#they mean the world to me your honor they do

[berlynn-wohl]

Apologies in advance but I have to get serious here for a minute about the subject of "being intimidated by fanfic authors." This is more con-oriented than Tumblr-oriented but the sentiments are applicable to both.

It makes me so upset whenever I think of all the times I went to a con and couldn't seem to find anyone to talk to. After being on a few panels where I made jokes about the joys of writing about dicks and butts, I would walk around, and it just seemed like folks were all doing their own thing, not inviting me to join them. I would always think, Oh, story checks out, everyone is put off because I'm a weird freak, it's just like in high school. Then I'd go back to my hotel room and wonder what I spent all this money for, coming here to be lonely.

Then, in the days after the con, I would see posts from other con-goers, or receive messages: "omg berlynn i was too shy to say hello at the con but i just want you to know that your fics mean everything to me and you're so amazing."

I really do appreciate those kind words, but...it would have been cool to actually hang out with you, you know?

One time I had the opportunity to chat with with a trio of folks who were the guests of honor at this con because they were screening their gorgeous and charming fan film, and they confessed to me that the day before, they had walked into a room, seen that I was there, and walked out because they were too intimidated at the very idea of being in the room with me. (So I sat alone and silent in that room for 20 more minutes.)

The thing is, even if I was the most popular fanfic writer in the history of the world, connecting with other fans and forming friendships is the only compensation I get. I don't eat better because you liked my fic. I don't get a swag bag worth $5,000 when I check into my hotel room at a con because I wrote that one omegaverse fic that everyone read. I do what I do and I write what I write because I want to be part of a community of fans.

But I should note that all is not loneliness and misery for Berlynn. I have had some of the greatest moments of my life making connections with people who actually did speak to me at cons. Sometimes it was just a hug and a few happy tears, sometimes it was deep philosophical discussions about writing dicks and butts while sitting on the floor of a party suite at two in the morning...but several of my IRL friends are people who were not afraid to just reach out to me after a panel, or say hello at the bar.

Here's how it might go when you connect with your favorite fanfic author: One of my closest friends is someone who was a big fan of my work, introduced to me by a mutual friend. Sitting across from me at a restaurant not too long after our introduction, this person had to point out to me that, whilst gesticulating exuberantly over my meal, I had gotten some macaroni and cheese on my sleeve. After that, they were not so starstruck anymore, and now we live in the same building, which makes it easy for us to hang out and giggle over old TV shows together a couple times a week.

Probably there are fanfic writers who don't want to be bothered, who don't want to be messaged, who aren't in it for the social connection...but they are not the ones following you on social media. They're not the ones with their inboxes open, anonymous messages on. And they're not the ones strolling through the common areas at cons looking for an empty seat at a table.

nothing scarier than being a fan of a fic and then becoming mutuals with the author. like hi shakespeare. big fan of your fake dating au

[zae-heeyyy]

Aegis

Summary: You defend your daughter from Micah. Pairing: Arthur Morgan x Female!Reader Word Count: 1,810 Tags: fluff, family, girl dad Arthur, angst, high honor Arthur Warnings: Violence, mistreatment of a child

an: This was an anon request. I was weary about this one because I'm not a mom, nor do I spend a lot of time around toddlers, but omg exploring girl dad Arthur was so fun! Shout out to @emerald-ranch for helping me with a horse fact for this one! Thanks for reading. Enjoy!

Aegis: as in protection, means or method of defending

A pair of hazel eyes cut through the dark, shining like twin stars burning holes in the blanket of night. Those usually bright supernovas seemed dull now, washed out by the weight of the world. Your daughter's tiny form scooted in impossibly closer, and you bundled her up, swaddling her like she was still the wiggling newborn you'd held in your arms three years ago.

"Bea," you sighed, trying your best to shield her from the beast that was your frustration. Exhaustion had settled in your bones hours ago, pressing your patience paper thin. Sleep called out to you from the void, and you wanted so badly to answer, but your daughter reeled you back every time.

"I want Daddy," she whined, clutching the fabric of your shift in her little fists. 

You missed him too; she had no idea. In a time that seemed like forever ago, you and Arthur laid in this same cot, your fingers tangled in his shirt in the way your daughter's were in yours now. Motherhood terrified you, and after telling Arthur you were pregnant, you cried all through the night. Raising a child was daunting enough, but doing it with an outlaw in a gang seemed like a nightmare turned reality. 

Solid arms held you together in body and mind. He was your rock even though he was going through his own quiet panic. Arthur knew the harsh realities of parenthood all too well. Still, he knew the brightness, blooms, and blossoms it could bring, and he let himself want it more than anything. Making good on his second chance at having a family, he married you right away and devoted all of himself to you and the baby.

That warm summer night after your screams and her cries had died down, he bowed his head over her, staring without a word. First, one salty tear fell from his face and onto the blanket you'd knitted for her, then another, and another. You tried to offer him the dignity of silence, but your tears burst out with a sob. It was only then that he spoke, snapping out of his baby-induced trance, his eyes wide with concern.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing's wrong at all."

And his baby loved him oh so much, the very definition of a daddy's girl. He was the one who protected her from spiders and wasps, the one who made her giggle til her face turned red, the one who'd lift her up on his shoulders and run amok through camp, and the one who snuck her candy when she thought you weren't looking. He was her Polaris, and little did she know, she was his entire universe. Leaving both of you at camp, even if only for a few hours, chipped away at a piece of his soul every time. In the present, you combed your fingers through her light-colored hair and kissed her on the head twice–one from you and one from Daddy, as you always told her.

"I know. He'll be here when we wake up, honeybee."  

And the tent fell silent, but your daughter twisted and shivered, unsettled by passing footsteps.

"Momma…" Her words came out smaller than her. "M'scared."

You wanted to tell her there was nothing to be afraid of, but you couldn't lie to her–not when there was a price on her father's head, not after Blackwater, and not after Colter. In yet another attempt to calm her, you whispered soft shhs. But then she spoke once more, a single word–a name, and your breath caught in your throat.

"Micah."

You sat up with the quickness of a startled doe, sweeping your eyes over your daughter. Tears stained her rosy cheeks, but she was otherwise unharmed.

"What about Micah?" The question came out more urgent than you'd intended, and she hid herself in your bosom. You hoped she didn't hear your heart pounding wildly against your rib cage. 

"Don't want him to come here."

"Why'd he do that?"

She only shook her head. You peeled her away from you, wiping her tears away with the pads of your thumbs before cupping her face in your hands. Your voice was loving but firm–a quiet, motherly demand.

"Bea. Talk." 

She vocalized as best as she could: "He's scary and mean."

And then, after a long pause, her small hand came to rest over yours on her cheek.

"He touched my face."

A curtain of red-hot wrath veiled your vision, and it took everything in you to hide it from the baby in your arms. No matter how big she got, she would always be that pink, wrinkly baby in the knitted blanket. You put on a stellar performance, eyes twinkling, your smile adding light to the darkness that'd settled over you. You reassured her that Daddy and Uncle Dutch would take care of that, that she had a whole family looking out for her, and that she was safe. 

In one last attempt to get her to settle, you laid back down, closed your own eyes, and began a slow hum of "Twinkle Twinkle Little Star." In the middle of the second run-through, she'd gone limp, finally.  You tried to follow suit, but your thoughts were louder than ever. 

Arthur'll be back soon.

Let the men dish it out. 

Get some sleep, get some sleep, get some sleep.

But your legs swung over the cot, and you left your eaglet behind in the nest as you soared into camp, sharp eyes scanning for your prey–a rattlesnake masquerading as a man. The drunk bastard saw you coming, flashing his fangs in a smug display of mockery. He didn't expect the beer bottle he'd been nursing to explode across his head, the glass shattering like a storm of meteors crashing down to earth. The impact sent him sprawling to the ground, and you were on top of him in an instant in the only way you'd ever be–out for blood. A blackhole temporarily swallowed both of you as you slammed your forehead into his with all the force of two colliding planets. 

The shockwave drowned out everything around you–so much so that you didn't hear someone shout for Arthur and didn't notice your husband had returned just before you left the tent. Micah fought back hard, trying in his intoxicated stupor to twist free, but you had him good, your nails like talons breaking skin and cutting off his air supply.

An owl-like screech tore through your lungs as two strong hands yanked you away. Your husband's eyes locked onto yours, grounding you, clearing the haze of fury. Time seemed to slow as you saw yourself reflected in concerned chrysocolla-colored eyes.

"Hey now, hey, easy…"

Just when he thought he'd calmed his distressed mare, the snake hissed in the grass.

"Get control of your whore, Morgan!"

"Arthur," you caught his attention, him looking from Micah back to you, "Beatrice." 

At hearing his daughter's name, Arthur bared his teeth and dug his nails into his palm. Without thinking, he shoved you aside, and you knew if you let him get to Micah, all hell would break loose. Roles reversed, you grabbed at his sleeve with both hands, pushing your weight into your heels to keep him in place. Micah started a mocking chortle. 

"That seed of yours." He tried once again to rise up on his feet, "Ain't much hope for her. She'll let fellas buy her for a penny just like her momma."

His taunting stung enough for you to temporarily lose hold of Arthur, and he took his chance, sending the metal tip of his boot flying into Micah's chin. The devil incarnate spit out blood and chipped bone and let out a hoarse, guttural bellow of pain, but he didn't try to stand anymore. 

"Lucky she got to you first." Arthur spat, "I ain't stopping her next time."

Your husband stomped off with his arm around your waist, back to your lion's den where your cub was still sleeping soundly. Collapsing onto the cot, you dug your palms into your eyes, trying to ease the pressure of a building headache. Lantern light came into your field of vision as Arthur's calloused fingers pried your hands away. 

"That was stupid," he whispered, aware of Beatrice still sleeping. One hand clutched your chin, and the other moved your hair out of your face to get a good look at you, "I woulda' handled it."

The cold sting of a wet cloth against your bruises made you wince. 

"I know. Couldn't help myself."  

Arthur didn't say anything else and finished cleaning you up in silence. Though the presence of your family back together brought you a semblance of peace, you twisted the gold band around your finger, lost in hellish thoughts. You and Arthur made promises to each other and to your little girl, and you'd make good on them, no matter the cost.

"I'll kill him next time."

Arthur had stripped down to his union suit and nodded at you as he took his hat off and set it beside the photo of your daughter's namesake.

"I know."

Then, his face lit up. He stopped your fidgeting by taking your hand in his and kissing your knuckles. Deep down, he knew you had it in you, but something about his wife, the sweetest thing he'd ever met, nearly ripping a man's head off his shoulders with her bare hands, struck a cord of pride within him. 

"Though I don't think anybody in their right mind would tempt you after seein' that."

And you felt embarrassed of your wild display of maternal ferocity. But Arthur, in all his tenderness and love for you, made all your doubt vanish.

"That's my girl," he whispered, holding his hands out.

You let him hoist you up into his warm embrace. The steady rise and fall of his chest and rhythmic heartbeat could've lulled you to sleep right then and there. This closeness had become a delicacy since parenthood, and you savored every bite. Arthur sighed contently as he breathed in the scene before him. Though you were buried in his chest, you knew he was looking over at his sleeping baby girl while he was hugging you.

"Maybe one day she can spend the night with Abigail and Jack, and we can have some husband and wife time." 

You hummed in agreement, tempted to let your limbs fall weak in his arms. The sounds of rustling blankets woke you right back up.

"Daddy?" 

Arthur didn't let you go. Instead, he squeezed you harder, a silent thank you for the life you'd birthed, the life you'd given him. He guided you back to the cot beside your daughter, tucking both of you in and pressing a soft kiss to your foreheads.

"Hey, sweetheart. I'm here," were the last words you heard before soaring serenely off the cliff of consciousness. 

[wheresarizona]

Spring Breaks Loose

summary: It's a beautiful Spring day, and you're spending it with Javier and your two pet calves, Daphne and Velma. To keep your husband on his toes, you ask him some very random questions.

pairing: Javier Peña/f!reader

rating: T (No y/n, Husband Javier Peña, Soft Javier Peña, mild language, oral sex mention (f + m receiving), domestic fluff, slice of life, pregnancy, waxing poetic about cheese, romantic comedy, Javier referring to you, Daphne, and Velma as ‘his girls’)

word count: 1.5k

a/n: Hello there! To celebrate Learning to Live's third birthday (insane), I wrote something that has art! Thank you to all of those still reading this labor of my love. It means a lot to me that you've stuck with me this long. This story will always have a special place in my heart, and I'm so happy to share it with others. ❤️❤️❤️ Thank you!

Art by the incredible @kenobiwanx! (Thank you, it's perfect!)

(Note: Cielito is a reader-insert character and written without physical attributes, so you can picture her however you want. Cielito is you! I just needed a reference for the artwork, so I chose a model that kind of looked like me. 😊)

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

The warmth of spring is a welcome change from the chill of winter. The shining sun will begin its descent soon, and you’ll watch it from the base of this towering oak tree, beneath its curving branches and green leaves. You sit with your husband while the two calves you call your bovine daughters graze nearby.

His large palm is a comfort, resting on your belly, your hand over his.

“Okay,” you start. With how you’re lying back across Javier’s lap to prop yourself up on his bent knee, it’s easy to gaze at his beautiful, smiling face. “Would you rather fight one horse-sized duck or one hundred duck-sized horses?”

For the last twenty minutes, you’ve been asking him random questions. If you could be any Skittle, what color would you be? Red. Do you put on your socks left or right foot first? Right. Do you like piña coladas and getting caught in the rain? Yes, as long as it’s with you.

“A horse-sized duck or a hundred duck-sized horses…” he replies. “Hmmm.” His expression shows he’s really thinking it out, which delights you. “A horse-sized duck could do some real damage. I think I’d choose the duck-sized horses. It’d be a bitch fighting a hundred, but definitely better than a giant fucking duck.”

“Solid answer.”

“What would you choose?”

“Oh, absolutely, the duck-sized horses. You’re right about the horse-sized duck doing damage. That’s a no, thank you from me.”

He chuckles. “You got another question?”

“Ummm.” You take a second to think of one. “Oh! If you had to choose, would you give up cheese or blow jobs for the rest of your life?”

He frowns. “Can I still eat you out?”

You giggle. “Yes. You can give oral, but you can’t receive it.”

“Fuck, this is a hard one.”

You smile. “I know.”

“You give really fucking good head.” That makes you preen. “But, a lot of the shit you cook has cheese in it, and you know how much I love your food.”

The only person whose cooking he loved more than yours was his late mother’s. But, from what you’ve heard, eating her food was a religious experience, so you understand.

“You love it a lot.”

He smiles. “I do. I can’t believe I’m saying this. I’d give up blow jobs.”

“Wow, that’s a little surprising. Also, very sweet that you’d choose my cooking over getting your dick sucked.”

His free hand caresses your face, his thumb stroking over the apple of your cheek. “I can live without blow jobs, but I can’t live without your food—”

“Awe.”

“—or eating your pussy.”

“Oh my god,” you giggle. “You’re ridiculous.”

He chuckles and quickly pecks your lips. “What about you?” He asks when he pulls back. “Cheese or my mouth?”

Your eyes widen. “Oh.”

“It’s hard to choose, right?”

“Yeah, it is. ‘Cause you are fucking amazing at eating pussy. Like, you deserve the highest honor for being the ‘World’s Greatest Cunnilinguist.’” That makes him laugh, his smile so big his dimple appears. “It’s true. I’m not even joking. Then we have cheese—glorious, delicious cheese. A gift to humankind. The eighth wonder of the culinary world.”

He’s amused. “I think I know, but which would you give up?”

“My god. I’m sorry, babe, but I think it has to be oral. I can’t imagine living without cheese. It’s cheese, for goodness’ sake!”

“I’m not surprised by your choice. You fucking love cheese.”

“Um, who doesn’t love cheese? Like, cheese is so good that many lactose-intolerant people are willing to suffer for the tasty goodness, and I don’t blame them. Also, you love cheese. Don’t deny it!”

He’s looking at you with soft eyes and a soft smile, the fondness clear on his handsome face. “I do love cheese.”

���Thank you. Now, it’s your turn to ask a question—look, the girls are curious about what their dad is gonna ask.”

The calves approach you both and lie down—the red one, Daphne, choosing a spot in the grass beside you to rest her head in your lap while her sister, Velma, gets comfortable on the ground by Javi’s feet.

It makes you smile, your hand moving to stroke your fingers over the red calf’s head.

“Can’t let my girls down,” he replies. “Let me think.” His eyes move away from yours for only a moment as he thinks about it. He meets your gaze again. “If you had three wishes, what would you wish for?”

“A classic. I’m assuming no wishing for more wishes?” you ask.

“Correct.”

“Okay. Universal healthcare, perfect tits, and for our family to be happy and healthy.”

He huffs in amusement. “You already have perfect tits.”

“Right now, they’re pretty great, but I’m thinking post-however many babies we’re gonna have, and, you know, aging.”

“They’ll still be perfect.”

You smile, playfully swatting at his chest. “Stop it, or I’ll beg you to get me pregnant.”

His lips turn up, his expression matching yours. “You’re already pregnant.” For emphasis, he rubs his palm over your dress-covered tummy where you aren’t even showing yet.

“Fine, double pregnant, which—“ You frown. “—when I actually think about that, it sounds awful for a first pregnancy. I have bad enough heartburn with one baby growing inside me, and don’t get me started on the morning sickness. Why do they even call it that? It’s misleading. This shit is all day. How worse would all of this be with two buns in my Easy-Bake oven?”

He leans forward to kiss your forehead. “Thankfully, this time around, you don’t have to find out.” He sits back to look into your eyes, his eyebrows creasing in concern. “Are you nauseous right now? Do we need to head back to Pop’s?”

Instead of coming out here on horseback, Javi brought you in his truck with the girls in a trailer behind it. He drove slowly, so the bumps weren’t too bad.

Your free hand went over his on your stomach again, giving him a reassuring squeeze. “No, I’m okay. It’s not too bad right now.”

“If it gets worse, tell me, and we can go.”

“I will. Thank you, babe. So, what are your three wishes?”

“A chance to talk to my mom again.” That didn’t surprise you. She passed away eight years ago, and he missed her dearly. “I’d love to tell her how happy I am, and all about you and her first nieto (grandchild) on the way.” He rubs small circles on your belly.

“She’d be so excited about her nieto (grandchild).” It is still too early to know the baby’s gender. “Not only that, I think she’d be more excited than Pop, and that’s saying something since he literally shows the sonogram to every single person he talks to.”

It’s true. He keeps it in his wallet, and any time he goes into town, he shows it to whoever he sees.

An amused huff leaves him. “You’re right. She’d be way worse than Pop.”

“We’d love it, though.”

“Yes, we would.”

“What‘s your second wish?”

“To have a baby with you,” he answers immediately.

You smile. “How does it feel to know that wish is going to come true?”

His face visibly lights up with a toothy grin that makes you giggle. “Fucking amazing. I am the happiest man on the entire planet, and it’s all thanks to you.” He pecks the tip of your nose.

“I wouldn’t say it’s all me. I mean, you had a part in making the baby. It was a small one that only lasted like, ten seconds, but it was still pretty important.”

“Sure, but I believe you once said that I only contribute a pleasurable 1% to our group project that you are doing 99% of the work on. By those numbers, I think you deserve all of the credit. So, it is all thanks to you, mi amor (my love).”

“If you insist.”

“I do. I honestly can’t believe how fucking lucky I am. I’m married, we have a kid on the way, we’re gonna have a house, and a dog. Christ, two years ago? I never would’ve imagined this was what my future looked like. Someone could’ve told me, and I wouldn’t have believed them.”

“You’ve come a long way, and I’m just glad you’re finally getting to live a happy life.”

“I am, too.” It’s hardly any effort for him to lean forward, closing the distance to press his plush lips to yours in a tender kiss—warmth spreads through your veins, and your eyes close, relishing this sweet moment. When he breaks away, he gently nudges your nose with his, and your eyelids flutter open, the expression on his face showing his love and happiness.

“You’re adorable,” you tell him. “What’s your third wish?”

He’s smiling. “For our family to be happy and healthy.”

You share his look. “You, sir, are a sap.”

“You said it first.”

“I did.”

“What’s the next question?”

“Why do I have to come up with all of them?”

“Because you’re better at it than I am.”

“That is so true. Give me a second.”

“Okay.”

You sit there against his leg, one hand over his, the other petting Daphne as you think.

“This next one might be a bit controversial,” you say.

“Okay?”

“Is a hot dog in a bun a sandwich?”

Series Masterlist - Main Masterlist

Thank you for reading! If you’d like to be tagged in my fics, please fill out the form in my bio, on my masterlist, or just let me know! 

[adamnablelittledevil]

So I only read the prologue and chapter 1 from ASOS because I started the book really late at night and had to do other stuff too... Anyways, here are some comments:

Jaime's POV was great

He's ridiculous

He's hilarious

He's smart (sometimes)

He's chaotic (I'm already diagnosing him with ADHD trust me I can sense these things)

Brienne is my baby and keeps getting better as a character

His reactions to her are killing me because he's like *calls her girl, woman, sor and lady Brienne according to his momentary mood* MY NAME IS JAIME STOP CALLING ME KINGSLAYER well I'll call you woman unless you show me you have something different in your pants bye hmmm she's really talented and determined she's an ugly cow but wow her beautiful big blue eyes tho I'll kill her when I get the chance and free myself yeah don't worry let me help you get back to the boat I'M THINKING BY MYSELF I'M NOT SPEAKING TO YOU YEAH I NEED TO TALK OUT LOUD AS I DO IT THIS IS WHAT HAPPENS WHEN YOU SPEND A LONG TIME IMPRISONED OKAY

And Brienne too she's like KINGSLAYER KINGSLAYER KINGSLAYER BLABLABLA I'M NOT CALLING YOU BY YOUR NAME KINGSLAYER I DON'T WANNA TALK TO YOU YOU'RE ABSOLUTELY NOTHING TO ME KINGSLAYER NO I TAKE IT BACK YOU'RE A MONSTER REALLY SO STOP COMPLIMENTING ME BECAUSE THAT'S ACTUALLY AN INSULT COMING FROM A KINGSLAYER

*proceeds to tell him little things about herself her father and where she's from 5 seconds later very naturally without realizing before they fall back into their mutual beef*

Also when she called him a monster and he fucking SCREAMED LIKE OMG NO MONSTERS!!!!! AND I DON'T HAVE A SWORD TO DEFEND MYSELF!!!!!!! HFHAUFHDHEUSHAJ HE'S SO FUCKING RIDICULOUS

GROWN-UP BEHAVIOR btw

At least Brienne is an autistic young girl she's supposed to be like that

He's older than her tho so what's HIS EXCUSE

Poor cousin whathisnameagain I think it's Cleos? having to thirdwheel whatever it is that these two have going on lmao

Free this poor guy because he can go insane if this keeps going

He's stronger than me because I've would've jumped ship and killed myself

George R. R. Martin really a visionary ahead of his time because he wrote two epic books full of complicated dynamics intrigue politics magic and massive world-building and now he's literally writing fanfiction with two dumb manchildren (gender neutral)

And I mean this in the best way possible like it was delicious I can't wait for more

They're fucking idiots your honor (/pos /affectionate)

[firawren]

I get this criticism of Belle breaking her word. But my interpretation is that she does it because Beast breaks his. She never agreed to give up her safety, only her freedom. She said she would take her father's place—and her father was locked up in a dungeon away from Beast. She never agreed to interact with Beast, and she certainly never agreed to let him physically threaten, harm, or kill her.

As soon as Beast takes Maurice away, he starts changing the deal. He makes Belle come with him, no iron bars between his body and hers like Maurice had, and demands she have dinner with him. She timidly goes along with the first part, because dungeons suck amiright, but the second part she rightfully refuses to do. This wasn't part of the deal.

But he persists in pushing the terms of the deal further. He next says he's gonna starve her if she doesn't interact with him. He's now explicitly threatening her safety and life.

When he explodes at her in the West Wing, he's really threatening her safety and life. She literally thinks he's going to rip her apart, with good reason. He's unhinged.

This wasn't what she signed up for. This is very different than being uncomfortably but safely locked up in a dungeon, protected from him by iron bars. He's in her face, nothing barring him from hurting or killing her.

So she leaves. He's broken the deal first, so she's free to consider it null and void.

(And yes, she disobeyed Beast by going to the West Wing in the first place, but she never gave her word not to go there, and this essay wasn't arguing that 1991 Belle never makes mistakes, only that 1991 Belle honors her word.)

And yet after all this, she comes back and then considers the deal reinstated. She doesn't think that because she came back voluntarily, she's now a visitor, because when Beast later says he frees her, she's shocked. She still considered herself a prisoner. And this is because Beast started honoring the terms of the original deal again. He stopped threatening her safety. He asked for her company, but didn't demand it. So as a deeply honorable woman, she immediately goes back to honoring her side of the deal too. She's prepared once again to stay at the castle forever.

In terms of your other criticism that Linda Woolverton did indeed make her a "strong independent heroine who don't need no love interest"—maybe that was her intention, but luckily Howard Ashman got involved and changed the story and her character to make them richer. (Plus, there are literally 10 other people credited with story on the film, plus 2 directors, so Woolverton's take on the character isn't gospel—lots of people shaped Belle.) Because of Ashman, we have Belle singing about how enamoured she is with a story where a woman gets involved with Prince Charming. The song "Belle" establishes that she's deeply interested in romance.

The convo with her dad right after that establishes that her core desire is a companion she "can really talk to." When her father suggests that Gaston is handsome, she doesn't say "I'm not interested in having a boyfriend" she says "He's not for me." Implying that someone else could be for her. All of this suggests that she is interested in finding someone to love, Gaston just isn't the right one.

Next, we get "Belle Reprise," in which we learn that Belle doesn't want to be a "little wife," but that's couched in terms of not wanting a "provincial life." It doesn't mean she doesn't want to be anyone's wife, she just doesn't want to be the type of village wife that Gaston is expecting.

Anyway, I completely agree with OP and encourage folks to read her full essay. Great character analysis.

I especially appreciated this:

"Belle thinks she wants freedom and exploration. She thinks she wants to go and see the world. But her character develops during her time with the Beast. She realizes that what she really wants, and really needs, is a friend. Someone who will care about her interests and love her for who she is—bookworm and all."

And this:

"The original Belle is relatable because she’s not a genius. She’s just a romantic, kind young lady who loves a good story as much as me and you, and hangs on to her sense of duty."

Anybody else want to talk about Beauty & the Beast? Specifically, Belle?!

no? just me?

I don’t care I’m doing it. Look down there 👇 

OKAY. You know how in B&tB17, Belle was played by Emma Watson? And the Belle from the Original was joyful, self-sacrificial, and saw the world through fantasy-colored glasses? So Emma Watson chose to play her as a stony-faced, somber heroine with all the cheerfulness of a Knight who’s been to war and back again?

((I mean, look at her  expression. The original, the one on the left, is hand-drawn, so you know it was the more intentionally executed of the two. She looks, at the very least, like she’s thinking about something interesting and her face is resting. At the most, she looks peaceful and HAPPY. But on the right? Emma Watson couldn’t outright smile. No way. Has to have just the faintest suggestion of a smirk, and one of her eyebrows is barely raised. She looks like she’s daring the viewer to think of her as gentle or kind. And then silently promising to take them outside and hit them over the head with a book she hasn’t read yet. And don’t tell me it’s all about the context of the two photos; Emma Watson (who does not play the same character as was created for the Original) looks like that throughout the entire 2017 film.))

Yeah, this was going to be a post critiquing the live-action film. (Which I liked—but in SPITE of the way they got Belle wrong, not BECAUSE OF.) It was GOING to be. But then, in comparing the two, I just got more appreciation for exactly HOW intentional and well-done the original was.

Belle was not a character left open for interpretation.

 She was a strong, believable, intentionally-crafted character whose every decision and even every facial expression was drawn, line by line, into place to communicate something. And it was something the live-action film swung and missed at in the name of “updating” her. I think there are a lot of issues with Emma Watson’s portrayal of Belle, but really, it all comes down to one small change that threw everything else into the realm of an extreme mistake. That one small change is this:

In the 2017 film, Belle tries to escape. She promises to stay with the Beast—and the entire time, fully intends to break that promise. That’s it. That’s basically it. That, in a nutshell, sums up the whole problem with her.

But I’ll elaborate. Hear me out.

Keep reading

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Let Me Be Your Anchor

Chapter 22: Preparations

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett An Offer from a Gentleman reimagined Chapter rating: G (just a lotta feels) Word count: 7.4k

Masterpost Previous chapter

Author's note: This chapter preserves a big chunk of Colin and Benedict's fencing sequence from the book. I really like it and can tell it was lifted from Benedict's book and applied to Anthony's story in season 2 of the show. The Bridgerton boys will talk about their feelings, but only if they're boxing, fencing, drinking, etc. first 😜 Fans of Colin and Eloise, this chapter is for you. Enjoy! 💙

Sophie was stunned, frozen in place losing all sense of time in the dark garden. It was the sudden outbreak of applause from the house that roused her back to her senses. The musicale was still ongoing but she needed to get inside. As quietly as she could she stole back to her quarters on the lower level. While the musicians carried on above her, the strings filling the air with romantic melodies, she sobbed upon her bed, cast into the very depths of heartbreak. She felt something tugging at her and pulled off Benedict’s cravat which had been hanging loosely around her neck. She cried anew, crumpling the silk in her fist.

It was over. The greatest joy she had felt in her life; the dream that had been her source of strength and comfort for years; it was over. Benedict would never forgive her and she would never see him again. A part of her mind raged at herself, that it was her fault for keeping her identity a secret. But a louder part raged at the world for putting her in a position where she needed to lie. All of the unjust circumstances that had befallen her, all of her anger and pain toward her father, the Cowpers, the Cavenders, and whoever constructed society as a whole. It roiled within her and erupted in a howl muffled into her pillow. 

Why her? Why had she been born the way she had been? Treated the way she had been? And toyed with by fate the way she had been? Why had fate conspired to bring Benedict into her life not once but twice? Why had it drawn them together with such undeniable magic when the world they were born into would not allow them to stay that way?

An image of her father appeared in her mind, his entire countenance sour and cold. Damn you, she thought. You gave me a taste of another life and then left me in the wind. It would have been so much easier if I’d been raised a servant. I wouldn’t have wanted so much. It would have been easier.

She let herself rail against his memory, against her fate and all of her misfortunes until she was too exhausted to cry anymore. All she wanted to do was sleep but she knew she would need to prepare Eloise for bed. She also knew that she needed to leave the household as soon as possible. She couldn’t risk any further contact with Benedict and she feared he may expose her to the rest of the family. Then the Bridgertons might join the list of aristocrats who had a reason to want her in jail - for trespassing if not outright fraud.

It was sad, really, she thought as she splashed water on her face and tried to look presentable before going upstairs. For all her inner turmoil over Benedict, she’d liked living in the Bridgerton household. Sophie had never before had the honor of living amongst a group of people who truly understood the meaning of the word family. 

She would miss them.

She would miss Benedict.

And she would mourn the life she could not have.

She sighed, closing her eyes for a moment. It was time to go. Where, she didn’t know, but she couldn’t stay here.

She would see Eloise to bed and stay for the night. In the morning she would give her notice to the Viscountess. Never in her life had she had the chance to spend time with women of her own age who treated her with respect and affection. She owed them these courtesies. She wanted to say goodbye. If she was lucky, they would not yet have heard about her altercation with Benedict, and she could give her notice, say her farewells, and be off. She had a little money saved. Not much, but if she worked and was frugal, she’d have enough funds for passage to America within a year. She’d heard that things were far easier there for those of less-than-respectable birth, that the boundaries of class weren’t quite as strict as they were here in England. A new country and a new life, finally free from the mess her heart had landed her in. She wondered how long it would take for it to stop aching as she tried to forget Benedict.

Sophie managed a meager smile when Eloise returned to her room. The younger was lost in her thoughts, narrating as she swept by, pulling off her gloves.

“Well, I must say that was not nearly as painful as I had anticipated. Though I did need to continuously dodge the advances of the Marquis of Bath around the canapés.”

She turned to her lady’s maid and paused. She was uncharacteristically dour.

“Sophie? Is something wrong?”

“No, Miss,” she lied. 

Eloise frowned, looking her over. “I can tell you’re not being truthful. Are you alright? Are you ill?”

“No. I mean, yes. I am alright, I simply…”

Sophie’s head was spinning, replaying the terrible events of the night and dreading how she would announce her resignation. She clasped her hands behind her back, desperately trying to find her balance. Her legs felt unsteady, her heart felt unsteady. Any moment now she was going to burst into tears, and why? Because the man she loved would never marry her? Because he hated her for lying to him? Because he’d broken her heart twice - once by asking her to be his mistress, and once by making her love his family and then forcing her to leave? He might not have demanded that she go, but it couldn’t have been more obvious that she could not stay. 

“What is it?” Eloise pressed, worry creasing her features as she laid a hand on Sophie’s shoulder. “You can confide in me.”

Sophie chewed her lip, fighting back the tears. What could she say? How would she even start?

Eloise spared her the painful confession.

 “Is it Benedict?”

Sophie gulped, scrutinizing the young lady’s face. A young lady who should have been scandalized to learn of her brother’s dalliance. A member of the ton who should have been disapproving. But then, this was Eloise, who was so unlike her peers. She knew Benedict had confided something in his favorite sister but neither the details nor the depth of information shared. Yet regardless of what she knew, there was nothing but concern and kindness in Eloise’s eyes. Sophie remembered Benedict’s promise that their secret was safe with her.

“He has done nothing wrong.” Sophie choked out at last, unwilling to divulge the tangled details of their argument. “It is not right, what I have done. I should not have taken appointment in your home.” 

Eloise found something oddly satisfying hearing Sophie admit, albeit indirectly, that she had feelings for Benedict. Ever since she had seen the joyful gleam return to her brother’s eyes on the rooftop at Aubrey Hall she had been invested in their mutual happiness. She loved her brother fiercely and had grown to hold Sophie as a dear friend. Now that their relationship seemed to be in peril, she wanted to do everything possible to preserve it.

“What do you mean?”

Sophie pulled Eloise’s hand from her shoulder and held it gently. “I am grateful. So very grateful to you, Eloise, and to your sisters and the Viscountess and your mother. I have enjoyed my time here very much. It has been the kindest home I’ve ever known. But it is time for me to move on. Tomorrow morning I will be giving my notice to the Viscountess.”

Eloise could hardly believe her ears. “Sophie, you can’t!” She pulled her hand away, eyes wide. “What has happened? Please tell me!”

A sensation bloomed in Sophie’s chest, simultaneously warm and aching. The warmth of being wanted and the ache of knowing she could not stay. “It is dangerous, Eloise, the position I am in.” She trusted the young lady understood what she was referring to. “Not just for me but for the entire household. The last thing I would ever want is to bring shame and scandal upon your family name. You don’t deserve it, certainly not for my sake. The best thing for everyone will be for me to leave.”

Eloise was crestfallen, knowing that everything Sophie said was true except that her friend was not worth taking a risk for.

After a moment, she asked softly. “Do you not love him? Do you not want to stay?”

Sophie froze, tears pricking her eyes as the last image of Benedict rose in her mind. He was furious, heartbroken, and so was she for having caused him any pain.

Her voice cracked. “Not all of us can have what we want.”

A devastating silence hung between the two women. They both began to recognize that this was not just the end of Sophie and Benedict’s relationship, but also the end of theirs. 

“Where will you go?” Eloise asked at last, her voice rasping. “To work for another house?” If the rules of society would not allow Sophie to remain at Bridgerton House, she at least had to know that her friend would be safe elsewhere.

Sophie pondered for a moment. Where would she go? America was the goal but where would she sleep tomorrow? She would need to flee London again but did not relish copying her mad dash years ago, sleeping in woodsheds and on the kitchen floors of kindly housekeepers until she managed to secure a position in the countryside. Her transition could be more planned if she knew of a place to stay in the city. A place where she had a friend… Then she remembered.

“I am not certain where I will work but I will seek out an old friend and see if she will let me stay until I find my feet.” She tried to hide her uncertainty that her friend could even be found.

“You have a friend in the city?” Eloise asked.

Sophie nodded. “The modiste. Or, she used to be a modiste…”

The young woman’s eyes lit up. “Madame Delacroix?”

“Yes,” she breathed a sigh of relief. Eloise would be able to point her in the right direction.

“You know her?”

A small smile tugged at Sophie’s lips, remembering that the only bright moments of her years with the Cowpers were when she found herself in the dress shop. “It has been some years but we were friends. Does she still have her shop?”

“Yes she does.” Eloise confirmed. For a brief moment her mind began to twist, remembering her brother’s dalliance with the modiste as well. Was Sophie aware? Was Madame Delacroix somehow involved in their acquaintance? As curious as it was to question the details of her brother’s affairs, it was not nearly as important in the moment as Sophie’s wellbeing.

“I will take you to her tomorrow,” she offered. When Sophie opened her mouth to protest, Eloise cut her off. “I insist. We shall go and see her and make sure you have a place to stay before you give your notice. I do not know what is compelling you to leave and I certainly don’t want you to. But Sophie, if you feel it is best, let me help you.”

The warm ache spread further and all Sophie could do was nod with fathomless gratitude. It was so within the Bridgerton character to be this kind and accommodating to a servant, even one leaving their employ under scandalous circumstances. She would never find another family like them. 

“Thank you, Miss. I should like that.”

___

Benedict’s first inclination upon reaching his lodgings was to pour himself a good, stiff drink. Or maybe three. Alcoholic oblivion sounded rather appealing after the emotional skewering he’d just received at the hands of Sophie Beckett. And he pursued the inclination, drinking himself into a stupor and stalking angrily about his rooms until he collapsed on the sofa in his small parlour.

The next thing he knew, he was being poked. Something was jabbing him sharply in the arm, the chest, the side of his face. His head was pounding and it didn’t help when he cracked his eyes open to see blinding sunlight pouring in through the windows. The jabbing continued. What the devil? His senses slowly returning, his vision cleared to reveal Colin standing over him with a broad smirk, holding the fencing foil which was the cause of the annoyance.

Benedict groaned. He had forgotten that he’d made a date that morning for a fencing match with his brother. Although given the incessant poking, skewering Colin sounded rather appealing, no matter that he’d had nothing to do with Benedict’s wretched mood. That, Benedict thought as he dragged himself upward to sit, was what brothers were for.

“There he is, the sleeping beauty,” Colin mocked, finally lowering the foil. Benedict groaned again and dropped his head into his hands. “I see that you were…enjoying yourself last night.” Colin rocked on his heels as he looked at the empty glasses by the sofa. “Bit uncharacteristic of you to do so alone.”

Benedict looked up at him with bloodshot eyes but did not feel like explaining himself. “I’m sorry I forgot about our appointment,” he mumbled.

“Well,” Colin straightened with a smile. “You can make it up to me by letting me win our matches.” He produced Benedict’s own fencing foil and glove seemingly from thin air and tossed them onto his brother’s lap. Then he strode across the room to a side cabinet. Benedict sighed. He was not going to be released from his obligation, no matter how horrid he felt. 

His head spun when Colin suddenly reappeared and waved a fresh glass of brandy under his nose. “A lesson you taught me brother,” he grinned. “To combat after-effects.”

Benedict was simultaneously proud and horrified of his little brother. What kind of monster had he created? A glint of gratitude sparked in his eyes and he downed the spirit, despite how it made him want to expel everything in his stomach. 

In short order they were both outfitted in their gear and standing in the small garden behind Benedict’s apartments. The fresh air and swig of brandy slowly seemed to be helping Benedict’s body feel human again, but he doubted there was anything that could alleviate his mind. He touched the tip of his foil to the grass, letting the blade bend slightly.

“Are you ready?”

“Not quite,” Colin replied, working on his stance.

Benedict lunged at him.

“I said I wasn’t ready!” Colin hollered as he jumped out of the way. 

“You’re too slow,” Benedict snapped.

Colin cursed under his breath, then added a louder, “Bloody hell,” for good measure. “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing,” Benedict nearly snarled. “Why do you ask?”

Colin took a step backward until they were a suitable distance apart to start the match. “Oh, I don’t know,” he intoned, sarcasm evident. “I suppose it could be the drunken stupor I found you in, and that you nearly just took my head off, slashing like you were using a sabre.”

Benedict gave a hard smile. “It’s more fun that way.”

“Not for my neck.” Colin passed his sword from hand to hand as he flexed and stretched his fingers. 

“Will you just get into position, please?” Benedict grumbled.

“As you wish,” Colin murmured, raising his weapon. They both stood en garde, swords raised for a moment of stillness, and then Benedict advanced immediately, lunging and attacking. But Colin had always been particularly fleet of foot, and he retreated carefully, meeting Benedict’s attack with an expert parry.

“You’re in a bloody bad mood today,” Colin said, lunging forward and nearly catching Benedict on the shoulder.

Benedict stepped out of his way, lifting his blade to block the attack. “Yes, well, I had a bad” - he advanced again, his foil stretched straight forward - “night.”

Colin sidestepped his attack neatly. “Nice riposte,” he said, touching his forehead with the handle of his foil in a mock salute.

“Shut up and fence,” Benedict snapped.

Colin chuckled and advanced, swishing his blade this way and that, keeping Benedict on the retreat. “It must be a woman,” he said.

Benedict blocked Colin’s attack and quickly began his own advance. “None of your damned business.”

“It’s a woman,” Colin repeated, smirking.

Benedict lunged forward, the top of his foil catching Colin on the collarbone. “Point,” he grunted.

Colin gave a curt nod. “Touch for you.” They walked back to the center of the yard. “Are you ready?” he asked.

Benedict nodded. This time Colin was the first to take the attack. “If you need some advice about women…” he said, driving Benedict toward the corner wall.

Benedict raised his foil, blocking Colin’s attack with enough force to send his younger brother stumbling backward. “If I need advice about women,” he returned, “you are the last person I would go to, you green child.”

“You wound me,” Colin said, regaining his balance. “Rather than raking my way across half of London,” he lunged at his elder brother, “I have courted women with respect.”

“Ah yes,” Benedict sniggered, blocking the string of attacks, “Very respectful, the way you are stringing along poor Penelope Featherington.”

Colin froze for a moment, struck by his words. “What?”

It only gave Benedict the opportunity to advance upon him and he raised his sword to block just in time. Benedict continued, “And your slapdash engagement and near elopement with Miss Thompson.”

As soon as he spat out the words he regretted it and dropped his blade to his side. He had gone too far. He knew that what had happened with Miss Thompson was not Colin’s fault. His brother had simply been too naive, a trait that had been exploited by the poor young woman who was in distress. Fortunately, everything had worked out for the best, but Benedict should not have treated it as a stain on his brother’s record.

Colin had dropped his blade too and was staring intensely at the ground, nodding. “I was foolish,” he said, before Benedict could apologize. “You, on the other hand, are stupid.”

That lit the anguish in Benedict again. “What the hell does that mean?”

Colin sighed and planted a hand on his hip. “Why don’t you just do us all a favor and marry the girl?”

Benedict just stared at him, his hand going limp around the grip of his sword. Was there any possibility that Colin didn’t know who they were talking about? He looked into his brother’s steely blue eyes and nearly groaned. Colin knew. He didn’t know how Colin knew, but he definitely knew.

“How do you know?” Benedict finally asked.

One corner of Colin’s mouth tilted up into a victorious smile. “About Sophie? It’s rather obvious.”

“Colin, she’s-”

“A maid? Who cares? What is going to happen if you marry her?” Colin asked with a devil-may-care shrug of his shoulders. “People you couldn’t care less about will ostracize you? Hell, I wouldn’t mind being ostracized by some of the people with whom I’m forced to socialize.”

Benedict shrugged dismissively. “I’d already decided I didn’t care about all that,” he said.

“Then what the bloody hell is the problem?” Colin demanded.

“It’s complicated.”

“Things are rarely as complicated as they seem in one’s mind.”

Benedict mulled that over, bending the blade of his foil back and forth with the tip in the grass. Colin had proven adept at easing his mind before. Most significantly through the introduction of the powdered tea, but even uninhibited, Benedict knew he could confide in him.

“Do you remember the masquerade?” he asked.

Colin blinked at the unexpected question. “A few years ago? At Bridgerton House?”

Benedict nodded. “Yes. Do you remember meeting a woman dressed in silver? You came upon us in the garden.”

Colin snorted, “Well of course I remember, you wouldn’t shut up about…” his eyes suddenly bugged out of his head. “That wasn’t Sophie?”

Benedict gave him a serious nod. He still could barely believe it himself.

Colin gaped. “But…how…”

“She told me she snuck in. She’s not a maid.”

“She’s not?”

“Well, she is a maid,” Benedict clarified, “but she’s also the bastard daughter of the Earl of Penwood.”

“Not the current--”

Benedict shook his head. “No, the late.”

 “And you knew all this?”

“No,” Benedict said, the word short and staccato on his tongue, “I did not.”

“Oh.” Colin caught his lower lip between his teeth as he digested the meaning of his brother’s reply. “I see.” He stared at Benedict. “Then what are you going to do?”

Benedict let his sword fall into the grass and stared at it dispassionately. “That's a very good question.”

He was still furious with Sophie for her deception, but neither was he without blame. He shouldn’t have pushed so hard for her to quit her work and be kept as his mistress. It had certainly been his right to ask, but it had also been her right to refuse. He shouldn’t have kept making up excuses to keep her within his reach. From the inn at Rosemeade, to the multiple times she had tried to leave Aubrey Hall, to his family bringing her to London. He had lorded money and pleasures over her and then his family got involved to complicate matters further. No wonder Sophie had tried to negotiate her own boundaries and continue working as a maid. It was the one thing she seemed to have control over and he should have respected that and not insisted that she abandon it too.

If he respected her, then he had to respect her beliefs. 

He shouldn’t have been so flip with her, insisting that anything was possible, that she was free to make any choice her heart desired. His mother was right; he did live a charmed life. He had wealth, family, happiness…and nothing was truly out of his reach. The only awful thing that had ever happened in his life was the sudden and untimely death of his father, and even then, he’d had his family to help him through. It was difficult for him to imagine certain pains and hurts because he’d never experienced them.

And unlike Sophie, he’d never been alone.

What now? He had already decided that he was prepared to brave social ostracism and marry her. The unrecognized bastard daughter of an earl was a slightly more acceptable match than a servant, but only slightly. They would live quietly somewhere, eschewing the London society that would almost certainly shun them. He would shield Sophie from the unkindness that would be most heavily directed at her. Europe seemed the safest option. It took his heart less than a second to know that a quiet life with Sophie was by far preferable to a public life without her.

Did it matter that she was the woman from the masquerade? She’d lied to him about her identity, but he knew her soul. When they kissed, when they laughed, when they simply sat and talked - she had never feigned a moment.

The woman who could make his heart sing with a simple smile, the woman who could fill him with contentment just through the simple act of sitting by him while he sketched - that was the real Sophie.

And he loved her.

“You look as if you’ve reached a decision,” Colin said quietly.

Benedict eyed his brother thoughtfully. When had he grown so perceptive? Come to think of it, when had he grown up? Benedict had always thought of Colin as a youthful rascal, charming and debonair, but not one who had ever had to assume any sort of responsibility.

But when he regarded his brother now, he saw someone else. His shoulders were a little broader, his posture a little more steady and subdued. And his eyes looked wiser. That was the biggest change. If eyes truly were windows to the soul, then Colin’s soul had gone and grown up on him when Benedict hadn’t been paying attention.

“I owe her a few apologies,” Benedict said.

“I’m sure she’ll forgive you.”

“She owes me several as well.”

Benedict could tell that his brother wanted to ask, “What for?” but to his credit, all Colin said was, “Are you willing to forgive her?”

Benedict nodded. “I was going to propose to her last night when all of this came out. My mind was made up.” He took a deep breath. “It still is.”

Colin smiled warmly and clapped him on the shoulder. Something in the gesture brought Benedict a stab of sadness. “If she will have me, we will have to move away, Colin.” His brother’s brow knit in confusion. Benedict continued, “I don’t care what the ton will think about me, but I won’t subject her to their reproach. I want us to live undisturbed by all that nonsense.”

Colin’s eyes, grown and perceptive as they now were, flickered through emotions in an instant. Longing, sadness, worry, and then resolve. His smile returned and he gripped Benedict’s shoulder.

“Well, I am happy for you brother. But I will miss you, wherever you end up. However, I suppose that if any member of the family were equipped to visit you with frequency it would be me, so I’m sure we’ll be seeing plenty of each other.”

Benedict returned his smile, already picturing Colin at the bow of a ship headed east across the English channel. Of course he would be thrilled to have an excuse to travel even more than he already did. And he would be the perfect guide to chaperone the family in visiting Benedict and Sophie abroad from time to time. A future was starting to shape itself in his mind. A future where everyone might be happy…

“I have to get back to her,” he blurted out, tugging off his glove.

Colin arched a brow at him, suddenly serious. “Might I suggest…I think it would be best to confirm your plans with the family first before taking off with your fiancee. It would make it less awkward for Sophie than quitting her position and everyone finding out afterward that she is with you.”

Benedict stared at him, surprised once again at the depth of his little brother’s insight. “You’re right,” he nodded, “but Mother already knows.”

“Not Mother,” Colin leveled his eyes and Benedict understood. 

Anthony. If there was anyone in the family who may try to stand in the way of Benedict marrying a maid and running off to live abroad, it was his elder brother. The Viscount took his responsibility of maintaining the family’s reputation very seriously. So seriously that Benedict had nearly watched him get killed over it when Anthony had dueled with the Duke, their now brother-in-law, over a premarital kiss with their sister.  What on earth would he do to keep Benedict within the family and married to a respectable woman? Whatever it was, Benedict would face it head on and ensure that it wouldn’t complicate his engagement. Bless Colin for having the foresight to anticipate it. 

As if reading his mind, Colin spoke. “We’ll meet with Anthony today. I will support you, brother.”

A lump formed in Benedict’s throat and he reached out, pulling his brother into a tight hug. Thank God they had scheduled this fencing match because it was turning out to be precisely what he needed. Like a guardian angel Colin was here with resolutions to all of his problems. How the tables had turned since the years when Benedict had watched over him as he grew. 

“I don’t say this often enough,” he said, his voice starting to sound gruff in his ears, “but I love you.”

Colin patted him on the back, “I love you too, brother.” He pulled back and beamed at Benedict with a wide smile. “Do you have a ring?”

Benedict blinked, surprised by the question. “Uh, no…” he stuttered, “I was too caught up in my anxieties, I didn’t think of it.”

“Well,” Colin clapped him on the chest and began to walk backward toward the house, beckoning Benedict to follow. “Now you are proposing and apologizing, so a ring is definitely warranted, wouldn’t you say?”

“Yes,” Benedict nodded, his mind racing. “But the last thing I have time for is ring shopping around London.”

“We have the family rings.” Colin shrugged. “We’ll go to the house and you can pick one out. It would also give us the opportunity to check on Sophie.”

His younger brother seemed to have a mind to think of everything and Benedict was more than happy to follow his lead. He didn’t know if his brain or heart could handle any more than they were already contending with. “But the rings are in Mother’s room under lock and key.”

Colin paused in the doorway and folded his arms with a devilish smirk. “Was it not you who taught me how to pick a lock?”

___

Less than an hour later, Colin and Benedict were moving quietly through the halls of Bridgerton House. The stealth of their mission reminded them both of their younger years when they had crept down the same halls and staircases, around doors and through secret passages to avoid detection due to some naughtiness they had committed. Fortunately, they encountered no one on the way to Violet’s bedroom. They had spoken with a footman who confirmed that the two Lady Bridgertons were out for a promenade with little Edmund. Upon reaching the bedroom door, Benedict ducked inside and Colin stood watch in the hall, trying to look nonchalant in case anyone appeared.

As if on queue, someone called his name. “Colin!” He turned to see Eloise rushing toward him from the main staircase.

Colin sighed. Whatever it was his sister wanted to prattle on about, he didn’t have time for it. “Busy at the moment, El.” He grumbled, trying to shoo her away.

She marched up to him, ignoring his words completely. Now he could see she was in a degree of distress. “Have you seen Benedict?” she asked anxiously.

“Uh…” Colin’s mouth hung open as he pondered whether to tell the truth.

“I need to speak with him.” Eloise wrung her hands and was practically bouncing foot to foot.

“Regarding?”

“Miss Beckett.”

At this, Colin grasped her by the elbow and looked up and down the halls. No one seemed to be within earshot but he conspiratorially pulled his sister into a corner nonetheless.

Realization dawned on Eloise’s face. “Ah!” She grinned. “So you know too!”

“Well, I do now.” Colin whispered, urging her to lower her voice. “What about Miss Beckett?”

Eloise’s distress returned. “She wants to leave. She’s going to give her notice to Kate today…”

“She can’t.” Colin declared.

“I know she can’t,” Eloise huffed, aggravated that he cut her off in the middle of her explanation, “but…” He interjected again. “Benedict is going to make everything right, I assure you. You need to keep her around. Just for today.”

“I’m going to!” Eloise grumbled. “I am taking her with me to the modiste. But where is Benedict?”

“Don’t worry about that,” Colin assured her. “We will find you. Just don’t let Sophie leave. Be persuasive if you have to, I know you’re up to it.” The smirk on his face made it clear that he meant his statement as a jibe rather than a compliment. Eloise scowled at him, convinced he wouldn’t help her any further, and stomped away. 

His sister had just turned the corner out of sight when Colin saw his eldest brother approaching from the opposite direction. He sighed. Bridgerton House was a veritable bustling city center.

Anthony was scanning a fistful of papers and looked up as he drew closer. 

“Colin?” There was a tone of surprise in his voice, but he smiled. “Good to see you. What are you up to?”

Colin did his best to look nonchalant, clasping his hands behind his back. “Must I be up to something when I am simply visiting my family home?” 

Anthony raised an eyebrow and Colin could feel the interrogation coming. Before it could begin, he continued. “It’s been too long since we’ve caught up. We are due for a drink at the club, wouldn’t you say? The two of us and Benedict.”

Anthony’s brow stayed arched, but he appeared to soften a bit. “Yes, I suppose we are due.” He glanced down at the papers in his hand. “I have a mountain of ledgers to get through, though. Meet you at Mondrich’s before dinner?”

Colin smiled, “Splendid.”

Still giving him a quizzical sideways look, Anthony slowly moved on down the hall while Colin bounced on his heels, nodding politely. He knew his brother could detect something was afoot but was grateful that the Viscount was not in the mood to probe further. Once his brother was out of sight Colin stepped into his mother’s bedroom and closed the door before anyone else appeared to question him.

In a far corner of the room, Benedict was bent over a chest of drawers. Colin moved to join him, whispering urgently.

“You’ll need to hurry up before I have to stave off every last member of our family…”

Benedict suddenly straightened, inspecting the ring he held aloft. “This one.”

Colin stepped closer. “You found one to your liking?” In his brother’s grip he saw a small silver ring, the band delicately filigreed and set with two pearls framing a lone sapphire. It glinted as Benedict turned it in the light. Colin recognized it. “Ah, great aunt Eleanor’s ring.”

Benedict was staring at the jewel like a man in a trance, turning it this way and that. “I believe so.”

Colin smirked at him. “You know, betrothal rings are traditionally gold.”

“No,” Benedict shook his head, eyes still locked on the ring and full of conviction. “This one must be silver.”

It only took a moment for Colin to register why that would be, and he didn’t know whether to laugh at or admire his brother’s depth of feeling. He chuckled and clapped a hand on his shoulder. “You are a hopeless romantic, you know that?”

This broke Benedict out of his reverie and he blinked, stashing the ring in his pocket.

“Eloise is keeping an eye on Sophie and Anthony will meet us at the club tonight.” Colin explained.

Now Benedict turned his heartfelt gaze on him and spoke in a voice choked with gratitude. “Thank you, brother.”

Colin was glad to have helped his closest brother with so many momentous decisions in a single morning, but he desperately needed a break from all of these intense emotions.  It was high time for a drink. They could wait for Anthony at the club. He grinned at Benedict. “Do you need some liquid courage beforehand?”

___

It had been so long since Sophie had slept in, she found herself utterly confused when she finally awoke. No one in the house had roused her and by the time she dressed and left her room, she was terrified to discover that it was already past midday. Yet she was not admonished. Mrs. Wilson was nowhere to be found and none of the other servants commented upon her tardiness. Ashamed nonetheless, Sophie ran upstairs to meet with Eloise only for her to confess that she had insisted Sophie not be woken.

Sophie knew what Eloise was doing, using every trick she could think of to keep her at the house longer. But she couldn’t deny that she was grateful for the rest and that her head felt much clearer thanks to it. After Eloise made sure that Sophie ate something, they set off as intended to the modiste. As they drew nearer to the shop, down the streets which Sophie knew so well but hadn’t trod in years, her heart started to pound. She was eager to see her old friend but couldn’t be certain how she would react to all that Sophie had to tell her.

When they stepped through the door of the dress shop, Sophie was transported back to the night of the masquerade. This was where she had spent the last moments before her life flipped utterly upside down. Turning from three women gathered in a corner of the shop, Madame Delacroix swept over to them.

“Mademoiselle Bridgerton,” she smiled at Eloise without a glance at her lady’s maid. “Back again so soon?”

Caught off guard, Sophie had to remind herself of the faux accent Genevieve adopted for clients. She had always used her true voice when she and Sophie chatted alone and with the passage of time, Sophie had forgotten the saccharine timbre she was capable of.

“Yes,” Eloise chirped. “More dresses. Young ladies are always in need of more dresses, are they not?” Her voice was dripping with sarcasm. She looked back to where Sophie stood timidly by the door and waved her forward. “Madame Delacroix, I believe you know my new lady’s maid.”

Sophie stepped toward them both, nervously searching Gen’s face. She knew that she was barely recognizable from the woman she had been years earlier. Benedict had proven as much. But she noted that Gen looked the same, if not even more beautiful, with rich raven curls, bright eyes and pink lips, modeling a navy dress in the latest fashion. There was a moment’s confusion in her eyes as she beheld Sophie, but it almost immediately melted into recognition and surprise.

Her eyes wide, she gasped. “Sophie Beckett?” Her accent slipped and Eloise cocked her head.

Sophie felt as if she would burst. It felt so good to be recognized, to be greeted as a friend. “Genevieve,” was all she could manage.

Gen started to walk toward her but regained herself and thought better of it. She cleared her throat and looked back at Eloise.

Before she could say anything, Eloise cut in. “I will be going across the street for some ice cream.” She began backing toward the door with a cheeky grin on her face. 

“Eloise,” Sophie turned to her with a cautionary tone. The last thing she needed was for anything to happen to Eloise on her watch while she broke all the rules of her position and sat chatting with a friend, not paying attention.

“Just to Gunter’s Tea Shop across the way.” Eloise pointed through the front windows. “Just there. You’ll be able to see me the whole time.” Sophie peered out and could indeed see into the tea shop. It appeared to be full of young ladies, maids and mamas and seemed like a place where Eloise was very unlikely to get into any trouble. “In fact,” Eloise continued, her hand turning the doorknob, “I think I see my friend Penelope in there already.” Before Sophie could say another word, Eloise was out the door, across the street, and sitting at a table in the tea shop, plainly visible.

Sophie sighed. Eloise would be safe and she knew that this visit to see Gen was another gift the young woman was giving her. She turned back to her friend who was smiling at Eloise’s antics but held a hundred questions in her eyes. 

“Let me just see to these ladies,” she said softly, pointing to the customers in the corner. “Make yourself at home.”

Sophie returned her smile gratefully and found a cushion to sit on while Gen tended to the women in the shop, clearly rushing them to make their purchases and leave. Once the last of them departed, she locked the door and pulled Sophie to the back parlour.

“Sophie Beckett, where on earth have you been?”

Over the next few hours, it all came out. Sophie told Gen everything that had happened. Everything from the night of the masquerade up until the present day. The magic of meeting and dancing with Benedict, Araminta’s cruelty and her flight from the Cowper house, her years of servitude, Cavender and the fateful night she escaped him. Everything that had occurred with Benedict, only the appropriate details of course; how he had found her and how she had ended up at Aubrey Hall, then London. How they had been together, how he had discovered her secret at last, and how she loved him. Despite the pain and the anger and the impossibility of their pairing, God help her, she still loved him but knew it was time to put an end to it all.

She shook, she cried, she raged. She unburdened herself of all her secrets. It felt so good to share her story with someone, she was unable to stop until every last detail of her heartbreak was laid bare. Gen held her hands, brushed tears from her cheeks, wrapped her in reassuring arms, and listened intently, asking all the right questions. When Sophie had finally talked herself numb, Gen produced a bottle of wine and two glasses. 

The drink helped Sophie to steady herself. “I’m sorry,” she rasped, hoarse from her confessions. “If this is awkward for you. You and Benedict…”

Gen gave her a reassuring smile. “Benedict and I had fun. But that was so long ago, I don’t even think about it. I’m the one that called it off.” She sighed and sank back into her seat. “He’s a bloody fool. These Bridgerton men,” she grumbled, “tearing their way through the hearts of all the decent women in London.”

Sophie sniffed and took another sip of wine. She didn’t care to know what other stories Gen had about the Bridgerton men.

The modiste looked at Sophie intently. “I understand why you must leave and of course you are welcome to stay here for as long as you like. Not a Cowper or a Cavender or a Bridgerton will lay eye nor hand on you.” 

Sophie smiled at her with deep gratitude, feeling that for the first time in ages, she had a safe place to go.

It was dusk when she pulled herself together enough to leave the modiste’s shop, but she didn’t feel guilty. This had been the purpose of her outing with Eloise, after all. Eloise must have been watching for her because she stepped out of the tea shop and met her in the street. Sophie wasn’t sure if she had told the truth about seeing her friend, but she had seen her speaking with a girl in a yellow dress. 

On their walk back to Bridgerton House, Eloise pressed Sophie for information but all she would confirm was that she would be giving her notice to the Viscountess and then going to stay with Madame Delacroix. Eloise was flustered, pleading with her to reconsider her resignation, offering to set up a meeting with Benedict for them to patch things up, but Sophie held her resolve. She thanked Eloise repeatedly for everything she had done and even agreed to visit with her at the modiste’s shop, though she wouldn’t confess that she only planned to stay for a day or two while she decided upon her next move.

Eloise huffed, she implored, she bargained, but was forced to stop when they reached the steps of Bridgerton House. 

“Eloise,” Sophie looked at her seriously. “You have been incredibly kind to me.” She felt emotion rising in her throat but kept her composure. “You are a remarkable woman and a wonderful sister. I will miss you.”

Eloise’s chin began to tremble as she finally seemed to accept that she could not convince Sophie to stay any longer. 

“Write to me, wherever you end up,” she croaked.

Sophie gave her a half-hearted nod, unsure if that was a promise she wished to keep, maintaining a tie that was so close to Benedict. Suddenly, Eloise flung her arms around her and embraced her tightly. Sophie was stunned, aware of how inappropriate it was for a young lady to be hugging a maid at all, much less on the front steps of her home in full view of the street. But it felt wonderful and Sophie squeezed her back. 

Then they silently walked into the house and with sorrowful nods at each other, Eloise turned and went upstairs while Sophie made for servants’ staircase below, fighting back tears.

Tagging: @angels17324 @broooookiecrisp @secretagentbucky @eg-dr3amer3 @time-to-hit-the-clouds @lyta2323 @autumn-grace @sadprose-auroras @the-other-art-blog @goldrambutan @colettebronte @heeyyyou @musicismyoxygen84 @faye-tale @ambitionspassionscoffee @starchaser325 @malna4903 @sincere-sarcasm @kmc1989 @makaylan @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @alexandrainlove @chase-your-dreams-away @benophievisuals

[psumnt-studentcouncil]

Murderhelion Week - Acts of Affection / Vulnerability / Watching Media Together

Murderbot watching World Hoppers with a drifting, badly damaged ART-drone, and ART watching Timestream Defenders Orion while cleaning out Murderbot’s alien infected code. @murderhelionweek

-System Collapse (Chapter 11)

-Network Effect (Chapter 20)

[infernalwraths]

I just love how he builds up to the insult.

[fablexdreams]

Don't mind me, I'm just over here thinking about Spreaver and Ben Finn/Hero of Brightwall a totally normal amount.

(They have not left my brain since 2008 and 2010 respectively, and no matter how hard I try, I simply can not let their ships go.)

[terribleoldwhitemen]

Look after them. Dad won't understand.

[thenecropolix]

I've started watching the orginal Star Wars Trilogy for the very first time with my mom

We watched A New Hope on Wednesday, and today we just finished The Empire Strikes Back

My thoughts so far can be summed up as the following in no particular order:

C-3P0 is hilarious

The special effects truly are impressive for a product of its time

The planet and creature design are cool

Luke why

[thepirateandhisson]

disappointed in the fact that we as a society do not talk enough about the fact that: 1. killian was included in henry’s call for help from his mothers and 2. that the portal opens and killian comes rushing out and defeats the knights in the room while regina just stands back. like girlie’s got magic, she could’ve done it quicker and easier but killian’s front and center with a single track focus on rescuing henry that he’s out here disposing of them so fast the old-fashioned way so he can save his stepson. m’boy.

don’t mind me, i just love one (1) father.

[themyscirah]

Okay so basically the United States MINT of all people is going to be working with DC to make a line of coins! These coins sadly won't be in circulation (the things I would do to live in a world where I could get Batman coins from the supermarket) as they're collectors coins, but will be releasing over the course of the next 3 years, 2025-2027.

Designs haven't been released yet (the same is true for all 2025 designs) but we know there will be 9 coins in total (3 each year) with the first year featuring (of course!!!) Superman, Batman, and Wonder Woman.

Although we know the first three heroes to be featured, the remaining six have yet to be decided, and it turns out the Mint is putting out a survey on their site to gauge which of a group of culturally significant heroes people want to see most! (link to the form is mentioned in the article above)

The considered group includes: Supergirl, the Flash, Green Arrow, Black Canary, Captain Marvel, John Stewart GL, Aquaman, Hawkman, Jamie Reyes BB, Robin (Damian?), Cyborg, and Batgirl, of which 6 will be selected.

As someone who does a bit of coin collecting myself (mainly circulation coins like the quarters sets, but I also have a couple proof and collectors coins) I think this is a really cool and interesting idea that showcases the history of the comics medium and these characters and their influence on American culture. Really excited to wait and see what the designs look like for the coins already announced!

[a-little-monotonous]

was thinking a bit too long about kratos and atreus and i almost cried

[lilakennedy]

That feeling tho when you find that fic writer that just absolutely fucking

understands the characters to their core

writes so well they–just so–they just—their writing is—-THEY WRITE GOOD

shatters your bad mood with a new update

writes a fic that you can read over again and still clutch at your heart like HOLY SHIT I FUCKING LOVE–I LOVE THIS FIC

writes a scene that has you all giddy in public and that one random stranger asks you like “ooo you are smiling :) :) is that a boy :) you are talking to :)” and you’re like “no I’m reading a Everybody Lives/Nobody Dies AU, please leave”

understands and portrays the characters better than the people who make MOVIES with those characters

amazing. just amazing. fic writers are awesome

[martitheevans]

Um so I have feelings about the new video and i am just askdjasdnkasj