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late-to-the-magnus-archives · 2 years ago

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Aftercare - a Malevolent Fanfic

Arthur wakes up.

Nothing goes quite as expected.

Though... it's obvious Hastur (again) has a plan. He REALLY needs to stop doing that.

(Takes place in the Surrogate series, after Consecrated)

AO3

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The whole palace is abuzz.

Did you hear—

Shouted… Jaws?

I heard it was Bon. Like, French.

French? Why would he shout in French?

The kitchens are muttering.

A double mark? You heard that wrong.

No, my duchess was there. She saw it. Two marks.

Two? Can you get close enough to see?

Ha! Like I have a death-wish.

The training grounds are talking about it, too, and that’s where Faroe picks up a few inappropriate things.

She doesn’t wanna be up this early, delaying breakfast and time with her daddy. Dawn is not her favorite time. Her pouts, however, leave no impression, and daddy says she must.

You will be queen of all someday, he tells her, which sounds like a nice thing, if vague. You must know how to do more than you do now. Magic, arms, debate, intrigue… you will master them all.

She sort of understood what all of that meant?

It had sounded a lot more exciting than being up super early, wearing weird, new clothes made of leather and linen, and holding a bow that wasn’t a harp, but sort of felt like one, except it shot sticks instead of making music.

She much preferred the harp.

It’s so hard to pull back!

It’s so hard to keep the arrow from just… twisting out to the right and away from the string!

It’s so hard to aim!

Faroe is not used to anything being difficult for her to do, and her frustration in the first fifteen minutes leads to a truly rare event: she has a tiny meltdown.

Hastur studied human development and knows children do that, so his instructions were clear: when she tantrums, let her have her cry, and pay her no attention at all. Do not reward the bad behavior. Do not give her what she wants. Let her get it out of her system, then simply resume as though nothing at all occurred.

Well, it works. Zero reaction is not the response Faroe was looking for, and she ends up with hitching breaths, curled against Nibbles’ side in the grass, still calming down while the grownups talk some feet away.

“I still don’t understand,” one of them (the spear-guy, who seems to have no purpose here as she cannot yet lift a spear) says. “Why would he mark the guy he hates?”

“Right?” says her archery instructor (whom, Faroe admits, she likes). “Nobody seems to get it. The ceremony was full of mixed signals.”

Spear-guy sighs and runs his hand through his brown hair. “This place just keeps getting weirder. I dunno. Maybe we should take that offer. Go to Teloth, after all.”

The archer makes such a face that Faroe almost flips out of her misery to giggle, but she doesn’t, and so the archer keeps talking. “Why the hell would you want to go to that place?”

“Safer. I don’t like this, Dis.”

The archer, Dis, shrugs expansively. “We’re not safe anywhere. At least here, it’s interesting; there’s beauty. Banger music. Good food. Friends. Allies.”

Spear-guy counts off on his fingers. “Weird intrigue. An unreliable god who fucks off for ten years at a go. Some kind of… fucked-up bondage situation, or something, with a human? I don’t know. It feels unstable.”

“Go if you want. I like her. I want to see her grow.” Dis indicates Faroe with a nod of her head.

“Yeah, that’s a whole other kettle of worms.”

“Stick around, Thoth. Just a little longer. It’ll all work out.”

Spear-guy Thoth rolls his eyes. “That’s why they gave you the kid to teach. Optimism doesn’t work past the age of ten.”

She laughs, punches his shoulder, and goes to check on Faroe.

Her hitching has mostly stopped now. She peers up from the circle of Nibbles’ legs, a limpid-eyed innocent cradled by horror.

“Are you ready to continue the lesson, Your Highness?” says Dis.

“Okay,” Faroe says, who doesn’t want to, but does want to make her daddy proud (and is just a little embarrassed at the tantrum she threw).

She doesn’t see uncle Arthur anywhere, not today. Daddy says he’s resting.

She doesn’t see him tomorrow, either.

Funny how people keep talking about him, though.

Two days later, Arthur wakes up and takes a moment to see if he’s still himself.

He’d been half sure he’d wake up some kind of drone, mind broken, erased, or… slavishly devoted to Hastur, now, or… something. Something awful.

None of that seemed to have happened.

He feels like himself? Then again, would he know?

“I want Hastur to go to hell,” he says, which he’s pretty sure he couldn’t do if he’d been lobotomized, and exhales in relief.

Only if I get to watch, says John, and paws along his face. It’s a slightly clumsy motion. Welcome back.

“Hey.” Arthur catches John’s wrist and pulls his hand away. His heart pounds, but it seems to still be his own. “I… I’m all right? We did it?”

You are. We did. What do you remember? John sounds the opposite of the way he had before it happened. Happy. Tension-free.

Arthur exhales. “I don’t even know where to start. You were there, though, somehow.”

I sure as fuck was.

John sounds like the cat that got the cream.

Wincing, Arthur sits up. He’s in bed; judging by the scents, he’s been bathed. Someone actually tucked him in. Weird. He feels sore through his chest, physically aching around his heart, but that makes sense. “Are you all right?”

More than. I’m still a little loopy, actually.

“Loopy?”

Magic-drunk. You missed me drunk, Arthur. It’s a shame. I doubt it’ll happen again any time soon.

Arthur is surprised into a small, brief laugh. “You got drunk?”

It was glorious, Arthur. If I knew how to do it on command, I would.

“So that’s what happens when somebody occupied gets marked, I guess.” He’s speaking lightly, but he feels…

He never wants to feel like that again. It was too much. Just… too much. Arthur scratches his scalp vigorously, trying to wake up. “What happened after… after he did it?”

After we did it. He washed the blood off you and put you to bed.

Arthur swallows. “So you… you did do it, too, somehow.”

Yes. You remember?

“Bits and pieces. Not a lot.” Too much. “I don’t… really want to feel that way again.”

John sounds sad. Right. Of course.

“I was afraid it would… do something to me.”

It did. John is less blithe about this. He… we both… have sway over you, if we wish. And we know how you feel, now, if we want to.

So he had even less privacy than he’d had before. Arthur sighs. “Terrific. Can I know what you’re thinking?”

No. This is very much a one-way spell.

Arthur sighs again. “Well, I hope he knows I hate him, then.” He slides out of bed.

The bottom of his feet hurt. He’s discovered that how much they hurt tends to tie directly to how long he was horizontal. “So you really both marked me.”

Yes.

Goodness, that was aggressive. “I thought you said there couldn’t be more than one mark.”

There can’t. Neither of us can explain it. I think, maybe, it’s because we’re… both the King in Yellow.

John says that hesitantly. Afraid, perhaps, of Arthur’s response.

It’s not news. Arthur has neither censure nor reassurance to give right now; whatever else this did, it didn’t seem to have… repaired whatever’s wrong with him. “Does it make a difference?”

John sputters. Yes! To me! To us!

“All right.” The only thing he cares about is that it is over. Arthur heads to the bathroom. “Tell me what you were like when you were drunk.”

And John brightens right up. I think I was funny!

Left again. You keep drifting right today.

Seventy-three steps. Seventy-seven now, because he has to correct again. “Sorry.”

“Uncle Arthur!” And it isn’t the tiny flap of unshod feet this time, but a surprisingly heavy clop of tiny boots.

She’s coming from your right—brace yourself.

Faroe leaps into him full-bore, and Arthur barely manages to stay on his feet.

He doesn’t care.

He kneels and holds her, and knows he shouldn’t, but holds her, and it’s been days, and he laughs because she jumps a little in his arms and bonks his chin with her head.

“I’m learning arrows!” she proclaims.

She’s wearing… that’s clever, John says, grumpily. A simple sheath-dress, but over it is light leather armor—paneled, so it moves with her. She wears an arm-sheath, as well, very scraped… she’s been learning archery.

“Good for you,” says Arthur.

“What’s a catamite?” says Faroe, and Arthur forgets how to breathe.

After Arthur stops choking (and John stops yelling, which required an apology), Faroe is distracted enough that she’s forgotten her question.

Which is good, because Arthur’s head is spinning.

Breakfast is entirely Faroe talking about her new lessons. She’s gotten over her upset of the first day, mostly because she’s able to hit the target; now that she’s having success, it’s all a delight.

“You’re doing so well, my daughter,” says Hastur at him, but the volley misses because Arthur’s head still spins.

Catamite? Catamite? Had somebody—

Had he been—

In front of everybody—

No. No, this had nothing to do with him. It couldn’t have. John would have told him.

“And the spear guy said Teloth might be safe and he wanted to go, and then Captain Dis came back and taught me how to stand better, and—”

Hastur has… tensed slightly, says John, very quietly.

Arthur suspects “spear guy” won’t be teaching Faroe again.

Faroe has eaten all her spiced egg and half an orange. More than she usually does; she must have had quite a morning.

“It is time for your next lesson,” says Hastur.

“Already?”

She is looking at him with huge eyes; I think she’s figured out how to weaponize her cuteness, Arthur.

“Well, we knew that was coming,” Arthur murmurs back.

“But I wanna play with Nibbles,” she says, too used to their muttering to mind it.

“You can do that after your lessons,” Hastur says.

One of his tentacles brushes her face. It is… a gentle, affectionate touch, and she leans into it.

“You make me very proud,” Hastur says.

And somehow, Arthur knows that one wasn’t aimed at him.

Weird. He’s not sure how he knows. Maybe it was the tenderness in Hastur’s voice, or—

“Okay,” she says, because she really is a well-behaved girl, and hops down from her chair.

She’s so small, says John. She’s practically disappeared up to her eyes on the other side of the table. Ah—she’s smiling at you.

“Uncle Arthur?”

“Yes, sweetheart?”

“Will you come play with me later today?”

Everyone goes really damn still.

“I…” What’s safe? “I…” What won’t get him in trouble, or keep him away from her, or—

“I see no reason why not,” says Hastur, absolutely blowing Arthur’s mind.

Arthur turns toward him in shock.

“Yay!” says Faroe, and darts off at full speed, boots clacking quickly along the marble floor.

Arthur stares. Well. He faces. John is the one who stares.

All right, John says. What’s your fucking angle here?

“No angle, Piece. I merely… mean to be more attentive to my court composer’s needs. That is all.”

“Right.” Neither of them believe that.

“Did you sleep well?” says Hastur in warm and syrupy tones that cannot mean anything good.

Was he still being spoken to? “Me?” says Arthur.

“Yes, you. I ask because you feel… unwell.”

Arthur frowns. “I feel fine.” He turns back to his little bowl of garlicky, herbed yogurt and poached egg, and pokes at it with his spoon.

Hastur rumbles. It’s not quite a growl, but it isn’t good.

What are you up to? John snarls.

Hastur ignores that. “I do not appreciate lies, Arthur.”

Arthur stiffens. “I’m fine. I said I was fine.”

“You are not ‘fine.’”

Arthur sighs and rubs his forehead. What was this? What was he doing now? “Sure. Not fine. Whatever you say. I need to get to work on the jubilee.” He stands.

“Sit. Down.”

Arthur grips the back of his chair and does not move.

John inhales. Arthur, you would defy him? He sounds like Christmas came early.

“I see,” says Hastur. “This is your… normal, is what you’re poorly communicating. This is how you feel every day.”

“Yes.” Arthur does not want to sit back down, but he doesn’t dare walk away, either.

“I see. Well: you are correct—you do owe a jubilee.”

“I owe three.”

Hastur’s rumble is so pleased. “You kept track.”

“Of course I kept track. It’s my fucking job. Can I go?”

Oh, Arthur, says John as though Arthur were doing something amazing. (Which is damned confusing, because he’s fairly sure he’s not.)

“Piece.”

What?

And Hastur switches into R’Lyehian. “Mgleth? fahf ah ahf' ymg' gotha?”

Mgleth!

So this was going to be that kind of conversation. Arthur sighs, gives in, and sits back down to poke at his Turkish eggs.

Hastur repeats and continues. [“Truth? This is who you want? This… weak, pitiful creature? I know you feel his mortality. We aren’t even discussing the flaws of his personality now.”]

John growls. [You damn well know the answer is yes.]

[“Have you considered,”] Hastur says without warning, [“that you still get to keep him if you come home to me?”]

John isn’t prepared for that. He chokes. [What?]

“You okay?” Arthur murmurs.

Fine. Shut up.

Arthur rolls his eyes, but does.

[“This whole time, John, you’ve been offered a choice—him or me. I understand. It’s a terrible position. I see now you will never give him up. I didn’t truly grasp your passion for him until… well. The other night.”]

Hastur makes it sound absolutely illicit.

[What’s your damn point?] John snarls.

[“That things have changed, John. You can have both.”]

John makes a choked sound, worse this time.

“Don’t let him get to you,” Arthur murmurs around another bite of egg.

[That’s not… that’s not true,] says John, stumbling over the consonants.

[“Isn’t it? He is here, cared for, through no choice of my own—and that would not change if you came home. Come back, John. End this. And we will still keep him. He stays as he is. Perhaps even… better cared for, as you and I would be working together for his well-being, for once.”]

Silence.

[“It’s not as though you can handle his needs as you are, and I don’t really want to—but together…”]

Arthur. Get up. We’re leaving.

“Must’ve been a hell of a secret loud conversation,” Arthur mutters, standing.

“Think about it, Piece. That’s all I’m saying,” says Hastur.

John wants to do it. Oh, gods, he wants to do it. He’s panicking because he wants to do it. Move. Go. Now.

“All right, shit. Moving.” Arthur heads toward the door as best he can.

Left! Damn it. More left.

“C' ahor h' goka mgn'ghftephai,” Hastur says after them, calm, content, condescending.

John hisses.

“What the hell did he say now?”

We could give him sight.

Nothing. He’s being an ass. He’s pissy he has to share you.

Arthur scoffs. “Has to? You’d think he’d be grateful he doesn’t have to… I don’t know. Bother with me all by himself, or whatever this is.”

We could give him sight.

It’s more complicated than that.

“What else did he say? He said a lot, John.”

John is quiet a moment too long. I don’t want to talk about it.

Arthur frowns. So it really was that kind of conversation. He doesn’t have the emotional energy to push. “Fine.”

Left. You keep drifting today.

“Sorry,” Arthur murmurs.

Oh… to be whole.

And to have Arthur.

John wouldn’t do it, of course. Of course. He’d never. But damn Hastur for saying it.

Damn Hastur for planting the idea.

Damn Hastur for offering something that John wants to believe could… work.

Maybe.

You could have both.

No, I couldn’t, he tells himself, and No, I couldn’t, he reminds himself, and No, I couldn’t, he writes on his heart and repeats in his soul and chants to himself as Arthur works through the next part of the jubilee, playing parts on the piano which are magically transcribed to paper for the instrumentalists he never sees.

You could have both.

No, I couldn’t, John tells himself, because he can never be whole, and fights very hard not to cry.

#malevolent fic #malevolent #malevolent podcast #faroe lester #arthur lester #kiy malevolent #john malevolent #surrogate series

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highdefinitions · 2 years ago

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I was just wondering if you are going to continue the "and so it goes" series? I absolutely loved the first two chapters!

PSA: anyone that reads and so it goes should probably read this to just get the feel of what i've been feeling!!! sorry if it's long but i've wanted to talk about some things and just haven't really known how to go about it.

to actually answer your question, i will be posting chapter four on monday. i'll continue to post what i have on mondays until i don't have anything pre-written to post.

okay so i'm not angry at you per se but the more i see this question the more slightly annoyed i get. i'm not going at you, anon, but i am going to use your ask to talk about some things.

so far with and so it goes, i have chapters one through three posted. after that, i have up to chapter twelve completed and maybe a third of chapter 13 written. at this point, right now, i don't know if i will finish it. i feel too far removed in a way (i started this fic before i had ever even created a tumblr and was just going to write it for the hell of it). this fic has been up in the air for probably a little more than a year now and got shoved to the side by other projects (sparrowverse, the dead don't die, other writing i've posted) and now that i've tried to go back to it, it's hard. i write differently, the story is a little lost on me, i don't like it as much. it's difficult as a writer to just write when i don't particularly feel 100% involved in the project or entirely like it anymore. i posted it because i thought people would like it, but it seems that a large number of you do not. which might be another factor playing into this that makes me feel even less motivated.

as for the question of when are you going to update again, i've seen it many times. and i just don't know why. since i've announced and so it goes, i've been updating it weekly. i've posted a new chapter every monday since i've started actually posting it, and i cannot seem to understand the fact that people are already asking me when the next one is coming. pre-written or not, one chapter a week is pretty damn good to me. overloading and posting everything at once is silly to me and asking for even more questions like this while i try and cram to write the next chapter. you guys do have to remember that i have a life. i work two jobs, go to college full time, i have animals that need multiple hours of attention each week, as well as all the commuting i do to jobs and work and just general life activities. it's sometimes stressful and i don't like to create that added pressure on myself with writing. i do this to relax. and quite frankly, i do not owe anyone but myself anything pertaining to my writing.

with this being said, i appreciate everyone's excitement surrounding one of my fics. i love that you love what i'm writing, but i am an anxious person. i overthink and i put pressure on myself to be something i cannot physically be. i can't crank out writing like some people can, i'm too critical of myself. if i don't think it's good, it's not going anywhere. i am my own biggest critic and there's been times where i have deleted entire chapters just to rewrite them. i don't have that ability to sometimes just say, it is what it is when it comes to writing.

and it might sound like i'm saying i don't enjoy gvf anymore. of course, i do. i love their music and the boys and i'm so excited for their new album. it's just writing that doesn't particularly excite me anymore. and i might very well circle back to writing them again in the future. it happens. i go through cycles with what i enjoy writing and who i enjoy writing about. even right now i have other projects that i'm working on that i'm happy to write.

this might even lead to more questions, so if you actually read this, and do have other questions for me, don't hesitate to ask me. i want you guys to understand and make sure you don't feel like i'm abandoning ship. please ask if there's something you want to know

#percy’s asks #and so it goes

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philipr05 · 2 years ago

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day one - finding guidance

hi, anyone who finds my blog.. a friend recommended tumblr to me, and the idea of having a blog sounds really nice! i'll try to post every night around this time with daily thoughts and stuff.

today was a hard day. not because i had a lot to do, but because it's just hard to think about where my life is going, and what my future holds. my grades are a mess, school isn't going so great, and it all feels like it's crashing down all at once..

it's hard to find balance in a world that moves a thousand times quicker than you can. it's hard to live up to expectations that are placed on you by the society we live in. it's hard to keep your head up high.

in this kind of world, scripture can provide a lot of guidance

“Come to me, all you who are weary and burdened, and I will give you rest." Matthew 11:28

when thinking about how i could possibly find guidance from anywhere in such a crazy world, this verse is something i can think of- easy to remember, and one of the first verses i learned as a young child. everytime i turn to God's word, i feel comforted. but yet i feel guilty or sad. why?..

i feel as though my relationship with the Lord is one sided. i don't always live in a way according to the way God wants me to live, and i feel i am not deserving of the love and compassion he has to offer. it's hard to lead a life that is in accordance with God. it's even harder when i've have tried to find the Lord so many times- but just can't feel the connection between Him and i. faith becomes thin, and it's easy to go astray.

the thing about any relationship is the idea of putting in as much work as the other entity. God loves and cares for me, so in return, i have to find ways in my own life to praise and acknowledge him. a goal i have for myself is to find time in my life where i can build my relationship with Him. praying and talking with him, meditating on His Word, attending church more often and making it a priority- those are things that i wish i can do more. and by doing those things i hope i can finally find that click in my relationship with the Lord, and be comforted in his guidance.

spiritual life is hard to maintain, but the promise that God provides is worth more than anything.

lately, i've been getting more and more into the world of classical music. i find that classical music conveys richer emotions in ways that lyrical music just cannot. bach cello suite no. 6 in D major has been up on my charts recently.. rachmaninov piano concerto no.3 and brahms symphony no. 2 are also recent favs. i want to make music a bigger part of my life. i don't want to go far as majoring in it in college, but recently i've come to realize it's something i never want to give up. i play in a youth orchestra now, and i hope i can continue to play in an orchestra when i go to college in a year and a half. playing the viola, i've found, has helped me become a more *characteristic* human being, it allows me to be more expressive and free with my emotions. i never want to let that go.

i recently went to go eat korean bbq with some of my friends. its always a super cool vibe- grilling the meat with kpop playing in the background. it rlly doesn't get much better than that.

other than that this long weekend has been all eat, sleep, and practice. concert in one week, and tons of tests and hw coming up.

in conclusion, i really need to find that balance and guidance in my life. i need to put in more work in order to be a better person, to build my spiritual life, and to become happier.

there's a long week ahead but i'm going to approach it head on with some grit. summer is right around the corner..

with sincerity 💌, philip, 2/21/23, 02:24:00

#scripture #jesus #classical music #viola #kbbq #guidance

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elkian · 1 day ago

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[ID: A sketch of the Honorable Mentions, featuring the protagonist from the original Pokemon Gameboy Color games holding a Pikachu, and next to him, the female protagonist from Pokemon Crystal, resting her hand on her Typhlosion's head.]

Following Glow but before we get to Crystal, I have some Honorable Mentions to get into.

Sydney

Shortly after I got my Sega and got into Sonic, which in many ways was the first media I was into (I can't really say fandom because I had no real way to connect with other fans at the time; one of the disappointments about not getting an N64 was that everyone had an N64, and nobody had ever heard of Sonic except for like one person I knew who had a Dreamcast and a couple of Sonic Dreamcast games, which were not at all the same thing to preteen me) - anyways, a year or so later, I received a Gameboy Color and copy of Pokemon as a gift, and still have them somewhere.

I can't say for sure if it was Blue or Yellow that I received first (I never got Pokemon Red), but I got both and played them often.

(My GBC has some kind of curse where every time I have Pokemon Blue, and only Pokemon Blue, inserted, I drop it and the data wipes. I cannot explain it for the life of me. It is still happening to this day.)

The original Pokemon games are pretty sparse on the story and characterization, and that's not a criticism, just a fact of life.

While the GBC protagonist is ostensibly a boy, the thing is is that this isn't really stressed much of anywhere in the game, giving you some breathing room. To tiny, age-6-ish me, two decades away from learning the term "agender", this space meant something to me.

I have a vivid memory of being maybe 8 and trying to play a word game in the car with my mother where we named all the names we could think of that could be a "boy name" AND a "girl name". Long before I had the tools to understand myself, I was trying.

For reasons I can't possibly recount anymore, I was convinced that Sydney/Sidney was and is a unisex name and a perfect way to hedge my bets. When I was playing Pokemon (I've never been much of one for self-inserts; characters in games are almost never 'me', that's just not how I work), Sydney didn't have to be a boy or a girl or anything at all. The fact that I remember this nearly 30 years later says, I think, a lot about me.

In the early 2010s, I was big into Homestuck, and one day the music lead said "hey folks, can you try my game demo?" and I did. Both in the demo and the full game, Sydney became the name for the Fallen Human; it was a callback to something integral to me as a person, and the fact that this time it was in a space where nonbinary people could canonically exist resonated in ways that are hard to put into words.

Liza

While I had Sydney and the thoughts above, the fact remains that I genuinely wouldn't be allowed to access relevant vocabulary for these experiences for a long while yet, and another fact was that there were, and still are, an absolute dearth of female protagonists in video games. This issue has been addressed more recently and has its own foibles that I absolutely am not going to get into here, but the point was that it Meant Something to baby me to boot up Pokemon Crystal for the first time and be asked "are you a boy or a girl?" That was genuinely something I simply did not get asked much in games at the time - if you asked me to name a female video game protagonist, I would probably have stalled out at Lara Croft. Pokemon Crystal released in the USA in 2001 - a solid 6 years before Portal.

Again, the characters in games were never 'me', and that was fine. My Pokemon Crystal protagonist was The Girl One (visually much cooler than the Ash Ketchum design that I'd seen everywhere since the anime first started airing in the USA; I try not to be bitter, but I just can't vibe with the weirdly cutesy redesign for the Heart-Soul remakes, especially since the boy's design didn't change so fundamentally). The Crystal protagonist was cool not just because it was one of the first times I'd ever had the option to Be A Girl in a video game, but because she matched the game she was made for, with her crystal-blue hair and more modern design. She just looked rad as hell and utterly indomitable, and I loved her.

I named my protagonist Liza and, for reasons that I still could not begin to decrypt, named our starting Cyndaquil Suco, who would become my beloved Typhlosion. Return was one of my favorite moves; I loved Suco and he loved me, and that made him powerful as all get-out. It was great.

These two are Honorable Mentions because they haven't really developed beyond the bounds of their original narratives - they're less "Original Characters" and more my particular take on the protagonists of the game I was playing, but they're still near and dear to my heart, and still are an important part of my personal history.

Previous: Glow

Next: Crystal

Pillowfort: https://www.pillowfort.social/posts/5856968

Pixiv: https://www.pixiv.net/en/artworks/126577471

#elk text #elk art #elk oc timeline 2025 #sydney (oc)#liza (oc)#suco (oc)#sketch art

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la-pheacienne · 2 years ago

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What are your thoughts on Eponine? (I haven’t read the novel, I have only watched the Liam Neeson movie (which didn’t have Eponine) and a recording of the musical).

Thank you for the ask I love getting Les Mis asks 💖

So keep in mind that I have read this book 13 years ago so I don't remember a lot of details. I remember the core idea of her character though and she was one of the most badass characters in the book, I loved her.

So Hugo initially had another named planned for her but changed it after Baudelaire dedicated a poem to him (Les petites vieilles from Les Fleurs du mal) that goes like this:

These dislocated wrecks were women once,

Were Eponine or Lais! hunchbacked freaks,

Though broken let us love them! they are souls.

And that is a very good introduction to her character.

Her first trait that needs to be mentioned is hunger. Eponine was a hungry, very hungry young teen, starved, to be more exact, she had a horrendous appearance, some teeth missing, she was extremely dirty, her clothes had huge wholes, she walked barefoot I think. Hunger was so absolute and omnipotent in Eponine, as in a lot of characters from the book, that it seemed to completely erase any hint of personality, or agency, or personhood really. She seemed to not even be a human being at all, she was just a starved girl who resembled a starved animal more than a person. And that's the thing with hunger, it's so catastrophic and definite that it completely annihilates a person. You can't have free will, you can't have spiritual autonomy, you're just that, hungry. Hunger in Les Mis is the ultimate and most substantial form of violence, and Eponine embodies that.

"The grace of her youth was struggling against the hideous old age brought on by debauchery and poverty".

What hunger also does is it gives birth to the lowest, most debased, most inhuman form of monster. That's Eponine's parents, les Thenardiers, and I honestly cannot recall a single literary character that is more appalling than them. They were appalling people before they became so poor, but poverty turned them into actual vultures. So in this "cocktail Molotov" of moral depravity plus extreme poverty and hunger, what chance does Eponine have of becoming something more than a vulture herself? A vulture, or a living, lifeless, soulless corpse, like her sister.

Yet that's not Eponine's arc. Eponine starts as a bully to Cosette while she was a kid, then becomes this hungry street smart kid, then an accomplice in a gang of criminals (burglars, thieves etc) then she goes to prison for a short time. She is in love with Marius, and so she's torn between her jealousy and the desire to make him happy, that is why she helps Marius find Cosette's house and leads him there, then she observes them every night they meet in the garden. She even prevents her gang from entering Cosette's house, because she knows that Marius would be destroyed if anything happened to Cosette. That's the part of the book where she stops them :

"Please yourself, you won't get in. I can't be the daughter of a dog seeing as I am the daughter of a wolf! There are six of you. What's that to me? You're men. Well, I'm a woman. You don't frighten me, that's for sure. I'm telling you, you won't get inside this house because I don't want you to. If you come any nearer I'll bark. I told you, I'm the 'cab'. I couldn't care less about you. Now be on your way, I've had enough of you! Go anywhere you like, but don't come here, I won't let you! You use your knives, I'll use my feet, it's all the same to me. So come on, then!"

And then, after this very selfless act, she actively manages to separate Cosette and Marius. She scares Valjean so he decides to move, and takes Cosette's letter for Marius with no intention of giving it to him, then leads Marius to the barricades so that they can die together there. And then, she dies for him after giving him Cosette's letter :

“She let her head fall back upon Marius' knees and her eyelids closed. He thought that poor soul had gone. Eponine lay motionless; but just when Marius supposed her for ever asleep, she slowly opened her eyes in which the gloomy deepness of death appeared, and said to him with an accent the sweetness on which already seemed to come from another world:

"And then, do you know, Monsieur Marius, I believe I was a little in love with you."

She essayed to smile again and expired.”

So Eponine was a morally ambiguous person but an exceptional character, moving from debauchery, spite and depravity to bravery and love. She doesn't believe in the Cause, but she loves Marius and she dies for him in the barricades, thus her death is as honorable as any other person that gave their lifes in the barriades. I think Eponine's function in the narrative is to show that it is in fact, possible, for an exceptional character to be born out of total material, moral and spiritual decay. It is possible for a human being to preserve the quality of a person, even an exceptional person, and rise above theIr horrendous circomstances. She's a tragic character but the underlying message is ultimately optimistic, in a way.

Of course she was not presented accurately in the musical, she was sexualised in a way that the supposed "conflict" between her and Cosette looks like the conflict of a the popular high school girl vs the high school underdog which is SO not the case in the book.

#les miserables #eponine #asks #marius pontmercy #aspa reads les mis

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putschki1969 · 2 years ago

Note

Hello Puts!

Happy New Year and Merry Christmas ❄️

How are you doing? How were your holidays?

I have a question/thought about Hikaru?

I'm so worried about what she's going to do next. Will she continue to sing? On the one hand, the fact that the contract was not renewed is logical - it is obvious that the agency could not offer her anything new. But what's next?

Hello there!

Thank you! All the best to you as well!

I have honestly felt quite drained in the past few weeks.T_T After getting back from Japan I went straight back to work. I haven’t really had time to rest properly. This has frustrated me to no end because I still want to write a bunch of reports about my Japan trip but damn it, I just can’t bring myself to do it *sighs* Anyways, enough complaining, I will get to that stuff eventually! Now let’s see what we can do about your question.

It’s a really good question and I have been wondering the same thing. Hikaru’s current situation is quite literally a mess but in her New Year’s post she was pretty straight-forward about wanting to continue to make music in some shape or form. I expect her to make some guest appearance this year and maybe we’ll even see the one or the other collaboration (possibly with Keiko). She doesn’t seem to have the means to organise proper one-man-lives at the moment so she has to rely on small gigs with other artists. Let’s hope she can move past that soon. Don’t get me wrong, I am happy she has some work at least but performing three songs in a tiny live house in front of a hundred people won’t get her far in terms of reaching a wider audience (or even her loyal fanbase). I know it’s not necessarily her goal anymore to become popular but I would want her events to be a bit more accessible.

I am glad she has her theater commitment right now because that seems to keep her busy and happy. I briefly mentioned it in my report of the Ambient Border -DAWN- event but it’s obvious that she feels very comfortable with the C.C.C theater group members. It’s a good thing to see her this carefree and passionate about something. The fact that Hikaru gets to sing not only one but two songs (Ambient Border & Under the Rain) for the upcoming play gives me hope that there will be some sort of CD release accompanying the show. Also, please let there be a broadcast like last time! I am so curious about her performance!

With all her involvement in theater work, I wonder if this is maybe her slow transition into musicals? I mean, it would be the next logical step for her. It’s what Hikaru started out doing as a kid and teenager. It’s obviously something she enjoys and from what we have seen so far, she can quite masterfully tackle the acting part. These days there are quite a lot of Japanese artists who are doing musicals once in a while. Her vocal range might not be suitable for all roles but then again, if singers with the most generic anisong voices (e.g .May’n or Nana Mizuki) can do musicals, so can Hikaru!! Unfortunately, the Spice guy and his theater gang don’t strike me as particularly influential in the entertainment industry so they probably cannot help Hikaru get a foot in the door of the musical world.

As far as Hikaru’s YouTube videos are concerned, I have no idea where she is heading with her channel. I am enjoying her stuff a lot but it doesn’t really seem to lead anywhere. There is no way she is gonna attract a wider audience with her current content, especially since there are a ton of other Japanese YouTubers out there who are doing the exact same thing. That specific influencer/content creator market is already very saturated. In my opinion, she should really post more music-related videos because music is what she is known for so she has a big advantage in that field...

Everyone, feel free to chime in...

UPDATE:

Funnily enough,Hikaru posted this tweet today (January 15). Sometimes I feel like she reads my blog XD

I've received several messages about work inquiries and while I would like to talk about them with you I am currently not able to. It hurts me to say that this disingenuous state will continue and I am honestly so sorry about it. I'm working hard to reach a place where I can openly talk with everyone and explain the situation. Please rest assured that I will tell you everything as soon as I am able to.

#kalafina #reply #hikaru #speculation #freelancer hikaru

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mothicalspoken · 3 years ago

Text

School dances are... something else.

There’s a lot of glorified stereotypes about them, that’s for sure. Tales of being twirled around by your crush under the lights, seeing teenagers do very very dumb teenager things, and strangely, no adult supervision. A wonderful tale of chances taken, in a perfect world where the music aligns with your taste and the lights don’t make it hard to see.

Unfortunately, in real life, school dances are just an unescapable trap. Even the lady at the check-in insists that you cannot go outside, because they don’t want anyone going missing.

It’s stupid. Marcy doesn’t even know why she’s here.

She floats around the front hall, away from the lights as possible without stepping into other rooms of the community center that students are apparently not supposed to go in. The floor shakes under her feet, and there’s so much noise- even out here, on the edge of the storm, it overwhelms everything else. She’s been standing here blankly for who knows how long, rooted to the spot. It’s so loud. Going anywhere near the rest of the student population would be impossible.

What was she here for again? She wouldn’t go to this without a reason. It’s not like she’s popular. Or that she particularly enjoys dances. Why would she even-

“Marcy?”

The voice barely registers. It's just another part of the sea of noise. She blinks, slowly.

There’s a hand waving in front of her face.

“Marbles? Mar-Mar? Hey, you okay?”

It’s Anne, she realizes. Anne is here, with her hair illuminated by harsh lights that make Marcy close one of her eyes. That’s good. This is who she came for. Right.

It takes her about 5-10 seconds longer to process Anne’s words. It feels like her brain is clogged up with cottonballs. In that time, before she can even answer, a blur moves past her and up to the front desk.

There’s words exchanged, not that she manages to catch all of them. But she knows it’s Sasha whose speaking, and soon enough, Anne’s got a hand on her shoulder and Sasha has her by the wrist, and they’re leading her into a little empty dark room off to the side. She follows them without question.

The door shuts behind them, and the noise fades. Things seem clearer now. She blinks again, and rubs at her eyes.

“You good, Marce?” Sasha asks her, once the three of them are inside. Anne keeps a hand on her shoulder. It’s grounding. Everything is less fuzzy. “You seemed really out of it.”

“Yeah-” She says, finally, her words coming out raspier than expected. “I’m good. It was just... loud. Sorry about that. I didn’t see you guys come in.”

“Don’t apologize- me and Sash were the ones who made you come anyways,” Anne insists, rubbing small circles into her back. “We should have known it’d be overwhelming.”

“How did you...”

“You always get this look on your face,” Sasha answers, tugging chairs out for the three of them to sit on. “Also, it’s not like you to stand still, if you know what I mean.”

“Ha... yeah...” Marcy laughs nervously, taking a seat. The three of them are arranged in a triangle of sorts, so they can all face each other. Light from the dance alternates on the floor through the window in the door, muffled sound still escaping through. But it’s not so bad now. There’s no one else here but them. She can breathe. “Always gotta be doing something.”

Marcy tugs on the strings of her sweatshirt, and looks down at the ground- at Anne’s scuffed sneakers, and Sasha’s shiny Marcy Janes, and then her own. There’s something pathetic and intimate about all of this- she can’t handle school dances, but she dreams of being the one to take them to one anyways. The big one. Somewhere off in the future, far far away. She holds onto it with a vice grip, and pushes it away at the same time.

Isn’t it ironic?

“...You guys can go back to the dance, if you want. I can stay here,” she says, after a beat of silence. “I don’t mind.”

“What, and leave you here? C’mon, we’d rather be with you,” Anne assures, leaning over to tap her knee with a playful grin.

“Besides, everyone knows that school dances are overrated anyways,” Sasha says, earning her a glare of offense from Anne. It had been Anne’s idea- she’s always loved the school dance scenarios in all her romance novels and magazines, after all. However, her look goes away as Sasha finishes. “It’s not about the event, it’s who you spend it with. School dances are no fun if you’re all by yourself. So, we’re staying. You can’t get rid of us that easily.”

Marcy smiles sheepily, and reaches out to take both their hands, almost on instinct. At least this is one of the actions she doesn’t have to think about. It’s been their way of communicating since they were little, and it’s never changed since.

“Thanks guys... I love you.”

“Love you too, Marbles,” Anne replies. Sasha nods enthusiastically in agreement, and gives her a genuine smile.

Both her and Sasha scoot closer, with Sasha laying her head on Marcy’s shoulder, and they talk about unrelated things for the rest of the night.

#should I tag sensory overload #does this even count as sensory overload?...#is it sensory overload when you can't think straight or talk normally and stare into space because everything is too much #????#anyways if you can't tell #this is kind of a projection piece?.. my friends had to do this for me at homecoming #anyways!!!#marcy goes to a school dance spaces out for who knows how long until anne and sasha show up and get her out of there #its warm and fuzzy #sashannarcy #marcy wu #anne boonchuy #sasha waybright #god I love these three so much aaa #my writing #amphibia #warning!! unedited

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littlemissnoname13 · 4 years ago

Text

The life he always wanted (D.M.)

Summary: Draco’s life after the battle of Hogwarts

Pairing: Draco Malfoy x female!reader

A/n: I wrote a multi-chapter a few months ago that never made it on here. This one shot has been pulled out of it and posted as a one shot just like “You and your green apples.” Which was supposed to be a part of that same multi chapter too.

Warnings: angst, Multiple mentions of avada and death so please read at your own discretion. Also please feel free to message me if I need to add any more disclaimers.

Word count: 2100+

The only thing illuminating the dark room was the flickering light from the television.

Draco thought the muggles had really outdone themselves with that one as he had spent one too many nights in front of the television with a bottle of fire whisky.

Some nights he’d be too wasted to realise he’d been watching static for hours.

Faint, fuzzy music could be heard all around the room even though the volume was set to a minimum and Draco took this opportunity to waltz you across the living room of your cozy one bedroom home.

The house wasn’t too big but it was just the way you’d always wanted it to be—big glass windows, hardwood floors and a small spiral staircase leading to the roof.

“The life we’ve always wanted.” You sighed and placed your head on his chest. “I don’t know what I’d do without you, Draco.”

One of his hands was placed securely on the small of your back while the other held your hand as you moved together with the music. Your soft, flowy hair bounced as he twirled you in his arms.

“Oh really?” He smirked and watched you nod your head in response with a sad look in your eyes.

“Yes really.”

“Well I’m here now Darling so there’s no need to worry about all that.” He whispered, placing a kiss on the top of your head. “I’m not going anywhere. You know that don’t you?”

“I know Draco.” You whispered and he pulled you closer to him. “I know.”

Draco couldn’t begin to imagine what his life would be life without you in it.

Shuddering at the dark clouds forming at the top of his blond head, he closed his eyes and inhaled sharply to make the clouds drift away.

“Don’t you have to be somewhere tomorrow?” You asked tilting your head upwards to look at him. Draco noticed that your eyes brows crinkled a little as you said this—the look of worry somewhat prominent.

“Oh yes.” He sighed, rolling his eyes at you. “I really wish you didn’t remind me.”

“But you haven’t met our friends in so long.”

“Your friends. ”He corrected you curtly. “And it’s only been a few months.”

Well, it had been more than just a few months but It wasn’t his fault that he’d rather spend all his time with you.

Draco noticed that you giggled when he said that as if you knew before taking his hand and guiding him towards the bedroom.

He decided to not utter a single word of protest as he quietly followed you into the bedroom.

“Come lie with me, Dray.” You whispered as he watched you slip under the covers. You looked so peaceful, so content and the whole moment seemed so fickle like it would fade away if he moved too quickly or blinked too hard.

He hastily removed his shirt slipping under the covers next to you—his head on your chest as you lazily played with his hair.

This was everything he’d ever wanted.

“I love you y/n.”

“I love you too.”

~~~~~~~

“Glad you came, Malfoy.” Ginny smiled the best smile she could smile, opening the door to let him in the house.

“Well hello to you too Weaslette.”

“Come on inside. We were all waiting for you.” Ginny said she led the way towards the living room filled with familiar voices and faces.

“Potter. Weasel. Granger.” Draco muttered as he gave all three a semi polite nod of acknowledgement.

“I uh—like your hair.” Harry commented looking at Draco’s unkempt blond hair now growing towards his shoulders.

Upon hearing Harry, Draco ran his fingers through his hair and fought an urge to say something snarky.

“So, may I ask why I’ve been summoned here?” Draco finally said as he sat down on an armchair opposite to Harry.

“We just wanted to see you. You have been gone for a…bit...” Harry replied, clearing his throat. And we thought you might want this.”

Draco raised his eyebrows suspiciously as Harry stretched out his hand to hand him a sealed envelope.

“Cup of tea?” Ginny asked.

~~~~~~~~~

As soon as he reached home, he tore his clothes off and jumped into the shower.

He let the warm water wash away the ache he felt all over his body. There was no tell tale sign indicating the pain was physical or emotional.

Nonetheless, the warmth of the water helped.

To some extent.

After what felt like hours in the shower, he finally stepped outside and wrapped a towel around his torso.

The bathroom had fogged up and the fog had travelled all the way into the bedroom.

In an attempt to get the fog to disappear, Draco cracked the surprisingly large bedroom window open and let the crisp night air flow into the room.

“Someone’s back home early.” He heard you mock in a sweet singsong voice making the tiniest of smiles appear at his lips as he turned around to face you.

You were wearing a flowy satin dress and were perched on the top of his desk—dangling your legs.

He paused to admire and remember every detail about the sight in front of him.

The way the gust of wind coming from the window blew your hair towards your face. The way that flimsy satin fabric hugged your body. The way the flickering table lamp casted shadows on your features.

Everything.

“I just couldn’t stay away from you.” He shrugged and watched you chuckle and get down from his desk.

He patiently waited as you took long strides towards him before finally wrapping your arms around his neck—stretching on the tip of your toes and bringing your face close to his.

“Open the envelope Draco.” You whispered softly into his ears.

A flash of lightning lit up the entire room with a blinding white light as the sky roared.

Draco nodded as he slowly reached for the crumpled envelope he’d left inside his coat pocket.

Taking a long breath, he looked up at you and you gave him an apologetic yet reassuring smile while he ripped the envelope open.

The opened seal of the envelope brought along with it, a familiar scent of cedarwood and vanilla. It was the smell he could smell on his clothes after spending the day with you.

A small photograph fell out of the envelope.

It was a Polaroid you’d unintentionally taken one summer. Both of you had questionable expressions on your faces because you were both trying to get the Camera to work.

You were chewing your lip in confusion and his nose was scrunched up; you both were not ready for the photo at all.

His hands shook violently as sporadic rain drops started to pour down from the window leaving tiny splatters on the worn out photograph.

“Why?” He spat in anger. “Why did you have to throw yourself between me and that killing curse?”

You smiled an apologetic smile at him once again; you did that a lot.

“You’ll get drenched Draco—close the window.” You said, dodging his question completely while you reached towards his hand again.

“Stop dodging my question.”

“It hadn’t rained for a while.” You said making him heave a sigh and look up at the night sky.

One rain drop and become two and two had become three.

Draco took a wobbly step towards you and fruitlessly wiped the drops of rain that were falling on your cheeks.

“And now it’s raining.” He pointed out with his voice shaky.

“Excellent observation, my love.”

The way you said it, the nonchalance in your voice made him furious. You were gone but he had to wake up every single day in a world where you no longer existed.

In a stupor of grief, he grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you towards him. “Don’t you see?— even the sky is grieving the loss of what could have been! The life we could have lived!”

“I like to think it’s the universe washing away the hurt and pain.” You whispered, staring deeply into his steely eyes. “You’ll see. It’s going to be a beautiful morning tomorrow. I can feel it.”

“Why y/n? Why didn't you let me die instead?—you are gone and what am I left with? A worn out photograph of you?!”

“Draco—”

“Every damned day, I feel further and further away from you.” He began sobbing. “The smell of your perfume is fading from my sweater, I cannot picture the way you used to laugh anymore—for the love of Merlin! I don’t even remember what life was like when you were with me y/n. It all seems so far away..so distant.”

“You have to let me go, Draco.” You whispered as you pressed your forehead to his.

He physically felt the pain of his breaking heart all over his body. The sharp pain brought back all the trauma he had suppressed over the last few months.

“No…No. No. No—Please don’t leave again.” He pleaded as angry tears started to roll down his cheeks. “Please. I—I don’t think I can handle it.”

“You’ll see me again. I swear.” You said softly as he began to laugh an ominous kind of laugh, knowing deep down that you weren’t even there in front of him to begin with.

Everything was all in his head.

Twenty seven months.

He’d been talking to the voice in his head for twenty seven whole months while the world moved on without him.

“When? When will I see you again? In another life? Merlin!” Draco said in between his hysterical laughter.

“Maybe.” The figment of his imagination whispered caressing the side of his face till he calmed down. “Maybe in another life I won’t find myself having to jump in between you and the killing curse.”

Draco gave you a disapproving glare before he leaned down to find your rain soaked lips.

With his index finger and thumb holding your chin up, Draco kissed you gently while his own tears and the acidic grey rain continued trickle down his face.

It took him every ounce of strength he had left but he nodded like he was saying his final goodbye and took a step back— releasing you from his embrace and releasing him from his grief.

You slowly turned on your heel and walked towards the door.

“I’ll be waiting for you Draco.”

He closed his eyes because he wasn’t ready to see you leave.

So after what felt like centuries, Draco slowly opened his eyes.

He was all alone.

~~~~🍂🍁🍂~~~~

Autumn.

It could be seen in the rustling trees and the gust of wind that made the amber colored leaves that were once bright green fall down onto a winding pathway beneath trees.

A young woman strided along the winding path. Clicking her heels. Head tilted upwards, taking in the pinkish purple sky in all of its glory.

A few books were tucked underneath her arm and a cloth bag loosely hung on her left shoulder.

She was so occupied by the pleasant weather and whatever thoughts were circling her head, that she didn’t even realise that she had collided with somebody.

“Sorry. I’m so sorry.”

She apologised profusely before she knelt down on the ground to collect the books she’d dropped.

The stranger hummed in response and helped her gather the contents that had fallen out of her book bag.

An oddly familiar smell tickled her senses. It was the smell of cologne and fresh mint.

The smell of the cologne was so foreign to her. It was like nothing she’d ever smelled before and yet, she found herself feeling awfully comforted by it.

The smell sent her into a state of déjà vu.

She looked up through her lashes and saw a boy with steely grey eyes making an eerie sense of familiarity washed all over her body.

“I’m sorry, have we met before?”

The boy blinked a few times before cracking a small smile. “I think we’re in the same Art history class. Judging by where you’re headed.”

“Right.” She nodded as they slowly walked down the path together. “Don’t mind me. It’s just.. it’s just that you seem oddly familiar to me.”

He shoved his hands into his pocket as they quietly walked next to each other. The silence wasn’t an awkward one.

Not for him at least.

It felt almost as if they’d always been walking together for years—in another timeline, in another life.

It all felt habitual.

“Tell you what? He finally said looking down at the girl he’d just met. “How about we get coffee after class and discuss this further. You seem oddly familiar to me too.”

“I’d like that.”

Her eyes pierced a million daggers into his heart.

“I’d like that a lot.”

-------------------------------------

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Love you all,

#draco malfoy #draco malfoy imagine #draco malfoy x reader #draco x reader #draco fanfiction #draco angst #draco one shot #draco lucius malfoy #draco fic #draco x y/n #draco x you

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gncrevan · 3 years ago

Text

on internet leftism, public shaming, and how to grow as a person

at the moment of writing this, social media is hotly debating a tweet and the track record of a leftist streamer called badbunny. i'm not tuned into any of that enough to comment on who she is or if her platform is harmful. but i do wanna take this opportunity to talk about something that has been weighing on my mind for a while now.

this text was forming as i read lindsay ellis' statement leaving youtube, as natalie wynn went through her fifth or so twitter "cancellation", as sia talked about her relapse and suicidality following the backlash to music, and as pretty much every day a niche microcelebrity or normal person with the bad fortune to go viral got eaten alive on social media for their bad takes ranging anywhere from questionable media opinions to genuine antisemitism. i want to be clear that i think all of these people said and did things that deserve various amounts of criticism. this text is not to defend anyone. it's a look at group dynamics within leftist praxis.

preamble: because nothing is ever fully original, i wanna give a quick shoutout to the podcast you're wrong about, specifically the episodes "public shaming" and "cancel culture", for kickstarting a good chunk of my thought process here.

i don't use the term "cancel culture" to describe the phenomenon i'm discussing because i find it exceedingly vapid and unhelpful. the right and the left use it to mean entirely different things, none of which are well described as "cancelling".

i think the progressive/leftist online sphere is creating a more and more toxic environment by expecting perfection from people. having a big platform is a responsibility and it can be very harmful to even have so much as a bad take. but to paraphrase this video by alex peter: we don't hold people accountable, accountability has to come from within. the only thing we do is punish people. and as an abolitionist i don't think we as leftists should believe in punishment, but in rehabilitation.

yes, public shaming and deplatforming serve an important function to a) reinforce the ethics of our in-group and b) take away power from those who abuse it to harm others (since as we know the justice system does not come for the rich and powerful). but in most cases on the internet, that is not what we're doing. we're not serving a social safety measure, we're getting off on being in the in-group and doling out punishment. hell, maybe we're even getting our 15 minutes of fame out of it by commenting on a trending topic. or maybe we feel compelled if not outright forced by in-group/out-group dynamics to clarify our position on this topic, on every topic, always. but how does any of that serve the betterment of them as a person, or our society as a whole?

i want you to think of all the things you have said in your life that would cause backlash if you were in the public eye. more than that, i want you to think about the people who don't like you, who think really badly of you, and imagine that they were leading the public discourse about you (credit to rayne fisher-quann for this imagery). none of us would look good, even if we've grown and changed and made amends. i don't wanna live in a world where that is our normal. i believe that as leftists we need to move towards a restorative approach, fueled by empathy.

i believe and have personally witnessed that humans fundamentally have the ability to change and become better. but nobody can grow in an environment that puts them under constant attack. if you're busy defending yourself, you just purely psychologically cannot critically examine your behaviour and beliefs because you're in survival mode, sometimes literally. that's why we constantly see creators (and artists, celebrities, twitter's bad person of the day) doubling down on and defending their bad takes and talking about their mental health instead of apologizing. it's not fucking helpful.

there's a time and a place for public shaming, and there's a time and a place to stop and let the person actually process what happened. and you don't have to personally forgive them if they change their ways, or like them afterwards — there's plenty of creators i don't like purely because they said too much dumb shit or have politics i can't agree with or just give off bad vibes and i'm a hater. but that's a completely different issue. criticism is always valuable, but if i want our community and society to progress in any meaningful way, i need to ask myself if calling someone out serves a purpose or is just contributing to a pile-on, if i'm approaching them with goodwill and empathy or just dunking on them. if i want them to learn and change for the better, then i need to afford them the space necessary to grow. we can't build a community on punishment and fear of repercussion. our foundation must be one where we recognize each other's humanity and engage in good faith as peers.

#ugh video essay when am i right folks? i can be so insightful at two in the morning #breadtube #ethics #politics #restorative justice #activism #opinion piece

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issaxcharlie · 4 years ago

Text

You are mine

Pairing: Alive! Luke Patterson x Fem Reader

Summary: Luke and Y/N have many problems and commitments in their lives and instead of solving them they decide to blame the other. Eventually, the fights end their relationship. Luke travels with Sunset Curve during the summer and when he returns he has a pretty clear idea in his head. He wants his girl back.

But it's not as easy as it sounds when the competition had 3 months to score points with the cheerleader in his absence.

Three months. Luke has gone three months without seeing Y/N. They have been inseparable since they met when they were 12 years old, never spending more than days without seeing each other. But the moment they broke up Luke knew he had to get out of the freaking town because if he couldn't distance himself he was going to end up the very next day at his ex-girlfriend's house begging her to accept him back. And the truth is that both needed to breathe and rethink what each one is looking for in their future.

Because although he’s head over heels in love with her, the truth is that both were in a moment of their lives in which they couldn’t and specially wanted to adapt to what the other needed. They had a lot of different responsabilities and things to do, it was just hard sometimes to add more to the list.

Which meant that she missed several of his concerts, that he was late for her birthday party, that there was no time for dates, that they didn’t feel supported. Many arguments trying to fix things that never came to anything because neither of them really wanted to commit. None willing to give in.

And then the painful but friendly breakup in early summer happened.

Bobby has a truck and the boys decided that doing a roadtrip during the summer performing wherever they could to earn enough to keep traveling was a brilliant idea to distract him and make the band known, and he agreed without looking back.

Things turned out much better than any of the four expected and they even had the luxury of traveling one more week, so they have a week of homework to catch up on. Will his relationship have ended on good enough terms to ask Y/N? Homework is not that big of a deal for him but it usually takes him a little longer to miss more than 15 assignments.

As soon as Luke opens the front door, his eyes fall straight on her. She is on her back trying to hang up some posters, but he would recognize that body wherever, from whatever angle.

His eyes immediately scan her wrist, which doesn't have any of the couple matching black-and-white bracelets they both used to wear all the time.

The first of many reminders Luke would get that day about his breakup with the cheerleader.

Y/N stands on her tiptoes trying to reach the height required for the poster, but no matter how hard she tries, she can't reach it. She’s just going to give up and ask for help when she feels some strong and determined hands lift her without any sign of trouble or doubt.

She doensn’t need to turn her head or listen to his voice, the strong grip on each side of her hips and his intoxicating perfume are more than enough to confirm who is lifting her in the air.

Luke is not playing fair. Y/N hears his husky and seductive voice as his lips lightly brush her ear. “I know you love my hands on you, but do you plan to put up the poster at some point?”

The cheerleader is shocked for a few seconds, until murmurs around them remind her that they are not alone. She puts the poster as fast as she can and instructs her ex-boyfriend to take her down.

Reluctantly she turns around and for the first time in quite a few weeks her eyes meet her favorite ones, which at least for the moment, are deep green.

"You can't do that, Lucas. We broke up."

He smirks. She only calls him like that when she's trying really hard to scold him even though it's not what she actually wants. She tries to look more determined and tough, but he can see through it all.

He decides to rest one of his arms on the wall, leaning just enough so that their foreheads are almost touching, and then smiles at her. One of those smiles that she used to classify as the most tender and beautiful sight in the world and that used to receive a light sweet kiss in return.

But this time, instead of a kiss, her gaze tells him that he is crossing the limit and that it’s better to stop. Neither has to say anything, she doesn't need to throw his arm out of the way or yell at him to move.

The two of them know each other better than anyone, and when Luke sees that expression, her wrinkled nose, her eyes lit with annoyance, her crooked mouth, he knows it's time to retreat.

“I’m sorry ba-” His gaze automatically saddens as he remembers that he can no longer call her that. He can see that her eyes also look a little sadder and duller after imagining what the guitarist was going to say. “I’m sorry Y/N. I just missed you.”

“Luke, look at this man. I've been here for 10 minutes and already 14 girls gave me their numbers to pass them to you! I guess word got around that you're single again.”

Alex and Reggie go blank when they are close enough to see their beautiful friend, since Luke was covering her from their sight. The guitarist turns to tap Reggie on the shoulder, and Alex decides to hug her to ease the tension in the air. Her hands are shaking, and Alex is not sure if from sadness or jealousy, but he decides not to say anything and keep hugging her, trying to make her feel supported.

“We missed you so much, we are not Sunset Curve without you.” Alex confesses loud enough for the other two members present to listen and nod their heads.

“I missed you too, boys. My summer was too peaceful and quiet without my favorite band.” The drummer lets go of her and Reggie replaces him by hugging her tightly, moving his arms behind her back silently asking Luke what to do with all the papers in his hands. The annoyed guitarist takes them and throws them away without thinking twice. Reg whispers "rude" and his friend rolls his eyes at him.

Reggie lets go and the four of them stare each other for a few seconds, none knowing what to say or do.

"Hello, sorry but I came to escort this beauty to her next class."

The fifth voice belongs to Cameron Green, who has just appeared in front of them and offers the girl his arm to intertwine with hers.

The perfect captain of the football team. Luke has known for years that the guy has some feelings for his girl, but he never had to worry because he knows her, she would never do anything that would put his trust at risk. But now, things are different.

She takes a step forward to accept the gesture and turns to see the boys one last time.

"I guess I'll see you on music class." She offers an apologetic smile, Alex smiles back to let her know it’s okay.

"But what about lunch break?" Reggie asks, after all, the five have been sitting together for years, they didn’t even separate when Y/N entered the cheer squad.

"I promised to sit down with Cam, sorry guys. But see you later!"

Y/N turns to look at Luke for a few seconds, as if waiting for him to stop her. But never happened.

So both her and Cameron walk until the band can’t see them in the sea of students. Reggie and Alex turn to see their friend, who has his hands wrapped in fists and looks totally crimson, his face irradiates frustration as he clenches his teeth.

“I prOmiseD tO SiT DoWN WitH CaM, fucking hell I’m out of here.”

“You are not going anywhere, man! It’s time for an intervention.” Reggie takes his friends by the arm and leads them to the janitor's closet where he pushes them and closes the door.

“The janitor's closet, really?” Alex asks and Reggie smiles proudly. “..Okay.”

"This is stupid, can we get out of here now?" They both return their attention to Luke, his face radiating despair.

"No. You can't keep prolonging this anymore. What did you think? That no one was going to try to date the most popular girl in school? Are you really so self-centered as to believe that no one would dare just because you are the ex boyfriend? Local rockstar or not, she’s a gem."

“Of course not, I just went into denial, I guess. All I know is that I miss her. I missed her every day this endless summer. I know the experience was amazing, but every night while I was singing the only thing I could think about is how much I wanted to see her beautiful dorky face in the small audience. The way she blushes when I'm singing straight to her direction and I send her a wink. The passion with which she sings each of the songs that she has been listening to over and over for years. How proud she looks of us as we give that final bow.

And it’s stupid, you know? Because somehow, I forced myself to think that having a girlfriend was depriving me of the opportunity to live experiences like that, to live my dream the fullest.

And what I ended up discovering when I did them is that my dream is simply never going to be fulfilled without her. As Alex said, she is as much part of Sunset Curve as any of us. And that now she has other interests or priorities doesn’t diminish how much she loves us and how much we love her, our dreams don't have to collide. And I'm a real idiot who took 3 months to realize it while I'm sure that fake dude was doing his fight to win her over.”

“FINALLY!” They both scream while hugging their brother. “Dude, I’m pretty sure she’s still in love with you, just act fast. You both have to stop being so stubborn and learn to give in for each other's sake from time to time. You cannot ask the other what you do not give.” Alex advises.

“I’ll win my girl back.” Luke smiles, hoping that if he says it with enough conviction it will come true.

The boys decide to go back to classes, by the time they are about to reach the lockers for gym, the other guys are already there and a lively conversation is heard.

“Man, it's not like I've been in love with her for years. I don't even know her. But stealing Luke Patterson’s girlfriend who is casually the most popular girl in school, is simply the step that makes you a legend in this small town. Not to mention that perfect body, what I would do to her if I had the chance."

No one has noticed the Sunset Curve members are present, and the second they hear him Reggie and Alex cover Luke's mouth and drag him out of there.

“I’m going to kill him! And before you say it, I don't care if it's the stupid football captain! If his monkeys hit me I have the satisfaction that I already gave him a black eye and I took out 3 teeth from him. No one is going to play or talk about her like that!"

To say that he is angry is an understatement. He is shaking with fury, moving in the small hall from one side to the other trying to calm the urge to slam his fist against the wall, because if he is going to slam it somewhere it will be in that idiot's face.

“You have to control yourself and be smart for once! he is the golden boy of the school, no matter how popular you are, your reputation as a bad boy is not going to win against his. Maybe not even with Y/N, she might think you're just fired up to see them together."

As much as it hurts to admit it, Alex is right. That clown has convinced everyone in the school with the idea that he doesn’t break a plate. While the guitarist is famous for skipping classes and playing clubs until dawn.

“And what am I supposed to do? I hope you don't suggest that I just sit around doing nothing."

Reggie takes two steps back in case Alex's suggestion is in fact Luke to do nothing. After all, he has to protect that adorable face.

“I’m not telling you to do nothing, I’m asking you to pay attention to what’s really important. Don't focus on him, focus on her."

He’s not going to say it aloud, but Alex is right, again. She should always be his main focus.

After his friends manage to convince him to take the peaceful route, Luke spends the rest of the day searching for the right words to say, but it’s difficult to find inspiration when every time he turns the love of his life is next to a jerk who is only trying to deceive her.

Not to mention lunch break, every time that idiot tried to touch her or get too close, the guitarist felt his blood boil. The only thing that kept him sane is that she politely pushed him away each and every time.

Reggie managed to convince her to come to the studio with them after her cheer training, just like they used to do last school year. The boys waited for her each time and then she accompanied them to their band rehearsals. Or at least they did before both she and Luke started arguing for not wanting to put in that extra effort.

Alex and Reggie watched as the relationship began to decline and the fights began to escalate. And when the breakup became official, they knew they had to keep the exes away from each other. The ex couple had never been apart and it was important for them to make their friends realized how much they want and love each other's presence in their lives. How lucky they are to have such a supportive partner at their side.

They never said anything to Luke but they could see how sad and depressed the guitarist looked without her. As if that spark in him was missing.

All day they were observing their girly who looked just as miserable, that special aura full of dull energy.

Alex had a theory that he explained to Reggie. When a relationship finishes going through that time where it feels new and recent, when you get used to the other as a couple, sometimes it is easy to take things for granted and not want to continue trying or giving the extra.

Sometimes you get lost in that lapse, and finding a balance is not easy. But when you love someone as much as they love each other, well, it’s easy to guess they’ll find the way.

So while Alex distracted Luke, Reggie ran to convince his girl friend to join them, which wasn't easy considering she already had plans with the football player. At that moment the bassist was grateful Luke was not around to hear that.

Once they are together, things will settle down. They have both suffered enough to know that without a doubt everything they have to do for the other is worth it. It’s time for them to stop being stubborn because Reg and Alex are not going to bear being in the middle for long. Those two can be insufferable sometimes.

So, that's how Sunset Curve ended in the stands. Watching her friend as the squad lifted her to the top of the pyramid.

Luke can't help but see her with loving eyes. He feels so proud of her, and that’s when he realizes he can’t remember the last time he actually told her, and that hurts him. She should hear those words every day, and if he is lucky enough for her to accept him back, that will be one of the first things that will change.

He's so focused on watching her, that he doesn't realize the football team is starting a fight just yards away until Reggie hits him on the shoulder.

Cameron pushes one of his teammates straight into the pyramid, which begins to disarm before the guitarist's eyes.

Some of her team manage the impact not be too strong, but she still stays motionless on the ground for a few seconds because of the shock.

Cameron Green kneels in front of her, Luke tries desperately to pass but two big guys get behind their captain to block him.

“Get the fuck out of my way!” The desperation in his voice indicates that he will do whatever it takes to get to her.

“Leave her alone already, Patterson!”

Reggie and Alex catch up with him and mentally prepare for what lies ahead, when they hear Y/N's weak voice.

"No! Luke, please. I need Luke."

The guitarist takes advantage of everyone's momentary shock after hearing her voice and manages to get to her side.

“I- I- I’m here, baby. I’m here, don’t worry. Everything will be fine.” Luke lightly caresses her cheek while examining her body, it seems that it was more the scare than anything else.

“I know.” She smiles at the contact of Luke’s hand in her skin.

“Yeah?” He asks almost in a whisper, he is hypnotized watching her. Trying with all his might not to kiss her.

“Yes, you are here. As long as we are together everything will be fine.”

“Is this your subtle way to tie me up again?” Luke teases while helping her sit up. The whole crowd watches them around the field. Cameron looking angry just a few yards away.

She laughs. A wholesome laugh, full of happiness. “Oh honey, we all know you never stopped being mine."

If there is something that turns him on, is his Y/N’s confidence. (And see her in nothing but his t-shirts but that’s not the point.)

“Right back atcha, baby.” He brushes his lips against hers while making that seducting face that she can hardly ever resist, but this time she surprises him by taking him from behind the neck and crashing her lips on his.

The people around them begin to applaud the show, and without interrupting the passionate kiss Luke puts his arms around her back and legs to lift her up and carry her away.

Reggie and Alex do a fist bump and then one looks for Y/N's things and the other for Luke's and follows them from behind.

"They endured a whole school day, wow."

"If we hadn't stolen Luke from her over summer they would have been 2 hours apart and it would have been the most embarrassing separation of all time."

"The two of them were going through a lot and they didn't know how to cope at the time, but now that they are both better, I’m very happy they’re back together, they are soulmates."

“They sure are, Reg. Did you see Cameron's face when Luke stuck his tongue down Y/N's throat? PRICELESS.”

Thank you for reading✨

Taglist: @writerinlearning, @ghostofmgg, @strangerthanfanfiction713, @thebloodthirstyvampress, @kinda-really-lost, @kcd15, @magnet-girl, @aliandthephantoms, @stxrkspidey, @pinkrockstar19, @s0uz4s, @shycupcakealissa, @cookiebuba, @fangirlangioma, @sageellsworth05, @twist3dtinkerbell, @sunsetcurvenotsunsetswerve, @caitsymichelle13, @ifilwtmfc, @luckylouiebug, @bibliophilewednesday, @totomoshi, @siennanoelle01, @lunashadow6955, @bookfrog247, @morganayennefertyrell, @kiss-themoongoodbye, @rachelle3musicals

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angel-anoetic · 4 years ago

Note

first, i absolutely love you wringing. second i'm a huge music nerd and my taste in music is shitty pop punk right. this leads to me to, can i request yandere (if you write yandere) Dream (or whoever you think would fit here) with inspiration from the song Mrs. Infamous (My Sweetness) by Palaye Royale. if you're not cool with this for any reason don't take it, but this has been plaguing my mind and since i love your writing i think i'd be really cool to see how you would write this. if you decide to take this request (and even if you don't just reading my ramblings is more than enough) thank you!!!!

Okay so tbh, i've never read or written anything remotely yandere, but i do know what it is. while this may not be the most yandere compared to fics, i really tried!! i also enjoy pop-punk and this song was super nice to listen to. thank you and i hope you enjoy <3

Don't forget to like to save and reblog to share!

yandere! c!Dream x gn!Reader - Mrs.Infamous

genre: yandere!, unrequited /rom, angst, song inspiration

warnings: yandere, stalking, slight violence

masterlist <3

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

He hadn't slept in almost three weeks. The constant thought of you was the only thing that ran through his mind. The way your hair fell so naturally, how your laugh would basically echo throughout the server, the way you could handle anything that came your way.

Most of all he thought about those nights. The ones when the two of you had been so close he could feel your warmth. You had once stared into his eyes with so much fire and had held him close.

"My sweetness! Where are you going to be tonight?" He passed an apple between his hands, leaning against your door.

"I happen to have some very important business to do with Puffy and Niki. But after that, I should be free, why?" You packed everything into your inventory.

He shrugged, giving a crooked smile, "I thought maybe we could hang out, I could take you around the server...show you the secrets I've found."

You had grinned at the proposition. Dream and you always found a way to get into trouble, Sam usually had to tell you two off.

"I would love to."

That night after causing a few explosions near the BadLands and stealing some materials from a few places around the server you both made your way back to Dreams house. Well, 'house' was an overstatement. It was more of a hole in the side of the mountain with a door than anything but at least it was a place for him to stay.

The cigarette you two passed back and forth went out, and you two found yourself swaying back and forth to the music, enjoying the nightlight. Jokes and topics floated in the air until you packed up your stuff to leave.

Now? Things had changed so much compared to the beginning of the server. Dream had always been some pretty boy that had enjoyed your attention. You loved him as a friend, he could never be anything more as much as you knew he wanted.

In his mind, though you had led him on. Pulled him around like some puppy that couldn't guide itself. It had started slowly. You couldn't hang out one day, and the destruction got worse and worse each time.

"Hey, Niki! I was wondering if you've heard from Y/N. They're not answering my calls and I'm a little worried."

"Oh yeah um they had something to do today, so they're just out and about haha." She lied. He knew because he showed up at your house and found you scuffling about, making dinner, and enjoying a show.

He had gone home that night wondering what he did wrong to make you ignore him.

It wasn't long after that things had started escalating. Him showing up more and more and then seemingly disappearing. Or so you had thought.

It was supposed to be an easy-going day, you and Fundy planned to go looking for some new places to explore and then walk around the server. Until he had shown up. You saw him out of the corner of your eyes, the mask giving away his location.

"Dream?" He had tried to stay hidden but came out once you approached the tree he was behind.

"Dream? What are you doing here?"

"You were ignoring me. I thought maybe you were mad."

"What? No, I've just been busy lately."

"Doing what, hanging out with him?" The look he gave Fundy turned your stomach upside down. It was filled with rage, jealousy.

"Dream I think you need to leave."

"What?" He whispered.

"Leave. Please."

And so he did. For that day.

These last few days the feelings in his head had been taking over, pushing him to do something, anything to get you back and keep you.

"Y/N! Please just let me explain myself! Please!" You stopped dead in your tracks and turned to face him.

"What Dream? What could possibly so important that you need to tell me right now?"

"Why have you been ignoring me? You won't answer your calls and you never answer the door. Niki and Puffy have started asking me to leave you alone...I just need to know what I did wrong."

"You cannot be serious right now. You want to know what you did wrong? How about terrorizing Fundy so badly he won't get anywhere near me? Or calling me more than a hundred times a day? Leave me alone. I don't want anything to do with you and I don't need anything from you ever again! So god help me if I ever see you again I will leave and never come back!"

Your words left him cold. Every inch of him just lost.

You began walking away but you didn't make it far before the handle of the ax was brought down on your head. You fell to the ground, unconscious.

He stared down at you, admiring the way the moonlight hit you. The deja vu of that night in his home hit hard. Oh, how different things had been. And how much had changed?

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

For future reference, I don't think I'll be writing yandere until I get more experience with it hehe

#c!dream x you #c!dream x reader #c!dream x y/n #dsmp x reader #dsmp imagine #dsmp x y/n #mcyt fanfiction #mcyt x reader #mcyt x y/n #mcyt imagine #song inspired #anon request #thanks anon #anon reply #yandere!dream x reader

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iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years ago

Text

When He Sees Me // Benedict Bridgerton

Request: Hey! I've just finished reading all of your Benedict fanfics and it's like, "let me have more!!!" *-* Could you maybe write something where the reader and Ben meet at Mr Granville's house? Where the reader is lower class and mocks him for with his lord manners, and eventually they get along well and all that? And he falls in love with her but she's just a seamstress and is scared he fetishizing her poverty and the "starving artist" lifestyle... Thanks in advance, love your writing xxx - anon.

A/N: Thank you so so much! This is such a sweet message. Thank you for requesting something from me; I can only hope I have done it justice. This is a really long fic, I know that - it really did get away from me. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy and I hope you are all well!

Title: Waitress - When He Sees Me

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of alcohol and nudity, making out, amorous activities, light voyeurism (very light), class divides, pining, mutual pining, fluff, light angst, humour, Bridgerton family feels. HAPPY ENDING.

Word count: 6.8k (this is so long, I am so sorry)

“Bridgerton!” Henry Granville calls, a large smile spreading across his face as he spies Benedict by the front door. “I was hoping you’d make it.”

“Here I am,” Benedict laughs, spreading his arms wide in evidence.

Granville chuckles, grabbing a glass from a nearby tray and handing it to Benedict who takes a healthy sip immediately. “Come,” Granville gestures, “Let me show you around.”

Benedict follows the man he already classes as a friend. He hums at the appropriate time, eyes dancing around every room he is taken into, taking in the numerous pieces of art and the growing number of people.

Finally, Granville leads him to a room bathed in studious silence. Five people stand in the room; four stand behind easels – the picture of concentration as brushes scratching on canvas is the only sound in the room. The fifth person stands proudly before the back wall; posing elegantly, a lady stands completely naked save for an apple held delicately in the palm of her hand.

“This is Ariadne, our life model for tonight,” Granville introduces, smiling at the model without an ounce of care that she stands naked in his living room.

“Ariadne,” Benedict nods, doing his best to look anywhere but her naked body. He wasn’t usually this awkward around women, but the last thing he expected tonight was a life model. His usual influences for art came from clothed members of the public.

Granville takes a seat at an easel, studying Ariadne with great care before picking up a thin brush. As he runs it through the nearby oil paint, he calls to Benedict, “Join us!”

Benedict shakes his head, heading towards the door. Granville nods understandingly; it was a lot for a person’s first time at a soiree such as this. “Another time perhaps,” Granville says as Benedict leaves the room.

Closing the door, Benedict leaves the artists to their muse. His fingers twitch for his sketchpad, thinking of the images he could create; he had seen the empty seat in front of a spare easel, but he couldn’t bring himself to sit down and create the art he saw in his mind. Another time, he thinks to himself.

He turns away from the door where his attention is immediately tethered to a couple across the hallway.

The couple are in the middle of an embrace; connected at the mouth with hands beginning to wander clothing. The stays to the lady’s dress are loosened, the relieved gasp quickly swallowed by her partner’s mouth. Hands continue to wander; moans swallowed by joint mouths. It’s a sight to behold even as the position is changed; the woman straddling her partner, beginning to move her hips to the rhythm of music only they must be able to hear.

Unable to tear his stare away from the couple, Benedict feels his mouth drop open at the impropriety before him.

“Come now, Mr. Bridgerton,” A feminine voice teases, “Surely you’ve seen worse.”

Benedict bristles; unhappy with the tone of her voice and the accusation lightly punctuating the air. “Not that it is any of your business, but I have seen worse.”

Her eyebrows fly into her hair, clearly not expecting the rebuff. Benedict represses a smile at the expression on her face; his eyes dance around the hallway, not knowing where to look without fear of landing on the amorous couple. Benedict had never been one to shy away from love and lust and where it can lead you, but he had never been witness to such an event. The last thing he needed for himself (and his family) was to be classed as a voyeur.

“Follow me,” She announces, crooking a finger at Benedict before walking away.

Helpless and out of his comfort zone, Benedict follows the nameless lady. His eyes pour over her figure as he walks behind her like a lost puppy; her dress is finely made, the fabric clearly new. Benedict keeps his eyes fixed head, refusing to let his gaze drop any lower as she opens a door, standing to one side to let him enter first.

The room is adequately sized; enough room for a fireplace already blazing, a couch big enough for two and a small table and chairs. It’s comfortable; the room is well lit from the candles around the room and the large fire.

The well-dressed lady follows Benedict into the room, leaving him standing in the centre as she heads towards a drinks cabinet. She grabs two glasses and a decanter of liquid that Benedict cannot decipher. Scotch, whisky, brandy – all three would fare him well at this point.

Wordlessly, she hands Benedict a drink. A knuckle’s length of amber liquid swirls in the glass, lit up by the roaring fire. “You have me at a disadvantage,” Benedict starts, “You know my name, but I do not know yours.”

She smiles; eyes crinkling from the force of it. “You can spy a Bridgerton by the colour of their eyes,” She snorts, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of it, “I’m (Y/N).”

Benedict bows his head; the very picture of gentlemanly politeness. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

If possible, (Y/N)’s smile grows larger, trying her hardest to repress the laughter bubbling inside of her. “This isn’t your usual scene, Mr. Bridgerton.”

Benedict shakes his head. “I’m a friend of Henry’s and call me Benedict please. After being witness to the couple outside, I think we can forgo formalities.”

Laughter escapes her mouth, powerless to help herself. Benedict frowns at her reaction, but (Y/N) waves a hand in apology. “I remembered your face,” She offers in explanation, “You mentioned that you had seen worse, but you still looked so scandalised.”

Benedict huffs, crossing his legs, sipping at his drink before answering. “I didn’t know what to expect from tonight. Henry is an artist! I just never expected that.”

“We’re all artists, Benedict, in one form or another. We’re practically bohemian.”

“Does that happen often?” He asks, nodding towards the door where Benedict holds no doubt that more clothing will have been lost between the enamoured couple.

(Y/N) lifts a single shoulder in a shrug. “More often than not. The intimacy that is required with art combined with the amount of alcohol consumed tends to lead to such things.”

“Have you ever taken part in such things?” Benedict asks before realising the extent and implication of his words. “Forgive me,” He coughs, “I’m not usually so forward. You don’t need to answer.”

“No, I don’t think I do,” (Y/N) answers honestly, amused at the lack of filter from the Bridgerton. “Why don’t I ask the next question?”

“Please do,” Benedict responds, loosening the cravat at his neck, deciding to take it off altogether.

“Tell me,” She begins, eyes on the skin now bare to the room, “Do you prefer paints or pastels?”

“Neither,” Benedict answers, “I prefer graphite or charcoal.”

“Interesting…”

“Is it?”

“It is! But I cannot think of a reason why.”

Benedict snorts, draining the last few amber drops in his glass. Silent for a moment, Benedict hums before asking, “Do you draw?”

“Heavens no,” (Y/N) responds, “I’m a talented seamstress, but landscapes and watercolours are not for me.”

“Then why are you here?” Benedict asks; the words unintentionally sharp. He cringes before offering (Y/N) an apologetic smile.

“My friend invited me,” (Y/N) defends, “You met her earlier.”

“I did?”

(Y/N) nods. “You did. She was the life model you were trying your hardest not to ogle.”

Benedict flushes; heat spreading from his neck to his cheeks – partly fuelled by the alcohol in his system, partly fuelled by the knowledge of being caught out. Benedict clears his throat, unable to hide his embarrassment. “I didn’t think anyone had noticed.”

(Y/N) smiles widely. “They didn’t, but you don’t make it habit to frequent such parties. It was clearly a shock to your system.”

Benedict exhales with a laugh; all the while wishing he had another drink in his hand. “I’m not new to art,” He confesses, “But I am new to this… environment.”

(Y/N) leans forward in her chair; her eyes sparkling in the dim candlelight. A coy smile crosses her lips and Benedict idly wonders what she would taste like as she asks, “And what do you think of this new environment?”

Benedict drags his gaze away from (Y/N)’s mouth to look her in the eyes. Evenings like this are something he could quickly get used to so long as he had her company in the early hours of the morn. A wicked grin spreads across his face as he answers, “With your company, I’m fairly certain that I could come to enjoy this new environment.”

“Only fairly?” (Y/N) murmurs, sipping at her drink before continuing, “I think we’re going to have to turn ‘fairly’ into an absolute.”

Benedict tips his head to one side, wondering whether it would go against societal customs to offer his hand in marriage after only knowing someone for an evening. The thought lingers at the back of Benedict’s mind as he replies, “I have complete and utter faith in your ability to do such a thing.”

(Y/N)’s answering smile has Benedict wondering about marriage for a second time in less than two minutes. What would be the appropriate time to ask someone for their hand? He thinks. A powerful enough thought that Benedict has to look away from her; desperate not to ruin a newly budding friendship.

The clock strikes one; the chimes making (Y/N) jump as they ring through the tension-filled room. A sad sigh leaves her lips as she stands, placing her glass on a nearby table.

“I’m afraid I must go,” She declares, biting her bottom lip, lingering in front of the Bridgerton.

Benedict rises from his seat, his voice close to wobbling as he murmurs, “Must you?”

(Y/N) smiles wistfully. “Not all of us have family money, Benedict. I have two dresses to finish for tomorrow evening and I need to sleep.”

“Will I see you again?” He asks, unable to keep the hope from his voice as his mind spins all sorts of fantasies of their next meeting.

(Y/N) nods; Benedict’s heart soars.

“Thank you for a lovely evening, Benedict Bridgerton. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” Benedict replies a second too late. She’s gone and Benedict is left to wondering how many seamstresses there are in London.

-------------

If Benedict was thinking logically, he knew that there wasn’t thousands of modistes and seamstresses across London. He knew that the number was much closer to hundreds, but to him that was still too many. He thinks back over the interactions from that night, examining the conversations, trying to find a hint of whether (Y/N) had given him the address of her shop. The more he cross examines, the less evidence he finds.

At this point in his investigation to her whereabouts, Benedict was no longer thinking logically. He was thinking with his heart – desperate to see her again so soon. He didn’t want to have to wait until another party where she just might show up. No, he wanted to see her in her own environment where Benedict had no doubt she would flourish.

He makes himself wait three days before beginning the task of tracking her down. His first port of call was to Henry Granville, asking whether he knew anything of the lady accompanying the life model. Henry knew of her by face, but not much bar her first name. He leaves Benedict with a word of encouragement and a promise of another party soon; Benedict thanks the man heartily, knowing that Henry had tried his best.

However, it left Benedict in a predicament that meant he had to bring in reinforcements.

“I need your help,” Benedict pleads of his dear sister, Eloise Bridgerton a day after starting his hunt for her.

“Whatever for?”

“I need to find someone… a friend.”

“A friend?” Eloise asks sounding very much as if she didn’t believe a word leaving her elder brother’s mouth.

“Am I not allowed to have friends?” Benedict asks of his sister, exasperated at her curiosity. Eloise raises a single eyebrow, and it isn’t a minute later that Benedict begs of his sister, “Please do not tell mother.”

The laughter that leaves Eloise lasts for the next three streets, her chuckles grating on Benedict’s nerves. “Where did you meet her?” Eloise eventually asks, much calmer now that she had gotten the laughter out of her system.

“At Mr. Granville’s if you must know.”

Eloise doesn’t answer; she casts her gaze across her brother’s face, reading eh expression there and the hopeful look in his eyes. Whoever she was, she had done a number on her brother for him to be this desperate to find her.

“Why not wait for the next party?”

Benedict huffs, “She may not go to the next party, then I would be back at the beginning.”

Eloise falls silent again. She watches her older brother, watches how he fiddles with his fingers – a nervous tic he’s hand since he was a boy apparently, it happened more when he was itching to reach for his sketchpad in an attempt to keep his mind quiet.

“She’s really made an impression on you, hasn’t she?”

Benedict sighs, peering up at his sister as he calms his hands. “Please?” He asks quietly, not daring to voice the beg any louder than it needs to be.

Eloise reaches across the gap between them, covering Benedict’s hands with hers. For a moment, he isn’t the elder brother but a man in need of help. “I’ll help you, Benedict.”

“Thank you,” He replies; the relief in his voice evident as his whole body relaxes.

-----------

The tightness in his chest that has plagued him for the last week lifts as soon as his eyes land on her. She hasn’t seen him yet; too busy with another client gushing about their latest dress. (Y/N) looks flattered as she takes in compliment after compliment and Benedict can see why; she is clearly a talented modiste. If it didn’t raise suspicion on his end, he would suggest his mother come here instead of the seamstress just off Grosvenor Square.

The customer soon departs leaving Benedict and Eloise the sole clients in the shop. (Y/N) brushes down her dress, collecting herself before greeting her newest customers.

She freezes when she finds the tall stature of Benedict Bridgerton in and amongst the countless mannequins of her shop. Plastering on a polite smile, she steps forward, “How may I help you today?”

Benedict remains frozen; his stare solely focused on (Y/N). Eloise steps forward, nudging her brother in the side with her elbow. Eloise smiles at (Y/N). “From my brother’s reaction, we have found who we were looking for.”

“Pardon?”

“I’m in the market for a new dress,” Eloise states, elbowing her brother once more.

“Yes!” Benedict coughs, brought out of his stupor, “Eloise needs a new dress.”

(Y/N) glances between the siblings; the awed expression on Benedict’s face combined with the knowing smile on Eloise’s doesn’t settle her nerves. Instead, it heightens them. (Y/N) turns to Eloise, flashing her a friendly smile. “If you wouldn’t mind, could I borrow your brother?”

Eloise snorts. “You may keep him if that helps.”

(Y/N) laughs, covering her mouth before grabbing Benedict’s hand, leading him to the back of the shop. “What are you doing here?” (Y/N) questions; her eyes wide as she closes the door behind them. This was a conversation to have in private; not one to be had in front of Benedict’s sister.

“Accompanying my sister to buy a new dress for an upcoming ball,” Benedict replies smartly, his tone innocent as he applauds himself for asking Eloise to join him on his mission.

(Y/N) fixes him with a flat look, not believing a single word leaving his lips. Benedict flounders for a second before smiling bashfully at the seamstress. It wasn’t often that Benedict was left speechless, but (Y/N) reduced him to such manners.

After a moment, Benedict sighs, deciding honesty to be the best policy. “I wanted to see you again.”

(Y/N)’s face softens at Benedict’s confession, unable to fend off the growing fondness for the Bridgerton. If she was being honest with herself, (Y/N) hadn’t stopped thinking of the man since leaving Mr. Granville’s party.

Just as quick as the fondness set in, so does the worry on Benedict’s behalf. Gesturing between them both, (Y/N) offers Benedict a sad smile. “Nothing can come of this, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“What do you mean? Call me Benedict, you did the other night.”

“There were no class lines the other night,” She all but cries, “Outside of Mr. Granville’s home, we cannot be friends, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Benedict,” He emphasises, “To you, I am Benedict. Not ‘Mr. Bridgerton’.”

“Benedict,” She whispers, giving in to the pleading look in those blue eyes of his.

“Why can’t we be friends?” He asks quietly as if scared to voice such a question louder out of fear of the response.

“You’re the son of a Viscount. I am a seamstress. Outside of my making dresses for your female relatives, where do our paths cross socially?”

“I want them to cross,” Benedict protests almost childishly, crossing his arms as if they were the personification of the budding relationship blooming between (Y/N) and himself.

(Y/N) laughs without humour. “Think of the fallout, Benedict. You would lose friends and contacts. I would be reduced to the rumour of a mistress and lose clients.”

Benedict purses his lips; trying to find fault in her argument but he comes up empty. Class lines were so rigidly drawn in current society and Benedict knew that (Y/N) was more than deserving to be thrown to the vicious rumour mill of London ton.

“What about Granville’s parties?” Benedict offers as a solution. “You say we cannot socialise so openly so let’s meet there with every party.”

“You would go to that extent to win my friendship?”

He nods. “I had the most fun the other night than I had in a long time and I have a very strong feeling it was down to you. You say we cannot be friends so openly, so this is the next best thing. Do I feel go about keeping you a secret? Not particularly, but London society can be unforgivably cruel, and I’ll be damned if I see you suffer at the hands of it.”

(Y/N) blinks rapidly, ridding herself of the tears that grew throughout Benedict’s impassioned speech. “Mr. Granville’s it is, then.”

Benedict smiles; relief flooding his system at your words of agreement. Impulsively, he takes your hand, squeezing it once before letting it drop. The very action sets his veins alight with emotions he has not felt in a very long time, but he doesn’t not let them distract him as he whispers, “I’ll send a messenger with the date and time of the next soiree. Will I see you there?”

“You will,” (Y/N) murmurs, “I promise you.”

Benedict flashes her a handsome smile before returning to the front of the shop, knowing full well he has been too long to be acceptable.

Eloise greets him with a superior smile. Crossing her arms, she asks, “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Turning back to face the back of the shop, Benedict smiles to himself. “Yes, I think I have,” He answers, offering Eloise an arm, departing the shop once and for all.

-----------

28th April, 9pm. Mr. Granville’s home. I hope to see you there.

The missive arrives not four days later. (Y/N) reads and rereads the small piece of paper, memorising Benedict’s elegant handwriting. Anticipation curls in her gut making it hard for her to focus on the task at hand; she had three dresses to finish all for next week. If she didn’t focus now, nothing would get done. She would end up wasting the evening by daydreaming of a Bridgerton and their handsome smile.

She hadn’t expected him. He had entered her life so suddenly. After their initial meeting, she hadn’t expected to see him again; had accepted that it was a one-off meeting that Benedict would soon forget, soon taken with the newest fascination in his life if he wasn’t married off by the end of the season.

That didn’t happen. Instead, he had shown up in her shop with his sister in tow. He had begged for a friendship, to see her again. He kept surprising her at every turn, kept startling her when she least expected it.

Yet, she knew she had to be careful. Not only of her heart, but of her reputation. If the two were caught and things misunderstood, it would not be Benedict to suffer. It would be her; she would be reduced to rumours of impropriety, labelled a ‘fallen woman’ whilst Benedict would most likely suffer a harsh word from his mother and a clap on the back from his brothers.

Society, in general, was cruel. London society, however, was punishing when it wanted to be.

--------------

The 28th April rolls around quickly. (Y/N) losing herself in her work, sewing until the late hours of the night and the early hours of the morning to ensure that the gowns are ready and that she is free enough to attend the party.

Stepping out of the carriage, (Y/N) steadies herself for a moment, taking a deep breath to settle the butterflies exciting her. She felt ridiculous, letting herself be this affected by the man after only one meeting. Yet, he had shown up at her shop, after searching for her for however long.

(Y/N) felt in two minds. On one hand, she wanted the friendship of Benedict Bridgerton for the simple fact that he was entertaining. On the other hand, she despised the idea that she may be a project for the man – their opposite places in society becoming a barrier between them.

The atmosphere in Mr. Granville’s house is heady as (Y/N) enters the premises; the party very much in full swing as she sheds her shawl and leaves it on a side table. She smiles at those she recognises, waving quickly at Ariadne who she finds modelling for many artists once more. Ariadne smiles back but doesn’t move; her eye on a particular artist, a female she knew she would be going home with that night.

(Y/N) shakes her head fondly at the antics of her friend; having known Ariadne for years and loved her proclivity for men and women. (Y/N) admired Ariadne’s lack of shame for who she is, who she wants to be. She doesn’t let the law stop of her from loving who she wants to.

Arriving at the door she entered through last time, (Y/N) hesitates, feeling unsure of herself. A small flash of doubt lances through her mind as she reaches for the doorknob; how long was this going to last before Benedict got bored? How long did she have with the man that was no doubt going to change her world?

The very thought haunts her as she enters the room, finding Benedict in the same spot as last time. He stands when he sees (Y/N) standing the doorway; his suit elegantly rumpled as if he had been sat there for some time. His blue eyes sparkle in the dimly lit room; the only light coming from the fire in the grate. His smile brightens as he takes in her appearance.

“You came,” Benedict breathes, his voice relieved as if he was worried that she may not attend the party after all.

“I promised you I would,” (Y/N) replies, taking the offered glass from Benedict. Their fingers brush and (Y/N) tries exceptionally hard to ignore the jolt of electricity that passes between them. Friendship, she snipes to herself, nothing more.

“I know,” He whispers, “But I’m glad all the same.”

Something in (Y/N) melts at the stark honesty of his words; she found herself being knocked off her axis and it was only their third meeting.

“I have to know,” (Y/N) starts, her voice amused as she takes a seat across from the brunette, “How many shops did you go into before finding mine?”

Benedict averts his gaze, distracting himself from answering by taking a long sip of his drink. “Too many,” He eventually answers.

“You don’t know the number?”

“I know the exact number, I could even tell you their names, but I hesitate to tell you.”

“You have to tell me now,” (Y/N) prompts, leaning forward in her chair, resting her elbows on the table. “Please?”

Benedict sighs a war-weary sigh; acting as if (Y/N) had worn him down to his very last nerve. With a light blush dusting his cheeks, Benedict admits, “I visited close to fifteen shops with Eloise before finding yours.”

“Fifteen?!” (Y/N) all but shouts, laughter soon falling from her lips as rain would fall from the sky. The very sound sets Benedict’s heart racing within his chest making him wonder whether it was going to run right out of his chest any moment.

“Eloise was very grateful when we found you. She despises dress shopping.”

“Yet she went to fifteen dress shops with you in order to find me.”

“She’s my favourite sibling, but don’t tell the others.”

“How many do you have? I’ve heard of the famous Bridgerton brood but never focused long enough to find out how many children there were.”

“Eight of us in total,” Benedict laughs at (Y/N)’s gasp, “We’re named alphabetically too. My father used to joke it was so he could keep track of us easier.”

“A wise idea,” (Y/N) murmurs.

“He was a wise man,” Benedict states, thinking of his departed father with a keen sting of grief. It didn’t matter how long his father had been gone, the wound would never heal. He would miss his father until his very last day on this earth; Benedict would spend the rest of his life trying to emulate Edmund Bridgerton’s life lessons.

A pensive silence descends only for a moment before (Y/N) asks, “Why did you look for me?”

The blush returns to Benedict’s cheeks. “Would you believe me if I said I wanted to see you again?” He asks sheepishly. He had prepared himself for such a conversation but having it in real life was no comparison to the fantasy in his head.

“Why did you want to see me again? Why not wait for the next party?”

“I wasn’t sure you would attend the next party,” Benedict reasons, “And I really did want to see you again.”

(Y/N) smiles bashfully, ducking her head as his words wash over her. She fiddles with the stem of the glass in her hand before taking a long sip; the worries from earlier had returned with the conviction behind his words. She had to know; if she didn’t ask him, she would never know and she would never be prepared for the day he would inevitably grow bored and move onto the next project. “Can we be honest with each other for a moment, Benedict?”

“I thought we have been so far.”

(Y/N) smiles despite herself. Schooling her face into a mask of polite interest, she tries to cover the concern and worry steadily rising in her gut. “This isn’t a saviour moment for you is it? Befriending a poorer seamstress, getting to know her before eventually getting bored?”

“I haven’t thought of it as that for one moment.”

“You haven’t?”

“I haven’t, but the fact that you have says more about my character than I care to admit.”

“I didn’t mean to insult you,” She hurries to say, worried about losing the friendship that had only just begun and scared of hurting Benedict’s feelings.

“You haven’t insulted me,” Benedict promises with a small smile.

“I can’t help but worry,” She admits in a small voice.

“I would socialise with you in public, but you made such a sound argument the other week that I couldn’t find fault. You’re right, it could lead to all sorts of trouble, but I want you to know that I do not have a saviour complex. I just enjoy your company.”

(Y/N) relaxes, sagging further into the chair as she lets herself breathe freely since the worrisome thought entered her mind. Now that it was out in the open, she could smile more without worry. “I enjoy your company too,” She confesses, “You’re quite refreshing.”

“Refreshing?” Benedict asks, sounding close to laughter.

(Y/N) rolls her eyes at the older gentleman. “Yes, refreshing. I deal with meddlesome mothers and droll daughters all day. You make me laugh… it’s refreshing.”

“I’m glad I can provide refreshment,” Benedict laughs, his smile wide with his happiness.

Happy smiles are exchanged as the worries leave (Y/N)’s mind. She was wanted here by the man sat across from her; he had no plans to leave any time soon. For now, her mind is settled and as she raises her glass to the Bridgerton across from her, she briefly wonders whether her heart would soon be settled too.

------------

The friendship continues for weeks; neither of them the wiser to their growing feelings for the other. If they are, they remain silent, not wanting to disturb the status quo but rather, pine from a distance.

They continue to meet at Mr. Granville’s, sneaking away to their room where they talk for hours about anything and everything.

At one point, (Y/N) manages to convince Benedict to bring his sketchpad with him where he fills pages with drawings of her. She doesn’t realise it; she doesn’t know that the small sketch of hands holding a champagne flute is Benedict’s study of her.

Time passes and they become attached to the other; saving pieces of information and stories of friends and family for when they finally get to see each other. The time they have together filled with laughter; the class lines that separate them outside Mr. Granville’s home practically invisible as Benedict chokes on his drink at the scandalous nature of (Y/N)’s story, unaware such language could leave such a woman.

It’s easy, it’s natural. It’s all Benedict has to fill his time between the mind-numbing balls and luncheons set up by his mother in order to find him a wife. Little does Violet Bridgerton know that Benedict has found someone he would devote the rest of his life to but whether she would be willing, whether she loves him as wholly as he loves her is another matter entirely.

--------------

He starts to haunt her dreams from their very first meeting. The colour of his eyes combined with the brightness of his smile chased her from sleep much faster than she would have liked.

Sitting up in bed, she rests her chin on her knees, feeling the helplessness that often accompanies the swift descent into love.

In the short time she had spent in Benedict’s company, (Y/N) had to admit that she had fallen head over heels for the brunette. Sighing heavily, she tries to pinpoint the exact moment her feelings turned from platonic to romantic but finds herself unable to do so. At this point, she cannot help but wonder whether she had fallen for him the first instance she saw him. He looked so out of depth in his perfectly pressed clothes; it was adorable.

(Y/N) runs a hand across her face in an attempt to dispel the lingering tiredness but to also ride herself of thoughts of the man who had so readily captured her heart without knowing he had done so.

How could she explain this feeling? Her heart refused to calm in his presence, beating away in her chest as if ready to take flight. Benedict smiled in her direction and her mind ceased to form coherent thought. She didn’t tell anyone how in the darkest hours of the night, she stretched a hand across the empty blankets of her bed, imagining what it would be like to have Benedict lie next to her. Would he snore? Was he an early riser or did he prefer to sleep in?

Such questions would travel the expanse of her mind until the birds began to announce the arrival of a new day. Her mind creating daydreams that left her heart aching in her chest when she came back to earth, reminded harshly of the barriers that divided them.

What scent did he prefer? Did he favour scotch or brandy?

Endlessly she tortured herself with such questions. Spinning fantasies in which she woke up every morning with Benedict by her side. She would wake to find him already watching her, as if in disbelief that she would choose to love a man such as him.

A single tear escapes (Y/N)’s eye as she forces herself back to the present. Eyeing her small rooms, (Y/N) thought that she should be fortunate that a man such as Benedict Bridgerton would give her the honour of his much requested time. It would do her no good to fall in love with him now.

Straightening up and running a hand through her sleep plait, (Y/N) vows to rid herself of her feelings for the second eldest Bridgerton.

However, as the vow is sealed, a small voice in the back of (Y/N)’d mind casts doubt on her ability to do such a thing.

----------------

“Eloise has been asking after you,” Benedict comments; choosing the line of conversation for this section of the evening. At this point, they’ve been at Granville’s home for hours, covering all topics of conversation conceivable. (Y/N) had updated Benedict on Ariadne’s clandestine love affair with a daughter of a prominent member of His Majesty’s Navy to which Benedict spent over an hour trying to guess which officer and which daughter. (Y/N) delighted in announcing his incorrect guesses.

“How is she?” She asks, feeling a distant fondness for the woman who had shown up in her shop so many weeks ago.

“Distracted if I’m being truthful,” Benedict murmurs, “Her hands are always covered in ink. I think she has an admirer.”

“And why shouldn’t she?” (Y/N) demands, crossing her arms. “Eloise is a beautiful young woman. Any man would be lucky to have her.”

“She’s turned down the last three marriage proposals so I’m curious to see what type of man has captured her attention.”

“Siblings and their nosiness,” (Y/N) admonishes though there is no heat behind it.

“I want what’s best for her,” Benedict defends.

“I know you do,” She whispers, fondness for the man sitting across from her surging through her. It leaves her quiet; it leaves her breathless as she fends off the heart racing, stomach turning affection she feels for the second eldest Bridgerton.

Benedict closes his eyes, kicking up his heels and resting them on the table. A happy, content smile crosses his lips as he lets himself enjoy the moment they find themselves in.

I could do this for the rest of myself, (Y/N) thinks to herself, I could sit with him for the rest of my life.

It’s with that thought that (Y/N) knows she has broken the vow she made only a few days ago.

“You’re different tonight… quieter. Is something the matter?” Benedict asks, a note of concern in his voice.

(Y/N) shakes her head, refusing to look the man in the eye. Instead, she focuses her gaze on her glass, swirling the liquid around as if it were the most fascinating thing in the whole world.

Benedict sighs, reaching across the table, taking her glass from her hand and placing it on the table in front of them. He stops himself from covering her hand with his; that is a luxury for couples. As much as Benedict wanted more, he would settle for being her friend.

“You can tell me anything, (Y/N),” Benedict murmurs quietly, breaking her resolve clean in half.

“I broke my vow,” She whispers, voice close to breaking.

“What vow?” Benedict asks, panic beginning to rise internally. “Are you promised to another?”

“Nothing like that,” (Y/N) reassures, “I broke a vow that I made to myself which somehow makes me feel worse. I would rather I broke a promise of marriage.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

(Y/N) sniffles, wiping a hand under her eyes before laughing humourlessly. “A few nights ago, I made myself a promise and it seems that I am unable to keep such a vow.”

“Would you tell me that vow?”

(Y/N) sighs, seeing no point in lying to him. “I vowed that I would rid myself of my feelings for you.”

“And have you?” Benedict asks warily; he needs to know whether he has a chance to love her the way he wants to. He wants to be her everything; he wants to kiss her goodnight and then kiss her good morning hours later.

She shakes her head; wisps of hair flying loose from her updo. “I don’t think I ever really tried. I don’t think I want to lose my feelings for you.”

“I don’t often make grand declarations, I don’t believe in over the top displays of affection,” Benedict begins; his eyes fixed on her face, on every movement of her lips, “But I love you, (Y/N). I love you and if I need to, I will make a grand declaration, I will shout it from the rooftop of Buckingham Palace.”

“Please don’t do that!” (Y/N) gasps, an amused smile on her face. “I love you too, I love you with everything I am, but aren’t you worried?”

“Worried?”

“Of the fallout? It could never work, Benedict. See sense, please,” She pleads; eyes wide.

“Why wouldn’t it work? We love each other, surely that should be enough.”

“It is enough for me, Benedict,” She reassures quickly, “But it isn’t enough for the rest of society.”

“Why do you care what they think?”

“My entire business relies on such things, Benedict! Whether I earn an income over the season is down to what the ton think.”

“It is so easy to get lost in the wealth, the titles and the balls,” Benedict whispers, “You bring me back down to earth; remind me that I could happily live without the grandeur because I would have the love of the woman I have come to adore.”

The words have her argument crumbling into ash before her. There was no arguing with that; he was prepared to live a simpler life with her.

“You would do that for me? Live a simpler life?” She asks because she has to know; she has to know that she isn’t something he would come to regret in the weeks, months, years that pass. She couldn’t live with herself if he harboured any resentment towards her for his loss of societal ties; the very thought terrified her.

“Darling,” Benedict states, “I would give it all up for you. As long as I have you, I do not need the life in London and everything else that comes with it. We can live in the country; I have a cottage there that I am sure you’re going to love.”

“What about your family?”

“They’ll love your almost as much as I love you.”

“They won’t hate me?” She asks, voice timid as she thinks of the matriarch of the Bridgerton family, knowing she was not a woman to cross.

“They could never.”

(Y/N) begins to nod; slow at first before growing more rapidly with a smile breaking out across her face. “Okay,” She breathes, “I love you, Benedict Bridgerton. I’m not scared anymore.”

Benedict gathers her in his arms, finally getting to hold her after dreaming of such an action for so long. Better than his dreams, he thinks to himself as he glances between her stare and her lips. Silently, she nods, smiling softly as Benedict takes that final leap, pressing their lips together.

(Y/N) sighs against his mouth; a noise he could happily hear for the rest of his life. Her hands grasp the lapels of his jacket, pulling him even closer. She feels like heaven against him as Benedict continues to taste the remnants of her drink on her lips.

Her hands leave his jacket, reaching up to card through his hair. (Y/N) tugs lightly at the dark brown locks, smiling into the kiss at the sound of the low groan in the back of Benedict’s throat. (Y/N) loses herself in the feel of the man against her; all hard lines and muscles, he feels like a Greek god and she a mere mortal getting to experience the heady passion written about in epic poems and plays.

Desperate for air, but not desperate to leave the arms of the man she loves so wholly, (Y/N) breaks the kiss. Panting, Benedict kisses her lightly once, twice, three times before pressing his forehead to hers. A moment of peace before the rush of the future began.

Boundaries, divides, lines really meant little when you had found the one who truly saw you.

****

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