#we need more beckett content

[autisticburnham]

[thekatebridgerton]

More reasons why I love Sophie Beckett

So it’s no secret in this blog that I love Sophie as a character, she is very close to my heart and on my bad days I find strength in characters like her because she is so well written. The thing I admire the most about Sophie, is that she didn’t let her circumstances break her, or harden her into becoming jaded and cynical. Sophie endured terrible circumstances, she knew she was unwanted, unloved, and had no resources to escape her terrible situation. The servants who treated her marginally better than Araminta and her family, either left or were let go because Araminta was a terrible mistress. Sophie was alone in a hostile environment with little hope of rescue. The love of her life was a wonderful man whose fatal flaw was that he thought he could buy her and believed that she should be satisfied with such offer.

And yet Sophie never stopped being kind, she didn’t let those things define her, she continued to hope and to believe and to endure, because she refused to let Araminta or her absent father break her spirit, she refused to let Benedict’s persistence make her into something she wasn’t, she continued to silently fight,  until she got out, and when she finally got out, she took Posey with her, because once she was in a position to help, she did.

I need characters like her, because in Sophie, her kindness, compassion and consideration isn’t a weakness. She’s strong because she has managed to retain all those things even in a circumstance where any other woman would have lost their optimism. In a world of cynical heroines, Sophie is cheerful. She never feels sorry for herself, she doesn’t blame things beyond her control for her misfortunes and she just keeps moving forward with hope. She is confident enough in her worth as a person, to demand the same respect from Benedict. Araminta tried to take that away, the world tried to take that away, they wanted to Sophie to feel worthless, which was a common thing among illegitimate women, who thought being a mistress was enough to survive. But Sophie knew she could keep going regardless. She knew she was a good person, she knew she was worth more than her bastard status, and her penniless circumstances and if that meant standing up to Benedict and refusing to be his mistress then so be it.

And I just want to see that on screen. We need more characters like Sophie. A character who’s only superpower, and deus ex machina, is having such a big heart, that she’s able to overcome tough circumstances and reach for her happy ending without compromising the kind and loving essence of who she is.

 And that’s the tea.

[glimblshanks]

The Marisom brain worms are so real

[felassan]

Just some info I noted down from today's video in text form, under a cut due to what some peeps may consider spoilers, and length.

This video took place well into the game, meaning the beats in it are later in the storyline.

At least part of Davrin’s personal arc involves rescuing the griffons. In an earlier part of his arc you are introduced to his nemesis, the Gloom Howler, a creature that has been hunting and stalking Wardens for quite some time. It has kidnapped a bunch of non-Assan griffons and Davrin has been trying to track it down. In the quest shown in the video, he has found a lead and wants to go and track it down and get the griffons back from the Cauldron (a secret Grey Warden redoubt that was attacked). Davrin wonders what the Wardens were hiding inside the Cauldron, as he has no idea. When the party reaches the Cauldron, they find that something large tore down the gate. The party needs to find a way inside and help Davrin investigate.

Davrin prefers a Direct approach in dialogue. Tough dialogue choices can gain approval from him

The bond between a griffon and a Warden moving as one and having unity between them is called “turlum”. Davrin and Assan don’t yet have this

Grey Wardens: Lancit, Remi, Landon, Quincy, Miriel, Fisher, Greta, Beckett, Flynn (an apprentice physician, whose mentor is called Oskar). I think Flynn’s pronouns are they/them. We will do quests with Flynn including A Cabin in the Blight. They were treating patients and became low on medical supplies. Their mentor Oskar has some and lives in a cabin outside the village. Flynn asks Rook to tell Oskar they could use his help if Rook sees him when they are out there. Flynn is local to Lavendel and saw the Blight surge through their home.

A Grey Warden merchant / quartermaster is called Holden. The little girl seen with Davrin in the release date trailer is called Mila.

If you do content in an area it helps you discover more shortcuts, giving you more flexibility in how you navigate between different remaining missions and quests

Each exploration space has its own story to tell. The quests and sidequests there are narratively relevant and also contribute to a meta story/meta narrative about that space. In Hossberg / Lavendel the aim is to get to the center of the Blighty stuff that has been going on there

Another Warden sidequest called Lives Spared seems to involve some missing Wardens who haven’t checked in in a while

Rook inherits the Lighthouse willingly or unwillingly from Solas. It’s located in the Fade and is where Solas was able to start planning his rebellion against the elven gods millennia ago

The Lighthouse shapes itself around your personality. Companions’ rooms there shape themselves around the companions as they live there and go through their arcs. A glowing light above the entrance to a companion’s room indicates that they are ready to talk to us

Hossberg is a later game area. Hossberg Wetlands are dark swamps and the area has almost completely been consumed by the Blight, making it a lot more dangerous than before. As a zone it’s quite contiguous and has lots of branching paths and different areas to explore. The Grey Wardens set up shop in an outpost/fortress (this is only one of their bases) there called Grey Hold in the small town of Lavendel, which used to be a beautiful place full of life and flowers. The Blight has had a serious effect on Lavendel, but the residents are still there and trying to make the most of it. There are plenty of opportunities to help the residents.

The Wardens have noticed that something strange is going on; the Blight is not behaving as it should or as they would expect, or like it has done historically. A codex entry pops up called “An Improved Blight”. (basically we are getting Blight dialled up to eleven) Rook is there to work with the Wardens, help them out, and help them find the answer to their question about the Blight. In their outpost the Wardens have built up a small fighting force to hold off the darkspawn. They understand the stakes of the gods being released and want to help you but they have other priorities, so increasing their power allows them to contribute more meaningfully to your fight against the elven gods. The Blight has changed. It’s become a lot more organic, a lot more alive. Once a slow-moving wall, it now has almost-sentience and almost-thought behind it. This has something to do with the released Blighted elven gods.

Something bad happened to a place called D’Meta’s Crossing, it’s no longer standing.

It sounds like Weisshaupt has fallen.

Merchant shops can be upgraded, doing so unlocks new items.

The Crossroads is a location in the Fade that contains a number of eluvians, allowing you to travel across Thedas in a matter of minutes. At the point the video takes place, the Crossroads are under assault by the elven gods. It’s now a dangerous place.

The big eluvian in the Lighthouse is called the Vir Revas. (that could translate as Way/Path of Freedom). It’s the central focus point of the Lighthouse and it takes you to Solas’ pocket area of the Crossroads, which looks different to what we’ve seen in Trespasser. “A path has emerged from the mists of the Fade that leads to a gathering point where all eluvians meet – the Crossroads”. We will spend a lot of time travelling through the Crossroads as we go from area to area. At one point, it was also a space that served as Solas’ main base of operations and training ground for his rebellion against the elven gods. As we go through it we will find fragments of the past, things that Solas did previously that will give us insight into him as a character, and also into the elven gods and their motivations. If you go exploring in the Crossroads there are opportunities to relive some of the memories Solas had during his rebellion. We will actually get to take part in this ancient rebellion.

The Crossroads as a realm reflects the waking world. It’s a mix/ amalgamation of all the real world spaces that are tied to it, in this case for example Hossberg and other mountainous regions that exist in the game. The architecture around the eluvians here very clearly reflects where they lead. The first time you go to any of the new regions in the world you traverse the Crossroads to get there. After that you can fast travel if you want. But exploring the Crossroads is recommended because some of the deepest secrets lie within

There is a mysterious spirit in the Crossroads called The Caretaker who was there before Solas was. They started to help Solas with his rebellion and also to turn the area into a safe haven for spirits, as Solas loves spirits. In the video we see them piloting a boat through the air to transport Rook somewhere. Because the gods are assaulting the Crossroads, it’s no longer the safe haven it once was. Rook works with the Caretaker through a lot of ancillary content to rebuild it into a safe home for spirits.

There is an area in the Crossroads called Beacon Island

The darkspawns’ different looks is very intentional. Their new look is in part because Ghilan’nain, described here as "the god of monsters", has always been focused on using the Blight essentially as a crafting material, a way to alter life itself. she’s been enhancing and changing the darkspawn as part of her army. She uses Blight like a medium to sculpt and warp the darkspawn to do her bidding and suit her purposes. The idea is that the Blight and the darkspawn are an organic weapon. Instead of making swords and armor, the darkspawn use the Blight to augment themselves, effectively defeat you and give the gods the world that they desire. The darkspawn aren’t just coming out of nowhere. They emerge from Blight pools, like the Blight is spawning them. Part of Ghil’s attempts to turn this into an army for the gods is to use them for overwhelming force. Hurlock Blighters have disgusting growths on their backs that they throw, making them function like grenadiers as they rip off these pieces of themselves and throw them at you - these then explode as Blight – this kind of enemy design for the darkspawn is supposed to lean into the idea that the Blight is organic and disgusting. In places there are Blight boils throughout the area, and if Rook doesn’t destroy them during combat ghouls will continue to emerge from them.

It sounds like in terms of ‘factions of enemies’ and their designs, we have the darkspawn which use overwhelming force tactics, the Venatori which focus on magical power, and the Antaam which focus on physical strength

Zipline traversal is in

Each mage’s (Neve, Bellara, Emmrich) healing ability is thematically appropriate to them

I think Davrin’s special exploration ability, or one of them, is called Blight Hunter. (one of the ones Rook can channel through the dagger when that companion isn’t there). This summons Assan from above to destroy Blight Abscesses. He seems to have another as well that Rook can also use via the dagger called Griffon Strike. In the video Rook uses this one to destroy a mechanism that was keeping a load of wood suspended in the air from a beam.

We see Rook also using the dagger to "charge beam" and destroy what looked like a thick tendril of organic Blight across the ground, and to destroy a ‘wall’ of blight abscesses that was blocking the way. At one point in the video Rook comments that the dagger is vibrating, "like a song in a wine glass"

When companions go ahead to meet you at quests they’re invested in, they won’t complete them without you, but they do get things ready. If you start doing those quests and don’t have them in your party, they will move ahead of you and wait for you at the next point.

[i-hate-accidents]

i hate accidents: the ball

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

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

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

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

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

word count:  15.7k (of 38.8k)

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

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

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

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

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.i ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

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

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

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

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

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

“i promise.”

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

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

she smiles, albeit a bit sheepishly. 

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

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

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

but i am unable to delay the inevitable any longer.

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

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

or—

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

—be a coward.

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

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

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

you exhale once more.

or perhaps, i should open my eyes.

and so you do.

oh.

“oh,” you say aloud.

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

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

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

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

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

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

sumptuous?  opulent?  regal?  

no.

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

“beautiful,” you admitted quietly.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i love you, my child.”

“i love you, mama.”

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

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

genevieve grinned.

“there is none.”

your jaw dropped.

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

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

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

“oh, my good g—”

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

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

the viscountess had arched an eyebrow at you then.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and perhaps…

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

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

you do look beautiful.

like you could belong amidst the ton.  

like you could belong with the bridgertons.  

like you could belong with him.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.ii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“are you anxious, y/n?”

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

“what gives you that impression?”

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

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

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

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

“how is that of any help, gregory.”

“it is plenty of help!”

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

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

“why not!”

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

“why does your voice do that?”

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

“aren’t young men meant to be tall?”

“i am an inch taller than you now!”

“you are not!”

“i am too!”

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

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

his eyes shine.

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

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

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

“we are most grateful for you, y/n.”

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

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

“are you ready?” 

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

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

you swallow. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

oh.  

i am doing it again.

shit.

goddamnit, stupid benedict!

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

“beautiful.”

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

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

you grin. 

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you look— well.”

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

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

and you deeply curtsy at him. 

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

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

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

“i shall.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.iii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

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

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

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

“i’m sorry, what?”

he laughs.

“will you dance with me?”

you gape at him.

“you’re mad.”

“my mind is perfectly intact.”

“this is unwise.”

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

“i shall surely step on your toes.”

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

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

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

penelope!  no!

“et tu, brute?” you bemoan.

she shrugs.

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

you sigh.

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

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

–

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

“i hate you.” 

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

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

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

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

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

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

you consider his words and his offer.

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

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

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

you suck in a breath. 

as is becoming yours has been one of mine.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“colin bridgerton!”

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

“hastings!” 

hastings?  why does that sound familiar? 

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

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

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

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

“unfortunately, it seems to be so.”

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

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

simon bows most graciously at you.

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

daphne?  

as in daphne bridgerton?

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

your jaw drops.

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

simon laughs.

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

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

simon grins.

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

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

“that is a mistake.”

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

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

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

“i shall allow it.”

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

–

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

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

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

simon grins.

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

your heart sinks.

oh no.

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

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

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

“y/n?”

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

“sorry, what did you say?”

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

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

“encouraging him?  whatever for?”

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

“me!”

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

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

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

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

“that is, rather strange?”

he grins.

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

“the family has… spoken of me?”

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

you swallow.

“yes?” 

you hear how feeble and quiet your voice has become.  

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“what?”

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

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

“y/n?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“but how will your pride take it?”

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

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

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

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

–

“you look like a princess, y/n!”

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

but—

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

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

“i gave you an option not to do so!”

“i am not finished speaking!”

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

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

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

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

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

“anthony, i cannot possibly ask you to—”

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

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

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

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

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

anthony smiles in return with a nod of his head.

“then it is settled.”

“you are a good brother, anthony.”

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

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

“and you are a good sibling, y/n.”

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

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

“good evening, benedict.”

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

“huh?”

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

“oh.  yes.  farewell, anthony.”

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

you turn back to benedict.

“i—— good evening, y/n.”

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

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

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

benedict clears his throat.

“are you— are you enjoying yourself?”

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

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

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

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

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

“you have been observing me?”

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

how.  

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

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

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

he swallows.

“to ask you to dance with me.”

oh.

“oh.”

he looks… he looks scared.  exposed.  vulnerable.

you feel them within yourself, too.

he offers his hand.

“may i dance with you, y/n?”

you place your hand in his.

“yes.  yes, you may, benedict.”

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

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

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

…

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

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

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

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

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

“i had not spoken properly.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“she spoke of you.”

shit.  why did i say that?

his face immediately falls, ocean eyes transforming with it.

shit.

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

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

“what did she say?  about me?”

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

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

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

“indeed.”

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

“i see,” is all benedict says.

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

there is a small silence.

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

and he suddenly stops speaking, sucking in his lips.

“until?”

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

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

“i am not blushing!”

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

“you are infuriating.”

“and what do you think you are?”

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

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

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

“oh.”

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

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

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

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

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

“i would never dare.”

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

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

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

you laugh.

“you were correct in thinking so, yes.”

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

“thank you, y/n.”

the butterflies within you flutter once more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i shall.”

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

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

“is alcohol served at these occasions?”

benedict laughs.

“champagne it is.”

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

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

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

this is undoubtedly the most wondrous night of your life.

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

you freeze.

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

her posse snickers.

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

“you are cressida cowper,” you state.

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

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

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

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

this is entertainment for them.

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

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

and she pours her drink onto you.

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

you hear cressida giggle.  you look up.

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

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

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

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

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

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

no. 

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

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.iv ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

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

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

why did i allow myself to get this far?

“y/n—”

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

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

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

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

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

“this is not the time to jest!”

“then what do you want of me!”

“to allow me to help you!”

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

“that is not how i see you!”

“THAT IS WHAT I AM.”

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

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

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

“what?”  you snark.

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

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

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

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

“is that what you want?”

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

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

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

“i want you,” you whisper.

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

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

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

“benedict?”

“yes?”

“may i kiss you?”

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

“good god, please, yes—”

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

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

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

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

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

“i love you.”

“i love you, too.”

“and i am sorry.”

“for loving me?”

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

“i’m teasing you, my love.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“do you truly think so lowly of me?”

you grin.  

“perhaps.”

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

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

“i— i do not know what to say.”

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

you roll your eyes, but your voice is soft.

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

benedict swallows and gently rubs circles onto your waist again.

“i love you, benedict.”

“i love you, too.”

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

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

you hum.

“i would like to dance.”

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

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

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

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

you exchange grins.

“indeed.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“alluring?”

a delicious blush colors your love’s face.

“indeed.”

a newfound bravery blooms in you.

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

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

he exhales frantically.

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

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

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

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

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

you look back at him and grin.

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

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

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

< they get into it! 

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

“wait—”

and he takes your gloves.

“hm?”

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

you gape at him.

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

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

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

“i find your consideration quite alluring.”

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

“what is it?”

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

you roll your eyes.

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

“ah, so i should be grateful then.”

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

…

“what do you want?”

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

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

“god, yes, benedict, please, yes.”

“then—”

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

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

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

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

you laugh-cry into his jacket.

“shit, benedict.”

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

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

“did you enjoy it?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“yes, but those were different.” 

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

“because they are not you.”

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

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

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

when he pushes you off of him.

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

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

you continue to frown, still concerned.

“then why are you so tottery?”

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

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

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

“we should stop.”

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

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

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

you swallow your whimper.

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

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

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

you flutter your eyes closed.

“you were you.  you are you.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.v ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

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

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

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

“never better, actually.”

she laughs, a smile falling on her lips.

“i am sincerely glad to hear that.”

< they walk closer to bridgerton house. >

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

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

kathani laughs.

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

“me!”

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

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

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

“kate!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“gregory!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you think i would lose the duel!”

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

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

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

“i suppose i do.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.vi ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

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

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

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

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

“i would love nothing more.”

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

< they dance the next set.

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

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

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

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

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

that makes violet laugh.

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

…

“you’ve told each other."

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

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

“i am so glad to have your approval.”

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

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

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

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

“thank you, pen.”

“whatever for?”

“for bumping into me at the markets.”

penelope laughs.

“accidents are quite good, are they not?”

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

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

your jaw drops, and penelope merely titters in response.

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

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

“do you think gregory shall be the same?”

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

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

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

“making barbs at your sons.”

violet laughs.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you aren’t tired of me yet?”

“i shall never tire of you, y/n.”

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

< they dance a fourth time. >

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.vii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

kathani rolls her eyes at her husband and deeply sighs.

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

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

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

your heart swells.

“it was wondrous, anthony.  thank you.”

he beams, brilliant delight in his eyes.

“i wish you good rest.”

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

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

–

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i see you all as my family, too.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.viii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

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

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

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

“correct about what, brother?” hyacinth asks.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“later this afternoon.”  

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

“without a ring?” 

benedict turns to look at the couple and grins.  

“who said i don’t have a ring?”

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

benedict smiles, digging into his pocket.

“i do not jest, brother.”

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

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

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

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

“how do you know where she lives!”

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

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

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

after he finishes his portrait of you.

“—i was held captive in my tower.”

[erinlindsayy]

professor || carol danvers

‧͙⁺˚*･༓☾ . ┊ You're Carol's designated note taker, and usually the one teaching her a few things. What happens when you give her the wrong set of notes?

➺  warnings: dirty talk, spanking, edging, violent use of straps, carol danvers tops (but I fully believe she's a switch now), umm... general unholiness, bratting, etc.

✧   a/n: surprise... I'm back... more content coming soon... I promise I've got a val/carol/r fic coming soon, but this popped into my head and I couldn't resist... JOCK COLLEGE CAROL, OK? JOCK RUGBY COLLEGE CAROL.

↬ like this work? let me know! comments help encourage writers to write more and let them know that you liked what they wrote :)

★ requests are open–I write for a number of fandoms! just ask :)

☆ comments + reblogs are greatly appreciated ☆

“Can any of you attempt to discern meaning from this week’s assigned reading? Why might I have selected this particular work for you all?” asks Professor Valkyrie, starting class for the day. Your hand immediately raises, and she nods in your direction. 

“Well, was not Beckett’s entire point to find meaning in the absence of conventional meaning?” 

Professor Valkyrie, nods. 

‘Interesting thought,” she says. “Care to elaborate?”

“Well,” you begin. “Beckett created a landscape for us that is so alien and foreign, and unlike what we know. The play does not include any symbolic elements, and it does not really go anywhere. You might try to make meaning out of the carrot that Didi and Gogo share, or the leaves appearing on the tree, but they literally mean nothing. At the end of the play--we, as well as Vladimir and Estragon, are all still waiting for Godot. So, in a sense, there is no meaning, but perhaps there is meaning in the fact that there is no intended meaning.” 

“Good,” replies Professor Valkyrie. “As always, a carefully articulated and thoroughly crafted response. Excellent work as usual.” 

You smile politely, and fall back into your seat as Professor Valkyrie continues to lecture about Samuel Beckett and the wonderful nature and reality of Waiting for Godot. 

Meanwhile, you’ve jotted at the top of your notes, in big bold letters ‘I hate this play!’ 

After all, the ability to just to understand and converse about a work of literature does not mean that one has to enjoy it. 

After class, you’re stopped, as usual, by the one and only  Carol Danvers. Resident jock, captain of the division one team, aspiring pilot, rumored sex god extrodinare, Carol Danvers. She’s quite the legend around campus, but not exactly for her work ethic as it pertains to academic pursuits, which are... lacking, to put it politely. 

“Do you have my notes for me,” she asks, holding her hand out. “I need to at least act like I’m going to study tonight, right?” 

You roll your eyes. “Carol, why do you ask for my notes if you never use them? You do realize that mere possession of the notes will not translate into you understanding the material, yes? You have to actually read them in order for the information to enter your head.” 

Your reply is snarky, short and snappy, but you’re fed up with Carol at this point. She asks you for notes in all the classes you share together (which, granted, is not many,) but never seems to read them or take any of her classes very seriously. Carol narrows her eyes at the response. 

“I’ll just sleep on them? Os--” 

You cut her off, finishing her sentence. 

“--mosis does not apply, Carol. You know that. You cannot absorb the material through the pores of your skin. Read the notes, and actually try for once, or stop bothering me. I could be taking notes for myself, rather than focusing on summarizing all of the lectures so that you can stuff them into your bag, never to see the light of day again. Don’t ask me for notes again unless you’re ready to be serious.” 

With that, you hastily pull out a few papers from your bag, not bothering to double check if they were the correct ones or not. You shove the papers into Carol’s and turn away sharply, not bothering to look back. Granted, you were headed in the completely wrong direction, but you weren’t about to give Carol the satisfaction of seeing your face again. 

Of course, Carol knows that you hardly need notes for your own purposes. Summarizing the lectures for her provides you with the information you need to keep your own mind sharp, with years of literary study and reading filling in the blanks to broader context for you. But still, you love to hassle her. Carol does feel guilty occasionally, knowing how much work you put into the notes you take for her. They’re always organized, and you write important little tidbits down in the margins. She always glances at them, but can never bring herself to actually study the notes. 

Tonight is different. Carol is inspired, reenergized by your scathing talk. She sits down at her desk, and finally pulls out the notes you gave her. She reads the first line, and laughs to herself. 

These definitely weren’t the notes she meant to give me, she thinks to herself. 

_______________________________________________________________________

You’re startled out of your evening study session by a loud ding from your phone. Normally, you wouldn’t check your phone in the middle of studying, but you’re intrigued. 

Your jaw drops slightly when you notice that the text is from Carol. 

8:57 hey. I’ve got a question about the notes

You’re shocked. Carol actually... read the notes? 

9:00 Shoot for it. How can I help? 

9:01 Well. The notes weren’t really on Waiting for Godot

9:04 Oh. Did I give you a repeat copy of last weeks’?

9:05 Well, I wouldn’t exactly say that they’re standard academic notes

You roll your eyes at her comment, typing out a harsh response before deleting it and sending a far more cordial reply. 

9:06 Oh? 

9:07 Well, for starters, I don’t think that Waiting for Godot has anything to do with sex. 

Attached to her text is a picture of your recent exploration of the things that turned you on, or as you aptly named it “An empirical study of the things that make me wet.” 

You’d never meant for anyone to see it, ever. It was purely a list of the things that you desperately wanted to try, things you enjoyed watching and reading, various things that interested you. 

You’d written the list mostly as a joke, as a way to get the ideas out of your head. You wondered how it even found your way into your backpack, and you’re ready to curl up into a ball and cry when Carol texts you again. 

9:13 I could help you, you know

9:14 I have a few things that I could teach you

9:15 What do you say we make a deal? 

You swallow thickly, intrigued. 

9:17 What sort of deal? 

9:19 You teach me literature. 

9:21 I’ll fulfill your deepest fantasies. (And take you out on a date ;) )

You blink slowly, unable to process the words appearing on your screen. A date? Lessons in sex? It all seems to be far too much to handle, and you’re not sure if Carol is serious. The prospect is alluring, however, and you can’t help but admit that you’ve had the tiniest (largest) of crushes on Carol ever since you saw her in that signature leather jacket of hers, kicking her legs up against the desk in front of her, even if your feelings were against your better judgment. You knew she was aware of this fact, and the way you were always angry around him for some odd reason. 

9:24 If this is a joke, it isn’t funny, Carol. 

9:30 I’ll pick you up at 7 tomorrow. Be ready. We’re getting pasta.  

__________________________________________________________________________

“So. You want to be a pilot, but now you’re here playing rugby and studying literature?”

Carol shrugs. 

“My best friend Maria and I were supposed to enlist together, but some shit happened and he needed me to stick around. I’ve always been good at rugby even though my dad hated that I played sports, and so I stuck around here. Got a full scholarship for rugby, and put the dream of flying aside. The academy will always be there. It’s not what I wanted, but it’s what Maria needed. I couldn’t just leave her when she needed me most.” 

You smile softly at Carol, shocked by her sudden display of emotion. She’s clearly conflicted, and her eyes drift up to the sky, staring wistfully at the dimming horizon. 

“I think that’s very brave of you, Carol. You’re a really good friend,” you say, reaching out to place a hand atop hers in a sudden burst of confidence. The evening had been oddly pleasant, and conversation flowed between the two of you. Granted, Carol was still somewhat of an egotistical jerk, but she was obviously emotionally conflicted, and she had sacrificed her biggest dream to help her closest friend when she needed it most.  

Carol looks down at your hand, tensing up for a second before flipping her palm to meet yours and giving your hand a quick squeeze. 

“I’m alright, ok? I don’t want you worrying about me.” 

You nod. Carol smiles, and moves to stand up. 

“What do you say we get out of here, and head back to my place? Maybe watch a movie?” 

You smile, nodding at Carol. “I’d like that a lot,” you whisper. “I’d like that.” 

Carol holds her hand out to you, helping you up out of your chair. You move to pull your hand out of hers, assuming she meant to just assist you up, but she holds on firmly as the two of you walk back to her vintage red Mustang. 

The drive back to her apartment is filled with throwbacks from the 90s, widows open and hair wild. You’re both singing the words of the songs obnoxiously, relishing in the sweet freedom of the open night. 

When you finally reach her apartment, your eyes are bright and your hair is messy. You look over at Carol, messy hair strewn about. You begin to laugh uncontrollably, with Carol joining shortly after upon seeing your own windblown look. 

When the laughter finally succeeds, you look over at Carol to find her gazing at you intently. You laugh apprehensively, but Carol’s gaze does not falter.

“Has anyone ever told you you’re beautiful,” she asks. 

You nod your head slowly. “Not really, no.” 

“But you had a boyfriend?” 

You nod. “It wasn’t really the best of situations. I’ve since come to many realizations about myself since then.” 

Carol smiles. “Well, then I guess I’ll just have to tell you as many times as I possibly can to make up for the lack of times you’ve been told that.” 

“Carol, I don’t even know how to respond to that,” you sputter out. 

“So don’t.” 

Carol leans in over the middle of the car, hesitantly pressing her lips against yours in a tender kiss. You’re surprised at first, but you lean into the kiss, melting against her mouth. Your hands tangle in her already messy hair, and you smile against her lips. The kiss intensifies as your hands begin to roam down Carol’s back, fingers itching to explore. She pulls her hands off of you, smiling softly. 

“Let’s head inside, Princess. We can have a lot more fun in my bedroom than we ever will out here.” 

You nod your head, eagerly anticipating the next steps. 

When you reach her apartment, he leads you past the kitchen, flipping on various light switches as she heads through the living room, finally reaching her bedroom. It’s surprisingly neat, with framed photos of her and a woman that you guessed was her friend Maria. There’s a small pin shaped like a sort of star resting atop her desk, with a framed photo of an adorable orange kitten. Her bed is neatly made, and the room is incredibly put together. 

“You like it, huh?” 

You jump, startled by Carol’s voice. 

“Yeah. Um, it’s very nice,” you reply. “Super neat.” 

Carol laughs. 

“Yeah, for all my disorganization at school, I do like to keep my apartment pretty tidy.” 

Carol walks over to her desk and picks up your list. 

“I think this belongs to you, my darling. We don’t have to do anything with it, or even speak of it again should you so wish that to be the case.” 

You bite your lip, considering your options. 

“Were you really serious, Carol?” 

Your heart is beating fast, and your palms are beginning to grow clammy. 

She laughs. 

“Of course I was serious, Princess. Why would I offer if I wasn’t?” 

You look down, mumbling your answer out. 

“I didn’t really think someone like you would ever be interested in someone like me, honestly.” 

Carol laughs, walking over to you. She gently tilts your chin up, meeting your eyes. 

“Hey. You’re smart, you’re beautiful, and you drive me up a wall when you’re yelling at me to fucking finally read your notes, as you so kindly put it in your own words. Of course I would be interested in a girl like you. You’re incredible.” 

She kisses you softly, slipping hers hands underneath your sweater. Breaking away for a second, she whispers to stop her if anything is too much. Green for go, she says. Red for stop. 

Her hands roam up your body, making their way up to your neck. She gently squeezes at the column of your throat, whispering in your ear. 

“I noticed you had this on your list, Princess. I did read your notes this time, and I did study up. I know all the things that could make you tick. And yet, I still want to hear you tell me what you want. You want me to choke you? Squeeze your throat till you’re begging me to stop?” 

“Yes, please,” you moan out. 

“Then use your words, Princess. Mmm... and what else should we do today? What other things from your little list do you want to try? I know you don’t want to start off simple... You even said so yourself. Tell me with your words, Princess. Tell me what you want.” 

You gasp, head tipping back as Carol’s hands resume their exploration of your body. 

“Cat got your tongue, Princess? Normally you’re so vocal during class... Why change now?” 

You moan again, unable to speak properly as Carol’s fingers find your nipples, gently pinching. He pinches harder when you are unable to answer her question. 

Moving hers hand to cup your jaw, he harshly tilts your face to look at him. 

“Answer me, Princess. I’m growing impatient and I don’t have all day. Normally you’re so quick to answer. What a shame.” 

“Put me in my place, please,” you gasp out, voice breaking. “I want you to edge me and spank me and punish me and tell me what a naughty little girl I’ve been, touching myself to the thought of you. I want to eat you out while I’m forced to touch myself, unable to cum without your permission. I want you to choke me as you pound me into the mattress with your cock, reminding me of my place. I want to be your good little girl, moaning only your name as you show me who I belong to.” 

Carol smirks. 

“I’ll be honest—I always knew you had a thing for me. You weren’t exactly discreet. The secret is, I had a thing for you too. I wasn’t expecting you to write about me in your notes, though. And I definitely wasn’t expecting you to write something like that ever. Our little teacher’s pet, our good little girl, the smartest girl in class—and such filthy thoughts! Didn’t take me long to figure out who the mysterious blonde figure was. You wrote some pretty explicit stuff in there, Princess. You’re such a filthy little whore... So many dirty thoughts! Imagine if those notes had fallen into the wrong hands...” 

Carol’s hands dip to the edge of your sweater, swiftly pulling it off of your body. She cocks an eyebrow at you upon seeing the lacy navy blue bodysuit underneath that you’d specifically selected for tonight. 

“Did you wear this just for me?” 

You nod. 

“Good girl. I like the way you think. Now, take off those pants for me. While you’re at it, get rid of that lacey little thing. It’s pretty, but you’re prettier.” 

You obey her quickly, shedding every stitch of clothing from your body. You’re trembling with excitement and anticipation, and you’re nervous as Carol’s eyes rake up and down your body. 

“Stunning,” she says, never taking her eyes off of your body. “You’re absolutely perfect. I can’t wait to teach you how to be a good little slut for me... you’re such a good learner. Wonder if that translates in the bedroom?” 

You groan, rolling your eyes. “Why don’t you shut up and find out already?” 

Carol laughs condescendingly. 

“You sure you want to mouth off like that, Princess?” 

You nod. “You seem to be all talk right now, and no action.” 

Carol growls. “We can change that. I don’t tolerate brats around here. Brats get punished. If you’re a good girl, you get rewarded. Which is it going to be tonight, Princess. I need an answer.” 

You roll your eyes without even thinking. “Just fuck me already, Carol.” 

Carol tangles her hand in your hair, pulling your head back. “I told you that brats get punished. It looks like you've selected the brat role tonight. Get on your fucking hands and knees. I’m not going to ask you a second time.” 

You quickly obey, scrambling onto your hands and knees. You wiggle your ass slightly, but Carol firmly holds it in place. 

“Stop. Now, since this is your first time, I’m going to take it easy on you. We are only going to do ten, but mark my words, if you pull this sort of bratting on me again, I can and will increase that number. Now, I want you to count.”

The first strike comes faster than you were expecting, but it does not hurt as much as you thought it would. 

“One,” you gasp out.

Carol strikes again, harder this time. 

“Two,” you gasp out again.

He continues, hitting a bit harder each time, and your ass is red by the finish. 

“Good girl,” she whispers in the shell of your ear. “You took your first punishment so well for me—it is almost like you were made to do this...” 

She ghosts her fingers lightly over your neck, drifting down to your collarbone before moving her hands to gently massage the soft tissue of your breasts. 

With a gentle slap to your aching ass, she gives you a new set of instructions. 

“Now. For our next lesson, you’re going to suck me off. The better you do, the less edges I’ll give you tonight. I hope you’ve been studying, Princess. Either that, or you just better wish that this comes naturally for you.” 

Carol swiftly pulls her pants and boxers down and throws her shirt to the side, revealing her toned abs and muscled back. You can see her muscles ripple as she stretches her arms above her head to take her shirt off. Your jaw goes slightly slack at the sight of her perfect nude figure.

“Close your mouth, Princess. You’ll catch flies.” 

You blush. “Sorry, Carol. You’re just so beautiful.” 

Carol winks. “I can tell, Princess. Your eyes haven’t left my torso.” 

You giggle, but quickly stop when Carol moves directly in front of you. 

“Test time, Princess. Hope you’ve studied. But, if you haven’t, I’ll allow for retakes. Think of this one as a pretext, if you will. How much do I need to teach you when it comes to this particular subject?” 

You moan at her words, mouth salivating. You’re desperate to touch her, to run your tongue over her strap. Carol leans down to press a quick kiss upon your lips, immediately guiding your face to her strap after. You’re unsure of what to do at first, the feeling foreign upon your tongue. Eventually, you begin to find your rhythm, head bobbing as you introduce a hand to match your rhythm. You continue your tiny kitten licks, timing them with the thrust of your fingers. Carol is silent for the most part, but every so often she breaks her stoic silence with a loud moan or gasp when you hit a particularly sensitive spot against her body. You grind against the pillow that Carol has placed between your legs, annoyed with the lack of friction you got, but thankful to have anything at all. Your tongue continues its way along Carol’s strap, body quivering with pleasure. 

It isn’t long before she’s moaning continuously.

After all, you have always been a very quick learner. 

Carol pulls away, and you whimper at the loss of contact. She messily kisses you, groaning at the taste of herself on your tongue. 

“For your first time, that was surprisingly good.”

You beam in satisfaction.

“However, I’m still going to edge you at least five times.”

You whimper. 

“But Carol—“

“No buts, pretty girl. It’s for your own pleasure, alright? It’s good to practice delayed gratification. Now, get over there on the back of the bed for me. Spread those legs as wide as you can. I want that dripping cunt of yours on display.”

You move off of your pillow, following her instructions. Carol walks over to you, hovering over you on the bed as she cages your body with her arms. 

“I want to hear every moan you make,” she growls. “Don’t hold back on me, Princess.” 

You nod. 

“Yes, Carol.” 

Carol smiles and strokes a single finger through your dripping folds. You shudder. The feeling of her soft fingertips against your throbbing core is heavenly, and you’re unable to hide from the breathless moan that escapes your mouth. 

Carol continues to slide her fingers through the folds of your cunt, relishing in the puffy texture as she explores. Her fingers trace small circles here and there, dipping into your soaking hole when she feels like doing so, pinching your clit, edging you into oblivion. 

You ask her to cum numerous times, but she always pulls away. Finally, she pulls away for the last time. 

“You can cum this time, Princess. But I want to cum on my cock for me like a good little slut, alright? I want you to scream my name for me. Let the whole world know you’re mine now.” 

You nod, moaning at her filthy words. She carefully lines up with you and thrusts in quickly, giving you a chance to adjust to the size and foreign feeling of the cock inside of you. 

When you nod at her, she begins to thrust her hips at an ungodly pace, hitting that perfect spot inside of you that makes your eyes roll into the back of your head. She moves one hand to your clit, rubbing tight little circles over the throbbing organ, and her other hand moves to your throat, lightly pressing down. She’s pushing you into the mattress, firmly grinning the column of your neck as her hips thrust faster and faster. 

“You like it when I choke you? When your brain starts to go a little bit foggy and you can’t tell if it’s from the sex or lack of air? You like it when I tell you what a good little slut you are, taking my cock like such a good little Princess, showing how well you learn and how well you take instruction?”

“Yes,” you manage to gasp out in between moans. “Please, fuck me harder.” 

Although it seemed humanly impossible, Carol managed to fuck you harder. The relentless snap of her hips grew faster, thrusts hitting further and further inside of you each time. The hand rubbing your clit runs faster, harder, and just before you’re about to rip over the edge, Carol whispers in your ear. 

“Cum  for me, Princess. Cum like the good little girl you are.” 

You scream out in ecstasy as you tip over the edge, collapsing against the mattress. Carol pulls out, falling into bed next to you, wrapping her arms around you as she presses kisses to your neck and collarbone, drifting up to your forehead. 

“You did so well, Princess. You’re such a good learner. Looks like you’re just as good in here as you are in a classroom.” 

You smile. 

“I try my best. Honestly, that’s all I can ever do.”

Carol smiles. 

“A good attitude to have. Now, let’s go get you cleaned up.”

A few snacks, some water, and one blissful shower later, you’re dressed in Carol’s old sweatpants and sweatshirt as you climb into bed beside him. She’d invited you to stay the night, and you hadn’t been able to resist. Carol flips the lights off, pressing a delicate, featherlight kiss to your forehead. 

As you lay in bed however, you remember an important fact. 

“I still have to teach you all of literature,” you mumble. 

Carol laughs softly. 

“And I have many things to teach you still, darling. But for now, sleep.”

You smile, closing your eyes as you feel Carol’s grip on you grow stronger. 

Literature could wait until tomorrow.

[iamalasagnagirl]

Pls, pls, pls I need more WLW book recommendations!!!

Adults, YA, spicy, soft, I don’t care. I just need wlw books because I want to switch from fanfics only to actual books as well

Okay, here we are, enjoy :)

Bright Falls Series by Ashley Herring Blake: 1. Delilah Green Doesn't Care -> Delilah Green swore she would never go back to Bright Falls - nothing is there for her except memories of a lonely childhood - but when Delilah's stepsister pressures her into photographing her wedding with a guilt trip and a large check, Delilah finds herself back in Bright Falls once more. She plans to breeze in and out, but then she sees Claire Sutherland, one of Astrid's stuck-up besties, and decides that maybe there's some fun (and a little retribution) to be had, after all. 2. Astrid Parker Doesn't Fail -> For Astrid Parker failure is unacceptable. When Pru Everwood asks her to be the designer for the Everwood Inn's renovation, which will be featured on a hugely popular home makeover show, Astrid is thrilled. However, Astrid never planned on Jordan Everwood, Pru's granddaughter and the lead carpenter for the renovation, who despises every modern design decision Astrid makes. Is she going to pursue the life that she's expected to lead or the one that she really wants? 3. Iris Kelly doesn't date -> Everyone around Iris Kelly is in love and she’s happy for all of them, truly. Iris doesn’t want any of that—dating, love, romance. She’ll stick to her commitment-free hookups. There’s only one problem—Iris is a romance author facing an imminent deadline for her second book, and she’s completely out of ideas. Perfectly happy to ignore her problems as per usual, Iris goes to a bar and meets a sexy stranger, Stefania, and a night of dancing and making out turns into the worst one-night stand Iris has had in her life. To get her mind off everything, Iris tries out for the lead role in a local play, a queer retelling of Much Ado About Nothing, but comes face-to-face with Stefania, whose real name turns out to be Stevie. Desperate to save face in front of her friends, Stevie asks Iris to play along as her girlfriend. Iris is shocked, but when she realizes the arrangement might provide her with some much-needed romantic content for her book, she agrees. As the two women play the part of a happy couple, lines start to blur.

Falls from grace by Ruby Landers -> Savannah Grace and her band were huge stars in Nashville. Now enlists Noah Lyman - an indie musician - to help her break out of country music and make a name for herself for once and for all. They have to spend the winter in Savannah secluded vacation home in the woods of Vermont, and Noah brings along his best friend Brynn Marshall and pretend she’s his wife? After all, what could possibly go wrong?

The secret of you and me by Melissa Lenhardt -> Nora hasn’t looked back. Not since she fled Texas to start a new life. Now she can live—and love—however she wants. The only problem is that she also left behind the one woman she can’t forget. Now tragedy calls her back home to confront her past—and reconcile her future.

Books by Haley Cass: - Those Who Wait and the follow-up Forever and A Day -> Spencer Sutton, the daughter of a congressman, and Charlotte Thompson, New York City’s youngest deputy mayor, meet on SapphicSpark, a women-seeking-women dating app. Sutton isn’t built for casual, and Charlotte needs to keep a low profile as the race heats up. In spite of that, a friendship blossoms as Charlotte helps Sutton navigate the dating world. - Down to A Science -> Ellie Beckett is a scientific genius finishing a Ph.D. at MIT, sitting on her stool at her favorite bar, putting the final touches on her thesis - her life is predictable and comfortable enough, until the night Mia Sharpe walks in to play pool with some friends and things are never the same again. and On the same Page -> Riley Beckett met Gianna Mäkinen their first year at Boston University, and it changed everything for the both of them. She knows Gianna doesn't do romance or relationships, and she knows nothing could ever come between them. But when a holiday party mix-up sets in motion a domino effect of changes, Riley has to question everything she thought she knew about their relationship. What, exactly, does Gianna mean to her after all? - In the Long Run -> Taylor Vandenberg is busy running a successful travel blog. Brooke Watson and Taylor’s younger brother have been best friends for the majority of their lives. It means that even if Taylor isn’t physically present, she’s always been a part of Brooke’s most monumental life experiences. When Taylor lands back in Faircombe for an extended stay, it leads to more run-ins than Brooke would like. And more feelings than either may want to admit. - When You Least Expect It & Better Than Expected (I haven't had a chance to read them yet, but I have seen them recommended a lot)

If tomorrow doesn't come by Jen St. Jude -> On the morning Avery Byrne plans to end her life, the world discovers there are only nine days left to live: an asteroid is headed for Earth, and no one can stop it. As time runs out and secrets slowly come to light, Avery fights her way home to save the girl she has been in love with her whole life. But can Avery also learn to save herself and find hope again in the tomorrows she has left?

Kiss her once for me by Alison Cochrun -> Ellie had a Christmas Eve meet-cute with a woman at a bookstore that led her to fall in love over the course of a single night. The next year, Andrew, the shop’s landlord where Ellie works, proposes a shocking, drunken plan: a marriage of convenience that will benefit both of them. They make a plan to spend the holidays together at his family cabin to keep up the ruse. But when Andrew introduces his new fiancée to his sister, Ellie is shocked to discover is the mysterious woman she fell for over the year before.

6 times we almost kissed (and one time we did) by Tess Sharpe -> Penny and Tate keep almost kissing. It’s just this confusing thing that keeps happening. You know, from time to time. For basically their entire teenaged existence.  They’ve never talked about it. They’ve always ignored it in the aftermath. But now they’re living across the hall from each other. And some things—like their kisses—can’t be almosts forever. 

Nottingham: the true story of Robin Hood by Anna Burke -> (A retelling of Robin Hood's story with a Female Robin and wlw couples) After a fateful hunting accident sends her on the run from the law, Robyn finds herself deep in the heart of Sherwood Forest. All she really wants to do is provide for her family and stay out of trouble, but when the Sheriff of Nottingham levies the largest tax in the history of England, she’s forced to take matters into her own hands. Relying on the help of her band of merry women and the Sheriff’s intriguing—and off limits—daughter, Marian, Robyn must find a way to pull off the biggest heist Sherwood has ever seen.

Forget me not by Alyson Derrick -> Stevie has a terrible fall. And when she comes to, she can remember nothing of the last two years—not California, not coming to terms with her sexuality, not even her girlfriend Nora. Suddenly, Stevie finds herself in a life she doesn’t quite understand. And Nora finds herself…forgotten.

It goes like this by Miel Moreland -> Eva, Celeste, Gina, and Steph used to play in world-famous queer pop band called Moonlight Overthrow. But after a sudden falling out leads to the dissolution of the teens' band, their friendship, and Eva and Celeste's starry-eyed romance, nothing is the same. Until a storm devastates their hometown, bringing the four ex-best-friends back together. As they prepare for one last show, they'll discover whether growing up always means growing apart.

Dominion Series by J J Arias: 1. Losing Control  -> Talent agent Adriana Ortiz’s world is rocked when she’s thrust into the tumultuous orbit of Roxy, the raw, enigmatic pop rebel with a notorious edge and a guarded heart. Tasked with steering the wild Roxy on a whirlwind tour, Adriana boards Roxy’s opulent tour bus. The nights are filled with roaring crowds, but it’s the electric tension between Roxy and Adriana that sets the air on fire. A forbidden connection that threatens to consume them. Is the wild, unbridled Roxy worth the risk to Adriana’s career, or is she just another woman falling victim to Roxy’s charms? 2. Fighting for Control  -> Lola Barros is a rising talent agent burning with ambition. Carmen Vargas is a dedicated lawyer poised to conquer the legal field. Their shared high-rise is the only thing these two powerhouses have in common. After a trivial parking mishap snowballs onto a full-blown feud, Lola and Carmen are thrust into unconventional anger management sessions and their fiery rivalry gives way to smoldering desire. But yielding to desire isn't straightforward. Between the shadows of demanding careers and familial expectations, their love is tested. Can Lola and Carmen find a balance between ambition and affection? 3. Relinquishing Control  -> Natalia Flores rules her exclusive talent agency with an iron fist, brokering blockbuster deals while keeping everyone at arm’s length. But beneath the cold exterior lies a heart that yearns to be understood. Enter Professor Samantha Reyes—brilliant, fierce, and unwilling to let Natalia manipulate her way into the film rights to her book. Their encounters spark with tension and undeniable chemistry. In a world where control is everything, can two powerful women let go of their fears to find a love that’s worth the risk?

11:59 by Erica Lee -> TJ Edmonds has created a whole brand around not getting attached to other people. She has a best-selling novel and a popular phone app both dedicated to helping people stay detached from their significant others, so they don't get hurt. But the only reason she can move on so quickly now is because she still hasn't let go of someone from her past. It's easy to guard her heart when she no longer has it to give away. TJ texts Brooke everyday at 11:59 pm with no answers. What happens when, in a moment of weakness, this someone reaches out to TJ?

Price and Prejudice and the city by Rachel Lippincott -> Seventeen-year-old Audrey Cameron has lost her spark. After an embarrassing run-in with her ex-boyfriend, she’s told that she needs to get back out there and take risks. What she doesn't expect is to be transported to Regency England! Lucy Sinclair has her own problems when Audrey lands into her life, claiming to be from two hundred years in the future, it's a welcome distraction.

Never ever getting back together by Sophie Gonzales -> Maya and Skye are invited to star on the reality dating show Second-Chance Romance, to compete for their now famous ex-boyfriend's affections while the whole world watches. Skye wonders if she and Jordy can recapture the spark she knows they had, but Maya has other plans.

The art of us by KL Hughes -> Charlee and Alex fell in love at nineteen and dated for four years. Theirs was an enviable love — evergreen and growing. Unbreakable…Until it broke. Alex’s job now brings her back to Boston, after five years. When, by chance, they meet again, Charlee and Alex are swept up in a whirlwind of heart-rending history, tossed between past and present, and lovers old and new. Will their lingering connection be enough to convince them that some loves are meant to last? Or should the past remain in the past?

That secret something by Emily Wright -> Rebecca Lawson is off-limits. Jess knows this, but Rebecca has captured her heart for as long as she can remember. She’s sporty, tall and confident—all the things Jess is not—but most of all…she’s her best friend Lily’s sister. But when Jess and Rebecca are forced to spend time together the forbidden feelings intensify and sparks begin to fly. Amidst the chaos of raging bridezillas and other wedding disasters, can Jess resist temptation for the sake of her friendship?

The seven husbands of Evelyn Hugo by Taylor Jenkins Reid  -> Aging and reclusive Hollywood movie icon Evelyn Hugo is finally ready to tell the truth about her glamorous and scandalous life. Summoned to Evelyn's luxurious apartment, Monique listens in fascination as the actress tells her story. From making her way to Los Angeles in the 1950s to her decision to leave show business in the '80s, and, of course, the seven husbands along the way

That summer feeling by Bridget Morrissey -> Turns out you're never too old for a summer camp romance. Or a change of heart. When a divorced woman attends a sleepaway camp for adults only, she reconnects with a man from her past - only to catch feelings for his sister instead.

Some of these are my absolute favourites, I've lost count of how many times I've read them. I cannot get enough of "the bright falls series", "One the same page", "Those who wait", "The secret of you and me" and the last entry "Falls From Grace". No matter how many times I read them. And sometimes I wish I could read them again, as if for the first time, if that makes sense. Anyway, I have a lot more titles. Let me know if you want them or not. Enjoy the reading

[eleanor-bradstreet]

Let Me Be Your Anchor

Chapter 13: Release

Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Beckett An Offer from a Gentleman reimagined Chapter rating: 18+ - explicit sexual content Word count: 5.1k

Masterpost Previous chapter Next chapter

Author's Note: Happy Valentine's Day! How about a little steam for our lovebirds? 😉💖

Abandoning any hope of ever finishing the portrait, Benedict led Sophie by the hand to his bedroom. The hour was late and they encountered no one in the hall. He closed the door behind them as Sophie moved to stand near the fire, looking somewhat anxious. He took her face in his hands, wanting to soothe away all of her fears. 

“Sophie, there’s no need to be nervous. We can go as slowly as you like. I just want to make you feel good like before.” He was in earnest despite how his blood was racing. Whatever they were doing, whatever kind of arrangement this was now, he didn’t want to simply take his pleasure from her. He wanted to get to know her and savor her in whatever way she would let him.

“Alright,” She let out a shuddering breath, betraying that she still was not at ease.

“A drink?” He asked, reaching for a decanter.

“Thank you,” She gave him a small smile. He poured two glasses of wine and handed one to her with a clink. A toast to whatever new chapter they were beginning.

She sipped her drink and stared at him, shifting slightly from foot to foot. He beckoned for her to sit in an armchair then knelt before her. Setting down his glass, he bent and began to untie her shoes.

Sophie let out a small gasp. “Benedict! You don’t have to…”

“Shhh.” He smirked up at her. “Enjoy the wine.”

Shocked at being pampered like a veritable queen, she leaned back into the warm chair and took another sip of the ruby liquid. It was undoubtedly the finest wine she had ever tasted and she was grateful that it was helping to calm her nerves. She wanted this, whatever it was they were about to do, but she was still new to it all. Aside from an errant kiss by a servant boy in her youth, all of her romantic interactions had been with Benedict. He was the first and only to kiss her with such passion, the first and only to touch and savor her body, the first and only to declare that he wanted her in the way men wanted women, without nefarious intent. While she trusted him to be patient, she was rather bashful of her ignorance. She chided herself for not asking more of Genevieve, inquiring as to what she did with men she had no intention of marrying. As the tryst in the orangery had proven to her, she knew nothing of how to achieve pleasure.

Benedict slid her shoes off one after the other then began to massage her legs, running his hands from her ankles to her knees. Sophie couldn’t help but groan, enjoying the pressure on her tired calves. She had never imagined him treating her this way, as if he were a servant hired to tend to her every need. He certainly knew how to charm a woman. Setting her glass aside, she looked down at him on his knees. The light from the fireplace cast the most lovely shadows across the angles of his face and glinted in the waves of his tousled hair. 

“The hours seemed so long tonight, waiting to see you again,” she admitted. 

With a smile he slid his hands over her skirt and up the length of her thighs, then took her waist and buried his face into her bodice. Sophie shivered against the strength of his grip, running her fingers into his hair. 

“Let’s hope the hours stay long,” he murmured, tilting to look up at her. He was indescribably beautiful, his jaw angular and framing that cheeky, crooked grin. His eyes were a shimmering blue-grey, set softly under long lashes and dark brows that were as quick to turn upward with mirth as they were to knit together with concern. His whole countenance was gentle and inquisitive, joyful but discerning. He was an artist, but Sophie saw him as a masterpiece in his own right. 

She pressed her lips to his. He tasted like claret and salt, his mouth opening to welcome her tongue. He kissed her back with increasing intensity, both of their breaths growing ragged. The heat built quickly, tingling under Sophie’s skin and pooling between her legs. The same feeling as before. Her stomach flipped with excitement at knowing he would bring her release again.

Before she knew it, Benedict had pulled her legs around his waist and lifted her into the air, carrying her across the room to the bed. He set her on the edge and knelt again between her knees. His large hands splayed across her back as his kisses moved down her neck and shoulders, lingering on her collarbone. She wound her fingers into the hair at his nape, closing her eyes as she fell under the spell of his lips.

“Can I take this off?” He rasped, the tips of his fingers pressing into the fabric of her dress.

“Yes,” she breathed, and felt everything starting to loosen as he slipped each button free. She wanted desperately to feel his skin, and she grabbed at the fine linen of his shirt, bunching it in her hands until it came loose of his waistband. He took her cue and quickly tore off the garment, flinging it across the room. Sophie had just an instant to stare at his bare chest before his mouth was on hers again. She touched him, skimming her hands across his torso, surprised and delighted when his muscles quivered beneath her fingers. 

As their tongues collided, he gently slid her dress and chemise down her shoulders. He chased the sleeves with hot kisses as he pulled them fully down her arms and everything tumbled to her waist, leaving her shamelessly exposed. She found that she was not self conscious and arched her back, offering herself to him like some sort of forbidden fruit. 

Benedict stopped breathing when he saw her. He’d pictured this moment in his mind so many times - every night as he lay in this very bed, and in every dream when he actually slept. But this - reality - was far sweeter than a dream, and far more erotic. His hand, which had been stroking the warm skin on her back, slowly slid over her rib cage. 

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, knowing that the words were hopelessly inadequate. As if mere words could describe what he felt. And then, when his trembling fingers finished their journey and held her breast, he let out a shuddering exhale. His need for her was so intense, so primitive. It robbed him of his ability to think. 

He needed her next to him, below him, on top of him. He needed her in him, around him, a part of him. He needed her the way he needed air, indispensably. 

He leaned forward slowly and kissed her once more, feeling gooseflesh prickle her skin beneath his fingers. It was remarkable, but every time he kissed her, her lips seemed to grow sweeter, her scent more beguiling. And his need grew, too. His blood was racing with desire, and it was taking his every last shred of restraint not to push her back onto the mattress and tear her clothes from her body. But he stopped himself with a reminder. This time was about her. He was here to please her needs, not his own. He wanted her to know she was safe and to show her a damn good time if he could.

“What do you…” he swallowed, trying to steady his pounding heart. “What do you want, Sophie?”

Her mouth hung open with heavy breaths. Her eyes were so dark he couldn’t see their color anymore. She hesitated.

“Do you feel an ache?” He rumbled from deep in his chest, moving to settle his hand on her thigh. “Between your legs?”

She nodded and the neediness of her look made him fight for composure. He took one of her hands and kissed her palm. “I can help you with that. Like before.”

“Yes.” She was practically vibrating but surprised him by cupping his face. “But Benedict, I want to pleasure you too. Very much. Only I don’t…I’ll need you to teach me.”

Benedict’s heart skipped a beat. Something in her earnest plea made him more aroused than he had ever felt. She was assertive despite her inexperience. She had the courage to take control and wanted to grant him pleasure in the way that he showed her. It was more erotic than any of the experienced women he’d been with, who had lain with him for mutual enjoyment but with little conversation or demonstration of concern. Sophie left him in awe.

Dumbstruck, he nodded. “Alright, but you first.” 

Then he let passion take center stage, returning his lips to hers in a searing, barely controlled dance of desire. Sophie hummed with pleasure as they wrapped their arms around each other and fell back onto the bed. She reveled in the pressure of his body against hers, skin against skin. It was the most glorious feeling she could ever imagine. He felt so good, so steady and warm, and even though his muscles were lean and powerful, his skin was seductively soft. He even smelled good, a warm masculine mixture of sandalwood and soap. 

He murmured her name like a benediction as he lowered her back onto the mattress. “How I have wanted you,” he groaned. “You have no idea. No idea.”

Her only response was a soft mewling sound that came from deep in her throat. For some reason that was like oil on the fire within him, and his fingers clutched at her even tighter, pressing into her skin as his lips traveled down the swanlike column of her throat. 

He moved lower, lower, burning a hot trail on her skin, pausing only briefly when he reached the gentle swell of her breast. She was completely beneath him now, her eyes glazed with desire, and it was so much better than any of his dreams. And oh, how he’d dreamed of her.

With a low, possessive growl, Benedict took her nipple into his mouth. She let out a soft yelp, and he was unable to suppress his own low rumble of satisfaction. When he moved his mouth to her other breast and renewed his sensual onslaught, her lips parted and her head lolled back. 

“Do you like this?” he whispered, tracing the peak of her breast with his tongue. Sophie couldn’t quite manage to open her eyes, but she nodded. “What about this?” He nibbled gently at her nipple, grazing it with his teeth. Sophie hissed and stiffened beneath him, her fingers pressing into his back, but he knew from her moan that she found it agreeable. In one motion he ran his tongue down the middle of her, licking a trail along her skin until he reached her navel. She squirmed as his hands moved everywhere, down her legs, around her waist, until her dress and chemise were gone. She was completely nude, and it felt very odd but somehow also very right, as long as he was touching her. 

Benedict’s feet found the floor again and he stood between Sophie’s legs, enraptured with the woman lying before him across the bed. He leaned down on one arm and sucked gently at her breast while his other hand squeezed her thigh. He trailed his fingers upward and ran them gently over her folds. She was wet already and despite how he ached for her, he would ease her into each step, building a progression of sensations for her to try. He slipped one finger inside of her, grinning with satisfaction as her entire body jerked and tensed around him. They had done this before and he knew she enjoyed it. Now into uncharted territory. He pressed a second finger into her, walls gripping him tightly. He held back a groan.

“Is this alright?” He rasped, searching her face for any sign of discomfort.

Sophie moaned. Her eyes were shut, hands clenching the blanket beneath her as her hips began to move, pressing back against his hand. 

“Yes,” she panted. “Please…more…” 

Any hesitation she may have had was quelled from her mind with the singular, numbing need she felt building between her legs. This was madness. Fever. That feeling that she had only felt once before, and only thanks to this man. It was something that needed release, something that grabbed at her, and yet even with all this pressure, it felt so spectacularly wonderful, as if she’d been born for this very moment.

Benedict slid his fingers in and out slowly, straight at first and then curled lightly to pet her inside. He licked his lips which were growing dry from his labored breath, his eyes dark and locked on Sophie’s body, her every move. 

“Benedict?” she gasped. “Is this…this is what it’s like when…”

He hovered his face above hers and their eyes met. Hers were hazy with desire but they held a question.

“Yes,” he purred, his fingers still rhythmically pressing into her, making her shift up and down beneath him. “Only it’s more pressure, and it’s deeper.”

She gave a slight nod, eyes fluttering closed again as he glided within her. “And…” she fought for words between breaths. “A man and woman will go on like this until…until his seed is planted?”

Benedict had never slept with a virgin but he had engaged in these alternate explorations with a few young ladies of the ton as a young man. A number of balls had been spent hidden in closets and side rooms, exploring each other’s mouths and bodies without committing the full act. It was surprising for a maid to be as sheltered as those ladies had been. But he found her forthrightness endearing.

With his free hand he smoothed her hair back from her face. “Yes, they will move until the man releases himself. But if he does not finish inside her body, there will be no child.”

Sophie’s eyes opened with realization. It was as if he could read her mind and had anticipated her question. His lips descended on hers once again, tongue swiping across her bottom lip as his fingers dragged along her walls with a steady cadence. 

“And it should bring her pleasure,” he murmured against her lips. “The act should always bring her pleasure, though most men forget that.”

Sophie’s head lolled against the mattress and she gripped his shoulders as he began rubbing her crest on each stroke, driving into her more fervently,. The sounds she made were exquisite, mewling and groaning, whimpering and gasping as she tensed and relaxed, pressing herself against him, willing him to go deeper, move faster. Move faster he did, pushing into her at the same pace his cock was begging for, the same pace at which he wanted to see her bounce beneath the whole of his body. He could feel her loosening just a bit more as her fluids slicked his fingers.

In and out, in and out, he was growing delirious with the motion, with the warmth and pressure inside of her, with the shaking of her breasts in response to the cadence of his hand. He held himself above her and watched her face, reveling in the twists of her lips and dance of her brows as she reacted to all he was doing. Just when his rigid cock issued a drop of desperation against his strained trousers, he felt her clench within.

She moaned and clawed at his back, pulling him tight against her. “Benedict,” she pleaded. “I need…I need…” She writhed beneath him, eyes closed and face screwed up with desperation. 

“Yes,” he exhaled, clamping his palm down upon her mound and rocking against it with heavy pressure. “Yes, you’re nearly there,” he coaxed, caressing her forehead again and watching her face with wonder. “That’s it. Chase that feeling.”

Mouth open but holding her breath, she bucked back against his hand as he pinned her hips down with his body. She squirmed desperately, grinding herself against his soaked palm. Benedict bit his tongue to keep his head from swimming. Lord, she was so captivating. The whole of her naked body heaving under his, burning with arousal, skin sheened with sweat as she came apart under his hands. He felt her walls quiver closer and closer together until at last she peaked, spasms dancing down his fingers, clenching and rippling. The whole of her sex throbbed within his grip as her breath returned staccato in his ear. 

He tried to swallow his own moan, lowering to lay on top of her. He wanted to feel her every tremor, her pounding heartbeat, the heat rising off of her in waves. 

Sophie clung to him, jerking with aftershocks, her mind drifting away to that plane of bliss again. Somehow the weight of him and the warmth of his skin against hers deepened the ecstasy. She felt cradled in a place of comfort the likes of which she had never experienced and she never wanted to leave.

She didn’t know how long she floated there but she was brought back into the room by Benedict’s soft kisses upon her cheek. She dragged her eyes open to see his, still sparkling and bright despite the dark hunger that lingered there.

“How do you feel?” he asked softly.

“I didn’t know,” she confessed. “I had no idea women could feel such pleasure.”

He smirked, proud of himself, the cheeky devil. But she was genuinely grateful. “Do men feel the same when they release?”

He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Yes, we do.”

She licked her lips and stared up at him. “I want to do it to you. I want to make you feel this good.”

Benedict’s breath hitched. His cock was screaming to be set free. He was hard as a rock, harder than he could ever remember.

“But,” she cast her eyes down, unsure if she was ready to cross the final threshold. “Do you need to be inside of me?”

Benedict’s brows turned up and he kissed her sweetly. He could sense her nerves. “No. No, there are other ways. We will go slowly.”

She breathed a sigh of relief as he moved to stand once again between her knees. God, he was perfection. She took in the full sight of him, tall and shirtless, sculpted of lean muscle and pale freckled skin. The veins in his forearms flexed as his long fingers pulled off his boots and then tugged at his trouser buttons. His dark hair was wild, tousled into soft spikes from how she had played with it. Never taking his eyes from hers, he let his waistband fall and bared himself. 

Sophie sat up and stared at his manhood shamelessly. It was long, longer than she had seen on any statue, though she supposed those were adapted for modesty’s sake. It stood at attention, as rigid as a sword and pointing right at her. It was intimidating imagining something so large invading her, but the thought was also so devilishly tempting to try. What would that skin feel like?

Tentatively, she reached out and ran her fingers lightly down his length. He hissed and she retracted instantly.

“I’m sorry!” She searched his face. “Did I hurt you?”

Benedict chuckled and took her chin in his hand. “No, no, of course not.” Then his voice dropped. “It’s that your touch drives me mad.”

Sophie shuddered under his gaze.

“Do it again.”

With more confidence, she reached out and wrapped the whole of her hand around him, amazed at how soft the skin was despite the stiffness of the muscles beneath. 

“Show me.” Her voice was assertive as she looked to him for guidance.

Benedict bit his bottom lip and placed his hand over hers. He tightened her grip, suppressing a groan as he guided her in stroking him up and down slowly.

Sophie was captivated, feeling the ripple of his surging veins under her fingers, seeing the way his hips began to thrust lightly with the movement of their hands, and watching the agonizing pleasure that played across his face. A confidence began to grow within her. She was starting to understand how enjoyable it was to bring someone else pleasure. After a few strokes his hand moved hers to a faster speed, over and over again, tugging up and down smoothly.

“Just like that,” he gasped, then released her hand and brought his to rest on her shoulders. He lost himself to her touch. His mind could hardly process what was happening. That she was here, naked in his bed, touching him, stroking him, her eyes trailing across his body, her face a mixture of concentration and, he thought, a hint of pride at what she was doing to him. Any clumsiness in her movements was quickly overcome with a tight, steady cadence that made his head spin. She was a fast learner and it had been so long since he had been touched by someone else. 

Since the masquerade he hadn’t frequented any brothels or engaged in any indiscreet acts at parties. He had gone entire years without the company of women, having only his hand for relief. It was unlike him, but he felt that he would be betraying his lady in silver if he sought pleasure with anyone else. Until Sophie. For whatever reason, she was worth breaking his abstinence. He’d thought he’d wanted a woman before. He’d thought he’d needed one. But this - this went beyond both. This was spiritual. This was in his soul.

He groaned and a bead of moisture leaked from his aching cock. Seeing it, Sophie stopped her movements and looked up at him trepidatiously. Before he could say anything, she leaned forward, extended her sweet tongue and swiped it off of him with a lick.

“Jesus, Sophie!” he practically roared, his hips stuttering to keep him upright. But unlike the first time, she didn’t shrink away. No, a fiendish little light flashed in her eyes and she advanced again, running her tongue down the length of him, tracing the largest of his veins. He shuddered, throwing his head back and gripping viciously into her shoulders. It spurred her on because then her warm lips wrapped around his head and she pushed forward, letting him slide into her hot, wet mouth.

He couldn’t stand it. With an agonized cry he pulled back, slipping from her lips. Now she looked up at him with concern, wiping her mouth.

“Benedict? I’m sorry…”

“No,” he panted, hanging his head. “No, that was…you’re just…” He could hardly believe what he saw before him, a bewitching mixture of innocence and temptation. “It’s almost too pleasurable.”

She grinned.

“Too much too soon.” He sighed with a smile. “Let’s go slowly.”

She nodded and squeezed his forearms reassuringly, surprised but grateful that he wanted to set such a gentle pace. She had been so enraptured by his attentions in the orangery, she simply wanted to please him with her mouth in return. She wanted to know how he tasted. The thought of future lessons made her stomach tighten with that same coiled heat again. Surely she couldn’t be needing release again already? She looked to him, wordlessly asking how he wanted to proceed.

“Lie back on the bed,” he said gently. “Make yourself comfortable.”

She pulled away, shifting until she was lying against the pillows. Benedict kicked his trousers from his ankles and climbed over to her. Watching him, Sophie’s stomach tightened further. Lithe and erect, moving toward her like a feral animal, his arms settling to frame her in the soft bed. It was all becoming clear now, the intense joy of carnal pleasures; why men were always in search of them and why women let themselves be ruined for them. She had never experienced such breathless anticipation. Such a longing to engage in sin and never stop.

Benedict loomed over her on all fours, eyes burning into hers as he took himself in hand and began stroking again, tight and slow.

“Is this the first cock you’ve seen?” His voice was dark velvet, hitting straight through to her spine. 

Unable to look away, she traced her hands up to his shoulders, feeling his muscles flex as he touched himself. “Yes.”

“So this will be the first time you’ve seen a man come?” The growl of his tone made her toes curl. She could feel new dampness at the apex of her thighs.

“Yes.” It was barely above a whisper.

Benedict bent and kissed her neck deeply, then licked the soft skin behind her ear before rasping into it. “Can I come on you? I want to cover you with my seed.”

She couldn’t control the sound at the back of her throat as his plea went down through her body, making her channel clench around nothing. The air was too hot to breathe and unbidden, she found her hands falling to grip her breasts.

“Sophie,” a devilish whisper in her ear. “Are you aroused again? Do you want to come with me?”

She whimpered, nodding. “But I don’t…can I do that? So soon?”

A small chuckle. “Of course you can. Here, open your legs.”

She spread her legs and he shifted one of his own to settle against her, pressing into her slick womanhood with his thigh. 

“Push against me,” he tutored. “Do whatever you want.”

Somewhat embarrassed but with too much burning need to care, Sophie shifted and ground herself down against his leg. She was drenched, smearing her wetness all over him, but it helped her to glide ever so slightly up and down. When she did, it snagged her bud and she moaned, pressing with all of her weight. She could feel him flex his leg and push back against her too, urging her on. It was like riding a horse astride in the filthiest, most pleasurable way.

“Does that feel good?” Benedict’s voice was tight. She nodded needily. “Keep doing that and come with me.”

He was still stroking himself, his pace growing faster as his breath started to run ragged. They locked into each other’s eyes, entranced as his arm pumped and Sophie shifted, rocking up and down against him. Their mouths hung open against each other, breaths noisy as they chased their pleasure and challenged the other to reach theirs. 

Benedict’s brow knitted with emotions she had never seen and Sophie wanted to be the one to conduct them. 

“Ben…” she gasped desperately, then corrected herself. ���Benedict, please let me finish you.”

He stuttered and dropped his hand so that both arms framed her face, eyes searing through her. “Always call me that. Always call me Ben when we’re alone together.”

Sophie’s heart leapt, then he devoured her in a kiss, tongue probing to the back of her throat. She felt him pull her hand back to wrap around his cock. She tugged tight and quick as he had shown her. He moaned into her mouth and she allowed herself a proud grin. She bounced herself faster against his thigh, feeling the knot in her stomach grow more taught and the wave begin to build under her skin.

Their kisses grew sloppy, lips smearing across each other’s faces while they emitted a whole array of sinful noises. Benedict’s fingers found their way between Sophie’s legs and circled rapidly, taking her that much closer to the edge as she continued to grind against his muscle. They each had the other in hand, taking each other higher and higher, their breaths growing shallow, their movements falling out of rhythm as they increased in speed.

Benedict broke their kiss to whisper against her lips. “You never answered my question. Can I come on you? I’m close Sophie, so close.”

“Yes,” she mewled, completely lost to a world of sensation. Everything was the heat of him, the length of him, the pressure of him. The dance of his fingers, the press of his lips, the sound of his breath, the scent of his skin. “Please Ben, please come on me. I’ll come too. Ben, please.”

In only a moment he erupted with a cry, tearing his hand away to steady himself as he pulsed in her grasp, hot ropes of his seed shooting across her torso. Sophie stopped stroking but held him tightly as he came, fascinated at the feeling of his strong throbs within her fingers. She watched him above her, thrilled to see the contortions of desperate pleasure play across his face. In this moment, he was both dominating her and at her mercy simultaneously. She wanted to do this to him, to see him like this again. Frequently.

As he moaned and fought for breath, she continued pushing herself against his thigh. The strangely delightful possessiveness of his release splattering across her chest drove her to absolute madness and she broke, throbbing tight against him. This pinnacle was gentler but deeper somehow, reverberating through her bones as every muscle shivered and relaxed, washing her with calm but not stealing her mind away entirely.

They trembled in place together, the room filled only with the sounds of their gasps. Benedict was nearly in pain at the intensity of his climax and he found himself shaking as he fell to lie next to Sophie.

She lay in a daze, unable to lift her head from the pillows and only half-aware of her surroundings. Benedict pulled a cloth from somewhere and cleaned her, gently wiping away his mess and leaving kisses on her breasts. Then he wrapped an arm around her and pulled her close to his side.

“Please don’t leave, Sophie,” he mumbled into her hair, drinking in her scent as he felt sleep start to overtake him. “Please stay with me.”

She laid in his arms, overwhelmed. He wasn’t asking her to be his mistress, not really. He was asking her simply to stay. To stay at Aubrey Hall and be with him. Be with him in whatever fashion this was. And whatever this was, was more pleasure and fulfillment than she had experienced in the whole of her wretched life. The last thing she wanted to do was walk away. Even if she couldn’t have him for a lifetime, she could have him now. She hoped the acceptance letter from the Stirling household would never come, and if it did, she would respond and decline. 

Benedict’s large hands upon her, the whole of his naked body pressed against hers, the gentle thrum of his heart against her back, all of it made her choice very clear. She would stay at Aubrey Hall and worry about her future and inevitable broken heart later. 

“I will.”

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

[lacunafiction]

Regarding your reblog of quotesmadnedss:

Beckett. Definitely Beckett. It's always my baby 😭

Hi @idiot-sunfish,

Ooh, that is both a spectacular and heart-wrenching guess for whom this quote applies to:

“Two people who were once very close can without blame or grand betrayal become strangers. Perhaps this is the saddest thing in the world.”

— Warsan Shire

We'll be getting some B angst in Book Two after how we left things in Book One. It could potentially go far deeper than that as the story progresses, but B-mancers and close friends will have a chance to avoid (or at least soften!) those conflicts. Already in what I've written, you can support your friend/beloved to help them cope, so you all don't need to worry too much. (The angst is for development!)

Here's a cutoff teaser from TFS: Book Two that relates to B. Warrick; it's out of context, of course. 🧡👀

It's B. It's B with a fierce look on their face that you have never seen before in all of your time together. Blobs of red dot their blue jeans, splattered across them and the bottom hem of their T-shirt. It's enough to make your heart seize in your chest until…

Best wishes! 😉

Book One Launch Post💚 | TFS Patreon🌲

New TFS Patreon benefits, including spicy stories 🔥, Book Two alpha content drops ✨, and more! Please check it out: here. If you enjoyed your time in Fernweh, please consider reviewing/rating it. 🥰

[umlewis]

The Real Deal

Silverstone, 11 June 2006. With England in the grip of World Cup fever, the crowd for the British Grand Prix is expected to be down on recent years. There is little likelihood of any home success in the main event. Still, the stands and spectator banks are starting to fill up slowly as the GP2 race starts at 9 AM. Lewis Hamilton has started down in eighth place, but he is working his way through the field with characteristic aggressive driving. He is soon closing on the squabble for second place. Brazil's Nelson Piquet, Jr. and the Monegasque driver Clivio Piccione go through Copse side by side at around 140 mph, but, as they accelerate out of the corner, they are suddenly three wide as Hamilton draws alongside. Into the five sweeping bends that make up the daunting Becketts complex they go, with Piquet on the inside. Hamilton carries huge momentum around the outside of the first left-hander to claim the racing line and second place as the road goes right then left again; Piquet drives straight through a temporary advertising hoarding. The cheers from the crowd are by far the loudest of the weekend as the young driver, then known only to hardcore petrolheads, picks off the leader and cruises to victory. Unknown he no longer is: 'Lewis Hamilton + Silverstone' is now one of the most popular searches on YouTube. Had Britain's latest sporting hero-in-waiting heard the excitement of the crowd? "I didn't, no," he said afterwards. "It all went silent at that point because we were so close, and I don't know if my body was preparing for something. You know when, if you're going to crash, your body gets ready to protect itself? I felt my body and the adrenaline all building up ready for something, and when I came out it all relaxed, kind of saying, "Phew, thank God for that.'" "I'm working my arse off," he continued, "not only to do the best job possible, but also to get that seat at McLaren. I really want that. It's an opportunity not many people get. If I can get that seat then I think - and I feel very confident - that I can make best use of it.'

A little under a year later, Hamilton not only has that seat at McLaren but, when we meet soon after his second place in the Spanish Grand Prix in Barcelona, he is leading the Formula One drivers' championship. Today, however, he is back doing the unseen graft of testing. Along with the other 10 teams that contest the world championship, McLaren have moved on from Barcelona to the Paul Ricard circuit near Marseille in the south of France. The former home of the French Grand Prix is now simply a test track, albeit about the most sophisticated in the world - as you would expect from a facility owned by Bernie Ecclestone, the billionaire ringmaster of Formula One. Everything is of the highest standard and, just as the proprietor would like, the team vehicles are lined up so precisely they would do justice to the contents of David Beckham's fridge.

At the back of a grey McLaren bus, sheltered from the warm Mistral wind, sits Lewis Hamilton. It is 12 hours since testing began and he has driven 98 laps, posted the fastest time by more than a second and been through a two-and-a-half-hour debrief with his engineers. For a short while he is alone, staring at a computer screen with a diagram of the circuit and a screed of data on it. Not all his work is at 190mph and in front of 140,000 people.

After the excitement of a grand prix, testing must seem like a chore. Does it make him a better racer?

'I don't think so,' he says, preparing to close the laptop. 'You get that crafting from karting, the wheel-to-wheel racing you have there.' Karting is where most successful racing drivers first turn a wheel in anger; the competition is ferocious.

'The more racing you do the more you learn,' Hamilton continues. 'I'm a racer naturally, so that's why I believe I'm good in the races. In the race it's all about consistency, and to get consistency you need to learn about the car and that comes from testing. But the test is mainly to build your awareness of what is around you, that you are understanding the car and to fine tune the car and yourself. Sometimes I don't make any changes to the car and I find half a second in myself. Some people find it really difficult, like the engineers, they say, "What can we do?" and I say, "Don't do anything. I quite like the car as it is, I just need to improve myself."'

Hamilton is seeking to improve skills that have seen him make a record-breaking start to his F1 career. He finished third in his first race, the Australian Grand Prix, then second in Malaysia and Bahrain - a record run on the podium for a rookie, which he extended in Spain to become the youngest driver to lead the world championship.

At last Sunday's Monaco Grand Prix, Hamilton finished second yet again, this time behind his McLaren team-mate, double world champion Fernando Alonso. But there were signs of frustration from the young Englishman at a victory missed, as he slipped to second in the title race. Hamilton was called in for his first pit stop earlier than he expected, just as he was preparing to put in some really quick laps to extend his advantage over Alonso, who had already stopped.

'I was actually quite surprised because I was fuelled to do five laps, maybe six laps, longer than Fernando and they stopped me with three laps to go,' Hamilton said after the race. 'There wasn't much time to pull out a gap or improve my time; I wasn't really given much time for it. I came in two or three laps after him [Alonso]. That was unfortunate, but that's the way it goes. I've got number two on my car, I am the number two driver, it is something I have to live with.'

McLaren's team principal, Ron Dennis, rebutted allegations of team orders and race manipulation, strictly against F1 rules since 2002 when Ferrari instructed Rubens Barrichello to allow Michael Schumacher past to win the Austrian Grand Prix. 'We are scrupulously fair at all times in how we run this grand prix team,' he said. 'We will never favour one driver, no matter who it is. We don't have team orders, we had a strategy to win this race. There will be places where they will be absolutely free to race, but this isn't one of them.'

That last line attracted the attention of the FIA, the sport's governing body, who started investigating 'incidents' concerning the McLaren team during the race.

Since his debut in Melbourne on 18 March, Hamilton has transformed the popularity of grand-prix racing, not least because he is young, British, good looking and thrillingly fast. He is also mixed race in a sport that is overwhelmingly white; inevitably, he has been compared with Tiger Woods. 'I've never seen a rookie as good as him,' says Damon Hill. 'Nobody has. He's coped with everything he's faced. He's been superb.'

Triple world champion Sir Jackie Stewart is equally impressed. 'I think Lewis is going to rewrite the book,' he said recently. 'We'll see a new generation of what I call properly prepared, professional racing drivers. I'm talking about fully rounded; [Michael] Schumacher became that, but even Schumacher wasn't as good as he should have been, not in terms of the driving but the total package. I believe Lewis will create the benchmark for a whole generation of drivers. Niki Lauda and James Hunt changed the culture of racing drivers, but they weren't role models. They said nothing, didn't give a damn. Lewis Hamilton can become a role model.'

Even the unflappable Bernie Ecclestone is excited by Hamilton. 'He's got a lot of talent,' he says. 'The guy's a winner. It became clear pretty quickly that he will win a grand prix some time - sooner rather than later. He'll win the championship - but I don't think this year. It would be asking a bit much and be a lot of pressure to expect that. It would be fantastic if he did, but I don't think we should talk about that at this stage.'

It is impossible when meeting Hamilton not <to be impressed or struck by just how young and fresh-faced he is, even when dressed up in McLaren T-shirt and jacket. He is courteous, intelligent, engaged and never loses eye contact, even if you sense that, as we talk, he would rather be getting on with some hardcore data analysis. He speaks of his time on the practice circuit with relish. 'It is quite satisfying when you go out and you know that you needed to brake 10 metres later … building up the courage to brake those 10 metres later, not lock up the tyres, and really pull it off. Sometimes you go into a corner and you think, "I'm not going to make it," but you say, "OK, we're going to do it." And you do it and you think, "Shoot, what was the big fuss in the first place," but you think about the advantage you've gained when you exit the corner - you're like, "Yeah, that was good." It's an amazing feeling.'

A grand-prix team can take more than 100 personnel to a race and that doesn't include the test team who work away from the public gaze. Hamilton is eager to acknowledge that there are others who contribute to his success. 'Sometimes you don't even notice the changes the engineer has made,' he says. 'My engineer is so smart and he understands what I say and the way I communicate - that's a great feeling. When someone understands what you're talking about and is able to translate that into your car, it runs better.'

Hamilton has been supported by McLaren since Ron Dennis recruited him into the team's driver development programme as a 13-year-old in 1998. The team contributed as much as £5m to his career, and offered technical support and advice as he worked his way up to the junior formulas. He graduated to racing cars in 2001 and has won the championship in every series he has driven. The step to F1 was a natural progression and everything was done - including keeping him distant from the media - to ensure that Hamilton was as prepared as possible. He has appeared at the obligatory press conferences, but has never before done an interview.

'I am amazed and proud to be here,' he says now, 'and I'm learning all the time. As soon as I signed for the team they sent a steering wheel round to my house so I could learn all the controls and the sequences for the start. I just kept it in my lap. When I got to the first race, I wasn't nervous about the start because I knew everything.'

McLaren made sure Hamilton was physically prepared and it is hard to imagine anyone looking fitter. Countless trips to the gym ensured that he would develop the strength and stamina to cope with the rigours of racing an F1 car for up to two hours in extreme heat.

'It was extremely exciting to do all the training,' Hamilton says. 'There was a point where we were doing all the same things over and over again, but then we started changing things and it became exciting again. You wouldn't believe what it's like in the car, the forces that are on you. I finish every race with a black …' - he pauses, half smiles and then continues - ' …a darker line down my side where I've been pushed against the seat. But the race is the most exciting part, the first corner, the first pit stop. I am just going to get stronger and stronger. I'm not yet at my best.'

Hamilton, who was born on 7 January 1985 in Stevenage, Hertfordshire, has been immersed in motor racing since the age of eight. His parents, Carmen and Anthony, separated when he was two, and he lived with his mother until he was 10, before moving in with his father and stepmother Linda. A day out with his dad to Rye House kart track, a few miles south of Stevenage, changed the path of his life. He had already been karting and proved to be a natural, soon lapping his father, but now he decided that racing was what he wanted to do. A deal was struck between father and son: if Lewis worked hard at school, Anthony would support his son's karting.

Anthony was working as an IT manager as Lewis began making a name for himself on the kart circuit. Taking time off became a problem as his son's racing and testing took him all over the country and overseas. Eventually Anthony took redundancy so he could spend more time at the track. He did contract work and was sometimes doing two or three jobs at a time, including putting up estate agents' signs. In time, he set up his own computer company, which now employs 25 people, but his main role in life is working as his son's manager on a daily basis.

This article is more than 17 years old The real deal This article is more than 17 years old Oliver Owen Sat 2 Jun 2007 19.08 EDT

Silverstone, 11 June 2006. With England in the grip of World Cup fever, the crowd for the British Grand Prix is expected to be down on recent years. There is little likelihood of any home success in the main event. Still, the stands and spectator banks are starting to fill up slowly as the GP2 race starts at 9am. Lewis Hamilton has started down in eighth place, but he is working his way through the field, with characteristic aggressive driving.

He is soon closing on the squabble for second place. Brazil's Nelson Piquet Junior and the Monegasque driver Clivio Piccione go through Copse side by side at around 140mph, but, as they accelerate out of the corner, they are suddenly three wide as Hamilton draws alongside. Into the five sweeping bends that make up the daunting Becketts complex they go, with Piquet on the inside. Hamilton carries huge momentum around the outside of the first left-hander to claim the racing line and second place as the road goes right then left again; Piquet drives straight through a temporary advertising hoarding. The cheers from the crowd are by far the loudest of the weekend as the young driver, then known only to hardcore petrolheads, picks off the leader and cruises to victory. Unknown he no longer is: 'Lewis Hamilton + Silverstone' is now one of the most popular searches on YouTube.

Had Britain's latest sporting hero-in-waiting heard the excitement of the crowd?

'I didn't, no,' he said afterwards. 'It all went silent at that point because we were so close, and I don't know if my body was preparing for something. You know when, if you're going to crash, your body gets ready to protect itself? I felt my body and the adrenaline all building up ready for something, and when I came out it all relaxed, kind of saying, "Phew, thank God for that".

'I'm working my arse off,' he continued, 'not only to do the best job possible, but also to get that seat at McLaren. I really want that. It's an opportunity not many people get. If I can get that seat then I think - and I feel very confident - that I can make best use of it.'

A little under a year later, Hamilton not only has that seat at McLaren but, when we meet soon after his second place in the Spanish Grand Prix in Barcelona, he is leading the Formula One drivers' championship. Today, however, he is back doing the unseen graft of testing. Along with the other 10 teams that contest the world championship, McLaren have moved on from Barcelona to the Paul Ricard circuit near Marseille in the south of France. The former home of the French Grand Prix is now simply a test track, albeit about the most sophisticated in the world - as you would expect from a facility owned by Bernie Ecclestone, the billionaire ringmaster of Formula One. Everything is of the highest standard and, just as the proprietor would like, the team vehicles are lined up so precisely they would do justice to the contents of David Beckham's fridge.

At the back of a grey McLaren bus, sheltered from the warm Mistral wind, sits Lewis Hamilton. It is 12 hours since testing began and he has driven 98 laps, posted the fastest time by more than a second and been through a two-and-a-half-hour debrief with his engineers. For a short while he is alone, staring at a computer screen with a diagram of the circuit and a screed of data on it. Not all his work is at 190mph and in front of 140,000 people.

After the excitement of a grand prix, testing must seem like a chore. Does it make him a better racer?

'I don't think so,' he says, preparing to close the laptop. 'You get that crafting from karting, the wheel-to-wheel racing you have there.' Karting is where most successful racing drivers first turn a wheel in anger; the competition is ferocious.

'The more racing you do the more you learn,' Hamilton continues. 'I'm a racer naturally, so that's why I believe I'm good in the races. In the race it's all about consistency, and to get consistency you need to learn about the car and that comes from testing. But the test is mainly to build your awareness of what is around you, that you are understanding the car and to fine tune the car and yourself. Sometimes I don't make any changes to the car and I find half a second in myself. Some people find it really difficult, like the engineers, they say, "What can we do?" and I say, "Don't do anything. I quite like the car as it is, I just need to improve myself."'

Hamilton is seeking to improve skills that have seen him make a record-breaking start to his F1 career. He finished third in his first race, the Australian Grand Prix, then second in Malaysia and Bahrain - a record run on the podium for a rookie, which he extended in Spain to become the youngest driver to lead the world championship.

At last Sunday's Monaco Grand Prix, Hamilton finished second yet again, this time behind his McLaren team-mate, double world champion Fernando Alonso. But there were signs of frustration from the young Englishman at a victory missed, as he slipped to second in the title race. Hamilton was called in for his first pit stop earlier than he expected, just as he was preparing to put in some really quick laps to extend his advantage over Alonso, who had already stopped.

'I was actually quite surprised because I was fuelled to do five laps, maybe six laps, longer than Fernando and they stopped me with three laps to go,' Hamilton said after the race. 'There wasn't much time to pull out a gap or improve my time; I wasn't really given much time for it. I came in two or three laps after him [Alonso]. That was unfortunate, but that's the way it goes. I've got number two on my car, I am the number two driver, it is something I have to live with.'

McLaren's team principal, Ron Dennis, rebutted allegations of team orders and race manipulation, strictly against F1 rules since 2002 when Ferrari instructed Rubens Barrichello to allow Michael Schumacher past to win the Austrian Grand Prix. 'We are scrupulously fair at all times in how we run this grand prix team,' he said. 'We will never favour one driver, no matter who it is. We don't have team orders, we had a strategy to win this race. There will be places where they will be absolutely free to race, but this isn't one of them.'

That last line attracted the attention of the FIA, the sport's governing body, who started investigating 'incidents' concerning the McLaren team during the race.

Since his debut in Melbourne on 18 March, Hamilton has transformed the popularity of grand-prix racing, not least because he is young, British, good looking and thrillingly fast. He is also mixed race in a sport that is overwhelmingly white; inevitably, he has been compared with Tiger Woods. 'I've never seen a rookie as good as him,' says Damon Hill. 'Nobody has. He's coped with everything he's faced. He's been superb.'

Triple world champion Sir Jackie Stewart is equally impressed. 'I think Lewis is going to rewrite the book,' he said recently. 'We'll see a new generation of what I call properly prepared, professional racing drivers. I'm talking about fully rounded; [Michael] Schumacher became that, but even Schumacher wasn't as good as he should have been, not in terms of the driving but the total package. I believe Lewis will create the benchmark for a whole generation of drivers. Niki Lauda and James Hunt changed the culture of racing drivers, but they weren't role models. They said nothing, didn't give a damn. Lewis Hamilton can become a role model.'

Even the unflappable Bernie Ecclestone is excited by Hamilton. 'He's got a lot of talent,' he says. 'The guy's a winner. It became clear pretty quickly that he will win a grand prix some time - sooner rather than later. He'll win the championship - but I don't think this year. It would be asking a bit much and be a lot of pressure to expect that. It would be fantastic if he did, but I don't think we should talk about that at this stage.'

It is impossible when meeting Hamilton not <to be impressed or struck by just how young and fresh-faced he is, even when dressed up in McLaren T-shirt and jacket. He is courteous, intelligent, engaged and never loses eye contact, even if you sense that, as we talk, he would rather be getting on with some hardcore data analysis. He speaks of his time on the practice circuit with relish. 'It is quite satisfying when you go out and you know that you needed to brake 10 metres later … building up the courage to brake those 10 metres later, not lock up the tyres, and really pull it off. Sometimes you go into a corner and you think, "I'm not going to make it," but you say, "OK, we're going to do it." And you do it and you think, "Shoot, what was the big fuss in the first place," but you think about the advantage you've gained when you exit the corner - you're like, "Yeah, that was good." It's an amazing feeling.'

A grand-prix team can take more than 100 personnel to a race and that doesn't include the test team who work away from the public gaze. Hamilton is eager to acknowledge that there are others who contribute to his success. 'Sometimes you don't even notice the changes the engineer has made,' he says. 'My engineer is so smart and he understands what I say and the way I communicate - that's a great feeling. When someone understands what you're talking about and is able to translate that into your car, it runs better.'

Hamilton has been supported by McLaren since Ron Dennis recruited him into the team's driver development programme as a 13-year-old in 1998. The team contributed as much as £5m to his career, and offered technical support and advice as he worked his way up to the junior formulas. He graduated to racing cars in 2001 and has won the championship in every series he has driven. The step to F1 was a natural progression and everything was done - including keeping him distant from the media - to ensure that Hamilton was as prepared as possible. He has appeared at the obligatory press conferences, but has never before done an interview.

'I am amazed and proud to be here,' he says now, 'and I'm learning all the time. As soon as I signed for the team they sent a steering wheel round to my house so I could learn all the controls and the sequences for the start. I just kept it in my lap. When I got to the first race, I wasn't nervous about the start because I knew everything.'

McLaren made sure Hamilton was physically prepared and it is hard to imagine anyone looking fitter. Countless trips to the gym ensured that he would develop the strength and stamina to cope with the rigours of racing an F1 car for up to two hours in extreme heat.

'It was extremely exciting to do all the training,' Hamilton says. 'There was a point where we were doing all the same things over and over again, but then we started changing things and it became exciting again. You wouldn't believe what it's like in the car, the forces that are on you. I finish every race with a black …' - he pauses, half smiles and then continues - ' …a darker line down my side where I've been pushed against the seat. But the race is the most exciting part, the first corner, the first pit stop. I am just going to get stronger and stronger. I'm not yet at my best.'

Hamilton, who was born on 7 January 1985 in Stevenage, Hertfordshire, has been immersed in motor racing since the age of eight. His parents, Carmen and Anthony, separated when he was two, and he lived with his mother until he was 10, before moving in with his father and stepmother Linda. A day out with his dad to Rye House kart track, a few miles south of Stevenage, changed the path of his life. He had already been karting and proved to be a natural, soon lapping his father, but now he decided that racing was what he wanted to do. A deal was struck between father and son: if Lewis worked hard at school, Anthony would support his son's karting.

Anthony was working as an IT manager as Lewis began making a name for himself on the kart circuit. Taking time off became a problem as his son's racing and testing took him all over the country and overseas. Eventually Anthony took redundancy so he could spend more time at the track. He did contract work and was sometimes doing two or three jobs at a time, including putting up estate agents' signs. In time, he set up his own computer company, which now employs 25 people, but his main role in life is working as his son's manager on a daily basis.

'If I didn't love it, I'm sure I wouldn't be as good as I am today because I'd have put half the effort in and just have done the races,' Lewis says, recalling the time he spent testing in his early karting days. 'I think you find drivers who just rely on their racing ability and don't do the hard yards. When you're young you don't really understand that philosophy: work hard and see the result. You think, "I can't be bothered to work hard now," and when you get there you struggle and complain. But if you really put the effort in you see the result. Even if you don't do well you know you've done the work, so next time you can improve on it.'

As soon as Hamilton started competing, the results were spectacular. Adam Jones, a journalist and ex-racer who now runs 100ccPR, an agency that deals in public relations for kart racers, remembers meeting Hamilton in 1994. 'Martin Howell, who owned the Playscape indoor kart track in Clapham, introduced us. He said, "Adam, this is Lewis - he's going to be a Formula One world champion." I shook his hand and said, "You're going to be a grand-prix champion, eh?" and Lewis looked at me and said, "Yes, I am." I thought, "Yeah, right." What struck me wasn't Lewis's steely determination but Martin's tone. He wasn't patronising Lewis or me; he meant what he said. Every magazine or newspaper article about Lewis mentions his karting background, but what they fail to say is just how good he was back in those days. Lewis hasn't just suddenly arrived; he's been around a long time.'

Michael Eboda is editor of the New Nation, the newspaper aimed at Britain's black community. He recalls arriving at Buckmore Park kart track in Kent to interview Hamilton and his father for The Observer in 1997. 'I got there and asked someone where I could find Lewis Hamilton. They said, "He's the only black kid here and he'll be about three laps ahead of everyone else." He was.' Eboda remembers the 12-year-old Hamilton as being polite and assured as they chatted in the back of a beaten-up old Peugeot hire car. He didn't want his father with him as they talked, but Eboda was more than a little surprised by the answer when he asked how Hamilton drives a kart so fast. 'I don't know why I'm so quick,' Lewis had said. 'When I come to a corner the answer just comes. I take what the answer says and it makes me take it as quickly as possible.'

He has always gone as quickly as possible. Kieran Crawley is boss of M-Sport, one of Britain's leading kart teams, and worked with the Hamiltons as Lewis made his way up through the karting levels. He remembers a race in Belgium, when Lewis was competing in the Junior Intercontinental A class, that proved just how quick he could be. 'Lewis was always stalling the kart, but you were allowed to wait by the side of the track with an engine starter. As they rolled on to the grid I could see Lewis looking for me. I thought, "Oh no, he's stalled it." I got the starter into the side pod just as the lights went to green. Lewis went off from the back of the grid and was already half a lap down. He caught the pack and went through it to finish fourth. He was up against some very good drivers - including Robert Kubica, the Pole who is now an F1 driver for BMW - and beat them. In F1 we haven't seen him come from the back, but that's when he's at his most dangerous. When he makes mistakes, just watch him go. I want to see him make some mistakes - then you'll see just how good he is.'

Does Hamilton relish the thought of charging through from the back after a mistake? It must happen one day soon in F1, as it did in Istanbul last year, in GP2, when he spun and worked his way up from 16th to second.

'I rarely make mistakes in races,' he says. 'In Istanbul that was one of the few mistakes I've ever made.'

But surely it was worth it?

'It was,' he says, smiling. 'It was great, but I was struggling in the car. The rear end was not right. Straight after that [the spin] I somehow extracted a little bit more from the tyres and I had this boost and everything's right, the car was great and things need to be …'

Momentarily he is lost in the memory of that epic drive. 'Look at Kimi [Raikkonen] in Japan in 2005, when he came from the back. Everything was right, the car was fantastic and he got out of trouble when he did some of the most amazing moves you've ever seen. He was buzzing, he enjoyed it and he won. I love those experiences. I love coming from the back.'

Hamilton's physical gifts don't just belong behind the wheel of a racing car. He took up karate after he caught the eye of the school bully. By the age of 12, he was a black belt. He was also a more-than-useful footballer at John Henry Newman School in Stevenage and played in the same team there as Ashley Young, the England under-21 midfielder who joined Aston Villa from Watford in January for £9.65m. 'I was quicker than Ashley Young, stronger than him, so I had that with me. But he was very skilled and very neat and would dribble the ball round people very nicely. I was very powerful in the team, I was always a midfielder and in my team I was the fittest by far because of my racing and the training I did. I'd run up and down and up and down and if someone tackled me I'd get them back. I'd always get them back because I never gave up, whereas a lot of people would get tackled then just leave it for the next stage of the game. I'd never let that happen.'

Like all top sportsmen, Hamilton is hugely competitive, whether in a racing car or out ten-pin bowling with his mother. Do all the fun things in life involve keeping score?

'I think at a young age everything I did competitively I wanted to win, and I hated not being the best at any sport I did. When I competed against anyone I thought, "I've got to win." But I've got to a point now that I play golf and I lose, and I can deal with it. It's not a negative energy, I can control that energy.'

So does he let his mother win at bowling?

'I don't ever let anyone win if I'm honest,' he says. 'I should let my brother win at some things, but it's very hard for me to do that.'

He is referring to his half-brother, Nicholas, who is 15 and has cerebral palsy. The two are extremely close. 'I always wanted a brother and I remember when my parents [as he always refers to his father and step-mother] first told me they were going to have a boy, I was well excited. It's quite a cool feeling to watch someone grow up, to see the difficulties and troubles he's had, the experience he's had. To go through them with him and see how he pulls out of them. I think he's just an amazing lad and I really love to do things for him. This weekend we're going racing remote-control cars. We bought him a new one, then I bought one so we can race together. I've been a couple of times and I get hassled a little bit now, but I had my dad to take me and he doesn't have time, so when I do have time I love to just take my brother down to the track. He loves a challenge and he's got a lot steeper challenges.'

The future for Lewis Hamilton has limitless possibilities. He will win many grands prix and world championships, perhaps even more than the seven titles that Michael Schumacher won before he retired at the end of 2006. He will very soon be improbably wealthy, even if, for now, his salary is reported to be £500,000 a season (team-mate Fernando Alonso is rumoured to earn 20 times as much). Dominic Curran, a director of Karen Earl Sponsorship, believes Hamilton has the potential to earn hundreds of millions of pounds. 'He has arrived with about as big a bang as possible,' Curran says. 'He's got something different - he's the first black F1 driver - which opens up a whole new market for him. Plus, he has charisma and star quality, he's a good-looking guy who speaks well, which is attractive to sponsors. And he's clean-cut.'

What does Hamilton think of all this? How does he see himself in the future? 'I think when I'm done I'd just like to go back to living a normal life and have a family and no worries,' he says. 'Just enjoy doing things with my brother. There's a lot of experiences in life which I haven't had yet, and doing that with him and doing that with my friends and not having the worries, just enjoying. It's such an important thing.'

How does he account for being so calm and grounded?

'It comes from my parents, yeah, and being taught to appreciate things. I was like every kid, you know. You get in trouble … I liked living life on the edge but I was always taught to appreciate things and say "thank you". I got that from my dad but also from my mum. A lot of my personality comes from my mum. It's a real half and half.'

At McLaren there is nothing but praise for their record-breaking recruit. 'I could launch into a whole range of eulogies,' says Ron Dennis. 'You just need to look at the history of F1 to see how his debut compares. How could anyone expect a start like this? And it's not just what he does on the track but it's what he says and how he says it. You have the impression that here is a guy who will keep his feet on the ground. He has enough Brownie points to avoid criticism if something goes wrong - which it will. It's inevitable for any driver. But you have the feeling that Lewis will be able to cope with that too.'

The team's chief executive, Martin Whitmarsh, knows exactly just how good Hamilton is. 'Since I joined McLaren in 1989, I've worked with a lot of great drivers, including [Alain] Prost, [Ayrton] Senna, Mika Hakkinen and now Fernando Alonso. It's pretty clear that Lewis ticks all the necessary boxes. It's too early to analyse, but if the trend continues there is no reason why he could not become the greatest driver ever.'

Hamilton's influence is extending far beyond the insular world of F1. Michael Eboda, of New Nation, can already see the impact he is having on black Britons. 'He's incredibly popular and, for the want of a better expression, he's a fantastic role model, as is his dad. It sends out a message to people that that is the way to bring up a kid.'

McLaren are excessively protective of their new star, in a manner reminiscent of how Alex Ferguson once chaperoned the young Ryan Giggs at Manchester United. This interview took many months to negotiate, and there were many stipulations on what I could and could not ask Hamilton - such as about race and ethnicity or indeed whether he intended, like most F1 drivers, to become a tax exile. At the Spanish Grand Prix meeting last month Hamilton had mentioned that he might one day have to move to Switzerland for tax reasons, but his father quickly killed the story.

McLaren need not worry excessively, because Hamilton will not let the team down. He has not been fazed by what he has achieved so far in his career, let alone in F1, where he has placed the superstars, including his team-mate, the double world champion Fernando Alonso, under intense pressure. The Lewis Hamilton story is much nearer the beginning than the end and the world is still waking up to just what is possible.

Is this what worries McLaren then, that they fear their new superstar might start to feel and act like one?

Perhaps Hamilton should answer that for himself. 'I've never read about something I've said, because I know what I've said,' he says before we part. 'My parents might say, "There's a good piece in the paper, do you want to read it?", but I won't read it. It's a good way of keeping your feet on the ground because when you read stuff like that you think, "Wow, it's great," and you feel yourself floating. As I don't read the stuff about me, I don't feel like a superstar. I don't understand people who do have that mentality, "I'm a superstar!" It's just a job. It's a fantastic job, and people just perceive you for some reason as a superstar, but at the end of the day I'm just Lewis. I've always been Lewis, and it's important to me to stay like that because people will take me like that.'

[ryttu3k]

I'm curious abut Sascha Vykos. Do you know which novels or splat books would be good to read to learn more about them?

*cracks knuckles*

Number 1 book you need to understand Sascha's background is the Dark Ages Tzimisce clan novel by Myranda Kalis, which has them as the main character (along with their lover, Ilias cel Frumos) and explains why they're... like that. Just a goddamn amazing character study, also completely heartbreaking and singlehandedly made me change my view of them from "haha wtf what an edgelord" to "they're my baby and I'm gonna fight a methuselah for them". Set between 1232 and 1234, if I've managed to maths right.

Also by Myranda and set around a similar time (shortly after the fall of Constantinople) is the Road of Sin book (set around 1205). Sascha (then called Myca) narrates the introduction and first chapter. It does specifically focus on their history with the eponymous Road, but has a lot of interesting character details, along with their relationship with Ilias.

For modern Sascha, there are two. First is the original Clan Novel Saga (set 1999), although in this case, I'm not recommending just the Tzimisce novel, but rather the compiled editions. There's a bunch of Sascha content in the Assamite book as well, since they're quite involved with one of the characters in it, and it also includes extra, exclusive content, including my two favourite chapters - a story by Lucien Soulban (Sascha's creator), and an epilogue by Janet Trautvetter, mostly about Jan Pieterzoon but with Sascha being fairly prominent in it.

Fair warning, CNS was written in 1999 and has. Mm. Edgelordy moments. We do not talk about The Foetus Thing :|

The other, probably most important one is Beckett's Jyhad Diary, which I would recommend for literally anyone interested in VtM in general. Sascha has minor appearances and mentions in a bunch of chapters, but is extremely prominent in the chapter Dreams & Nightmares (also by Myranda Kalis/Sarro). She also wrote the chapter Azhi Dahaka, another must-read relating to Sascha.

The timing for BJD is... less clear, because at least a few of the people involved have said it's set in 2005, but also there's one chapter where an event that explicitly took place around 1999 or 2000 is said to have taken place "sixteen years ago", so. Let's just call that early 21st century.

Most of the rest of the books are chronicles, plus one city book - their origin book, Constantinople by Night (1197, IIRC?) by Lucien Soulban, Philippe Boulle, and Joshua Mosqueira-Asheim. Others, in chronological order by setting, include Bitter Crusade (two chapters, Fiendish Winter and Dying Embers, the latter covering the Fall of Constantinople in 1204), Under the Black Cross (1225), and a whole bunch of the Transylvania Chronicles (Myca/Sascha appears in book 1 in Dark Tides Cresting (1314), in book 2 in Haceldema (covers the Convention of Thorns, 1493), in book 3 in An Angel's Plea (1680, also has the most hilariously thirsty description of Sascha I've ever seen in my life), and in book 4 in The Accounting (1998).)

Seriously. Here's their Transylvania Chronicles 3 character sheet:

They appear in two of the Giovanni Chronicles books, three (1882) and four (same, in a flashback that also has my baby Anatole), in the Nightshade scenario of the Gehenna book (1999), although that's since been retconned out of existence, along with chunks of the Clan Novel Saga, mostly to do with the approaching Gehenna stuff, and in particular Anatole's fate. It's still worth reading just for some fascinating ways the world could end. Finally, they appear in the House of Lies chapter of Nights of Prophecy (1999?).

Aside from those, they also have little appearances and mentions in other books, including letters and notes throughout chapter 7 of the Revised corebook, a rather amusing little reference in chapter 4 of the Victorian Age corebook, a detailed profile and character sheet in Children of the Night although that book pisses me off because it put Beckett, Anatole, and Lucita on the front cover but didn't give us sheets for them!, and the opening letter of the V5 Sabbat book, which you can read here (and then ignore the rest of the book and get the Revised-era Guide to the Sabbat instead, seriously, fuck the V5 version of the Sabbat and the Tzimisce).

So yes! They show up a lot, and all through the game's history. The three most important ones to read, I think, are the Dark Ages Tzimisce novel, the combined Clan Novel Saga, and Beckett's Jyhad Diary, then the rest just depending on interest in the era or broader story, since Sascha is less involved in those.

Have fun! They're an absolute hot mess of a character and I adore them!

[dr-futbol-blog]

The Gift, Pt. 3

Teyla discusses her dreams with Heightmeyer, and apparently they talk for quite a while. We get several scenes between them and because Teyla keeps having nightmares that confuse dream and reality, it is difficult to keep track of the actual timeline of the events. They do have several sessions, and they seem to have them at all hours of the day (and night). It's interesting that her 'gift' seems to be made into an allegory of homosexuality kind of like the X-Men in the 1990s (in how people fear and hate anything that is different):

Heightmeyer: Do many of your people have this ability? Teyla: Some. Among those few, some can sense the Wraith stronger than others. I have always been among the first to know they are coming. Heightmeyer: That makes you special. How does that make you feel? Teyla: I do not know. I suppose I have not given it much thought. Heightmeyer: Why not? Teyla: Why do some people have blue eyes and others brown?

Given that the motif of this episode is her attempting to deal with this thing that has made her different from her people from childhood onward, the fact that she is paralleled with McKay so hard in this particular episode is rather telling. Earlier, Teyla had a discussion with Beckett about this thing that has made her different being genetic in nature. In other words, she was born this way. They drive the point in further:

Heightmeyer: The truth is, people waste a lot of time trying to interpret their dreams. They're really just another way our brain thinks when we're asleep. There are no hidden meanings. In fact, we tend to forget most everything we dream about. Our conscious mind is capable of deciding what's most important to us. Teyla: Well, the fact that on some level I see myself as a Wraith is very disturbing to me. Heightmeyer: I think this special ability that you have, this talent for sensing the Wraith, connects you to them in your mind--maybe in a way you would like to deny. You said you hadn't really given it much thought in the past--I don't think that's true. Teyla: What am I supposed to do? I cannot change it. Heightmeyer: Probably not--but the unknown frightens us. We all like to feel in control, even though most of the time our power over most things is just an illusion. But I find the more we know about something, the more we can convince ourselves we are in control of it.

Encouraged by her conversation with Heightmeyer she decides to dig deeper into her past, visiting the mainland to speak with one of their elders. She learns some Athosian wraith lore and we then find her sitting in Weir's office, telling Weir and Sheppard about her discoveries.

Sheppard has apparently returned from the Alpha Site, and again we don't know when or what he has been doing in the meantime. Where Teyla and Weir are seated on the opposite sides of her desk, he is standing by the side of the door facing Teyla, arms folded, kind of behind Weir but twisted in a way that he actually manages to have his body (especially his pelvis) turned away from the both of them. All I'm saying is that it defies all laws of probability that this keeps happening by chance or accident. Acting choices are being made.

Given what we later learn about Sheppard's past later (both with regards to his father and what happened in Afghanistan), Sheppard has a curious reaction to the thought of people being sent away from their homes:

Teyla is sharing all of this with Weir because she feels that the leader of the expedition needs to know about this fascinating new information she has learned, and Sheppard is there as her superior. And to his credit, Sheppard is taking her side, being the supportive leader that he is clearly intending to be at this time. He does seem very concerned, listening to her. Not so much over the content of her story as the fact that she is so agitated over it. To him, he explicitly tells us in the following scene, this is about trying to help her put this behind her so that she can sleep, so that they all can sleep. It's not that she believes her or even cares if what she says is true, it's that he can see it's bothering her and figures this might help.

Sheppard still seems to be deferring to Weir's leadership, allowing her to call the shots even though this is becoming more and more a purely military matter. Here, he offers Weir only his advice while taking the side of his team member. He also only looks at Weir out of the corner of his eye, doesn't properly turn to look at her once. Further, he is starting to feel desperate enough that he is willing to grasp at any straws he can reach. He does not let it show because it doesn't help their situation at all but because he (just like McKay) realizes much better than most how much trouble they are in, he is really quite distressed. He is hanging on by a thread. The desperation is starting to creep in.

Teyla: I have the address to the planet where this happened. Charan says the village is long gone. All that is left are ruins but still, I wish to go there. Weir: Now? Teyla: I believe this must be coming to light now for a reason. Maybe we can find evidence of what really happened. Weir: Look, Teyla, there are a lot of things that we need to get done. Teyla: Maybe there is a way to fight the Wraith that we have yet to discover. Perhaps my ancestors were simply not enlightened enough to recognise their gift for what it was. Sheppard: Doesn't hurt to take a look around.

Now, Weir is absolutely correct in pointing out that they have so many better things to be doing right now. Sheppard has more important things to be doing, and he also takes McKay on this mission who definitely has more important things to be doing. The fact that Sheppard agrees to this when he is clearly expecting them to find nothing at all on the planet, basically a fool's quest, just tells us how important he finds it that Teyla gets some sleep. And Teyla getting some sleep is important to him because McKay getting some sleep is not only important to him personally, which it is, but is also important for the whole damn expedition. So he's willing to try pretty much anything at this point.

And so, the team find themselves on a nameless alien planet on a dark and stormy night.

We follow Ford who passes McKay, bent over looking at something and Sheppard is standing right behind him, seeming to be looking up at something. Definitely not looking at that behind. But he is, again, turned toward McKay, his eyes taking a tour by McKay as he turns to Ford. While Teyla and McKay appear to be looking around, Sheppard and Ford are just waiting for them to get done with it. In this, Teyla and McKay are again paralleled.

Ford doesn't see the point in being here any more than Weir did:

Ford: Sir, there's nothing here. Sheppard: I know. Ford: Well, it's dark. Shouldn't we be getting back? Sheppard: Give her a minute. Ford: Sir... Sheppard: Ford, I need her to put this behind her; get some sleep. We all do, so whatever it takes.

Make note how Sheppard draws Ford's attention to Teyla, gesturing at her to get Ford to look at her. And what does he do while he has Ford's attention on her? He looks back at McKay. His attention is so firmly on McKay that Ford actually has to to address him ('Sir?') to get him back to the conversation he thought they were having. Sheppard tells him that he needs Teyla to get this behind her (something Freudian perhaps in his choice of words given that McKay had his backside to him) but this scene, here, just tells us that while he is talking about Teyla, it is McKay that is Sheppard's first priority and actual source of concern. Yes, he likes looking at McKay at any and all times. But here, he isn't doing it just because that's where his eyes are drawn but because he is worried about the man. He is worried, and clearly distracted by his concern.

The thing is, Sheppard never expected to find anything on this planet or for these folk tales Teyla had heard among the Athosians to contribute anything to their coming stand against the wraith. His only motivation for bringing the entire team was to help Teyla put what ever is bothering her behind her so that she could get some sleep. He is so worried about her that he is willing to do "whatever it takes". They all need to get some sleep, he says. We haven't heard of Ford having any trouble getting rest, so it's doubtful the "all" here encompasses him. Members of the military have often developed strategies on getting sufficient rest even under battle field conditions so out of everyone on the expedition, they are the least likely to suffer lack of sleep at this time. Sheppard, of course, is among them and given that we have seen him sleep sitting on a chair previously, he probably is capable of sleeping under dire circumstances. But he says "we", counting himself among the people that needs to get some sleep. So what is the thing that's keeping him from getting sufficient sleep?

Sheppard's "we all" explicitly includes Teyla but it also very much seems to include McKay if only because Sheppard heard him complain about not having slept during the meeting. Likewise, we found McKay seeing Heightmeyer where Sheppard directed Teyla to speak with her about her trouble sleeping which allows for us to speculate that he might have done the same with McKay. And yes, McKay getting some sleep is important to everyone at this critical moment. But only a more intimate experience of McKay not sleeping well would explain Sheppard's own need to get some sleep. Crying ourselves to sleep is what McKay said. Trying to sleep next to someone that is having frequent nightmares would keep you from getting rest.

Sheppard can barely keep his eyes off of McKay for the duration of the explanation he gives Ford, returning to look at him on "what ever it takes". While they are on this planet for Teyla, Sheppard's concern is still mostly for McKay. His attention is mostly on McKay. His "what ever it takes" is clearly first and foremost for McKay. The way he looks at him here, brief though it is, is so loving that it leaves little room for doubt as to who Sheppard is really doing all of this for.

He doesn't let McKay see it, though, looking away as McKay turns and approaches him. He pretends to look up at the sky (again) for that short moment that McKay is facing him but as soon as he turns again, Sheppard returns his eyes on him. Then, he speaks his name either because McKay had just been not saying anything longer than he likes or because he noticed just from his body-language that McKay had discovered something (and Sheppard starts saying his name even before McKay raises his head so he is finely attuned to McKay's body-language):

Sheppard: Rodney? McKay: I've got something here. Ford: Really? McKay: I don't know...

McKay trails off, clearly trying to figure something out. It frustrates Sheppard when McKay doesn't use his words, when he doesn't explain things to him. He has such a need to share in his world. We see him trying to look over McKay's shoulder to see what he's looking at on his "magic Ancient device" and not for the last time. Then, we get another curious reference to their private life that is played out mainly through Sheppard's expressions:

McKay: I've got a little... Ford: You've got a little what? Hey, McKay, you've got a little what?! What? Oh, it's OK when you guys make fun of me!

I already discussed this scene in connection with The Brotherhood (S01E16). It shows us that Ford has misinterpreted Sheppard with regards to his attitude and general treatment of McKay.

There are several times that someone says something that kind of makes McKay the butt-end of a joke and we get a reaction shot from Ford. Often, it's Sheppard saying something to provoke a reaction out of McKay because he needs to have McKay's attention on himself pretty much all of the time (and because Ford looks up to his leader, it's only natural for him to want to emulate this behaviour), but it's not just Sheppard either. He finds it amusing when people poke fun at McKay, all mostly in good cheer.

Now, I don't think Ford dislikes McKay. They're just very different people and Ford does not seem to have enough life-experience to understand someone like McKay, to appreciate them as anything more than the magic science man. Back when they were playing the math game (Hot Zone (S01E12), Ford being made fun of mostly by Zelenka, he turns on him and says: "This is some sort of pay-back for guys like me beating up guys like you in high school, right?" He may or may not have actually done this when he was in a high school--he was clearly airing out his frustration when he said this--but there does seem to be some kind of a jock vs. nerd dynamic in his mind when it comes to the military and the science corps of the expedition. And he fully expects Sheppard to participate in this dynamic too, especially because the way he has interpreted things, Sheppard is constantly poking fun at McKay.

Only, Sheppard doesn't feel that way about scientists at all. We just heard him wax poetic in the defense of science in the meeting, expressing his belief that science can turn the tide of war. Science is what has put him into the sky and later into another whole damn galaxy so yes, he appreciates science and scientists even if he had no personal stake in them. And he very much does have a personal stake in one scientist in particular.

Here, Ford says "It's okay when you guys do it to me." But the thing is, we haven't really seen either of them make fun of Ford. In fact, Sheppard and McKay's interpersonal relationship is so insulated that it is difficult for anyone to interrupt their unending back-and-forth with each other. They don't pay attention to other people when they are around each other. And this is precisely the problem. It makes people around them feel like they are outsiders, like they're not a part of something. In fact, Ford referring to them as "you guys" just emphasizes the fact that even he thinks of the two of them forming a unit he is not a part of.

It seems obvious that Ford would like to be a part of their banter, would like to be on the inside. When he says "when you guys make fun of me" even though they don't really make fun of him, it's a kind of projection. He wishes they made fun of him with the same ease and affection that they do each other (even though making fun is not really what they have been doing with each other at all). He wants to be liked and respected by his superior and hence attempts to emulate what he thinks Sheppard so frequently does.

But as stated, Sheppard does not make fun of McKay. He teases McKay. His motivation has never been to belittle him in front of other people but to have his attention, to point out things he has noticed about McKay because he finds them endearing, to try to connect with him. People frequently misinterpret what Sheppard intends (an egregious example is the Superman incident in The Storm, S01E09; to Sheppard Rodney McKay is very much a hero) because, due to his inability to freely express his feelings, he often has to disguise genuine statements in layers sarcasm and flippancy. The more he cares about something the more he has to pretend like it is meaningless. He truly and honestly believes that his love is lethal so the more important something is to him the more has to project not caring like that would protect the object of his affection from the horrible fate he is inviting upon them. John Sheppard is messed up, is the thing. And not everyone can see through his façade--most people, in fact.

So, not only has it never been Sheppard's intention to make fun of McKay, we have seen, especially recently, that he is extremely protective of him. He cares about McKay a whole hell of a lot, regardless of how you interpret their relationship. Even in this very episode it is at least implied that McKay's inability to sleep plays a great part in motivating everything Sheppard does. Sheppard has killed actual people (including one innocent civilian) to protect McKay so suffice it to say that it's a pretty important thing to him. He was never going to join in on this with Ford. But more than that, Ford is making fun of McKay's manhood, his dick. It's crass, yes. It's against the bro-code. But it's also probably the worst possible topic to make fun of that you could pick with Sheppard. He can appreciate a good dick-pun but he has no sense of humour about that.

One, we are hinted multiple times over the seasons that McKay is well-endowed (and make note that even in this scene, he doesn't even notice the whole thing; he has so little complexes relating to his size that he's completely unfazed like the thought doesn't even occur to him that someone might be implying something like that) which is also something that Sheppard appreciates (again, whale dick, Echoes S03E12). Second, by this time Sheppard is not only well-acquainted with his dick, it is one of his favourite things. There's like a 50/50 chance that he's seen McKay's dick more recently than he has seen his own during this scene. Sheppard takes this personally, and he is well-within his rights in doing so. Ford would never have made a disparaging comment about Sheppard's own manhood because he looks up to him so much but it's entirely possible that would have been less offensive to him than that.

So anyway. In this scene, the fact that Sheppard is protective of Rodney McKay's dick is textualized. But because the dialogue is so fascinating, it's easy to miss the way Sheppard was looking at McKay just before he heard and/or got what Ford was saying. Again, with McKay having his back to him, he's so openly and nakedly looking at him. That man is so hopelessly in love with McKay, there is such yearning in his gaze. If we learned anything from the previous episode is that he knows now that he loves him but that he is afraid to speak its name. He knows that McKay can read things off of his face and it seems like this love is something that he doesn't want him to know about, doesn't want him to see. Because what if McKay looked at him the same way? What if he didn't look at him the same way? If he is turning into a teenage girl here it's only because he has never been in love like this before.

Sheppard just walks away from Ford without deigning him with an answer. And ford a second time, he calls Rodney by his name having again reverted to the thing where he communicates with him by only saying his name in different tones and expecting McKay to understand what he means by each iteration of his name.

Sheppard follows McKay and Teyla toward the rock face and, again, as McKay is turned away, he looks at him as he passes. He briefly feels up the solid rock wall, turns around and walks right back to McKay because apparently he really needs to be looking at what ever readings McKay has on his device like he could help figure them out. Or, you know. For some reason when ever he wants McKay to figure something out he needs to be up in his personal space, heads bent together real close.

Teyla seems to vanish inside a wall of solid rock, leaving the rest of them on the outside wondering what the hell just happened. Sheppard is worried about her since they seem to be unable to get to her. McKay tells him "Maybe she got a good running start--you know, really slam into it."

And while Sheppard looks really concerned as he turns back, this has even been described as a "black look" ("Sheppard gives McKay a black look") in many transcripts which, sure. But that's not the look he gives McKay, it's the look he has on him as he turns around. As soon as his mind registers what McKay actually said, he raises his brow like this isn't the time to be thinking about slamming into things. It's subtle, but he definitely caught the reference he thought McKay was making.

This seems similar to what happened back on the planet Dagan in The Brotherhood (S01E16) where McKay made an innocent comment that Sheppard interpreted as a double entendre. And here he is, leaning against a wall with his palms pressed against it and this man is talking about really slamming into it. We will see better examples of this in the future, McKay completely oblivious to how Sheppard hears what he says because his mind, no matter how dire the situation, is on sex. When McKay is around. The most hilarious example of this is in Lifeline (S04E02) when they are on the actual replicator homeworld, on the kind of mission where sex should really be the furthest thing from one's mind. And yet:

McKay: OK, let's jack it up, see how far we can penetrate. Sheppard: "Penetrate"? McKay: What?

Man. Buddy. Pal. Sheppard. Please get some chill.

So anyway, with Sheppard pushing his ass out toward McKay in a shot that is not suggestive of anything at all they stumble into an abandoned wraith lab, and the fabulous mystery deepens.

Continued in Pt. 4

[thekatebridgerton]

Today on another episode of... oh you know the drill, I'm sleep deprived, I write aus at 3am, fall asleep without energy enough to keep writing, only to do it all over again next weekend. So for this week's episode:

Benophie meet the Robinsons au

So this kid Charlie suddenly lands in 12 year old orphaned Sophie's backyard, right around the time her father married Araminta, and for some reason Charlie claims that she is the only person who can help him fix the time machine that brought him there in the first place else his parents are going to kill him. And some evil villain is out to get him. So of course science kiddo Sophie agrees to help.

Except that while she tries fixing it, the time machine malfunctions again and sends 12 year old Sophie and 11 yo Charlie into the future.

The thing is that Charlie Bridgerton's entire family is currently all in his grandmother's estate for their annual game of pall mall.

And his family is... a lot to take in

Sophie's new friend has 7 eccentric aunts and uncles, plus their spouses, around 20 cousins ( Sophie really keeps loosing count of how many cousins Charlie has), then there's the unexpected visits from the sisters of his uncle's wives, with their respective husbands. Sophie counted one two, five Grandmothers having tea in the solar. And of course, Charlie's father, the artist Benedict Bridgerton, (who has got to be the most handsome man little Sophie has ever seen and Charlie's three younger siblings. )

They all think Sophie is some kind of school mate that Charlie has brought home and treat her so well that cute orphan Sophie starts wishing she could have a family like the Bridgertons, no matter how much Charlie says that's a bad idea because his mom definitely wouldn't like it, but once the Bridgertons find out that Charlie's friend is an orphan, of course they want to take her in.

Until Charlie's mom comes back home ready to scold her son for damaging her time machine and... little Sophie Beckett finds herself face to face with genius British scientist Sophie Bridgerton. Cue the chaos from the family realizing that Charlie brought his little mom to the future.

In the end when the evil corporation is defeated and the future time continuum is saved Sophie goes back to the past, ready to endure under Araminta until she can get an early emancipation and a scholarship to put all her effort into science and create a time Machine... and then she bumps into some slacker teenager painting the walls with graffiti and calling it art. Young Benedict is far from the wonderful man Sophie met in the future, but... she wants to stick to him and figure out how they ended up married in the future, worse, as her life keeps progressing and her friendship/ on and off art trade offs, with Ben keeps getting stronger trough the years, how can she hide the knowledge of who exactly is her in-laws future spouse.

Take for example Penelope from the journalism club, when Colin Bridgerton said he'd never date her, Sophie wanted to punch him and tell him he'd regret those words soon enough. She literally saw his adult version missing his wife just because Penelope went outside for air. And let's not mention Benedict's pompous older brother who always thinks he knows best, making plans to date Kate's sister right Infront of Sophie and Benedict. At that point Sophie was just opening a betting pool with grandma Danbury and calling it a day. Simon showing up one day and pretending to date Daphne was honestly the least weird part of Sophie's college years. When they got married, she was the least surprised, she knew!!

Francesca getting married to Michael's cousin? Since when? Sophie was convinced Michael was Fran's husband in the future, she didn't know about any John...wait ..wait oh no

And let's not get started with super feminist ' I don't need a man I'll never get married afraid of children ' Eloise, little Sophie was almost adopted into the Bridgerton family because adult Eloise was an avid children's rights advocate with a husband who believed in adopting orphans left and right. To find out that Eloise, the star step mom who was all about healing Sophie's trauma, used to be some surly angry highschool rebel, really had Sophie wondering if Eloise had a nicer secret twin.

And all the while in which Sophie is going with the flow keeping up with the Bridgertons and helping them out into becoming the happily weird and chaotic family she knows they can be. She ends up not noticing that ex graffiti artist, turned gallery owner Benedict is really into her. Mostly because Sophie knows herself as his wife or rather his future wife. And he keeps asking her to be his friend with benefits so she automatically thinks he's joking and doesn't pay him attention whenever he DMs her a horny come hither.

Benedict's family on the other hand who already love Sophie, keep telling him that a genius inventor like Sophie will never take him seriously unless he's ready to give her something solid to rely on. Instead of being a shameless tease, he should be a man and ask her out for real. But Benedict hesitates because Sophie already looks like she's been inlove with someone since forever. What he doesn't know is that he's actually jealous of himself, or rather, jealous of the man he'll be in the future, who Sophie met when she was 12.

What a complicated mess.

[cornus27florida]

What did you think of CPC’s ending? 👀👀

Hi IHF!!! I am really sorry to just replying cuz I overthinking so many things, I kinda want to write many things about CPC's ending but that's making me go here and there...

As an overthinker, along with a big procrastinator, I realized how long I keep your question in my inbox unanswered... This also I portrayed through fanfiction at AO3 ``June's Dump" which initially about month June at CPC, so 7 months timeskip as we have George and his sommelier wedding - which def invite Jamie, but I wonder if the venue at Plaid Palace thus we have Plaid Royals reactions over them... Hmph, fix time! I need to fulfill ‘em all!!

Back to basic, the initial question... What do I personally think about the CPC's ending as in epilogue 173? Well… I have mixed feelings, so I have some clashed opinions

As a wiki editor personal thought, I am kind of annoyed at a certain 'new' editor that cut off many things in the page as Mocha already gives the foundation... Peri was even shocked by my strong reactions over that annoyance... Although from there I see how unstable my emotions are, I literally have too many mixed emotions that I can't describe! Nevertheless I finished the story part up to completion, and I think that page is pretty much done. There's my thought as fandom wikia editor lmao but that's too much technical

As a wiki editor personal thought, I am kind of annoyed at a certain 'new' editor that cut off many things in the page as already Mocha gives the foundation... Peri even shocked to my strong reactions over that annoyance... Although from there I see how unstable my emotions, I literally have too many mixed emotions that I can't describe! Nevertheless I finished the story part up to completion, and I think that page is pretty much done. There's my thought as fandom wikia editor lmao but that's too much technical and boring

...although nvm, I will be myself who rambling to things that I love and I won't change at that aspect haha - here come v.02!

So, here is another of my thoughts but based on TV Tropes! This more at happy note~

(Disclaimer: I didn't mainly edit in there, but I do some minor editings here and there - although those never done lmao)

Also it's open secret for everyone, that TV Tropes content is hella subjective but at least they are funny - hence why I feel better informations database is at fandom wiki instead

"Where Are They Now?" Epilogue: The final chapter takes place six months later, and Gwen writes in her diary about what happened then:

Jack learned about Lilyth and her painting curse, then he cried for a whole week over her.

> We know Jack cried in happiness as reunite with his wife once again, IDK that sentence feels like Jack cried in sadness which the opposite of reality

Lorena got an A+++++ for her final class project.

The kids are getting along with the family, and both Jamie and Leopold made more artwork for the walls so Lilyth could travel through them around the castle.

Jack held a celebration to acknowledge the people who helped defend the castle from the invasion. He hasn't visited Leland in prison since.

Jerry was promoted to Chief Warden, while Beckett got demoted and transferred far away from Maria.

> poor Beckett, in wiki there Mocha add sentence which technically objective but lack in Tropes :  Jerry got everything Beckett wanted - a princess, a promotion (to Chief Warden), and recognition from the King himself - while Beckett was demoted and moved to a station as far away from Maria as possible.

Suzana officially joined the Pastel Troops.

> It's actually from ep 171 about Suzie plan to move out to Pastel Kingdom, but ep 173 as the epilogue itself never explicitly tell it? Probably due to it from Gwen's POV that uninterested with military stuff... I am more curious about the location of the new "home" where the throuple LorZanCe are lmao, likely at Pastel Kingdom I guess

The Club got Gwen's painting from the Conservatory back by distracting them with Laverne.

The forest of the Cursed Princess Club was declared a protected area by the king so it's never in danger of being invaded again.

> Remember the spider's conversation about a new member of the CPC incoming? Who?? Heck yeah, sequel potential!

Frederick has been hard at work studying to one day become king and receives support from his family.

> At discord, me and some buddies are joking about how Frederick is going during timeskip espc as he is technically the 'special member' but hasn't got his own slumber party yet... Hence why we got amused on the scenario of him sneaking out on a night to get initiated, but his kingdom mistaken it as something serious and send an army to fetch him out from initiation LOL (in similar sense of ep 148 ending where Prez shocked to see Plaid soldiers lining and thought they are merely fetching Frederick, and in our scenario that assumption of Prez becomes reality). Oh well, I hope in the promised side stories we have Frederick's slumber party (and Maria as well! Although I also hope Lorena and Jamie get the open arms to join the CPC? Well let's see/Fanfic for cope)

Prez stopped taking her medication and resorted to her old way of dealing with her curse. With the growing acknowledgement and support for the Cursed Princess Club, she is looking to expand to help more people who are cursed.

> regarding Prez point, this kinda too summarized on my liking lol. First about the expansion as moving out to a new and bigger building, we don't know exactly where but I really really hope it's at Plaid Kingdom. That way with reformed Plaid Kingdom whose initially negative thoughts toward cursed people (let's see; Leland feels the cursed need to be fixed first, while Blaine and com. Tattersall sees cursed as a monster which needs to die), now on the hands of kinder people espc the crown prince himself is close with CPC - that makes the CPC expansion more meaningful IMHO. Also cuz Plaid has larger land xD

> the period pauser pill (it's not birth control y'all, please don't mix 'em up, fandom!) indeed merely temporarily solution and I have doubts from very first time as see it through eyes of biologist that concerned with drugs side effects espc for long use - even if those pills possibly non synthetic ones=lesser side effects. Basically ALL drugs are technically poison that is used on right doses, time and matched person with many has strict rules under prescription. That's why Whitney suddenly bought it kinda concerning, although I can see the comedic effect and temporarily 'relief of the curse' on that solution haha. Permanent solution possibility for Prez is to get 'reproduction organs/system removal' surgery - the HYSTERECTOMY.. here I spill a bit of spoiler secret of RaS as my ff series, I want Prez to consider that option

Themidora reunited with lobster lover, Benedict, who tricked the wicked sea cucumber into cursing him so he could be with her.

> I am surprised but in the side of “wao, so LambCat chose that option” because I kinda guessed it before. Thermidora "solution" is either to de-transform back as lobster so can reunites with Benedict (probably through searching 'lobster' serum from that background cursed serums merchant, or probably Jack allows the Clam to be used for betterment of CPC members not for greed) OR Benedict somehow finds a way to meets with her. I am more surprised with the way of latter guess to be true, because the method is kinda mundane "trick the sea cucumber to curse me so I can walk on land!" way + Thermidora wish of 'meeting hot summer lobster' to be true somehow LOL. Her premonition comes true and that's silly sweet panel ^^

Whitney returned home to his kingdom for Blacquelyn's coronation. She now wears a coat made from Greyden's fur.

> I wonder about Whitney's status in the Monochrome Kingdom but it seems won't be explained. So my guess as in HCs: Queen Blacquelyn actually 'likes' Whitney more than Greyden from the start, probably in the way of 'being girl is never to claim the throne' so Whitney never heeds her much. Which as Whitney presumed to die and Greyden raising to power, Greyden make havoc to bring his harem to the palace and annoys his sister so much = reason why Blacquelyn decides to throws throne of Greyden (which I and Axel have HC, got neutered LOL)

Nell and Jolie officially got married.

> Very happy for the wedding! Personally I thought their wedding itself is beautiful but the guests scene kinda iffy me a lil bit. Like why Pastel Kingdom only has Maria, Gwen, and Jack? Where are Lorena and Jamie?? I think they are busy chasing their dreams so choose not to attend, or LambCat simply lazy to draw them lol/jk. Also this kinda controversial intake espc to Syrah lovers, but personally I don't feel humored at all with Syrah still flirting with Jack when she must know how strong the love of Jack/Leelathae-Lilyth.. So that scene leaves bad taste to me, this excluding poor Saffron moment. Sigh, the ship of Syrah/ Saffron is officially sunk. I am kinda accepted it but I just feel weird despite being female myself, I feel many female characters are easily 'get away' with things while male characters gets repetitive/redundant/unnecessary misfortunes - some of folks at discord agree with that statement but at the end of the day I want CPC for their heartwarming wholesomeness, not to pick fights at anyone and I am still learning about that. I wonder if Nell and Jolie moved out to stays at the Lace Kingdom as I feel CPC need some delegations that stays at their own kingdom, that's what Tori wants for Monika after all. Speaking of Monika, she technically can have 2 suitors as one Tori and other Orson lol - but epilogue is not deciding her end so I feel who Monika ends up to isn't important? At least her dream to open a stall for jewelry becomes reality, although a certain someone at discord is mad about lack of Monika's appearance overall....

Aurelia got together with Celso after their meeting at the castle.

> This super simplified explanation about Aurelia, and a certain someone labeling Celso as her boy toy - which make me think both of their characters downgraded uhh. Anyway to be honest I am not really a fan of both of them as they are alright characters but not really special as in 'meh' territory. Unlike Orson/Monika as the ship of a Princel/CPC member, CeLia is too rushed imho (they literally meet each other during the night of invasion arc) with the dash of concerning acid mouth from both + we don't know if the "True love's kiss" attempt from Aurelia to Celso really happening or not, but it's so concerning - realistically in my HC about cures for Aurelia, we can develop some utensils that won't melt with her spit (they have magics, duh) with probability of chopsticks could not touching directly with mouth along it's saliva during consumption of certain foods OR developing (more realistic!) melting curse counter which high in acid with something like specialized mouthwash high in alkaline

Maria got to fulfill her dream of singing her recital for everyone, which caught the eye of her idol and they began collabing.

> Good for Maria :3 Also the side stories sneak peak has Maria like performing on a certain stage with a new outfit which the image can be seen at P.S at the end, I wonder if she does an idol live stage under Bozart tutelage?

Blaine is now on a journey of self atonement, but has made sure to attend Maria's recital.

> Some people love Blaine so much, I am not really sure if to be honest.. I just hope that Blaine at least attempts to communicate with his family (sans Leland ofc) in his journey, especially his youngest brother who becomes crown prince right now could get some pointers about how to lead people of their kingdom. My opinion about Blaine fits the most with Mono's opinion in that sense after all

As for Gwen, she no longer sees cracks in her reflection. She is happy with Frederick.

> that's how TV Tropes conclude things but I feel I need to add more (for another time, remind the future me plz) as I feel Gwen and Frederick, being the protagonist and the deuteragonist respectively, need to be on separate points? From what I get (thus my personal thoughts) by rereading ep 173 at uncountable times, Gwen technically doesn't stopping see cracks in her reflection BUT every time she feels down which make the cracking - she will read her mother's letter that she put on her bedroom wall (I kinda hope there's a couple pictures with Frederick inside Gwen's bedroom, but well at least we have that lovely finale panel)

> The content of Gwen's mom deserves a separate point! Her letter is so warming although there’s some parts that imho too female-exclusive, hence in the fanfiction that I made, Dear Me, I make the content to fits everyone :D

> What's TV Tropes forgot but I will make it up someday, but fandom like at this Tumblr doesn't by some folks, is the crucial final step implicitly told regarding Frederick's character development. He is purposely growing giant sunflowers at the front yard of his palace, showing that he didn't afraid of sunflowers anymore as well making peace with his past as got bullied (I still wondering his bullies where about although I have assumptions they are too 'broken' to show up to public anymore). 

Last for real, GwenDerick/FredDolyn last finale panel is very similar with Frederick's dream as Frederick on the left side of us, holding hands with Gwen with blushing face. That panel is freaking cute and fits the CPC epilogue so much in my humble opinion, what I dream is becomes reality - of wholesomeness ^^

Conclusion: (u could just jump to here, HEHEHE XD )

Long Story Short, overall the epilogue as in the CPC's ending is satisfying to me espc that lovely very last panel. Certain parts like Aurelia's solution of her curse or Prez just back to her old method seems lackluster, but to me is not that bad. I feel the 'backlash' of enjoyment actually from the fandom itself by some 'people' that I will put as anonymous, those I label as 'ungrateful' with some points I already mention. Also I know I am pushing myself so unhealthy regarding editing stuff… I love it actually so no pressure to me at all, but I know it’s kind of my running of realities of adulting hence why I need to ‘touch some grass’ as well

I forgot to mention that I guessed long ago (and confirmed to be right!) that Gwen will write a diary at the epilogue as inspired by her mom's diary. Although a bit of 'offs' are due to initial thought about 'the diary of lilyth' is filled with grief so it meant to be hidden, while Gwen's diary meant to be read to her kids with Frederik [one of comedy is silly sentence that in form of: dear my lovely kids, I want to tell you that your father does not love me at first sight but used to be so scared of my appearance but see now how hard he loves me now :) as a means for the complete opposite as a form of happiness to tell everything about CPC... So a kind of epilogue "I write my own story - reveal" because some episodes which are heavy-centric of Frederick like at ep 70 and 145, no way others could explain it unless those come from Frederick himself. That scenario could happen once Frederick and Gwen becomes true lovebirds that cozy w each other - to reveals true selves

P.S:

Here is some bonus from LambCat's Patreon that somehow I get the updates including the HD pictures !!

 I really want to get stable and high paying jobs soon :0 so I can be financially independent, thus can support LambCat through the paywall like subscribing her Patreon as well as buying CPC books!

[panelshowsource]

this is such a great episode!

for anyone who hasn't listened yet — it deals with some heavy things including food addiction and eating disorders, death, and more, so anyone who wants to check it out should be aware it's about richard's own history and his self-identified "failures", and it's not particularly light-hearted or funny even though it's endearing and inspiring in many ways

i really appreciate his honesty and how carefully he speaks. he has every right to be angry — with his father leaving, with his relationship to food and shame, with the ever-present confines of modern masculinity making life so lonely for men — but he never seems to be. he just cares about being the best, healthiest version of himself. and i appreciate that he doesn't talk at people, preach, act like he knows more or best; he just knows what he knows all while seeking to always be learning more. i really appreciate him!

i've never heard of a podcast by tailors, how interesting! i listened to the episode with alex and it was really sweet! i'll post this in case anyone else wants to check it out :)

(of course 💜)

same, i'd only really heard of it because i got a bunch of messages about it! (i was a little unplugged from scripted tv when the first series came out 😅)

TOTALLY AGREE about jon pointing! his comedic timing, his facial expressions, he is just too hilarious — even though...can i just say...why was that old ass man playing a uni student X_X

anyways — i knew him from plebs!! that's quite a famous itv2 series, so you should check it out and see if you like it! i love tom basden ugh and if you check my non-panel shows masterpost i have live at the moth club and he does standup in ep1!

i am somewhat familiar with it as someone who likes to watch some of the nextup specials (alistair barrie was one i enjoyed recently!) and tries to keep abreast of the festival nominees & winners, but i don't have as much time as i'd like to really weed out my favourites only because there isn't enough time in the day and i'm already trying to watch 100 things a day 🥲

one thing i find funny is how i pay more attention to who would do well on tv opposed to who is just GOOD. like, i didn't get john kearns until stopped thinking about him in the context of dictionary corner and started acknowledging his written set as a very, very specific piece of work that really shouldn't be disassembled and consumed in morsels. but i do see my interest in — and potentially my preference for — panel shows reflected in some of the circuit guys i like, such as alasdair beckett-king, huge davies, larry david. i just know they would kill panel show world if they were pushed properly :')

i find that i like standup a lot more live than i do on screen — which i think a lot of comedians would understand!

as well, i find the discourse about how difficult it is to get started/off the ground now that edinburgh fringe is becoming less and less accessible extremely fascinating and try to listen to all of the podcasts/convos about that that i can. it's costing comedians upwards of 5k just to debut a modest set at edinburgh — which is madness. here is tom mayhew talking to bbc news about this just a couple of weeks ago...

anyways, is there someone you wanted to recommend? i would love to check out anything 😚

—

daniel sloss standup — added a couple of those to drive! god i looooooved him when i was in high school and still do! highly recommend him on roast battle uk if you need extra sloss content. i'll work on the others over the next couple of weeks

alma's not normal — added to drive!

here we go — i know exactly where this is so i can hook you up but imma need you to dm/ask me off anon for the deets!

hold the front page + the unofficial science of home alone — sorry anons i don't have these on me but they're very easy requests someone can hook you up with on r/tv_bunny, so post them there!

—

PANEL SHOW WATCH LINKS / NON-PANEL SHOW WATCH LINKS FAQ / TAGS / ASK

[i-hate-accidents]

i hate accidents: the between

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

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

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

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

content warnings:  classism, mentions of financial survival, microaggressive sexism, microaggressive gender assumption, intersectional low self-image of y/n, positive/supportive families, retelling of recurrent microaggressive homophobic experience with y/n’s family member in [II.vi], short description of almost throwing up (not related to low self-image) in [II.vii]

word count:  9.1k (of 38.8k)

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

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

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

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

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.i ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

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

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

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

“surely you are exaggerating.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

and very beautiful ones, at that.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.ii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

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

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

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

“what is that supposed to mean?”

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

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

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

“how do you know of that?”

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

“so you two talk of me?”

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

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

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

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

“grasp my what?”

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

“how chivalrous of you.”

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

benedict grins and offers his arm.

“i am yours for the taking.”

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

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.iii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

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

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

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

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

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.iv ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you gasp.

“wait!”

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

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

“wha—“

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

“quickly!  you must make haste!”

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

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

“look!”

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

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

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

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

“isn’t it beautiful?”

“yes.”

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

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

“well!”

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

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

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

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

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

menaces.  i am friends with menaces.

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

benedict.

benedict!

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

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

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

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

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

benedict.  

the one you—— care for.  

the one you care for.

the one i care for.

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

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

“shall i— shall i escort you home?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.v ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“it is here!”

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

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

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

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

you then take in the lettering and read,

a ball in titania’s garden court

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

the company of

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

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

“me?  how so?”

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

you beam.

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

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

you see her open her mouth in response—

“oh good!” 

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

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

you furrow your eyebrows as he approaches.

“accepted?”

“the invitation.  to the ball.”

“what?”  

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

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

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

“i have just entered!”

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

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

“i am—” you start, “still lost.” 

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

miss y/n y/l/n.

“this is an invitation.  for me.”

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

“but—— but—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

kathani was wrong.  

this is not quite overwhelming.  this is overwhelmingly overwhelming. 

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

but what strikes you most of all—

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

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

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

“we did,” benedict says.  “we do.”

you exhale.

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

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

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

i shall never understand the absurdity that is this family.

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

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.vi ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

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

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

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

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

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

“i have just entered my adolescent years!”

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

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

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

“why have you not considered eloise?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“i believe that is enough lessons for today.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“may i speak with you?  in private?”  

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

“of course you may.”

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

“follow me.”

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

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

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

“are you all right, benedict?”

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

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

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

“do you have attraction to both sexes?”

“i— what?”

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

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

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

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

“‘of my attractions’?”

“i am asking a question, y/n!”

“you are being strange, benedict!”

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

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

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

“and do you still feel that way?”

“pardon?”

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

just for the one.

“i, i do.” 

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

“does this change your opinion of me?” 

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

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

his face falls.

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

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

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

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

“you have nothing to apologize for.” 

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

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

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

“i do not understand?”

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

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

oh.

benedict.

your heart blooms as you shake your head.

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

“and you have proved me right.”

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

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

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

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

“as i trust you with me.”

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

“benedict—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“what happened to your hair?” 

“what of it?”

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

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

“have you seen y/n?”

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

“do not play foolish, brother.” 

“i am not playing foolish!”

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

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

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

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

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

“you’re taking his side?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“you ruined your coif earlier,” you whisper.

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

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

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

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

“wise words coming from a mischief maker herself.”

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

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

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

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

“of course it’s not.”

“yet another thing we have in common.”

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

“you are compromising my meticulous plans.”

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

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

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

benedict inhales deeply and exhales equally so.

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

the butterflies flutter violently within.

“i, i have done nothing.”

“you have done more than you know.”

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

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

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

shit.

you will yourself to focus.

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

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

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

“oh, this is nothing.”

“of course it’s not.”

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

“farewell, princess.”

and you begin your descent down bridgerton house.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.vii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

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

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

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

“it is a hobby, mama, it—”

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

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

–

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

“madame delacroix—”

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

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

…

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

a combination of fear and excitement perk up within you.

“how do you mean?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

you beam.  “she truly is.”

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

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

genevieve shrugs, but you give it more thought.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“no!”

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

“what do you mean ‘three’!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

oh.

“oh,” you respond pathetically.

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

but—

you huff out a laugh.

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

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

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

“my dear.”

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

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

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

you laugh.  

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

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

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

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

“it would be foolish to doubt your artistry.”

genevieve beams.

“exactly.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ II.viii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

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

“couldn’t sleep?”

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

“i did not mean to startle you.”

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

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

“i’m teasing you, benedict.”

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

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

you roll your eyes.

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

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

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

he swallows.

“that is something i cannot deny.”

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

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

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

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

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

“what is the idea for your painting?”

he hesitates.

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

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

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

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

benedict smiles.

“i am.”

and he turns to look at you.

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

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

“and what of you?”

“and what of me?”

“of your passions?”

you scoff.

“my passions?”

“your writing.”

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

“how do you know of that?”

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

you gape at him, and he continues to grin.

“eloise also told me.”

“she told you!” you shriek.

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

you slump in your swing.

“i feel betrayed.”

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

“she was merely sharing a fact.”

“she is merely a traitor.”

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

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

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

there is a small silence.

“i do not think that is true.” 

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

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

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

i love you.

you shoot up from your swing.

“i must be going, it is quite late—”

“y/n, wait—”

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

he blinks and offers you a small smile.  i must control myself, you reprimand as you feel the butterflies viciously flutter within.

“as did i.”

“good night,” you whisper.  with all the self-control you can muster, you turn away from benedict and hasten towards bridgerton house.

“good night, y/n,” you vaguely hear him say from the swings that brought you together.  you attempt to tune out the wistfulness that you hear, that you imagine you hear in his voice.