ve not really done one yet!!
hi! i’m erebus!
i’m eighteen, bi, and trans (i use he/him pronouns) - i’m a first year college student going into high school english education :)
i’m also autistic and i have adhd
i’m american and hispanic
i’m a retired high school theatre kid (but i’ll always love musicals <3)
i do lots of stuff on here tbh- i’m pretty active!! my main fandoms are
Dead Boy Detectives
Red, White & Royal Blue
Percy Jackson
(but i nearly exclusively post DBDA LMAO)
my top ships are payneland, firstprince, and solangelo (i have a template, it seems 😭)
i write analyses about dead boy detectives as often as i can (i TRY to make it every night)
i use the tags #erebus psychoanalyzes things nightly! and #i love psychoanalyzing everything <3 for these posts!
i also make fanmerch for dbda! you can find the link here in this post, or in the linktree in my bio! (my ig is in there too! :P) i love getting design recommendations so feel free to ask!! <3
my dms and my asks are open and i love to chat so please don’t hesitate to reach out!!
i’m also a budding fic writer (but i have yet to post anything bc i have a billion wips and not enough motivation to complete any of them)
i love to analyze media, but i’m VERY new to it (i always love talking about vampires tho PLEASE ask me about vampires and the inherent queer coding of monsters 🙏🙏)
if you could have voted in the 2024 US elections and chose not to, did not vote blue, or could not vote but supported voting anything other than blue, i kindly ask you to stop interacting with me and my page.
#intro post#blog intro#trans#transgender#bisexual#college student#english major#autism#adhd#theatre kid#dbda#dead boy detectives#red white & royal blue#rwrb#pjo#percy jackson#payneland#firstprince#solangelo#erebus psychoanalyzes things nightly!#i love psychoanalyzing everything <3#fan made merch#fan merch#fic writers#media analysis#queer media#queer vampires#inherently vampires are queer hope this helps#i love vampires#gay vampires
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99% of Trad Pub: The goal of a good book is to use an easy to relate to character as a lens to explore profound plots and interesting experiences.
Me: The goal of a good book is to use interesting events to fully lay bare the depths of the souls of people who represent the weirdest little fuckers the world has to offer.
#there's nothing wrong with liking the first but lol could not be me#like absolutely not what i seek to write or read almost ever#and I think 99% of “debates” over good fiction come down to which camp people fall into#especially in YA where people think every book aspires to the first so if it doesn't hit that it means the author can't write#anyway don't read my stories for the first#and stop recommending them to me too they are not my thing#I am here for chaos gremlins and heartache#writing#books#fiction#author
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okay finished the first book of the fish isekai series and it is RIDICULOUSLY fun -- it's like eating candy, sweet and stupid and very hard to stop. prince jing is perfect, i adore him
#disabled tyrant's beloved pet fish#dtbpf#dtppf#li yu#mu tianchi#prince jing#shen qingqiu and li yu are having VERY different transmigration experiences...#took me three days to knock this book out i am being so literal when i said i couldn't stop reading#you guys get basically zero art because i was too engrossed going from one deranged fishy scheme to the next#i respect prince jing and his ability to roll with every new bizarre thing his pet decides to do#also the fact that the book essentially has two mute leads? very neat dynamic i love how you see them communicate with each other#genuinely stoked to pick up bk2 though i might read beware of chicken in between#just so i can tell my friend who recommended it to me that i tried it#also because if i finish bk2 just as fast and then need to WAIT for the third book i'm going to chew glass#my art
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community college is so funny because half of the teachers are like "For this class you need to use lockdown browser for all quizzes and tests. You need to buy this 70 dollar textbook, and all papers turned in must be in APA format with a title page even if they're only 500 words long. I will not accept late assignments. Also you have a minimum of 4 assignments a week." and the other half are like "you don't need proctoring for the final exam I trust you. here's a download link to a pirated copy of the textbook. as long as your writing is coherent and demonstrates an understanding of the material I literally could not care less what format you use. I can't figure out how canvas works so I'm not giving you due dates, just make sure it's turned in before the grading period ends. your only weekly assignment is a forum post with a minimum of 100 words."
#my favorite teacher so far is still the film history professor I had in my first semester.#he was very old and didn't understand how canvas worked at all and sometimes had trouble opening a video file#but simultaneously he was tech literate enough to recommend we use firefox with an ad blocker#because whenever someone missed class and was like 'where do i go to find the movie' he'd be like 'use an ad blocker and google it'#he said the school made him stop emailing links to free movie sites because people would open them on chrome with no ad block#and there'd be borderline malware on them. like this guy gave me the impression he was like. a veteran movie pirate lol.#that class had barely any assignments. like there wasn't a final exam or anything.#he just wanted us to write a paragraph or so answering a few questions about the movies we watched. it was chill.#and i also learned a lot actually. like i didn't know what a nickelodeon was before then. or the Hays Code.#the movies were genuinely good. i never thought Id be that into old black and white movies or westerns for example but they actually slapped#some of them had really mature themes and i definitely started to understand the people on this website who are like#'if the only media you consume is children's media you should maybe branch out instead of calling steven universe problematic'#because a lot of the movies we watched depicted very 'problematic' things and were able to directly address them because they are for adults#(to clarify I didn't just like kids media before then. i just mean that it introduced me to some older stuff i didn't think I'd like)#(but i ended up liking a lot. it also made me realize that movies made today are kind of shit. which i also already knew)#(but it put it more into perspective because I have more to compare it to)#im rambling now. community college is pretty swag i enjoy it. and i do get along with the teachers who have crazy requirements too lol.
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the eternal struggle of reading webcomics/manga/manh(w/u)a that i think are really good but have cringe ass titles so i can't recommend them without someone doubting my sensibilities and taste in stories
#not that my tastes are *that* good...#or do people ask me for good comics often enough for this to be a real problem#or.. people talking to me at all for this conversation to come up...#anyway please ask for some comics to read. i need someone to join me in my warrior's path#of reading things but never finishing them because either they aren't done being#written and/or translated yet..#or whatever the word for when adhd says i can't read any more because the story is *too* good and so i get paralysis trying to keep reading#to anyone curious-#i just caught up with sss-class revival hunter#and was reminded how much of a sucker i am for romance... ;_:#GUH i can't gush in the tags here... there's already too many tags#but it's soo good#here's my recommend of it for those reading the tags:#really good starting plot- read a synopsis for that i'm bad at that#there's a little dip in attention keeping between the end of the introduction phase and when he starts floor 10#but if you get past that little dip it's all up hill from there#ough i'm still thinking about it.#IT'S NOT A ROMANCE BTW. the most recent plot is romance but that's not the overarching thing#at least for what's out. idk how much what happened is going to effect the rest of the story#ok ok i need to stop talking about it because i'm getting too riled up and overpowering the melatonin i took. don't want to break my sleep#schedule over this#key's lockbox#rambling in tags#btw i don't have shame in the stuff i read regardless of their bad titles#i just wanted to use this premise to get my words out about enjoying my latest read
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murder time trio come back from killing some guy (me) and dust just pulls out a rainbow cleaning duster and starts dusting himself off. horror questions him. he says it's self care
#killer recommended it#and then it becomes a normal thing for dust to dust all of them off after murder time#monster dust gets into horror's skull and then dust has to dig around in there with his feather duster#guys cmon he cant ALWAYS be dusty it probably feels weird#who wants to be perpetually covered in the dust of those you murdered like hello#duster sales in the utmv must be crazy high with how many murderers there are#there was dust on killer's skull and dust tried to be nice and use it on his skull. and then his DT got on the duster#killer's face then became a banned space for usage because that shit fucking ruined the feathers!!!!!#each of the mtt have customized dusters. killer uses pressurized gas (the type of stuff you use on keyboards to get rid of dust)#because he'd be fucked up like that and wouldnt care if its dangerous (is it?? idk). he points it to dust and horror like its a weapon#i already said dusts. horror would have one of those really fancy feather dusters because he's sensitive or something#also horror needs only the highest quality of duster for himself. dust and killer don't get to use his shit#guys why is it not called MAD time trio. if bad time trio was using the youre gonna have a bad time quote#and mad time is a direct alternation of it...... then why not mad time trio......????#because it's too dust focused??? OKAY HELLO THE GROUP IS LITERALLY NAMED AFTER HIM. MURDER. MUUUURRRDDDERRR TIME TRIO#get the fuck outta here mad time trio is cooler. i'll still call them murder time trio because its more unique#hahaha guys ignore the last two posts i didn't even have THAT bad of a day at school#triglycercule is just dramatic as fuck and going to school triggered something inside me or something#just the ever so slightest mental spiral but we stay🔝🔝🔝#im absolutely gonna delete those posts i can NAUGHT have people seeing me fall from grace like that#like smh i was just being dramatic ngl 🙄🙄 stfu triglycercule you didn't even need to post about it!!! you just want attention#this kind of mentality is what caused me to post that and then not post for a few days. i should probably stop#i need to stop typing out my mental dialogue of angel and devil on my shoulder i always end up insulting and apologising TO MYSELF?????#triglycercule's biggest hater is....... TRIGLYCERCULE!!!! thank you thank you i know i'm glad to be up here too#voted for all of the mtt in the sexyman polls. saw they all lost. i will not be voting at all anymore#i need to rant about this in a several post i am upset#tricule hc#killer sans#dust sans#horror sans
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writing poetry sometimes feels like you gotta cut yourself open to express it idk smear all your organs all over the page and hope somebody else reads something beautiful. is that like divination the way it's expressed in various places and things? I dunno. poetry never slides off your skin like water off a duck's back. it's from within I think. sometimes you have to tear yourself apart to get at the words and sometimes it just wells up from within and gushes out. always from somewhere deep inside. sometimes it's difficult and horrible and painful but the alternative would be worse. sometimes it's from sheer joy that must overflow into words. I think that's beautiful personally. skin splitting from joy. it happens, I think, to us all at some point. or maybe I'm just a creature of extremes. maybe that online test I did because a friend recommended it is true. it said my symptoms were high. I don't know. maybe it is true, maybe it's not. I read a book once where there was a character named Nathan Hill-and-Dale, and while I'm not nearly as extreme as he was portrayed, in my extremes, I know I'm a fairly volatile person. funny, for most people who see me IRL seem to think that I'm fairly calm. nope, I'm a volcano. watch out, even when I'm apparently calm I might blow up one way or the other. one of my residents' family members said today that I was young and bubbly and she was glad to see it because happiness is the prerogative of the young. a part of me wished I told her. I have actively tried to kill myself once; I have come extremely close to the same actions countless times including yesterday; I would sooner hurt myself than others; if I had my own choice I would simply starve. of course I didn't tell her. sometimes I think I'll never get better. at this point I would consider it a very high chance that I will either die by suicide or end up in hospital following an attempt. not now, of course. but despite my fierce love for my course it has stress associated with it and I think that it's very likely that no psych help on earth would fix my mental health enough for that not to be an option mentally in this short time. I think it's possible to recover from all of the things I struggle with. God help me, I hope it is. the real question is whether I will survive long enough to recover from them. and the answer? I know not. I was reminded of a past interaction with the boy today, where he called my name - I turned - his grandfather, a photographer, was waiting to see if he could get a decent photo, for we were at a church conference and he was trying to get photos everywhere. they were laughing. I could not help but laugh. that memory is tainted now, for he would not look at me now, let alone try to pull such a stunt again. I don't blame him. I don't blame anyone for it. I wonder what would happen if I blocked all my friends on discord; who would seek me out? part of me hopes people would, another part hopes they would not. sometimes I just want to be left alone to curl up and die. it would be easier. so much easier than living, and living, and living. I tried writing poetry just now. it felt like trying to cut myself open, I couldn't get the words out. it only made me feel rather wild. I'm desperate for change, for something. something. what is that something? I don't know. did you know I'm a sadist? I would not in a public place express the thoughts that led me to that conclusion. but I am. I wish I wasn't. there's an obvious solution to that. quick, and easy. so easy. too easy. I tried writing poetry, and then instead of writing anything coherent, I wrote this.
#tw suicide#tw suicidal ideation#tw sh#personal#puddleglum hours#tried writing poetry and the very act of trying made me desperately want to harm. i think i'll break my streak today. all the things have#been so bad today. not so much the individual things as they all stack up together. almost the worst most constant dysphoria ive ever#experienced. coincided with eating new stuff which was scary. weighed myself yesterday on dad's recommendation and found out i *believed*#id gained like more than double what i *did*. feel so disgustingly fat and heavy tho why can't i just stop eating. why is everyone#prolonging my existence. serious question. this includes myself. whats the good. im tired but not. and oh so disgusted with myself.#weak. stupid. failing. only a fool talks like this. oh but don't worry im safe. safe enough anyhow. oh look nothing's real that explains#something. but i am safe. aint me as gonna commit suicide today. don't worry about me. im ignorin my friend who's worried about me bc she#has her own struggles. im not gonna ad to them at this point. selfish enough i am already. ive been choking on disgust all day even through#my jubilation over reaching a fourteen day streak. funny i literally don't care now. gonna break it. unless i'm too coward to do otherwise.#i ought. i ought to do other things too. i don't know how long i can keep on going like this. pray for me.
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LIAR YOU TOTALLY WATCHED ONE SEQUEL!!! 😉💜
https://www.tumblr.com/wellhalesbells/736050291745652736/friendraichu-jackironsides
HAHAHAHA, I should clarify that I just mean for super hero-y ones. I mostly watch the first one and rarely watch the second (or anything after...... or remakes, lol), I think the only Marvel one I've seen in recent history is Thor: Ragnarok. Actually, the Spider-man franchise pretty much encapsulates how I interact with Marvel properties: I saw the first trilogy because it was new and exciting at the time, then they remade it too fast and I refused to pay for something I just saw, that was so recent in my memory from the release date I could still remember exact scenes from it (THERE WERE ONLY FIVE YEARS BETWEEN SPIDER-MAN 3 AND THE REBOOT - THAT IS NOT ENOUGH TIME FOR ME TO GIVE A SHIT ABOUT THAT AGAIN. HOW IS THAT ENOUGH TIME FOR ANYONE TO GIVE A SHIT ABOUT THAT AGAIN???), then I watched the first Tom Holland one (fourteen years I can vibe with) and nothing that followed because that's generally when the gimmicks and cameos start in lieu of good story-telling, or they make it dark and gritty because that's the only way to ground this superhuman, right (I assume a random white guy: "Should we fridge a lady? Yeah, we should probably fridge a lady"). The first one generally at least tries to have a soul because they have to introduce the character and make you care about them but many of the ones that follow (the few I've seen from when the MCU was just starting out and I had hope *coughs*Iron Man 2, Thor 2, etc.*coughs*) are just cash grabs that don't try because you already love this character and there they are, right there, so money please!
Meg 2 however..... EPIC, NO NOTES. It knows if I was a shark girl, I was probably a dinosaur girl and it gambled correctly. That's what you're watching this for? Have three sharks and an unnecessary (probably stupid expensive) dinosaur intro that is nearly completely irrelevant to the story but that you will also not want to live without and for an extra special bonus: oblivious husbands and their brilliant daughter. Like. You got me nailed, my dude. Will watch every subsequent sequel, no questions asked.
#i do understand that spider-man is a bullshit studio thing#and that it's a marvel property that belongs to sony and i implied everything is under the mcu umbrella#(and i honestly don't fault them for remaking it. instead i just don't understand how there was an audience for it???)#but they're all guilty of the same shit for different but also EXACTLY THE SAME reasons#they want to fleece money from me. because that's how it feels: like i'm being swindled#they're not earning my money through good content but instead through brand recognition and shared cultural touchstones#YOU CAN'T HAVE MY MONEY MOUSE#sony you can when it's miles (that is a sequel i DID watch and that DID have a soul imo) :))))#something similar (cash grabs) are pretty much the exact reason i stopped reading marvel comics too#capitalism ruins everything#for a moral everyone knows *snorts*#also generally the sequels have bigger budgets and just to quote freckle...... sometimes things that are expensive are worse#great things sometimes come from people having to work within constraints and when you aren't given any....... terrible things can happen#like bbc sherlock lolol. AHEM#basically if i watch a sequel now it has to be a character i am VERY invested in so i'm willing to be burned - deadpool or miles#or it has to break containment from people who will go see anything with a marvel sticker on it to people who..... won't#and still recommend it - like ragnarok#(i wonder if NOT going the dark gritty route and instead having a fun story with a conflict that wasn't dependent on outdoing every#other conflict that came before it in this whole universe had aNYTHING to do with its success. hrm. it's a mystery!)#normally i would answer this privately but i had to explain about the sony thing so you would know i KNEW about the sony thing and then....#tag explosion and now it has to be public and i'm sorry i went on a mouse rant. I HATE THE MONOPOLY MOUSE I JUST DO.#IT'S BAD AND IT MAKES BAD LAZY THINGS THAT KILL CREATIVITY (AND NOW ALSO FUNDS GENOCIDE SO)#!ask
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You know, I considered keeping these in my inbox, make it an aquarium, but I think it's best if I set them free Just look at how shiny they are!! Absolutely lovely little dudes, I love their coloring and frilly fins
#thank you so much for sending me these!!#they made my week tbh#goofy little fellas#Their names are really interesting too! They are also called 'Devils Hole Fish' in english#And 'Teufelskärpfling' in german which roughly translates to 'Devils finfish' in english#They are about 2 to 3 cm long which is like one or two inches I think? I have no idea about inches and all that#The individuals in this image are (as seen in the file name) male which can be seen in their blue color; in general they are silvery white#(with in general I mean outside the mating season; the female fish are silver all the time iirc)#They are endangered and only live in one place which is also where they were discovered around 1830? or 1890...or 1930? I hate numbers :(#it's one of those I'm sure#That place would be a limestone basin above a warm water source called the Devils hole (hence the name of the fish)#That water source is located 15m underneath the ground and the basin above it is about as big as a small room I'd say#People have tried to grow the population artifically but it failed which is tragic since the population in that basin is still declining#as far as I know at least; it's possible I missed something and it went back up again but last I knew there were like only... 110 of them?#This is because of a pump station located very closely to this Devil's hole (can you see I find that name is amusing?)#is stopping the water in that basin from rising; and therefore endangering the habitat of these fish#The close by Hover Damn is also responsible for this and researching this I did not expect this name to pop up#Fallout New Vegas follows me everywhere it would seem#And also! They eat diatoms which are some funky looking things as well! Algae if I remember correctly#I highly highly highly recommend looking at pictures of those#They are pretty pretty; trust me on this#Also; and feel free to ignore this; but these guys give me Mirage and V1 from Ultrakill vibes#based on the color mostly#Although really; show me anything blue and metallic and I will find a way to make it about them#Don't even get me started on color associations; I will not shut up and that is a promise#I could make one of those 5 hour breakdowns of why which shade of any color makes me think of the little idiots that occupy my mind 24/7
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It’s fun going on like, Facebook and seeing the carefully curated parts of your friends still being friends and graduating colleges and doing things you either never could or never had guts to. Like I’m proud of them and this is an old song, but sometimes it does just hurt.
#I’ve been having a WEEK of it#it’s like oh yeah I managed to keep up with these great friends and get my bachelors and have this family and job and and and#and I know it’s… fake. like they did those things but it’s not.#it’s not all sunshine for them either#but like it reminds me that Im usually too terrified to travel and that I’m technically a college dropout and have ghosted or. usually.#been ghosted BY my friends irl#I’ll be fine but it’s sad lady hours in my apartment#time to go on indeed and see them recommend more jobs I don’t want or can’t do#I get that we’re in a healthcare crisis but I’d love to stop seeing nursing applications when I’m NOT A NURSE#I have like. 0 qualifications in that field
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I kind of want to do a temperature blanket, but I don't care about the temperature, so I'm trying to think of something along the same format that's not as boring as temperature. I'm thinking maybe moon phases? I considered sunrise and sunset time, but it would require a lot of yarn and I'm not sure exactly how I would format it. Any ideas?
#i love knitting. its very calming#and i can do other things like listen to podcasts or music or watch a show while i do it#(it kills my hands because i was stupid when i first started knitting but we dont talk about that)#if you knit please don't push yourself too hard. take breaks. stretch your hands every few rows#ive made two blankets and a scarf and right now im working on a boanket for myself#the two blankets were for my best friend and my sibling. the scarf was for my girlfriend#now im working on a blanket thats just for me#because i realized i should probably stop or really limit my knitting after this#i really fucked up my hands tbh and i like using sign language and playing instruments so i dont want to make them worse#but a blanket like a temperature blanket is only one or two rows per day#its nice and limited knitting so i think i can manage that#but i dont know what to do!#i really do like the idea of moon phases because i love the moon :)#but im not sure. and id like a couple more ideas#my gf recommended tv show genres because im always watching a tv show#but rn im watching two game shows and a crime drama#maybe podcast genres? i love listening to podcasts because im alone so much at my job#and i usually dont listen to more than one at once#oh thats a cool idea#anyway lmk if you have any other ideas#love yall bye
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Just “re-pierced” (read: spent 30 minutes trying to painfully shove a dull earring through my ears) and I finally got a pair of earrings in and. Ouch 🥲
#I got a new pair that’s silver that I was going to wear since I’m the past my ears have tolerated silver well enough#(my ears were infected literally nonstop when I consistently wore earrings so I stopped)#anyways they’re too big and I couldn’t get them through my ears#so I’m wearing my gold hoops thst I don’t love because they’re too big and catch on things#and I’m trying to sleep but my ears hurt to touch#do not recommend#and to be clear I take efforts to keep my ears from being infected#when I take my earrings out they immidiately go into hydrogen peroxide#unless they’re silver which tarnished in peroxide so I just wipe them down extra well#then I wipe them off#then I dip them in alcohol before I go to put them in#and dip the ends in antibacterial cream#and use saline solution twice a day on my ears as well#but unfortunately my ears hate me and are permanently infected when I have earrings in
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⛈️ //
#tag vent bullshit would highly recommend just scrolling past this if vent bs aint your thing#so run along now for those who would rather avoid. im just tossing in tags bc its easier on me.#anyway… just… …#this stress is really eating me alive & im so tired#ive been crying on & off since yesterday esp w my health taking a swan dive to hell amidst this#but i have to just. deal with.#crying when alone specifically like fuck am i gonna show a damn thing to anyone. fuck no ❤️#esp when it feels like my emotions im feeling are me somehow being manipulative.#because i dont have a right to any of this right. its just a pity party im throwinf for myself.#& yet all these feelings emotions everything i havent processed continue to fester & bubble up to the surface in pure vitriol.#pure hatred & anger bc of it coming from a place of hurt but what does that matter. right? …im just.#i feel manipulative expressing anything. i feel manipulative having feelings. i need to remove them at once. i need them gone at once.#i feel manipulative even so much as talking about situations that hurt me. bc i ‘shoulsnt feel this way’#all this shit to me feels like it just reads as ‘woe is me’ bullshit i hate it so much.#im tired. i dont know. im in distress & emotionally really falling apart but just.#it almost feels more comforting to just let myself bleed out on myself metaphorically speaking than to dare task anyone via asking them#to help me w my own metaphorical wounds. bc then im shoving a burden onto them. & I’m not supposed to do that.#so much for being a pillar of stability for others LMFAOOO. whatever. whatever.#faulty ass pillar that’s just falling apart from being built on an unstable foundation#im tired im tired of hurting both emotionally & physically due to flare ups from the sheer stress as well#& crying feels fucking humiliating & like im just begging for pity.#i shouldnt be fucking crying. i shouldn’t. im supposed to be fine. i say. & at first i was fucking able to fucking.#dissociate & let quinn join me too so i could be fully coldly detached. from it. but thats not happening bc i cant control when she joins#joins front w me. & i almost wish she could take front fully. take front from me fully for as long as this situation keeps going.#even if that means i end up in solitude & w barely much recollection of what may transpire. at least when she’s upfront? i dont have to be.#solitude bc she doesnt like talking to anyone even my own trusted friends.#unless its somehow fucjing necessary but at least w her upfront i just. i dont. have to feel. i can disconnect & forget everything.#i just want to stop fucking falling apart & i have so many unprocessed emotions over this all that feel unacceptable to talk abt STILL.#im that fucking convinced any neg emotion i show is wrong somehow & while ive gotten better w this im still. not. idk. just. w/e. ifg.
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Ok I am going to do this simply because the first thing I will put here I NEED to do it and I have 0 motivation to do it even though it is EXTREMELY important
In fact, I think that's the reason why I don't want to do it... anyway
If this gets to 30 notes, I do that thing ✅️
50 notes, I call to ask if my doctor's appointment has been scheduled (I've been avoiding it for two weeks now) ✅️
100 notes, I go wash my shoes that have long needed washing and are just sitting there, existing, waiting for me to deign to wash them. ✅️
200 notes, I finish organizing my room (I organized it halfway and then left a bunch of things that still don't have a defined place) ✅️
500 notes, I use the things I have to bleach and color my hair. The only thing that has stopped me is the fear of doing it wrong or being too lazy to maintain it. ✅️
1k notes, I stop doing things that I know will trigger my chronic pain with the pure intention of confirming that the pain was indeed real (don't do this. 0 recommended) ✅️
5k notes, I try some new food without fear of wasting money by buying something I most likely won't like (my autism hates new foods) ✅️
10k notes, I wear my bi flag earrings in front of someone I wouldn't usually wear them with. I trust that they possibly wouldn't have a problem with me being bi, but I would never get up the courage to tell them anything ✔️ (I haven't, but that person was in my room next to where the earrings are. They were 0% hidden) ✅️
20k notes, wtf I have absolutely no idea. If it comes to this, ehhh... Honestly, I have no idea what I'm doing here. Do I promise to be honest in therapy and stop telling them that everything is perfect even though nothing has ever been perfect? Yeah, that probably works. Please don't go this far, I don't know how to do this. Maybe I should... but... it would be awful to learn it
April 2024: I stop procrastinating editing this post with the things I've already done. I WANT THE HAIR SO MUCH BUT IT'S SO DIFFICULT
May 2024: Red hair, red hair, red hair. I'M CROWLEY, RED HAIR!!!!!
#Just my random stuff tag because I don't want to do any of this stuff#but i do want to do this stuff#fuck i really hate wanting to do things and at the same time wanting to simply... stop#fuck#jay and... jay what are you doing?
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Diaper Discipline Guide
Emma & Henry
My boyfriend of 4 years has always had regressive and sub tendencies while I’ve wanted to talk more control in our relationship. We tried several bdsm activities including smacking and bondage but the occasional nature wasn’t really doing it for me.
After finding out more online about Female Led Relationships I came across DD, initially dismissing it. But the more I read, the better and better the idea appealed to me. After some planning I decided to confront my partner and say I wanted to add an element of control and domination into our relationship, by saying I hadn’t decided how to do it yet we had a long discussion without diapers being mentioned where he agreed in principle to “lifestyle dominance” as long as it could be kept between them and not impact his job, friends, etc.
This guide was invaluable to me to plan the rest and it solidified my decision. It took me two weeks to discreetly buy the required supplies, getting them delivered to our apartment on days he was at work. I decided that I wanted a high initial level of DD where he’d be in diapers 24/7 at home.
I decided to start on a Friday night after work. He’d known that I had been preparing for something and I started the conversation by saying my proposal was weird, reassuring him that it wouldn’t be painful/harmful and nobody else would find out but you wanted him to agree to try it for at least 6 weeks.
Although nervous he also seemed excited by the prospect and agreed. We moved to the bedroom where I told him to get undressed before I diapered him for the first time. There was a lot of objections at this stage but I talked him round and the agreement to try it for 6 weeks was helpful.
To make the shock less I started with a medical diaper which wasn’t too thick and let him wear his normal pjs over it. I left him to explore it on his own while going to make dinner. After dinner it was time to tell him all the rules, the main one was that the toilet at home was now banned and he’d be in diapers whenever he’s at home. I kept the baby elements to a minimum and said he’s have to also wear out the house sometimes but I’d make sure nobody could tell and never when he’s at work or with friends/family. I’m not going to lie and say this didn’t involve an argument, especially when he realised that no toilet meant #2 as well but we got through. We ended up watching a movie which was a good way for him to calm down.
He wet his diaper for the first time after the movie which was funny to watch as he was so nervous it was going to leak everywhere. Even though it wasn’t too wet I did change him straight away and made his change extra special too. That night he slept in a diaper for the first time.
Over the first weekend he did get more used to wearing and I allowed him to use the toilet for a bm on Saturday. Sunday however I decided to fully enforce the rules and he messed himself for the first time. I didn’t change him this time and he took a shower. There was a lot of protests again but I said it was none-negotiable. The smell did seem to be the biggest thing that bothered him so I bought some Devrom tablets which had been recommended, it took a few days for them to arrive and a few more of taking them but now his messy diapers hardly smell and the protests have stopped. I’d actually recommend you use these from day 1 to make the transition easier.
The first week was tough but we got through it and I’m happy to say we’re now 7 months in to him being in DD. Over that time I’ve moved to thicker abdl diapers, he wears onesies regularly around the house and the toilet has remained unused by him with only a few exceptions.
We both work mainly from home so I’ve gotten used to checking and changing his diaper but thick diapers + devrom has meant he generally only needs a change after waking up, sometime in the early afternoon and before bed. I’ll also let him change himself if I’m busy or cba.
The best news is after an initial rocky patch, our relationship feels stronger than ever! He proposed to me 5 months in and I can’t see his DD ending any time soon. I’ve increased elements overtime and now the toilet is banned even when out of the house together. Public wearing did take him a while to get used to but actually it’s easy.
I’m sure DD is not for everyone and is much more involved and hard work than other lifestyle changes but for creating a caring bond between you and your partner I’ve found it to be great!
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