#(comma after affectionately)

[after-nine-at-the-oasis]

Y'ALL WHEN I HEARD SNIPS

[schermit]

Intro Post just for fun

Welcome to the blog of many things. It has one theme: if I find it funny/cool/interesting/degenerate (affectionate) you’ll find it here.

You may also enjoy a fine selection of musings (aka schitposts) done by yours truly. I strive to blend tumblr culture with 11 years of reddit lore to produce truly stupid shit for you to point and laugh at.

I love communicating and can find interest in basically anything so feel free to also tag me in cool shit you find as well. This is social media after all.

This feels like a fucken cover letter but I wanted a pinned post so apologies for using my redditor voice lol. I like crocheting, video games, comics, pondering orbs, Oxford Commas, and going feral occasionally. I generally try to tag my shit so you can filter out whatever.

And as always, everyone’s my mutual. If you follow me, we’re mutuals. Like a happy family or something.

The important thing is I want this blog to cultivate good vibes. ❤️

Self posts tagged “schitpost”.

[laracrofted]

baby, i'm high octane (iv)

synopsis: at bradley bradshaw's birthday party, nora has a realization under the disco ball.

pairings: jake seresin x nora rogers (oc)

warnings: 18+, minors dni, explicit language, alcohol consumption, pop culture references, slutty (affectionate) rooster, brief mention of blood, and smut. (wc: 6.8K)

note: at long last, the rollerskating chapter 🪩✨ and icymi, i posted another mood board for this chapter 💖

previous chapter | series post | next chapter

tagging // @theharddeck (who talked me off a ledge about this chapter; i snuck a california coast reference in here for you, dear) @frenchyjuju @bioodforbiood @cursedtobe @roosterbruiser @t-nd-rfoot @bethbunnyy @filmflux @djs8891 @mayhemmanaged @sometimesanalice @eli2447 @bradshawsbitch @hangmanbrainrot @startrekfangirl2233 @kandierteveilchen @lostinwonderland314 @hangmanscoming @dempy @mlibbydp

“Mav actually said I’m not supposed to do anything high-risk after I had that bird strike scare so…” 

And with that, Bradley crosses his big arms – dusted with new freckles and sun from his afternoon on the boat with Captain Mitchell and Penny Benjamin – over a barely buttoned shirt; something Nora half-suspects Bradley found from searching Hawaiian shirt comma eighties disco and ordering the first option.

What Bradley ended up with is a black shirt, covered in bright geometrics, squares and squiggles and martini glasses in neon shades of violet, cyan, and pinkish magenta.

As close to a Hawaiian shirt as the Naval aviator could wear and still be on theme and funnily, eerily identical to the carpet at the long-since-closed bowling alley where Mom booked one of Nora’s elementary school birthday parties. 

He could probably lie down and blend right in. 

Minus the martinis, obviously. 

Bradley uncrosses his arms. Crosses them again.

And Nora watches him, absentmindedly, blinking at this indifferent nonchalance that Bradley is putting on. So unbothered. So casual. Real believable. 

“Are you okay, Bradshaw? You’re sweating a little.” 

And as only a mature and newly minted 36-year-old could, Bradley ignores Nora.

Smiling, Nora slurps down the rest of a frozen strawberry lemonade, spiked with vodka. Cheap vodka. She pulls a face at the well of might-as-well-be-rubbing-alcohol at the bottom, rapidly blinking and deep breathing through the sharp sting in her nostrils. 

She will not let some bottom-shelf vodka ruin her eye shadow, not now, not in her favorite dress.

A delicate cough spurts from her mouth. She wouldn't be surprised to see a puff of fumes come out.

“That was like…” Mickey sounds confused.  “Four months ago, Rooster.” 

“And?” 

Bradley uncrosses his arms and spreads them wide, palms upturned – an incredulous gesture as bird-like as his call sign. His winged arms drop back down in a whoosh of wind. 

“I almost crashed into the side of a mountain and had to do an emergency ejection. Medical kept me overnight for observation. It was pretty serious, Garcia.” 

Bradley drags out the vowel and clips the constants in the word pretty for even more emphasis, and in her peripheral, Natasha pinches the bridge of her nose and screws her eyes closed.

Drama drama.

Reuben exchanges a bewildered look with the WSO and shakes his head. Deadpans, “You had one bruise, man. Singular.” 

“Nurse Julie said I had a hematoma,” Bradley retorts, like, so there!

Someone audibly groans. It might be Reuben.

“Fine. You had one bad bruise. Happy?” 

Bradley makes a face – a distinctly, not happy face – and crosses his arms again.

“And when did you graduate from medical school, Doctor Fitch? My invitation must’ve gotten lost in the mail.” 

“I’m dating a nurse! A hematoma is a bad bruise.” 

From Natasha's side of the bench comes a prolonged sigh, a good four-second exhale.

“Moving on…" Natasha continues, "Rollerskating definitely doesn’t fall under what Maverick would consider high risk.” Air quotes are audible in her voice. She waves the roller skate around, abandoned when Bradley put them down. "Children were out there like... 10 minutes ago. Children, Bradshaw!"

A valid point. 

Before Moonlight Rollers made the loudspeaker announcement (“Anyone who isn’t of legal drinking age should turn in their skates and head to the nearest exit in the next 15 minutes. Saturday Night Fever is now in session.”), Nora sat down with her skates and lacing them, counted at least six skaters who were younger than the bourbon Penny Benjamin serves at the Hard Deck.

Children – as Natasha very much emphasized – who cut across the rink with the unselfconscious effort and fearlessness of a child who'd never broken a bone before and honestly, wouldn’t mind a super cool cast for their summer camp friends to sign on Monday.

As if reading her mind, Bradley’s next argument is: “Someone could fall or sprain their ankle or fall and sprain their ankle. How’re you planning to fly with a broken wing, Phoenix?” 

As Natasha studies him, unreadable, Nora decides to wade in.

She can't listen anymore. She's aged five months in the past five minutes.

 “Bradshaw – You’re the one who wanted to do an activity for your birthday party, remember?”

Clearly, Bradley needed the reminder. He was the one who specifically wanted an activity with alcohol and some sort of theme, and Nora found Moonlight Rollers on Instagram.

On Thursday, which was his actual birthday, Nora brought him an Americano (no milk, no sugar, steaming hot) and a breakfast sandwich (a bacon, egg, and cheese on an everything bagel, extra toasted) in the morning and as a present of sorts, secretly asked Technician Ethan to install the camera in his F-18 for the afternoon.

He was ecstatic, so ecstatic that Bradley picked her up and spun her around, like a rag doll in cool shoes, until Captain Mitchell crackled over the radio, sounding equal parts amused and long-suffering.

“Admiral Simpson says – and I quote. Put Miss Rogers down. She's a loan." Captain Mitchell then added, "And from me, I won't protect you or your wings from Charlie Blackwood if Nora somehow falls. Put her down please."

Bradley set her down with a grimace.

Now, Nora continues, “We could’ve done drinks at the Hard Deck again and called it a night. I could be one and a half Old Fashioned's down right now, watching Netflix in my underwear," and Bradley grins, wolfish.

He waggles his brows, impish and obnoxious, and Nora knows what Bradley is picturing right now. Anyone would be able to see it all over his face.

For a 36-year-old man, Bradley can really be a 16-year-old boy sometimes.

She sends him a blank I will kill you in your sleep stare and mimes a slow slash across her own throat, shaking her head from side to side, and Bradley barks out a laugh, apparently not very intimidated.

Should Nora be offended?

He should be like... a little afraid, at least.

Natasha stares him down, and now, Bradley does look a little afraid.

Dark eyes narrowed, sharp against the glittering lavender Natasha lined them with earlier; Natasha is a stunning lavender monochrome, dressed in a ribbed tank and short sweat shorts, even down to the light purple wheels on her skates.

How did Natasha manage that? Nora wonders. She peers down at her own skates and sees only a bright cherry red. Damn. She would've loved a bubblegum pink in this dress.

If Nora has learned anything in the past month, Natasha seems to get her way one way or another. Now is no exception.

Nora smiles. Watch out, Bradshaw!

Natasha rounds her lips to an O shape, smooth voice sweetening into something more saccharine; more patronizing. "Oh... You're scared, aren't you, Rooster? Why didn't you say earlier?"

Are Bradley's ears turning a little red?

"Really? You can pilot a million-dollar plane for a living but can't handle a little..." A polished nail spins one of the wheels. Mocking. "...sneaker with wheels on the bottom?"

And like that, Natasha has him.

Hook, line, and sinker. 

She's barely gotten the words out when Bradley yanks the skates from her outstretched hands with a grumbled, "Fuck off, Phoenix. I'm not scared. I just remembered I don't know how to roller skate. Goddamn," and drops right down on the carpet to strap them on, swearing up a storm under his breath.

Ever optimistic, Mickey calls out, "It'll be fun, man," and Bradley grumbles something unintelligible. 

Natasha doesn't even pretend not to look victorious. She beams.

Nora, on the other hand, is a little more sympathetic. A little. 

He is a big man. Tall and broad with a long distance to fall in a wobble. She'd probably be a little nervous too.

Everyone is drinking. Someone is all but guaranteed to fall on their ass before the end of the night. Who? is the only question that remains.

“I can show you the basics,” Nora offers, watching him fumble with the shoelaces, double and triple knotting them around his ankles. “You can surf, right?" A grumbled sound that Nora will interpret as a yes. "You'll be fine. Balance is the hardest part. We can even hold hands."

She wiggles her fingers in his direction, teasing, gleaming an iridescent pink that matches her dress.

He snorts. “Hot. Promise?” 

Never mind. She's less sympathetic now.

Nora kicks out a leg and lightly catches him in the side of the knee, scuffing the dark blue denim, and Bradley scoots away with a surprised exclamation.

She rolls her eyes.

Maybe if Bradley falls, Nora can get a good shot on her phone.

She'll frame it. A memento for the birthday boy.

"Natasha, do you know when Coyote will be here? I still need to meet him."

Last Nora had heard, Javy 'Coyote' Machado had gotten back from the deployment in the middle of the week. He drove down late last night and crashed on Jake's couch. Got coffee with Captain Mitchell in the morning to discuss when Coyote could move down to North Island. It is still a vague – albeit promising – soon, but Natasha seems to think Coyote will be permanently moved before the beginning of August.

Natasha slides her phone from the front of the fanny pack slung around her waist – silver with prismatic purple, pink, and blue hues, same as the one Nora is wearing over her shoulder like a Miss America sash – and checks her appearance in the front camera.

Holding the phone like a compact, Natasha applies a fresh coat of shiny lip gloss and smushes her lips together to spread it around. Replies, slightly muffled, "He and Hangman got in an Uber like 20 minutes ago. They should be..." A bicycle bell notification chimes from her phone. "Speak of the devils!"

Natasha searches the rink, sipping from a Blue Moon bottle on the bench. Smiles widely.

She points with the sweating bottle, seemingly oblivious to the line of condensation that drips down her forearm and onto the carpet.

"He's right over there, next to Hangman."

Nora looks across the room, dancing over the multi-colored lights and foil streamers, gleaming and rustling in the warm evening breeze that sneaks in through the opening and closing of the main entrance – and lands on Jake.

He leans against the black-and-white checkered Skate Rental counter in a familiar stance, arms crossed lazily over his chest in a way that makes his muscles really shine. He probably does it on purpose.

Don't look at his arms, Rogers.

Coughing once, Nora remembers what Natasha said about Coyote and re-directs her gaze over one. Jesus Christ.

Even from across the room, Javy ‘Coyote’ Machado is… extremely good-looking. Model, good-looking.

“Are all Naval aviators hot?” Nora accidentally asks out loud, already a little buzzed somehow. Damn vodka.

A grumbling stomach makes her wistfully remember the cold pizza in the fridge that she definitely meant to reheat for dinner before Natasha called and said the Uber would be there in less than two minutes. Damn.

She hopes Moonlight Rollers has more options for food than the six options for alcohol at the concession stand. She would kill for a greasy slice of cheese pizza or even better, some crinkle cut fries that'd probably be inexplicably soggy but still taste good.

"Is it like, part of the admission requirement for Top Gun? Like America's Next Top Model, except instead of Tyra Banks, Admiral Simpson is there."

Nora imagines a stone-faced Admiral Simpson – who’d never so much as cracked a smile in her presence before – walking down an aircraft carrier, a collection of files under his stern arm.

Congratulations. You’re still in the running to be America’s Next Top Gun graduate.

Natasha bursts out laughing. "You should've seen my Top Gun class. You wouldn't ask that question."

She is still chuckling when Bob walks over a few minutes later, sipping a blue raspberry slushie from the concession stand with a cerulean tongue.

"Got us a locker," Bob announces, pointing to the wall of lockers in the corner of the room. "Anyone have anything that needs to go in right now? I can put 'em away while I have it open."

Mickey and Reuben dig around in the turquoise pockets of their matching nylon tracksuits – which must have been a buy one, get one deal – and produce loose change, apartment keys, and the like. They hand them over.

When Bob comes over, Nora gently pats her pack and shakes her head. She's got all the essentials in there. She's all set.

Something is different about Bob tonight.

As Bob quietly repeats the locker combination under his breath, a row of concentrated wrinkles on his forehead, Nora stares at him for a probably uncomfortable amount of time.

Pink dusts across his cheeks under her observation, and Bob shuffles his weight around. He looks startled when Nora snaps her fingers in an aha! moment.

“You aren't wearing your glasses, Bob," Nora says, almost accusing. "Have I ever seen you without your glasses?"

“Probably not,” Mickey ribs with a good-natured grin. “He practically sleeps in them.” 

Looking like a Hairspray character, Bob is dressed in a plain white shirt with suspenders. A single curl hangs loose in his face, fighting against the iron hold of what look to be a good amount of hair gel. He blows it out of his wide blue eyes with a sheepish smile.

"Guess not. I need to put in lots of eye drops when I wear contacts – sensitive eyes and everything – so I don’t wear them all that much,” Bob explains, looking much more comfortable now that Nora isn't staring at him quite so intently. A self-conscious sip. "But I'd much rather run to the locker every half hour to put in eye drops than break my glasses and need to get new ones."

It's like Bradley Bradshaw was waiting for that very moment.

On his knees, Bradley butts in, "Did you hear that? Even Floyd is afraid to fall on his ass and break something. Are you gonna make fun of him too, Trace?"

Robbie frowns a little. “I don’t know if I’d say I’m – ”  

“High. Risk. Activity.” 

Nora laughs out, "Go away, Bradshaw," and gently shoves him backwards.

He shouldn't have budged, but Nora must catch him in an uneven moment.

Bradley reels back, arms flailing like a wild goose, catching himself on a spread palm. His expression is comically dark and promises retribution, and Nora puts in a concerted effort not to laugh.

A giggle escapes, and Nora's eyes grow wide.

"Wait, I'm – Bradley!"

"Say your prayers, Rogers!"

For the second time in 72 hours, Bradley grabs her around the middle, and Nora is in the air.

At least Nora decided to wear bike shorts to make the short dress – usually reserved for parties and cocktail bars – more wearable. He'd be a dead man otherwise. He might still be a dead man.

Because Bradley is barely skilled enough to balance his own weight on the skates.

His proud smirk quickly falls as Bradley stands and starts to zig zag on the carpet. His skates go out from under him.

He goes down like a collapsed Jenga stack, and Nora is falling.

Strong arms catch her under the armpits and pull her out of the splash zone of Bradley Bradshaw's flailing arms, and still unbalanced, Nora wobbles and stumbles back against a firm chest with a sharp inhale.

Mint and cologne.

She tips her head back and sees an upside down – and very amused – Jake.

"Hi," Nora says, a little winded. She spies the black Stetson, perched on his head. “You really are such a damn cowboy, aren’t you, Texas? What’re you even supposed to be? Butch Cassidy and the 80's Dance Kid?"

She feels more than sees him chuckle, a low vibration against her back that sends a warm shiver down her spine.

Jake releases her arms, but a careful hand hovers around her lower back until Nora has her sea legs again.

She smooths down the dress down, running her hands over the glimmering pink sequins, and in the background, Reuben and Mickey rescue a dazed Bradley, who is flat on his back on the outer space patterned carpet.

"Howdy," Jake drawls with an ever present smirk. "Good guess, sweetheart, but I'm Patrick Swayze in Dirty Dancing. Don't you know your Hollywood movies, Hollywood?"

From here, Nora is close enough to smell the spearmint gum in his mouth. She can see the pale blue flash between white teeth. He smells incredible. Damn damn damn.

Casually, Nora does her best not to breathe in.

"Patrick Swayze doesn't wear a cowboy hat in Dirty Dancing." Jake is rocking the black-on-black look. She'll give him that. "Did you watch a porno with the same name?"

Someone laughs, full-bodied and delighted.

“Aren’t you gonna introduce me, Hangman?”

Nora smiles, and Javy Machado smiles back.

"You must be Javy. I'm..."

"You're Nora," Coyote cuts in, smooth and polite as can be, despite the interruption. He shakes her hand with a blinding smile. "Maverick gave me the whole run-down on the documentary when I saw him earlier. If I was any more envious of the bastards who get to be in it, I think I'd be green. Really."

"Well," Nora replies with a cool smile. "I bet I can sneak you in. I could probably delete all of Jake's footage and make it look like an unfortunate accident. How would you feel about pretending your call sign is Hangman?"

Javy guffaws, but Nora looks sidelong at Jake with a smirk.

Jake's chuckle is a pleasant and rasping sound. "You're a little mean today, Hollywood."

"More than usual?"

Jake drawls, "No. You're always a little mean," and makes it sound like a compliment. Warmth slips down her spine, and Nora swallows hard.

"You tired yet? Need to lay down?"

Can you? Nora doesn't need to repeat the question from the kitchen – over a week ago now – for Jake to hear it in her voice. Can you keep up with me?

His smirk deepens. "I'm wide awake, Hollywood."

Javy watches them like a ping-pong match, looking absolutely delighted. "We only just met, Nora, but I think I might be in love with you."

She grins. "Hm. That's too bad."

And as Natasha grabs her arm and pulls her into the roller rink, glimmering in the dark, Nora misses when Jake knocks an elbow back and catches Coyote in the ribs.

A crescent moon rises outside on the pitch black horizon, and inside, Moonlight Rollers glows in the dark.

Everyone is a little more drunk and a little less self-conscious in the silver gleam of the disco ball, spinning and shining like a glittering moon.

And in the rink, Nora is pleasantly surprised to find that the limited rollerskating abilities – emphasis on limited – Teen Nora used over a decade ago now have been dormant somewhere in the back of her mind. Not lost in the endless spiral of time.

Rollerskating is a little like riding a bike in that way.

She wobbles for the first few minutes and sticks close to the sides of the rink, just in case, and then, slowly finds the balance. Finds the rhythm.

Soon enough, Nora is coasting.

Natasha and Bob are her partners in crime for a while. 

She skates alongside them, casting sidelong glances at where Jake and Javy are on the sidelines, catching up and nursing the beers that can't come into the rink with them. Alcohol isn't allowed in.

"Come in," Nora calls on her umpteenth rotation. "Water's nice."

Javy opens his mouth, already grinning, but Jake shouts over the music, "And who would stand here and admire that sparkly little dress of yours then, darlin'? You should wear that on Monday."

Nora gives him the finger, and Jake laughs.

Eventually, Bradley joins the rest of them. He picks it up quickly, just like Nora predicted. He only rams into the side of the rink once and like, barely.

He spins her around the rink until she is breathless with laughter and seeing spots of light behind her closed lids.

"Stop," Nora gasps, "I need a breather."

Citing a need for another fucking drink, Bradley follows her out of the rink and heads for the concession stand, winking at a woman in a Maid of Honor sash.

Nora sits down on the nearest bench, pressing down on the stitch in her side, and soaks in the atmosphere.

According to their Instagram, Moonlight Rollers had been in business since 1986. It looks the part. It'd be a dream of a movie set.

Nora can see it now.

A romance, bathed in the changing lights of the disco ball, pink and purple and blue. Soft.

Exactly the kind of movie Nora wanted to make once upon a time.

Take Me Home Tonight blares over the speakers, and Natasha's laugh rises over the music as Bob launches her across the rink, shimmering like a purple shooting star across the night sky of mismatched walls and lights. 

Nostalgia is a dull ache in her chest.

Growing up, Nora used to strap on an old pair of roller skates from the garage – passed down from Mom, who loved an old school roller rink – and spend hours down near the Santa Monica pier.

So many summer nights were spent in the warm ocean breeze, breathing in the salt air, stretching her arms out to reach for the pinprick stars, as the Pacific Park neon blurred in the distance.

She was never so much great as Nora was unafraid.

Not afraid to, as Mom often said, fail with her whole heart. Take the leap.

Some late night, Nora skinned both elbows and both knees on an uneven sidewalk. Tears still burned in her eyes as Nora slapped on some ointment and a few oversized bandages outside the nearest CVS and got right back out there.

She still had dried blood on her forearms and calves when she got home. Gave Mom a damn good scare.

Sixteen is another world, and Nora isn’t quite as fearless anymore. 

Reminiscing, Nora almost doesn't notice Javy is still at the side of the rink, drinking a nearly empty Blue Moon. She doesn't see Jake anymore.

Javy nods in greeting, and Nora waves.

Everything Nora knows about Lieutenant Javy Machado has come secondhand from the Daggers and Captain Mitchell. He is obviously a skilled pilot. He wouldn't have been recalled to Top Gun in October otherwise.

Natasha knows him from OCS in Newport and flew with him on several deployments. She calls him a good guy.

And Javy is the only person Nora's ever heard Jake outright call a friend. She knows Jake is friends with the Daggers, but Javy is his best friend.

"Did you lose your wingman?" Nora asks when Javy is close enough to hear the question over the music. "Where did Jake run off to and leave you all alone?"

Smiling, Javy shrugs, a movement that's oceanic on someone as broad-shouldered as him.

"He's on the phone."

 She looks over her shoulder and sees the Emergency Exit door is propped open with a brick. She can just make out a sliver of the night and Jake. His expression is soft.

"It's Sarah, I think," Javy answers the question before Nora can ask. "His older sister."

"Jake has a sister?"  

"Two. Sarah and Bethany." 

Nora absorbs that information with an absent-minded nod. "You've met them then?"

He passes the beer bottle from one hand to the other with a nod. "I even spent Christmas with them one year. We were stationed in Fallon – in Nevada, I mean – and I'm from Louisiana. Neither of us had enough leave to go all the way home."

"So Mrs. Seresin and Sarah and Beth..." His voice softens on Bethany's name, and Nora wonders. "... met us in the middle. We spent Christmas at a Holiday Inn in Phoenix, Arizona."

Fondness shines in his whiskey brown eyes, and Nora can't help her own smile in response.

Something nudges in the back of her brain, and Nora pulls on it like a loose thread. She remembers how Jake had stiffened at the nepotism comment in Natasha's kitchen.

Carefully, Nora asks, "Not Mr. Seresin?"

Javy gives her a long, searching look that feels far too appraising for comfort; that feels like Nora is the only one in the room who doesn't get a joke.

After a moment, Javy says, "No." Short. Opaque.

Right then.

"So," Nora starts, but Javy cuts her off with an expectant smile.

“Can I ask you something?" 

"Sure," Nora replies slowly, "but I might not answer."

He seems to get a kick out of that. 

"You know, I get it now. I really do," Javy muses with a low laugh. And before Nora can ask him to explain, the Naval aviator distracts her with, "You and Rooster. You seem... close."

Something about the way Javy says close seems weighted, but Nora is too surprised to give it much attention.

"Oh. Well, Bradley and I knew each other before. His mom, Carole was friends with my Aunt Charlie before..."

Before Carole died.

Before Nora lost a mom too.

"Bradley and I are kind of family friends, I guess. Was that a question?"

He smiles again. Nods again, like Fair enough. 

Javy asks, "Ever been more than friends?" and watches her closely for a reaction.

But Nora had looked up to Charlie Blackwood her whole childhood. A woman who'd never once broken a sweat. She learned from the best.

Cool as ice, Nora asks, "Maybe. Maybe not. Who's asking?" and arches her eyebrows. She'd really like to ask, Who told you?

For his part, Javy looks a little admonished, so Nora softens the expression. She's not uncomfortable. She doesn't want to make him uncomfortable.

He's not as similar to Jake as Nora initially suspected. Jake, who would've grinned wider and pushed more, not stood down until the end.

Maybe Nora kind of likes that about Jake.

She remembers what Jake had said almost a week ago, "You like that I can keep up with you," and goddamn, maybe Nora does. Fuck.

Distracted, Nora only catches the end of what Javy is saying.

"...and Jake is my best friend, so I had to ask."

Confusion wrinkles her brow. "Bradley and I are friends." 

"Just friends?"

"Just friends," Nora repeats, firm. "But Jake and I aren't..."

Evidently satisfied, Javy's smile is back in full force.

"Right. Of course not."

And Javy only sounds slightly knowing.

"I'm gonna grab another drink. You want anything?"

Nora shakes her head. "No, I'll get my own in a few."

He strolls away with one last smile, whistling along to Everybody Wants to Rule the World, and Nora is left alone on the bench, staring into space.

Over her shoulder, Nora sees Jake again.

Pink light shines across the rink now, and Jake laughs on the phone, golden in the rose blush of the disco ball. She can almost hear the depth of sound; can almost feel the vibration behind her ribcage.

Fuck. When did that happen?

Nora faces forward, blowing out a long breath, and heads for the concession stand. She needs five minutes with Bradley Bradshaw – and a goddamn drink. 

Anyone who works in a place like Moonlight Rollers has probably heard their fair share of famous last words.

One final misguided question or daring declaration that precedes a dislocated elbow and a late night drive to the nearest emergency room. 

Like, “Crouch down, I can definitely jump over you.”

Or, "Oh my god. Let's do the lift," when the Dirty Dancing soundtrack comes on after midnight.

“Holy shit, Nora!” 

“Are you alright, Phoenix?” 

Crumpled like a punctured balloon animal, Natasha lets out a hyena laugh, loud enough to draw the attention of the Naval aviators who were lucky enough not to witness the absolutely catastrophic failure of a Dirty Dancing lift.

Did Nora even leave the ground? She can’t remember. 

She is definitely on the ground now. 

Fuck. Everything is spinning a little bit. 

Wait, Nora is directly below the disco ball, which was already spinning before. False alarm. She’s not horribly concussed. Everyone can calm down now.

“Holy damn,” Natasha gasps out, wiping at her eyes. "That must’ve been the worst Dirty Dancing lift in the history of Dirty Dancing lifts. We should be ashamed of ourselves.”

"We absolutely should." Nora winces. "Fuck. I think I broke my sunglasses."

She pulls out the pink sunglasses that were once shaped like hearts and are now little more than shrapnel. Damn. She liked those.

Natasha wiggles on her side like a beached mermaid, wrenching her neck back. “Think I ripped my shorts. Can you see my ass right now?” 

Nora lets out the giggliest giggle that’s ever been giggled.

“No, I can't see your ass."

“Shame. I’m wearing really good underwear, and I wanted at least one hot woman to see them tonight.” 

Nora clutches her stomach, laughing, and Natasha spills back into a high-pitched shriek of laughter. Tears spill down their cheeks.

Mickey pulls away from an intense lip-lock on the sidelines to reach them. He is the first one, sinking down on his knees.

"Are you guys okay?"

Nora drops an arm over her face and gives him a weak thumbs-up from the floor, and Natasha hiccups.

"Here. Take my hand!"

She does, but Nora has a lot of liquid in her stomach right now, sloshing and splashing. She is having a hard time engaging her core.

Mickey pulls, and Nora only slides.

Her dress is probably around her stomach right now. God bless bike shorts.

"Would you...?" Mickey lets out an exasperated sigh that makes Natasha pout.

"Don't get mad, Fanboy!"

"I'm not mad," Mickey insists. He looks around and focuses on a spot Nora can't see. She tries and only succeeds in painfully pulling her hair. "Can you help me out here, guys? They’re so drunk. It’s like deadlifting a fish."

"We are not fish. We are ladies," Natasha pipes up, sounding indignant. "Some of us are anyway." A bright smile lights up her face as Javy and Bob come into frame. "Coyote! Bob! Did you see our lift?"

"I saw it, and I wish I hadn't," Javy says dryly. He has her off the ground and on her feet in a single move, guiding her arm around his shoulder as Bob grabs the other one. "How about some water? Hangman..."

"Go ahead. I'm good."

As the slurred sound of Natasha’s giggles fade under the swelling finale of (I’ve Had) The Time of My Life, Nora briefly closes her eyes. She opens them again, and Jake is standing over her wilting form. 

He glows against in the light from the disco ball, a golden gleam in the silver incandescence. Twinkling.

“Hi Jake,” Nora says softly, poking at a sore spot on her bottom lip with her tongue. She must’ve bitten it in the fall. She doesn’t remember that either.

“Hi Nora.” 

“You’re sparkling.” 

“You’re bleeding.” 

Confused, Nora frowns.

Dull pain radiates from her left knee, and Nora spots a red and angry scrape across the skin, pulsing and throbbing with a forming bruise. She wipes at her eyes again, stinging with more tears, now that Nora has remembered the pain.

“Oh, I think I'm fine though. I'm tough. I'll get back out there."

She doesn't move.

His cheek twitches, but Jake doesn’t let her distract him. He crouches down.

“Come on, Rocky. Let’s get'cha cleaned up, yeah?” 

She sticks out her arms, and amused, Jake peels her from the rink.

She is on the bench again in a flash. Metal is cold against the backs of her thighs, and Nora shivers.

A warm hand brushes across the nape of her neck, and Jake murmurs something in her that Nora doesn’t quite catch. 

Only after Jake leaves does Nora comprehend the words.

“Be right back, sweetheart.” 

Alone, Nora looks around. She feels a little out of focus.

Underneath the neon arcade sign, Natasha is chugging a bottle of water while Bob readies another. She doesn't see Bradley anywhere. He must've snuck off or gone home with that girl.

Nora remembers their conversation and drops her head into her hand, propped on her thighs.

Nora caught the stiff edge of Bradley's sleeve.

“Sorry. Can I speak to you for a second? Alone?”

He was in the middle of a conversation with Maid of Honor sash, who glared suspiciously at Nora as Bradley slid into the booth across from her.

Don't even worry, Nora wanted to reassure. He’s all yours.

“So Coyote asked me an interesting question,” Nora started. She explained the context and repeated the question. "Did you tell anyone?"

“Did I tell anyone what?” 

“You know,” Nora insisted, and Bradley shook his head, scrubbing a hand over his mouth to hide the glimpse of the entertained smile forming there. Jackass. “You know, Bradshaw. Don’t make me spell it out for you.” 

He shrugged. “I really don’t know.” 

“Christ…”

What had Nora done to deserve this? Riddle me that, universe.

She exhaled. "Fine. We were both at Captain Wolfe's party a few years ago." Five to be exact. She held back a groan. "There was a pool game and drinks and shots and..."

And a silver dress sparkled in the blue darkness, gleaming in a shimmering puddle on the leather back seat of a faded blue Bronco as a shirtless Bradley Bradshaw leaned over the bench seat and popped open the glove compartment for a condom.

And and and.

He grinned.

"Oh, I think I remember now. So I shouldn't have told everyone I know about the hot sex in the back of the Bronco? I shouldn't have mentioned that?" And if Bradley expected her to blush, Nora disappointed him with an unimpressed glare and a swift kick in the shins. He yelped. "God, I'm kidding, Rogers. I didn't tell them anything."

She whispered quickly, "Why would Coyote ask me that then?"

"I don't know, okay? Everyone here is a nosey son of a bitch who can't mind their own business," Bradley said. "Even Phoenix has asked me once or twice. Someone probably has money riding on it or something. Not a big deal." He sulked. "Can I go back now?"

After an internal debate, Nora said carefully, "I have one more question. Do…?”

Do you all think something is going on between me and a certain arrogant pilot from Texas?

Her lips parted as Nora hesitated, and impatient, Bradley pulled a pained face. “

“Nora, I was about to get laid."

God. She waved him away. “Fine, sorry. Use protection.”

"Always do," Bradley said with a wink and was gone, leaving Nora alone with the smothered question, still kicking up sparks in the back of her awareness.

She needed that drink to be a double.

Something brushes against her knee, and Nora startles.

“Careful,” Jake cautions, voice low and soothing, like Nora is a spooked horse. “Don’t hurt yourself.” 

She didn’t notice him come back. 

She relaxes. 

“Did you get your skates?” 

He blinks. “My what?” 

“You went to the Skate Rental counter, didn’t you? I saw you.” 

“I went to ask them for their First Aid…” Jake is cradling a small red and white box in his arms. A roll of gauze is around his thumb like a ring. “…and get you some water because your knee is bleeding, Hollywood."

He says it like Nora might’ve forgotten. She frowns.

She didn’t forget.

She would've remembered.

She carefully sips the water as Jake opens the kit and pulls out some bandages and ointment. He opens a packet of alcohol wipes with his teeth and nods at Nora’s leg. 

“Can I?” 

Nora nods, and Jake sinks down on his knees. 

She is surprised when Jake doesn’t start with her knee, instead carefully unknotting the laces and pulling the skates from her feet, setting them down on the carpet.

He smiles faintly at the pink socks, the little embroidered heart on the ankles, and Nora swears Jake brushes a gentle thumb across the pattern.

He applies the alcohol, and Nora lets out a sharp hiss at the sting, the burn.

He doesn’t prolong the sensation. He moves with such quick and efficient purpose that she wonders if one of Jake's sisters is a nurse or doctor.

She wants to ask him. 

What comes out instead is, "What did you tell Coyote about me?” 

For a brief moment, Jake pauses, then carefully sets the bandage in place, crumpling the plastic wrapper in a clenched fist.

His voice is hard to read. “Why’re you asking?” 

She should say something like, “Sorry, I’m really drunk, and I didn’t mean to ask you that. Let’s pretend I never said anything. This never happened,” and Jake would say something like, “Can do, Hollywood.” 

That would be that. 

Instead, Nora throws away the shovel and starts digging the hole with her hands. 

“Something Coyote said. What did you tell him?” 

“Well, I guess I just said I might've met a beautiful and smart and clever as hell woman, who's basically my dream girl." Jake looks at Nora, all dimples and gleaming green, stroking across the edge of the bandage with a soft touch. "My argumentative dream girl."

She swallows against a suddenly dry mouth. "Just that, huh?"

"Just that." His expression is warm. "She doesn't like me though, right, sweetheart? Not even kind of?"

She realizes that on his knees like that, Jake could slide over half an inch and be between her parted legs. He could lean right in and...

“Right," Nora echoes. "Not even kind of."

A grin brims on his lips.

She lets the moment fade, and blessedly, Jake does too. 

Jake pats her on the knee and rises. He gathers the wrappers and runs the First Aid kit back to the Skate Rental counter, coming back with another water and fries.

She could actually cry. She munches on the burning hot fries and drinks the water instead and sobers enough to push down the urge to lean on Jake's broad shoulder.

She puts on her skates again as Jake tosses the rest of the fries and dusts off his hands. She flexes her knee like a brand new Barbie doll with a proud grin. He watches her with a fond expression that softens every part of his face.

“Will I live, Texas?” 

“Think so, Hollywood.” 

Jake sweeps his fingers through his hair, picking up the cowboy hat from the bench and setting it back on his head.

"Now," Jake drawls. "We have enough time for a few more trips around the rink. Want to get back out there?"

He holds out a hand, and Nora slips her hand in his.

She doesn’t let go in the rink, and Jake doesn’t either.

When Jake walks her to the door and lingers, looking at her with those eyes, Nora should probably close the door in his face. She should close the door and go to bed alone and tell him to do the same. 

She can't be trusted around him, not with the alcohol and the adrenaline coursing through her bloodstream, making her feel unbalanced.

Instead, Nora digs her own grave.

She holds the door open, and Jake comes in with a smirk, smug and knowing.  

Everything is a blur from there. A supercut of soft touches and gasping breaths and the sound of his name as Jake presses her against every damn surface in the damn apartment.

Every kiss is devouring, sucked into the column of her neck, pressed against her bare shoulder, open-mouthed and possessive.

He doesn’t kiss her on the lips, not yet, and Nora wonders if Jake wants to make her beg him. 

She’s never begged for anything in her damn life. 

She might let him.

She is pliable under him, and Jake is more than willing to use that to his advantage, maneuvering them onto the mattress.

She is still dressed, and on her back, Nora can hardly breathe as Jake reaches under the dress and pulls her underwear down.

"You're so beautiful..."

He licks a long stripe over her core, tongue flat and broad. 

She can’t think. She can hardly breathe. 

She’s right on the edge, aching, when Jake pulls back.

He looks up. Mouth slick with her, grinning like a devil. 

"Come on, sweetheart," Jake murmurs on a low breath that fans right across her exposed core. She whimpers. "We’re just gettin’ started. Be good for me."

She shakes awake, drenched in sweat, with a familiar ache between her legs.

It was a dream. She's alone.

Her dress sparkles from the corner of the room, where a drunken Nora had left it a few hours earlier and crawled into bed in an old NYU shirt that feels too warm now.

She peels it from her skin and gulps down the whole water glass on her nightstand.

Neither is enough to soothe the heat that burns under her skin.

Nora sighs out an emphatic "Fuck" in the darkness and lets her hand drift under the covers. She comes with a hand over her mouth, a familiar name on her tongue.

note: i will add a real note when i don't have a blue light headache, but... past nora and bradley, confirmed? current nora and jake, still a question mark? what do we think?

should i spring the nora and bradley one shot from the vault next?

read the next chapter here!

[thebabblingbrookenook]

His First Muse

Pairings: Violet Bridgerton & Benedict Bridgerton, Violet Bridgerton & Anthony Bridgerton, Violet Bridgerton & Eloise Bridgerton

Summary: A brief insight through the years of Violet’s relationship with her children.

Warnings: Angst, Whump, Mentions of character death

Word Count: 5.3K

Author’s Note: Thank you so much @bridgertontess for this awesome edit. It goes perfectly with this fic. And thank you again to @colettebronte for always keeping me from going off the rails with commas.

________________________________________________

“Come and paint with me, Mama!” Benedict’s sweet, small voice pleaded as he pulled lightly on his mother’s arm.

Violet laughed affectionately at her son’s impatience. “Benedict dear, give your Mama just a moment. Getting up isn’t an easy feat these days,” she said while cradling her swollen, pregnant belly. She loved each of her three sons beyond measure, but her heart was secretly hoping for a beautiful little girl with her father’s eyes.

The light that positively radiated out of her second-born son was one of her greatest joys in life. She wasn’t sure what ignited that spark, but she prayed it would never be extinguished. The world desperately needed more of it, and so did she. 

From the moment he blinked open those observant eyes, a swaddled infant in her arms, she knew he would see the world for all its beauty. But she feared he would also be privy to all its pain. It was impossible to understand the depths of one without the other, and her son’s eyes were fathomless.

As his tiny body grew, so did the capacity of his heart. He was a sensitive soul, always searching for understanding in others, but rarely finding what he was looking for. Even though he followed his older brother around with ardent admiration in his eyes, Violet knew they were two very different little boys.

Her eldest, Anthony, was an unstoppable force, commanding life to bend to his will. His willingness to try new things with a baffling confidence was mesmerizing to her. Even while learning to walk, his determination was unparalleled. Of all her children thus far, he conquered the challenge of his first steps three full months before the rest. He was dangerously charming, with glimmers of mischief that made him impossible to resist. People were drawn to his magnetism, thrusting him into the position of a natural born leader. 

A wide-eyed Benedict was no exception to the rule. Everything Anthony did, Benedict was right there behind him, striving to match the strides of his brother - the hero. But Anthony was older, and things came to him with a frustrating ease. When he failed, he outwardly raged and tried again until he got it right. Benedict handled defeat differently. He absorbed it, folding in on himself instead of releasing his anger to the rest of the world. 

Each time it happened, Violet watched his wonder-filled eyes dim a little darker. He held his weariness until there was no more room, and then burst at the seams with the magnitude of his rage. It was jarring to witness in contrast with his usual gentle demeanor. She came to realize that the patience and understanding that he reserved for others was not so easily extended to himself. It was unbearable to watch her child’s face crease with exhaustion as he tried to process himself. She had never known a fury so strong as the one she assigned to the shame that dared trespass on the soul of her beautiful baby boy, cloaking him in its shadow of comparison. 

It was her privilege and responsibility as his mother, to teach him how to vanquish his foes. One day after a particularly dark episode, she scooped a deflated Benedict into her arms and carried him to what she hoped would be his sanctuary. She had enlisted Edmund’s help with converting a small room overlooking the back grounds of Aubrey Hall into a realm of endless possibilities and creativity. It was a place just for him. A quiet retreat for his mind to settle and his heart to translate the contents of his soul for the rest of the world to consume. She filled it with paints and papers, canvas and clay, strings and all the other little things that he might need. 

Tears welled in her eyes as she witnessed the moment when her child came to know himself and recognized the beauty there. It just clicked. The room filled with a sure stillness that will never leave her memory. He didn’t need to be shown what to do, somehow he just innately knew. From that moment forward, he never stopped capturing his world. It was as if he had been wading through life with so much to say but had been rendered mute, and now he had discovered language. It wasn’t long before he was fluent.

Today, like so many other days, he pulled his mother down the hall with a heartfelt plea that she would never deny. “Come and paint with me, Mama!” And she would. The stories he told through shapes and colors moved her to tears of laughter. A princess and her trusty steed. A dragon with a biscuit addiction. Whatever his little mind could conjure made it to the page in vivid detail. He would hand her the finished work, beaming with pride, awaiting her affirmations. 

Much to her delight, the purpose he discovered never faded. As he aged it took on new forms. Staggering new heights and impossible depths. Creations that once had her cackling with joy, now stunned her into silence with their beauty. And he would still come to her, his voice deeper now, and say, “Mother, come and paint with me.” And of course, she would. It pained her slightly when he had shifted from calling her Mama, but he was almost a man now. He had outgrown the endearment but quickly assured her that he could never outgrow her. 

When her beloved Edmund was taken from them, she lost her way. She tried to worry for her children, focusing on anything other than her own despair, but she was overtaken by the weight of her grief. The presence of her two eldest sons was the only reason the night didn’t carry her away. The man that Anthony had grown into was a staggering thing to behold, and even though it was negligently unfair, she knew he would take care of the household while she couldn’t. His honor and his sense of duty would move Heaven and Earth for the ones he loved. The part of his life that was untouched by loss withered away, and she added that loss to her mountain of grief while she watched the 9th Viscount Bridgerton forming before her puffy, cried out eyes. 

Benedict covered her in a type of comfort all his own. He sat with her, reading her the same childhood stories she used to read to him, letting the familiar words lull her sleep. And when her eyes drifted closed, he’d kiss her temple and promise, “I’ll see you when you wake.” 

From time to time, the words he chose would be new to her ears, forcing her to focus on nothing but the sound of his voice. She knew now that they had been his own words. His own feelings laid bare as an offering before her. Extending a part of himself in vulnerability in hopes that it might make her feel less alone. Not just her, but himself too. She would slip her hand silently into his with a gentle squeeze and pray he understood she was still there somewhere, just buried beneath the wreckage. 

On the nights when the crying found no end, he would sneak into her room, scoop her from her bed and invite her once again. “Come now, Mother. Come and paint with me.” And she would. She would sit in the stillness he cultivated and calm herself to sleep. She always woke the next morning safely in her bed, with a Benedict Bridgerton masterpiece resting on her bedside table. That was the first time she could remember what it felt like to smile again…

~~~~~~~~~

A lot had changed in the ten years since Edmund had passed. Her children grew and stepped into their lives. Anthony opened his heart to love, giving her glimpses of the vibrant boy she used to know. He and his lovely Viscountess, Kate, started a family of their own. From all the years filling the void left by Edmund’s absence, Anthony stepped effortlessly into the role of fatherhood. Benedict chased his heart wherever he could follow. He had outgrown their tiny room of solitude at Aubrey hall and now had a space where his imagination could roam free. His paintings not only hung in Bridgerton drawing rooms, but in Royal museums where the rest of the world could now bear witness to his talent. Colin explored the Earth as fast as the wind would take him, and Daphne blossomed into the most doting mother that put even Violet to shame. Eloise, in all her splendor, challenged the minds and tempers of everyone she met. Violet swelled with admiration every time she looked at her strong-willed daughter. Eloise would make a way for herself in this world, Violet was sure of it. Francesca, as she always did, took a path that moved her differently from the rest of her family. She was a complex, gorgeous enigma with a mind that rivaled her sister’s. She was fearless in her endeavors, and Violet found herself wishing to be more like the girl she had raised. Little Gregory and Hyacinth still had some growing up to do, but Violet no doubt had her hands entirely full with those two. 

Despite moving forward without her love, Violet’s life was filled beyond measure. She hummed to herself happily around Aubrey Hall as she prepared the flowers for the arrival of tomorrow’s guests. Anthony and Kate had insisted upon throwing her a birthday soiree. She agreed under the conditions that no one discuss her advanced years. She was looking forward to having all of her children back together under one roof. And she could use some well spent time with good friends. 

She smiled brightly when her eldest son approached to greet her with a kiss. “Kate and I are taking Franny and Hyacinth into town. Apparently there is some sort of ribbon crisis that needs attending. Would you like to join us, mother?”

“You’ve volunteered to go ribbon shopping?” she raised her brow skeptically.

“Hardly,” Anthony huffed. “I’m going to meet my old friend Mr. Dorset. He’s just returned from his medical studies in India and I invited him to stay with us for the week. You remember him, don’t you?”

“Of course,” Violet chided. “How could I forget your swimming partner? The two of you made quite the splash. The ladies of the ton talked about it for weeks.”

If she wasn’t mistaken, she thought she could actually hear the sound of her son’s eyes rolling. “I wish we would all try to forget that. It wasn’t one of my proudest moments.”

“Oh, Anthony,” she patted his cheek lovingly. “Lighten up. I’m sure Kate enjoyed it immensely.” She moved around him to reach for more flowers on the other side of the table. “Where is Eloise? Are you not taking her with you as well?”

“She insists that she wants to remain here to await Colin’s arrival. I left her with Benedict and his doodling. She should be fine for a while.” He shrugged unconcerned. “What about you, mother? Would you like to join us?”

“No,” she answered softly. “ I think I’ll stay and enjoy the silence before the chaos begins. But you have fun, dear. And tell Hyacinth to mind herself. You know how excitable she is with her ribbons.”

“Ugh,” he groaned. “Don’t remind me.”

He kissed her one last time before making his exit, leaving her to her flower arrangements. She shook her head in amusement, replaying their conversation. He was a terrible grump with a secret heart of gold. One well-timed flutter of his little sister’s lashes and he melted into a puddle of affection. Why he insisted on maintaining his gruff outer shell, she would never understand. She suspected it was out of habit now. 

The day went on smoothly with hardly a peep from the rest of her children. Daphne and Simon had sent word that they would be arriving in the morning with Gregory in tow from Eton, and no one knew when Colin would make his appearance. He took his nomadic duties very seriously these days. But no matter, it was always a joyous reunion when he came bounding in, requesting hugs and sandwiches.

The sun lowered in the sky as Violet confirmed the final details of the next evening’s menu with Cook. She thought she might retire for the evening when she heard the unmistakable sound of a hunting rifle echoing in the distance. 

Alarm pulled her to the back gardens, seeking an explanation. No one should be on the grounds yet. Dread prickled her skin as she searched the horizon, but all she found there was stillness.

Her feet carried her habitually through the halls of their summer home in search of her children. “Benedict!” she yelled, searching the usual spots. 

“Eloise?!” No reply. Where had they gone off to?

Familiar noises drew her to the front door, swinging it open to find Anthony returned with the girls and his guest. “Anthony!” she cried, barely containing the panic in her voice. “Have you seen your brother? I can’t find him anywhere. Or your sister for that matter.”

The sudden severity of her question startled him and he looked up to see his mother’s pekid expression willing him to have the answer she needed. “I’ve only just gotten here, so I’m afraid I don’t know. If you give me a moment I can help you search.” He walked up the stairs to close the distance between them. Taking her hand in his, he tried to reassure her. “I’m sure all is well. You know Benedict wouldn’t let anything happen to Eloise. They are probably just lost in their daydreams somewhere. You know how those creative types can be.”

Violet forced herself to smile at her son’s attempt to ease her nerves with the loving mockery of his siblings. “Of course, darling. I’m sure you’re right. It’s just that…”

“What is it, mother?” he prodded, trouble now creasing his brow.

“A moment ago I could have sworn I heard a hunting rifle being fired…” her eyes flitted back and forth over Anthony’s shoulder scanning the vast grounds of their estate. “But I must have been mistaken. You’ve arranged a hunt for the weekend. It’s much too early for those preparations.”

“Oh,” Anthony’s shoulders visibly relaxed. “Mystery solved. I asked Benedict if he might attend to a few of our spare firearms for guests. Knowing Eloise, she berated him to within an inch of his life until he agreed to take her with him.” His head tilted up to observe the sky. “We’re losing the sun. I imagine they will be back any time now.”

Before Violet had a moment to consider, Eloise’s piercing cries stopped her heart entirely. “MAMA! PLEASE MAMA, COME QUICK!”

All sense of time ceased to exist. Violet wanted desperately to place her eyes on her daughter, but her legs suddenly felt as if they’d been filled with sand, weighing her down and slowing her efforts. 

It was Anthony’s authoritative voice that quickened her resolve and directed her aimless desperation. “She’s coming from around the house. Cutting through the servant’s entrance is the quickest way to her.” His hand went to the small of Violet’s back as he gently guided her footsteps. “Kate, take the children inside and keep them there. And Dorset… I think you’d better come with us.”

They were through the house and bursting into the back gardens within seconds. Eloise was making her way towards them at breakneck speed, eyes wild and covered in… blood. 

“Mama!” her quivering, spent body lurched forward into the safety of her mother’s arms.

“Eloise!” Violet gasped in relief to be holding her child. “Darling, are you hurt? What’s happened?!”

A horrified whisper clawed its way past Eloise’s lips. “It’s not my blood.”

Terrifying realization gripped at Violet’s heart, threatening to squeeze until the organ turned to dust. “Eloise… where’s your brother?”

“It was an accident,” her frail voice croaked. “It just… it just went off, Mama. It just went off.”

“Eloise!” Anthony shook her gently to release her from the chokehold of her shock. “Where is Benedict?!”

Peering into the eyes of her eldest brother was enough to break the dam of tears she’d managed to suppress. “The pond. We were at the treeline by the pond.”

Anthony didn’t hesitate for a second. “Dorset, with me!”

Violet watched helplessly as the two men sprinted towards the location Eloise had named. Towards her injured son. Her mind tortured her with the possibilities of what they would find when they arrived. She wanted desperately to run to him as fast as her legs would carry her, but abandoning her now hyperventilating daughter was out of the question. Her soul felt as if it were being torn in two.

“Breathe, darling,” she soothed. “Slowly… slowly. Let’s just take a moment to compose.” Looking down, her gaze lingered on the deep crimson coloring the pale blue fabric of Eloise’s dress. “We should get you out of these clothes.”

Eloise pinned her mother with a look of panic. “No! We have to go to him. I swore I’d come back. A broken promise can’t be the last thing…”

The last thing… Those three little words solidified Violet’s worst fears. “Take us to him, Eloise. We must make haste!”

The closer they got, the louder she could hear her son’s agonizing screams. Fear churned in her belly, rising bile up her throat. She was not prepared for the scene in front of her.

Benedict was writhing in pain, desperately trying to escape the ministrations of Mr. Dorset’s trained hands. Anthony clutched to him beseechingly, attempting to calm him and accept the life preserving measures. “Benedict! Please brother, I know it hurts but you must try to remain still. Let us help you.” His pleas fell on deaf ears. Benedict could not see beyond the suffering that had engulfed him.

 Violet tried with every fiber of her being to avert her eyes from the wound spilling her son’s life onto the ground, but the evidence of its existence could not be avoided. It touched  the entire atmosphere with its presence. The air was thick with heat from the fresh blood, and the smell permeated the taste buds, leaving a distinct metallic taste on the tongue. 

She found herself petrified in place beside Eloise until a particularly harsh wail ripped through Benedict’s chest only to be followed by… silence. She was at his side immediately, lowering herself to the ground and nudging Anthony gently aside. 

Violet knew her children and recognized the precipice on which Anthony was currently teetering. His demeanor was collected and frigid with control, but his eyes betrayed him. This was one failure that he would never let himself recover from, so she took the blame from his hands and assigned him a new purpose to tether him. 

“Anthony,” she whispered, prying his hands away from his brother’s motionless frame. “Your sister… Don’t let her witness this. Go to her please.” When he looked up into her face he was six years old again, looking to his mother to make it all better. Her hand came to cup his cheek in comfort. “It’s alright Anthony. Go… I’ll be with him, and Mr. Dorset seems to have capable hands.”

Anthony took his permission to leave with gratitude and went to collect his sister. Eloise’s shouts of protest became muffled background noise when Violet’s focus was drawn back by the small whimper below her. 

Truly taking in Benedict’s face for the first time sent a white-hot searing poker through her heart. His eyes were not open but they danced restlessly behind his lids. His skin was clammy and almost entirely void of color aside from the slight blue that tinged his lips. He looked so like his father. She was being transported ten years into the past, holding her beloved Edmund as he died in her embrace. This day could not end with the same fate. 

“Mr Dorset,” she queried, somehow fitting a thousand questions into his name.

“Lady Bridgerton,” his voice was steady and she found that reassuring. “I promise that I will do everything in my power to help him, but I must tell you…His injury is severe. Without the proper tools there will be limitations with what I can do.”

“I understand. Please,” she begged. “Just try.”

“When I remove this pressure dressing to examine the wound he will start to bleed again, and he will most likely be in pain. I need you to keep him as still as you possibly can. Do you think you can do that for me?” She nodded her affirmation and he took her at her word. “Good. Are you ready?”

Even if she wasn’t ready, she had to be for Benedict’s sake. Time was not a luxury they could afford.

Right on cue, Benedict jerked with a gasp at Mr. Dorset’s touch. His eyes were wild but unseeing as he searched for the source of his torment. Violet was surprised by the amount of strength still left in his tired body. It was a genuine effort to hold him in place. “Benedict!” she called out to him. “Benedict, dear, it’s okay. I’m right here. I know it hurts but it’s okay. Just be still. I’m right here.”

Recognition fluttered across his features at the sound of her voice. “Mother?” he questioned, testing the accuracy of his reality. When she confirmed her presence he squeezed her hand so tightly it almost hurt. “Mother, what’s happening? It hurts. It really hurts.”

“There’s been an accident and you were injured but all will be well soon. Anthony has brought a surgeon to help. You just keep your eyes on me and try to stay calm.”

At the exact moment of her request, Mr. Dorset must have come in contact with a particularly tender spot because Benedict cried out in pain and tried the flench away. His chest heaved with the efforts of his labored breathing. Seeing him this way was destroying her, one agonizing second at a time. 

“I’m scared, mother. Where are we? I don’t understand.” His voice was shaky and weak.

“We’re outside by the pond at Aubrey Hall. You and your brother brought me here to celebrate my birthday. Do you remember?” Keeping him talking seemed the best course of action.

“Outside at Aubrey Hall… You said we couldn’t talk about your age. Outside by the pond. By the pond.” His exhausted mind fought to put all the pieces together. Traces of memory sent a surge through him. “I was with Eloise! Eloise, where is Eloise?!”

“Ssshh, ssshhh,” Violet calmed him. “Anthony has her. She’s perfectly safe. She’s very worried about you though, so just hold on tight Benedict. Then we can go and tell her you’re alright.”

“She’s alright?” he asked again.

“Yes, darling. I promise.”

“And we’re outside,” he was talking more to himself than he was to her.

A new wave of pain swept over him but his screams had taken on the form of silent tears rolling down the ever-paling skin of his cheeks. Violet wanted desperately to take him away from here. To bring him to a place where he could find his stillness. And there was only one place she knew could do that.

“Yes, we’re outside. Look how beautiful the sunset is tonight. It holds all your favorite colors. The oranges are so vibrant.” The pain released him and his face softened as he took in his surroundings. This is how she would do it, keep his torment at bay. “Benedict, dear, come and paint with me. Tell me how you’d capture the sky. What colors would you need?”

He closed his eyes and a slow, small smile raised one corner of his mouth. “I’d need lots of oranges and yellows. But we can’t forget the pinks and purples that would streak the sky with richness. And of course, a lovely blue.”

“Blue?” she queried, wanting to understand the picture in his mind.

“Mmmhmm,” he hummed. His eyes fluttered open and peered into her own. His cold fingertips brushed lightly over her freckled cheek. “But not like your eyes. They’re so beautiful, but much too light for our painting mother. We need a blue so deep that it whispers the promise of the upcoming darkness. And we mustn't forget black and white to add shadows and light.”

“Of course,” she smiled. “That would just be silly of us. What else?”

His answers were still clear but they were taking longer to come. She prayed it was because he was lost in his reverie and not the exhaustion pulling him under. “Green. I’d like to include the trees along the water’s edge. The large ones that shade us in the summer. The ones you never used to let us climb.”

“You mean the trees I always found you at the top of regardless of my wishes?” she asked with humor in her voice.

“The very ones,” he grinned. “What about you mother, what would you like to add to our painting?” It always made her heart smile when he referred to his work as “ours.”

“How about the water itself? How would you do that?”

Another long pause filled the air. Violet looked over at the laboring Mr. Dorset whose face was scrunched in concentration. He showed no signs of admitting defeat and her hope was spurred on.

Benedict’s voice reached her ears, breathy and gentle. “The water would be textured in some parts, to show the life within it. But other parts would be still, perfectly reflecting the scene from above.”

She sat in silent admiration, tears dripping onto their clasped hands, and watched her son’s heart create. If she closed her eyes she could see it clearly, and it was brilliant.

Sounds of frustration pulled her attention back to the man working diligently to save her son’s life. “There’s nothing more I can do here. We need to get him to a cleaner environment. There are teas we can mix to help ease the pain and reduce fever. It’s just a matter of getting him transported safely. I’ll need help.”

“Of course. Whatever you need, Mr. Dorset, I will assure it is at your disposal. I am forever grateful to you for this.” If she wasn’t clutching onto Benedict for dear life, she would have stood to hug the man before her.

A weariness crossed his face that made Violet’s stomach sink like a stone. “I’m not sure if I am deserving of your gratitude just yet. But as I have said, I will do my best Lady Bridgerton.” He paused for a moment, contemplating his next course of action. “Will you be alright here with him alone for a few moments while I retrieve Lord Bridgerton, or would you prefer me to stay with your son and you relay the message for assistance?”

The thought of leaving Benedict now was utterly excruciating. “You may go. I should like to stay right where I am. But please, do hurry.”

She watched his retreating form disappear over the hill and reminded herself that his absence was only temporary. He would return with Anthony and whoever else they might find to help. He had a plan. A next step. And that was all she needed right now. The next step, one moment at a time.

Benedict’s grip loosened around her fingers and her eyes shot back to his face. He looked slightly more at peace, as if the pain had left him. Shaking gently she tried to rouse him. “Benedict… Benedict, open your eyes. We haven’t finished our picture. What else would you paint?”

Heavy lids blinked open languidly only to close again moments later. Her ears strained to hear him when he answered. “Nothing. I think we’ve finished, Mama. It’s darker now. Night is almost here. Do you like it?”

The ominous nature of his words froze the blood right in her veins. Taking a deep, stilling breath, she forced herself to respond. “It is my favorite one yet, darling.”

“Mmm,” came his spent response. “I’m so tired, Mama…”

She was openly weeping now. She had no more energy left to give to maintain the facade of a kempt composure. “I know sweetheart. Just a little while longer.”

She knew she was asking him for more than he could give. Clutching him to her chest, she kissed the side of his lulling head and wept. Her heart reached out to Edmund for strength as she listened to the muted sounds of Benedict’s shallow breathing. The only thing left she had to offer was prayer. “I beg of you, please don’t take my child. I’ll willingly offer my life in exchange. Please, not my baby…”

Because that is what he would always be. Even as she held him now, twice her size and fully grown, she still cradled her precious baby boy. A child with the most breathtaking heart and unparalleled capacity for compassion. A child with an inner light that this world desperately needs. 

Violet didn’t know how long she sat there rocking him back and forth. It was only when she felt Anthony’s warm hands pull her from the ground and into an embrace that she remembered that there were still other people in the world. 

There was nothing left to do. She was helpless to the will of fate. Forced to sit. Forced to wait…

~~~~~~~~~~

One Year Later

Violet stood alone in a crowded hallway of Somerset House. The sun cascaded in through the domed glass ceiling, covering the patrons and the art in its warmth. She was fixated on the image in front of her, studying the brush strokes and committing every rich color to her memory. It brought her a peace that she hadn’t known in a very long time. It was familiar and warm, reminding her deeply of someone she loved.

She could have stared at it for hours. It had a way of silencing the rest of the world and bringing her to a place of stillness. It granted her privacy to be in solitude but she never felt alone. One day, she would request permission to purchase the piece from Somerset so that she could place it in her home, but for now it needed to be here for the rest of London to see. 

She had been so immersed in her own little world that she hadn’t noticed the person settle in beside her. His deep voice startled her awake. “It’s much too cold. Where’s any sense of the subject’s spirit? And the light! Given the quality, I do wonder why the piece was not skyed with the other daubs.”

Looking up into his handsome, cheeky face, she smiled as far as her face would stretch. “Benedict, dear…”

He took her arm and tucked it securely around his own. “I knew I’d find you here. Wouldn’t you like to see some of the other artists? I’m sure you get quite bored of all my scribblings.”

She shook her head assertively. “I still maintain that this one is my favorite yet. When it is no longer on loan to Somerset House, I would like to have it for myself.”

“Anything you want, mother. I’d paint you the world if you asked.” he promised sweetly, kissing her on the cheek. “Come along, now. Anthony is looking for you.”

She took one last look at the painting and traced her fingers over the gold plate that held the title.

Outside by the Pond with Mother

Mr. Benedict Bridgerton

_________________________________________________

@bridgertontess @colettebronte @faye-tale @eleanor-bradstreet @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @angels17324 @musicismyoxygen84​

[fictionkinfessions]

It doesn't matter how long I'm out of the fandom. It doesn't matter how much people hate the source material, or bully us with kintypes from it. (Disclaimer: Yes, I am critical of its faults.) It doesn't even matter, apparently, if it has been YEARS since I last shifted to this kintype.

Guns and Ships will ALWAYS make me feel good.

🗣🗣 I'M🤺TAKIN‼️THIS HORSE🐴 BY THE REINS🏇🏇 MAKING ❗️REDCOATS❗️ REDDER 🆘 WITH🩸🩸🩸BLOODSTAINS!🩸🩸🩸AND I'M NEVER 🚫 GONNA ❌ STOP 🚫🛑 UNTIL I 🗣 MAKE 'EM DROP ☠️🏳 BURN🔥 'EM🔥 UP🔥 SCATTER 🤺 THE REMAINS🦴💀🩸WATCH👀ME👀ENGAGIN'⚔️'EM, ESCAPIN'🏃‍♂️💨EM, ENRAGIN'💥🤬'EM‼️I GO 🧍‍♂️➡️ TO FRANCE🇫🇷🇫🇷🇫🇷FOR MORE FUNDS,💰💶AND COME BACK ⬅️🏃‍♂️WITH MORE GUNS,🔫🔫🔫AND SHIPS🛳⛴🚢⚓️

Say what you will about Aaron Burr, but he was a good hype man! /affectionate /platonic

-Gilbert du Motier, Marquis de Lafayette (just tag the half of the name after the comma, please, I'm just being silly :P)

x

[randoimago]

Heya Kat, howya doing? Hope you've been well. I'm not on tumblr much anymore but I did want to check in and make a few requests. For Yukiko (Persona 4) and Ryukyu, the SFW Alphabet headcanons: A, C, D, F, I have a few more but I'll ask them in a seperate ask.

Alphabet Headcanons

Fandom: My Hero Academia // Persona 4

Character(s): Yukiko Amagi, Ryuko Tatsuma

Type of Request: Headcanons

Note(s): I'm doing okay, trying to treat myself better. Okay but I read this ask and thought you were putting "I" in this ask instead of the other one 😅 (the comma threw me off)

A = Affection (How affectionate are they? How do they show affection?)

Ryukyu

She can be affectionate but it really depends on how busy she's been. Some days she's very tired and would like to cuddle next to you as she naps. Days when she has more energy, she likes to hold hands with you, exchange kisses to the cheek, things like that.

Yukiko

She can be pretty affectionate, but only in private. Otherwise it'll be glances and a brush of your hands. But in private, she's a big fan of cuddles and just laying down together as you both talk about your day.

C = Cuddles (Do they like to cuddle? How would they cuddle?)

I kind of answered this already oops 😅

but yeah they're both big fans of cuddling, it just takes a bit.

Now for how they cuddle,

Yukiko is absolutely facing you as she burries her face in your chest. At first it was to hide how flustered she got. Now it's because she likes being able to feel your heartbeat.

Ryukyu is happy to be either the big or little spoon in cuddling. She likes feeling like she's protecting you, but also it's nice to rest and let someone else care for her too.

D = Domestic (Do they want to settle down? How are they at cooking and cleaning?)

Ryukyu

This is an interesting question for Ryukyu. While I think she wouldn't mind, I don't think she would. Just because a lot is going on in the hero world and she wants to continue being a hero and helping others. One day she'll be fine with retiring, but not anytime soon.

As for cooking and cleaning, she's good at both. Her cooking is pretty yummy but not any 5 star chef meals. She does enjoy cleaning though.

Yukiko

Eventually she would like to, but that's after she's confident with what she wants to do in life and she's proud of herself. She'll work on herself first but then she's happy to settle down.

She can clean, she's very good at cleaning. When it comes to cooking, well she's a lot better than she was. Her food is edible now. And she takes cooking lessons when she can! So she's trying.

F = Fiance(e) (How do they feel about commitment? How quick would they want to get married?)

Ryukyu

She's very committed when it comes to just about everything. But again, she wouldn't want to marry or be in a relationship anytime soon just because hero work is number one on her mind right now. Once she's sure things are fine for her to retire then she'll be glad to meet someone.

Yukiko

She does find herself daydreaming of finding a prince charming or a princess for herself some day. It's a silly daydream she has but she likes the idea of having someone that's always there for her and someone she can confide and trust in.

I = I love you (How fast do they say the L-word?)

Ryukyu

She says it pretty early. She knows that anything can happen any day and so she doesn't want to waste time with hiding her feelings.

Yukiko

She stutters on the word a lot. Yukiko wants to say it sooner than she's actually able to. Of course the process to get there does take a while, but when she realizes she's very flustered and trying to say her feelings only to stumble a bit.

[artzychic27]

Can you do the full songs of Six the musical miraculous style? The lyrics please?

It is taking me an embarrassingly long time to write the other songs, so… Here’s this for now

All I get to do

All I get to do, fandom

Let me remind you all, I’m Kurtzberg comma Nathaniel

All I get to do

All I get to do, fandom

Though I’m speaking and expressing, I’m still in the back, such a “blessing”

All I get to do

All I get to do, fandom

I’m dramatic? Remember Season 1?

I was new, it's true but even then I knew

The only thing I get to do is...

Season one, episode seven

My episode, this feels like heaven

Chloé’s there, taunting me

And the teacher told everyone I had a D

So I storm out the classroom, tears soon fall

My crush on Marinette revealed to all

I dropped my pencil on the floor

An akuma came, infected me, let’s start the show

It’s my time, yes, indeed!

This is how fans will remember me!

Sure, I didn’t get a victory!

But I’m sure I’ll get another lead

And maybe this is it

The ratings were great, it was a hit

And just look at all the fan works

Seems this red hair comes with a perk~

But all I get to do

All I get to do, fandom

Is draw, and groan, and headbutt a desk, yes

All I get to do

All I get to do, fandom

Is stand there, breathe there, and I guess dye my hair

Bring me back into the light

I wanna be known tonight

Season’s over

The only thing I get to do is...

But then there was another season

Season 2

And get this! I got my own episode!… Only one, though. But, we got a new character and… He turns out to be something amazing…

Jittery, easy on the eyes

Wouldn’t mind getting to know that guy

Mari says that he’s a writer

But he’s nervous, so here’s a plan devised by her

She gave me his notebook and I was thrilled

I thought these were Ladybug’s thoughts all spilled

And written in black and white, my heart was racing

Can you blame me? I just think that she’s amazing

This is it, a new day for me

Get to meet my crush after Mari

Who would’ve thought the plan had some faults?

But I’m to blame, so that’s on me

Then here’s what happened after the cure

Marc and I were shipped, the fans deemed it pure

They said we have a connection

I'm sure this will be different~

'Cause all I get to do

All I get to do, fandom

Is draw, and groan, and headbutt a desk, yes

All I get to do

All I get to do, fandom

Is stand there, breathe there, and I guess dye my hair

Give us a few minutes or four

NathMarc fans are craving so much more

The season’s over

The only thing I get to do is...

So… Season 2 was actually pretty good. Sure, Marc and I aren’t all affectionate like Rose and Juleka, cuz, you know… Children’s show. But then season 3 came around, and here’s what happened…

Season 3… Finally arrived.

Things start getting wild…

Lila’s back

She’s stirring trouble, and there I am alone at a lunch table

Pushed to the background once again

But now it’s Marc and I to the very end

With Lila comes salt fics, here’s what that means

Marc and I expose her in fics written by teens

How is it, the show’s own fans

Remember me? Give them a hand!

AO3’s the place for me

Is this how the fans all see me?

This is bliss, it feels so right

Screw the show, I know I’m loved

But what comes after Season 3?

Will the writers finally remember me?~

'Cause all I get to do

All I get do, fandom

Is draw, and groan, and headbutt a desk, yes

All I get to do

All I get to do, fandom

Is stand there, breathe there, and I guess dye my hair

There's no time for when or how 'cause season 4 is coming here and now

The season’s over

The only thing I get to do is...

So, it’s season 4, it’s getting tense…

New characters appear, fans are on the fence

I’m still with Marc, call this a win

In the episode, Hack-San, I’m his cherished item

The season’s okay, I will admit

We’re even part of an Adrinette bit

So sweet, including us in the plans

But all we do now is help the girl get her man

I thought, “Finally!”

This is all I want, the recognition I need

Sure, my day as a hero was a little rushed

But it’s my time, I get to shine

But then, there’s more to it

The Kwamis are gone, didn’t tell my friend “so long.”

Doesn’t look like there will be a happy end…

I thought this time was different

Why did I think it’d be different?

But it's never, ever different

'Cause all I get to do

All I get to do, fandom

Is draw, and groan, and headbutt a desk, yes

All I get to do

All I get to do, fandom

Ignore me, don't care if you don't see me

Forget me and leave me to

Stand alone against Akumas like Zombizou!

Season's over

Season's over

Season's over

The only thing

The only thing

The only thing I get to do is...

[tyrannuspitch]

tiny little petty thing that doesn't matter but. it does annoy me when ppl try to make angst out of thor's last words to loki in IW. "he called him the worst brother!! :(" no he literally didn't. he said "you really are the worst, brother." there was a comma. he was addressing loki as his brother, which is still a significant gesture of affection after he refused to do so in TDW, and after he was talking about parting ways in ragnarok. and "you're the worst" is such a childish and casual way of putting that sentiment that it practically makes it affectionate. it's far from my favourite bit of writing for thor, but it does successfully convey frustration, sadness and fear with underlying love and without real intent to cause hurt!! >:(

[princesssarisa]

This is inspired by @comma-after-dearest's poll about Victor and his parents in Corpse Bride.

I'd have a question for people who know West Side Story not just from the 2021 film remake, but from the original stage version and 1961 film too. What do you think of Maria and Bernardo's unseen parents, and the fact that Maria is willing to abandon them by eloping with Tony, on the same night they've lost Bernardo, no less?

Of course the 2021 remake simplifies things by omitting the parents and implying that Maria and Bernardo are orphans. But in the stage version and '61 film, their parents are explicitly still alive and around, they're just never seen. We hear them call for Maria from inside the apartment during the "Tonight" scene.

Now, they don't seem to have a bad relationship with their daughter, per se. When her father calls for her, he calls her by the affectionate nickname "Maruca," and she never complains about her parents, only about her overprotective brother. But she does say that they're strict with her, and that her father shares Bernardo's hostile attitude toward white Americans, so she doesn't dare let them know about Tony. The fact that they never appear might also imply that despite their strictness, their parenting tends to be hands-off; at any rate, they seem to let their son take charge of his younger sister's life much more than they do. Maria credits Bernardo, not her parents, with bringing her to New York. (Though how that would have worked I'm not sure – my best guess, since at one point Bernardo says that his parents don't know New York any better than Maria does, is that he emigrated alone first and built a life for himself, then sent for his parents and sister.) Bernardo is the one who's chosen Chino as her future husband; he's the one who apparently got her a job; and he's the one who allegedly never lets her do anything exciting until the dance at the gym.

Do you think the parents' flaws can justify Maria's willingness to run off with Tony, leaving them bereft of two children in one night? Juliet has a better excuse: her parents' abusive attempt to force her to marry Paris. But that plot element is gone from West Side Story; Maria is vaguely expected to marry Chino someday, but the only plot purpose it serves is to give Chino a motive besides Bernardo's death to kill Tony. Juliet's choice to fake her death and abandon her parents comes in response to their abusing her and to the immediate threat of being forced to betray Romeo and commit bigamy. But Maria's choice to run off with Tony is more exclusively about wanting to be with him and to escape from their violent surroundings.

Now I don't blame her a bit for wanting to escape, and the only possible way she can be with Tony is to run away with him. As the 2021 version of Anita points out, even if Tony managed to avoid serving jail time, he would never be safe or accepted by Maria's community after killing Bernardo. There's certainly no way her parents would have accepted their son's killer as a son-in-law! Still, it sometimes bothers me that Maria never shows any inner conflict about hurting her parents by leaving, when unlike Juliet's parents, they haven't done anything hurtful to her.

Could this be a moment when the writers adhered too closely to Romeo and Juliet without fully considering the changes they'd made to the context? I've read that accusation about Maria's quick forgiveness of Tony for killing Bernardo (i.e. she forgives him because Juliet forgives Romeo, when a brother's murder should have been harder to forgive than a cousin's), and about Anita trying to help the lovers even after Bernardo's death (would a girl as strong-willed as Anita ever agree to help her lover's killer escape justice, no matter how eloquently Maria pleaded?). Maybe this is another case like that.

So what do you think? Does Maria's choice to leave her parents cost her any of your sympathy? Or does the vague impression of their strictness and negligence justify it? Or does the stress of Bernardo's death and the threat of losing Tony justify it, with neither Maria nor her parents to blame? And is this issue a weakness in the writing, which the 2021 remake solves by killing off her parents, or not?

[onadarklingplain]

28, 34, 40 for the ask game!

28. Who is the most delightful character you’ve ever written? Why? i love this question! i think the answer has to be George. i've written his POV twice now, and he's just such a little freak (affectionate). he can be angsty, but when his problems are entirely of his own creation and thus easily solved, it's very fun. to answer another question from the list, the most stressful was definitely Charles (probably why i have not written him since). i think it's quite difficult to get the balance of his personality right, so i'm always in awe of all the people who write amazing Charles fic. 34. Thoughts on the Oxford comma, Go: obviously yes!! in general i would say that i have very clear, rigid ideas of what is appropriate punctuation use. and those ideas probably only makes sense to me, lol. people often tell me that i use too many commas in my writing but like..... fucking love a comma. give me all the commas!! 40. Please share a poem with me, I need it. the first one that came to mind is a poem i have accidentally memorised. The Return of Odysseus by George Bilgere

When Odysseus finally does get home he is understandably upset about the suitors, who have been mooching off his wife for twenty years, drinking his wine, eating his mutton, etc.

In a similar situation today he would seek legal counsel. But those were different times. With the help of his son Telemachus he slaughters roughly one hundred and ten suitors and quite a number of young ladies, although in view of their behavior I use the term loosely. Rivers of blood course across the palace floor.

I too have come home in a bad mood. Yesterday, for instance, after the department meeting, when I ended up losing my choice parking spot behind the library to the new provost.

I slammed the door. I threw down my book bag in this particular way I have perfected over the years that lets my wife understand the contempt I have for my enemies, which is prodigious. And then with great skill she built a gin and tonic that would have pleased the very gods, and with epic patience she listened as I told her of my wrath, and of what I intended to do to so-and-so, and also to what's-his-name.

And then there was another gin and tonic and presently my wrath abated and was forgotten, and peace came to reign once more in the great halls and courtyards of my house.

i love the pivot in this poem so so much, and i think about it literally every time i have a gin and tonic.

[frozenjokes]

I’m really excited to rip my teeth through Signing Back In, Apparently after I finish it. An actual revision probably isn’t going to happen anytime soon if at all, but there’s something very satisfying about smoothing out a story, especially one made up as you go in an autism induced fervor

as a treat, the only notes I have. silly to look back on because I was certain this was going to end at 16 chapters (dumbass /affectionate) just about everything here has been switched around, changed, or scrapped entirely. Merlin was born here as a “this is a horrible idea” moment. Ideal. Can’t live without my agender moth monstrosity.

kinda wish I had more of a writing process to share but this and my various doodle pages is like. It. I just blackout and when I wake up I have 3000 more words to share. I press post and hope to god my comma nightmare sentence disease isn’t too noticeable (it is everywhere)

[crimsongrimoire]

what are some of your favorite tropes sentences sayings phrases reoccurring processions of words in fics, either to read or write? Specifically like how in my opinion "fuck me until I can't X" and "nestled until they fell asleep" have such vibes?

and, are there any that you want to throw right in the trash? Like how "fuck my womb" makes my stomach feel moist (derogatory)

i haven't read much of anything fic wise in a While but some things stick with you idk. I could ctrl + f through my fics to find in depth stuff regarding writing but ill just go off the cuff

Good™️:

the ones mentioned are also extremely good actually. the vibes are there

i was actually thinking the other night about how weirdly horny the word ache is? i have no idea how to articulate it. it just Is. throb also. the vibes.

"come over here and do something about it" about literally anything

usage of the phrase "getting [one's] knees dirty" in the context of like. oral. hear me out. there's something about it

pay attention/eyes on me/look at me kind of stuff. the inherent homoeroticism of redirecting the attention of the object of your affections idk

one calling the other Theirs to a third party

for a non horny one, "you really don't need to worry about me" / "I DONT CARE IF I NEED TO IM GOING TO CAUSE YOU CLEARLY DONT! BE CAREFUL!!"

for klk specifically. light/dark symbolism. sun/moon symbolism. star symbolism. drives me insane affectionate

"keep moaning my name like that" and related phrases

i never feel like i do them enough justice consistently to have posted one but like. soft aftercare is so everything

shovel talks are endearing tbh. as with anything it depends on the execution but like conceptually i like them

"I beg your pardon?" / "then beg" is it cheesy and kinda dumb. for sure. however. it's funny

trash:

that one too, mostly because. like. that aint how that works. that would Hurt. and any talk of pregnancy really. "im gonna knock you up" type shit. like... just. don't. it's not sexy, esp as someone who doesn't want kids nor the ability to have them really its just. why... i don't get what's sexy about it. and the fact that oftentimes it's never been something tagged in consideration of. like yall have fun however that kills my investment and would likely make me wish i didn't start whatever I was reading. cringe inducing at best

hot take: yanderes as a general concept. always has been severely not my thing. everyone have fun, i honestly just find it annoying. immediate filter out of any results of whatever im looking at, full stop. there's a handful in some games and such i like and i straight up ignore those characters unironically I have zero time for that in my life. i bring it up cause it tends to be shoehorned into like ANY big weeby fandom SOMEWHERE

ngl it's hard to think of specific phrases i really haven't read anything in a while. i personally dislike the word chuckle idk. i don't mind seeing it places but it feels weird in my own writing. same goes for Most Words For Pussy, The Biggest Reason Why I Haven't Written Basically Any Femslash, All The Words Just Suck And It Feels Weird.

minor grammatical pet peeve actually. slightly bothered when dialogue tags are misused. like. "dialogue," she smiled. putting an expression after a comma rather than articulating anything about how it was said at all. like either close the statement and have that be unrelated or add some kind of other descriptor to the speech. slight but noticeable to me

[thebreakfastgenie]

⭐

I am going to take this opportunity (highly appreciated!) to talk about one of my personal favorite things I've written, Campfire.

I started writing this fic in the woods. I was literally in the woods (in Maine of course) and I had left my phone in the car because there was no reception anyway. And this fic just started coming to me in waves. Entire sentences. I was terrified I would forget it before I could write it down. When we went to the car for lunch, I grabbed my phone and quickly put some stuff in the notes app so I wouldn't forget.

And then we got home and my mom wanted to watch that Amazon Prime Cinderella movie and I just wanted to write. Aaaaaaa. So this is all leading into one of the things I'm not totally happy with, and probably why I think technically it's not quite on par with The Emergency Room, which is that I was so eager to get it posted the second half could have been better. It's not bad, but I'm not sure it's up to the first half.

The other thing I'm not entirely happy with is the title. It's fine, but I just went with it because I couldn't think of anything else, which is usually the case with my one-word titles.

The response to this fic was really gratifying, because I wasn't sure to what extent fans of a politics show would put up with what I affectionately thought of as summer camp bullshit. I'd had the image of Josh as a kid talking about his dead sister after being encouraged by a counselor, and everyone reacting uncomfortably, in mind for a long time.

My original vision for the summer camp section, when started writing it in the woods, was much darker. Josh remained a social outcast for the entire summer, and the focus was really on Irving. Irving was originally going to ruffle his hair during the breakfast scene, but I was worried that was too creepy, so I changed it to just a nod. I'm not sure that was the right call.

Before I left the woods, Issac, Barry, and Becca had demanded their existence, and Josh had friends. I looked up several alternative names for Becca, but ended up going back to my first choice. Two boys and a girl felt natural, but of course it mirrors Toby, Sam, and CJ.

I think my favorite part of this fic is the parallelism of "though they leave that part unspoken"/"though he leaves that part unspoken." I had quite a time trying to find books for Josh to read and I never really found one that was the exact level of recognizable I was going for. The little moment of guilt over tossing the bag is the sort of thing I would feel.

I named a kid with some minor significance Aaron, and people probably assumed it was a reference to Aaron Sorkin, but I honestly forgot that was his name. I was just looking for nice Jewish boy names to fill out the camp and it was hard because I didn't want to use names like David and Daniel that already belonged to somebody in the show. Alan from Hoboken is funny in hindsight because shortly afterward I would become obsessed with Alan Alda, famous for living in New Jersey.

"he knows that Cadillacs crash just as often as Chevrolets" I thought about googling the actual safety stats but I didn't. The choice of these two cars as a class signifier is entirely taken from Movin' Out by Billy Joel.

Something I think about a lot with Josh (especially but not exclusively in relation to Toby) is that he comes from a very privileged background, but he still has this major trauma. It's really very Jewish. That's why I wrote the part about "sheltered suburban kids." Then there's this:

What he learns is: they don’t talk about it.

I love this sentence to death in my head. I can hear the pause. I could not figure out how to make it look right. I tried a comma, a semicolon, and a colon, as well as no punctuation and just italicizing the second clause. I finally went with the one I hated least.

The genesis of the second half is that I've long believed CJ was the first of the main characters (aside from Leo, who as a friend of the family likely already knew) that Josh told about Joanie. I'm really invested in their sibling dynamic, and CJ is the one he talks to in The Crackpots and These Women. I had done this one-shot-two-narratives thing before with The Apple, and I really like it!

I'm really happy with this piece of dialogue in this scene:

“I’m sorry," she says, after a moment. “I mean, not I’m sorry. I'm just— I’m sorry seems so trite, but I can’t think of what else to say.” She takes a breath, composes herself. “I’m sorry I don’t know what to say.” Josh forces a sideways smile, wanting to reassure her. “No one does. It’s okay.” “It’s not,” she says. He shrugs, just one shoulder. “Maybe not.”

I wrote this story in September, a month that always gets a little weird and angsty for me as the anniversary of my best friend's death when I was ten approaches, and that definitely found its way into the fic. The details are all fictional, but Camp Greenfern is based on Camp Winnebago, where my grandfather's ashes were scattered.

I'd really like to write more about Josh and CJ, eventually.

[ohtobemare]

Hehehehe gimme

G: Do you write your story from start to finish, or do you write the scenes out of order?

&

H: How do you describe your style?

LOVE YOU!

Ohhhhh, miss cassie! You're too sweet for asking.

Question G: I write totally from start to finish, because I am not a monster (affectionately). I can't imagine trying to write scenes and then making them fit; then reworking OTHER scenes to fit THAT scene and--oof, pass the Advil. Makes my head hurt...

Question H: Like the style of writing and actual prose, or how I like plan/approach? I'll answer both!

I consider myself to be a super flowery writer. I'm wordy and tend to be over descriptive and I cut my stuff a lot in post. I'm also one of those girls that will live and die by the comma to string too-long sentences together. Whoops.

As for organization, I'm kinda a planster. I don't REALLY have a formal plan or anything outlined, I kinda just have a working idea and make it fit, but I do keep some notes regarding my characters and things that need to happen.

Half the time I just see the story in my head like a movie and write what I see, which HAS gotten me into some trouble. I'm working to be a better writer and actually writing stuffs down.

My toxic trait is editing after I post soooooooo---

[tons-of-vball-huns]

could u maybe do a post thats kenma x male reader (or gender neutral, whatever you’re comfortable with !!) where the reader and kenma are hanging out together at kenmas house, and the reader realizes they like him bc he asks to hold their face bc their eyes are so pretty <3 idk just rlly wholesome cutsey affectionate non sexual face holding

like hand on ur cheeks <3 and like kenma asks to hug the reader bc they get really uncomfortable w hugs but they feel okay to get hugged that day

i hope youre having a good day, and if you’re not, hopefully you find time to do something u enjoy :)

sorry my brain is scattered 😭/gen

[a/n: wait that sounds so cute! i have to do this asap because Y E S. thanks for the request, anon! also, i’m making it a gn!reader because that’s kinda like how it usually go about it and i changed it a tiny bit. btw, sorry for being late! love you, keep being you <3]

requests are open! i might be a bit late with the posting because my sat is coming up this saturday.

request is below the cut!

starring: k. kenma

type: fluff. fluffy fluffy fluff

warnings/others: unhealthy sleeping habits. weird formatting. commas galore. intended lowercase. use of “heck” and “hell”.

wc: 793 words

fun fact: kenma gets clingy and weirdly cuddly when he’s feeling tired or sleepy and even sleeps while cuddling a large dog plushie. he also takes the brain filter out and just says what he says without a thought and, in his opinion, acted like a drunk person.

fun fact: he would rather die miserably than let other people know about this. he hides the dog inside a suitcase whenever he leaves his room and has even made an elaborate plan to escape to brazil and start his life over if anyone gets even a single clue.

and if we extrapolate this data and think with common sense? you didn’t know either.

after a long day of school, you decided the best course of action was to just follow kenma home and hang out. it was a friday, and your family went out of town for the weekend, so you didn’t have to worry about returning home on time. besides, you’ve been hanging out forever, you knew no one would even bat an eye.

the two of you decided to play some video games to pass the time.

and that is how you ended up staying up until 7:37am.

one thing about kenma is that although he can easily get up at 2am to play, he has almost zero experience of staying up that long in at least 5 years. and coupled with the day before being an extra-long day — you had to write over 3 pages of notes for one class, had to run 5 laps for pe, and volleyball practice was extended until 5:30pm. he even woke up at 3am the night before to play on his console. he was rightfully more exhausted than usual.

kenma seemed to be weirder than usual to you now. he could barely keep his eyes open now, but neither could you, not after staying up for longer than 24 hours, so that definitely wasn’t it. was it the way he-

kenma placed his controller down and moved a bit closer to you, “wanna hug. can i hug you, (name)?”

you stared at him for a second. yeah, he was definitely acting strange, but he looked absolutely adorable in your opinion. his hands were outstretched, his eyes bleary and barely open, slightly furrowed brows, the tiniest hint of a pout on his cute, pink, kissable li- huh? no. where was your mind going to? you shook your head, “sure? i don’t really mind.”

“i’m happy you said you didn’t mind,” kenma muttered, nuzzling into your neck. “you always said you didn’t really like them so i was a bit worried you wouldn’t wanna.”

you awkwardly patted his back once, twice. this felt like a hallucination, what the heck was even happening? kenma never seemed to be the type to ask for hugs — usually, it was kuroo who was the one who asked for hugs. and you usually weren’t entirely comfortable with hugs, so why the hell did you say you “didn’t really mind”? and why was your cheek a little… warm? the ac was on full-blast, it doesn’t make sense! staying up for 24+ hours does some things to you.

beside you, kenma had stopped snuggling into your neck and moved a tiny bit farther, “hey hey (name)? is it alright if i… hold your face?” he noticed the puzzled look on your face, “it’s just that… your eyes look pretty, like super pretty. i wanna take a closer look. so can i?”

you tentatively nodded your head a little, still super confused. kenma’s face broke into a cute little smile as he shuffled closer to you and put his hands on your cheeks and pulled your face closer, his hands squishing your cheeks in the process. his hands felt incredibly cold against your warm, warm cheeks. you let out an involuntary shiver at the different temperatures.

“woahhh. so pretty, (name). your eyes look really pretty. i wanna keep looking at them forever,” he said, transfixed by your eyes.

you honestly thought your eyes weren’t all that special — you saw them daily so they kinda lost their appeal to you. maybe that was why you felt that feeling in your chest and stomach — fluttering, fluttering, fluttering like pretty little butterflies —, you never thought they looked pretty so maybe that’s why felt so flustered, your cheeks turning warmer, warmer, warmer? or maybe — you looked into kenma’s warm, excited eyes as he was squishing your cheeks and giggling and rambling about your “beautiful eyes” and how much he loved them — was it because it was him?

three months later, you still loved to tease him about that moment, watching his cheeks turn scarlet in an instant. but however embarrassing it was for him, he was glad it happened.

[mirohtron]

The hero felt a lot like lines of cables short-circuiting. Sparks flying around, travelling from one pole to another in the dead of night. Okay, yes, this was a mission. A joint mission. So that the hero and villain wouldn't be blown to bits. So they had to pretend to be in love. But—but—

"You are the most affectionate lover I've ever had."

The villain bit their neck and pinched their side to rightfully shut them up. The hero gripped their shoulders a lot like they were going to collapse if they didn't, even though they were sitting on a goddamn couch. They were convinced if they stood up right now they'd deflate and fall down like a sad balloon boy at a closing circus.

"For someone who's officially dating me you're still acting like a high schooler with a crush."

Was it okay to tell them that they never had crushes in high school because they were too busy building their college portfolio so they don't really know how to handle crushes or how to appropriately crush on people and were they rambling? Yes. They were a trained superhero with superpowers rambling because their pretty enemy was faking feelings for them and kissing them on a couch on a Saturday night and this entire paragraph needs commas. Commas are unnecessary. The hero needs to stop thinking. They need to respond to the villain if they want to live. They, need, to, respond. That's enough commas to make up for the lack of commas. Shut the fuck up! Why aren't the tenses consistent?!

"We made it official two hours ago." The hero slipped in a little giggle that would hopefully charm the villain. Oh, god, they were down horrendous. They knew this entire conversation was being recorded, and their shitty sidekick was probably howling because they constantly teased the hero for blushing easily because of the villain and said shitty sidekick had no regard for the hero's life.

The hero yelped when the villain pushed them down, straddled. Their cheeks burned like boiling tomato soup and the villain gave them a strangely reassuring smile. They didn't even know the villain was capable of reassurance.

"You know I've liked you for a long time," the villain murmured softly. They held the hero's numb fingers, sparks igniting there. "You're perfect to me. Of course I'm going to be as affectionate as I can."

The hero blinked, trying to look a little dazed. They had a degree in theatre, put it to work. Gay little theatre kid. That line was so funny the hero giggled again and made it look like they were lovestruck. Amazing, Oscar-worthy performance. The hero pulled the villain down and kissed them softly and traced out a heart on their chest.

"I love you."

The villain hummed right near their jugular and whispered it back and sent the hero's poor heart into a fit. And obviously they felt it against their lips, because they kissed that spot softly and smiled up at the hero. Cunning jerk. They kissed the hero's tomato soup-hot cheek and offered to order pizza. They kept up their act, waited for help to arrive, and the villain didn't mention the jugular, even after they were sent back to their respective headquarters. That was fine. No it wasn't. The hero kept trying to get them alone and that warranted for more of their sidekick's teasing.

"They probably think you're an idiot," their sidekick said one night, snorting and giggling obnoxiously. That gave the hero a reasonable excuse to walk to the sidekick's bed and hit them with a pillow as hard as they possibly could. The next time the sidekick said anything the hero threw a beer bottle at them. They missed.

(Unfortunately.)

"You keep looking at me like that," the villain said as they pinned the hero to the wall with a knife. Already this was very suspicious, because the villain was a fucking disappointment with short-ranged melee weapons. The only "sword" they owned was about twenty inches long and could turn into a gun. The fact that they had learned how to wield a knife just for this was highly concerning.

It was nice that the hero was focusing on that, because they knew the moment they thought about their proximity too much they would start blushing.

"Like what."

"You keep looking at my lips every time we fight."

The hero nearly wailed. They hated direct people.

"I'm thinking about how to cook your tongue."

The villain tilted their head and smiled like a jackass. "Sure. Anyway. You know we'll have more missions like that in the future, right?"

The hero managed to make their laugh sound like one of disbelief. They absolutely hated how they wanted to giggle out of... what, some emotion crushes evoked? They finally understood mad scientists who didn't understand emotions even though they studied chemistry. Bitches just wanted to compartmentalise their emotions so they wouldn't make a fool out of themselves. Love is simply a chemical reaction. This was not love, this was like!

But, oh, wow, they could kiss the villain more. Stop. No thoughts. Head empty.

"You're... kidding?" Where was that stupid acting degree? They had to minor in stage production to get it god damn it.

"Uh-uh." The villain quickly pocketed their knife and the hero was spun. "So, I was thinking, since we're going to have to act so... into each other, we could maybe practice outside of those missions."

The hero didn't quite catch that. They were more focused on the hands casually running down their back and then up and then around their side and then their shoulders like very very comfortable snakes and we, need, commas, now. Enough commas. The hero thought they were having a battle with the gods with how much the voice inside them demanded they casually press their cheek against the villain's chest. What a pretty villain. Such a warm chest. They were very nice to hug and kiss during the mission.

"So, what do you say?"

The hero managed a very eloquent, perhaps even Einstein-level smart, Shakespeare-esque charming "Oh?"

Such a thought-provoking question. The hero should kill themself right now.

The villain tapped their foot somewhat like an excited child, a charming, signature smirk on their face.

The hero blinked. "Did you just... ask me out?"

"Yes. Yes, I did."

Where was the acting degree? Act charming. "Cool." Not charming. "I... like you."

"I know."

...Yeah. The hero should really kill themself right now. "I would like to. Go out with you." Stop sounding like a brick! "I think I really like kissing you."

The villain grinned, and oh the hero was just realising they'd never seen the villain this excited. Oh. Oh, they learned how to work with a knife for this? Oh. The hero was special!

The villain spun them around again and booped their nose. "Are you free tomorrow at ten p.m?" The hero nodded. They thought their nose was twitching like a bunny. The villain never, ever booped anybody's nose. The hero felt a lot like tomato soup again. Boiling hot. Overcooked. "Great! Let's meet at a coffee shop at ten. It's a date!" They clapped rather excitedly, then pulled their cape to cover their mouth like they were Batman, and that made the hero blink, and then the villain was gone with a comical whoosh. Wow. The villain really liked making use of their wind abilities in tiny ways.

The villain just asked the hero out. Amazing. Splendid. Holy shit. They pressed a hand to their nose to make it stop feeling funny.

They should brag about this to their sidekick.