#wes bennet

[xo-zozo]

when i’m about to say i do but jameson hawthorne walks in

when i’m about to say i do but malakai azer walks in

when i’m about to say i do but xander hawthorne walks in

when i’m about to say i do but cardan greenbriar walks in

when i’m about to say i do but wes bennett walks in

[thosesillylittlegayghosts]

As you can all tell, I’m so normal about this book

[foofendale]

Someone Like You

You're my next-door neighbour, I knew you since we were kids, I gave you six-dollars for your cheesy movies, I do love how you kissed me. Red hair, green eyes and a good taste in tunes, There really isn't someone like you.

I love your little quirks and ballet slippers, I love how you practise the piano even now, Playing Adele on a four-chord loop. I did a cartwheel for you We bought you white and green tees, And I bought you pink converse shoes. Red hair, green eyes and my baseball hoodie, There really isn't someone who loves you like me.

The secret hideout, marshmallows on a stick, You smoking a cherry cigarette, Your cat who doesn't go outside, Otis, my doggy boy. Red hair, green eyes, the white dress on you, I love our Soundtrack because it reminds me of you.

I confess I hogged the Spot only to talk to you, Sat on the porch to hear you play, I can't tell you how sad I was, When you lost your mother that way. Your cute little owl dress, Your little 'the Diner' lie, The daisies on your hip, I never want to make you cry. Red hair, green eyes, talking to your mother on a run, I know you drink black coffee, I know you beam like the sun.

Little Libby Loo on prom night, looked like an angel from heaven, And I wanted to punch our good friend Mike. Her loopy cursive on the porch, Marshmallows and CDs, Liz rambling over a lost penny. Dark hair, dark eyes, I'm Wesley, There isn't someone like you, Libby Loo, And now I can say you love me too. © chaos gremlin poetry inc. 2025 — do not steal or I will cry and haunt your nightmares

[caramelmiacchiato]

i LOVE lynn painters obsession w making "cool" guys becoming utterly obsessed w "weird" girls jshsjshsjyaishsksh

[never-enough-novels]

what starts a bad romance?

When the man is not grayon hawthorne, aaron warner, kenji kishimoto, wes bennet, Tristan kane, nash hawthorne, josh chen, Kai young, Kai azer, carden greenbriar, gojo satoru, rohan, ravi singh :))

[drdoofenshimrtz]

Nothing like the movies reviews

i just finished nothing like the movies by lynn painter. thoughts? add them in the comments. i'd really like to know what everyone thinks :)

[reyreadersblog]

This man...🤭🤭

[tyrannosaurus-trainwreck]

Actually, I know damn well Darcy never sat down and thought about marrying Lizzie. If he had, it would have been a week before he was rounding up Bingley, sitting him down, and looking him in the eye like he was about to propose high treason and going, "Jane. You still down bad for her?"

Coin toss whether Bingley would actually get to answer before Darcy turned around and flipped over a whiteboard like

and launched right into the most detailed migration pattern known to Regency England to keep the extraneous Bennets as contained as humanly possible by rotating them between various Bingley/Darcy estates. Like, we're talking about trading them off for minor holidays a decade out kind of detailed.

"If you and Jane take them for Lady Day ten years hence, Elizabeth and I will take them for Michaelmas. We'll all be together for Christmas and Midsummer, so we'll divide the responsibility individually on those days."

This would be followed by thirteen different spreadsheets projecting joint expenditures so Bingley knows what sort of financial commitment he'll be shouldering and how to minimize it, what proportion Darcy will take care of, what the estate plans are in case Darcy predeceases anybody, when they should probably roll out various stages to keep it from affecting their respective sisters' ability to maximize their own husband-hunting--whole nine yards.

Darcy does not know that he'll probably be murdered when the Bingley sisters find out why he asked for their social calendars. He'd be marginally fine with that at this point, because the fucking Napoleonic War campaigns were not as meticulously planned as his roadmap to getting the other three Bennets satisfactorily married, and Darcy feels about as able as if he'd spent the last year on Elba.

It takes Bingley a few minutes to realize why this is happening, then he's like

"You proposed to Elizabeth?! Congratulations!"

Darcy... knew there was something he was forgetting.

That man would have kicked the Collins's door open with four binders tucked under each arm, dumped them in a pile in front of Elizabeth, and loudly announced that if they get married tomorrow he can have her entire family except for Jane extraordinary renditioned to the Scottish moors by Sunday and then been like

"Why are you yelling at me?! I promise you, it will work! You'll never see anyone in your family except for Jane again, I swear it!" when she starts yelling at him.

[bethanydelleman]

The way that Elizabeth Bennet is tricked by Wickham is so important because it's confirmation bias and we are all so susceptible to it. Of course Elizabeth ate up everything negative Wickham said about Darcy with a spoon, it's what she already thought! Wickham checked first. Once he knew Elizabeth hated Darcy, he fed her ego by letting her know that not only was she right, but she was special and smart for seeing through Darcy's wealth and status.

"The world is blinded by his fortune and consequence, or frightened by his high and imposing manners, and sees him only as he chooses to be seen." - Wickham, Ch 16

The world is blind, but not Elizabeth! Not with her supreme powers of perception and character reading. She sees the "real" Darcy...

And then of course, the best warning Elizabeth gets about Wickham (and I'll admit it's not a great one) is from Caroline Bingley, a woman she detests (I cut out the snobbery around it):

"Let me recommend you, however, as a friend, not to give implicit confidence to all his assertions; for, as to Mr. Darcy’s using him ill, it is perfectly false: for, on the contrary, he has been always remarkably kind to him, though George Wickham has treated Mr. Darcy in a most infamous manner. I do not know the particulars, but I know very well that Mr. Darcy is not in the least to blame; that he cannot bear to hear George Wickham mentioned..." Caroline Bingley, Ch 18

Elizabeth's judgment isn't perfect, it's highly subject to bias. Jane Austen's understanding of the human condition was amazing. She set Elizabeth's deception up in such an accurate way it could be in a modern social psychology textbook. Of course she believed Wickham; of course she discounted Caroline, it's human nature.

[taradactyls]

It's thinking about Darcy desperately yearning running into Elizabeth at Pemberley hours.

Like, you fell in love with this woman, but rationally (pridefully) you though it wasn't something you should pursue. But you can't forget her, and then she's at Rosings... and the more you see her - with her wit, her eyes, the liveliness of her mind - the more she undoes every expectation of who you should marry that you'd ever had. You prolong your trip to see more of her, you start imagining what it will be like married to her and unwisely after only seeing her again for a week begin asking how she'd feel living far away from Longbourn, and even hint things like she'd be staying at Rosings next time she visits Kent.

It's too much. You're feeling too much.

She's due to visit for tea the night before you take leave, and an evening gives far more opportunity for privacy and conversation than sitting in Mrs Collins' drawing room for half an hour the next day.

But she doesn't come, she's feeling ill, and you won't see her. If you don't make an effort, you might never see her again. It's not like Bingley will be going back to Netherfield anytime soon, after all.

You bail on the evening and go check if she's ok.

It's late, but you have to see her.

She's not super friendly when answering your questions about whether she's feeling better, yet that's to be expected when someone has a headache. But she's there, sitting with you quietly, and then you're so agitated that you begin pacing.

It's inescapable. You love her too much.

You'll marry her, and deal with all the impropriety of her family's connections and behaviour. She's worth it.

Because of course she'll say yes. You've been so open that she must be expecting your addresses. It doesn't occur to you that you're wrong to assume she's wishing for it.

Then she rejects you.

And she doesn't only reject you: she shatters your entire perception of self. Not immediately - oh, she creates a large crack, but it takes some time for you to do justice to her words. But they linger, inescapably.

"Had you behaved in a more gentlemanlike manner."

You're bitter, and angry, and hurt, and offended, and the sense of doubt isn't going away. But there is one thing you can do, that you have to do.

You write her a letter to explain yourself against the accusations she levied your way - some unjust, but others will eventually gnaw at you until you're forced to face them and stare directly at all the faults you didn't know you had.

You know it won't make her accept you.

The turn of her countenance you'll never forget, as she said that you could not have addressed her in any possible way that would induce her to accept you.

But you need to write the letter: to explain, to warn, and maybe - just maybe - make her think a little better of you.

If she even gives credit to anything you say.

She thinks so little of you she might dismiss your arguments and only hate you more for what you said of her family.

God, you basically insulted her family again in the letter. With an apology, yes, and as an explanation, but you knew at the time that those comments and what you divulged of Wickham would give her pain. But it's necessary. You still believe that, even as time goes on and you begin to wonder if all it achieved was making her hate you more.

The last time you saw her was as you handed her that letter.

She hadn't spoken.

You weren't yet master of your emotions enough to see her and be friendly, the best you could do was try be composed.

If only you'd been truly as calm and composed as you thought you were when you wrote that letter. You can see now that you wrote in a dreadful bitterness of spirit. There were some expressions you used, the opening of it, which alone would be enough to justify her hate. Though, despite your emotions, you never doubted for a moment in her goodness - never doubted that she won't spread around what you divulged of your sister.

She hates you, but all the reasons you love her are still there.

That's something that doesn't change as you slowly unravel the flaws her reproofs revealed to you and you try to become the person you always thought you were. So many behaviours, and the emotions that governed them, were not what they ought to be. Your principles were always good but you followed them in pride and conceit.

You were blind until she cut you to the quick. Opened your eyes to yourself and taught you such a hard lesson - but it was for the best. She properly humbled you and taught you how insufficient all your pretensions were to please a woman worthy of being pleased. Even if you never see her again you will be worthy of the title gentleman.

You will work to become the person you want to be.

Her rejection doesn't hurt so much as the knowledge that she was right and you failed yourself and so many others. Any anger or blame you felt for her words when refusing your hand are long since passed. If she had been able to overlook those flaws she wouldn't have been the woman you love.

The more you reflect and seek to rectify your behaviour the clearer it all becomes. In trying to understand yourself you realise that so many of these flaws have existed almost your whole life. And yet, despite how obvious it now seems, you had no idea.

Though your parents were good themselves they spoilt you - first as an only child, then as an only son - and you grew selfish and overbearing, caring only for your small family circle. Thinking meanly of the rest of the world, wanting to think meanly of their sense and worth compared to your own.

You owe the world so much better.

Your position, far from giving you leave to treat others as inconsequential, means you have a duty to think of others and ensure they are not wronged. Yes, you've done that broadly - especially on your estate, and always with servants and the poor - but what of in smaller ways, to those closer to your own rank? Have you directly treated them with civility and respect?

You know the answer now, but you're doing your best to fix it.

For almost four months, you ruminate on her words and turn yourself into a gentleman you can respect. Someone worthy of the respect you've so rarely had to actually earn. Someone who might've been worthy of her respect from the beginning.

You've never stopped loving her.

Almost four months, and you're not sure if you'll ever see her again.

You certainly weren't expecting to leave the stables after arriving at Pemberley and find her standing in front of your house.

Your eyes meet.

You freeze in place.

Four months of distance and then twenty yards away from each other.

She's blushing (so are you).

Your brain is too surprised to work.

She's here.

She's here and you're just standing there.

You have to go to her. Even if you didn't still love her, it's the polite and friendly thing to. (But you do still love her, and so her presence is a physical weight in your chest that you could scarce resist).

She had turned away briefly, but turns back when you approach.

You hardly know what you say, she hardly raises her eyes to meet yours, but you hear her voice, and she doesn't sound annoyed when she answers that her family is well.

Honestly, despite how discomposed you are by seeing her without time to prepare, your instinct is to stay by her. Even if it means speaking like a fool. You're pretty sure you ask her when she started travelling and how long she's been in Derbyshire at least thrice. But you start to recollect yourself, breathing a little more evenly, and run out of things to say. Remembering that she's here with friends and you've just come from the road, you take your leave.

Your thoughts stay with her though.

She was still just as lovely as ever. More civil to you than you have any claim to.

Your housekeeper says a gentleman and two ladies were taking a tour of the house, and have now gone with the gardener to see the accustomed part of the park. You know the place.

As your valet helps you change your thoughts solidify: you can meet them, and, through every civility in your power, show her that you aren't resentful of the past.

She's so close, and you can't lose this chance to perhaps obtain her forgiveness, lessen her ill opinion, by showing that her reproofs have been attended to.

And, maybe, you're just desperate for any excuse to see her.

By now, you've been in love with her for more than eight months, despite trying, really trying, to forget her both when you left Hertfordshire and Kent. It's pointless, either you'll recover in time or you'll spend the rest of your life in love with her. At this point you don't even want to fight it. Despite the pain of her not feeling the same way, she did you the greatest good anyone could, by showing you who you really were. You improved yourself because you should, without any expectation of seeing her again, but one thing that you can't alter about yourself is your love for her.

Right now, what matters is being near her and showing her you can be a real gentleman.

So, you follow her and her companions to the stream.

She speaks first this time. Putting herself forward to be friendly and polite. Proof, surely, that she doesn't hate you so much anymore? She's almost her usual smiling self, though she goes red and silent while admiring Pemberley's beauty.

You can understand why - you had determined to not ask whether she liked your home in case it sounded like you were wondering whether she regretted rejecting you and thus Pemberley. You know she didn't mean anything by her praise (and she'd known you were rich when she turned you down) but you understand her sudden embarrassment.

Although... when did she start caring that you might misunderstand her and think badly of her? She didn't care the last time you met.

But that's not important now. It's for you to ease the conversation and prove yourself. So you change the subject, and ask her to do the honour of introducing you to her friends.

Her surprise is obvious, and fair. Seeking the acquaintance of strangers, even respectable-looking ones, just wasn't something you used to do regardless of what the well-bred and civil action was.

And what does it say about you - with all your newfound respect and civility - that you're still surprised when the fashionable couple she's with turn out to be the very aunt and uncle you'd previously declared would be a disgraceful connection. You recognised you were wrong to be so dismissive, so rude, but the core assumption that the tradesman brother of Mrs Bennet and his wife must be noticeably vulgar had clearly remained. Yet here they were, everything elegant and well-bred.

How right Elizabeth had been about you.

But now you can show her that was the past, and your manners are improved and prejudices lessened.

You walk back with them, talking to the uncle, who has intelligence, taste, and sense. You like him a surprising amount. He points out trout in the water, and you're glad to invite him to fish here while they stay in the area. You have all the supplies he might need, and know the best spots. As you speak with him your attention is only half distracted by who walks behind you at a short distance.

Hopefully her uncle's happiness makes her happy also.

You have the chance to see, when the walking arrangements change and then she's the one walking beside you.

Honestly, you're not immediately sure what to say, but again, she speaks first.

Yes, she almost certainly doesn't hate you anymore.

Her explanation that she'd been assured of your absence before visiting sounds more like she doesn't want you to think her rude, than expressing disappointment that you are here.

Yes, whatever her past insults, she definitely cares that you don't think badly of her...

As though you ever could.

In mentioning why you returned a day early you mention who you're with, and too late saying Bingley's name reminds you that the last time you two spoke of him was when she (rightfully) blamed you for separating Bingley and her sister.

That silences you for a moment - but she doesn't respond with anger.

Composing yourself, you ask if your sister might be introduced to her. You've spoken of Elizabeth so highly to Georgiana, and so often, that your sister would love to meet her. You don't need to ask - your sister is the social superior, her wishing for the acquaintance is strictly enough for the introduction to be made - but you want to. You mean it, when you ask Elizabeth whether you're asking too much by facilitating the introduction. You want her to have the chance to say no.

But she says yes.

(Even sounding pleased about it, though surprised.)

Which is also a yes to seeing you again during her stay at Lambton. Renewing your acquaintance, despite everything.

The happiness, however irrational, this creates cannot be quelled.

You love her too dearly to not appreciate every fragile overture and sign that she must no longer think you so bad. The letter - your own improved civility - one or both has done away with her dislike.

Replaced it with... well, anything other than dislike is a place to begin.

This time the silence stretches as you walk; she, perhaps, just as lost in thought as yourself.

You could get used to walking around Pemberley with her.

A dangerous thought.

You scarce know what to say as you wait by the carriage for her aunt and uncle to catch up, after she declared herself not tired when you asked if she wanted to come into the house. But, again, she makes the effort to talk to you. You've never spoken of Matlock or Dovedale so persistently, but you want to keep talking to her - hearing her voice - receiving her smiles - for every moment that you can steal.

Four months apart and then the first day seeing her again your heart loves her more than ever before.

And she no longer hates you.

You would have them all come inside, take refreshment, stay, please stay a little longer, but they felt it was time to return to the inn. They're leaving, but you've already organised to bring your sister to see her the day after tomorrow, so it's only a short parting.

Not another four months.

You hand her aunt up into the carriage - and then Elizabeth.

Who is dearest and loveliest to you still, though you might never be able to say those words to her.

You're so aware of feeling her hand in yours, though gloved; the weight and warmth of it. The brief tightening of her fingers on yours as she takes the step up, leaving you bereft when she lets go.

You don't watch them drive away, though you feel her absence palpably as you slowly walk back to the house.

But it's only two days - two days before you'll see her again.

And they're staying for a little while.

All of it is more chances to show her the person you are now. Both the good qualities you never properly revealed before, and the newer ones deliberately acquired to remedy the errors she revealed. Show her you're a man she might admire.

Perhaps a man she might one day be able to love.

It's almost embarrassing, to admit how quickly that wish introduced itself after seeing Elizabeth again.

It probably took under half an hour after you saw her again.

[dreamsteddie]

I've been thinking about a rockstar Eddie thing that's just a little bit cracky but enraptures my imagination anyway.

At, like 25, all of Eddie's wildest dreams have come true way faster and way easier than he ever dreamed for himself as a high school super super senior and ultimate dropout. The band grinds for a year or two and comes out with a full album, and it's an instant success. A couple more years down the line, they're touring and making a lot of money and going to all the galas and events while maintaining their sense of self. Wayne semi-retires and gets a more relaxed part-time job close to where Eddie lives in Detroit.

Eddie is riding high and he decides, fuck it, all my wildest out of reach dreams come true, I'm going all in on the only thing I've always thought was less reachable than becoming a wold renound musician, finding love and settling down.

He goes from zero to a hundred, getting himself ready to find the love of his life. The CC boys and Wayne are just watching as Eddie starts dressing a little nicer and making him home a little more comfortable and putting a little extra into his shows and wandering around afterward. Eddie has never really dated, and so he's kind of just throwing it all out there to see if he can just...run into the love of his life, woo them, and show how serious he is by showing off his nice but comfortable home and non-rockstar capabilities. He's basically acting like some kind of bird.

Unfortunately, no one really takes him that seriously. Not the guys or anyone Eddie tries to woo. The whole wild rockstar thing gets in the way of how people see him. The band thinks this is another wild whim that will pass in a few months, maybe a couple of years. The people Eddie tries to get something started with take his overtures as either a ploy to get something (a lay, a date, someone to accompany him to an event) or see that he really is trying to fast track find somebody to love and jump both feet first into semi-domestic bliss with and gets scared off.

After a girl, who seemed receptive and fun and like someone Eddie could love, ghosts him Eddie finds himself with his head buried in his knees on a bench in the park near his house, wondering if this is truly the one goal he won't ever be able to reach. He feels someone sit next to him and usually, with his current mindset, he would take this as a sign and start chatting this person up, but he stays buried, hoping they will leave him to wallow in peace.

Instead, the guy asks if there's anything wrong. Eddie has never needed an invitation to rant and none of his friends are taking him seriously so he starts to ramble, not looking up, about his quest and how no one wants to give him a chance, and he just wants someone who wants to share a life with him.

Steve is immediately like, "Oh, that sounds really nice!"

No one has ever given that positive of a response right away to Eddie's idea so he shoots up, surprised at the reaction. The guy next to him is stupidly handsome, with perfect hair and a pretty smile and the sweetest moles Eddie has ever seen. He just stares with big, wet eyes as the man extends a hand.

"Nice to meet you, my name is Steve. I'd be down to give it a shot, show me what you got."

Eddie leaps out of his seat, keeping Steve's hand in his own as he gets down on his knees to kiss his hand like a knight. Steve laughs and Eddie knows this is it, this is his chance and he's grabbing it with both hands.

Eddie has been planning a hundred-and-one perfect dates since he began this scheme and he pulls out half of them in one day for Steve. They go to his favorite cafe with an outside patio, meander through one of Detroit's many car shows, go roller skating, let Steve pick the dinner spot, and walk through the nicest part in the neighborhood, eating ice cream cones with one scoop picked by each of them.

By the end of the night, Eddie is sure that he's found what he's looking for in Steve, but after so many failures, he's scared to ask if Steve feels the same. They walk hand in hand toward Steve's place, the night coming to a natural end. When they reach his door, Steve stops and asks why Eddie went to quiet.

Eddie admits that he's afraid to let this slip through his finders, that he doesn't want to say goodbye. Steve smiles and tells him he doesn't have to, tells him to take him home.

Eddie lets hope and love bloom in his chest and kisses the back of Steve's hand again, and calls them a ride to his house. They lead against each other, eyes closed, wiped out from their whirlwind day as the city passes them by. When they get in, Steve settles in easily, remarking on the plush-looking couch and vintage-style kitchen.

They don't have sex that night, don't even kiss, they just get settled for bed and curl up into each other. Eddie cracks the window to let in a breeze, and they drift off easily with smiles on their faces.

[bennetsbonnet]

I find it interesting that in fanon Elizabeth Bennet is widely held up as an avid bookworm when, in fact, there isn't a great deal of textual evidence to support that particular headcanon.

Perhaps it's because Mr Darcy comments on her reading at Netherfield or thanks to certain adaptations, but I frequently see her depicted as a voracious reader when we have the benefit of her view of her relationship to books from Elizabeth herself:

'“I deserve neither such praise nor such censure,” cried Elizabeth; “I am not a great reader, and I have pleasure in many things.”'

This is supported by the text as when Elizabeth reads in Chapter 8, it's only when she briefly ventures downstairs after attending to Jane for much of the day because Jane has finally fallen asleep. She picks up a book because the rest of the party are playing cards and, she suspects, gambling on the outcome:

'On entering the drawing-room she found the whole party at loo, and was immediately invited to join them; but suspecting them to be playing high she declined it, and making her sister the excuse, said she would amuse herself for the short time she could stay below, with a book.'

The fact that Elizabeth reads as almost a last resort makes Darcy's infamous 'improvement of her mind by extensive reading,' line all the funnier as it's further proof that he really doesn't know her and was only looking for superficial commonalities, rather than getting to know her on a deeper level.

There is one other time where she possibly reads, towards the end of Chapter 12, when she is briefly alone with Darcy. While he reads, there is no indication that Elizabeth does too:

'Steady to his purpose, he scarcely spoke ten words to her through the whole of Saturday, and though they were at one time left by themselves for half-an-hour, he adhered most conscientiously to his book, and would not even look at her.'

Actually, there are far more instances of Elizabeth picking up some needlework and sewing which perhaps point to that being her preferred method of passing the time...

In Chapter 10, when Caroline gives a running commentary on Mr Darcy writing a letter:

'Elizabeth took up some needlework, and was sufficiently amused in attending to what passed between Darcy and his companion.'

In Chapter 11, when Jane ventures downstairs and Bingley is fussing over her:

'Elizabeth, at work in the opposite corner, saw it all with great delight.'

In Chapter 59, after Mr Darcy returns from speaking to Mr Bennet to seek his consent:

'In a few minutes he approached the table where she was sitting with Kitty; and, while pretending to admire her work said in a whisper, “Go to your father, he wants you in the library.”'

In my opinion, I think most of us that adore Pride and Prejudice are likely bookworms ourselves and want to have something in common with a heroine we adore. It's far nicer to think of yourself as an Elizabeth Bennet than a Mary Bennet... though perhaps, unfortunately, such a sentiment is not supported by the text...

[poonyo]

Elizabeth Bennet and Fitzwilliam Darcy Pride and Prejudice, 2005

[caramelmiacchiato]

OKAY HEAR ME OUT

love grows (where my rosemary goes) WAS LITERALLY WRITTEN FOR LIZ (by wes obviously)

[flum3n]

the universal experience of beginning 'pride and prejudice' (2005) with the opinion that matthew macfadyen as mr darcy is perfectly tolerable, but not handsome enough to tempt you and ending it bewitched, body and soul.

[never-enough-novels]

Guys I'm gonna start nothing like the movies

@whatsamongus thank you so much for telling me it's available 🥹🥹