#her model...horrific

[rainybraindays]

I'm legitimately still not over this.

[ladyseidr]

btw i'm THIS close to starting to offer to make models of ppl's muses and make renders of our babies but regarding ships ( romantic, platonic, or familial ) with muses i already have models for. i've been thinking abt this forever honestly lmao

[imtalkin]

I really hate the way my favorite artists are treated by the general public. Most of them are women so basically all of them are mistreated in some way and it’s so goddamn exhausting.

[pinkfey]

thinking about andromeda again and like why didn’t they make facial animations a prime focus when the game is 50% cutscenes 😐

[lobselvith8]

Regarding Gaider's "Modern Elves are Partly to blame for their own oppression"

In a conversation with Christina Gonzalez and a few other people on twitter, David Gaider, the former headwriter of Dragon Age, mocked fans of the Dalish. I took issue with his statement and pointed out why people are critical of how he and the other writers handled the Dalish in Dragon Age (while Allan Schumacher of Epic Games had nothing of substance to say in response). The Dalish are nomadic as a consequence of Andrastian societies violently attacking them if they stay too long in one area. The Andrastian Chantry outlawed their religion, making them criminals as a consequence of their faith. Andrastians will threaten the Dalish with violence in an attempt to force conversion to the Andrastian faith. Templars will hunt down the Dalish, and will even torture children. Andrastian elves also suffer from Andrastian oppression as Andrastian humans can massacre all of them, down to the children in an orphanage.

Gaider postulates that one could discuss how the ancient elves were "partly to blame" for their enslavement (let's keep in mind that being slaves is what he's talking about, even though he's careful not to put that into his tweet) or how "modern elves are partly to blame for their own oppression" which is essentially what we are told throughout the whole of Inquisition and the DLCs that accompanied the game (even JoH tries to romanticize the genocidal tyrant Drakon and place all of the blame on the Dales for the elves not trusting the tyrant who was invading their neighbors, forcing conversion, and massacring the people who would not convert - like the peaceful pacifists known as the Daughters of Song).

Inquisition even rectonned previously established lore on the Dalish in order to have characters like Iron Bull denigrate the Dalish. It's a game that will side-step Celene burning thousands of elves alive in Halamshiral while it will demonize the Dalish for wanting to maintain their autonomy from what's essentially a group of colonizers who want to rule over them and force them to convert, and the white Canadian writers (who are from Canada, a place known for its long history of horrific treatment towards Indigenous people) are firmly on the side of those who think that the Dalish (who, as Gaider himself once said at the Dragon Central forums before the release of Origins, were modeled after "Northern Native Americans") are wrong not to subjugate themselves to white Andrastian rulers.

Andrastian elves similarly face hardships because of Andrastian rule. In Ferelden even the efforts of the Night Elves fighting to free the nation from Orlesian rule didn't the elves any greater freedoms once Maric came to power. The Boon of the City Elf faces a number of dire consequences unless the Warden assumes control themselves as the new Bann. Inquisition ignores the plight of the elves of the Dales entirely to focus on a white human noble as the focus of the storyline in the Dales, and you can potentially help chevalier Michel de Chevin (a white man with blonde hair who is part of the chevaliers, a group who murder innocent elves as part of their initiation rite, although this isn't properly addressed in-game) while Briala's role is marginalized in-game despite being the leader of an elven rebellion across Orlais (and she strangely became white despite her in-book description making it clear she's a woman of color, which accompanying artwork confirmed).

Whether you're talking about the slavery of ancient elves or the 'modern' oppression of Andrastian elves and Dalish elves, I don't see how you can blame either the victims of slavery or the victims of racial (and in the case of the Dalish religious) persecution for the oppression they face. And Gaider doesn't seem to understand that at all, which explains the inherent problems with how the plight of the elves is framed within Dragon Age.

[writer-in-theory]

Ever since he can remember, everyone has always said Steve looked like his Mama.

He acts like her too—that persistent kindness and protectiveness for the people they love, the ability to talk to people with relative ease, even the propensity for having a bit of an attitude. Even his soft brown eyes and the texture of his hair, all of it was Maggie Harrington.

Maggie always said that Steve was her greatest accomplishment, one of her best friends. She was so proud of her son, first for being Hawkins High's first All-State Champ in swimming and then for being a good role model in town. She'd missed the moment when he began to distance from her, from his parents, until she hardly knew anything about his life. She thinks it might've been because of Robert.

Steve Harrington could only have the best in store for him, which is why she'd allowed Robert to be tough with him. He knew what it meant to build a good future, what it would take to find happiness and stability. So she'd let Robert yell at him for throwing a party at their house and allowing a poor girl to go missing there. And she'd thought it had worked, based on the way Steve started bringing around sweet Nancy Wheeler and stopped hanging out with the Hagan boy. She thought it had worked.

When the Harringtons came home from their last business trip to Chicago, Steve was being dropped off by Police Chief Hopper. It looked like he'd been in a fight, and as much was confirmed when the Chief told him to stay out of trouble. Robert had been furious, ready to lay into Steve about the Harrington name and respectability, but then a group of kids Maggie didn't recognize tumbled out of the car, too, all hugging Steve and thanking him. He was their hero, they'd told the Harringtons, Steve was the best babysitter ever. Steve had never showed interest in babysitting before, but the way all of those kids so clearly looked up to him had Maggie in near tears.

Maggie had a feeling the mall job was a mistake. She'd felt it the moment Robert made the decision, loudly proclaiming that their son would learn what it was like to work a tough job, that he'd realize how lucky he had it that there was a family business he could be hired in. Maggie hated the humiliated look their Steven had given the first time he set out for the mall in that sailor's uniform, but her husband knew what it was like to be a teen boy, surely he had Steve's best interests at heart.

But then she'd gotten the call that there had been a fire, that Steve was involved and they needed to get down to the hospital. If she thought the fight in '84 looked bad, then nothing could have prepared her for the sight of her son in that hospital bed, vomiting profusely into a container and wincing through the obvious pain in his head. The morning after, that same group of kids fought the hospital staff to visit Steve, demanded it. The one with curly hair and the youngest girl loudly proclaimed that Steve had saved their lives, that he'd risked himself to make sure they were safe. Her baby was an actual goddamn town hero and she'd almost missed it, she almost never knew because she was too busy worrying about his future.

Maggie stopped worrying about family names and legacies, after that. She was the first to ask how his shifts at the movie store were and never minded when his talkative friend came over for dinner. Maggie kept waiting for the moment Steve would admit the two of them were dating, but he kept insisting they were friends, best friends.

She never saw Eddie Munson coming.

After the fourth tragedy to befall Steve, Maggie was convinced he needed to get out of Hawkins before it destroyed him. No one could find Steve in the immediate aftermath of the earthquake. He wasn't at the shelter, or the hospital, or with any other search parties. She'd worried briefly that the serial killer had gotten him, too, that they'd have to see what was so horrific about the method of killing that had left the town sparking a witch hunt for the guy.

He was found later at the Munson trailer, wearing military-style gear and bleeding out from his abdomen and neck. Maggie would never understand how an earthquake could cause that level of damage, nor the kind that was found on Eddie Munson just beside him. When Steve had woken up in the hospital, he'd simply told her that he couldn't talk about it, that it was better if she didn't know. She thinks that might be true.

Once Steve recovered, he stayed by the Munson boy's bedside every day. He'd bring a book, or a hacky sack, anything to keep himself busy while Eddie slept off his injuries. And when he came home, Steve was with him constantly. They were volunteering, he'd told her.

Then one day, months after the earthquake, Steve came home looking nervous.

"Mom." Maggie ached for the days when he'd come waddling into the living room screaming Mama, missed when he felt like he could tell her everything. When had that disappeared? "I need to tell you something."

"Of course, Stevie. You can tell me anything." Steve winced in the way she figured he would: they both know that hadn't been true in years.

Steve shuffled on his feet, wrung his hands together and worried them through his hair. Finally he stood ramrod straight, eyes focused directly on hers as he blurted the truth out. "Mom, I like guys. And girls. It's called being bisexual and I'm not sorry for it. I can pack a bag tonight if I have to, but I won't pretend anymore. I won't."

It was supposed to be scary. Maggie knows the version of her four years ago would have been terrified by the statement, angry or upset. Maybe she still is a little scared, only because she knows what the world is like for people who are different. She used to be upset by people who were different. In '83, she might've kicked Steve out for the fear of it all. But looking at him now, she saw the kid who drove those middle schoolers to the arcade because he could, and who saved peoples' lives in the mall at the near expense of his own, the guy who believed Eddie Munson was innocent even when the entire town had turned on him out of fear of the Other. She saw Steve Harrington, her darling son who'd grown up before she even realized it, becoming far greater a man than she could have ever hoped for.

"How long have you two been dating? You and Eddie Munson?" Maggie asked gently, a smile working its way on her face. She'd wondered why he hadn't dated anyone after Nancy, but maybe it was simply that he wasn't telling her about that part of his life anymore.

Steve's eyes widened, lips parting like he was surprised by the response. He floundered a little, looking around for an explanation. "Um. Since last summer, we met at the mall. How did you...?"

Maggie laughed then, far brighter than it ever had been in years. "I know when my son's in love. I just didn't know where to look, didn't notice the answer was right there."

"You're not...mad? Disappointed?"

"Honey," Maggie sighed, taking a few steps forward so she could grab onto his arms. "Steven Robert Harrington, you are my son. I will always love you, no matter what. I'm so sorry I ever ever made you feel otherwise. All I've ever wanted for you is happiness, and if that's with Eddie Munson then that's that."

"Mom," Steve croaked, voice cracking around the word as he pulled her in for a hug. She could feel him shake in her arms, sniffling like he was trying to hide the tears. "Do you want to meet him? Eddie, I mean, do you want to...?"

"He's outside?"

"He came over to support me, in case we needed to, well." In case his parents were kicking him out. God, where had they gone so wrong? "Do you want to?"

"Please," Maggie answered quietly, knowing this wouldn't be enough to make up for the years of wrong they'd done. She wanted to know her son, wanted to know the people who made him happiest. She wanted to hear about his day and know that if something ever went wrong that he would call his parents himself, not wait for the hospital or the police to do so. "Please."

Then Steve was bringing in Eddie Munson, who stood out in the pristine, polished Harrington home but who made Maggie's son's eyes light up in a way she'd never seen them. He was smiling, holding his hand out for a handshake.

"Mama, this is Eddie," Steve was saying, and Maggie could cry because it felt like she'd done something right, because she could see how deeply in love Steve was with Eddie because it was a mirror of her own expression when she looked at Robert. This was her son, and her future son-in-law, and Maggie couldn't be prouder.

[eico-23]

High Batfam Headcanon

(because I just had the funniest 1am conversation)

Bruce Wayne: Smoked once because either Selina or Alfred convinced him to do so. It just made him tired and he finally got some sleep. He doesn’t understand why people enjoy it so much.

Dick Grayson: Should not be allowed to smoke. Will not stop yapping about the “epiphanies” he has. (“Guys… Guys. Cucumbers are just salty pickles.”) Won’t stop bouncing around everywhere. Makes horrible snacks and thinks they’re delicious.

Jason Todd: Gets high to rest. The kind of guy who needs CBD gummies to sleep. He’s pretty well acquainted with drugs and knows how to be safe and not be an idiot.

Tim Drake: Not allowed to smoke. Banned. Gets horrifically paranoid and thinks everyone is out to kill him. Do not pass him the blunt. Do not pass go. Do not collect $200.

Damian Wayne: Thinks “Don’t do drugs kids” shouldn’t apply to him because he’s “not a kid.” Sneaks into Jason’s stash and tried exactly one gummy. Passed out almost immediately. When Jason found him and realized what happened, he woke him up. Bad idea. Damian begins maniacally laughing and trying to murder everyone within a half mile radius until his high wears off.

Stephanie Brown: Super fun to get high with. Giggly and thinks everything is absolutely hilarious. However, should not be allowed to get high while Tim is high. She also thinks his paranoia is hilarious and will do whatever she can to make it worse.

Cassandra Cain: Sad and somehow quieter while high. Usually rocks side to side and seems to find the smallest things entertaining. One time she literally watched paint dry. Steph is the only person who seems to be able to make her smile while she’s high.

Alfred Pennyworth: Has one day a year where he takes a long break and gets stoned out of his mind. No one is allowed to contact him or ask for anything or even look his direction unless they are on the brink of death. He needs this break. He deserves it.

Superman: Thinks he shouldn’t smoke because he needs to be a good role model. (Smoked once and enjoyed it, then felt guilty about enjoying it and repressed those feelings ever since.)

Catwoman: You will never be able to tell that she’s high. Yes, she’s having a good time up there, but the only tell you’ll get is that her eyes are slightly red. Master at flying under the radar.

[blasphemousclaw]

honestly i think the most that can be assumed from hornsent wearing the caterpillar mask is that hes okay with the jarring process, since it has such heavy connections to bonny village+the gaols, plus i think itd make an interesting parallel to marika where you have these two traumatized characters who lost everything to horrific acts of violence whod them go on to condone OTHER horrific acts of violence just because it happened to The Other Guy (hornsent losing his family to the crusade, being okay with jarring shamans cuz its an important ritual of his people and he desperately struggles to retain any last connection he can to them; marika losing her family to jarring, sending messmer to crusade against the hornsent without caring about his methods just so shed have her vengeance)

theres even something to be drawn about marika from how hornsents quest ends ("if miquellas redemption would quell the desire for revenge i feel, then i dont think i want him to redeem anything after all" <-poorly summarized dialogue lmao) wherein, combined with the shaman village lore, we can draw the parallel that marika didnt *want* her thirst for vengeance slaked, because much like how killing messmer didnt bring back any of hornsents people, becoming a god was equally disatisfying for marika. in much the same way marika tramples over corpses to become a god, hornsent metaphorically walks over messmers corpse to try and take his place as crusader, this time against the people of the erdtree.

it also paints messmer in a REALLY interesting light. hornsent is so consumed by revenge he doesnt focus on anything else beyond a nostalgic reminiscence. miquellas goal, as told to him, is to give the hornsent a chance at peace and to rebuild, and hornsent would rather sacrifice that to feed his own flames of vengeance. similarly we can assume marika never told messmer the location of bonny village or the gaols because theyre untouched by the crusade, despite definitely knowing where they are, and the gaols indicate that even after bonny village stopped sending jars, they remained in use by utilizing prisoners (potentially even prisoners of war+deserting soldiers) for at least SOME time before we find them. indicating that also, to marika, it was the death that was important. the fear, and the killing, and the slaughter. messmer by contrast sets up a clinic for the jarred shamans, is capable of being convinced against crusading and burning certain areas such as salza arguing in favor of sparing rauh, and has a library dedicated to the people hes genociding that stores information about their culture and anatomy (judging by the models he has hanging in the storeroom).

messmer, who places himself symbolically between the hornsent and marika to spare her the shame of being the face of the crusade, committing atrocities out of sympathy and love for his mother, vs hornsent who desires to commit atrocities out of an overwhelming need for revenge, vs marika who DID commit atrocities for revenge and desired them to never stop even if it meant losing the things she cared about (despite initially showering messmer with blessings and affection and special physiks, eventually she stopped saying anything at all about the war without grace or honor, and only miquellas prying reveals it all again, including the son she loved and left behind)

like UGHHHH i LOVEEE when characters have foils and you can use the patchwork of lore to help fill in the blanks about everyone theyre connected to

oh Hornsent and Marika are ABSOLUTELY meant to be parallels… both are on revenge quests where their goal is to keep killing and killing until every single person related to their enemy is dead. Marika has Messmer burn the Hornsent cities to the ground in vengeance for her murdered village, but most of these people were civilians, farmers… familes and their children who had probably never even seen a jar — their only crime was to be part of the same society.

Hornsent, though he despises Marika and Messmer for burning his family to death, does exactly the same thing that she did: he vows to kill Marika and ALL her kin, and he goes after us even if we helped him simply because we are one of Marika’s chosen. It doesn’t matter that we gave him scorpion stew and that I’m sure deep down he wants to like us, we were always marked for death in his eyes just because of who we are.

This is exactly the purpose of the caterpillar mask… feeling any guilt or regret about his actions would get in the way of Hornsent’s sworn mission. Hornsent having this mask implies that he had some knowledge of what the potentates did and sought out their attire for their violent rituals as a touchstone for his own violent quest. A lot of people act as if the jarring process was something the entire hornsent population explicitly believed in and supported, and it’s true that the practice is basically built into the society’s entire prison system, but the ritual slaughter and jar worship are implied to be esoteric practices carried out only by specific groups of people… I highly doubt this is a practice that every Hornsent knows of intimately and enthusiastically supports. And we know some did explicitly oppose the jar rituals; the greater potentate who wrote the cookbooks we find was disgusted by the practices of his village. So Hornsent finding and wearing the potentate mask is like him knowingly embracing the darkest, most violent parts of his society in order to use them against their enemies.

Messmer’s position in this story really is interesting because with Hornsent’s quest, he’s set up to be like his “final boss,” the guy who cruelly slaughtered his people and called them savages. But when we actually get to Messmer, he’s so much more subdued then we’d have thought, like an apathetic shell of his former self… he doesn’t even verbally acknowledge Hornsent’s presence, like he means nothing to him. The war against the Hornsent was never Messmer’s war, it was Marika’s. Messmer carried out this violence in vengeance for his mother and her village, but when Marika stops speaking to him altogether, the war starts to feel more and more like pointless violence, like he’s just going through the motions.

I won’t go so far as to say that Messmer had much sympathy for the Hornsent he was murdering; the specimen storehouse was more of a project said to be created by his fire knights who were uncomfortable about letting an entire society’s knowledge go up in flames (but chose to burn it anyway). but he absolutely has a different attitude than his mother… he feels more like her tool… used up and discarded

and lol no worries

[kazz-brekker]

hotd episode 2 thoughts

aegon screaming hysterically and smashing up viserys's model of old valyria…alicent unable to get through a sentence without sobbing…helaena staring blankly at the wall and clutching jaehaerys's blanket…i love acting but also that all kind of broke me.

genuinely i am enjoying tom glynn-carney as aegon SO much, he's quickly becoming one of my favorite actors on the show and gives his character so much nuance.

otto using his grandson's horrific death as a pr stunt…truly that man never stops working, he's always on the clock.

i also LOVED the big blowout fight scene between rhaenyra and daemon, it's about time someone dragged that man to hell and back. "the darkness you sheathe within yourself like a sword" and "i don't trust you" and "you're pathetic" go OFF rhaenyra!

criston please don't send someone else on a suicidal assassination mission because you were slacking your duty and banging alicent while the heir to the throne got decapitated. oh, who i am kidding, that man has never had a normal reaction to anything in his life.

i'm so glad we got an actual scene with baela (and the promise of more with her and moondancer in future weeks!) since she and rhaena have been horrendously underused so far.

aemond you have so many issues please go to therapy not a brothel. also i've blogged about this before but the idea that he really thinks he's an equal threat to daemon honestly is so silly.

alyn AND addam of hull spotted, we've got the complete set, and a little teaser of seasmoke as well!

the scene between corlys and rhaenys where corlys was like "if daemon would just submit to rhaenyra and enjoy being a bottom as i do on occasion" made me laugh so hard my sister asked me if i was okay.

i'm very intrigued by the scene between rhaenyra and mysaria (especially the mutual bonding over being exasperated by daemon) since they're technically on the same side but very much at odds in the book and i'm curious to know if this will continue in future episodes.

i really like that this season is emphasizing the perspectives of smallfolk like the hull brothers, hugh hammer, and the brothel mistress, it's something i felt was missing in season 1.

this really was an episode of targaryen men getting absolutely dragged by others for their poor political decisions. can't say i support otto's decisions most of the time but he was 100% correct about aegon.

also the moment where otto realized he had schemed for 20+ years to land a total idiot who just fired him on the throne…delicious, but rhys ifans played it so well i honestly still felt bad for him.

daeron mention! at this point i was honestly starting to think they had cut him from the show so that was a surprise.

as an identical twin i very much enjoyed the erryk and arryk drama but i must admit that i ALSO could not tell the twins apart when they were dueling. someone please revoke my twin card.

alicent walking into a room, seeing aegon crying, and just walking out was kind of funny ngl.

i really didn't expect criston and alicent's dynamic this season but i'm honestly enjoying it a lot. the mutual self-flagellation over their affair, alicent repeatedly slapping him and criston allowing it…really fun honestly.

caraxes is properly coming back next episode and it's true, i HAVE missed that noodle boy <3

also it looks like our first proper looks at harrenhal, moondancer, and a bracken vs. blackwood fight!

[i-hate-accidents]

i hate accidents: the between

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, retelling of recurrent microaggressive homophobic experience with y/n’s family member in [II.vi], short description of almost throwing up (not related to low self-image) in [II.vii]

word count:  9.1k (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 @bedobeeeee @stvrdustalexx @anisas-nonsense @crazymar15 and all who have liked the story so far: the author extends her gratitude for your engagement with the first section. <3

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.i ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“have i told you that you are the best model who has ever sat for me?”

it has become a common occurrence.  whenever you read while in the drawing room, benedict asks if you can be his model for his hand studies.  you oblige, seeing how you are already so still while reading aside from the occasional page turn, and—more so—you want to support how benedict progresses in his craft.  today, you and benedict are sat at a table as hyacinth plays a solitary game of cards on the floor and kathani and anthony sit at a couch with some delicious smelling tea.  you had come over to meet eloise and penelope first thing but were soon informed that the two young ladies were still at the markets with colin.  that made you smile; your loud friend is, no doubt, inserting herself emotionally and physically in between your two friends in love.

you feel yourself scrunch your eyebrows at benedict’s comment.

“surely you are exaggerating.”

“hyacinth was my last model; she was horrific.”

you hear an aghast gasp and do nothing to hide the amusement in your smile.

“it is difficult to sit still!”  the youngest bridgerton yells.  

“hyacinth, it is not becoming of a young lady to ye— ow!”

you see somewhat in your periphery how kathani puts the hand she used to thwack her husband’s arm back on her teacup handle, smiling.  benedict, in the meantime, groans and seems to be focusing even more intently on his sketch as not to make eye contact with his youngest sister.

“yes, i understand it is difficult, but you did not sit still for even eight seconds.”

you have not shifted your position in the past half hour or so as not to ruin the angle of your hand for benedict; but you need not visual confirmation to already know that hyacinth has rolled her eyes in response to her brother and returned to her game.

“well, what about the art academy?”  you continue.  “there must have been very good models there for you to draw.”

and very beautiful ones, at that.

“it is true, there were; but,” you see him smile as he smudges his paper, “none are comparable to you.”

you feel your cheeks light aflame and, with a cough, focus even more intently on your passage.

“then i ought to give up on my profession as a basket weaver and put in my request as a model at the art academy.”

“you do realize that you would have to pose—” you see how he pauses his drawing, looking to see where the youngest is in the room, and lowers his voice as he leans forward towards you; (you attempt not to roll your eyes), ”—nude, in order to be a model there, y/n.”

“yes, and what issue is there with that?”

you look away from your passage to benedict to make a point with your stare and are startled to see how startled benedict looks, the familiar ocean of his eyes almost entirely gone and replaced by the black of his pupils.

“nothing.  there is no issue.  no issue at——” he coughs, scratching the back of his ear, no doubt smudging it with charcoal, “would you like to see my progress so far?”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.ii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< in the gardens of number five.  penelope, eloise, hyacinth, and gregory are adventurers looking to save the princess benedict from the banshee y/n.

< hidden behind a hedge, y/n and benedict bicker. >

“you are a middle child on a technicality, benedict.”

“what is that supposed to mean?”

“you have seven siblings.  anthony the eldest, hyacinth the youngest—and everyone in between simply a middle child?  you all could not be more different from one another, and you are at the very top; you are practically an eldest child.”

“i’ll have you know that no one, myself included, sees me as such.”

“i’m familiar.  an eldest sibling with a penchant for peculiar tea is not one i would describe with an overwhelming sense of duty.”

“how do you know of that?”

“kathani told me.  she recounted to me her first dinner with the family and how transcendently in the most literal sense you had behaved.”

“so you two talk of me?”

you feel the tips of your ears heat, but fortunately your hair hides your embarrassment sufficiently.  you roll your eyes.

“is that what you gleaned?  do not think too deeply about it.”

“i shall think about it deeply and often,”  he states with a twinkle in his eyes.  in an attempt to ignore your fluster and flutterings, you roll your eyes again and shove him.  he laughs, his nose scrunching and eyes crinkling adorably whenever he is truly delighted.  despite your best efforts (you put in no effort), you smile at him.  it cannot be helped when you are around benedict.

“now, make haste; hyacinth is about to cast a spell, and she needs a princess to save.  may i grasp your arm?”

“grasp my what?”

“your arm!  i need to pretend as if i am holding you captive, but i am not simply going to take hold of it without permission.”

“how chivalrous of you.”

“i suppose i’ve learned from a sufficient enough gentleman.”

benedict grins and offers his arm.

“i am yours for the taking.”

it is preposterous how much this man makes you want to roll your eyes.  and how much you welcome it.  in the moment, however, you refrain yourself and, instead, smile at him in return as you yank yourselves both out of the hedge to be seen by the others.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.iii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< on a morning before she is off to number five, y/n realizes that her last remaining skirt still needs to be cleaned after she had spilt a bottle of ink on it.  (she was devastated by losing so much writing material and money in one fell swoop.)  she had been so preoccupied with work that she had forgotten to clean it. 

< in a rush, she looks throughout her house for extra skirts but to no avail; the only thing she finds that she can wear is a pair of trousers from when her father was younger.  she finds this suitable enough, puts them on, and runs off to bridgerton house.

< upon arriving at the drawing room wearing trousers, y/n hears a choking sound. she looks over and sees that benedict has somehow spilt tea all over himself.  as the bridgerton family makes comments of curiosity and support of y/n’s current attire, benedict excuses himself, y/n hearing how he mumbles that he needs to change his clothes.

< after some time, benedict returns, but y/n notices that, aside from removing his coat, he still wears the clothes he was in.  she remarks to herself:  how can he have been gone for long enough but still be in the same clothes? >  

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.iv ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you gasp.

“wait!”

you do not wait to hear a response from your companions; you right about turn, swing open the door to number five, and run into the house, straight towards the drawing room.

“benedict!” you shout, “you must come see!”

“wha—“

you grab his hand, pulling him up from his slouched lounge.

“quickly!  you must make haste!”

adrenaline and joy rushing in your veins, you lead benedict out of the drawing room and towards the entrance where, upon returning, you see giles, with a large beam on his face, holding open the door.  you laugh, shooting him a quick nod and grin of your gratitude, and bring benedict outside, pass penelope and colin, pass the gates of bridgerton house, towards the road, and halt yourself and benedict in place.  

you shoot your forefinger outward, pointing towards the sky, your grin ever growing.

“look!”

benedict has been looking at you incredulously, as if you’ve completely lost your mind, and perhaps you have, but you’d be damned if you got to see this and benedict hadn’t.  he shifts his gaze and grin from you towards the sky, and as you had expected, as you had hoped, his expression transforms from gleeful confusion into complete awe.

“see?  it is just like your palette of ideas!  the oranges, the reds, the yellows, the purples, the pinks.  here it all is, made by mother nature herself, and you have already managed to capture the hues in the pigments of your paints!”  laughter bubbles out of you.  “it is amazing!  you are amazing!”

you hear a soft buzz in your ear, causing you to turn towards the familiar sound.  a bumblebee swirls about your head, and it makes you giggle.  you always had a fondness for the sweet creatures; how wonderous one has come to greet you at such a moment!  the bee lands on your nose, as if to give you a kiss, causing you to giggle even more, before it departs and flies off into the sky.

as you stare at your departing friend, as you stare into the sorcerous colors of the sunset, as your smile feels permanent in this moment, you ask benedict,

“isn’t it beautiful?”

“yes.”

you turn to benedict, expecting to see his side profile tilted towards the sky when, instead, you connect with his ocean eyes.  gazing at you.  

your smile fades away as you quietly suck in air through your nose.  you feel a soft caress at your hand, and looking down, you see that you are still holding hands with benedict, him gently rubbing the side of your hand with his thumb.  you look back up, and with indecipherable ocean eyes and a soft smile on his lips, he still gazes at you.  butterflies flutter maddeningly within you.  the way he looks at you, it makes you feel scared.  but you’d be damned if you allowed your fear to tear yourself away from benedict.  so, instead, you smile back and gently rub the side of his hand with your thumb too.

“well!”

you and benedict reel back from one another, letting go of one another’s hands.  as you feel the loss of his touch, you whip your head towards the voice and see a smirking colin, by the side of a smiling penelope, both approaching the two of you.  

“while i hate to get in the way of two— friends in the midst of a conversation, i must fulfill my duties and escort miss featherington to her home.”

you roll your eyes as you promptly ignore the fire that burns on your cheeks.

“you rich people and your escortings.  penelope lives across the way!  she would have already been home if you would have let her, colin.”

“yes, that is true,” pipes up penelope, “but then i would have missed out on such a beautiful sight,” and instead of gesturing at the sunset as her words imply, she keeps her eyes locked on you and benedict.

menaces.  i am friends with menaces.

with smugness in their smiles and delight in their eyes, penelope and colin nod their heads in farewell.  as they move past, you feel a soft squeeze on the side of your arm and see penelope giving you a wink.  you stare off at the couple, penelope featherington and colin bridgerton, your absolute menaces of friends who have left you and benedict stunned in spot.

benedict.

benedict!

you turn your head to face him.  he must have realized at the same moment as you, for you are greeted by an equally speechless expression.  feeling yourself staring into his ocean eyes a moment too long, you cough and look away.

“right, i suppose— i, going— i should be going.”

“of course— yes, that is— right, yes, very good—— not!  you going!  you going is not— not good!  i— we— are more than glad to let you stay!— not let you, but!  but have you stay with—— us!  stay with us!—”

“benedict,” feeling the instinct to touch his hand again, you hesitate and, instead, touch the side of his arm.  you offer him a smile to his (adorably) flustered state.  “i understand what you are trying to convey.”

he huffs out a breath and smiles warily in return, and it is truly absurd how beautiful he is when his suave falls away.  when he takes off the façade he performs to the world and is just himself.  not a bridgerton, not a second eldest son, not a gentleman.  just— 

benedict.  

the one you—— care for.  

the one you care for.

the one i care for.

“thank you, y/n,” you hear him say, “for sharing this with me.”

“of course.  you were first to come to mind when i saw it.”

“shall i— shall i escort you home?”

you snort, inadvertently breaking whatever odd energy has grown between the two of you, and he grins in response.

“goodness, no.  i am fully capable of walking there myself.  besides, it is too far from here, unlike miss featherington,” you intonate the last of your words with mockery.  you will battle colin bridgerton one day.

“i enjoy a long walk.  and with such a beautiful sight, it would be much more a blessing than a burden.”

“daylight is fastly fading; the sunset will not last another eight minutes.”

“yes, the sunset.  because that is what i was referring to,” he says as he stares at you with a lopsided grin.

rolling your eyes, and feeling the violent flutterings in your stomach, you shove benedict by his shoulder, which causes him to laugh and throw his hand up in mock surrender.

“good evening, benedict,” you finalize as you walk away, a smile quickly forming on your lips once out of his sight.

“good evening, y/n,” and you hear the smile in his voice.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.v ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“it is here!”

you had just begun to cross your writing when you look up and see kathani enter the drawing room, paper in hand.

“what’s here?” you inquire.  the viscountess smiles.

“perhaps you should be the first to see,” and she hands you the sheet.

taking it into your hands, you are immediately struck by the ornate illustrations of flowers and foliage ornamenting the borders—they are printed on! rather than hand drawn.  you run your fingers against the paper to test your observation.  you’ve only seen such a feat in the books you’ve borrowed from the bridgertons, so it impresses you (though perhaps it shouldn’t surprise me, you remark to yourself) that kathani has found a press to accomplish this feat for her printing. 

you then take in the lettering and read,

a ball in titania’s garden court

“come, now a roundel and a fairy song.”

the company of

is requested at bridgerton house, number 5 in grosvenor square, on thursday evening, jul. 6, 1815 at 9 o’clock p. m.

“you helped inspire the theme,” kathani remarks.  you look up from the paper to her; her eyes are intently on you.

“me?  how so?”

“with our reading of his work, and our conversations with eloise and penelope, he was naturally on my mind when planning for the ball.”

you beam.

“how wondrous!  your first ball in the city, and you are bringing the fairies to it,” you turn to the others. “you must tell me how it goes!  i’d be delighted to hear what the dresses were like, with the theme and all, and if any larks ensued.” 

you note to yourself how penelope will likely know of all of the latter far better than any of the bridgertons, but it would be intriguing, nevertheless, to hear their perspectives.  you turn to the viscountess once more, “it is a brilliant idea, kathani.  i’m honored to have had some part in it.”

you see her open her mouth in response—

“oh good!” 

—when you hear anthony’s voice at the entrance of the drawing room.  

“you’ve accepted!  that is wonderful news.”

you furrow your eyebrows as he approaches.

“accepted?”

“the invitation.  to the ball.”

“what?”  

anthony looks around the room to his family and then back to you.

“i— am beginning to think that is not what you were responding to.”

“how quick of you, brother,” deadpans colin.

“i have just entered!”

“and have proceeded to make a fool of yourself,” eloise counters.

“it’s appropriate for the theme, really,” colin turns to kathani.  “sister, perhaps you might change the dress to costumes?  anthony would make an excellent bottom to your titania.”

“i am—” you start, “still lost.” 

kathani gently nods her head to the paper in your hand.  you look down again.  previously neglecting it for the printed words and illustrations, you now read what is clearly in the viscountess’s handwriting between ‘the company of’ and ‘is requested’:

miss y/n y/l/n.

“this is an invitation.  for me.”

you look up from the invitation and are greeted by kathani, and the rest of the bridgerton family at number five, expectantly staring at you.

“but—— but—”

“now, i understand that this might be quite overwhelming,” begins kathani, “but after speaking with the family, we all agreed that it would be most wondrous if you were to attend the ball.  we would make certain that you felt prepared, beforehand, with lessons in dance and etiquette, hence why i’ve prepared the invitations earlier than customary.” 

“not!  to assume that you are not already competent in these,” adds colin.  “you certainly have more grace than eloise— ow!”  and he rubs the part of his arm eloise just smacked. 

“but if it would appease your mind,” violet interjects, “and help with your concurrence, then we would be more than elated to offer them, and to do them with you.”

“your attire would be paid for,” anthony states simply, “and we would pay the business of your employment their missed earnings for the days in which you will be preparing for the ball and resting from the event’s happenings.  and, if you shall allow it, we would support you and your family from your abstained days of wages.”

“balls are dreadful,” asserts eloise, “but!” she continues swiftly, and exasperatedly, upon seeing her family’s reaction, “with your presence, this one would certainly be more bearable.  pleasant!, even.”

“we,” hyacinth gestures to herself and gregory, “cannot attend the ball, but we will help you in any way we can before then!”

“and we will be there on the morning and afternoon of, if you would like!” gregory exclaims. 

kathani was wrong.  

this is not quite overwhelming.  this is overwhelmingly overwhelming. 

you do not even know where to begin in processing all of the information with which you have just been bombarded.  the wages, the etiquette, the paying, the attire, the dancing, the days off, the ball itself.

but what strikes you most of all—

“you all… agreed?  of wanting me at the ball?”

you look around the drawing room.  your friends’ countenances are illuminated with beams.  all, but one.  you turn to him.  he was the only one not to have stated his case in the family’s proposal. 

before you can start to ruminate on the implications of such, he offers you a smile.  small, but enough for those stupid, stupefying butterflies to flutter within.

“we did,” benedict says.  “we do.”

you exhale.

“then,” though weary from the turn of this day, you offer a small smile in return, to benedict, to the family, “then yes.  i shall go to the ball.”

hyacinth and gregory nearly knock you over in the chair you’re sat in by the sheer power of their hugs.  violet, clapping her hands, laughs with delight at the sight.  eloise exclaims something about penelope finding out.  anthony states he shall begin the ledger.  colin, for whatever reason, starts talking about the cakes that will be there.  kathani remarks that there is much to do and that she, and all of the family, will be there every step of the way.

and benedict smiles.  still small.  still enough.  with those damned ocean eyes.

i shall never understand the absurdity that is this family.

and how delighted you are by that.  how grateful you are for them.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.vi ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“your rehearsal partners will be myself and gregory,” states the viscount.

you try to withhold your sigh.  you have been dreading this day since kathani first told you of it.  you are utterly delighted to be a student under the tutelage of the viscountess; you are utterly petrified of being a dance student.

“and why do benedict and i not have the privilege to dance with y/n?”

it also does not quell your petrification that the entirety of number five has decided to be present for your lessons.

“because, colin, you two are unmarried men; i am a married one; and gregory is a child.”

“i have just entered my adolescent years!”

“precisely,” anthony grins, “a child.”

“kathani and hyacinth can be potential partners,” you suggest, diverging as not to join hyacinth in her laughter at gregory’s disgruntlement.  despite the anxiety that somehow both swells and knots within you, you are resolute on being intentional and present during your lessons.  “the former is married, and the latter is a child.”

anthony opens his mouth to respond but suddenly closes it shut.  he blinks.

“why have you not considered eloise?”

“because she is unmarried.  i am assuming that you do not want me to partner with colin or benedict, for fear of some sort of— romantic attraction forming.  so i’ve applied the same logic to eloise.”

there is a small silence.  you can see how anthony (and perhaps the rest of the room, you sense) is busily processing within his mind (and theirs) what you have said to him.  

kathani pats her husband twice on his back and smiles at you.  

“that is an excellent idea, y/n.  we will rotate your partners amongst myself, anthony, gregory, and hyacinth.  let us begin.”

and so you do, and it is quite horrendous.  or rather, you are quite horrendous.  

kathani is, unsurprisingly, a marvelous teacher, but not even she as a guide can prevent you from stepping on her, anthony’s, hyacinth’s, and gregory’s feet.  you apologize profusely each time you do so, and so you apologize frequently and often, but each of your partners still smile at you without a drop of deceit or regret in their expressions despite their winces.  they encourage you in all their particular ways.  kathani gently knocks the foot you stepped on her to where it ought to be placed.  anthony pacifies that you are doing well.  hyacinth recounts how she had struggled as you when she first began her lessons.  gregory assures that you are not nearly as heavy-footed as eloise.

even those who aren’t your partners encourage you.  eloise confirms gregory’s statement, not once peeking into the book she holds in her hands.  colin claps his hands to help you keep the tempo of the steps.  violet, at the pianoforte, enthuses how much progress you are making with each passing dance.  penelope, who joined the drawing room part way through a rather disastrous cotillion with anthony, begins to clap her hands excitedly upon seeing you.

the only bridgeton you haven’t heard from the entirety of your lessons is benedict.  while rehearsing a sequence in a quadrille with hyacinth, you notice the vacant spot next to eloise where he once sat.  you try to feign to yourself that your following misstep is due to your ineptitude in rhythm and nothing else.  certainly not the lack of presence of a particular someone.

after you curtsy and kathani bows upon finishing a scotch reel, she beams at you.

“i believe that is enough lessons for today.”

you sigh with every bit of your lungs, your attempt at perfectly squared shoulders immediately slumping in relief.  the family chortles in response and gives you a pleasant round of applause.  you feel your cheeks go flush with embarrassment, completely unbelieving that your horrific display of dancing deserves any sort of praise, but the sentiment warms your heart.

“i would like to pardon myself, if that is all right,” you request towards kathani, “for a moment, is all.”

“yes, of course,” and she takes your hand.  “and we do mean it, y/n.  you have done well today.  you should be proud.”

before you can respond to her, she gives a gentle squeeze of your hand and turns to walk towards anthony.  blinking, you shake your head out of your thoughts.  the bridgertons and penelope seem to respect your want of excusing yourself as they grin or nod their heads in your direction but make no move towards you.  you take a moment more to look at the family and then turn to leave the drawing room.  you cannot help the smile that blooms on your face as you cross the entrance—

when a hand catches your wrist and pulls you further away from the drawing room.  you are about to scream when you see benedict, with furrowed eyebrows and pleading ocean eyes, swiftly put his forefinger to his pursed lips.

“fuckin’— benedict!” you whisper-yell, attempting to honor benedict’s unspoken request for your silence.  “are you mad?  and why are you out here?  have you been here this entire time?”

“may i speak with you?  in private?”  

the urgency in his whisper stupefies you, any frustration felt within fading away.

“of course you may.”

he slides his hand down from your wrist to take your hand—

“follow me.”

—and, with haste, leads you down the corridor and up a set of stairs.

“are you certain this is all right?  the last time we had spoken alone together, you were scolded by your brother.”

“i am more than willing to take that risk with you,” benedict says sincerely, with a smile, but it is strained.  it is a subtlety, but with knowing him for as long as you have now, it is something you have noticed in his expressions.

“are you all right, benedict?”

he promptly ignores your question.  it is unlike benedict, to ignore one of your inquiries.  to retort with a snarky quip, yes; to make a particularly theatrical countenance, yes; to respond with uncertainty, yes.  but never outright, deliberate evasion.  it makes your heart swell even more with worry.

you and benedict arrive at a set of grand doors.  turning the gilded knob, he opens the door and, in true gentlemanly fashion, holds it for you to pass.  such etiquette would have caused you to roll your eyes, but with benedict’s current distress, you will yourself to refrain. 

just as you enter the room, benedict enters too, turns around, and carefully closes the door shut.  he reaches into his pocket and, after some shuffling about, retrieves a key.  you hear a click of the door, and before you can comment on the absolute peculiarity of this situation thus far, benedict whips himself around and faces you.

“do you have attraction to both sexes?”

“i— what?”

“do you have attraction to both sexes?” he repeats with impatience.

“to all persons,” you correct with equal impatience.  “and yes, i do.”

benedict blinks at your response but shakes his head out of his thoughts.

“and how long, how long have you known?  of your attractions?”

“‘of my attractions’?”

“i am asking a question, y/n!”

“you are being strange, benedict!”

“i am!—” and he turns away from you, running his hands through his hair, sucking in air through his nostrils.  he turns back to you and it startles you—how frustrated his countenance is, and how vulnerable his ocean eyes are.

“i am merely trying to ask a question.  i am trying to understand.  please, y/n,” benedict begs.  “please.”

“i— all right,” you try to soothe.  “i, i don’t know how long i have known.  i suppose, since i was a child?  or, perhaps, truly in my adolescent years, when i found myself gazing at those with names like emily and andrew and how i—” you swallow, suddenly feeling exposed, “how i held my breath around them, whenever they were close, when— whenever they were near.”

“and do you still feel that way?”

“pardon?”

“do you still feel that way?  around people?  for people?”

just for the one.

“i, i do.” 

after staring at you a moment more, benedict turns away again, and you quickly exhale a breath—when you’re stricken with a sudden fear.

“does this change your opinion of me?” 

benedict turns back to you, frustration still in his features but confusion slowly seeping into them.

“when i—” am i crying? “when i told my sister how i felt for a girl in our neighborhood, she did not—” you try to shake your head of the fog that starts to fill your mind at remembering, “did not look at me for weeks, and when she did, i felt like, like—— like a monster.”

his face falls.

“no,” benedict states, fastly approaching you, “no, no, no, y/n.”

“i am sorry,” you choke out as he places his hands on the sides of your arms.

“why are you apologizing?” benedict whispers, applying pressure to where he holds you steady.  you had not realized you’ve been shaking.

“you had asked me questions, these questions of importance to you, and i— i have made it about myself— i am so sorry, benedict.”

“you have nothing to apologize for.” 

you shut your eyes close, feeling your face contort in the way it does when everything simply becomes too much for you to bear.    

“you were, and are, so much more courageous than me.”

benedict’s gentle voice and strange statement rouse you to open your eyes.

“i do not understand?”

“you have told another person about your attractions to both— to all persons.  i…”

he goes quiet, unable to finish his thought aloud.  you scrunch your eyebrows in confusion, but staring into his ocean eyes a moment more—vulnerable, scared, hurting—it dawns on you.

oh.

benedict.

your heart blooms as you shake your head.

“it is not about courage, benedict, i do not think.  with my sister, it was about trust.  i thought i could trust her with my feelings, with— well, with me.  and she had proved me wrong.”

“and you have proved me right.”

“why are you speaking so vaguely today?” you manage to jest.

benedict rolls his eyes, a small smile resting on his lips.

“and you have proved me right in that i could trust you.  and i do, y/n.  i trust you with— with me.”

perhaps you should have thought better of it, but your emotions move faster than your logic, and your emotions call you to reach out your hand and cup benedict’s cheek as you see tears line his ocean eyes.

“as i trust you with me.”

you do not mean to do it; perhaps it’s the intimacy of your conversation, perhaps it’s the proximity of standing so close, perhaps it’s the way you can feel his bated breath mix with yours, but your eyes flicker down at benedict’s parted lips and, swallowing, you look back into his piercing, indecipherable ocean eyes and breathe,

“benedict—”

when a loud sequence of knocks thud at the locked door.

“oh god!” and you take off, running away from benedict and looking about the room when your eyes fall upon a wardrobe.

“what are you doing!” benedict whisper-shouts at you as you hasten towards your destination.

“i am trying to prevent you from being in trouble again with a certain eldest brother, and you ought to be doing the same!”

you open the door to the wardrobe, hop into it, and, grabbing the door’s edge, look at benedict and the adorable shock on his face.

“answer the door as i hide in here!” before he can babble out a response, you whisper-yell, “go!” and promptly, quietly, shut the wardrobe.

before long, you muffedly hear the clicking of the door and it being opened.  there is a bit of quiet until gregory’s voice asks—

“what happened to your hair?” 

“what of it?”

“it is a mess.  it has not been that messy since—”

“nevermind my hair!  what is it that you need?”

“have you seen y/n?”

“what?  why would i know of y/n’s whereabouts?”

“do not play foolish, brother.” 

“i am not playing foolish!”

“you two are always together!  you and y/n are like eloise and penelope, anthony and kate, colin and food— you never see one without the other, and she hasn’t been seen since her lessons.”

“i have not seen her; does that answer your inquiry?”

“why are you so on guard!  ugh, never you mind.  hyacinth and i will look for her on our own, with no thanks to you.”

before benedict can retort, you hear footsteps walking away from him and down the corridor.  there is another moment of quiet before you hear the shutting of the door and the turning of the key.  you slowly open the wardrobe, and when you see a disgruntled benedict and benedict only, you hop out and walk towards him, unable to contain the growing smile on your face.

“you shouldn’t be so harsh on gregory.  he was, after all, merely asking a question.”

“you’re taking his side?”

“of course i am.  he, along with hyacinth, are my favorite bridgertons.”

“and where do i fall on this list of yours?”

“eighth,” you reply easily, and benedict’s jaw drops, “but that’s merely on a technicality— i have yet to met daphne and francesca.”

“what have i done to be thought of so little in your regard!” benedict’s expression is aghast, but you see the ghost of a smile on his lips (that you certainly do not stare at for another moment too long).

“do not mistake your low ranking in how i care for you,” you tease but then soften, unable to keep up the lark over your truth.  “i care for you, benedict.  for all of you.  precisely as you are and what you feel and who you—” you swallow, “whoever you love.”

the jest and play fade away from his expression.  benedict simply stares at you, ocean eyes once again indecipherable.  before he can say anything, you step into his space and tidy his hair.

“you ruined your coif earlier,” you whisper.

“what fortune i have for someone to care for me so.”

his smile is so sweet, his voice so sincere, his ocean eyes so gentle.  it is too much, it is so much. 

“if you weren’t such a mischief maker,” you diverge, “you wouldn’t need such fortune.”

that makes him scoff, and you grin, quietly glad a new emotion begins to overtake your overwhelming one.

“wise words coming from a mischief maker herself.”

“a mischief maker who knows how to handle her trouble,” you respond pointedly. “speaking of which, i must be going,” and you turn from benedict and head towards the windows.

“and where are you going?” you hear the befuddled amusement in his inquiry as he follows you.  you unlatch a window.  

“i must leave by way of window and make it appear as if i have been out in the gardens this entire time,” you carefully open the window and peer outside.  no one in sight.  pleased, you turn around and are greeted by an adorably perplexed benedict.  “how else will we deceive the family into believing that we were not alone together?  particularly after gregory inquired after me and found you here.  it would not help our situation if we left the same room, even if at staggered times.”

“this is not the first time you have escaped home,” he declares matter-of-factly.

“of course it’s not.”

“yet another thing we have in common.”

you snort but then cover your mouth.  you turn around and peer out the window, hoping, willing that no one has heard you.  no one in sight still.  you sigh in relief and turn back to a grinning benedict.

“you are compromising my meticulous plans.”

“then you ought to be going.  i shan’t compromise you any further.”

you roll your eyes deeply, ignoring the double entendre (and the flush you feel creeping across your face), but soften.

“will you be all right?  are you all right?”

benedict inhales deeply and exhales equally so.

“i—— have much to think over.  of myself.  to myself.  but, it is a comfort to know that i am not alone in this.  in this experience, the feelings themselves, as well as in the navigation of them,” the corners of benedict’s mouth tug into a gentle but most radiant smile, his ocean eyes incandescent with joy.  “thank you, y/n.”

the butterflies flutter violently within.

“i, i have done nothing.”

“you have done more than you know.”

unable to withstand the intensity of his gaze, you turn back to the open window and steady your hands onto the sides of the frame, leveraging your weight against the ledge to lift yourself up.

“be that as it may,” you assert perhaps too forcefully, “i truly must be going now.” 

you carefully but easily shift your body over the ledge and place your boot against the exterior side of bridgerton house to start your descent.  you should just go—leave and neglect the violence of feelings within you.  but you do not.  instead, you look up and are greeted by the sight of benedict at the window, hands also steadied on the ledge, body leaning towards the outside and downwards, beaming at you, the afternoon sun casting light upon his now even more beautiful countenance.

shit.

you will yourself to focus.

“if you need or wish to speak again on this, you will let me know, yes?”

he still smiles but you see the subtlety of his ocean eyes transforming, from delight to… something else.  you don’t know what, benedict’s ocean eyes ever indecipherable in moments such as this, and it does nothing to quiet the flutterings within.

“i shall.  and hopefully in a manner that does not require your escape.”

“oh, this is nothing.”

“of course it’s not.”

you smile broadly, a particular burst of fondness and play and courage overcoming you—

“farewell, princess.”

and you begin your descent down bridgerton house.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.vii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< kathani and y/n make a day of getting y/n a dress for the bridgerton ball.  they meet first at bridgerton house early in the morning, before the rest of the family is awake.  they break fast together, and kathani teaches y/n how to make masala chai.  y/n remarks that how kathani speaks of indian drink and food reminds y/n of how her parents talk about their drink and food from their home country.

< the conversation then grows into talking about how much the ocean intrigues y/n because of how her parents have talked about it, especially in their stories of emigrating to england by ship.  the mystery, beauty, comfort, fear, and joy of the ocean all in one entity.

< the conversation then shifts to kathani and y/n talking about the scrappiness of making do with what resources you have access to.  it makes y/n recount a memory with her mama when she had offered to give up buying ink, quills, and paper to support the family once her elder sister had married and left their family home. >

“it is a hobby, mama, it—”

“it is important,  she says pointedly.  “it is your passion.”  and she smiles.  “we have managed once with just my and papa’s wages, we shall manage now.  you need not worry, my child.” 

< eventually, kathani and y/n finish their breakfast.  they leave bridgerton house and hop into a bridgerton carriage to go to the modiste.  it is the first time y/n is in a carriage and it is a surreal, lovely experience.  it feels like a fairytale. >

–

< after arrival at the modiste and introductions, kathani decides to roam the markets of the neighborhood as madame delacroix tends to y/n in the back of the shop. >

“madame delacroix—”

“clients call me madame delacroix,” she interrupts.  you feel shame flood your body.  of course.  you are not a client.  you are a charity case.  at the whims of this wealthy family that has bestowed their pity on you.  how else would you be in such a position, in such a shop, before such a talented artist revered by the upper echelons of london.  you’re a fool, you wish to run away, you must go when you hear what madame delacroix says next—and she’s smiling.

“friends, however, call me genevieve,” she remarks with a wink.

…

“now, y/n, how would you feel about me being,” genevieve flourishes her hand in the air, “experimental with your dress?”

a combination of fear and excitement perk up within you.

“how do you mean?”

“the ton are quite—” she seems to fight hard not to roll her eyes but admits defeat to a sigh, “—conservative in their fashion—”

“you mean dreadfully dull?” you chime in.  genevieve laughs warmly.

“exactly, my dear,” she grins. “you, however, are anything but.  i see the french silhouettes more fitting to your character, to your personality, to your spark.”

you feel overwhelmed by the kindness of words that flow easily from the mouth of your new friend.  you have not known each other for more than ten minutes, and she seems to see something within you.  it makes you feel self-conscious, undeserving, and incredibly proud.

“i would be honored to be graced with the true magnificence of your artistry, genevieve.”

your friend’s eyes shine with joy, and you cannot help but feel utterly delighted that you were the one to ignite such happiness within her.

“my dear, the ton will be green with envy at the sight of you.  with your natural beauty and with my vision, you shall be an unstoppable force.”

you furrow your eyebrows at “natural beauty.”  you open your mouth to comment—

“is there any person you are looking to,” she hums, looking for the right word while looking for her measuring tape, “impress?”

“no,” you lie.  “i would not know anyone aside from the bridgertons and penelope.”

“ah, yes.  miss penelope,” the modiste says with much fondness in her heart. “she is quite brilliant, is she not?”

you beam.  “she truly is.”

“though,” genevieve ponders, wrapping the tape around your waist, “she is rather besotted with the third eldest bridgerton.”

“oh, yes, it is very appar— wait.  why do you say that?”

genevieve shrugs, but you give it more thought.

“are you implying that i have affections for penelope?”

you love penelope.  she has come to be one of your closest friends, and my god she is beautiful inside and out—but you have never felt an inkling for her beyond platonic love.

“i imply nothing—i’ve just said she’s besotted with the third eldest, did i not?” genevieve plays coy with a smile.  “and the viscount, he is very in love with the viscountess.”

“are you now implying that i have affections for anthony?” 

you feel your entire body shudder.  the idea of having any sort of love for the eldest bridgerton beyond one that is platonic makes you want to—  the very thought—

you put one hand to your mouth and the other to your stomach.  genevieve laughs, delighted by this game she’s inflicting upon you and entirely unperturbed by your potential sick in her shop.

“so,” she continues on, “with mister colin and lady kate and their beaus eliminated, unless you are of the temptress kind—”

“no!”

“then,” laughs genevieve, “that leaves three—”

“what do you mean ‘three’!”

“y/n, please, you are a terrible liar.  you have affections for one of your friends, that is clear.”

“i do not!” you lie again.  she tilts her chin down, looking at you pointedly.

“as i was saying, that leaves three.  there is miss francesca, miss eloise, and mister benedict.”

you feel yourself take in a small breath through your nostrils as you hear his name, and you pray that genevieve does not notice.  

“aha!” she declares.  your prayer has failed.  there is no god.  “ah, yes, mister benedict bridgerton.  the second eldest.”

you hold back a groan, not wanting to give your friend evidence to her (very much correct) claim, so instead you lift your head towards the ceiling.  when you snap it back down to look at her, you are startled by how her delighted expression from a mere moment ago has molded into an expression you cannot figure out.

“y/n, you must know,” she states, with so much sincerity in her tone.  you are entirely confused by this shift in genevieve, and your confusion only intensifies when she gently takes your hand into both of hers.

“benedict and i... we had been acquainted— intimately, at one point.”

oh.

“oh,” you respond pathetically.

the words should not affect you.  they should not affect you.  they should— not— affect you.

but—

you huff out a laugh.

“genevieve, why are you sharing this?  it’s all ri—”

“i share this with you,” she replies in earnest, “because while intimate, and yes, even passionate—” you try not to wince, “—it was brief and, most of all, not of depth,” she sighs. “but i can only speak for myself, can i?”

you swallow, hoping it will cure your dry throat, and with a smile say, “he is very lucky to have won your affections.”

“my dear.”

genevieve removes one of her hands from yours and brings it to the side of your face, softly wiping away a tear on your cheek.  you hadn’t noticed you had started crying.  you close your eyes, weak by and ashamed at the frailty of your heart, as you lean into the comfort of your friend’s hand.  

after a few moments, you feel her hand leave your cheek and feel your chin held between her thumb and forefinger, lifting up your head.  you open your eyes.

“anything i felt for him, i feel for him no more, y/n.  he is lucky to have your affections,” genevieve declares.  “and if benedict is an intelligent man, he must feel the same for you.”

you laugh.  

“benedict is a beautiful person who attracts beautiful people.  i am not a beautiful person.”

it is peculiar, how genevieve’s eyes flood with hurt as if you have offended her.  what did you say that has hurt her so?  you were only speaking of yourself.  before you can think further on it, the modiste steels her expression, fire suddenly blazing her eyes.

“well!  then i must prove to you what you fail to see, my dear!  i dare you not to feel beautiful in the dress i make for you.  and if you doubt your beauty,” she peers at you, “will you doubt my artistry?”

you laugh, this time sincerely, radiating gratitude for your new friend.  

“it would be foolish to doubt your artistry.”

genevieve beams.

“exactly.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.viii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you kick your feet off again, swinging yourself back and surging forward as you look up at the stars.  you try not to make too much noise.  you know it’s not proper to ambledly hang about your host’s back garden at night as they all slumber.  you feel as though you are taking advantage of the bridgertons’ kindness in allowing a pauper like you to stay the night at their home, in allowing you any time to stay at their home since making their acquaintance, in allowing—— you sigh again.  you could not sleep.  restlessness has entirely consumed you, and you had decided that some fresh air and some childlike fun would be exactly what you needed to calm your nerves.  while the cool air and the beauty of the night have been a welcomed reprieve, your heart still pounds and your mind still races with anxiety over the ball tomorrow night.

“couldn’t sleep?”

you slam the heels of your boots into the ground as you hear the familiar voice, doing everything in your power to ignore the flutters of butterflies in your stomach upon hearing it, and fall over onto your knees, planting your hands into the dirt so as not to completely and embarrassingly plant your face there instead.  you hear the body of the voice rushing towards you, offering his hand in your periphery.  you look up as benedict’s soft ocean eyes stare into you.  feeling your cheeks flood with warmth, you take your dirtied palm into his, promptly ignore the lightning that shoots out from the touch to the rest of your body, and lift yourself up with benedict’s gentlemanly assistance.  you murmur your thanks as you dust off, in vain, the dirt on your nightdress.

“i did not mean to startle you.”

“well, you have very clearly failed at that,” you remark.

after one last whoosh about your knees to clear off the excess dirt, you look up at benedict and are startled by the utter sincerity of his concerned look.  he looks as if he is about to say something, as if he is about to apologize, when you offer him a smile.

“i’m teasing you, benedict.”

he blinks once before breaking out into a smile, a smile that forcefully summons the butterflies within you to flutter about once again, and laughs.  you cannot help but smile and laugh with him.

“may i have the honor of sitting with you, miss y/l/n?”

you roll your eyes.

“it is your home after all, you need not my permission.”

“am i to ignore the privacy a lady wishes to have?”

“a lady’s privacy, i am sure, is something you wish to have for yourself,” you retort, alluding to your lack of such a title.

he swallows.

“that is something i cannot deny.”

something shifts in the air as benedict stares at you.  you feel yourself holding your breath and, in an attempt to shift away the energy from whatever this— this is (and how much it thrills and terrifies you), you playfully curtsy as you gesture to the swing next to the one that you had occupied.

“i would be delighted by your company, mr. bridgerton.”

the overwhelming gentleness of benedict’s expression transforms into an amused smile, and he follows along with an exaggerated bow of his head.  you take a seat at your swing as he takes his seat at the other on your left.

“i couldn’t,” you say in reply to his first question.  before he can ask why, you hastily jump into your inquiry.  “and why are you up?”

“i was sketching.  i had an idea for a painting and wished to lay out the preliminary work before it escaped me,” he sighs heavily, turning to look out to the rest of the garden.  you feel the loss of his gaze.  “i was frustrated with the results and thought some fresh air would do me some good.”

“what is the idea for your painting?”

he hesitates.

“a portrait,” he seems to admit carefully.  feeling how benedict wishes not to be pressed further, you simply hum an affirmation in response.

“i am certain that your sketch is not nearly as horrendous as you think it is.”

“i appreciate your kindness, but it entirely lacked their spark.”

“you seem quite fond of this person,” you huff with a bit of a laugh, jealousy starting to pool in the pit of your stomach.

benedict smiles.

“i am.”

and he turns to look at you.

you swallow, averting your gaze from soft intense ocean eyes, and kick your feet off the ground to begin a gentle swing.

“you should continue with the portrait,” you rattle on in a hasty attempt at diversion.  “not only are you blessed with natural talent but you are also fueled with such a passionate determination to ever improve your skill because that is how much you love your craft.  an undying devotion to something for which you so deeply care.  it is admirable and extremely apparent in all that you do.”

“and what of you?”

“and what of me?”

“of your passions?”

you scoff.

“my passions?”

“your writing.”

you halt your swing and whip your head to benedict.  he is grinning with stupid satisfaction, and you would find a way to wipe it off his stupid (beautiful) face if you were not so aghast by the situation.

“how do you know of that?”

“well, whenever you are not reading or conversing with eloise, penelope, and kate; or playing make-believe with my youngest siblings; or squabbling with colin and anthony, you are busily writing in a folded quarto.  or, rather, crossing in a folded quarto.  crossing twice, if you can manage.  you are quite the prolific writer.”

you gape at him, and he continues to grin.

“eloise also told me.”

“she told you!” you shriek.

“indeed.  it is, after all, how you met penelope, apparently.  and penelope is how you met eloise.  and eloise is how we— how you met the rest of us.”

you slump in your swing.

“i feel betrayed.”

benedict laughs heartily, and you shoot him a glare.  he holds his hands up in mock surrender.

“she was merely sharing a fact.”

“she is merely a traitor.”

benedict laughs once again, and you summon all the strength within you not to choke it out from his lungs.

“you seem not to handle perception of yourself very well, y/n.”

“when you are me, it is easy not to be perceived,” you mumble, still reeling from the traitorous nature of your loudmouthed friend.

there is a small silence.

“i do not think that is true.” 

you turn to him, once again surprised by the gentleness of his sincerity.

“i see you,” benedict declares in a quiet but steadfast voice.  his ocean eyes, indecipherable once more, gaze into you.

you feel yourself hold your breath, unable to stop the truth from ringing out in your heart, mind, body, and soul.

i love you.

you shoot up from your swing.

“i must be going, it is quite late—”

“y/n, wait—”

“thank you, benedict,” you say sincerely, turning to him.  “i— i really enjoyed our conversation, as brief as it was.”

he blinks and offers you a small smile.  i must control myself, you reprimand as you feel the butterflies viciously flutter within.

“as did i.”

“good night,” you whisper.  with all the self-control you can muster, you turn away from benedict and hasten towards bridgerton house.

“good night, y/n,” you vaguely hear him say from the swings that brought you together.  you attempt to tune out the wistfulness that you hear, that you imagine you hear in his voice.

[aloneandforsakenbyfateandbyman]

Burmese-British actress Me Me Lai in the 70s.

She moved to England as a teenager and became a pinup model, then starred in horror and exploitation films. She became infamous for her roles in Italian cannibal movies. Lai retired from acting in the 80s after starring in a Lars von Trier movie, and tried out competitive bodybuilding, as well as joining the Essex police force.

She says of her controversial career:

“Well, I don’t like watching my own films on the cinema, certainly not the cannibal ones. Though I did see [my film] Au Pair Girls (1972) in the cinema!

I feel good about that now, though I didn’t at the time. Although they were horrific, people remember me because of these films and say how much they enjoyed them.

Well, they’re nothing compared to [films] today. I’m glad now that they were controversial. I wasn’t pleased at the time, but on reflection the more controversial they were, the better it was for me. But at the time it wasn’t so good.”

[swallowtail-ageha]

Anyways today i replayed castle morne and i want to brainvomit a bit about it because i genuinely think its brilliant in both buildup and execution of themes, and especially as a way to denounce the supposed righteousness and the imperialism of the Golden Order so early in the game

(Putting a cut because holy moly its long. Also i apologize in advance for the run along sentences)

You first reach the weeping peninsula and the first npc you speak to is Irina. She is standing alone, without any weapon and blind, in the middle of a bunch of her family's garrison's corpses (and i think that the fact that the models used are the models of soldiers of godrick, whom thanks to Kenneth Height we know are particularly cruel to demihumans and the likes, is significant). As she herself says, she is being hunted down: her family's servants have rebelled and her father corageously stayed there to keep the postation and the home's ancestral sword, while she had been ambushed and her garrison died to save her.

And this is the perfect set up for people who are less genre savy and expect a more linear story, where the young girl and the kind father have been kicked out by the intrinsically evil, inhuman creatures that don't look human and don't seem to be very intelligent, and where the kind knight helps them to defeat the big bad leader of those creatures to take their castle back. Good ending!

Alas, it isn't like that. If you have already finished Kenneth's questline before, the whole setup feels weird. With the injustice that had been inflicted on the demihumans by the common soldiers, we already have the seed of doubt regarding the whole righteousness of the situation. As deformed and weird they might look like, demihumans, and therefore misbegottens too, are also people with thoughts and social structures and that maybe using them as mindless workforce is wrong.

Upon reaching the castle's walls, you are faced with a sword memorial, and if you read it you are smacked in the face with another revelation: the castle hasn't been built by irina's family and didn't actually belong to them, but instead has been taken by force by Godfrey's forces after he had slaughtered the previous clan that had it and even its last survivor who had made a desperate last stand in vengeance. Irina's whole narrative suddenly becomes even more shady.

Anyways, you finally enter Castle Morne, and the first sight you stumble upon is an horrific one: hundreds of corpses set in a pile on which several misbegottens are standing triumphantly. On the rampartarts household soldiers and other misbegotten are still fighting. Of course, again, if you take the whole narrative at face value, without reflecting on the sword memorial and Kenneth's questline, you might be still thinking that the whole situation was still black and white. However there are two, definitive moments that shatter that illusion, one more overt, the other less, but still as powerful

The first moment is finding Irina's father, Edgar, the castellan. One would think that, at least, you'd find him surrounded by corpses (i don't say in battle for obvious npc logistic reasons). And yet no. He is alone, sitting in a secluded place of the ramparts, with no signs of battle around.

Then he speaks: we learn respectively three things

-His main goal is to keep the castle (however he doesn't seem like he's done much fighting and only takes action once we go to kill the rebel leader ourselves. Fittingly enough, even fighting him as an invasor is extremely easy), but not because of any strategic importance or sentimental value. No. The reason why he's protecting it is to not permit that the heirloom of the caslte, the grafted blade greatsword, whom was forged by the Hero of Castle Morne as a tool of vengeance and has likely been kept around as a symbol of Godfrey's mightiness for having defeated him. The whole thing comes less as something about honor and more as something about simple vanity, or, better, about keeping intact the superiority of the Golden Order towards his opposers, something that cannot fall in the hands of such things as misbegotten (proof of that is also the ghost of the noble begging to not be eaten by them as he's nobility and doesnt want to get sullied by their lowlyness)

And

-That he is a Godrick loyalist and has been placed in the castle by him (therefore the idea that the family has been living there for long is rendered moot), and 3) that he is sickeningly racist towards misbegotten.

These two last points, now, have made your alarm bells ringing non stop. Maybe if this is the guy who is allied with a man who is known for his cruelty and maybe if he's so hostile against misbegotten, perhaps they had a good reason to rebel like that.

This brings us to the second moment:

After speaking with Edgar, you go in the back of the castle and reach the gaol section of the structure. As we can see, they are dirty, tight, and cramped. But most importantly, we find there a whip, which was specifically built as a way to torture and punish servants for their slightest disobedience. This is the final piece of the puzzle of *what* caused the misbegotten to rebel: not envy or any intrinsical evil, just the hellish condition that they were put in. One really can't blame them for organizing and revolting against their slavers.

You can see the leader of the revolt from afar, sitting in the grave of the hero's clan, having him too become the hero, for he in the name of vengeance for his species treatment started a rebellion.

But in the end, he'll have the same destiny as the Hero Of Morne.

You reach the Leonine Misbegotten and you kill him (perhaps even with the help of his slaveowner!) but the mood after the fight isn't triumphant. You stand alone, light rain is falling, the music is somber, in a massive graveyard dedicated to the one who lost his entire family to the golden order's imperialism, after killing his spiritual successor, perhaps even his descendant. You successfully put down a slave revolt for nothing, as the reason you did all of this, Irina, unbeknownst to you, has already been long dead by the time you take the castle back, killed by the same species whom her family exploited (The name of the site of grace of the graveyard, the Gravemoaning of Morne, really is fitting).

Her death prompts Edgar, the father, the lord of Castle Morne, the slave master, to start his own futile journey of revenge, becoming in the meanwhile too the Hero, bringing the story full circle

[shiratamahatsumiyo]

Lookism with a Daki reader

Daki was an antagonist in Demon Slayer's Entertainment District Arc and was one of the 12 Kizuki, specifically sharing the rank of upper moon 6 with her brother Gyutaro. She disguised as an Oiran but is actually a demon. She and her brother were slain by Demon Hunters.

• You are part of this gang called the Twelve Kizuki, a gang made up of rich and talented people that are actually fighters who are mostly active around nighttime. You and your older brother swore loyalty to the leader of the gang after upper moon 2 took you guys in when you were left homeless. You address yourself as Ume Shabana at public places and Daki when you're in fighter mode. You also have a side job as a model while attending high school. You hide your flower tattoos on your face with makeup.

• Born as a very rare beauty, you have lots of men that would obey your every word at your disposal and your charm fooled all of them. You also have your brother that will protect you from the other gangs and annoying suitors. The only man that you adore was Muzan, the leader of the Twelve Kizuki.

• I'm gonna be honest here, you probably were a bully at either Daniel's old school or Jaewon High. You are a member at the beauty department since you despise being near unattractive people but Gyutaro's an exception. People definitely did a double take when you just casually say that the creepy, gross, and horrific man with syphilis is actually your brother.

• You bullied lots of students... Duke Pyeon or Jiho Park, you don't care, they're both pushovers anyway. You can't stand Yui Kim because that fake-ass bitch thinks she's hot shit. Your beauty and strength far exceeds that of the other girls in school and made a reputation of yourself as the most beautiful and strongest female in Jaewon High.

• Speaking of your strength, you're scary AF... Like, one time Vin demanded asked that you give him your number and go out with him. And what did you do? You fucking uppercut punched him so hard his sunglasses shattered. When Duke refused to do something for you, she pulled on his ear until it bleed. Vasco saw that and confronted you at the cafeteria...

Vasco: "Hey you."

Ume: "Hah?"

Vasco: "The way you're bossing around the weak... I won't stand for it. Go and apologize-"

Ume: *Punches table* "WHO DO YOU THINK YOU'RE TALKING TO, MORON?! AN UGLY MUSCLE HEAD LIKE YOU CAN'T ORDER ME AROUND! I'LL MAKE YOU REGRET THAT--"

Gyutaro: "UME! You don't wanna fight him here. Let's just settle this at the back"

Ume: "WHO CARES?! I WANT TO PULVERIZE THIS SORRY EXCUSE OF A MEAT SACK RIGHT NOW!"

Gyutaro: "UME! YOU BROKE THE TABLE! AT LEAST EAT BEFORE FIGHTING HIM!"

• ....This is why no one wants to put up a fight with you. Just one punch and that steel table was destroyed. Both students and teachers find your short-tempered attitude intimidating and troublesome. The teachers just turned blind eyes when it involves you or anyone in Lookism as to not get on your bad side. The students have a very hard time interacting with you despite your reputation as the most beautiful girl in the school.

• When Big Daniel came in the picture, your life just took a sharp turn. You thought of him as naive but handsome when first introduced. You tried charming him after Zoe failed her attempt, however, he just kept quiet and avoids eye contact no matter how many times you tried asking him to come with you. Just like Vasco, he also called you out on your cruelty with others. Gyutaro found his goody-two-shoes personality foolish and you guys did not meet him again after that.

• Somewhere in the Arcs, he wanted to be allies with you and Gyutaro so he asked if you could join them. Gyutaro was pissed and decided to fight him while you fight Vasco, Zack, and Jay..... Daniel...won?.... Then that means your brother is-- You panicked and ran to your brother, hoping that he's not dead... He's...fine?... What do you mean he's fine?... Are you taking pity on us?! WE ARE NOT WEAKLINGS TO BE GROVELING AT YOUR FEET!!!--

• Daniel and co. decided to give you two a choice if you want to join them or not. In time you gave more thought about it... By the rules of the Twelve Kizuki, if a member is defeated, then their lives shall be taken by the winner that in order to become one of the members... And this Daniel Park just wants you to reconsider???

• Hahaha... He's so odd, so weird... so foolish. Oh well, I guess you and your brother are now one of them... It's time to quit ties with the Twelve Kizuki and say goodbye to your dear leader. You became allies with Daniel.

• Remember Duke Pyeon? Yeah, he told you to apologize to him...

Duke: *Hears a knock from the door* "O-oh! Don't worry grandma, I'll get it! Who could be the knocking so late at night?--" *Opens door*

Duke: "!!!.... M-m-miss Shabana?! ....U-um, wha--"

Ume: "I... I don't know how this works SO DON'T GET ANY IDEAS, FAT-ASS."

Ume: *Bows deeply* "I...I... Ugh... I'm sorry!"

Duke: "..."

Ume: ".... Well?! Aren't you gonna say anything?"

Duke: "How did you get my address--"

• Anyways! You and Duke settled your bully and pushover conflict with the watchful eyes of Gyutaro. You still hate Jiho though. You and Gyutaro were actually tempted to accept Gun's offer to be the strongest but brushed it off and fought him. Goo is annoying as hell, basically the same level of cockiness as Vin. You managed to have friends of your own like Mira, Zoe, and that that fake-ass bitch Yui is not so bad...

• One thing the guys are actually thankful for is that you treat everybody the same. Wether they being beautiful or ugly, you'll still kick their ass.

[bruhainrot]

Mercedes the Playgirl (PC reference sheet)

Featured her in 2 of my dol artworks already. In case you’re wondering “who tf is she?” now you knoww.

Click more for yap

Name: Mercedes Von Hagen (DEF NOT INSPIRED BY TOT !!)

Gender: F

Likes: Money, fashion, lollipops, catnips, penguins, rollerblading

Dislikes: Demands, fire, explosions

Voice: Grace Watkins from Switch

Description:

- Drug dealer with a charismatic, mischievous persona. Blinded by money and pleasure.

- Was born in this little cat town called Pussyville. Survived a horrific massacre of the village, moved to the orphanage in Rapechestershire alongside with a few young cat people who had lost their parents

- Her goal is to simply get rich and being able to lay her hands on catnips, as soon as they hit the ground, she’s going full on monkey mode.

- Spends all her money on self indulgence, broke as hell as a result

Activities:

- Scavenges for valuables or drugs at night.

- Sells drugs, finds customers.

- Helps out Landry, gambles with Wren frequently.

- Frequent school skipper but shows up at the canteen for free grub at school whenever she’s broke.

- Fucks around, but quits and attends school more often after meeting Sydney and Whitney.

- Tries to get closer to Sydney because he’s rich, gradually develops a crush on him.

- Tries to get closer with Whitney and uses his popularity to find more drug buyers, but man whit just wants bobs and vagana.

- Used to go on dates with Avery. But unfortunately for Avery, Mercedes is like an uncontrollable dog so Avery just gave up on her. If Mercedes decides to pursue a modelling career, idk maybe he’d reconsider..

I dunno, her lore is still pretty inconsistent LOL. Still I don’t mind expanding it and such.

Saw @k0h1 doing ship templates for their pc and I was like suree I wanna do em. There are actually templates for polyamorous relationships heck yuss

I actually drew these a long time ago, now I can finally put them to use!!

[igetthedisneybox]

Zoe Madrigal

Inspired by @hannahhook7744's Encanto AU, and her own character headcanons.

Third image made using https://picrew.me/en/image_maker/1558575

Fourth image made using https://www.dolldivine.com/la-colombiana

Fifth image is a model of one of the Encanto kids I edited.

Zoe’s full name is Zoe Carina Madrigal.

Her first name means “life”, and her middle name means “beloved”. 

She is the last adopted child of Luisa Madrigal and Juana Aguado.

She has straight dark brown hair, light brown skin, and brown eyes.

She is five years old.

She has two older brothers by five years, Tomás and Rómulo.

She is currently uninterested in romance and sex.

Her gift is object personification. Any object she wills, will come alive. Any object she wants to un-personify, she can. If it has a face, it will speak. She just received her gift, and doesn’t understand why the townspeople find her gift odd and disturbing.

Her door portrays her smiling, with her hands at her sides, surrounded by a variety of household objects, like a candelabra, a clock, a teapot, and a plate, all with smiling faces.

Her room looks like a princess castle, with a grand four-poster bed with a thick rainbow canopy. All the furniture is teak wood, painted beautiful colors. She has just about as much random stuff in her room as Carlos, and it’s all been personified. The objects are her best friends, and anything she personifies that she wants to keep, she steals takes to her room. 

Her symbol is the alchemical symbol of life, an upside down greek omega.

Luisa is an anxious and overprotective mother, which Zoe doesn’t mind. She basically worships both her parents, and loves snuggling with them. 

Juana is the mom who tries to get Zoe out of her shell, and interacting with other kids.

She has no memory of her birth parents, but she does remember her grandfather, who raised her until she was four. When he fell ill, Luisa and Juana volunteered to take her in, so she wouldn’t be alone.

Zoe looks up to her two brothers, and wants to have adventures like them when she gets older.

She ends up hanging out with the other “outcast” cousins: Sofía, Fuega, Andrés, Hugo, and Óscar, because the Encanto people find her gift horrific.

She gets along best with Julieta, Mirabel, and Hugo. 

She used her powers to bring a huge group of potatoes to life, and has dubbed them her “potato people.” Isabela ended up loving them so much, Zoe gave them to her as a gift.

She also used her powers to bring Bisabuelo Wilmar's taxidermied animals to life, and they end up with the ability to speak like humans. Everyone in Casita refused to let her change them back.

She has a special love for machinery, as her biological grandfather was a mechanic in the city. Her best friend is a tiny radio she named Katalina.

She likes to hear stories. Her favorite is the creation of the Encanto, as told by Alma.

She loves to sleep, and takes naps regularly. Curiously, when she’s asleep, all her personified objects sleep as well, and can’t speak or move.

Her favorite colors are pink, red, light yellow, and rainbow.

[trickstermiraculous]

Miraculous Court Revived Au

This au is based off the idea of Marinette revving the guardians through her classmates.

Basic Facts:

Lila has been found out but the staff still believe her

Ladybug and Chat Noir has revealed their identities after Master Fu passed over guardianship

Miracle queen didn’t happen (Chloe gets a redemption)

Adrien and Marinette had a big conversation on boundaries (with Chat Noir constant confessions/refusal to listen to Ladybug and Marinette borderline stalking, it was desperately needed) and decided on friendship for now so their relationship is healthy

Think only s1 s2 s3

Story:

Both Marinette and Adrien agreed to lend out the miraculous permanently but they did it slowly over a year

Not every hero shows up to an akuma at first but most do now as hawkmoth keeps getting stronger the longer they have the miraculous

Which ironically is something happening to the heroes with them gaining effects outside their suits such as animal traits, super strength/speed and small amount of their powers

The Kwamis explained that this is not unusual and many past users who last longer ended up being tightly bonded to their miraculous which made them into demigods (the class being all true holders just made this happen sooner in the development unlike others who had this happen when they were adults)

Over time the class got more feral but not something that was insanely noticeable until another heroes day incident which ended up with class (plus Kagami and Luka) revealing their identities to each other in order to have a stronger support systems as shit was getting worse and worse with the akumas becoming more deadly and horrific

This cause the class to basically become feral in an actual noticeable manner (think Feralnette au vibes but with the whole class)

They also focused way more on the hero jobs, learning martial arts, weapons training, gymnastics, dance, first aid, civilian control tactics

It was Chloe who brought up the idea because while these classes were great, it was too public so why not get a secret base? Like other heroes do

Between her money and her dad’s complete refusal to go against her and never looking into what she was doing, it was a perfect way to hide a secret base and there are a lot of old warehouses/old buildings needing to be bought up so no would really notice

Even so Max and Alix pointed out that even if that was the case wouldn’t it look odd for a bunch of teenagers to keep visiting a random building/warehouse

It took a lot of brain storming but eventually it was surprisingly Kim that had a solution even if it would be complicated as fuck to accomplish

BUILD A BUSINESS

Confused at first, Adrien asked for an elaboration

Well Marinette wants her own fashion brand, Alya wants to be reporter, Nino wants a music/movie career, Kitty Section has started a career already and just needs to be sign to a label but also has their own job wants outside like Myleen/Ivan/Rose’s charity work and Julaka Modelling career, Marc/Nathaniel wants to make comics, Alix wants to expand her art career/sports career, he wants his own sports career as well, Max wants to build more inventions to improve technology for the world, Adrien wants to also work in science (if not work in food) and Chloe/Sabrina like business in general

so why not just combine all their talents and build a jack of all trades enterprise like other big corporations tend to do

It would also be a good cover to build up the Miraculous Guardians again like Marinette and Adrien wants because you can’t really build something like that out in open anymore without it sounding like a cult.

The Plan/Effects:

So that was the plan, it helped keep their parents off their case, could work on it during school because basically everyone there expect for Lula or Kagami (both helping on music and security branches)

It was a slow build as buying a hood building took a while so did all the legal issues but Chloe, Sabrina, Kagami, Adrien and Marinette helped due to the rich kid background, police father and Marinette’s small business that had been set up with the help of Jagged.

The business didn’t really come first though at least they were not openly promoting it.

First they worked on their hero reputation/brands by increased public interactions with more patrols (more heroes means easier ways to spread out patrols), working with the police for normal crimes like how many other heroes in America do (I’m thinking dc crossover not the canon ones), social media presence for better alerts/info to public/a way to see more down to Earth and relate to people (since come what teenager type hero is not going to shit post/meme about their lives)

And it worked more people support them, helping bring more hope as the new need for more heroes got people worried that hawkmoth was winning, the government was starting to help out more (double edged sword thou as that meant a bigger work load for other crimes) which made them express that even when hawkmoth was defeated they wouldn’t minds them sticking around to help Paris since most hero’s tend to stick to America

The main cover business started to become popular after making themselves more known openly with Ladyblog being officially under the company banner, Marc/Nathaniel’s comics also coming under the brand, Max’s new hero endorsed akuma alert app and Hero Website also coming under the company, Kitty Section joining with the start of company’s music records, famous jagged stone endorsed designer known as MDC also joining.

All these popular thing helped it grow quite fast and with the fact most of them being young teens helped make the media especially interested in how fast they were raising in popularity because it wasn’t everyday you see a group of teenagers build such a big company at their age.

That’s all I got so far to be honest.

Notes:

Adrien has to sneak around his father still but with the business he had chloe help him to threaten Gabriel to back off (threaten to go to the press about how he’s unfairly treated)

Kagami and Lula while out of the class have ended up close with most of them over time before the reveal

Parents are just happy their kids are having fun and building up their future careers

Kwamis are protective as hell with class while also are all really happy with being out after being stored into the box for so long

Teachers and the rest of the school tend to avoid or be more harsh on the akuma class (Lila being the cause for the staff issues)

They are now around the age of 16-17

The hero team is now known as the Miraculous Court due to how the public has heard them use their old titles that the guardians used to use such as Lady Of Luck, Duke of Destruction, Seers of Time, Knight Of The Elements, etc.

If you guys have an idea on what the Business should be comment below (currently only idea is Lucky Enterprise)