#It's very understanding and sympathetic and raised some very good points

[wonder-worker]

"[Alice Perrers] requested that she be buried in the parish church of Upminster, St Laurence, before the altar of the Virgin Mary. Alice seems to have had an affinity with Mary through her life; a seal of hers from c. 1374 shows an image of the Virgin Mary and child, her tabernacle seized in 1377 had an image of the Virgin Mary on it, and now she wished to be buried before Mary’s altar."

— Gemma Hollman, The Queen and the Mistress: The Women of Edward III

[fayes-fics]

To Know You…

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict knows you better than anyone. But does he know himself well enough to know what he truly wants?

Warnings: none really… fluffy fluff. Childhood friends, class differences, marriage mart shenanigans, dancing, marriage proposals, Benedict being adorable while also a complete dumbass, unrequited to requited love, love confessions.

Word Count: 10.4k (yeah, it's a long one, folks)

Authors Note: this is a request fill for @curlsincriminology (ask HERE) about Benedict showing you all the wonderful things he sees in you, but will he figure out his own feelings before it's too late? Thanks to the complete trooper @colettebronte for beta reading this monster one-shot. Enjoy <3

I: To Know You….

“I would rather not, Miss y/l/n,” the young man clips, walking away from you at a brusque pace. 

You sigh and look down at your feet. Mrs Parsons will be so very disappointed, is all you can think.

—

Benedict may not have heard the words spoken, but even from his vantage point at the other end of the ballroom, he could see the disdainful way the young man uttered his parting words to you. It makes anger flare hot in his chest, his fist forming reflexively at his side.

He watches as you look down, shoulders hunching, folding in on yourself physically, as if the rejection for a dance has manifested in a body blow. He feels a pang in his gut—of sympathy, indignance on your behalf and mainly at the injustice of it all. To him, you are a wonderful, intelligent, caring person worthy of a good match. Still, the circumstances of your upbringing seem to stymie your attempts to join so-called ‘polite’ society at every turn…

—

You look up with a defeated mien until your eyes land on one person who has always been able to ameliorate any of your more morose moods—Benedict Bridgerton. Instantly, you feel lighter. You give him a polite nod across the crowded room, and, to your delight, he returns it, a hint of a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. It is just so very characteristic of him to offer silent support, to understand, from witnessing a moment of interaction, precisely what you are feeling. A large part of you feels so wistful that there is no other man quite as nice as him. Suddenly, your overwhelming need is to leave this stuffy ballroom and catch some air.

You grew up under the tutelage of the kindly doctor’s widow, Mrs Parsons, whose house is not far from the vast Bridgerton estate in Kent. The naturally born daughter of nobody quite knows whom, you were taken in as her ward when you were abandoned upon her doorstep at a mere two years old. Her reputation for kindness towards young waifs and strays is likely why you were left there. It is an event you were too young to recall, so all you have known your whole life is her generosity and kindness, raising you as if her own. 

And now that you are of age, she takes you to events around Kent in the hopes of securing you a respectable husband, the most prestigious being tonight’s Hearts and Flowers Ball at Aubrey Hall. The Bridgertons have always been gracious enough to invite local families, those without the means to partake in the London season, to events at their country estate—a kindness that allows for your attendance tonight. It’s just such a pity that the one bachelor Mrs Parsons was so very keen for you to meet, one Mr Reeves, just rebuffed you so thoroughly. 

You glance down at the remaining empty slots on the dance card tied to your wrist and sigh again. Now that you are out on the terrace in the fresh evening air, the light breeze is at least a partial balm, allowing you to recover from the sting of rejection away from the hubbub of the ballroom.

“I will never understand how the men of this county can consider themselves anything approaching mannered.” 

You would know that refined voice anywhere. It haunts your dreams. Just the sound of it making your ribs tighten. You turn to see Benedict sauntering towards you, two drinks in hand, that sympathetic smile still in place.

“You are far better off without such rudeness,” he adds dryly as he pulls up beside you, arching an eyebrow for your entertainment.

“You are far too kind, Mr Bridgerton,” you answer, taking the glass he offers with a meek smile, trying not to let your ardent admiration for him be too evident. 

“Mr Bridgerton?!?” he scoffs, “What happened to BenBen?” he teases gently, recalling your childhood name for him when you were a mere four and he was nine.

“We are at a formal event; I should address you as such, should I not?” you reply playfully, a warmth spreading inside as it always does when you get the chance to have a witty, convivial exchange with him.

By gosh, if there is one man to whom you would pledge yourself without hesitation, it is him. But, of course, he is the second son of an illustrious family. To think you would have any chance to win his heart would be as likely as a future king to marry a commoner. Still, you can dream…

“At least call me Benedict, Skylark,” he winks over his wine glass as he takes a sip, butterflies erupting in your tummy at the affectionate nickname he has used since you were small; you have to avert your eyes to avoid blushing deeply.

Just as he goes to speak again, his brother, the Viscount, materialises at his side. Looking to all intents and purposes as if he is trying to escape the ball as much as you are.

“Mother is best avoided tonight, brother,” Anthony warns sagely, taking a large gulp of his champagne. “She is under the erroneous impression I am suddenly in want of a wife.”

You can't stop the giggle that bubbles up from within at his wry observation of his predicament.

“Hello, y/n,” he greets warmly, just noticing you are also there, his face morphing into a youthful, playful grin. If Benedict is the husband you have always dreamed of, Anthony is the elder brother you have always yearned for. In fact, that is always how he has treated you, akin to Eloise and Daphne, who you grew up playing with, being of similar age.

“Hello, Anthony,” you chime back. “How was the hunt earlier? Did the infamous Bridgerton brothers kill another prized stag?” you inquire, keen to engage both of them for as long as they will entertain you. Just being around them always lifts your spirits to no end.

—

Benedict observes you as you listen intently to Anthony’s recounting of the hunt earlier that day, impressed by your resilience. He has no doubts any other woman would feign an attack of the vapours had a man rejected her so harshly. But here you are, politely listening to his brother’s boasting, even though he can tell you are hurting inside.

Perhaps it helps that your snub went primarily unnoticed. You are unknown to the Ton; any witnesses likely dismissing it as the business of ‘country folk’ unworthy of note. Which, frankly, he could scoff at, seeing as he holds you in higher regard than all of the other attendees combined.

“How about you?” Anthony ends his story with a question to you, interrupting Benedict’s train of thought. “How has your experience been at our fine event this evening?”

“Oh, the house is splendidly decorated and the music wonderful,” you obfuscate behind flattery. Anthony appears to buy it, but Benedict sees behind your facade, the flame behind your usually bright gaze dimming a little, making something ache in his gut to see it. 

Damn that idiot for ruining your evening! This just won’t do…

—

You can feel Benedict’s eyes upon you as you respond abstractly to Anthony.

“Y/n here is too polite to say it, but she was treated harshly by that young Reeves chap from Tenterden,” Benedict edifies as you bow your head, embarrassed. “Let’s be sure to rescind his invitation to future events, brother,” he appends with a surly tone.

“Duly noted,” Anthony nods sincerely, a brush of confusion flitting over his face regarding his brother's vehemence.

“No, there is no need…” you begin to protest weakly but halt mid-sentence under the intensity of Benedict’s gaze.

“I bore witness. Believe me, He shall not darken our door again,” he states firmly.

It appears the matter is very much decided, and you don’t want to put up much of a fight, seeing as it ultimately benefits you. You do, however, want to bathe in the warm glow inside whenever Benedict defends you. It's wonderful to have someone looking out for you, especially one so handsome and kind.

—

Two days later, you are taking afternoon tea with Mrs Parsons at the local tea shop when Benedict breezes in, looking so majestic dressed in Bridgerton blues that you grind to a halt. Luckily, he has not seen you as he makes a beeline for the counter.

“‘Tis rude to stare, my dear,” Mrs Parsons lectures sotto voce, nodding to your teacup, frozen in mid-air.

You shake your head a touch and place said item back in your saucer as she turns briefly to look at what or who caught your attention. Then she reaches out, her lace-gloved hand gently patting yours. 

“It would be prudent to set your sights a little more realistic…” she advises with a sympathetic air.  “Not that I fault your choice,” she adds, so quietly at first you're not sure you heard her correctly, but there is a tiny playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Your mouth falls open fractionally, and you stare as she shrugs. “I may be old, my dear, but I am not blind.”

Well, I never, Mrs Parsons!

As you take a bite of food, Benedict twists around from speaking to the proprietor, and he sees you. There’s a jolt down your spine as he breaks into a huge smile that claims his whole face. And you almost choke on scone crumbs as he makes a beeline over to you rather than the exit.

“Good afternoon, Miss y/l/n, Mrs Parsons!” he greets effusively. “Would it be terribly impolite to ask to join you briefly?”

Mrs Parsons' face is a picture of surprise. “Not at all; the pleasure is ours, Mr Bridgerton,” she responds affably, gesturing to the spare chair at your small round table.

As Benedict sits, Mrs Parsons shoots you an incredulous look. It's your turn to shrug fractionally.

“Mrs Parsons, I feel it necessary to tell you Mr Reeves was excessively rude to Miss y/l/n here at the ball, and I wanted to assure you that he will not be welcome at Aubrey Hall again,” he divulges sincerely.

Mrs Parsons looks taken aback and turns to you. “Why did you not tell me, my dear?”

“I-I did not think it necessary…” you twist your mouth into a bashful pout, biting your lip.

“Mr Bridgerton, thank you for bringing this to my attention, and I thank you for your generous offer, but that sort of action does not seem warranted,” she replies accommodatingly.

“That is what I said…” “That is what she said…”

You and Benedict speak in unison at the exact same moment, and your eyes ping to each other, both laughing then bowing your heads immediately. You know your cheeks are flushed.

—

Benedict loves the look in your eye sometimes. That spirited sparkle with glowing cheeks. In his opinion, that is the only look you should ever wear; no one, especially one as unworthy as Mr Reeves, should be allowed to rob you of it. He feels a strong compulsion to do everything in his power to keep you looking like that—carefree, happy, stunning. It’s what motivates his subsequent words.

“If it is not considered too impudent for me to do so, I have a suggestion for Miss y/l/n’s introduction into society,” Benedict offers sincerely. “I believe you should be able to find her an excellent, worthy match by casting a wider net.”

“What are you proposing, Mr Bridgerton?” Mrs Parsons inquiries, almost warily.

“That Miss y/l/n come to London and partake in the remainder of the season as a guest of my family. My mother seems to think it an excellent idea, and I know my younger sister Eloise is already a good friend. I do not see why they could not attend events together,” he shrugs genially.

Mrs Parsons's face is a picture again. “You have already spoken to the Dowager Viscountess of this matter?” she checks, unable to modulate the astonishment in her tone.

“Of course,” he confirms with a nod. “I made such a suggestion this morning when your names came up. She heartily concurs. Miss y/l/n here is too bright and good of a person to have her marital choice limited by geography or circumstance.”

His eyes fall on you, and his heart gallops at the searing look you are giving him.

—

You don’t even try to temper your doe-eyed expression as you look upon Benedict, him extolling your virtues to the audience of the tea room. 

Even distracted by all the wondrous things he has to say, you can detect the noise level on the surrounding tables has reduced; everyone in town always keen to eavesdrop on a Bridgerton conversation. Especially one that contains such noteworthy gossip as a local young lady being invited to the London season at the family’s behest.

“My dear, I trust that Lady Bridgerton will look after you well,” Mrs Parsons professes. “I have no objections should you desire to seize this opportunity.” Her tone pointed, very much encouraging you to do so.

“That would be just wonderful, Mr Bridgerton,” you exhale with a grateful smile. “I cannot thank you enough for even thinking to raise such a petition.”

“Think nothing of it, Miss y/l/n,” he smiles, standing up and giving you both a brief, shallow bow. “I shall see you anon, no doubt.” 

And with that, he sweeps out of the tearoom, your eye line tracking his concave outline through the curved glass as he rounds the corner out of sight.

“Well, well,” Mrs Parsons puffs out her cheeks. “I am not sure what you did to inspire such actions in a gentleman. But bravo, my dear, bravo,” she holds her teacup aloft in a toast. 

You are a jumble of emotions and could not even begin to answer Mrs Parsons about what you could possibly have done. Mostly, you are just elated by the prospect of the chance to attend the whirl of the London season, even if there is also a small pang of regret that Benedict is so keen to see you matched.

II: …Is To Love You

The following Tuesday, as your carriage pulls up outside the grandeur of Bridgerton House, you have nothing but butterflies. And as Lady Bridgerton - Violet as she insists you now call her - and her lady’s maid show you to your charming guest room, you cannot temper your excitement.

“Get yourself freshened up, my dear. There is a soiree this evening at the Queen’s new residence no less, and there is no time like the present to begin your introductions,” the dowager viscountess warmly counsels.

You nod your thank yous, and after they take their leave, you twirl excitedly around the room, taking in the elegant furnishings and airy sunlight flooding in. You pull up in front of a large sash window and are delighted to see bounteous gardens beneath. The rear of the property is very much an oasis of calm in the heart of the city. But one sight in particular draws your eye: a majestic oak with two swings attached to a stately arm. It looks like a place of refuge, and you feel oddly compelled to take a seat there.

Three hours later, walking into the palatial Buckingham House, you are in a different world from the one you know in Kent. Candlelit crystal chandeliers glint like towering clusters of jewels, spraying thousands of shards of light around the room. Every railing is bedecked in hundreds of drooping flower garlands, and the walls groan with enormous portraits of royalty. The mellifluous strains of a chamber orchestra fill the air. Your grip on Eloise’s arm is tight as you try not to look agog at all the opulence surrounding you.

“And I thought Aubrey Hall was grand,” you murmur quietly, and she just guffaws.

—

Benedict arrives late to the soiree from his bachelor lodgings, bustling in as stealthily as possible, knowing he will likely catch his mother’s ire for his tardiness.

But then he sees a sight that makes him temporarily stop dead in his tracks. There, hanging on to his little sister, surveying the room utterly lost in reverie at its grandeur—is you. He has not seen you dressed up as you are now, made over with the full attention of the Bridgerton staff. And he isn't afraid to admit to himself, at least, that it catches his breath. How they have applied cosmetics and styled your hair, emphasising your already evident beauty. And the dress they have chosen… well, he is almost ashamed of the heat pooling low in his gut; he has never seen you in such tailored, refined silks. 

Whosoever marries you shall be quite the luckiest man indeed.

He doesn't miss the way you inhale sharply when your eyes finally land on him, his chest swelling slightly with pride as your lips part in surprise before breaking into that winning smile which always seems to brighten every room, tonight being no exception.

As he pulls up to the family, he hears his mother opining to you about the men attending the ball.

“Y/n, I would like to introduce you to Lord Shelton; he is a fine young man with many interests, and he has a lovely estate near Hove,” his mother recounts as you listen intently.

“Oh god, no,” Benedict immediately intervenes, “Shelton has amassed significant debt at the Pudding Lane gaming hell…” 

Violet looks up surprised, then raises an eyebrow. “Pray tell dear son, how do you have knowledge of such? Benedict Bridgerton, you had better not be frequenting the hells of the East End,” she threatens quietly, in that stern maternal manner that has any grown man quaking in their polished shoes.

“No, of course not, mother,” he bristles, his eyes cutting briefly to you, not wanting you to think such things of him. “It is an open secret at Whites’, and why he is currently banned from the card room there.”

—

You cannot tear your eyes off Benedict as his mother side-eyes him.

Violet hums sceptically before declaring. “Well, not to worry, there are plenty of other options available for Miss y/l/n…” She steers your attention towards another crowd of young men, all talking and sipping champagne. “Baron Corning, Lord Jennings, Viscount Tewkesbury,” she recounts, nodding subtly to each one. “Any would make a fine addition to your dance card, my dear.” 

“We can do much better than any of them,” Benedict chides.

You are slightly taken aback at how very much he sounds like Anthony tonight; apparently very invested in curating who you should dance with. The problem is, with each additional suggestion his mother makes to you, he roundly dismisses them out of hand. 

Is no one in attendance up to his standard?

“Benedict, dear, a word?” Violet states pointedly after a third round of his withering opinions. “Get yourself another lemonade,” she smiles at you, patting your hand before looping her arm in her son’s and dragging him away.

—

His mother’s arm is surprisingly strong when she needs it to be.

“Darling, may I remind you, while Miss Y/l/n is indeed a wonderful person, I do not think we can afford to be too picky for her prospects. Her background is rather… unestablished,” Violet points out diplomatically as soon as you are out of earshot.

“We can do better than braggards, bores and philanderers,” Benedict shoots back, raising a pointed eyebrow.

She looks up at him and sighs. “Well, that is true.”

“As I thought, mother,” he winks as she affectionately swats his forearm. “Why not benefit from my knowledge? In fact, perhaps it is prudent I assist in your search for a suitor.” 

“Oh, is it now?” Her tone suddenly filled with intrigue, her face entirely too scrutinising for his liking. “And does not my second son wish to join their ranks?” She adds entirely unsubtly.

“I have no time for romance; I have my art. I am most preoccupied.” He waves a dismissive hand, but even he knows his answer is tellingly brusque.

“And yet, you do not seem too busy to assist with the search, dear…” she points out archly. 

Benedict has no response to that. 

—

The day after the grand ball, you are sat in the dappled shade in the gardens of Bridgerton House, attempting needlework. It's never been your strength, frankly. You would much rather be allowed to partake in more physical pursuits, like archery or fencing, a want to burn off nervous energy as you await the arrival of any suitors. You did end up dancing with a couple of gentlemen, both of whom were…. fine… in your estimation.  

After messing up yet another stitch, you throw down the embroidery hoop and emit a deep sigh when a familiar chuckle rings out behind you.

“Not your favourite pastime?” Benedict correctly guesses.

“You can say that again,” you grumble, twisting to smile at him, a little frisson in your belly at his mere presence, alone as you are.

He rounds to take a seat opposite you, across the table.

“So let me guess,” his face charmingly skewed into a thoughtful mien. “You would prefer to be doing something, hmmmm, more athletic?”

You giggle and cast your eyes downwards briefly, abashed he seems to know you so well. “Correct again.”

“I remember you being a crack shot in archery,” he smiles nostalgically before continuing with genuine curiosity. “Why did you not continue it?”

“I was informed ‘tis unbecoming for a lady,” you rue, the mental image of Mrs Parsons deeming such things ‘unladylike’ flitting through your mind.

He scoffs. “Since when did fearsome little Skylark care one jot for societal expectations?” he teases gently, with a wink, as again he invokes the nickname he bestowed upon you a long time hence. 

You smile briefly before you become more sanguine. “Since I have been informed I must find a husband…” you sigh.

He frowns a touch. “Any man would be lucky to have a wife who can keep him company on the archery field. I know I, for one, would greatly appreciate a spouse with whom I could share such a pastime.” 

A bittersweet twinge in your gut that one day he will indeed be married to some deserving, no doubt elegant, lady.

“I would venture that you are not like most gentlemen in that regard…”

“Perhaps not,” he agrees, looking thoughtful, “but then you are not like most ladies, Skylark.”

“I am not a lady…” your counterpoint softly-spoken, almost ashamed.

“You are more lady than any other member of the Ton,” he asserts, his gaze suddenly intense, as if he is willing you to believe his point. “And you should be free to pursue any pastime you wish.”

You say nothing, just smile wanly, wishing you could believe it was true.

—

How you constantly doubt yourself causes a little stab behind Benedict’s ribs. A sudden burning need to prove that you should do as you please. He slaps his thighs and stands up swiftly. 

“In fact, I am going to go set up the archery targets right now,” he nods decisively, making a beeline for the far corner of the garden where he knows the targets are kept, hoping you will follow.

“Coming?” he calls, twisting to look back at you. “I won't tell anyone…” he adds with a conspiratorial wink, seeing from the involuntary bounce of your leg how much you wish to join in. 

He cannot help the smile that engulfs his face as you jump to your feet with a mischievous giggle. Nor can he help deliberately aiming badly, letting you roundly defeat him at target practice, basking in the victorious glint in your eye as you tease him gently for losing. 

He also pretends not to notice his mother watching from a high window, her expression riveted and so very telling.

—

Later that day, you are reading quietly with Eloise when Violet sweeps into the drawing room with her lady's maid. 

“Y/n, Sir Denton is here to see you,” she smiles brightly. 

“Oh, I…” you stutter, sitting upright, surprised.

“I can send him away, Miss?”  The maid offers, intuiting your disquiet.

“No, no, it is fine… I am just surprised, that is all. ‘Tis almost 4pm. I was not expecting that anyone would be calling, given the late hour.”

Benedict suddenly materialises in the doorway. As ever, there’s that trademark flutter in your chest.

“Any reason Denton is lingering in the hallway?” he inquires airily, grabbing a teacup and pouring himself some.

“He is here for y/n,” Violet breezes as his eyes cut to you, a wave of irritation seeming to cloud his face.

“Well, we should dismiss him,” Benedict sniffs, pausing in his action, his face souring.

“Why?” Violet frowns.

“I had a chance to look into his past since I acquiesced to his dance with y/n last night…”

“Acquiesced?!” Violet scoffs, but Benedict ignores her interjection, save for a curt eyebrow raise.

“I have subsequently discovered he has vastly overstated his assets,” Benedict bristles imperiously.

“Who woke up and made you Anthony?” Eloise pipes up witheringly.

Benedict shoots her a look of irritation. “Anthony has deputised me to run family matters while he is away on business this week, sister,” he reminds pointedly.

“Yes, but you did not have to adopt his personality as well,” Eloise shoots back, disgust evident on her face.

“I take finding y/n here, a suitable match, seriously,” he volleys. “Do you wish to see your good friend married to someone unworthy of her?”

“Well, no…”

“Then kindly permit me to handle matters,” Benedict orders with finality, uncharacteristically forthright in his opinions.

“I do not wish to see her married at all…” Eloise mutters under her breath as he stalks away to dispatch Denton before anyone can argue.

You just sit there mildly dumbfounded, unsure what to make of it all. 

—

The following evening, you are attending a music recital with the Bridgertons; Benedict is notably absent, which makes you a touch melancholic in a way you don’t want to dwell on. 

However, the evening turns for the better while you are taking refreshments at the interval. A friendly-faced young man strikes up a conversation with you after an introduction from Violet.

“Are you enjoying the music tonight, Miss y/l/n?” he asks genially.

“It is very nice, Lord Glassborough,” you offer politely, trying to stifle your slight boredom. You enjoy music, but a two-hour concert is a little too much for you. You much prefer a short set of songs as they play at balls.

“I find it rather dull myself,” he opines quietly, leaning in. “I much prefer a lively song one may dance to.”

You know your face is a picture of surprise that his opinion is an exact mirror of your own.

“Have I offended you so?” he checks, looking mildly contrite.

“Not at all, my lord. I was actually just thinking the same myself,” you chuckle quietly.

He looks inordinately pleased and breaks into a friendly, toothy grin. He seems like a nice, agreeable sort. A pleasant, if not particularly handsome, face. Over his shoulder, you see Violet looking inordinately pleased you appear to be getting on so well.

—

“I am not sure I can do this...” you sigh as Ms West genially taps the metronome.

“You can, dear; just remember your finger placement,” she encourages as your fingers fall to the cool ivory keys.

And so you begin again. Attempting to master this tricky piece, your eyes tracing the lines of music as you play the pianoforte. Violet is so keen for you to brush up on your skills, given Lord Glassborough’s interest in you yesterday. You could not find an adequate excuse fast enough, and so here you are, in a slightly reluctant music lesson, trying your best to recall how Mrs Parsons taught you to play a few years ago.

“Men do so appreciate a lady who can entertain them with exquisite music,” Ms West nods approvingly as you play.

Mostly, you are relieved when you make it to the end with no mistakes, at least none glaringly obvious.

“I much prefer to sing…” you admit tacitly as Ms West shuffles the sheet music.

She looks at you surprised, then shoos you from the piano stool. “Sing for me then, my dear…” taking a seat and beginning the opening bars to a song that, fortunately, you know well.

You begin to sing along, growing more confident with every note, allowing yourself to get lost in the words, the story of a lady awaiting her true love.

“Exceptional!” she peals delightedly over the sound, and you feel bolstered to continue, her playing the perfect accompaniment.

—

Benedict stops short as soon as he enters the house. The most lilting, beautiful sound echoing gently down the marble hall.

“Who is that Jenkins?” he asks of the butler who takes his coat.

“I believe it is Miss y/l/n, sir.”

He draws inexorably closer, finding himself watching you through the crack in the doorway, listening to you sing a touching tale of love that sounds so hauntingly hypnotic in your mellifluous tones. Your eyes are closed, and you sway to the melody, lost in reverie, in the narrative you weave.

The piano stops abruptly.

“Can we help you, sir?” an elder lady calls crisply.

Benedict realises the door has crept open slightly before him, enough for him to be seen by your music teacher. He watches as you swing around and look horrified that you may have an audience. It makes him take a resolute step forward into the room.

“Do you need us to desist? Is it perhaps too loud?” the lady checks deferentially, likely assuming him to be the head of the household.

“No!” His reply is a touch too forceful. “Please continue,” he modifies. “I was merely drawn by the splendid sound I heard. I am not sure I have ever heard such a wondrous voice,” he adds, keeping his gaze steadfastly upon the lady, not able to look you in the eye as he confesses as such. 

—

You are mortified when you realise Benedict heard you singing; you have always managed to keep it private, until now at least. But now your heart is suddenly pounding at his extolling words.

“She does indeed have a most excellent voice,” Ms West concurs with his sentiment, looking at you expectantly as Benedict walks further into the room, his face with the same hopeful expression.

“I am not sure I can…” you stumble, nervous for an audience, most especially him;  his is the opinion that would matter to you the most—you would be crestfallen should he not like it.

“Sing more for me, please, Skylark?” His ask is gentle, beseeching as if it were just the two of you alone.

“Skylark?” Ms West sounds enchanted.

“My childhood nickname for Miss y/l/n,” Benedict explains as he takes a seat. 

“Skylarks have a wonderful song,” she sighs wistfully.

“Indeed,” Benedict chimes, his eyes still upon you. “I never knew how appropriate it was until this very moment.”

Something warm cracks in your chest at his sweet words, making you courageous. At least enough to nod when Ms West looks to you again from the piano. And so you restart the song for your special audience, heart in your mouth. The words coming easily to you, an extra layer of meaning he will never know as you sing words of unrequited devotion, looking to him in your braver moments. His face is enrapt, leaning forward, his eyes soft and expressive. 

As you reach a high note at the end of the song, holding it, Benedict bursts into applause, jumping up from his seat and taking you by surprise, grabbing your gloved hands in his.

“You should always be singing Skylark…” he pronounces. “Truly beautiful. Please promise me, no matter what happens, that you will always, always sing…” 

You duck your head briefly, unsure how to deal with his effusive praise. Ms West’s face is a picture as you stand there, your hands still trapped in his, feeling a tingle where the warmth of his skin seeps through the layers to yours.

“I-I-I promise,” you reply meekly, a touch dazed as you raise your eyes again to meet his, the intensity making your lungs restrict.

“Thank you.” 

Two words have never sounded so sincere or loaded with significance. 

III: … And I Do.

A few days later, it is the Trowbridge Ball, a decadent affair that is usually the most talked about of the season, apparently. You share a carriage ride there with Benedict and Eloise, trying your best not to stare at him—so handsomely dressed in a white cravat and black velvet cropped jacket that clings to his tapered shape. But mostly, you fail. Your skin flushes hot the more you look at him. You could swear that his gaze strays to you, too, subtly sweeping the fine teal silk Madam Delacroix has expertly tailored for you.

“You look beautiful this evening, ladies,” he offers politely to both you and Eloise.

“What do you want?” Eloise cuts across your reply, narrowing her eyes at her older brother, instantly suspicious of his flattery.

“Can I not compliment without an ulterior motive?” he frowns, their usual sibling dynamic emerging.

“Not usually,” Eloise sniffs, with another suspicious glance, before looking out the carriage window.

You take the opportunity to mumble your thanks to him. His responding smile warms your entire being, his hazy eyes lingering in a way that makes your skin prickle. And when he offers a chivalrous hand to assist you down from the carriage, you could swear his hand lingers upon yours a few seconds longer than is necessary. 

Around an hour later, as you go to partake in a refreshment, a sneering Lady Cowper utters something cruel under her breath as you pass, her sour-looking daughter smirking beside her. You do not hear all of the words, but you do not need to. One sideways glance tells you all that you need to know. It seems so unnecessarily cruel, never having even exchanged so much as a word with you, but even as you feel a lump in your throat, their attention is already elsewhere.

“Ah! Mr Briddgerton,” her entire demeanour changing to oleaginous charm, “my daughter looks particularly stunning tonight, does she not? I do believe you should secure a place upon her dance card before there are none left!” 

You watch Benedict blanch at the very words.

“I do not dance, Lady Cowper, but I bid you ladies a good evening,” he responds, polite but firm.

You try your hardest not to giggle at the disdained look on their faces as he sweeps past them, and you feel light as air as, instead, he draws up to you and winks.

“That woman does not realise she is doing her daughter’s prospects more harm than good with her brashness,” he comments dryly as he grabs a glass of champagne from the stand next to you.

“I am not so sure the daughter would do much better without her; she seems perpetually furious about her own hairstyle,” you opine sardonically, making Benedict snort loudly into his champagne glass. A lightness fizzles in your being as he shoots you a look of unmistakable admiration for that remark.

“I daresay you are a much better dancer than her,” he contends, not breaking eye contact, placing aside his drink before leaning in and continuing in a hushed voice. “Perhaps you would do me the honour of a dance, Skylark, to confirm my suspicion?”

There is a vault in your chest as he employs your private nickname in public and, not only that, is offering you a dance when, just a moment ago, he declared publicly that he would not. 

You can only nod, heart hammering, as he breaks out into the most handsome smile, offering you his arm and leading you to the centre of the room as you hear a ripple go through the nearby crowd. Apparently the sight of one Benedict Bridgerton taking to the dancefloor is a rare occasion indeed.

—

As he takes your gloved hand in his and curls an arm around your shoulder, he realises this was perhaps a mistake. An impromptu offer, the hollow thrill of petty revenge for the insult he observed the Cowpers sling at you. But now he realises it has rather backfired upon him.

He cares not a jot for the gossiping, people nodding and pointing to you both as you begin to dance. No, the problem is much more concerning than that. 

It is how discombobulated he feels having you in his arms.

How your body seems to fit and move perfectly with his. How, when you dare to look up at him, his mouth goes a little dry. He has never truly noticed how striking your eyes are until seeing them this close. Indeed, the evident beauty of your face, the way you seem to glow from within, more tonight than ever. It makes his chest - and somewhere else on his body - feel entirely too tight.

—

Nothing could have prepared you for this.

The feeling of literally being swept off your feet. With Benedict's handsome face smiling down upon you as you seem to float around the dancefloor. 

Surely, this is what dreams are made of?

You know it is a flight of fancy, but it seems as though the floor beneath your feet is a shower of diamonds rather than candlelight refracted through chandeliers. The warmth and strength of Benedict’s embrace caged around you, respectful but so close it makes your lungs feel too small to gasp the air you need to keep moving. But you never want to stop. A whirlwind of sensation as you twirl, carried away by the music, the man, the moment.

“Thank you, Benedict,” you breathe, knowing you are likely looking up at him far too adoringly but unable to mask it, a burning need for him to know how grateful you are for this dance, not even noting your over-familial use of his first name at a society event. 

His eyes flash and you could swear they dilate a fraction before you must turn your back to him, following the steps.

“I was right,” he rumbles cryptically from behind you now, his large hands wrapped around yours as you hold them aloft together, following the moves of the dance. “It is indeed an honour to dance with you.” 

Your belly flares as you turn in unison and realise that you are now dancing right in front of Cressida, her expression murderous. It makes you bolder than you have ever been, tilting your head sideways a fraction so your cheek almost brushes Benedict’s, fuelled by the envy you feel seething from within her.

You could swear he sighs ‘Skylark’ as his hot breath tickles your ear, your chest pounding, a flavour in the air you can taste, a powerful stirring low in your belly.

—

Benedict knows this is a dangerous path and yet is powerless to do anything but walk it. Breathing your nickname into your hair as he inhales your scent, heightened by the movement of your dancing. A light, sweet floral perfume but underneath the smell of you, familiar from many years of friendship but altered now, more decadent, an undercurrent of tart berries that thrills and stirs deep within him. Even while knowing his ever-vigilant mother is watching, an inscrutable expression upon her face. 

He is almost grateful when the music ends before he does something foolish. But then you are staring up into his face, all doe-eyed expectant beauty and his tongue feels unexpectedly tied. He is almost grateful when an interrupting hand wraps around his shoulder.  

—

You watch Will Mondrich whisper in Benedict’s ear, and before you know it, he is offering apologies to you with a shallow, polite bow before hurrying away. Coming back to reality with a bump, you drift awkwardly from the dance floor, feeling judgy eyes upon you, suddenly flooded with concern your behaviour was entirely too wanton. 

Before your thoughts can spiral too far, however, someone materialises at your side.

“I do so hope your dance card is not full tonight, Miss y/l/n,” a newly-familiar, chipper voice cut in.

“Lord Glassborough,” you breathe; your relief at seeing his cordial face is palpable. “I am available to dance right now,” you smile politely, taking his proffered arm and letting him lead you back out to the spot you and Benedict had just vacated.

As the music begins and you move together, the difference is… noticeable. Gone is the frisson over your limbs, that excitement as if your skin could vibrate off your bones. Instead you feel comforted, almost a brotherly presence as he leads you in the dance. He is technically proficient, but it feels lacking—that tension, that heat burning in the space between you. It makes you yearn for Benedict even though he was just with you. It makes your stomach settle with a leaden weight you realise you will have to settle for less than what you truly desire.

Still distracted by your mental comparison, you absently acquiesce to his suggestion to take some air upon the terrace as the dance ends. You sense Violet, ever the vigilant chaperone, follow as he leads you into the cooler air outside. 

“Miss y/l/n…,” Lord Glassborough begins cautiously. You sense a nervousness in his being, pulling your full focus to him. “I think us most compatible, would you not agree?”

“We make most excellent friends, indeed, Lord Glassborough,” you hedge, not wanting to appear overzealous.

“And friendship is the most appropriate foundation to build something more… tender,” he argues with a smile. “I do believe I could offer you a most agreeable life.” 

There is a strange twinge in your chest as suddenly, you realise what this is. The moment everyone, except perhaps yourself, has been awaiting all season.

“I would be honoured if you would consent to be my wife, Miss y/l/n,” he humbly offers a sincere kindness shining in his eyes.

And there it is. An offer of marriage from a perfectly nice, respectable gentleman done in an appropriate manner. 

To one side, you see Violet clutch a hand over her chest, face delighted, even as you form fists within your delicate gloves, wishing this moment were not happening so soon after a truly breathtaking dance with the man of your dreams. Who is not the same man as the one before you, nervously shuffling from foot to foot, awaiting your reply. 

“I am honoured, Lord Glassborough,” you answer cautiously, bowing your head demurely. “This is a big decision to make. Please allow me time to give you my proper, considered answer?”

“Of course,” he bows chivalrously, his accommodating nature making this moment all the more bittersweet. He is indeed a lovely man. 

He is just not the one you want with every fibre of your being.

—

That night, you cannot sleep. Knowing you have the most significant decision of your life to make. So, in the small hours, you find yourself drifting to the deserted kitchen of Bridgerton House to do what you do best when you need to think calmly—baking. 

An activity you have grown up doing with Mrs Parsons. Many hours spent happily with flour dusting your hands, sun streaming into her grand but homely kitchen. A perhaps slightly maverick pastime for a lady of her social standing, with staff to do such things for her should she wish it, but so very enjoyable nonetheless. 

Throwing a large, heavy baking apron over your nightdress and robe, you potter around, the flagstone of the basement floor cold underfoot, a grounding feeling that stops your mind from racing too much.

You have no idea how to respond to Glassborough’s proposal. On one hand, he is a seemingly nice man, certainly of a good family. You are sure he would be a perfectly acceptable husband, unlikely to be mean or untoward. It is just… a nagging voice is telling you to turn him down despite him being an imminently sensible choice, your heart wanting, well, the impossible. A man that excites you, not just a safe, practical option.

You are onto your second batch of lemon and rosemary biscuits when a voice makes you jump out of your skin.

“What on earth…?”

There in the doorway is Benedict, looking confounded to find you here. The very man who makes your heart skip, always. He is dressed the most casually you have ever seen him— also barefoot, in a white frilled shirt and dark trousers, brocade braces slung around his hips. You swear you may have to grab the bench before you to stay upright.

“Y/n! We have cooks you can call upon at any time should you need food!” he fusses, instantly concerned, moving to ring a bell on the wall.

“No! Please do not!” You exclaim, rushing to stop him, grabbing his sleeve in your haste. “I-I enjoy baking. It is relaxing; it helps me to think.”

His brow knits and his eyes flick down to your hold on his sleeve, a warm vein pulsing under your fingertips. You snatch your hand away quickly, a blush staining your cheeks, mumbling an apology as you scurry back to your biscuit-making.

“Alright,” he concedes slowly, still appearing confused. “When I saw the sconces lit from the rear stairwell, I assumed one of the staff was still down here.”

You find it bemusing that he seems at pains to justify why he might also be in the kitchen, especially to you, a guest. This is Bridgerton House, and he is a Bridgerton. He may go wherever he pleases, surely? And yet here he is, doing so.

“I was rather hoping for some hot cocoa,” he explains with that soft, crooked smile that always makes your heart flutter.

“Oh! Well, umm, I could make you some cocoa?” you look down, wiping your hands upon your apron and moving to do so.

—

That you would make such an offer, as if seeing yourself as unpaid help, spurs him into action.

“No, you certainly will not!”  He decries, moving swiftly towards the larder before you can. “I am perfectly fine with some cold milk,” he assures, re-emerges with a bottle and pouring himself a glass, leaning back against the sink to take a sip.

Despite the lateness of the hour, he finds your heretofore secret pastime strangely fascinating. A lady who bakes. By choice. So he watches as you return to making your biscuit dough, entertained as you begin to beat the mixture quite furiously with a wooden spatula.

“Have those ingredients caused you some sort of personal offence….?” he jests lightly, nodding to the bowl.

He observes a flit of contrition across your face before you answer.

“I, umm, have a decision that I must make; baking helps me think,” you explain vaguely, then appear to rapidly change the subject. “I am, however, sure of one fact - some biscuits are a must to accompany milk. There is a completed batch over there.”

“Genius,” he opines with a wink, enthusiastically moving to grab one from the cooling rack you signalled to, delighting in the blush that darkens your cheeks. But he decides to push the topic you abruptly avoided. Concerned there could be a topic you are genuinely wrestling with. If his opinion on the matter can ameliorate your burdens, he would be most honoured to assist.

“What sort of decision must you make?” he inquires before temporarily losing the power of speech. There is an explosion of tart lemon and earthy herb on his tongue that melts into a buttery sweetness, utterly divine. “Lord alive, these are delicious!!!” he exclaims around the mouthful.

“Thank you,” you answer softly. 

You are always so modest about your talents; it sometimes makes him want to grab your shoulders and shake you gently. To make you see what he does. 

“To answer your question, it is a perplexing matter that needs serious consideration,” you explain, stopping short of detail. It appears you are not yet ready to share the news with him. Something about that makes him a touch sad, but he also does not want to pry if you are reluctant to divulge. 

—

Benedict swallows the bite he has taken, and you find yourself staring at the movement of his throat as he does. Knowing one thing to be true—if it were his proposal, you would not even hesitate for a split second. That wistful thought makes you suddenly melancholic, and you sigh, pushing aside your mixing bowl, realising this may be an issue baking will not fix.

“I do so hate to see you doubt yourself, Skylark,” he offers quietly after a beat, mien so earnest. “Trust yourself. You will find the right answer for your dilemma; I am certain of it.”

He is so remarkably supportive that, ironically, you almost want to scream at him.

“I should leave you to your thoughts,” his tone is gentle, reluctant.

“Please, there is no need, Benedict,” you try to assure. “To be honest, in all of this world, yours is the company I enjoy the very most…”

That truth is out of your mouth before you can censor it. 

You sheepishly glance over to be met by a surprised look on his face. He takes a few steps towards you, probably without realising it, and suddenly, he is very close, faint wisps of his woodsy, citrus cologne tickling your nose.

“And I, yours, Skylark…” he rumbles, his gaze falling to your lips. 

Time seems to stop, and you feel pinned under glass, staring up into his handsome face as he breathes slightly ragged, your body rioting as he engulfs your senses, definitely too close to be considered gentlemanly, polite…

…But then, he takes a sharp inhale and steps back as if coming to his senses. He turns heel with a hastily muttered goodbye, and before you know it, he is gone. Leaving you bewildered, your thoughts scattered.

—

The following day, Benedict is idly reading the paper, partaking in a leisurely lunch of tea and cake, when his mother swans in, reeling off a set of instructions for her lady's maid.

“Oh, and lastly, do not forget, we should secure an appointment with the modiste, in case Miss y/l/n should know her answer today…” Violet concludes breezily as she takes a seat.

“Yet another ball we must suffer, mother?” Benedict drawls drily, folding down his paper and taking a hearty bite of zesty lemon drizzle.

She shoots her son an exasperated look before neatly smoothing a serviette into her lap as she is served her usual afternoon Earl Grey by the butler. “Miss y/l/n will be in need of a wedding dress, Benedict, dear.”

He spits an array of crumbs onto his newspaper, coughing in shock. “She will need what?!?” he wheezes, barely recovering.

“Lord Glassborough proposed to Miss y/l/n last night, my dear, at the ball. She has yet to give her answer, but I am certain she will. They are a fine match,” Violet declares, taking a sip of tea.

“Why did she not mention it to me?” he mutters, more to himself than anyone, his forehead creasing heavily in a frown as he swallows the rest of his mouthful.

“Why would she have?”  

“We talked last night…” letting slip perhaps too much in his perplexed state, lost in his own tumbling thoughts.

“When last night? We returned from the ball very late,” a suspicious tone in his mother’s voice, belatedly releasing he should know better than to think aloud; she is sharp as a tack.

“I-I found Miss y/l/n baking last night… in the kitchen when I went for cocoa… she told me she had a dilemma she was wrestling with…” he admits, looking down at the paper, the words now a jumble before his eyes. “Mother do you think it is possible she will say yes??” Benedict's head snaps up, his heart suddenly pounding in his ears.

“She would be a fool not to,” Violet points out, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow at him. “Unless there was another, perhaps more wanted, proposal she could consider. Do you possibly know of one? Son?” 

Even he can read between those lines. 

“I-I am late,” he abruptly changes tack. “I promised to meet Anthony today to discuss the soil at Aubrey,” he bustles rapidly, standing and fleeing the room before he can allow his mother to see how much of a complete lie that is.

—

Benedict spends the afternoon at White’s, downing perhaps one too many whiskeys as he grills his fellow patrons upon the Glassborough family. Looking for any reason he can find to object to the betrothal while steadfastly refusing to examine why he feels so passionately about the subject. He also spends time checking the hefty tomes of Debrett’s the club holds.

He returns to Bridgerton House just as dusk settles in, the sky streaking red and pink as he enters.

“Where have you been, dear?” Violet asks as he rounds into the parlour.

“Researching,” he gruffs economically.

“What? Or rather whom?” Violet inquires, revealing she already has a firm idea of what she asks.

“I can find nothing wrong with him!”

Benedict paces, an energy emanating from his being as if he is rattled by that very fact.

“That is a good thing, is it not, son?” Violet reminds pointedly. “We want y/n married to a good gentleman…”

Benedict shoots her an exasperated look but relents. “I suppose…”

“Is not your reluctance perhaps for another reason, my dear?” Her question is gentle, if not particularly subtle.

He slumps into a wingback chair with a defeated sigh. “Go ahead. Say your piece, mother.”

“I have watched you, darling,” she begins gently, watching him tip his head back and screw his eyes shut. “I do not know exactly when, but your regard of Miss y/l/n has altered, and I am not the only one to observe it.”

Benedict's eyes fly open, and he tips his head down with a frown as his mother continues.

“Even Colin has marked a change in you. If you feel anything, my dear, then Miss y/l/n has the right to know. Before it is too late. The right to make an informed choice if you are bold enough to give her one. Son, I have only ever wanted my children’s happiness. And if your happiness lies somewhere that perhaps even you have not realised until now…. well then I encourage you to follow it. Follow your heart.”

Her impassioned speech suddenly makes the pieces of a jumbled jigsaw before his eyes arrange into a pattern, a way forward that is suddenly clear and sharply in focus.

It makes him leap to his feet, an urgency thronging in his being.

“Where is Miss y/l/n?” he almost barks. 

“I do not know,” Violet confesses, “but I do know she has not yet seen or written to Lord Glassborough,” she adds.

“Good…” he rasps, headed determined out of the room to find you.

—

The verdant lush grass is cool between your toes as you curl them over, sighing heavily, the night now dark, a twinkle of silver among the navy sky, soon to be black. The swing under the big oak, a refuge you have sought many times since staying at Bridgerton House, feels a particularly poignant place to be tonight as an internal war rages within you, your decision swaying back and forth as much as the wooden seat you are perched upon, the rope digging into your cheekbone as you slump against it, flummoxed.

You know what your answer to Glassborough should be. Indeed, what it should have been from the moment he asked. 

A resounding yes.

In every practical measure, this is the best possible outcome of your London season. A proposal from a thoroughly decent, acceptable gentleman, way above the station you were expecting, given your less than prestigious certainty of lineage.

And yet.

And yet.

There is a large part of you, your heart, that wants to turn down the proposal, foolhardy as that may be. Wanting to feel akin to what you felt as you danced with Benedict last night. You are not so foolish as to believe he would ever propose, but perhaps there is someone else out there for you that may evoke something similar for you? Even if only half, it would be enough. Enough for you to build a future around and feel contentment in your heart, to not just settle for what your head knows to be a sensible choice. 

—

Having searched the house, he rounds into the garden and stops short, heart leaping into his throat as he spies you, swaying gently upon the swing, looking thoroughly lost in thought. It makes his chest ache that you are so melancholic about a decision that should indeed be joyous. The selfish part of him celebrating, hoping that perhaps you are not. His memory recalls with perfect clarity how you have looked as lost as he now feels every time you have been close. The unbearable lightness of hope seizes his legs and draws him inexorably closer.

—

You whip around as you sense company and have to take a deep breath as your eyes fall upon Benedict. His face pinched with a restless intensity.

“I was hoping I would find you,” he exhales.

“You have,” you shrug, still confused by his crackling energy, him seeming in a rush to say something.

“Skylark, you deserve the very best of everything. Sincerely. And part of that includes that you should know the truth in the hearts of those lucky enough to know you…” a slight quake in his voice as he takes a step closer.

“Alright…” you respond cautiously, your brow creasing as you sense the nerves emanating from him.

You gasp as he rapidly drops to one knee before you, a hand clutched to his chest. 

“I have been a fool to not see it before now. My own ardent admiration for you, for your talents, for your beauty. I realise now, perhaps too late, that you are truly the most wondrous, precious being in this world. You may not always see it, but it would be my greatest honour to show you, every day, if you will permit me, what I see when I look upon you. What I have always seen if I am honest with myself. A light that shines brighter than any other, a bird that soars higher and sings more sweetly than any other. A soul that it would be a privilege to be bound to. I know it is perhaps the worst possible timing, seeing as you already have a proposal from a perfectly acceptable gentleman. Still, I could not let you get married without letting you know the contents of my heart.”

You are stunned. Speechless. 

Your heart pounds in your ribcage as you sit there stupified for what must be an age, Benedict looking upon you expectantly, breath slightly ragged from his long speech. Somehow, convincing yourself this could only be a dream. That the man you have adored since before you can remember has just made the most beautiful poetic confession of love you have ever heard. And it’s to you.

So, you do the only logical thing that comes to mind. Pinch your own leg. Hard.

—

Benedict is momentarily confounded at your actions.

“Owwww!” you yelp. “Not dreaming then…” is your muttered follow-up, rubbing your own knee as his face morphs into the most enormous grin, a lightning bolt of joy tearing through him as he realises what you are doing, that you can scarcely believe this is happening any more than he can.

“It is really me, Skylark,” he chuckles softly, seeing the way your eyes dilate rapidly as he can't help the lopsided grin that claims his face, a warmth behind his ribs that is just for you.

“I realise that now,” you sass back, and there is a stirring in his trousers at the tone you employ.

“I love you.” 

It's a reflex; he doesn't even realise he says it. But as soon as it's out of his mouth, it's like an invisible burden has been lifted from his entire being. The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

—

You know your face is aflame as you snap back at him, entirely without meaning to, but then he says three little words that tilt your whole world even more. 

“I-I-I love you too.”

You are bewildered when you say it aloud. 

 The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

“Marry me? Please. My darling, wonderful friend,” he implores, his bare hands grabbing yours, tingles shooting over you as your skin touches his.

“Yes!! I will!!!” you answer breathlessly, not even a second of hesitation. 

He leans in and captures your lips with his. They are warm and soft as they move gently with yours. And when he opens your mouth with his and his tongue rolls delicately over yours, it feels as if all the fireworks you have seen in the sky live now inside you, popping and exploding in a riot of colour. A whole new world of sensual pleasure is promised in that one move.

“Are you certain?” you murmur as you break apart for air, a flash of insecurity that this is happening so fast, even as there is a strong pull inside, a want to keep kissing him over and over.

He smiles, tilting his forehead to yours, a wistful look in his blue eyes.

“To know you, truly know you, is to love you, Skylark,” he sighs, his words a blanket settling over your quaking heart.  “And I do. I truly do.”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @notanotheruniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

[revive-the-fandom]

Jack's sparkle powers & rotg's continuity issues

commenting on some replies from a previous post

I understand that Jack's sparkle move is not actually sparkles.

It's never really explained what it is, though tbf. It could be a bolt of ice or frost, but I prefer the idea that he's performing a sort of superfreeze move that's turning all the water in the air around him/in a direction into ice crystals,

which is why the sand explodes almost from the inside out, and curving along the arc, it's got more water in it (presumably bc the nightmares are living, breathing, creatures) than the surrounding air.

hence.. sparkle powers.

I don't think it's a "basic" or "simple" move that just everyone can do.

A big part of why I love the idea that he's a civilian is because it pulls back from the prodigy archetype.

There's not a lot of reason for Jack to be a prodigy either. He's the audience surrogate, the guy who needs things explained because the audience doesn't know either. His background is meant to show his isolation, set up his motivation, and having him be a prodigy would raise questions that the movie doesn't have time to answer - why is he a prodigy, who trained him, why couldn't he just hang out with this trainer who could see him?

(the idea that there's this host of other spirits available to talk to is also complete fanon, and no the Rufftoon Comics don't count, neither do the GoC books. There is canonically 2 known spirits outside of the Guardians and Jack - the Leprechaun, and the Groundhog.)

It also just makes him more sympathetic, and builds Pitch up as dangerous. A civilian vs. the Joker is more frightening than Batman vs. the Joker.

Jack's a bad fighter. He lowers his guard too readily, he rushes in without a plan, he freezes up, his moves are predictable and limited.

And while that might be my opinion, I think it is backed up by the juxtaposition of the Guardians to Jack in just about every fight. He's shit scared, frozen up, caught in a bad position and needing a rescue - while they're moving perfectly in synch, reading each others minds, picking up each others slack (including Jack's most of the time). If nothing else then I think the sheer confidence and ease they show in every fight proves that Jack is subpar.

The final fight still has Jack make multiple mistakes that he needs rescuing from - mistakes that build tension, that wouldn't exist if he was already a good fighter.

(bonus point) Jack doesn't freeze because someone else helped him, he freezes because he's shocked and scared.

This one I'm not actually willing to put up for debate, lmao sorry. He sees an attack coming that he doesn't expect/can't dodge, he freezes and then he is saved by Tooth and Sandy.

I am willing to change my statement from "this is a continuity error" to "I wish this was a continuity error" because, if it's not a simple continuity error, it's lack luster writing.

I feel it worked better as a new power discovery, because there was more theming to suggest that course of action. There was a significant amount of screen time dedicated to showing Jack's powers as proximity based (prior to the reveal). The opening scene in particular was quite poignant,

and as I said in the previous post, theres a lot of moments where Jack is shown to touch his staff, or his hand or even use his breath to cast his powers onto a surface,

it just felt very intentional to me. It would be a shame if it wasn't, all for the sake of two blink and you'll miss it scenes?

Jack's powers being limited to proximity based created an interesting weakness, an opportunity to power crawl, and a visual comment on his desire to touch all in one. Yet in two throw away scenes - that are never mentioned again, nor have any attention dedicated to them - that is all lost?

plus I think it weakens the reveal scene iteself. If it's a simple power up, instead of a new development, then... Jack's not gaining a new perspective in battle (ranged attacks), and he's not confronting his relationship with touch (by withdrawing from it, taking the focus off of it, being able to survive without it).

All Jack gains from a power up is confidence. Which he gets with a new development anyway.

So, maybe it wasn't a continuity issue, but I sure hope it was.

[ghostly-bat]

A thing that bothers me a lot about the portrayal of JonDami in Fandom is the fact people assume that Clark would think of/see Damian as a bad influence. I know people have different standards for their own kids but it bugs me / feels so disingenuous to me as a Superman fan first who also loves Damian.

Like canonically the two have butt heads and Damian introduces a different Bat dynamic to Superman, but I genuinely think Clark would be sympathetic / amused by Damian and as Damian grows, the two get along pretty well. I just can't see the paragon of empathy seeing a child who been through so much and decidedly reduce him to his worst traits.

Maybe it's because I subscribe to the idea that Lois & Clark enjoy Damian's company, both having vastly different dynamics but serve as parental-adjacent figures (basically they're one of the trusted adults in his life) because the Kents that healthy family that Damian probably subconsciously compares his broken family to. Not because he envies the nuclear family-ness but oh you can talk to your father/mother and it isn't a mine field of insecurity / am i worthy roulette whenever I walk out of it.

😔 maybe it's bc im not a batman fan, so i like exploring Damian's dynamics outside his father lol

!!!!! This 100x this!

May I offer you some panels—

Clark being the person he is would 100% sympathize with Damian and understand why he is the way he is sometimes. And while he can sympathize with Damian it doesn't mean he has to like how Damian treated his own son when they first met. Both Clark and Bruce knew that it was a rough start for both Jon and Damian but I think Clark knew well enough at that point that Jon was capable of handling himself and if Jon didn't like a situation he could easily take himself out of it cus Jon himself as a kid was very vocal about his likes and dislikes so if Damian was treating him in a way he didn't like he was going to let you know and I think Clark knew that very well.

And Clark as a person likes to believe in the good in people and even if Damian's background is questionable for some people I believe that Clark himself was one of the few people that even with the knowledge of Damian's upbringing still believed he was and could do good and he has.

Damian is such a headstrong and opinionated kid that I'm sure Clark definitely found it rather amusing especially because Damian comes off as much more mature for his age (which isn't necessarily a good thing considering how he was raised) but Clark is one of the few people that sees and still treats him like a kid because that's what he is.

I also think he's able to notice the influence that his own son has on Damian and vice versa. Clark can see the benefits and normalcy of having Damian hang out with someone his own age and Jon also benefits from being around Damian especially because Jon himself felt rather odd and out of place when his powers were setting in and I'm sure Damian not being set off by that probably gave Jon a bit of ease even, if he did find Damian annoying and bossy in the beginning. Clark can clearly see how both boys benefit from being in each other's lives. Plus that's his son's first best friend and is his son happy? Yes! Is it unconventional? Of course it is but they both still get that sense of normalcy when it comes with having a best friend and I think Clark can see that and he wouldn't want to take that away from either of them.

I think both Clark and Damian definitely have a mutual respect for each other. Damian acknowledges all that Superman does and all he stands for and what he represents. He also sees how while Clark is Superman he's still a good dad and a good spouse and I think he really admires that.

Clark can see all the change and growth that Damian has done over the years. How much effort and discipline and sacrifice he's given to his friends and family and the people he cares about. He respects the fact that Damian left the only life he knew to be with his dad and learn a new way of life and that takes bravery because to leave something you've only ever known for something new can be really scary and I think that's something Clark can really respect.

Both Lois and Clark definitely love having Damian around I think they both find him rather amusing just because of his little quirks and the way Jon always talks about Damian makes them happy to know that their son has a friend that's always gonna look out and be there for him.

Damian definitely knows that the Kent family is a safe place even if he doesn't open up to all of them right away they still show him respect and patience and are very welcoming to him and I think they're more than happy to give him that vibe of a welcoming and loving family. He definitely appreciates them in his own way.

I think Clark's the type to still invite Damian into things even if Damian says no, he knows Damian's a bit closed off but he doesn't want him to feel like they've forgotten about him in anyway. They'd get along in the sense were they both have mutual respect for each other and Clark sees him as part of his own family. Especially if Jon and Damian get together I don't think it would be surprise to either him or Lois. They most likely saw it coming from a mile away. 💚💙

[seven-snails]

im so weirdly stuck on killua asking morel for help in tracking down illumi. i've been thinking on and off a little bit lately about how killua's understanding of/outlook on the hunter association might change as he gets older, and i've been leaning towards the idea that he starts to see its atrocities for what they are and ceases to have any use for the association, and while watching him leverage the power he does currently have in that institution for what's essentially personal gain i had to make myself stop and interrogate that impulse, and ask whether that was something i decided on just because it makes him more sympathetic to me personally, or if it's something i really think is believable about his character.

it's like. a mutual pointed out in its own post recently that killua has this very strong in-group/out-group kind of view of the world, likely because of how he was raised as part of the zoldyck clan, and so his idea of standing up for what's right is very much centered around the people he personally cares about, and having empathy for like. People In General as a group deserving of respect and compassion is something he's had to learn after the fact, and has been picking up fairly slowly - arguably the only time we see this informing his actions even marginally is when he tries to disrupt the ants' regime in east gorteau because most of the rest of the time he is just so dead focused on gon's well-being, and even in that one case it does have some benefit to him beyond just the virtue of performing a greater moral good in the world. killua does seem very aware of his own place in the world, what his assets and disadvantages are, and what systemic power he has and how he can leverage it; they discussed on mcp today how the line "we really are father and son" is kind of a recognition, and a challenge to silva, that killua is capable of acting on a level that can directly threaten his family, and we also see how killua is aware of the political factions competing in the hunter election, and how his own actions could sway those platforms, and by using that insight to benefit alluka, he's just playing back into that in-group/out-group way of thinking - he doesn't actually seem all that concerned for the well-being of the needlemen themselves outside of a broad recognition that the way illumi uses his nen is "wrong." but we've also seen killua undergoing this immense change throughout hxh, and that in-group has been slowly expanding as his capacity for empathy grows - and while i do think killua is ultimately always going to be a little cliquey in the way he makes connections and chooses who he wants to be close to, i also believe this journey he's been on is one that will ultimately lead him to have a more open heart and mind for the strangers around him. and so while there's a part of me that despairs at watching killua use his own political power like this, i still think my initial impulse is at least pointed in the right direction; a killua who's aware of the power he has and continues to use it for his own gain regardless of the effect his actions have on the population at large is, to put it simply, if reductively, an "evil" killua, and a killua i think we've already left behind - i do believe that the trajectory of his development has been moving him away from this space, and i also think it's important to the continuation of that development that he's choosing to stay with alluka, who wouldn't want him acting like that either and who he respects enough to listen to when she protests; even beyond that, his own family acknowledges that he wouldn't be happy to heal gon if it was at the expense of tens of thousands of lives (even if only out of consideration for gon's feelings on the matter). so like. yes it does feel shitty to watch killua using his own systemic sway for the sole benefit of his in-group, but also he's thirteen, and weird about intimacy and who "counts" as a person, and at the same time has also visibly been walking down a path that will likely end up leading him away from that way of thinking, so i have faith that he'll figure it out lol

[thewardenisonthecase]

the thing with the qun in da is that, even if DAO and DA2 had its missteps in representing it, they at the very least, gave you options to sympathize/try to understand it.

Yes, you can be very confrontational to sten about the qun, but also have the option to AGREE with him about the qun.

And hawke, tho to a much lesser extent considering what happens, can still take the Arishok's side, for example, and you'll gain those honor points by being honest and upfront to the Arishok about what's been going on with the qunari in kirkwall. Also, the qunari are almost written in a sympathetic light (tho it feels VERY unintentionally) in da2 - they're stuck here and from very early on they make it clear that their goal (or at least, their original goal) is NOT to invade. The Arishok even states that fixing your (kirkwall's) mess is not a demand of the qun. We see very clearly that what drives him to do all that is the fact that for 4 fucking years, he and his people have been shitted on and aggroe'd by the people of Kirkwall. It's not hard to sympathize with the qunari in da2 (even if the writing really does try it sometimes)

but with dai and dav it feels like the game has already decided that the Qun is super bad and you are not all allowed to agree with them. If an Adaar inquisitor expresses that they want to join the Qun, Josephine is quick to tell them to keep it down. If you decide to keep Bull loyal to the Qun, it will DIRECTLY lead to his death in Trespasser and according to the wiki, an inquisitor who romanced bull will also be partially blamed for the dragon's breath plot, so the game is basically telling you bull staying with the qun = BAD

AND THEN Dav comes around and literally all of the qunari, expect for taash, their mom, and that one weather guy and seer rowan, are depicted as the Bad Guys TM. Even tho they're technically not even qunari anymore, as they have all deflected the qun and thus should be considered tal-vashoth, the game still uses them to show that the Qun is bad because they're the antaam. Our only qunari companion struggles with the qun as they were raised completely outside of it and tho, i'll admit, i cannot comment on how the embrace being a qunari plot line goes for Taash as I haven't done that one yet, the game seems to push more for the rivaini route - example being the fucking rope scene where the game pratically says "the qun ties you down"

AND IT GETS WORST IF YOUR PC IS *ALSO* A QUNARI. Neither Adaar nor Rook are allowed to be followers of the qun - which, i can understand to some degree. It's easier to craft a story about them if they're tal-vashoth then going through the hoops of how a follower of the qun is doing all these unsanctioned acts. But, they're also not given the choice to meaningfully sympathezie with the qun. When Adaar tries to talk to bull about their experiences being qunari, Bull is quick to say that they're NOT *really* a qunari as they don't follow the qun, which brings that alienation - the only group of people that looks like you is not going to claim you as one of their own. And bull does this other times too btw, but in other words, the game is pushing you away from the qun.

I can't comment too much on a qunari rook but i can say that once again, the game is pushing you away from the qun. In that one scene where you establish some stuff about Rook via trinkets, you have two dialogue options about the qun - one that says that qunari sucks and another that says 'wow "my people" suck rn but we still made some good stuff'. While Adaar still has *some* connections to qunari culture (their parents being qunari, them being part of what seems to be a tal-vashoth only qunari mercenary band), rook has NONE of that.

Like the game has already decided that the qun is bad and your character should not even conceive of the fact that maybe there is something worst there and that maybe they would want to be a part of it.

and it gets to me because in the case of the PCs, you're not really allowed to explore what could be some very interesting stuff. How does an Adaar Inquisitor cope with the Dragon's Breath plot in a world that is EXTREMELY prejudice to any qunari, follower of the qun or not. How does a de Riva qunari rook cope with the invasion - the only people who look like them are also invading the only home they've ever known.

i think i derailed a bit from my original point so i might need to make a separate post. but it does GET to me that dao and da2 half asses attempt at the qun comes off way better than dai and dav's, the only games in which the PC can be a qunari. Because dao and da2 at the very least let you sympathezie with the qun in the slightest bit. Hell, even other characters comment on it - Alistair, who was raised in a chantry, says to the warden that when Sten talks about the qun, it doesnt seem as vile as the chantry makes it out to be.

and the thing is is that because in the later games they focus SO MUCH on the rigidness of the qun and especially the invader part of the qun, they forget that unlike the chantry, the qun is actually open to all, in the sense that, ANYONE can convert to the qun and they will not be turned away (maybe except for tal-vashoth but that's another topic of discussion), either elf, human or dwarf. HELL, part of the reason why Adaar is a VASHOTH and not a tal-vashoth is because, since they were born outside the qun and have never learned it properly, THEY WOULD STILL BE ALLOWED TO CONVERT, and these converts are allowed higher up positions in the qun, even if they're viddathari. Meanwhile, Leliana needs to become divine for the chantry to actually open its doors to everyone.

They also forget that the qun is pretty big on protecting its members. Seamus has converted for like a hot minute and when he is killed, they IMMEDIATLY avenge his death. Even if the elves might be converting to get away with crime, the Arishok is intent on protecting them because they're part of the Qun now. The qunari society functions as a living organism - the mind, the soul and the body. This is why the Antaam deflection is so bad because they now have to survive WITHOUT the body (by the way, that we never get to explore this, how qun society will move forwards without a significant portion of it, is a SHAME). MEANWHILE, the chantry is way too ok with supporting orlais in their occupation of ferelden.

anyways. i have more to say.

[thevoicefromanotherworld]

"THAT'S MY GIRL"

SOOO I WROTE ANOTHER FIC WITH MY STUDENT/ PROFESSOR IDEA WITH WILL

I hope you like it! 😌☝

WARNING : EXPLICIT SMUT UNDER THE CUT

-And that's all for today. Remember to review the different types of murder weapons for tomorrow -the teacher said, dismissing the class-

When you approached his desk as the rest of the students left, a smile appeared on his lips when he saw you.

He took off his glasses and, after resting them on the table, interlaced his fingers before looking at you.

-How can I help my favorite student? -he asked, raising an eyebrow- Any questions, corrections, or…

-A question

-I knew it…

-About you -you added, laughing-

-Well, that… I didn't expect that -he admitted, ducking his head slightly-

You sensed the change in his attitude, so you sat across from him and tried to meet his eyes with yours

-Are you okay? –you asked– You seem a little… sad– he observed, he shook his head–

–I’m fine– he said– Nothing you should worry about– he assured with a kind smile–

–You know you can tell me if you want– you murmured– he thought for a few moments before speaking–

–Okay, but just because it’s you– he said making you smile– you can’t tell anyone, okay?– You nodded again– Alana and I argued this morning– he finally confessed– She said some mean things about me– he continued– Actually, it wasn’t anything I didn’t know, but it hurt me that she was the one who had to tell me, you know? -He muttered- she's my friend, and… -He paused for a moment to shake his head- I shouldn't be boring you with this. Surely there's somewhere else you'd rather be…

-There isn't -you assured him- Please, go on

-We've grown apart -he continued- We're not the same as we were when we started investigating together, so… -He swallowed hard- I'm n-not sure if I should tell you this, but even when we have to work together in the same room, she avoids having to touch me -he said- When she has to grab any of the materials needed to process the evidence, she grabs them herself or asks someone else to do it. It's… -He paused, thinking of the right words- It's torture -He let out a sarcastic laugh- I don't think I've ever been so eager to be touched as I am right now -He tilted his head towards you, but didn't look you directly in the eyes- Does that make sense?

-Yes -you murmured, giving a sympathetic smile- I understand how you feel- you continued- I know Alana didn't mean it that way, but that doesn't make it hurt any less

-Yes, that's exactly it -he nodded- Are you sure you're in the right class? -he questioned- You shouldn't be in, I don't know, psychology school?

-There are too many psychologists -you blurted out- I want to be a criminologist, that's why I'm here

-At this rate, you'll be one of the best in the country -he assured you- Your grades are excellent, and I'm sure you've already received several job offers from different FBI branches across the country -he murmured confidently- You nodded

-That's right -you confessed- Could you write me a letter of recommendation? -You asked- I know I don't need it, but I'd like to have it in case things go wrong

-Sure, I'll give it to you first thing tomorrow morning -he assured you, writing it down on a piece of paper she had next to her textbooks- Is there anything else I can help you with?

-I don't know -you whispered in a dangerously low voice- Is there?

Will watched the gleam in your eyes for a moment before looking away

-I know what you're up to -he murmured- and we can't do it

-Why not? -you questioned, looking around- Do you see anyone stopping us?

He didn't respond.

-We could get into serious trouble -he continued- If Jack or Hannibal get in here, I…

-Neither of them is going to get in -you assured her- No one will -you pointed out- It's just you and me -you emphasized- So what's it going to be?

-You're… -he growled- You may be a very good student, but you're a very VERY bad girl -he whispered- Seducing your teacher like this… What are you trying to achieve with this?

-You know what I'm trying to do, Will -you whispered- He tilted his head-

-Whatever happens in this room can't leave here -Graham relented- Is that clear?

-Crystal clear -you assured him-

He gestured for you to come closer and sit on his lap. You felt the muscles in his legs beneath yours as you did. You raised your head, your lips a breath away.

-This… -he whispered, wetting his lips -This is wrong -he said before kissing you-

You tangled your fingers in his curly hair as he kissed you as if he'd been wanting to for a long time.

He placed his hands on your hips, gently at first, then lightly squeezed.

-Will… - you moaned as you felt him hard beneath you. He placed his index finger on your lips. -Shh, let the older ones talk first, - he murmured. You nodded slowly. - I want you to be clear about what's going to happen next, - he said. - I'm going to lean you against my desk and you're going to open those pretty legs to take everything I give you like the good girl you are -He lifted you by your hips to sit on the desk- Because that’s what you are, right? -he questioned- Are you going to be a good girl for your teacher?

-Yes -you gasped as he removed his pants and then did the same with yours- Will… please…

-Please what? -he questioned, placing a kiss on your collarbone- Come on, baby, I want to hear you say it -he whispered- Can you do that for me?

You nodded, a moan leaving your mouth, feeling him position himself at your entrance.

-Fuck me -you whimpered- Please, Will, I need… -you gasped- I need to feel you inside me

That’s what he did, and within seconds, the two of you were pushing against each other in search of release, causing the sound of the desk’s wooden legs moving to fill the room.

Will felt you press against him, which made him smile. He kissed you again before resting his forehead against yours.

-You're so close -he murmured- I can feel you clenching around me, baby- Are you going to cum?

-Yes

-Yes, what?

-Yes, sir -you added, earning another push from him, which grazed your clit- Good girl -he praised- Now, cum for me

You came against him, and he did so seconds later.

As you caught your breath, Will placed a loving kiss on the tip of your nose before whispering :

-That's my girl

[quitealotofsodapop]

You know what... the Stone Egg au also goes a long way to explain just why Wukong was so picky about the form of immortality he got when he was with Subodhi and why he was so upset to learn about the three calamities or be randomely dragged down to Diyu. If he wants to be there for the Egg he has to have the right immortality, not soem cheap knockoff that only increases his lifespan a few years!!

In the different Stone Egg aus; Wukong understands that he's likely the last of his kind. So to have this method of continuing his lineage, in whatever form, is an amazing opportunity. But he wouldn't want to leave his baby alone like he was. Gibbon and Baboon were super firm on the fact that most Stone Monkeys who tried the Stone Egg means of reproduction died in it's formation.

So after the non-natural passing of an elder monkey in the FFM troop, Wukong is busy grieving when he realises; if he's physically immortal, he could theoretically survive a Stone Egg forming within his body!

Subodhi gets a very insistent student that very winter. One who tracked him down based on what knowledge they could glean from the nearest human village about gained immortality.

Upon learning the Great Secret and learning of the Heaven-sent calamities that would try and kill him for it; Wukong was furious. This wasn't what he asked for! He didn't want to "live forever"! He just wanted to be strong enough to carry and raise his baby! Subodhi was even more confused when his star student started acting out and flaunting his transformations to less skilled acolytes, prompting Wukong getting "dropped out" of Subodhi's teachings.

The old master only learns centuries later why his student was so upset with his gained power.

Part of the reason Wukong rebelled against the Heavens is that he assumed, every member of staff was allowed the peaches, wine, and maybe even one Pill for their services. So to toil away as Bimawen and later as Orchard attendant for years, only to be told "Lol no. You're just a stable monkey. You don't get shit." threw him into a rage. Why should the Celestial royatly hog all the immortality when they aren't doing anything!? So some Heaven gets Havoc'd for a reason almost no one saw coming.

If Wukong ended up forming a Stone Egg via being trapped under Five Point Mountain for 500 years with no food & company; he has a moment of "YES!!!" at the joy of managing to create the Egg safetly, but his mood sours after he realises that he needs to carry it for a little while longer + go through the joys of pregnancy.

In the ones where he avoided becoming el pregante under the mountain, he jots it down as a "failed attempt" in his mind for later.

Once some Celestials and people from Wukong's past realise his motivation for eternal life was; "Wanting to survive having a baby", they get super apologetic and sad. Especially the medicine and motherhood gods. Nezha and Erlang starts bawling their collective five eyes out at the news - both lost their moms, and feel uber sympathetic for Wukong and his baby.

By the way, even if Wukong was aware that Macaque was the same exact species as him (which his canonically doesn't until the Buddha tells him during the doppleganger fight) and they could reproduce, he wouldn't want to make Mac feel like he "had to" be with Wukong for the good of their species. SO stone egg it is!

[fire-on-fuel]

been turning over this thought in my head for a while and it's still not fully articulated but I want to get into it so

(tldr: reflection on characterization in the first boba fett jr novel, child emotional development, personal interpretations, vagueing psychology concepts, boba & jango dysfunctionality)

The boba fett junior novels choose to contrast jango and boba's morality, so we see boba for the first time as something more than a unique extension of jango. But we also see how jango shapes boba- intentionally and unintentionally.

I don't know a lot about child psychology but I do know there are hard and soft ways to direct how kids develop. Jango Trying to parent doesn't mean he's not molding boba in his own image subconsciously, or that he's not deliberately putting in effort to make sure boba has the personality to look out for himself, whatever questionable parenting that requires. Is it giving boba a million Complexes? yeah. And that part's not intentional, but a lot of jango's parenting is.

Most of jango's parenting choices come down to him feeling this overwhelming need to imprint lessons he had to learn in very hard and traumatizing and gory ways onto boba for boba's future safety, and using his presence as a parent to do it in a much gentler manner. Which makes sense, but it also means he's raising kind of a terror. And scrambling boba's social development and sense of empathy. And creating these partitions in boba's head from an early age of hard and soft mindsets and when to use each which boba then takes and applies within himself according to the patterns he observes in people and then you have a kid crossing his own wires and coming to really unnerving conclusions all the time about how he should regard himself and how he should treat others.

Boba needs to be desensitized to violence and he needs to still be able to care about the people close to him (because that's non negotiable to jango). And ofc he needs to understand the code and things like that and to respect his parent and elders and at least outwardly, his peers. (could go on a whole other tangent about how in a perfect world jango needing to enforce boba's niceness to the clones would be a tip off for how he was influencing boba to think about said peers but jango doesn't care about that lmao). So you take the kid on the bounty hunt and you teach him to shoot and you give him the toys r us version of your own personal code that lets you not be in moral turmoil all the time and on the surface boba is doing pretty fine he doesn't seem emotionally stunted or anything he loves his dad. But if you took him off kamino and put him in regular elementary school I guarantee you'd start to see some problems.

The Fight To Survive likes to explore how jango actively affects boba, but not so much passively. Kids are extremely malleable, every Fact about the world they absorb becomes a starting point for an internal domino effect. These effects then become adjectives that describe boba, and uncouple from jango. Which can get spooky to authors considering that boba fett is an unequivocally Weird and not always Good kid. There's also the fact that due to boba's environment jango isn't likely to see any peer conflict go down or wouldn't dissaprove hard enough to take serious action. (this is why I think karen traviss avoided depicting certain sides of the nulls cause it just opens a whole can of worms with whether the audience will remain sympathetic to everyone involved). I mean boba isn't even supposed to be spending time with CT's or in other varied social scenarios that would dig up any weirdness, like jango thinks would be best. (again jango THINK please)

And I'm not saying boba is a completely morally bankrupt unempathetic child with only terrible influences or that he tortures animals for fun or that he's a bully, more that he's a strange kid, pretty self isolating, distrustful, being taught by his dad to be selectively empathetic, and yeah a little twisted in the right and wrong and tact categories. Which doesn't negate him being sweet or caring or protective or excited to learn or innocent.

There's these misconceptions around social development and trauma that imply that something clear cut and violent has to happen to change the trajectory of a kid's sense of self and how they relate to others (ex: vau literally torturing his cadets into detachment). Or that there's some imaginary line that once crossed means the child in question is Screwed In The Head Forever and has no hope of being prosocial or loving or manageable ever again (blatantly false! people contain multitudes!) and kids can only be Nice or Evil (regardless of whether you think being an evil little kid is condemnable).

Even though these ideas aren't true they're widely accepted and they do directly relate to why official writers shy away from reversing the top-down approach to jango and boba's relationship and showing boba, in his whole personality, first, before connecting it back to different causes; jango or otherwise. Doing so forces the audience to see that weirdness and then you run the risk of losing the character being sympathetic to a knee jerk "oh!" reaction.

And this is kind of hard to talk about cause it invites more heavy questions like 'why is moral innocence (for lack of a better word) culturally encoded to be innate to children' 'how badly can you screw with a child's emotional development without visible abuse' 'are children really just warped reflections of their environment and caretakers' that I definitely don't have the full answers to.

What I do know though, is that jango probably subscribed to the intent=effect equation and he probably also thought boba was doing great considering his circumstances (fair I guess). And boba is probably a somewhat unsettling child to be around if you're present for long enough to notice what's missing. And people parent their kids according to their priorities- whether they know about them or not. And boba is still his own person with outside influence to weigh into things like morality. And lots of people develop oddly even with loving caretakers because human minds are very impressionable in order to be so resilient. And a lot of times functionally normal people are only that in certain environments or have weird shit going on but you just might have to trace down a very normal line of thought in their head a while before you hit it. Idk.

At the end of the day boba fett is literally just a kid. He waits for his buir to come home and hug him and shooting real people with real lazer turrets is in the same category of his head as killing minecraft zombies is for the average 10 year old. All he can do is shift around the information about the world and the experiences he's had until it makes sense.

So I want to see him be weird and fucked up more!! I want to see that reversed characterization!! I think it should be possible to see that without it painting boba as a devil child or positioning jango as a relative villain. Cause yeah jango is an adult with much more responsibility here but he's also been hammered into a certain shape by trauma and it's not worthwhile to me to conflate that with malicious intent. But I do want to be shown that caring is not enough to stop harm, and that jango does not have to be a consistently cold or gruff parent to cause that harm.

Jango being that much more loving while still doing as jango does will always be a more interesting message about parenting and internalized trauma than a solid and not at all unpredictable jango that puts boba through trials of character to toughen him up and nothing else. Jango wants the best of all worlds, and he doesn't want to accept that he can't be a healthy parent and teach boba to be a bounty hunter and set his son up to survive relentless trauma and still get a normal kid all at the same time. I think that makes him mildly unstable and hard to guess at from a child's perspective. He'll do his best to make up for it though since every second he gets with boba is important and precious.

[mossiestpiglet]

Thoughts on Kyoya's development in the manga? It's nice to see him have more expressions and being unhinged towards the later chapters.

Manga kyoya is the food i was raised on

Where i really REALLY think the manga shines in the characterization of Kyoya is that it drives home that Kyoya is an important, complex, sympathetic character who is well liked by his peers for exactly who he is and has always been. There is not some secretly kind and sweet Kyoya hiding under the ambition and temper, in fact what is under there is even MORE ambition and at times a rage he physically cannot contain. And he is loved for it.

And I think this is a great creative choice with his character and one we know from the very beginning is intentional because of Renge. Her introduction serves to show who these characters aren’t going to be. In most stories, a character like Kyoya can only be liked by other characters (and the audience) if he is secretly sweet in some ways. Kyoya shatters this fantasy with a rock. There is no hidden sweetness.

This is not to say he doesn’t care, just that there is no gentleness to his care. As you say Kyoya becomes much more expressive and unhinged in some chapters of the manga because his emotions are finally so big he cannot keep them restrained at all- and it is very consistent that this is almost exclusively caused by or about Tamaki (there is only one instance I can think of where he gets particularly genuine and expressive and it’s entirely for himself, from the final chapter). But there is also a kind of care that Kyoya is consistently expressing through his work, because he is constantly putting in an extraordinary amount of work in service of the club and its members. And it takes him a while, almost to the very end of the series, to admit that he is doing this not because it will benefit his future career or the Ootori family, but because the club has become precious to him and he will do anything for it and its members.

And not only does Kyoya realize this, but even more progress for our beloved boy, he says so explicitly to Kaoru. (and Honey seems to psychically get the message too???) This I think is also one of the great strong suits of the manga over the anime: the anime really focuses in on just the relationships of characters to Haruhi or to Tamaki because of how much of the series had come out and because of needing to streamline things. The manga is much, much more about the relationships between all members of the club. Tamaki brought the pairs together, but these boys have spent two years getting to know and become friends with each other and they ALL see Kyoya for who he is and love him for it. They don’t match him and understand him as fundamentally as Tamaki does (the boys come in pairs for a reason), but they do get him better than he thinks they do and there are multiple scenes of characters other than Haruhi stunning him with how well they see through his shell.

The relationships to Honey and Kaoru are given the most attention and are the most interesting to me, but I will just discuss Kaoru for now because this is already long enough. Kaoru and Kyoya become each other’s default partner when their normal companion isn’t an option and they are really good at it. Kyoya recognizes capability and drive in Kaoru, which Kaoru always rises up to meet. And Kaoru is very vocal about complimenting Kyoya in such a way that clearly points out he sees Kyoya’s actual motives, which embarrasses Kyoya in exactly the same way that Tamaki and Haruhi are good at doing when they see right through him too. Kaoru respects Kyoya and also understands that everything he is doing is from an enormous amount of care for his friends. And unlike the way most people see the twins, Kyoya sees Kaoru as reliable and just as dedicated to their club/family as he is.

[fayes-fics]

To Know You… [Benophie]

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Sophie Baek/Beckett

Summary: Benedict knows Sophie, perhaps better than anyone. But does he know himself well enough to know what he truly wants, before it’s too late?

Warnings: none really… fluffy fluff. Childhood friends, class differences, masquerade balls (yes, plural), marriage mart shenanigans, proposals, Benedict being adorable while also a complete dumbass.

Word Count: 10.4k 

Authors Note: Benophie remix of this fluff fic to celebrate both @benophieweek and @benophiefest happening this month. Regency AU story, as Sophie's background is different. She was abandoned by her stepmother as a young child, left on a kindly woman's doorstep who raised her with love, nobody aware of her true background/lineage. She has also been a Bridgerton family friend since childhood. POV swaps between Sophie & Benedict. Enjoy <3

I: To Know You….

“I would rather not, Miss Baek,” the young man clips, walking away at a brusque pace. 

Sophie sighs and looks down at her feet. Mrs Parsons will be so very disappointed, is all she can think.

—

Benedict may not have heard the words spoken, but even from his vantage point at the other end of the ballroom, he could see the disdainful way the man uttered his parting words to Sophie. It makes anger flare hot in his chest, his fists forming reflexively at his side.

He watches as she casts her gaze downwards, shoulders hunching, folding in on herself physically, as if the rejection for a dance has manifested in a body blow. He feels a pang in his gut—of sympathy, indignance on her behalf and mainly at the injustice of it all. To him, she is a wonderful, intelligent, caring person worthy of a good match. Still, the circumstances of her upbringing seem to stymie her attempts to join so-called ‘polite’ society at every turn…

—

Sophie looks up with a defeated mien until her eyes land on one person who has always been able to ameliorate any of her more morose moods—Benedict Bridgerton. Instantly, she feels lighter. She gives him a polite nod across the crowded room, and, to her delight, he returns it, a hint of a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. It is just so very characteristic of him to offer silent support, to understand, from witnessing a moment of interaction, precisely what she is feeling. A large part of her so wistful that there is no other man quite as nice as him. She has an overwhelming need to leave the stuffy ballroom and catch some air.

Miss Sophie Baek grew up under the tutelage of the kindly, well-heeled doctor’s widow, Mrs Parsons, the third daughter of an Earl, whose house was not far from the vast Bridgerton estate in Kent. The naturally born daughter of nobody quite knows whom, Sophie was taken in as a ward when abandoned upon Mrs Parsons’ doorstep at a mere two years old, just a tag around her neck with that name upon it and a modest case of clothing. The widow’s reputation for kindness towards young waifs and strays is likely why poor little Sophie was left there. Fortunately, it was an event too early in Sophie’s life for her to recall. All she has known her whole life is the woman’s generosity and compassion, raising Sophie as if she were her own. 

And now she is of age, Mrs Parsons takes her to events around Kent in the hopes of securing Sophie a respectable husband, the most prestigious of which being tonight’s Hearts and Flowers Ball at Aubrey Hall. The Bridgertons have always been gracious enough to invite local families, those without the means to partake in the London season, to events at their country estate—a benevolence that allows for Sophie’s attendance tonight. It’s just such a pity that the one bachelor Mrs Parsons was so very keen for her to meet, one Mr Reeves, just rebuffed her so thoroughly. 

She glances down at the remaining empty slots on the dance card tied to her wrist and sighs again. Now that she is out on the terrace in the fresh evening air, the light breeze is at least a partial balm, allowing her to recover from the sting of rejection away from the hubbub of the ballroom.

“I will never understand how the men of this county can consider themselves anything approaching mannered.” 

Sophie would know that refined voice anywhere. It haunts her dreams. Just the sound of it making her ribs tighten. She turns to see Benedict sauntering towards her, two drinks in hand, that sympathetic smile still in place.

“You are far better off without such rudeness,” he attests wryly as he pulls up beside her, arching an eyebrow for her entertainment.

“You are far too kind, Mr Bridgerton,” she answers, taking the glass he offers with a meek smile, trying not to let her ardent admiration for him be too evident. 

“Mr Bridgerton?!? What happened to BenBen?” he teases gently, recalling her childhood name for him when she was a mere four and he was nine.

“We are at a formal event; I should address you properly, should I not?” she replies playfully, a warmth spreading inside as it always does when she gets the chance to have a witty, convivial exchange with him.

By gosh, if there is one man to whom Sophie would pledge herself without hesitation, it is him. But, of course, he is the second son of an illustrious family. To think she would have any chance to win his heart would be as likely as a future king to marry a commoner. Still, a girl can dream…

“At least call me Benedict, Skylark,” he winks over his wine glass as he takes a sip. 

Butterflies erupt in her tummy at the affectionate nickname he has used since she was small, having to avert her eyes to avoid blushing deeply.

Just as Benedict goes to speak again, his brother, the Viscount, materialises at his side. Looking to all intents and purposes as if he is trying to escape the ball as much as Sophie is.

“Mother is best avoided tonight, brother,” Anthony warns sagely, taking a large gulp of his champagne. “She is under the erroneous impression I am suddenly in want of a wife.”

Sophie can't stop the giggle that bubbles up from within at his wry observation of his predicament.

“Hello, Sophie,” he greets warmly, just noticing she is also there, his face morphing into a youthful, playful grin. 

If Benedict is the husband she has always dreamed of, Anthony is the elder brother she has always yearned for. In fact, that is always how he has treated her, akin to Eloise and Daphne, who she sometimes grew up playing with, being of similar age.

“Hello, Anthony,” she chimes back. “How was the hunt earlier? Did the infamous Bridgerton brothers kill another prized stag?” she inquires, keen to engage both of them for as long as they will entertain her. Just being around them always lifts her spirits to no end.

—

Benedict observes Sophie as she listens intently to Anthony’s recounting of the earlier hunt, impressed by her resilience. He has no doubts any other woman would feign an attack of the vapours had a man rejected her so harshly. But here she is, politely listening to his brother’s boasting, even though he can tell she is hurting inside.

Perhaps it helps that the snub went primarily unnoticed. Sophie is unknown to the Ton; any witnesses likely dismissing it as the business of ‘country folk’ unworthy of note. Which, frankly, he could scoff at, seeing as he holds her in higher regard than all of the other attendees combined.

“How about you?” Anthony ends his story with a question to Sophie, interrupting Benedict’s train of thought. “How has your experience been at our fine event this evening?”

“Oh, the house is splendidly decorated and the music wonderful,” she obfuscates behind flattery. Anthony appears to buy it, but Benedict sees behind the facade, the flame behind her usually bright gaze dimming a little, making something ache in him to see it. 

Damn that idiot for ruining her evening! This just won’t do…

—

Sophie can feel Benedict’s eyes upon her as she responds abstractly to Anthony.

“Miss Baek here is too polite to say it, but she was treated harshly by that young Reeves chap from Tenterden,” Benedict edifies as she bows her head, embarrassed. “Let’s be sure to rescind his invitation to future events, brother,” he appends with a surly tone.

“Duly noted,” Anthony nods sincerely, a brush of confusion flitting over his face regarding his brother's vehemence.

“No, there is no need…” Sophie begins to protest weakly but halts mid-sentence under the intensity of Benedict’s gaze.

“I bore witness. Believe me, He shall not darken our door again,” he states firmly.

It appears the matter is very much decided, and she doesn’t want to put up much of a fight, seeing as it ultimately benefits her. She does, however, want to bathe in the warm glow inside whenever Benedict defends her. It's wonderful to have someone looking out for her, especially one so handsome and kind.

—

Two days later, Sophie is taking afternoon tea with Mrs Parsons at the local tearoom when Benedict breezes in, looking so majestic dressed in Bridgerton blues that she grinds to a halt. Luckily, he has not seen her as he makes a beeline for the counter.

“‘Tis rude to stare, my dear,” Mrs Parsons lectures sotto voce, nodding to her teacup, frozen in mid-air.

Sophie shakes her head a touch and places said item back in its saucer as Mrs Parsons turns briefly to look at what or who caught her attention. Then she reaches out, her lace-gloved hand gently patting Sophie’s. 

“It would be prudent to set your sights a little more realistic…” she advises with a sympathetic air.  “Not that I fault your choice,” she adds, so quietly at first Sophie is not sure she heard her correctly, but there is a tiny playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Sophie’s mouth falls open fractionally, and she stares as the old lady shrugs. “I may be old, my dear, but I am not blind.”

Well, I never, Mrs Parsons!

Just then, Benedict twists around from speaking to the proprietor, and he sees Sophie. There’s a jolt down her spine as he breaks into a huge smile that claims his whole face. And she almost chokes on her bite of scone as he makes his way to them rather than the exit.

“Good afternoon, Miss Baek, Mrs Parsons!” he greets effusively. “Would it be terribly impolite to ask to join you briefly?”

Mrs Parsons' face is a picture of surprise. “Not at all; the pleasure is ours, Mr Bridgerton,” she responds affably, gesturing to the spare chair at the small round table.

As Benedict sits, Mrs Parsons shoots her ward an incredulous look. It's Sophie’s turn to shrug fractionally.

“Mrs Parsons, I feel it necessary to tell you Mr Reeves was excessively rude to Miss Baek here at the ball, and I wanted to assure you that he will not be welcome at Aubrey Hall again,” he divulges sincerely.

Mrs Parsons looks taken aback and turns to Sophie. “Why did you not tell me, my dear?”

“I-I did not think it necessary…” she twists her mouth into a bashful pout, biting her lip.

“Mr Bridgerton, thank you for bringing this to my attention, and I thank you for your generous offer, but that sort of action does not seem warranted,” Mrs Parsons replies accommodatingly.

“That is what I said…” “That is what she said…”

Sophie and Benedict speak in unison at the exact same moment, and their eyes ping to each other, both laughing then bowing their heads immediately. Sophie just knows her cheeks are flushed.

—

Benedict loves the look in her eye sometimes. That spirited sparkle with glowing cheeks. In his opinion, that is the only look Sophie should ever wear; no one, especially one as unworthy as Mr Reeves, should be allowed to rob her of it. He feels a strong compulsion to do everything in his power to keep her looking like that—carefree, happy, stunning. It’s what motivates his subsequent words.

“If it is not considered too impudent for me to do so, I have a suggestion for Miss Baek’s introduction into society,” Benedict offers sincerely. “I believe you should be able to find her an excellent, worthy match by casting a wider net.”

“What are you proposing, Mr Bridgerton?” Mrs Parsons inquiries, almost warily.

“That Miss Baek come to London and partake in the remainder of the season as a guest of my family. My mother seems to think it an excellent idea, and I know my younger sister Eloise is already a good friend. I do not see why they could not attend events together,” he shrugs genially.

“You have already spoken to the Dowager Viscountess of this matter?!” Mrs Parsons checks, unable to modulate the astonishment in her tone.

“Of course,” he confirms with a nod. “I made such a suggestion this morning when your names came up. She heartily concurs. Miss Baek here is too bright and good of a person to have her marital choice limited by geography or circumstance.”

His eyes flit to Sophie, and his heart gallops at the searing look she gives him.

—

Sophie doesn't even try to temper her doe-eyed expression as she looks upon Benedict, him extolling her virtues to the audience of the tea room. 

Even distracted by all the wondrous things he has to say, she can detect the noise level on the surrounding tables has reduced; everyone in town always keen to eavesdrop on a Bridgerton conversation. Especially one that contains such noteworthy gossip as a local young lady being invited to the London season at the family’s behest.

“My dear, I trust that Lady Bridgerton will look after you well,” Mrs Parsons professes. “I have no objections should you desire to seize this opportunity.” Her tone pointed, very much encouraging.

“That would be just wonderful, Mr Bridgerton,” Sophie exhales with a grateful smile. “I cannot thank you enough for even thinking to raise such a petition.”

“Think nothing of it, Miss Baek,” he smiles, standing up and giving both a brief, shallow bow. “I shall see you anon, no doubt.” 

And with that, he sweeps out of the tearoom, Sophie’s eye line tracking his concave outline through the curved glass as he rounds the corner out of sight.

“Well, well,” Mrs Parsons puffs out her cheeks. “I am not sure what you did to inspire such actions in a gentleman. But bravo, my dear, bravo,” she holds her teacup aloft in a toast. 

Sophie is a jumble of emotions and could not even begin to answer about what she could possibly have done. Mostly, she is just elated by the prospect of the chance to attend the whirl of the London season, even if there is also a slight pang of regret that Benedict seems so keen to see her matched.

II: …Is To Love You

The following Tuesday, as the carriage pulls up outside the grandeur of Bridgerton House, Sophie has nothing but butterflies. And as the dowager Viscountess and her lady’s maid show her to a charming guest room, she cannot temper her excitement.

“Get yourself freshened up, my dear. There is a masquerade ball this evening at the Queen’s new residence, no less, and there is no time like the present to begin your introductions,” Violet warmly counsels.

Sophie nods her thank yous, and after they take their leave, twirls excitedly around the room. Basking in the airy sunlight flooding in, admiring the elegant furnishings as she goes. She pulls up in front of a large sash window and is delighted to see bounteous gardens beneath. The rear of the property is very much an oasis of calm in the heart of the city. But one sight in particular draws her eye: a majestic oak with two swings attached to a stately arm. It looks like a place of refuge, and she feels oddly compelled to take a seat there.

Three hours later, walking into the palatial Buckingham House, she is in a different world from the one she knows in Kent. Candlelit crystal chandeliers glint like towering clusters of jewels, spraying thousands of shards of light around the room. Every railing is bedecked in hundreds of drooping flower garlands, and the walls groan with enormous portraits of royalty. The melodic strains of a chamber orchestra fill the air. She tries not to look too agog at all the surrounding opulence, glad for the mask to hide her wonder behind.

“And I thought Aubrey Hall was grand,” she murmurs, and beside her, Eloise just guffaws.

—

Benedict arrives late to the ball from his bachelor lodgings across town, bustling in as stealthily as possible, hurriedly tugging on his simple black mask as he does, knowing he will likely catch his mother’s ire for his tardiness.

But then he sees a sight that makes him temporarily stop dead in his tracks. 

There surveying the room utterly lost in reverie at its grandeur—is Sophie. 

He has not seen her dressed up as she is now, made over with the full attention of the Bridgerton staff. And he isn't afraid to admit to himself, at least, that it catches his breath. Even with a silver lace mask concealing half her face, how they have styled her emphasises her already evident beauty. And the dress they have chosen… well, he is almost ashamed of the heat pooling low in his gut; he has never seen Sophie in such tailored, refined, shimmering fabric. She looks positively ethereal.

Whosoever marries her shall be quite the luckiest man indeed.

He doesn't miss the way she inhales sharply when her eyes finally land on him, his chest swelling slightly with pride as her lips part in surprise before breaking into that winning smile which always seems to brighten every room, tonight being no exception.

When he finally joins his family, after needing to dodge a seemingly endless array of enthused mamas, he hears his own mother advising Sophie about the men in attendance.

“I would like to introduce you to Lord Shelton, my dear. He is a fine young man with many interests, and he has a lovely estate near Hove,” Violet recounts as Sophie listens intently.

“Oh god, no,” Benedict immediately intervenes, “Shelton has amassed significant debt at the Pudding Lane gaming hell.” 

Violet looks up surprised, then raises an eyebrow at him. 

“Pray tell dear son, how do you know such? Benedict Bridgerton, you had better not be frequenting the hells of the East End!” She threatens hushedly, in that stern maternal manner that would have any grown man quaking in their polished shoes.

“No, of course not, mother,” he bristles, his eyes cutting briefly to Sophie, not wanting her to think such things of him. “It is an open secret at Whites, and why he is currently banned from the card room there.”

—

Sophie cannot tear her eyes off Benedict as his mother side-eyes him.

Violet hums sceptically before declaring. “Well, not to worry, there are plenty of other options available for Miss Baek…” She steers attention towards another crowd of young men, all talking and sipping champagne. “Baron Corning, Lord Jennings, Viscount Tewkesbury,” she recounts, nodding subtly to each one. “Any would make a fine addition to your dance card, my dear.” 

“We can do much better than any of them,” Benedict chides.

Sophie is slightly taken aback at how very much he sounds like Anthony tonight; apparently very invested in curating who she should dance with. The problem is, with each additional suggestion his mother makes, he roundly dismisses them out of hand. 

Is no one in attendance up to his standard?

“Benedict, dear, a word?” Violet states pointedly after a third round of his withering opinions. “Get yourself another lemonade,” she smiles at Sophie, patting her hand before looping an arm in her son’s and dragging him away.

—

His mother’s arm is surprisingly strong when she needs it to be.

“Darling, may I remind you, while Miss Baek is indeed a wonderful person, I do not think we can afford to be too picky for her prospects. Her background is rather… unestablished,” Violet points out diplomatically as soon as they are out of Sophie’s earshot.

“We can do better than braggards, bores and philanderers,” Benedict shoots back, raising a pointed eyebrow.

She looks up at him and sighs. “Well, that is true.”

“As I thought, mother,” he winks as she affectionately swats his forearm. “Why not benefit from my knowledge? In fact, perhaps it is prudent I assist in your search for a suitor.” 

“Oh, is it now?” Her tone suddenly filled with intrigue, her face entirely too scrutinising for his liking. “And does my second son wish to join their ranks?” She adds entirely unsubtly.

“I have no time for romance; I have my art. I am most preoccupied.” He waves a dismissive hand, but even he knows his answer is tellingly brusque.

“And yet, you do not seem too busy to assist with the search, dear…” she points out archly. 

Benedict has no response to that. 

—

The day after the ball, Sophie is sat in the dappled shade in the gardens of Bridgerton House, attempting needlework. It's never been a strength, frankly. She would much rather be allowed to partake in more physical pursuits, like archery or fencing, a want to burn off nervous energy as she awaits the arrival of any suitors. She did end up dancing with a couple of gentlemen, both of whom were... fine… in her estimation.  

After messing up yet another stitch, she throws down the embroidery hoop and emits a deep sigh when a familiar chuckle rings out behind her.

“Not your favourite pastime?” Benedict correctly guesses.

“You can say that again,” she grumbles, twisting to smile at him, a little frisson in her belly at his mere presence.

He rounds the table to take a seat opposite.

“So let me guess,” his face charmingly skewed into a thoughtful mien. “You would prefer to be doing something, hmmmm, more athletic?”

Sophie giggles, abashed he knows her so well. “Correct again.”

“I remember you being a crack shot in archery,” he smiles nostalgically before continuing with genuine curiosity. “Why did you not continue it?”

“I was informed ‘tis unbecoming for a lady,” she rues, the mental image of Mrs Parsons deeming such things ‘unladylike’ flitting through her mind.

He scoffs. “Since when did fearsome little Skylark care one jot for societal expectations?” He teases gently, with a wink, as again he invokes that nickname he bestowed upon her a long time hence. 

Sophie smiles briefly before she becomes more sanguine. “Since I have been informed I must find a husband…” she sighs.

He frowns a touch. “Any man would be lucky to have a wife who can keep him company on the archery field. I know I, for one, would greatly appreciate a spouse with whom I could share such a pastime.” 

“I would venture that you are not like most gentlemen in that regard…” she counters, a bittersweet twinge in her heart that one day, he will indeed be married to some deserving, no doubt elegant, lady, and she shall barely see him.

“Perhaps not,” he agrees, looking thoughtful, “but then you are not like most ladies, Skylark.”

“I am not a lady…” her counterpoint is softly-spoken, almost ashamed.

“You are more lady than any other member of the Ton,” he asserts, his gaze suddenly intense, as if he is willing her to believe his point. “And you should be free to pursue any pastime you wish.”

Sophie says nothing, just smiles wanly, wishing she could believe it were true.

—

How Sophie constantly doubts herself causes a little stab behind Benedict’s ribs. A sudden burning need to prove that she should do as she pleases. He slaps his thighs and stands up swiftly. 

“In fact, I am going to go set up the archery targets right now,” he nods decisively, headed for the far corner of the garden where he knows the targets are kept, hoping she will follow.

“Coming?” he calls, twisting to look back at Sophie. “I won't tell anyone…” he adds with a conspiratorial wink, seeing from the involuntary bounce of her leg how much she wishes to join in. 

He cannot help the smile that engulfs his face as Sophie jumps to her feet with a mischievous giggle. Nor can he help deliberately aiming badly, letting her roundly defeat him at target practice, basking in the victorious glint in her eye as she teases him gently for losing. 

He also pretends not to notice his mother watching from a high window, her expression riveted and so very telling.

—

Later that day, Sophie is reading quietly with Eloise when Violet sweeps into the drawing room with her lady's maid. 

“Sophie dearest, Sir Denton is here to see you,” she smiles brightly. 

“Oh, I…” Sophie stutters, sitting upright, surprised.

“I can send him away, Miss?”  The maid offers, intuiting her disquiet.

“No, no, it is fine… I am just surprised, that is all. ‘Tis almost 4pm. I was not expecting that anyone would be calling, given the late hour.”

Benedict suddenly materialises in the doorway. As ever, there’s that trademark flutter in Sophie’s chest.

“Any reason Denton is lingering in the hallway?” he inquires airily, grabbing a teacup and pouring himself some.

“He is here for Miss Baek,” Violet breezes as his eyes cut to Sophie, a wave of irritation seeming to cloud his face.

“Well, we should dismiss him,” Benedict sniffs, pausing in his action, his face souring.

“Why?” Violet frowns.

“I had a chance to look into his past since I acquiesced to his dance with Miss Baek last night…”

“Acquiesced?!” Violet scoffs, but Benedict ignores her interjection, save for a curt eyebrow raise.

“I have subsequently discovered he has vastly overstated his assets,” Benedict bristles imperiously.

“Who woke up and made you Anthony?” Eloise pipes up witheringly.

Benedict shoots his sister a look of irritation. “Anthony has deputised me to run family matters while he is away on business this week, sister,” he reminds pointedly.

“Yes, but you did not have to adopt his personality as well,” Eloise shoots back, disgust evident on her face.

“I take finding Miss Baek here, a suitable match, seriously,” he volleys. “Do you wish to see your good friend married to someone unworthy of her?”

“Well, no…”

“Then kindly permit me to handle matters,” Benedict orders with finality, uncharacteristically forthright in his opinions.

“I do not wish to see her married at all…” Eloise mutters under her breath as he stalks away to dispatch Denton before anyone can argue.

Sophie just sits there mildly dumbfounded, unsure what to make of it all. 

—

The following evening, Sophie attends a music recital with the Bridgertons; Benedict is notably absent, which makes her a touch melancholic in a way she doesn’t want to dwell on. 

However, the evening turns for the better while she is taking refreshments at the interval. A friendly-faced young man strikes up a conversation with her after an introduction from Violet.

“Are you enjoying the music tonight, Miss Baek?” he asks genially.

“It is very nice, Lord Glassborough,” she offers politely, trying to stifle her slight boredom. 

Sophie enjoys music, but a two-hour concert is a little too much. She much prefers a short set of songs, as they play at balls.

“I find it rather dull myself,” he opines quietly, leaning in. “I much prefer a lively song one may dance to.”

She cannot temper her surprise that his opinion is an exact mirror of her own.

“Have I offended you so?” he checks, looking mildly contrite.

“Not at all, my lord. I was actually just thinking the same myself,” she chuckles quietly.

He looks inordinately pleased and breaks into a friendly, toothy grin. He seems like a nice, agreeable sort. A pleasant, if not particularly handsome, face. Over his shoulder, Sophie sees Violet looking inordinately pleased that all appears to be going so well.

—

“I am not sure I can do this...” Sophie sighs as Ms West genially taps the metronome.

“You can, dear; just remember your finger placement.”

And so she begins again. Attempting to master this tricky piece, her eyes trace the lines of music as her fingers glide over the cool ivory keys of the pianoforte. Violet is keen for her to brush up on her skills, given Lord Glassborough’s interest yesterday. Sophie could not find an adequate excuse fast enough, so here she is, in a slightly reluctant music lesson, trying her best to recall what Mrs Parsons taught her a few years ago.

“Men do so appreciate a lady who can entertain them with exquisite music,” Ms West nods approvingly as she plays.

Mostly, Sophie is relieved when she makes it to the end with no mistakes, at least none glaringly obvious.

“I much prefer to sing…” she admits tacitly as Ms West shuffles the sheet music.

The teacher looks at her surprised, then shoos her from the piano stool. “Sing for me then, my dear…” taking a seat and beginning the opening bars to a song that, fortunately, Sophie knows well.

She begins to sing along, growing more confident with every note, allowing herself to get lost in the words, the story of a lady awaiting her true love.

“Exceptional!” Mrs West peals delightedly over the sound, and Sophie feels bolstered to continue, the piano a the perfect accompaniment.

—

Benedict stops short as soon as he enters the house. The most lilting, beautiful sound echoes gently down the marble hall.

“Who is that Jenkins?” he asks of the butler who takes his coat.

“I believe it is Miss Baek, sir.”

He draws inexorably closer, finding himself watching Sophie through the crack in the doorway, listening to her sing a touching tale of love that sounds so hauntingly hypnotic in her mellifluous tones. Her eyes are closed, and she sways to the melody, lost in reverie, in the narrative being woven.

The piano stops abruptly.

“Can we help you, sir?” an elder lady calls crisply.

Benedict realises the door has crept open slightly before him, enough for him to be clocked by the music teacher. He watches as Sophie swings around and looks horrified that she may have an audience. It makes him take a resolute step forward into the room.

“Do you need us to desist? Is it perhaps too loud?” The lady checks deferentially, likely assuming him to be the head of the household.

“No!” His reply is a touch too forceful. “Please continue,” he modifies. “I was merely drawn by the splendid sound I heard. I am not sure I have ever heard such a wondrous voice,” he adds, keeping his gaze steadfastly upon the lady, not able to look Sophie in the eye as he confesses such. 

—

Sophie is mortified when she realises Benedict heard her singing; she has always managed to keep it private, until now at least. But now her heart is suddenly pounding at his extolling words.

“She does indeed have a most excellent voice,” Ms West concurs with his sentiment, looking at Sophie expectantly as Benedict walks further into the room, his face with the same hopeful expression.

“I am not sure I can…” she stumbles, nervous for an audience, most especially him. His is the opinion that would matter to her the most—she would be crestfallen should he not like it.

“Sing more for me, please, Skylark?” His ask is gentle, beseeching as if it were just the two of them alone.

“Skylark?” Ms West sounds enchanted.

“My childhood nickname for Miss Baek,” Benedict explains as he takes a seat. 

“Skylarks have a wonderful song,” the lady sighs wistfully.

“Indeed,” Benedict chimes, his eyes still upon Sophie. “I never knew how appropriate it was until this very moment.”

Something warm cracks in Sophie’s chest at his sweet words, making her courageous. At least enough to nod when Ms West looks to her again from the piano. And so she restarts the song for this very special audience, heart in her mouth. The words coming easily to her, an extra layer of meaning he will never know as Sophie sings words of unrequited devotion, looking to him in her braver moments. His face is enrapt, leaning forward, his eyes soft and expressive. 

As she reaches a high note at the end of the song, holding it, Benedict bursts into applause, jumping up from his seat and taking her by surprise, grabbing her gloved hands in his.

“You should always be singing Skylark…” he pronounces. “Truly beautiful. Please promise me, no matter what happens, that you will always, always sing…” 

Sophie ducks her head briefly, unsure how to deal with his effusive praise. Ms West’s face is a picture, watching them stand with hands held tight, Sophie feeling a tingle where the warmth of his skin seeps through the layers to hers.

“I-I-I promise,” she replies meekly, a touch dazed as her eyes again meet his, the intensity making her lungs restrict.

“Thank you.” 

Two words have never sounded so sincere or loaded with significance. 

III: … And I Do.

A few days later, it is the Trowbridge Ball, a regular fixture on the London social calendar and a decadent affair that is usually the most talked about of the season. As it turns out, another masquerade ball. Apparently, Lady Trowbridge is still somewhat piqued that the Queen ‘borrowed’ her idea and usurped the occasion by hurriedly arranging her own for the week before. Eloise recounts this as they get ready, and Sophie can only chuckle. The Ton seems such an oddly cutthroat place under its veneer of civility.

They share a carriage ride to the ball with Benedict. Sophie tries her best not to stare at him - so handsomely dressed in a white cravat and black velvet cropped jacket that clings to his tapered shape - but mostly, she fails. In rather spectacular fashion, really, her skin flushing hot the more she looks at him, glad the majority of her blushes are hidden behind her mask. But she could almost swear that his gaze dwells on her, too, subtly sweeping the fine silk Madam Delacroix has expertly tailored.

—

“You look beautiful this evening, ladies,” he offers politely to both, but really, it is just for one of his carriagemates.

“What do you want?” Eloise cuts across any reply Sophie could give, narrowing her eyes at him, instantly suspicious of his flattery.

“Can I not compliment without an ulterior motive?” he ripostes, unable to stop their usual sibling dynamic from flaring.

“Not usually,” Eloise sniffs, with another suspicious glance, before looking out the carriage window.

He beams happily as Sophie takes the opportunity to thank him quietly. She seems truly radiant, so much that he cannot prevent his gaze from lingering longer than it probably should, grateful Eloise’s attentions are drawn elsewhere in this confined space.

Same as a few minutes later, even though he knows he probably shouldn't, he allows his hand to remain upon Sophie’s a few seconds longer than is necessary when he assists her in alighting from the carriage. 

—

Around an hour into the ball, as Sophie goes to partake in a refreshment, a sneering Lady Cowper utters something cruel under her breath, her sour-looking daughter smirking beside her. Sophie does not hear all of the words but does not need to. One sideways glance tells her all she needs to know. It seem so unnecessarily cruel to be judged so harshly, having never even exchanged so much as a word with the woman. A sticky lump in her throat, even as, thankfully, their attention is pulled elsewhere.

“Ah! Mr Bridgerton!” Lady Cowper’s entire demeanour changing to oleaginous charm, “my daughter looks particularly stunning tonight, does she not? I do believe you should secure a place upon her dance card before there are none left!” 

Even with his face partially disguised behind his mask, Sophie sees Benedict blanch at the very words.

“I do not dance, Lady Cowper, but I bid you ladies a good evening,” he responds, polite but firm.

Sophie tries her hardest not to smile at the disdained sneer on their lips and feels light as air as, instead, he sweeps by them, drawing up to her and winking privately.

“That woman does not realise she is doing her daughter’s prospects more harm than good with her brashness,” he comments dryly as he grabs a glass of champagne from the adjacent stand.

“I am not so sure the daughter would do much better without her; she seems perpetually furious about her own hairstyle,” Sophie opines sardonically, making Benedict snort loudly into his drink. A lightness fizzles in her being as he shoots her a look of unmistakable admiration for that remark.

“I daresay you are a much better dancer than her,” he contends, not breaking eye contact, placing aside his refreshment before leaning in and continuing in a hushed voice. “Perhaps you would do me the honour of a dance to confirm my suspicion?”

There is a vault in Sophie’s chest as he is offering her a dance when, just a moment ago, he declared publicly that he would not. Sophie can only nod, heart hammering, as he breaks out into the most handsome smile, offering his arm and leading her to the centre of the room as a ripple goes through the nearby crowd. Apparently the sight of one Benedict Bridgerton taking to the dancefloor is a rare occasion indeed.

—

As he takes Sophie’s gloved hand in his and curls an arm around her shoulder, he realises this was perhaps a mistake. An impromptu offer, the hollow thrill of petty revenge for the insult that he observed the Cowpers sling at her. But now he realises it has somewhat backfired… upon him. He cares not a jot for the gossiping, people whispering behind their hands as they begin to dance. No, the problem is much more concerning than that. 

It is how discombobulated he feels having Sophie in his arms.

How her body seems to fit and move perfectly with his. How, when she dares to look up at him, his mouth goes a little parched. He has never truly noticed how striking her eyes are until seeing them now this close. Indeed, the evident beauty of her face, the way she seems to glow from within, more tonight than ever. It makes his chest - and somewhere else on his body - feel entirely too tight.

—

Nothing could have prepared Sophie for this.

The feeling of literally being swept off her feet. With Benedict's handsome face smiling down upon her as she floats around the dancefloor. 

Surely, this is what dreams are made of?

She knows it is a flight of fancy, but it seems as though the floor beneath her feet is a shower of diamonds rather than candlelight refracted through chandeliers. The warmth and strength of Benedict’s embrace caged around her, respectful but so close it makes her lungs feel too small to gasp the air she needs to keep moving. But she never wants to stop. A whirlwind of sensation as she twirls, carried away by the music, the man, the moment.

“Thank you, Benedict,” she breathes, knowing she is likely looking up at him far too adoringly but unable to hide it, a burning need for him to know how grateful she is for this dance, not even noting her slight faux pas of employing his first name at a society event. 

His eyes flash and she could swear they dilate a fraction before she must turn her back to him, following the steps.

“I was right,” he rumbles cryptically from behind her now, his large hands wrapped around hers as they hold them aloft together, following the moves of the dance. “It is indeed an honour to dance with you.” 

They turn in perfect sync, and they are now dancing directly in front of Cressida, her expression murderous even hidden beneath her demi-mask. It makes Sophie bolder than she has ever been, tilting her head sideways a fraction so her cheek almost brushes Benedict’s, fuelled by the envy she feels seething from within the odious girl.

Sophie could swear he sighs ‘Skylark’, his hot breath tickling her ear. It has her chest pounding, a flavour in the air she could taste, a powerful stirring low in her belly.

—

Benedict knows this is a dangerous path and yet is powerless to do anything but walk it. Even while knowing his ever-vigilant mother is watching, an inscrutable expression upon her face. Breathing that nickname into Sophie’s hair as he inhales her scent, heightened by the movement of her dancing. A light, sweet floral perfume but underneath the smell of her, familiar from many years of friendship but altered now, more decadent, an undercurrent of tart berries that thrills and stirs deep within him. 

He is almost grateful when the music ends before he does something foolish. But then Sophie is staring up into his face, all doe-eyed expectancy and his tongue feels unexpectedly tied. He is almost grateful when an interrupting hand wraps around his shoulder.  

—

Sophie watches what she believes is Will Mondrich whisper in her dance partner’s ear. Before she knows it, Benedict is offering apologies with a shallow, polite bow and hurrying away. Coming back to reality with a bump, she drifts awkwardly from the dance floor, feeling judgy eyes, suddenly flooded with concern her behaviour may have been entirely too wanton. 

Before her thoughts can spiral too far, however, someone materialises at her side.

“I do so hope your dance card is not full tonight, Miss Baek,” a newly familiar, chipper voice cuts in.

“Lord Glassborough,” she greets, recognising his cheery demeanour despite his mask; the relief at having someone familiar to distract her is palpable. “I am available to dance right now.” 

Sophie takes his proffered arm and lets him lead her back out to the spot she and Benedict had just vacated. But as the music begins and they move together, the difference for Sophie is noticeable. Gone is the frisson over her limbs, that excitement as if her skin could vibrate off her very bones. Instead, she feels comforted, almost a brotherly presence as the man leads her in the dance. He is technically proficient, but it feels lacking—that tension, a heat burning in the space between them. It makes her yearn for Benedict even though he was just there. Her stomach settles with a leaden weight as she realises she will have to settle for less than what she truly desires.

Still distracted by the mental comparison, Sophie absently acquiesces to his suggestion to take some air upon the terrace as the dance ends. She senses Violet, ever the vigilant chaperone, follow not far behind as he leads her into the cooler air outside. 

“Miss Baek…” he begins cautiously. Sophie senses a nervousness in his being, pulling her focus back to him. “I think us most compatible, would you not agree?”

“We make most excellent friends, indeed, Lord Glassborough,” she hedges, not wanting to appear overzealous.

“And friendship is the most appropriate foundation to build something more… tender,” he argues with a smile. “I do believe I could offer you a most agreeable life.” 

There is a strange twinge in her chest as suddenly, Sophie realises what this is. The moment everyone, except perhaps her, has been awaiting all season.

“I would be honoured if you would consent to be my wife, Miss Baek,” he humbly offers a sincere kindness shining in his eyes.

And there it is—an offer of marriage from a perfectly nice, respectable gentleman done in an appropriate manner. 

To one side, Sophie sees Violet clutch a hand over her chest, face delighted, even as her own fists clench within her delicate gloves. Wishing this moment were not happening so soon after a truly breathtaking dance with the man of her dreams. Who is not the same man as the one before her, nervously shuffling from foot to foot, awaiting her reply. 

“I am honoured, Lord Glassborough,” she answers cautiously, bowing her head demurely. “This is a big decision to make. Please allow me time to give you my proper, considered answer?”

“Of course,” he bows chivalrously, his accommodating nature making this moment all the more bittersweet. He is indeed a lovely man. 

He is just not the one Sophie wants with every fibre of her being.

—

That night, Sophie cannot sleep—the most significant decision of her life to make. So, in the small hours, she finds herself drifting to the deserted kitchen of Bridgerton House to do what she does best when she needs to think calmly—baking. 

A pastime she has grown up enjoying with Mrs Parsons. Many hours spent happily with flour dusting her hands, sun streaming into the large but homely kitchen of the house she grew up in. Perhaps a slightly maverick pastime for a woman of Mrs Parsons’ social standing, with a modest staff to do such things for her, should she wish it, but so very enjoyable for them both nonetheless. 

Throwing a large, heavy baking apron over her nightdress and robe, Sophie potters around.  The flagstone of the basement floor is cold underfoot, a grounding feeling that stops her mind from racing too much.

She has no idea how to respond to Lord Glassborough’s proposal. On one hand, he is a seemingly nice man, of a good family. She is sure he would be a perfectly acceptable husband, unlikely to be mean or untoward. It is just… a nagging voice is telling her to turn him down despite him being an imminently sensible choice, her heart wanting, well, the impossible. A man that excites her, not just a safe, practical option.

She is onto the second batch of lemon and rosemary biscuits when a voice makes her jump out of her skin.

“What on earth…?”

There in the doorway is Benedict, looking confounded to find her there. The very man who makes her heart skip, always. He is dressed the most undone Sophie has ever seen him—a white frilled shirt open a few too many buttons revealing a smooth plane of lightly freckled chest, brocade braces slung casually around his hips as he pads in, also barefoot. She swears she may have to grab the bench before her to stay upright.

“Skylark, we have cooks you can call upon at any time should you need food!” he fusses, instantly concerned, moving to ring a bell on the wall.

“No! Please do not!” She exclaims, rushing to stop him, grabbing his sleeve in her haste. “I-I enjoy baking. It is relaxing; it helps me to think.”

His brow knits, and his eyes flick down to her hold on his sleeve, a warm vein pulsing under her fingertips. She snatches her hand away quickly, a blush staining her cheeks, mumbling an apology as she scurries back to her biscuit-making.

“Alright,” he concedes slowly, still appearing confused. “When I saw the sconces lit from the rear stairwell, I assumed one of the staff was still down here.”

Sophie finds it amusing that he seems at pains to justify why he might also be in the kitchen, especially to her, a guest of his family. This is Bridgerton House, and he is a Bridgerton. He may go wherever he pleases, surely? And yet here he is, doing so.

“I was rather hoping for some hot cocoa,” he explains with that soft, crooked smile that always has her heart aflutter.

“Oh! Well, umm, I could make you some cocoa?” She wipes her hands upon her apron and moves to do so.

—

That Sophie would make such an offer, as if seeing herself as household staff, spurs Benedict into action.

“No, you certainly will not!”  He decries, moving swiftly towards the larder before she can. “I am perfectly fine with some cold milk,” he assures, re-emerges with a bottle and pouring himself a glass, leaning back against the sink to take a sip.

Despite the lateness of the hour, he finds Sophie’s heretofore secret pastime fascinating. A lady who bakes. By choice. So he watches as she returns to making biscuits, entertained, as she begins to beat the mixture quite furiously with a wooden spatula.

“Have those ingredients caused you some sort of personal offence….?” he jests lightly, nodding to the bowl.

He observes a flit of contrition across her face.

“I, umm, have a decision that I must make; baking helps me think,” she explains vaguely, then appears to change the subject rapidly. “I am, however, sure of one fact - some biscuits are a must to accompany milk. There is a completed batch over there.”

“Genius,” he opines with a wink, enthusiastically moving to grab one from the cooling rack she signalled to, delighting in the blush that darkens her cheeks. 

He decides to gently push the topic she abruptly avoided. Concerned there could be a topic she is genuinely wrestling with. If his opinion on the matter can ameliorate her burdens, he would be most honoured to assist.

“What sort of decision must you make?” he inquires… before temporarily losing the power of speech. 

There is an explosion of tart lemon and earthy herb on his tongue that melts into a buttery sweetness—utterly divine. 

“Lord alive, these are delicious!!!” He exclaims around the mouthful.

“Thank you,” she answers softly. 

Sophie is always so modest about her talents; it sometimes makes him want to grab her shoulders and shake her gently. To make her see what he does. 

“To answer your question, it is a perplexing matter that needs serious consideration,” she continues but stops short of detail, looking at him with a sudden intensity.

He is saddened it appears she is not yet ready to share the information with him. But he also does not want to pry if she is reluctant to divulge. 

—

Benedict swallows a bite, and Sophie finds herself staring at the movement of his throat. Knowing one thing to be true—if it were his proposal, she would not even hesitate for a split second. 

That wistful thought makes her suddenly melancholic, sighing, pushing aside her mixing bowl, realising this may be an issue baking will not fix.

“I do so hate to see you doubt yourself, Skylark,” he offers quietly after a beat, mien so earnest. “Trust yourself. You will find the right answer for your dilemma; I am certain of it.”

He is so remarkably supportive that, ironically, she almost wants to scream at him.

“I should leave you to your thoughts,” his tone is gentle, reluctant.

“Please, there is no need, Benedict,” Sophie tries to assure. “To be honest, in all of this world, yours is the company I enjoy the very most…”

That truth is out of her mouth before she can censor it. 

She sheepishly glances over to be met by a surprised look on his face. He takes a few steps towards her, probably without realising it. Suddenly, he is very close, faint wisps of his woodsy, citrus cologne tickling her nose.

“And I, yours, Skylark…” he rumbles, his gaze falling to her lips. 

Time seems to stop, and Sophie feels pinned under glass, staring up into his handsome face as he breathes slightly ragged, her body rioting as he engulfs her senses, definitely too close to be considered gentlemanly, polite…

…But then, he takes a sharp inhale and steps back as if coming to his senses. He turns heel with a hastily muttered goodbye, and before she knows it, he is gone. Leaving her bewildered, thoughts scattered.

—

The following day, Benedict is idly reading the paper, partaking in a leisurely lunch of tea and cake, when his mother swans in, reeling off a set of instructions for her lady's maid.

“Oh, and lastly, do not forget, we should secure an appointment with the modiste, in case Miss Baek should know her answer today…” Violet concludes breezily as she takes a seat.

“Yet another ball we must suffer, mother?” Benedict drawls, folding down his paper and taking a hearty bite of zesty lemon drizzle.

She shoots her son an exasperated look before neatly smoothing a serviette into her lap as she is served her usual afternoon Earl Grey by the butler. “Miss Baek will be in need of a wedding dress, Benedict, dear.”

He spits an array of crumbs onto his newspaper, coughing in shock. “She will need what?!?” he wheezes, barely recovering.

“Lord Glassborough proposed to Miss Baek last night at the ball. She has yet to give her answer, but I am confident she will accept. They are a fine match,” Violet declares, taking a sip of tea.

“Why did she not mention it to me?” he mutters, more to himself than anyone, his forehead creasing heavily in a frown as he swallows the rest of his mouthful.

“Why would she have?”

“We talked last night…” letting slip perhaps too much in his perplexed state, lost in his tumbling thoughts.

“When last night? We returned from the ball very late,” a suspicious tone in his mother’s voice, belatedly releasing he should know better than to think aloud; she is sharp as a tack.

“I-I found Miss Baek baking last night in the kitchen when I went for cocoa. She told me she had a dilemma she was wrestling with…” he admits, looking down at the paper, the words now a jumble before his eyes. “....Mother do you think it is possible she will say yes??” Benedict's head snaps up, his heart suddenly pounding in his ears.

“She would be a fool not to,” Violet points out, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow at him. “Unless there was another, perhaps more wanted, proposal she could consider? Do you possibly know of one? Son?” 

Even he can read between those lines. 

“I-I am late,” he abruptly changes tack. “I promised to meet Anthony today to discuss the soil at Aubrey,” he bustles rapidly, standing and fleeing the room before he can allow his mother to see how much of a complete lie that is.

—

Benedict spends the afternoon at Whites, downing perhaps one too many whiskeys as he grills his fellow patrons about the Glassborough family. Looking for any reason he can find to object to the betrothal while steadfastly refusing to examine why he feels so passionately about the subject. He also spends time checking the hefty tomes of Debrett’s the club holds.

He returns to Bridgerton House just as dusk settles in, the sky streaking red and pink as he enters.

“Where have you been, dear?” Violet asks as he rounds into the parlour.

“Researching,” he gruffs economically.

“What? Or rather whom?” Violet inquires, revealing she already has a firm idea of what she asks.

“I can find nothing wrong with him!”

Benedict paces, an energy emanating from his being as if that very fact rattles him.

“That is a good thing, is it not, son?” Violet reminds pointedly. “We want Miss Baek married to a good gentleman.”

Benedict shoots her an exasperated look but relents. “I suppose…”

“Is not your reluctance perhaps for another reason, my dear?” Her question is gentle, if not particularly subtle.

He slumps into a wingback chair with a defeated sigh. “Go ahead. Say your piece, mother.”

“I have watched you, darling,” she begins softly, watching him tip his head back and screw his eyes shut. “I do not know exactly when, but your regard of Miss Baek has altered, and I am not the only one to observe it.”

Benedict's eyes fly open, and he tips his head down with a frown as his mother continues.

“Even Colin has marked a change in you. If you feel anything, my dear, then Miss Baek, Sophie, has the right to know. Before it is too late. The right to make an informed choice if you are bold enough to give her one. Son, I have only ever wanted my children’s happiness. And if your happiness lies somewhere that perhaps even you have not realised until now…. well then I encourage you to follow it. Follow your heart.”

Her impassioned speech suddenly makes the pieces of a jumbled jigsaw before his eyes arrange into a pattern, a way forward that is suddenly clear and sharply in focus.

It makes him leap to his feet, an urgency thronging in his being.

“Where is Miss Baek?” he almost barks. 

“I do not know,” Violet confesses, “but I do know she has not yet seen or written to Lord Glassborough,” she adds.

“Good…” he rasps, headed determined out of the room to find Sophie.

—

The verdant lush grass is cool between her toes as Sophie curls them over, sighing heavily, the night now dark, a twinkle of silver stars among the navy sky, soon to be black. The swing under the big oak, a refuge she has sought many times since staying at Bridgerton House, feels a particularly poignant place to be tonight as an internal war rages within, her decision swinging back and forth as much as the wooden seat she is perched upon, the rope digging into her cheekbone as she slumps against it, flummoxed.

She knows what her answer to Lord Glassborough should be. Indeed, what it should have been from the moment he asked. 

A resounding yes.

In every practical measure, this is the best possible outcome of her London season. A proposal from a thoroughly decent, acceptable gentleman, way above the station anyone was expecting, given her complete lack of certainty around any prestigious lineage.

And yet.

And yet.

There is a large part of her, her heart, that wants to turn down the proposal, foolhardy as that may be—wanting to feel something akin to what she felt when she danced with Benedict that night. 

She is not so foolish as to believe he would ever propose, but perhaps there is someone else out there for her that may evoke something similar. Even if only half, it would be enough. Enough for her to build a future around and feel contentment in her heart, to not just settle for what her head knows to be a sensible choice. 

—

Having searched the house, Benedict rounds into the garden and stops short, heart leaping into his throat as he spies her, swaying gently upon the swing, looking thoroughly lost in thought. 

It makes his chest ache that Sophie is so melancholic about a decision that should indeed be joyous. The selfish part of him celebrating, hoping that perhaps she is not. His memory recalls with perfect clarity how she had looked as lost as he now feels every time she has been close. The unbearable lightness of hope seizes his legs and draws him inexorably closer.

—

Sophie whips around as she senses company and has to take a deep breath as her eyes fall upon Benedict. His face pinched with a restless intensity.

“I was hoping I would find you…” 

“You have,” she shrugs, still confused by his crackling energy, him seeming in a rush to say something.

“Sophie, you deserve the very best of everything. Sincerely. And part of that includes being privy to the truth in the hearts of those lucky enough to know you…” a slight quake in his voice as he takes a step closer.

“Alright…” Sophie responds cautiously, her brow creasing as she senses the nerves emanating from him.

She gasps as he rapidly drops to one knee before her, a hand clutched to his chest. 

“I have been a fool not to see it before now. My own ardent admiration for you. For your talents, for your beauty. I realise now, perhaps too late, that you are truly the most wondrous, precious being in this world. You may not always see it, but it would be my greatest honour to show you, every day, if you will permit me, what I see when I look upon you, what I have always seen if I am honest with myself. A light that shines brighter than any other, a bird that soars higher and sings more sweetly than any other. A soul that it would be a privilege to be bound to. I know it is perhaps the worst possible timing, seeing as you already have a proposal from a perfectly acceptable gentleman. Still, I could not let you get married without knowing the true contents of my heart.”

Sophie is stunned. Speechless. 

Her heart pounds in her ribcage as she sits there stupified for what must be an age, Benedict looking upon her expectantly, breath slightly ragged from his long speech. Somehow, convincing herself this could only be a dream. That the man she has adored since before she can remember has just made the most beautiful poetic confession of love she has ever heard. And it’s to her.

So, she does the only logical thing that comes to mind. Pinches her own leg. Hard.

—

Benedict is momentarily confounded at Sophie’s actions.

“Owwww!” she yelps. “Not dreaming then…” is her muttered follow-up, rubbing her knee as his face morphs into an enormous grin, a lightning bolt of joy tearing through him as he realises what she is doing, that she can scarcely believe this is happening any more than he can.

“It is really me, Skylark,” he chuckles softly, seeing the way her eyes dilate rapidly as he can't help a lopsided grin claiming his face, a warmth behind his ribs, just for her.

“I realise that now,” Sophie sasses back, and there is a distinct stirring in his trousers at the tone she employs.

“I love you.” 

It's a reflex; he doesn't even realise he says it. But as soon as it's out of his mouth, it's like an invisible burden has been lifted from his entire being. 

His truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

—

Sophie knows her face is aflame as she snaps back at him, entirely without meaning to, but then he says three little words that tilt her whole world even more. 

“I-I love you too.”

She is bewildered when she says the same aloud. 

Her truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

Benedict’s bare hands grab hers, tingles shooting over her as their skin touches.

“Marry me? Please. My darling, wonderful friend,” he implores.

“Yes!! I will!!!” She answers breathlessly, not even a second of hesitation. 

He leans in and captures her lips. They are warm and soft as they move gently with hers. And when he opens her mouth, and his tongue rolls delicately over hers, it feels as if all the fireworks she has seen in the sky live now inside her, popping and exploding in a riot of colour. A whole new world of sensual pleasure is promised in that one move.

“Are you certain?” Sophie murmurs as they break apart for air, a flash of insecurity that it is happening so fast, even as there is a strong pull inside, a want to keep kissing him over and over.

Benedict smiles, tilting his forehead to hers, a wistful look in his light eyes.

“To know you, truly know you, is to love you, my beautiful Skylark,” he sighs, his words a comforting blanket settling over her quaking heart. “And I do. I truly do.”

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[dufferpuffer]

It is true that many characters demonstrated inherited prejudices towards werewolves and Snape wouldn’t be too different - but I do find it a bit disappointing for people to think that systematically stalking someone with the intention of ousting them is a knee-jerk reaction coming from a generalised societal prejudice. Maybe it’s trying to over justify and defend Snape’s actions, which to me were more motivated by his hatred of the Marauders, and later, fear and trauma of being exposed to a transformed werewolf?

We can bring up Molly, but we can also bring up people like Hermione, Harry, and Dean Thomas. Hermione worked out his secret and didn’t feel the need to freak out and expose him. Dean Thomas leaned later he had been taught by a werewolf and quickly and unprompted jumped to defend him in front of Umbridge. Harry immediately felt sympathy when confronted with the reality of Lupin’s condition, even when exposed to its scary and dangerous side. Even Ron, who had what I’d call a knee-jerk reaction, got over himself pretty quickly.

It’s just a bit wet to be like “well everyone was shit about it, so Snape is forgiven for being shit about it”. Not everyone was shit about it.

Does it make Snape look better to think that most students would be outraged to find out there’s a werewolf amongst them? I like to think some students, if they worked out, much like Harry and Hermione would see the person first and not get super weird about it.

I think you are severely underestimating the level of bigotry the Wizarding World has against werewolves - as well as the social climate at the time the Marauders were at school.

What you suggests breaks Remus' character in terms of the choices he makes, the sheer weight of his friends keeping his secret, Dumbledores actions to support him (and the implications of Severus' unwilling but dedicated silence for 18 years)... and are missing the point of why SPECIFICALLY Harry, Hermione and Dean are the ones most defensive and supportive of Remus.

It's not me trying to justify Severus' actions. I don't need to justify Severus, he can be a petty little ass. (Though the trust breaking of him finding out Dumbledore is protecting a werewolf makes the "fuck yall 'good guys' I'm going all in on rebuilding wizarding society" element of his character enriched.)

It's me spending WAY too long combing through the books to intricately understand REMUS' situation. It's for HIM - not Severus.

This is all SUPER fresh in my mind because I'm working on a part 7 of a massive, huge, too-big Lycanthropy meta, so uh... I went nuts:

+ Harry, Hermione and Dean were ALL raised by Muggles. No shit they are more accepting and sympathetic, especially when their first interaction with a werewolf is their lovely teacher. They have no cultural point of reference. It wasn't random to make Dean Thomas, of any side-character, stand up for Remus. Not Neville, not Seamus, not Lavender, not the Patil sisters.

Even then - + Hermione felt conflicted in keeping his secret but gave him the benefit of the doubt. Evidently, though, she had read how awful werewolves are and just didn't want to believe it. "he wants you dead too -- he's a werewolf!" "If I'd been a bit cleverer, I'd have told everyone what you are!"

+ Ron reacted with immediate revulsion towards Remus. "Get away from me, werewolf!" He didn't call him Professor, or Lupin, or even just leave it at 'get away from me'... he see's him as an animal. And he only got over it when Remus spent ages explaining himself, his past, his intentions - and proved his rat was a 33yr old man.

+ Harry is one of VERY FEW characters that actually treats Remus as a human being. Who else... Arthur, Albus, Tonks - possibly Dean... + Hermione directly compares his situation to that of House-Elves and says 'Wizards think themselves better than other creatures'. Remus is a Wizard, not a different Being, Beast or Part-Human - he is just disabled. She often accidentally does the exact things she wants to fight against: not listening to the voices of House-Elves and 'othering' werewolves as not-quite-human. “But you are normal!” said Harry fiercely. “You’ve just got a — a problem —” Even Remus' friends weren't as good as Harry is: + James is flippant with the fact Remus was a werewolf, even when Remus asked him to be careful - and his entire theme is that Harry is a better man than him. + Sirius treated Remus as a point of interest, wishing it was the Full Moon so he didn't have to be bored - regardless of how painful it is for Remus to endure - and at the first sign of there being a mole suspected Remus without proof. + Peter stood with James and Sirius in ignoring Remus' concerns, even when James and Sirius were more openly nasty to him.

+ "...out of bounds, at night, consorting with a werewolf and a murderer..." Snape says to the Minister of Magic, about equal weighting put on 'Murderer' and 'Werewolf'. Even though that 'Werewolf' was Harry's teacher, the fact Harry KEPT consorting with him after finding out he was a werewolf is whats damning. And the Minister just nods his head, agreeing.

+ "I’ve made her an outcast! ... You have only ever seen me amongst the Order, or under Dumbledore’s protection at Hogwarts! You don’t know how most of the Wizarding world sees creatures like me! When they know of my affliction, they can barely talk to me!" Remus wasn't being hyperbolic here. It's all true. Tonks IS an outcast now - she had to run from the Ministry. Wizarding society utterly detests werewolves.

+ Even as a little boy his parents had to move house every few months when their neighbours started to notice Remus not being allowed to play with other kids, getting ill on the Full Moons. There was no sympathy even for a 5yr old if he was a 5yr old werewolf. Remus grew up having to run away at the first sign of suspicion. It's sorta shocking how relentless it is in the books - I'm doing a meta on Lycanthropy, here's Part 2 where I go through how society seems to act and how Remus feels

'Does it make Snape look better to think that most students would be outraged to find out there’s a werewolf amongst them?' Better...? He is just correct. It makes him look NORMAL. It makes him look petty and irresponsible, really, that he didn't go to teachers first. But he was a 15/16yr old used to not getting any help. + Even LILY treated accusing Remus of Lycanthropy as a deathly serious accusation. It was terrible and ridiculous to even think of. "I know your theory,” said Lily, and she sounded cold.

Why do you think that more than a small handful of students would not act with prejudice if Remus was exposed as a werewolf...? Even if students and staff stood beside Remus, as they had known him for years - why that would matter in the face of Parents, General Society and Ministry persecution?

Especially during the dawn of the First Wizarding War???

Fenrir Greyback, the most savage werewolf alive, was biting CHILDREN to amass an army in the Death Eaters service. Death Eaters were on the rise, getting more violent. Secretive - nobody knew who they were, where they had infiltrated. Casting the Dark mark over peoples houses when they had killed their families. Getting Giants to kill more Muggles than in any point in history. Armies of inferi - dead family, friends and muggles they murdered being reanimated to fight the living... One of them, one of Greybacks children - is in HOGWARTS. One of the safest places in the Wizarding World is compromised. That's how it would be seen! That's essentially how it was seen even 13 years later - being outed to the public destroyed Remus.

...We, as readers, know more about werewolves than general Wizarding society does. Especially Wizarding children who only get some lessons on how dangerous they are and how to kill them.

+ If you listen to Pottermore, which fair enough if you don't - there are books published such as Prof. Emerett Picardy's 'Lupine Lawlessness: Why Lycanthropes Don't Deserve to Live', which state things such as 'werewolves permanently lack moral sense'. Misinformation is rampant. Murdering werewolves is acceptable. When werewolf-sympathetic books are published its done so with anonymous authors because they fear backlash.

You might 'like to think that students who found out wouldn't get super weirded out by it'. But I just don't think that's realistic. And even if there was a massive Hogwarts-wide cultural shift in the perception of werewolves just because Remus was 'a pretty nice lad' - it would mean little. We SEE it meaning little: Everyone likes Remus as a teacher and it meant jack shit. Werewolves were in a worse position socially, not a better one, after Remus was a teacher.

[innominaterifter]

None of the fans of "Worm" could resist taking a photo or video in a cafe with that name.

I chose the most secluded table and tried to do everything unnoticed, and on the whole my plan was a success. But I did not take into account children's curiosity.

A little boy, who was bored sitting with his mother and her friends, wandered around the cafe and looked for something interesting. Well, he found.

I only noticed him when I heard a loud sigh and saw a face with widened eyes peeking out from behind the back of a chair at a nearby empty table. Hmm, maybe insects that bring sugar cubes are not the most common thing he sees every day.

I didn’t want any problems with the cafe’s administration, so I couldn’t find anything better than putting my finger to my lips and making “Shhhh.” It seemed to me that it would look humorous and friendly and at the same time convey a request not to attract attention.

Okay, that didn't work.

(HelpMe.file: Perhaps I should not have called for silence, but, on the contrary, been friendly and offered to introduce him to my insects. Children, unlike adults, are often much less prejudiced towards them. I should try this tactic next time)

The boy sighed loudly again (or was it a hiccup?), jumped onto the floor and ran to his mother. I quickly picked up the roach from the table and placed it on my neck so that it was hidden by my hair. There was no time to hide the insect in its container, especially since this would be a noticeable action. I wanted to leave my hands free just in case, but practice has shown that putting a roach in my pocket is not a good idea: this species is quite agile, although not very fast, and if it decides to crawl out of the pocket, it will definitely do it at the most inopportune moment, and I won't even feel it. On my neck, I feel exactly where it is and what it is doing, and if necessary, I can stop it or direct it in a different direction simply by pretending to straighten my hair.

At the same time, I heard the boy, swallowing his words with excitement, telling his mother about what he saw and pointing his finger in our direction. I was ready for anything, but I counted on the fact that parents rarely believe their children when they talk about something strange or unusual. A cockroach bringing sugar cubes to tea would likely fall into both of these categories.

So I smiled friendly and put on an understanding, sympathetic look code-named “Oh-these-children!”.

I have seen it performed by my relatives quite often. Then I didn’t understand what exactly it was about my behavior that made them feel uncomfortable in front of other people, but just in case, I remembered the corresponding facial expression with an embarrassed smile, a sigh, an eye roll and a shrug.

This is a very convenient reaction if you don't know how to react to almost any story about children (people very often - too often! - like to talk about their children).

It worked here too. Well, what the boy described was really not what people expect from reality. The child’s mother answered me with the same facial expression with an increased inclusion of the apologetic component (if you are interested, then the eyebrows are responsible for this; a stronger raising of the eyebrows up and towards each other. The lips too stretch more strongly downward than to the sides, the lower lip is tense and, as it were, propped up the upper one, creating a sad arch and only the corners of the lips indicate a smile. The movements of the shoulders and arms also change somewhat).

As I thought, she chose to believe not her son, but the picture of the world that had formed in her head and in this picture insects do not help drink tea.

But in any case, I decided that it was time for us to leave this cafe. We shot the video, and I could have finished my croissant with tea in some other place. Moreover, I needed to transplant the cockroach from my neck into its container, and it was better not to do this here since the offended little gremlin did not take his eyes off me.

So far, the cockroach behaved exemplary and sat calmly under my hair, but at any moment, its ganglion could sparkle and send the owner to look for adventure. I didn’t want to catch a cockroach on my cheeks or pull it out from under my clothes.

I stood up and headed towards the exit, accompanied by a suspicious look from the boy and an embarrassed and apologetic look from his mother. And when I opened the door to the street, two things happened at the same time: the cockroach got bored and started moving towards my jaw; a gust of street wind blew my hair back exposing my neck.

Umm, it turned out quite dramatic.

The boy squealed both triumphantly and fearfully and began pointing his finger in my direction, attracting the attention of his mother and her friends. But I was already on the street, the door slammed shut, cutting off the sounds from me. I returned the hair and the insect to their place and, walking past the large display windows of the cafe, out of the corner of my eye I saw the boy’s mother and several of her friends looking at me in dumbfounded looks.

Well, maybe next time she will decide to believe her son and not the stranger at the next table. But overall, it was fun, I love such accidents.

[skzhocomments]

Dear Diary, - Kim Seungmin Fanfic - Chapter 18

General Masterlist

Story masterlist - please consult it for the summary of the story, trigger warnings etc.

Wattpad | AO3

Chapter 17 | Chapter 19

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Chapter 18

Chapter word count: ~3.5k words

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30th of March Dear Diary, I am an idiot. Yes, that’s all I am. A stupid fucking bitch. You’re probably wondering what the heck happened. Well, I’ll tell you. Seungmin and I fucking kissed. WE KISSED And after The Kiss™, what did I do? I ran away. Yes, future Phoebe. You read it right. I Ran Away And I’ve been avoiding Seungmin ever since. He messaged me all day yesterday, and most of today, but I’ve been ignoring my phone, Yuna literally laughed in my face when I told her. She was like: “I TOLD YOU HE LIKED YOU!!!” And then she urged me to message him back, but I didn’t listen to her, but she keeps pestering me, calling me a coward, and I know she’s right. I know, but it’s not that simple. And since I don’t have to go to work tomorrow, I’m seriously considering skipping classes as well, because I’m scared to see him. We need to talk, and I know that, but I’m just prolonging the inevitable, I guess. I’ll see him on Tuesday, and we’ll talk, and until then, I’ll try to come up with a good enough excuse and hope he will understand. UGH!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! Phoebe

“Are you still not going to reply to him?” Yuna asks amused, her left eyebrow slightly raised, pointing to my phone screen.

“I am, just not… now.”

“It’s been almost two full days, Bibi.”

“I know, I know. But I just… can’t do it.” I frown.

“Why? What are you so afraid of?”

“What if things don’t work out? What if we’ll get into a relationship and after a while he’ll fall out or love, or I’ll fall out of love, and then we’ll never speak again and I’m going to lose one of the most important people in my life? I don’t want that to happen!” I pout, and Yuna smiles at me sympathetically.

“But what if… and listen, it’ll sound crazy. What if none of the worst scenarios you’ve made up in your head are gonna happen, and you and Seugmin will actually be happy together?”

“But what if we aren’t?” I pout again, and Yuna chuckles slightly.

“I don’t get it. Months ago, you told me you hoped he’d have feelings for you. Now that he’s shown you he has feelings, you’re avoiding him like the plague, what, because you’re scared? Then grow some balls, Bibi! Good things won’t happen to you unless you let them come in your life, you know?”

“Ugh, why do you have to be so right about everything?” I scoff, laying down and burying my head in her pillow as she starts patting my back.

“What I’m saying is, don’t let your insecurities ruin something good for you, okay? Seungmin likes you. You like him. Stop being afraid.”

“Easier said than done.”

Before Yuna has a chance to reply, someone knocks on the door, and she goes to open it happily, jumping on the intruder.

“Jeongin, you’re here again?” I roll my eyes, and he sticks his tongue out at me.

“Nice to see you too, Bibi. Here you go, present from your not-yet-boyfriend.” He says as he throws something in my lap, and at closer inspection, it’s a camera.

“My what?” I ask, slight grimace on my face.

“Seungmin told me to give this to you. I hear you’ve been avoiding him.”

“God, why does everyone know?!” I sigh dramatically and stand up. “Why did he give you this in the first place?”

“Dunno, I didn’t pay attention to what he said.” Jeongin shrugs. “Something about pictures.”

I am very confused, but more than anything, annoyed that Jeongin is once again in my personal space.

“I’ll let you guys do your thing, see you later.” I wave and put on my shoes and exit the room without listening to any more of their pointless excuses.

My mood is sour, I feel terrible, and I’m clutching the little camera in my hand like it’s my lifeline, curious to see what’s on it, and why Seungmin wanted me to have it.

I decide to go to the park close to the dorms, my usual place of solace, and I plop myself down on a bench, breathing in the chill air and looking at the camera, hesitating slightly.

I decide to turn it on and open the gallery, pressing right to go to the first taken photo.

The last time I’ve held this camera was when I returned it to Seungmin after the summer holiday, filled to the brim with my own pictures and cute videos taken throughout the summer whenever I thought of him.

My summer journal.

And now, browsing through the pictures, I see that Seungmin’s used it pretty much the same way, ever since I gave it back.

There are silly videos of him doing different things at the dorms, like early mornings when he was waiting for me to come out to go to Uni together, there are pictures of our lunches and dinners from the past few months, there are pictures of the sky during evening, purple and pink hues melting into the day-blue, and other than that, there are some pictures he’s taken of me without me noticing.

Pictures of my back when I was walking in front of him, or pictures of me playing with the falling snowflakes. There are pictures of me smelling flowers, looking genuinely happy, my smile visible even if the pictures were taken from afar.

I never noticed him taking photos, so this feels sort of… heart-warming, in a sense, to know he’s been paying such close attention to me, that he’s been documenting our progressing relationship ever since we started the second year.

I smile involuntarily, and I can’t stop smiling as I make my way to the dorms.

Still, I can’t shake the uneasiness in my chest, and I still don’t feel ready to meet him just yet.

I need more time.

~

A knock on my door makes me take my eyes away from the romance book I’ve been reading, and I look exasperated at the keys on the table that Yuna forgot to take with her in the morning.

“I told you to get your keys!” I shout at the door and stumble out of my bed with a few curses muttered under my breath and I hastily unlock and open the door, and when I do, my breath hitches in my throat.

“Hello to you too.” Seungmin smiles, a bag with some deliciously smelling food in his right hand. “Can I come in?”

“Seungmin?” My face immediately falls.

“In the building.”

“Fuck’s sake.” I blurt out and move away, suddenly aware of the stupid pyjamas I’m wearing and the messily tied hair.

“So, why are you avoiding me?” He asks, sitting down at my desk and pulling out the food boxes, laying them on the table.

“I’m not avoiding you.” I lie, untying my hair and rearranging it in the mirror. Why does he have to go straight to the point the moment he walks in?

“Yeah? Then why aren’t you messaging back? You even skipped classes.” Seungmin chuckles amused.

“I wasn’t feeling well.” I shrugged. “Weren’t you supposed to be at the office?”

“We finished the meeting earlier. Dinner?”

“Thanks.” I sit down in Yuna’s chair, grabbing a box and taking a large chunk of some beef noodles.

“Not feeling well, hm? Why? What’s wrong?”

“My… head.” I say, thinking of a good excuse. “It’s been hurting.”

It’s partially true. It’s been hurting after I almost ripped my hair out for being a stupid idiot and running away from something I’ve been hoping for in secret for months.

“Hmm, I see. Did you take any medicine?”

“Medicine? Oh, yes, definitely.”

“You’re a terrible liar, Bee.” Seungmin chuckles.

“I’m not lying!” I retort immediately, but he raises an eyebrow at me and challenges me to keep going, and I realise it’s stupid.

He’s right.

I’m lying.

“Sorry…” I say with a slight pout.

“So, I guess we have to talk to make things less awkward, don’t you think?” Seungmin suggests.

“About what?” I continue munching on the food and pretend I’m oblivious. Why am I acting like this? It was much easier with Changbin.

The stakes weren’t as high back then.

I realise it’s because Seungmin is much more important to me. In the past year and a half we’ve known each other, I ended up growing feelings of both love and friendship for him, and I’m afraid that changing things between us could end up creating distance. Sometimes change is not good, and how am I supposed to know that this change is the right choice?

I want to voice these concerns out, but I don’t know what Seungmin is feeling, and frankly, I’m scared to find out.

“Okay, if you’re going to keep doing this…” Seungmin sighs, putting his chopsticks down and looking straight at me. Suddenly, I feel naked.

I put the food plate back on the table and raise my knees against my chest, hugging myself, trying to create some sort of barrier between us as I look at him, waiting for him to keep talking.

“About what happened on Friday…” Seungmin starts, and I immediately blush.

“Right. Friday.” I cut him off. “Why did you kiss me?” He seems taken aback for a few seconds, but then he smirks.

“I thought it’s obvious.”

“What’s obvious?”

“I was curious about what the ice cream tasted like.” He shrugs, and I chuckle at his light-hearted attempt to joke.

My shoulders immediately relax.

“Jokes aside,” Seungmin continues, “Did Jeongin give you the camera yesterday?”

“Yeah, he did.”

“And did you look through it?” He asks, his hands moving on his knees, his knuckles turning slightly white.

“I did, yes.”

“Okay… Listen, Bee. I don’t know how you feel about me exactly, and I don’t want to mess up our friendship, but it’s not right to keep from you what I’m feeling, so I’ll just say it.”

My eyes grow wide, and my hands turn into fists awaiting his confession. My heart is thumping loudly against my chest, and I notice the way Seungmin is examining my face carefully as he takes a deep breath. However, before he has the chance to actually say anything, I realise that the way I’ve been acting was completely wrong.

What if he’s as anxious as I am? He must be, right? With the way he’s gripping his knees, he is definitely anxious.

Still, he reached out, he kissed me, and he even came over tonight after I’ve been ignoring him for three whole days.

Why am I such a coward?

It’s just Seungmin. The same Seungmin who took me to the hospital when I fell ill. The same Seungmin who’s been helping me study every single day in the summer holiday just to get back on track. The same Seungmin who helped me get a job. The same Seungmin who picked up my call at 3 AM and drove me back home for hours when my world crumbled around me, who stayed with me for a full week in my hometown while my dad was recuperating, who took care of both me and my mom when we didn’t have anyone else. The same Seungmin who buys me lunch and dinner practically every day of the week in Uni and at the office just to make sure I eat, who helps me study in the library after a long day to make sure I’m not getting left behind in classes, who has never been anything but patient and kind to me.

He's the same Seungmin who clearly cares about me, the same Seungmin I’ve grown to love.

Why am I so scared?

“I like you.” I blurt out just as his mouth opens. “I like you a lot, Seungmin, more than a friend.”

There it is. I said it.

His expression instantly turns soft, as a large smile spreads across his face.

“I like you too, Phoebe.”

“Like like? Or like… like?” I ask, realising how stupid is sounds. The question itself makes no sense, but even if it did, it’s a stupid one, considering we already kissed; it’s obviously more than just friendship.

Seungmin chuckles.

“Like, as in… I want to take you out on a proper date, and hold your hand, and kiss you, and take cute pictures of you without having to do it behind your back when you’re not looking, and who knows, maybe more.” He finishes his confession, and my cheeks turn bright red.

“Right now? But I’m in my pyjamas… and I haven’t shaved.” I blurt out embarrassed, and Seungmin bursts into laughter.

“I don’t want to get in your pants, Bee. Chill.” He laughs, and I frown.

“You don’t?”

“No, I mean, I do, just not… now.” He continues laughing, and I squint my eyes. “I’d rather we take it slow and get used to each other first.”

“But I’m already used to you. You’re practically in my personal space all the damn time.” I say, and he scowls at me while I grin amused. “I’m just kidding, that sounds nice. I’m sorry for avoiding you, I just… I really didn’t want to mess anything up. You mean a lot to me.”

“You mean a lot to me too, Bee. And you have, for a while.”

“Really?” My eyes widen. “Since when?”

“Wouldn’t you wanna know?” He teases, and I hit his arm playfully and pout.

“Come on, tell me!”

“Well… do you remember when Ria and I broke up and we watched a movie with the group?”

“Yes…”

“You were the only person in the whole room who… saw right through me, if it makes sense. You were there for me. And that’s when I thought, hey, this person is nice and doesn’t seem to want anything in return, maybe I should make an effort and be friends with her.”

“And then?” I ask, my eyes sparkling with excitement.

“And that’s what I did. I wanted to be a friend to you too, to return the favour somehow, because you didn’t have to listen to me that night, or force me to talk, but you did, and God, were you insistent!” He chuckles. “And then we started hanging out more, going out and taking photos together, spending time together, and although I was growing some sort of attachment to you, you were dating Changbin, and I obviously would’ve never gotten between you two.”

“Oh…”

“But then… something changed, and you weren’t doing too well, and I got worried because you were distancing yourself from everyone… until that night when I took you to the hospital. You scared the shit out of me.”

“Sorry.” I smile sympathetically. “I was going through a lot of stuff back then, a mild depression, and I didn’t really have the energy to engage with others or take care of myself much.”

“Yeah… I’m glad you got better, Bee.”

“Me too. I can’t believe it’s been almost a whole year since then.” I say, and Seungmin nods. “But you still didn’t answer. When did you start liking me?”

“I answered, though.” He chuckles. “In all those small moments when I got to know who you are, when we grew closer, I started developing this crush for you… this puppy love.”

“You do resemble a cute puppy, if I look close enough.” I contemplate out loud with a few nods, and he lets out a baffled laugh.

“What about you?”

“Me? Hmm… it was also months in the making, but I realised I liked you a bit before we played seven minutes in heaven at that Christmas party, and I realised I loved you when we came back from my parents.” I smile, and then the smile drops as I realise my confession is quite extreme.

“Love?” Seungmin asks, and I grimace slightly.

“Too much?”

“No… I like it.” He smiles, placing his hand on top of mine, on my knee. “I love you… it has a nice sound to it, doesn’t it?”

“What does that even mean?” I chuckle embarrassed.

“I love you too.” Seungmin says, holding my hand tighter, making me smile. “You’re still wearing it.”

“What?”

“The necklace.”

“Of course I do, it’s from you.” I blush and avert my gaze, my hand travelling to the purple gem hanging on my neck.

“It suits you really well, Bee.”

“Thank-”

“BIBI, I FORGOT MY KEYS, PLEASE LET ME IN!!!”

“Of course she had to turn up at the worst possible moment.” I blurt out and stand up annoyed that Yuna ruined this moment between Seungmin and I.

He laughs as I roll my eyes, turning around to walk towards the door, and just then, Seungmin grabs my hand and drags me back, and when I turn around, he presses a kiss against my lips.

My eyes widen and my heart starts doing rounds in my chest, and once he moves away and smiles, I blink rapidly a couple of times.

“BIBI! PLEASE TELL ME YOU’RE IN THERE!!!” Yuna shouts again.

“Right… The door.” I turn back around, my cheeks still flushed red, and I stumble until the door. Yuna comes in without a care in the world.

“Oh, you’re here too? Did you guys finally talk?” She grins, turning around to look at me with knowing eyes.

“Yes, yes we talked.” I reply, looking shily at Seungmin.

“FINALLY!” She exclaims. “That means we can all go on a double date! I’m so excited! I found this really cute restaurant-”

“Let us have a proper date first and we’ll see.” Seungmin cuts her off, but she just squints her eyes and looks at him annoyed.

“Do you have to ruin everything all the time?” She tuts.

“Of course, when it comes to you.” Seungmin laughs.

“Oh, you brought food!” She immediately changes the subject as she sees the boxes on the table and helps herself to some chicken.

“Anyway, I don’t want to be the next Jeongin, so you girls have fun, and I’ll hopefully see you tomorrow morning, Bee. Stop skipping classes.”

“Okay, okay.” I chuckle. “See you tomorrow.”

“Wait, the next Jeongin?” Yuna tilts her head confused. “What does that mean?”

“I’ll let you explain. Bye!” Seungmin rushes out, leaving me with my mouth hanging open, basically forcing me into another conversation I wasn’t ready to have.

“Explain what?” Yuna asks again, and I try to think about how to say this as gently as possible.

“Yuyu, listen… I love you and Jeongin to death, but… it’s kind of annoying to have him over all the time. I don’t mind if he comes here once in a while, but every single night is a bit... over-doing it. I’m really sorry, I don’t want you to take this the wrong way-”

“Fucking finally!” Yuna exclaims the second time this evening, before bursting into laughter. “Being intentionally obnoxious is way more difficult than you think, Bibi.”

“What?” I furrow my brows, a confused smile on my face.

“Innie fucking hates the dorms, he’s been complaining sooo much about having to come here every single day, but there was no other way to force you and Seungmin into spending time together without you guys working or studying.” She laughs again. “He will be so pleased to find out you guys finally got together!”

“Oh… Oh!” I gasp. “I can’t believe you did that just to force me into going to Seungmin’s room!”

“Hey, people sometimes need a little push from their friends, don’t they?” She winks, looking extremely proud of herself.

“I guess so…” I shake my head amused.

“Now, really, I can’t wait for all of us to go on dates together! What are you going to wear when he takes you out?”

“Hmm, I don’t really know…”

“This calls for a shopping trip, or even quicker, a raid through my closet!” Yuna claps once, standing up and starting to rummage through her clothes.

A few minutes later, her bed is filled to the brim with outfits with their tags still on, things she probably bought on a whim without the intention of actually wearing, as she normally does. It’s just Yuna’s thing.

“Man, this brings me back to when we first met!” She says with a chuckle. “Remember when we did this the first time?”

“How could I forget?” I chuckle back. “Those were some of the prettiest and also revealing but not in a bad way clothes I’ve ever worn!”

“I bet that’s when Seungmin fell for you. It must’ve been at first sight, seeing how good you looked in his favourite colour.”

“I doubt it, he was still dating Ria at that point. And besides, it wasn’t the first time we were meeting, was it?”

“So what if he was dating someone? Window shopping is free.” Yuna shrugs. “It doesn’t necessarily have to mean something. It can also be innocent, like: Oh, she looks nice! And not go anywhere else, can’t it?”

“Hmm, I guess you’re right.”

“Of course I am.” She smirks. “I’m always right, in case you haven’t noticed. Besides, I’m sure you also found him quite hot when you first saw him, didn’t you?”

“Shut up.” I laugh with a roll of my eyes. “By the way, I’ve been meaning to ask… Why did you set me up on that blind date last month? You knew I was into Seungmin.”

“Again, sometimes people need a push from someone else. That was me pushing Seungmin towards recognising his feelings for you were not simply friendship.” She chuckles. “Men get so easily jealous, why not play into it a bit?”

“You’re evil.” I laugh, but still, I’m a bit grateful to her for pushing the both of us.

“What about this set?” She shows me a beautiful white set with a skirt and matching blouse, and although it looks amazing, I’d wear something different for a first date. Something more… Seungmin’s style.

“Don’t you have anything purple?”

“You’re soooo whipped!” Yuna laughs, and I cover my face, totally embarrassed. The short kiss we shared earlier comes back to mind, and I find myself blushing once again.

Being in love sure is hard.

~

Chapter 17 | Chapter 19

[yansimstorythatiwillnotworkon]

#15

Friday

__

Ayano’s day started off with speaking to Kashiko, the first gyaru she ran into. She seemed about as relaxed as usual, typing on her phone in the hallway- about as productive as usual. That was, until Kashiko spotted Ayano. “Hey, Yan-Chan!” She called, walking over to the girl immediately.

Before Ayano could even greet her back, Kashiko beams. “Musume said you were gonna do some favors for the girls and me! Are you free?” She asks immediately, raising a hand to puff her ponytail, making sure it’s still straight. While Ayano had technically never agreed to such a thing, it was good that these girls had a reason to bring tasks Ayano’s way. It was much less work for her, at the very least.

“..yes, I am. What do you need?” Ayano asks, crossing her arms. It was probably better if they got straight to the point, anyway. That would quicken the entire process, after all.

“Coolness! So, I’ve sorta got something I wanted you to tell someone, but…” Kashiko pauses, realizing that she was speaking far too vaguely. She looks around briefly at the other passing students before taking Ayano’s wrist. “Actually, let’s go talk somewhere else. You know rumors spread like wildfire here.” She claims.

Ayano doesn’t bother commenting on who’s fault that is as Kashiko brings her up to one of the upstairs bathrooms. She leaves Ayano to stand in the middle of the bathroom and turns to look in the mirror. “So, Tokuko. She’s crashing with me for now, something about her ma smoking or something? I don’t know, but that’s a really good reason. If you smoke enough, you can end up looking 70 at 30, did you know that?” She asks Ayano, taking out her ponytail briefly.

“Yes, I did. What about Tokuko?” Ayano inquires, trying her best to keep the conversation in one place for the sake of saving time.

Kashiko removes all of the bead accessories from her hair and pulls out a spray bottle from her bag. As she sprays all over her hair with it, she continues her story. “Right, so she’s crashing with me, and that’s all well and good, but, like… Do you know how expensive rent is these days?” She rolls her eyes with a scoff, “The only reason I agreed with Tokuko living there is because I only have myself to provide for, but now I have her y’know?”

Ayano nods. “I get it. So you’re providing for yourself?” She questions, watching as Kashiko pulls out a somewhat intimidating looking brush with an obnoxious head of bristles.

“That I do. My ma’s getting old, so I took the cheapest apartment I could find and moved my stuff there recently to get out of her hair. I work at that big hair salon place, Koibito Cuts, so I’m paid enough to support myself. But I’m not sure about Tokuko.” Kashiko says again, shrugging with a frown.

Pulling out a small jar of gel or something of the sort, Kashiko proceeds to comb through her hair with it on her fingers, giving it a somewhat shiny look. “Hmm…” She hums in thought, looking doubtful as she pulls her hair back into a lower ponytail with her hands.

“If Tokuko had a job, then she could probably help you pay for rent.” Ayano suddenly suggests.

Kashiko gives her a somewhat surprised look in the mirror. Not at the suggestion, but likely at the fact that she had to say so little to make Ayano come to that suggestion. “That’s actually such a good idea, Ayano! I didn’t realize there were any other geniuses in school.” She jokes, letting her hair spring back out momentarily. She frowns just as suddenly and groans, “Ugh, I dunno if I could ask her, though. I’d feel super guilty if I did. She’s going through a lot with her mom right now, you know.” Kashiko says, suddenly changing her voice to sound sympathetic.

Ayano lowers her gaze in disinterest but smiles, trying her best to look up-beat or more flattering to Kashiko. “I could always ask her. Or, I guess, suggest it to her. I think she’ll understand.” She reassures Kashiko, although based on the purple-themed girl’s sudden spring of joy, she didn’t really need much reassurance at all.

“Ugh, you’re literally such a doll, Yan-Chan.” Kashiko says, taking a comb headband out of her bag and sliding it on carefully. She puffs her hair up a bit, shaking her head a little before turning to Ayano and raising her hands. “Thoughts?”

Ayano looks the hairstyle up and down. It was different from her usual ponytail, but not so much so that it made her look too different. Not many of the students came to school with varying hairstyles like Hashiko did, so this was nothing out of the ordinary for her anyway. “It looks good. I like it. It’ll definitely draw some stares.” She claims with a nod.

“Thought so!” Kashiko huffs, proud of herself for putting something together so quickly. She puts all of her items back in her bag and zips it close. “Alright, I’m gonna air all this out. Toodles!” She waves briefly, exiting the bathroom. Immediately after she left, Ayano could make out a compliment made to Kashiko. She did always have a way at wowing her peers with her hair styles.

__

Tokuko blinks at Ayano, tilting her head in question. “Did Kashiko tell you that?” She asked, frowning. Ayano had just asked Tokuko about her living situation with Kashiko. It looked like she wasn't supposed to know.

“Yes.” Ayano replies casually, leaning against the stage as Tokuko sat on top. Her voice had been getting better thanks to Ayano’s advice, so she was back to practicing with her clubmates. “She kept saying how nice it was to have a housemate since she stopped living with her mother.”

“Hm.” Tokuko takes a long drink of her water bottle, before sighing and wiping her lip a bit. “I guess it’s fine if you know since you sort of helped out. It’s just… I don’t really want people to know how… I guess- unreliable my mom has been. Y’know?” She asks, looking at Ayano hesitantly.

Ayano nods. “I get it. ‘I live with Kashiko now’ would eventually lead to questions as to why. And answering honestly might give people bad views of your mother.” She explains for her.

Tokuko exhales briefly. “Yeah, that’s it. I’m glad you understand so well. Really. I know my mother isn’t… I mean she’s obviously not perfect, but… I don’t want others to think bad things about her.” She murmurs, sheepishly pulling the water bottle back up to her lips. “But anyway, yeah, I’m crashing with Kashiko now. Why do you ask?”

With a hesitant hum, Ayano lifts a hand up to her face thoughtfully. “I ask because.. I was thinking of moving into a friend’s living space as well. Or… I mean, moving someone into my house. A friend that I trust for… company.” She claims.

It wasn’t common knowledge, but enough people did know that she currently lived alone. It would make sense that someone living alone would want company, right? Especially if it was a friend from school. “I just wanted to know how you and Kashiko were going to handle the whole thing. Like, if it’s her place then do you pay her? I feel like that’d be really important. Depending on the situation.”

Tokuko frowns with a short hum. “Well, I did ask her about it, but she was all like ‘no, don’t worry about it!’ Which is genuinely what I’d expect to hear.” She gives Ayano a troubled look. “I’m sure that she was just trying to be nice, but I do think it’d only be right to pay her. Chores are one thing, but the fact that she owns the apartment and pays rent with her own money is another.”

“I agree.” Ayano agrees with a nod. “But wouldn’t you have to have a job in order to do that? I thought your schedule was filled with voice practices and whatnot?” She points out, lifting a hand to her chin in thought.

With a nod, Tokuko folds her arms. “Yeah, mostly. I might have to quit my voice lessons or something in order to make time for a job. I’ll… see. Honestly, not attending voice lessons might even save me some money to help Kashiko out more.” She decides. “I’ll talk to her about it after school.”

“As for your general question, I admit I’ve.. never lived with anyone other than my mother. So, I can’t say I know much about the whole situation just yet. I’m just following Kashiko’s lead.” Tokuko explains, twirling the ends of one of her drills around her finger. “Anyway, if you have any questions later I might be able to tell you how our situation’s going.”

“Right. I get it. Thanks.” Ayano nods. “I think I’ll go ask Hashiko about that now since she seems to know more.” She bows her head briefly. “See you.”

“Mhm.” Tokuko nods back, returning to her break.

__

Ayano decided that completing each girl’s task and then speaking to them after school when they usually hang out in the bathroom would be a pretty efficient plan. At least more so than looking for each girl after completing their task. As Ayano looked around for Hana, someone suddenly slammed their hands against her back.

“Boo! Are you looking for me?!” Hana cheered with a mischievous grin. Ayano had heard her feet approach her, so she wasn’t much surprised by Hana’s sudden “appearance”. More so by how hard her hands slammed into her back.

“..yes. How’d you know?” Ayano asks, although she assumes that Hana was just told by her fellow chatty gyarus.

Hana frowned at the fact that Ayano didn’t show much reaction to her little scare attempt. Still, she smiled as she began explaining herself. “So, I was heading to the bathroom, cuz, I mean it’s obviously the best place to not get harassed by teachers and student council and whatever.” She huffs, but continues. “And while I was in there Musume comes in like ‘girl, did you see that prank on Horuda? it was sooooo funny!’ and whatever. And then Scilla comes in with, like, twelve different photos of it because apparently he was there to take the picture with you and Hoshiko. And then she tells me that you were gonna do favors like that for the rest of us girls so I was like ‘oh my god i can’t fucking wait!’ because there’s this thing I’ve been wanting to do for a while, right? But I can’t do it myself becaus…”

“Sure, I can. What exactly?” Ayano nods confidently, placing a hand on her hip.

Ayano waves her arms quickly, silently slowing Hana’s rant down. “I– ahem, you said something about your task?” She asked, trying her best to immediately cut off Hana’s extra rambling and just get to the point. “What was it you wanted me to do again?”

“Oh, weeeell…” Hana seemed to immediately forget what she was saying and continued with Ayano’s question. She held up her nails with a sheepish expression, looking at them, around the hall just in case, to Ayano, and then back to her nails. “..can you, like… tell Kokona something for me? About Riku..” She asked, puckering her lips in a faux casual expression.

Hana twirled a piece of hair around her finger with a thoughtful smile. “Weeell… You didn’t hear this from me, but I heard that Riku was seeing someone outside of school. Like, daily. In fact- don’t tell Kokona I said this, but I’ve seen them with my own eyes!”

“Are you sure she’ll believe that?” Ayano asks, lifting an eyebrow at Hana. Kokona seemed like a pretty reasonable person, albeit overwhelmed due to the recent events.

“Duh!” Hana rolled her eyes. “Have you seen her? She’s practically leeching off of Riku. She’s all like ‘Oh, I can’t take your money, Riku, that would be so embarrassing because I need to make my own money!’ but if he offers again she’s like, ‘Oh, well, if you insist! Gee, I’m sure glad my tits solve all my problems for me!’ A complete skank, that woman.” Hana clears her throat before smiling sweetly. “But again, you didn’t hear that from me.”

Ayano averted her gaze. Kokona wasn’t at all as Hana had described her, which was obvious for most of the school. But still, Ayano had to wonder what her last mocking comment of Kokona meant. She was sure that if Hana had known about Kokona’s secret- especially considering she seems to hate Kokona so much- then she would have spilled that secret already.

“...well, yeah, I can gossip a bit to Kokona.” Ayano eventually agrees, nodding.

“Perfect! She should be on the rooftop or something. Riku’s practicing with his club right now so he shouldn’t hear a thing!” Hana says in a matter-of-fact tone. So much so that if Ayano cared at all, she’d ask her how she knew both of their positions at this very moment. Still, she nodded as a farewell and began her walk up to the rooftop.

__

When Ayano got to the rooftop, she only had to walk around for a few minutes before finding Kokona. She was sitting on the rooftop alone with what looked like a photobook in hand. Scattered across the ground were several photos including her, several friends, her dad, and so on.

“Hey, Ayano.” Kokona smiled up at her, pulling her legs beneath her to appear more proper.

“Kokona.” Ayano greeted quietly. “What are you doing?” She asked, looking down at the photos surrounding Kokona. A closer look showed that most of the photos were that of Saki and Riku. Some more including Kizana and the general club, as well as some younger photos of her and her father.

Kokona scratched her cheek with a flustered smile. “Well, I guess I’m just… reminiscing? I was looking through my phone’s old photos and they all just felt really nostalgic to me. Like… look, Saki used to have just straight pigtails back in middle school, but she thought that drills at the end would look cuter. And I think they do!” She beamed, holding up a picture of what looked like Saki and Kokona’s last day in middle school.

“That’s cute.” Ayano says quietly with a brief smile. “How many of these do you have?” She asks, sitting down near her.

“A lot, actually, hehe. I asked Fureddo to get them printed so that I could put them in a book like this.” As Kokona explains this, she pushes a few more over to Ayano for her to see. One of them included what Ayano could assume was Riku and Kokona’s first date. This was a perfect time to start on the Riku rumors, not that Ayano thought about it.

“That reminds me..” Ayano pulls a hand up to her chin in thought. “...so, you said you and Riku aren’t officially dating?” She asks, leaning against the railing with a curious expression.

Kokona seems to hesitate, confused as to why Ayano was even asking that. “Well, yes, technically speaking. And- you know why, so why do you ask?”

Ayano frowns, humming a bit with an uncomfortable expression. “It’s just… I’ve been hearing a lot of chatter recently about Riku seeing some other girl specifically on the days that you aren’t with him after school.” Before Kokona can react, Ayano quickly continues. “I don’t really believe it because I’ve never seen it myself, and you know rumors spread like wildfire here. But it had me wondering if you two had some sort of… agreement, or something..?”

“...I- um, well, no, we haven’t ever talked about it. But, as far as I’m concerned, during the time we’ve known each other we haven’t really been attracted to anyone else, so it’s… the subject never came up, I guess.” Kokona frowns deeply, looking troubled at Ayano’s line of questioning. “...I’ve really never thought of it before.”

“Do you think Riku would be seeing someone?” Ayano wonders, tilting her head to the side. She gave Kokona the best innocent question-asking expression that she could manage and awaited the taller girl’s answer.

Kokona thinks for a couple of minutes, clearly struggling to come up with a certain answer. “I- uh, w-well, maybe not without telling me..? But… we aren’t officially dating, so it might not really be any of my business… I’m…” She blinks rapidly, trying to keep herself from crying again. “..I mean, it’s not like I’m exactly being ‘loyal’ either, I guess. That’s why I refused to date him, but…”

Ayano offers Kokona a pat on the back, which always seems to help somewhat, regardless of how little. The purple-haired girl continues, her voice low and quiet. “...he could be, but I don’t think he’d go out of his way to hide it from me. He’s an honest person. A really good, honest person, so I feel like… the only way he wouldn’t tell me is if he thought that it wasn’t important or any of my business. Which I don’t think is… entirely bad? Still, I… I’m just…” She shakes her head and lets out a long, heavy sigh. “..I’m overthinking this. I’ll just talk to him about it.”

Ayano nods, “I see. That seems like the best course of action. Talking usually solves the problem one way or another, right?”

“Right.” Kokona offered a small smile, although she still looked troubled. “Thanks for telling me, Ayano. I’ll talk to him when the time comes.”

With a light bow of her head, Ayano stands up. “Alright, good to hear. I’m going to head back downstairs. Good luck with your book.”

As Ayano leaves, Kokona frowns down at the pictures, looking sadly at the ones including Riku.

__

“Oh, is it my turn now?” Kokoro asks, turning off her phone and tapping it against her lip instead. She and Bea were in the announcement room, which served as their usual hang-out place.

“Turn for what?” Bea asks, spinning around in one of the available chairs lazily. She stopped the chair and blinked to tone down the dizziness. Once her vision settled, she nodded at Ayano. “Oh, hey Yan-Chan.”

Ayano nods back and Kokoro turns to Bea to explain what the deal was. “Musume says she’s doing favors for us one at a time.”

“Aw, a little errand girl!” Bea giggles. “How adorbs.” She flips her hair over her shoulder with a light huff. “I take it Musume never mentioned a favor for me, then, huh?”

“You’re a part of the group, too…” Kokoro mumbles, tapping her fingers together hesitantly. Bea lifts an eyebrow her way and she adds, “...technically.”

“I’m open to doing a task for you as well, Bea.” Ayano says, but Bea simply waves off her offer.

Instead, she returns to spinning around in her chair. “Nah, don’t you worry about me. I’ll nag you and blackmail you into helping me whenever I need it.” Bea claims, her voice fading in and out because of the spinning.

“..right. So, is there anything you need as of right now, Kokoro?” Ayano asks, gaining the pink-themed girl’s attention again.

“O-Oh, right. Um…” Kokoro hummed in her usual, soft voice. She lifts a finger up to her chin again in thought. She shyly, brings her sleeve up to her mouth and averts her gaze. “..well, I… heard something about Akane from last year.” She blushes, looking ashamed to bring forth a rumor, despite doing it so often.

After a second of mental preparation, Kokoro mumbles. “...she might…on…one..?”

“Pardon?” Ayano raises her eyebrows, not having heard the girl clearly.

“Speak up, Momo.” Bea kicks Kokoro’s shin, nodding to Ayano to show her that Ayano hadn’t heard her.

With a long sigh, Kokoro says, “I heard that she might have a crush on someone..” Bea laughs at that, but Kokoro continues. “I-I don’t really know for sure, obviously, but, I-I just thought that some… or, uh… all…? Of the boys might want to hear about it, maaaaybeeee?” She stretches out the last word, clearly nervous to be exposing this.

“So… Do you want me to follow her around for a little while and see if she has any sort of… unique reaction to any of the guys in school?” Ayano wonders, to which Kokoro nods immediately.

“Yeah! Oh, but, like, not in a creepy way or something… obviously. Just, um… walk to each club room. She’ll… probably be there since that’s where she usually wanders… right?” Kokoro turns to Bea for affirmation, but only getting a languid shrug. “Bea…”

Akane, despite her sweet, almost ditzy persona, seemed unnaturally sharp-eyed whenever Ayano was around. So, in order to make this seem like Ayano’s nth time rounding the clubs, she chatted with some of the club members again.

Ayano nods to Kokoro briefly. “I’ll see what I can do.” She says. Kokoro gives her a quiet ‘thank you’ as Ayano leaves the announcement room.

__

Ajia, Seiyo and Shoku still didn’t come to school, so all Ayano did was chat briefly with Kenko. Nothing significant, although Himari was sitting with him in the cooking club and chatting with him.

In the drama club, Kizana was obnoxiously whining about Tokuko possibly using her makeup. Tsuruzo seemed busy keeping them from clawing at each other, so Ayano just waved and left. Akane seemed slightly concerned, but continued when she saw that Tsuruzo ‘had it handled’.

Daku was in the club room as per usual, but for some reason still didn’t seem willing to speak to Ayano at all. This time, Chojo took up the chatting, and Ayano had to take it upon herself to sneak away as Akane left while he was turned to Daku. Akane didn’t spare much of a glance at either of them.

In the art club, Enpitsu started whining about how horrible her hair looked today specifically. He was likely making a point somewhere, but both he and she lost it during his blabbing. Akane seemed just as irritated as Ayano to hear Enpitsu’s whining.

Miyuji asked Ayano about her favorite instruments, which she wasn’t really able to answer due to her lack of experience. Her first thought went to a piano, so Miyuji tried to bribe her into the club with the promise of their next big purchase being a keyboard. Ayano’s answer remained as ambiguous as usual. Akane seemed quick to leave the light music club, likely so she wouldn’t get caught up in a conversation with any of the members.

Budo was far too happy to start up a conversation with Ayano. During the conversation, she realized that, despite the fact that the members of the martial arts club were generally nice people, none of them went out of their way to converse with her like Budo did. In that case he really was unique from his club. Akane simply peeked into the martial arts club and continued on. Maybe she felt that the club wasn’t one that needed much monitoring, Ayano thought.

The Gaming Club was a room Akane didn’t bother with since it wasn’t an official club. Ayano visited very briefly so it didn’t look like she was following Akane, but couldn’t stay long due to having to keep an eye on her. So, Ayano poked her head in, asked where one of the missing members was and got a half-assed response from Gema. This worked perfectly for her, of course.

Horo was busy, but was able to ask a random question Ayano had asked about Maka. Thankfully, since he prioritized her in terms of questioning, he was willing to answer. Speaking of Horo, when he went to continue on with his task, he nearly bumped into Akane on his way out. This warranted her to send him a look that likely would have been a glare if her eyes weren’t closed. That was the most unique reaction Akane had had to any of the club members thus far.

The Photography Club was the last room that needed to be visited inside of the building. Just as briefly, Akane walked inside, peeked through the curtains for a moment, nodded to the club members as a greeting, and continued on her way. Ayano was going to go to the Sport’s Club just to seem less suspicious, but was surprised to see that Akane was heading the same way.

Rather than looking into the only club that had all males, and likely would have given Ayano some form of gossip to give Kokoro, she only stopped to speak to Shiromi, who was heading the opposite way. Ayano pretended to get some sort of notification on her phone and listened to the two’s conversation.

“Shiromi, dear. Have you checked on the delinquents?” Akane asks, swaying back and forth as per usual with her typical smile.

“‘Checked on them’?” Shiromi tilts her head to the side. Akane’s smile falters as Shiromi continues. “I… looked at them? Am I supposed to check ‘em for contraband or something..? They seem like pretty cool dudes.” The white-haired girl shrugged, causing Akane to stifle a sigh of disappointment.

Akane shakes her head. “Never mind. Just… walk with me for a moment, will you?” She asks, holding her hand out to motion to the path that led to the incinerator.

Shiromi nods, and follows the taller girl that way. Ayano’s notification suddenly became less interesting as the two girls walked off. After a brief look at the track, Ayano tailed them, a bit farther behind.

Akane and Shiromi walked by, chatting about something likely not very important. The delinquents quieted down as they passed, which Ayano learned that they did whenever a student council member passed them by.

Outside of brief glares their way, neither party showed much of a reaction. That is, until Ayano caught Akane looking their way subtly. Rather than looking as uptight as she did near Ayano, she opened her eyes a bit to study the delinquents a bit. It wasn’t often that Akane bothered opening her eyes, unless it was in a serious situation.

Something that caught Ayano’s attention, though, was Hokuto. The delinquent, who usually wore purple, briefly looked Akane’s way as she opened her eyes. He smirked slyly at Akane with a quick wink, before returning to pretending to brood like his other fellow delinquents.

This seemed to cause some form of sigh to exit Akane, and with a tired look, she parted ways with Shiromi. Guys flirting wasn’t too rare, and Akane’s reaction didn’t exactly hint at anything romantic, but it was the most tame reaction she’d had with anyone. Especially considering she seemed more relaxed in reaction to whatever it was Hokuto had done, and less so with Horo, who was a rule-abiding student.

It likely wasn’t as romantic as Kokoro was hoping, but it certainly was something that she could use to form some sort of rumor. When it came to the student council, each conversation and reaction mattered for people as gossip-obsessed as the gyarus.

__

Classes had started before Ayano could reach Hoshiko, so the time was now 1pm. When Ayano had reached Hoshiko, she was just walking out of the changing rooms in her bathing suit. She immediately spotted Ayano and smiled. “Ah, the famous Yan-Chan. I’ve heard a lot about you.” She chuckles lightheartedly, although her smile doesn’t exactly portray the same.

“Um.. yes.” Ayano nods, folding her hands in front of her. “If I can interrupt… is there any particular task you want me to help you with at the moment?” She asks, tucking a piece of hair behind her ear.

“Hm…” Hoshiko hummed in thought, lifting up her hands to undo her ponytail. This allowed her hair to fall down to her elbows as she hummed in thought. “..well, since you’re asking… I can think of one thing that I’ve been struggling with as of recently…” She reaches a hand back to allow her curled hair to loosen up.

Languidly, Hoshiko flicks a piece of hair back behind her and raises a hand to her chin in thought. “It’s something I’ve been struggling with a lot. You see, there’s this girl. She’s not very well known around the school because she’s scared of being harassed.” She frowns, a sympathetic look on her face. “I’d like to learn a bit more about her, maybe help her socialize more, but she’s always hiding somewhere.”

“Who is she?” Ayano asks, folding her arms, “I can look for her if you want.”

Hoshiko grins, “Perfect! I was hoping you’d say that.” She holds up her phone, with a picture that looks to be already prepared on the screen. The girl she showed was Horuda Puresu, which was somewhat expected. If not her, it was likely going to be Kuu, Homu, or one of the girls from the occult club. Just based on the information that they’re usually alone.

The picture itself was a curious one. She looked nervous- more nervous than usual. More pale, more sweaty than usual, but she still had that same smile on her face. The picture seemed to be taken in the bathroom based on the wall texture and the stall peeking out from the corner of the picture.

“Horuda. I know of her.” Ayano says. “I’ll search for her and tell you if I find her.”

“Much appreciated, Ayano. And.. to help eliminate some places…” Hoshiko holds up her hand, counting with each thing she names. “I can never find her in any of the bathrooms, the rooftop, or the spare rooms of the school. …and by spare rooms I mean outside of the club rooms and classrooms.”

Ayano nods. “I’ve got it. I’ll search… outside, then, I suppose.” She decides, looking around the space.

Truth be told, Ayano had no idea where Horuda could be. After she’d parted ways with Hoshiko, her first thought was to check behind the auditorium, although she found no one but a regularly sulking Lorelai. Based on his irritated glare, it was wise of her to flee while she had the chance.

“Perfect. Tell me once you’ve found her!” Hoshiko flashes a charming smile Ayano’s way before walking past her to head to the pool area to sunbathe.

__

Afterwards, she checked the gardening club and found nothing. She checked inside the gymnasium, the zen gardens, and even in the pump room. Still, Horuda remained hidden. While she was looking, she happened to run across Amise. She’d nearly bumped into her, and likely would have had Amise herself not stopped in her tracks.

“Ayano. You look like you’re looking for something.” She says, frowning and crossing her arms suspiciously.

Ayano wasn’t entirely sure what had changed recently, but Amise’s attitude towards her had become a bit more stale. Rather than being as charming and charismatic as usual, she’d completely changed to not putting up an act at all around Ayano. Ayano wasn’t quite sure if this was her being more honest about her personality or her being more cold towards Ayano.

“I’m looking for Horuda.” Ayano replies, turning to Amise. “You two are friends, right? Where can I find her?” She asks, tilting her head to the side a bit.

Amise furrowed her eyebrows. “That’s something I’m not willing to tell you.” Before Ayano could ask why, Amise continued. “Before you ask, there are certain things I'm allowed to refuse. Even if I am your labeled ally according to Info-Chan, I’m not bound to whatever it is you order.” She sighs, “Although, I suppose that would feel quite nice compared to listening to Info-Chan’s every wish.”

“Are there no certain deals that I can crack with you, then?” Ayano asks, folding her arms.

“Not in this situation. …what do you need with Horuda, anyway?” Amise returns Ayano’s question immediately with one of her own.

Stubbornly, Ayano replies. “I’d be willing to swap that information with Horuda’s location.”

“Touche.” Amise doesn’t seemed too bothered by Ayano’s lack of willingness to reply. If anything, she feels relieved that Ayano accepts that she won’t be giving her information.

Unfortunately for Amise, her phone vibrates. Considering the sour expression that crosses Amise’s face briefly, followed by an irritated sigh, she was just unpleasantly visited by their least favorite informant. “...she’s in the hedge maze.” She folds her arms.

“Did… Info-Chan make you say that?” Ayano asked.

Amise nods, her expression still one of irritation. Frankly, Ayano wasn’t under the impression that Amise was able to be forced by Info-Chan to do anything. That just meant that she likely had some sort of blackmail held against Amise. Getting a hold of that could do Ayano wonders…

“I can’t hold Info-Chan accountable for her BS, so I’ll hold you accountable instead.” Amise wags a finger at Amise. “Horuda Puresu is off of your list of victims, do you hear me?” She gives Ayano a nasty look. “Let me find one plucked hair from her head by your hand and I will not be happy.”

Ayano averts her gaze. “She shouldn’t get in the way, anyway.” She rationalizes, mainly to herself. She nods briefly. “I get it.” She says, not allowing Amise to add anything to that deal before she heads to the hedge maze, at least to check.

After Ayano checked to make sure that Amise’s statement was true, she went to class. The gyaru’s were likely busy keeping up their tan, and lunchtime was nearly finished, so she decided to inform them of their completed tasks later.

__

One by one, Ayano listed off what her searches had led to for each girl. “Kashiko, Tokuko said that she was going to talk to you about paying you for her stay. Hana, Kokona seems to still trust Riku, but she is very hesitant about their relationship now. Kokoro, the most unique reaction I saw from Akane to any male was Hokuto, one of the delinquents, after he winked at her. And, Hoshiko, I learned that Horuda hangs out in the hedge maze during lunchtime.” She exhales, putting her hands on her hips. “I… hope this is satisfactory.”

“Hell yeah, it is!” Hana slammed her hand onto Ayano’s back, shocking her a bit.

Kokoro blushes, putting her hands to her cheeks. “Hokuto… So does a student council member have… a relationship with a delinquent..?”

Musume gaped, pulling out her phone immediately. “That is it! That’s exactly the kind of gossip I want!!” She nearly squealed.

As the other four gyarus continue chatting up a storm, Hoshiko pats Ayano on the shoulder, nodding her head towards the exit of the bathroom.

“Good job completing all of our favors! I guess I owe you a favor or two after this, huh?” Hoshiko grinned, giggling lightly. “I actually have something to offer right now. I’m not sure if you like gossip as much as we do, but here’s a little piece of gossip I got a hold of recently.”

Hoshiko pulls out her phone and sends Ayano a message instead of saying it out loud. Ayano reads the message.

Hoshiko: You can get away with acting out if you blame it on the delinquents! :O

Ayano raises her eyebrows in interest and Hoshiko only giggles. She pulls a finger over her lips with a wink and says. “The guidance counselor has history with those boys, so keep that in mind if you ever get in trouble!”

“...I’ll keep this in mind. Thank you, Hoshiko.” Ayano nods to her, her gaze wandering back down to the text message.

“Mhm. Consider that a beta favor for now.” Hoshiko winks again. “If you ever need something else we can provide, make sure to get in contact. Mwa!” Hoshiko sends her an air kiss and trots back into the bathroom to the other chit-chattering young ladies.

Info-Chan wasn’t currently nagging Ayano, but part of what she said was right. The connection with the gyarus may prove to be incredibly beneficial. Of course, time will tell, but that’s a time Ayano finds herself willing to wait for, if in the end, the gyarus’ information can get her out of serious trouble.

[elzed9056]

Scavengers & Dragons: Setting Specific Backgrounds

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Talons of Peace Agent

You’ve never understood the fascination of other dragons with bloody warfare. In fact, at some point you became so disillusioned with the idea that you found common ground in a network of like-minded individuals. Members of this group keep in contact throughout Pyrrhia and work towards ending war at any cost. This marginalized counterculture stands against the militarism of the continent’s monarchs and so are often labelled rebels, cultists, terrorists, traitors, or possibly all of the above. Will you defy that stigma, or give them the monster they want so desperately to see?

Do you begin your adventuring career on a mission for the Talons, or have you chosen this new path to take up arms and leave them behind? Was there a specific event in your past that instilled conviction and drove you to join them to begin with?

Skill Proficiencies: History, Stealth

Tool Proficiencies: Disguise Kit, Forgery Kit

Languages: None

Equipment: The broken haft of a spear, a scroll detailing the War of Sandwing Succession, a counterfeit army badge, a propaganda infographic, and a pouch containing 10gp.

Feature: With Talons United

You know the subtle signs that indicate frequent haunts of pacifists in hiding. This allows you to attend such places within cities despite their intentionally obfuscated nature; Specifically, you could lead your adventuring party to underground bars, sympathetic inns, the tents of discredited soothsayers, and city watch barracks that “don’t get along” with the army. Regular inhabitants of these locations are inclined to aid you and will provide their assistance with tasks that fit your common peacemaking goal, assuming the task is not obviously hazardous to their wellbeing.

Suggested Characteristics

Members of the Talons of Peace often possess a startling conviction borne from personal experience or a deep understanding of Pyrrhia’s troubled past. They are fundamentally willing to accept a great risk for what they believe is right in joining such a group, but some do so simply because they find the alternative even more terrifying. Some would burn a city if it meant avoiding a war that they believe would burn more. Others are more idealistic. In general, they rarely get along with authority. 

D8 Personality Trait

1 - I consider all my words carefully. When I finally speak, it is with total certainty.

2 - I hate bullies. They remind me of tyrants.

3 - I show my disdain through subtle signs and everyday slights rather than getting involved in arguments.

4 - I won’t shut up about the power of peace and friendship. 

5 - I hide my emotions because I don’t want to burden others with my grievances.

6 - I’m terrified of violence. Oh, Moons, why did I become an adventurer?

7 - I try to act as an impartial mediator between my companions. 

8 - Please let this be a normal adventuring trip.

D6 Ideal

1 - Pragmatism: Honour is a luxury we can’t afford when lives are at stake. (Chaotic)

2 - Pacifism: Violence is only a last resort. (Lawful)

3 - Kindness: Culture changes one step at a time. The first step is being nice. (Good)

4 - Payback: Anyone involved in warfare deserves to die. (Evil)

5 - Retrospection: We need to break this continent’s cycle and stop history from repeating itself. (Any)

6 - Rebellion: Viva la revolución! (Chaotic)

D6 Bond

1 - A portion of my income goes to the organization. I hope they put it to good use. 

2 - The second I turned my back to walk away, those bastards in the army tried to stab me in it. I intend to return the favor. 

3 - I fight so my family can have a better life untainted by war. 

4 - A seer once gave me a cryptic prophecy that foretold violent doom if I don’t prevent it. 

5 - The organization raised me from the moment I hatched. They’re my family, regardless of tribe.

6 - I was originally sent to infiltrate and destroy the organization, but they made some very compelling arguments. 

D6 Flaw

1 - I’ll betray anyone if it means ending or preventing war. 

2 - I demand constant dedication to the cause. No frolicking or shenaniganry will be tolerated. 

3 - I avoid conflict, so I have trouble standing up for myself. 

4 - Nobody can order me around. It’s what I joined the organization to avoid. 

5 - Lives are a number to me. Higher is better; nothing else matters.

6 - Anyone who disagrees with me is impeding world peace.

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Gladiator

You spent much of your life fighting to entertain an audience. Whether you were in the grand arena of the SkyWing crown or an obscure fight ring amidst the alleys of the Scorpion Den, this experience has left you no stranger to combat - it’s no wonder you might choose to try adventuring after violence became all you knew. Though not all gladiators come to the same conclusions that define their stay in the arena; did you fight with everything you had to ensure your survival, or did you coordinate with your opponents to put on a show without anyone needing to die? 

In terms of origin, did you hatch directly into the arena, or were you someone else before being captured and forged into a weapon? Did you recently earn your freedom through conventional methods, or did you find a way to escape? 

Skill Proficiencies: Athletics, Performance

Tool Proficiencies: One musical instrument of your choice

Languages: None

Equipment: A prop-knife with a blade that retracts into the handle, an impractical but frightening metal helmet, a metal clamp for restraining wings, the scale of an arena rival with whom your history is “complicated”, a pouch containing 15gp.

Feature: Pull Your Swings

Your time in the arena taught you how to look violent - regardless of whether you actually are. Whenever you make an attack roll, you can choose to have the attack deal 0 damage while still appearing as if it were a vicious blow - perhaps you leave a shallow cut that looks remarkably deep from a distance, or exaggerate your motions to create the appearance of force where none exists. When you use this feature, any enemies within 10 feet of your target  (potentially including the target themself) that can see you must make a Wisdom saving throw against a DC equal to your attack roll or become frightened of you until the start of your next turn by your dramatic aggression. 

Suggested Characteristics

Long-time gladiators have little exposure to the world outside the arena and as a result tend to be a bit rough around the edges, with things normal to them being an oddity to the rest of society and vice versa. Many are extremely proficient at creating an emotional separation between their circumstances and their relationships, able to stab friends or be stabbed without hard feelings when the situation demands it. 

D8 Personality Trait

1 - I’m very physically communicative even with people I don’t know very well, often punching or hugging.

2 - I’m all bark and no bite, acting tough until confronted.

3 - I’m extremely grateful for simple respect and kindness that most people take for granted.

4 - I’m perpetually dramatic, moving and talking with constant exaggerated flair like some kind of actor in a play. 

5 - Fighting is my life and is what I love talking about, so I have a difficult time finding other hobbies or friends outside my team; I suppose they’re all I have…

6 - Rather than holding grudges, I respect those who outplay me. 

7 - I stubbornly refuse to back down, and I encourage my friends not to do so either. 

8 - I believe conflict is normal and try to make friends through rivalry. 

D6 Ideal

1 - Empathy: Those who stand against me surely have their own reasons to fight. We’re in this cruel arena of a world together. (Good)

2 - Hierarchy: Freedom is not a right. It’s earned through strength. (Evil)

3 - Opportunism: I’ll ally myself with whoever is on the winning side. (Chaotic)

4 - Thrill: There’s nothing wrong with enjoying violence. (Chaotic)

5 - Choice: Fighting should be a choice, not an obligation. (Lawful)

6 - Priority: I’ll protect the people that I’m emotionally closest to above anyone else. (Neutral)

D6 Bond

1 - My old nemesis defeated me in the arena and earned their freedom. Now that I’m out too, I want a rematch. 

2 - My old nemesis intentionally lost a championship match in the arena to give me freedom. I hope to one day become strong enough to return to favor by breaking them out. 

3 - I had a family before I was captured and forced to fight. I want to find out what happened to them while I was gone. 

4 - The arena ran out of opponents who could put up a fight against me. I hope adventuring involves greater foes to test myself against. 

5 - Every day I saw the Queen staring down at me. Let’s see how entertaining she finds it when she’s the one fighting to survive. 

6 - I once killed a friend with a blow that was supposed to be fake. I’ll never forgive myself. 

D6 Flaw

1 - I haven’t learned many social norms and often mistakenly come across as rude or insensitive.

2 - I have a short temper and tend to demand duels with those who upset me. 

3 - I mentally associate people with any similar individuals that I fought against in the arena and am often unfairly biased against them. 

4 - Being watched makes me feel as though I’m back in the arena; I get stage fright. 

5 - I’m almost always presenting a facade rather than my real emotions. 

6 - Violence isn’t the answer. It's a question, and the answer is yes. 

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Enchanted Identity

At some point in your past, an animus spell was cast upon you that fundamentally altered your identity, rendering you someone else entirely. You’ve since regained your original memories… but the experience of being a different person never completely faded. Now, you aren't certain who you truly are; an unusual amalgam of two conflicting identities layered into one body by magic that didn’t quite work as intended. This might even be reflected in your physical appearance, with small parts of the person you were enchanted to become remaining - for instance, hints of a SkyWing’s orange tones over what would normally be pale Icewing scales. These days none of the people you used to know look at you the same way anymore, and it’d be difficult to go back to your old life or career. Perhaps an adventurer’s nomadic way is the only path that remains for you.

Skill Proficiencies: Arcana, Deception

Tool Proficiencies: Disguise Kit

Languages: None

Equipment: A locket containing a mirror, a weapon that you aren’t proficient with, the business card of a physician, a block of incense, and a pouch containing 15gp.

Feature: Amalgamation

For better or worse, you are more than what you once were. Choose one feature from a race other than your own that relates to the identity magically placed upon you. You gain access to that feature. 

Suggested Characteristics

Experiencing a completely different worldview and set of memories, however temporarily, is no mere stroll in the hunting grounds. People who go through such an ordeal are likely to be particularly introspective, contemplative, and generally considerate of beliefs not their own - but they’re also almost certainly filled to the brim with conflicts and turmoil that might make them a tad bit (understandably) irritable towards the people who whisper about them behind their back. In short, life with an Enchanted Identity is a constant struggle to answer a simple poignant question: Who am I really? 

D8 Personality Trait

1 - I try my best to fit in, but often all I can manage is a pained or weak smile.

2 - I’ve found that I can solve most problems if I consider them from enough perspectives, so I’m constantly absorbed in introspection or planning. Other people say I have my head in the clouds. 

3 - My conflicting perspectives mean that I frequently contradict myself, claiming to love something on one occasion then despising it the next.

4 - I can remember being in situations that I once would’ve considered alien, so I always try to be understanding towards others. 

5 - I tend to be a bit despondent, low-energy, and generally melancholy, rarely showing much excitement. 

6 - I have a wide range of life experiences and like to provide anecdotes and advice in every situation. 

7 - I pretend to have an impossibly wide range of life experiences and like to provide made-up anecdotes and dubious advice in every situation. 

8 - I’m overflowing with the whimsical energy of two dragons in harmony!

D6 Ideal

1 - Memory: That person in the past was not yet entirely me, because people are their memories. To lose them would be the death of me and the beginning of someone else; to take them is to kill. (Lawful)

2 - Consciousness: People are their consciousness, no matter what happens to it. I’ve always been the same person, and always will be even if I am changed again; My values are etched into my soul. (Lawful)

3 - Connection: People are defined by their relationships to others. I will reforge my shattered identity through camaraderie and love. (Good)

4 - Adaptability: I lived through alteration by magic, so why not alter myself if it befits me? I’ll assume any values that I find useful. (Chaotic)

5 - Open-mindedness: What happened to me was not a curse but a gift; everyone has something valid to say, so two perspectives are smarter than one. (Lawful)

6 - Relativity: The truth is what you make of it; both the original and the new “me” are equally real. We’re in this together! (Chaotic)

D6 Bond

1 - I was such an idiot before this new perspective knocked some sense into me. Now I need to fix all my old mistakes.  

2 - I want to reconnect with an old friend, but I’m not sure how to approach them now that I’ve changed. Maybe my party can help?

3 - My family believes that I’m a different person now, not theirs. But I send money home anyways. 

4 - I want to find the person who enchanted me so I can thank them for this blessing. 

5 - I want to find the person who enchanted me so I can “thank” them for this curse. Violently.

6 - I was enchanted to be loyal to a specific person or group… but clearly that Darkstalker-wannabe mucked up the wording of their spell, because I’m getting the hell out of dodge!

D6 Flaw

1 - I hate and fear magic and refuse to let anyone cast spells on me. Never again. 

2 - I have a hard time distinguishing between my imagination and my real memories. 

3 - The identity layered atop my own had a knack for making reckless decisions. Unfortunately for everyone involved, I sometimes follow its impulses.

4 - I often argue with myself out loud about what to do. 

5 - I’m concerned that others will find me strange or frightening, so I try to hide the way I am.

6 - Clearly, being a package deal makes me inherently worth more than everyone else with their single paltry identity. 

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Dragon Associate

Prerequisite: Humanoid

Some believe scavengers and humans to be entirely the same. You’re living proof of the opposite. Dealing with flying firebreathing reptiles capable of biting you in half has given you a unique perspective on the world that sheltered citizens in the rare untouched cities lack. So the real question is… was your experience shaped by primal fear towards a predator, awe towards people of a different kind, or some mix between the two? What drove you to interact with those overgrown lizards to begin with? Was it by some incredibly brave or greedy choice, or simply because it was necessary to survive? Did you trade with the beasts, steal from them, or even somehow live alongside them? Whatever the case, adventuring will be a breeze compared to dodging careless talons every Tuesday. 

Skill Proficiencies: Insight, Stealth

Tool Proficiencies: One musical instrument of your choice, which you can somehow manage to play even when the instrument was made for a dragon. 

Languages: None

Equipment: Simple clothing fashioned from curtains or a tablecloth, a massive ring that you can only wear as an armband or perhaps belt, a kitchen utensil taller than you are that counts as a weapon of your choice, a sketch of a dragon that you either love or hate, a stick of charcoal, folded parchment, and a pouch containing 10gp. 

Feature: Visual Cues

You are used to finding ways to communicate with creatures that don’t always understand your words, and have even managed to pick up some of their culture. You know your way around the customs and cities of dragons even if you don’t speak the Dragon language, and can extrapolate any person’s occupation or social role after a minute of observing them. Additionally, your effective nonverbal communication allows you to always get across relatively universal ideas without sharing any language with the target - for instance, you can use exaggerated motions or drawings to convey that you want someone to follow you or dig up treasure, but you couldn’t silently explain the entire plot of Wings of Fire. 

Suggested Characteristics

To better illustrate the effect living perpetually surrounded by dragons might have on a scavenger, it might help to imagine a wild deer. These creatures were shaped by an era of incredible danger during the ice age when the abundance of predators forced them to adapt. Now, even with those predators gone, they bolt in terror at the sound of a twig snapping and rarely dare let their guard down for even a second. This is the mental state a scavenger might find themself in. Of course, that’s all assuming they’re one of the rational ones rather than an adrenaline junkie who willingly hangs out around people who could incinerate them with a sneeze. Either way, both are completely stable and healthy situations. 

…That was sarcasm, to be clear. 

D8 Personality Trait

1 - I’m always trying to butter up people who seem to hold power. 

2 - I speak softly, rapidly, and distractedly as I watch my surroundings.

3 - I’m perpetually tired because I’m often too afraid to sleep.

4 - I empathize with anything that moves.

5 - I’m unused to speaking and prefer to communicate with gestures or drawings.

6 - I try not to be noticed if I can help it. 

7 - I make sure everyone notices me despite my size. 

8 - I sometimes attempt to make noises more typical to dragons than humans, such as growls or roars. 

D6 Ideal

1 - Helplessness: The only chance the powerless have is to gain the favor of those who hold power. (Lawful)

2 - Universality: People are people, no matter the species or anything else. If it thinks like I do, I care about it. (Good)

3 - Reckless Trust: The surest way to effective teamwork is trusting in the good intentions of others, even if said others could eat you alive. (Lawful)

4 - Relative Abundance: One dragon’s trash is another scavenger’s entire livelihood. If only dragons would share with us, the world would be perfect. (Neutral)

5 - Self-Righteous Underdog: Dragons have always had the upper talon. Anything is just if it evens the playing field. (Evil)

6 - Ride the Wave: Just go with the flow and those lizards will barely notice you; It’s a dragon’s world out here in Pyrrhia, so sit back and enjoy the ride! (Chaotic)

D6 Bond

1 - My family lies among dragons, by bond if not blood. 

2 - Plants are friends, our cover from the hunters. 

3 - A dragon considered me its pet for a long time. I’m not sure how to feel about that.

4 - Dragons are out to get me for stealing something important.

5 - Dragons are out to get me for supposedly stealing something important, but I’m innocent.

6 - I accidentally caused a war among the dragon tribes (whoops). I must atone for that bloody mistake.

D6 Flaw

1 - I’m paranoid and have a hard time trusting anyone. 

2 - I’m greedily obsessed with treasure, mainly due to dragon coins being the size of my head. 

3 - I hate humans, including myself. 

4 - I act as though I’m invincible and seem to either hold no fear for my life or place little value in it. 

5 - I have little to no concept of property and simply take what I want. 

6 - Dragons call me Stabby. I regret nothing. 

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