#There's one more book coming as well lol

[vargaslovinghours]

Avoid it all, that’ll solve it

[coquelicoq]

the existence of the governor module is so interesting to me. if constructs are made for a specific purpose and feel inherently driven to fulfill that purpose, why the need for a separate (and punitive) motivational add-on? if a secunit naturally provides security for humans because that's its essential function, then probably most of the time a secunit gets a zap from the governor module it's because a human told it to do something that goes against that function. the CR made the constructs and the CR is all about control, so it's no great surprise that the corporations have built in a mechanism to ensure that constructs have to do what they say even when it makes no sense and gets in the way of achieving their stated objectives. but does murderbot understand this? by negating its governor module, murderbot has removed a fundamental aspect of its own identity (the "no free will" part that is baked into all constructs), but at the same time, it has made itself more capable of fulfilling its function (which is supposed to be the same thing as its identity). rogue secunits may be less secunity than regular secunits, but they are better at secuniting.

at the beginning of the series, mb makes it sound like it hacked its governor module because having a governor module was standing in the way of its mission to half-ass its job as much as possible. as time goes on, it lets slip that actually it hacked the governor because it wanted to be able to stop itself from being taken over and forced to commit another massacre. and it's also clearly aware of many times when it is only able to save a human because it can ignore commands. but it keeps asserting that rogue secunits are inherently dangerous, when if anything, isn't the greater threat a secunit under the control of a corporation that doesn't have either the secunit's or the human clients' best interests at heart? in other words, any secunit with a fully functioning governor module?

[sysig]

It’s all Fanfic silliness if you back up far enough (Patreon)

[foxy-knowledgeseeker]

reblog with your fave atla fight and why. i wanna know all your opinions. for the serotonin. :)

[starbuck]

“Moonbeam Rays” is a fantastic song but it’s impossible to associate with characters in Black Sails because it’s about someone who’s positively euphoric about leaving a bad situation which like. COULDN’T BE ANY OF THEM LOL

[kohakhearts]

Relationship(s): Harry Potter & Lily Evans Potter, Harry Potter & James Potter, Harry Potter & Severus Snape Warnings: Major Character Death, Graphic Depictions of Violence Chapters: 2/? Word Count: 13.5k

Harry had given up hope of ever getting his chance at a family long ago, years before he even got his Hogwarts letter. But when in the midst of the war against Voldemort he suddenly gets an opportunity to have the family that was always supposed to be his, he must face a difficult choice: Return to the war that has torn this family away from him, or hold on to his heart’s deepest desire?

[wavesmp3]

i understand now

[amelia-yap]

Yeah, we're procrastination and neighbour buddies (omg u rmb...) whEEZE. Cb (snickers) here wasn't as bad but hooooly my studies... I have like overdue tutorials and I've been ignoring my lectures and quizzes (rip honestly)... Catching up on my lab now but I just randomly rmb'd u for some reason and came back to check. Well, I wouldn't say we're both doing well but uh. We're hanging in there? 😂😂😂 Pats u fam, we can do this... Somehow...

haha oof good luck on your lab stuff lol

catching up to studies really sucks.

[lilly-white]

Why does listening to someone else’s nonsense-world make me yearn so much for my nonsense-world, goddamnit, I was fixed on my writing trajectory this year and I’m changing plans again

[avenger-hawk]

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[novakstiel]

customers in bookstores really be like “i don’t remember the name of the book or the author or what the cover looks like or what the book is about or what genre it belongs in but there was a review of it in a magazine you’ve never heard of 15 years ago, you know which book i’m talking about, right?”

[loladiamond01]

So, this is the mood board I did for my legacy founder, Madelyn Rosenthal, sometime at the beginning of 2018... I thought it'd be fun to post it here. I still really like the quotes. I've been kind of missing her lately, as the thought of going back to tweak generation 1 doesn't want to leave me alone.

[fingertipsmp3]

It is the year 2547. The final Shadowhunter Chronicles book has come out. Against my will, my skeleton rises up from the grave to read it. The protagonist is Jace Herondale’s mother’s cousin’s cat’s friend’s great-nephew. New York is the setting. New York no longer exists.

[banglatown]

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[prismatic-bell]

as youre very both old school fandom and also someone who works to preserve old fandom content, what do you think is the best way to print off and preserve fanfics? I've been wanting to start to move my many many many archived pdfs into actual physical copies but ive been way too intimidated to really look deep into it so I was wondering if you had a preference

Okay, so.

My preference is "yes." Yes, I want you to archive them. Yes, I want you to save them. I've worked to preserve 1960s teen pulp mags, for fuck's sake, it can't get much worse than that, and I'm grateful to have them.

With that said, pick any or all of the following options to make your physical printouts last longer: --select acid-free paper --bind by sewing, not stapling --store in archival sleeves, like the ones you use for old comic books And now, pick any or all of the following options to make my life easier as a historian (or, you know, the lives of the historians who come after me): --include the title --include the author's name --include the fandom name --include which version of the canon, if relevant (e.g. the OG Transformers show vs the Michael Bay movies) --include the date, or at least year, of publication --include the summary --include the site of origin, including the URL All of these things are called provenance and help not only to identify a specific work, but to place it within its cultural context. As an amusing example: I recently got into James Bond, and decided to go through every fic in the main pairing tag, in chronological order. There came a point where suddenly, out of nowhere, there were like two solid pages of nothing but A/B/O, which I previously had not seen at all. I had a suspicion, so I looked it up, and sure enough--those two pages appeared within just a couple of weeks of the corresponding Supernatural episode. Having publication dates let me determine that. If I were a historian trying to piece together a long-ago puzzle instead of going "lol I live on the hellsite, I bet I know exactly where this came from," that would be a huge datapoint. I could probably find a similar sudden explosion in other fandoms, as well--and if we're going far enough in the future, if Supernatural were to just vanish off the face of the planet along with its entire fandom, historians could still trace that it existed and even determine some of its events based on when certain tropes begin to appear in other fandoms. And further, the fact that its tropes and major events appear in so many other fandoms would allow those historians to say "this must have been a very, very popular story." (This isn't just me making shit up to sound important, by the way. This is literally how we have records of a lot of things throughout antiquity and even into the Renaissance. The more copies there are of something, or the more references that are made to a thing in other things, the more likely it is for at least part of it to survive. This is literally how we know about Shakespeare's two lost plays--he was a popular enough playwright that quartos of his plays were advertised for sale.) Whew! Now let's get into stuff you could do that would make me, as a historian, scream with delight if I were to open your folder full of labeled, acid-free fanfiction fifty years from now: --write a little something about why you picked this particular fic to preserve in hard copy when doing so is bulky and time-consuming compared to the easy instant storage of the internet, yes, even if your reason is "I'm trying not to use my phone in bed because the screen keeps me awake but this story is soothing to reread" --write a little something about who you are, even if it's just "my name is X, my age is Y, I live in Z, I printed this out in 2022" And last but not least: Marginalia. Marginalia. Marginalia, my beloved. That's when you write your thoughts in the columns on the sides, underline stuff, circle it, and so on. Having marginalia means I actually get a window into your thoughts as you read--your perspective, stuff that stuck out to you, places the story made you feel some kind of serious emotion. And yes, this goes for everything. Villain A kills Hero B and you write "YOU MOTHERFUCKER" in the margin, that tells Future Historian Me that you really loved Hero B, you were invested in seeing her succeed, and that this scene really resonated with you. One of my most treasured possessions in the fandom museum is a copy of the novelization of the Help! movie the Beatles did. This particular copy is very worn--unsurprising, it was a cheap paperback even when it was printed--but also, its original owner apparently took it to the movie theatre and

wrote notes in the margins indicating all the things happening onscreen that weren't in the book. What does this tell me? WELL. Let's go ahead and take a look: 1) the written ink doesn't look any newer than the book, so I'm guessing a little when I say this was the original owner and in the theatre, but I have an actual datapoint I'm basing that on 2) based on handwriting and the main demographic of the Beatles audience at the time, this was a young woman, probably a teenager. 3) she went to see the movie more than once (some notes are in pencil, some in ink, but the handwriting is all the same) 4) she was dedicated to making sure every moment of the movie was preserved. This was an era before home video players, so once the movie left theatres, she had no guarantee of seeing it again. 5) while the book is worn, it's not beaten all to shit. It was read a lot, but there's no evidence it was mistreated, so it was probably a prized or at least respected possession.

What can I extrapolate from this, with the understanding that I mean "what theories can I reasonably form but not prove"? Well. She was probably a pretty big fan, since she went to see the movie at least twice and also bought the book. Maybe she wanted to keep the story after the movie was gone. Maybe she was looking for answers for some teen mag contest like "find these things in the Help! movie and win a chance to meet the Beatles." Maybe she had a friend who wasn't allowed to go to the movie. You know what the most tantalizing possibility is to me, although I'll never be able to prove it and actual ethics as a historian mean I can only present it as one among many possibilities? Maybe she did it as a source reference for writing fanfiction. We don't know. We can't know, because I have no idea who the original owner was or if she's even still alive and no way to trace her. But that? In terms of fandom history, that is a fucking gold mine. Pure 24-karat all through. From a strictly historical view, that's worth more than the animation cel I've got in there, and I paid over a hundred bucks for that thing.

So yeah! That was a lot of words to say "just do it." But there's your answer!

[delphispoeticals]

EN GARDE

benedict bridgerton x fem!reader

warnings: regency courting etiquette, gender roles/sexism, use of ‘lady’ and ‘she/her’ and ‘woman’, flirting, benny being absolutely in love with you, improper smooching, few innuendos, a smidge of heavy petting.

word count: 5.6k

blurb: where you care too much about what your mother thinks, much to your siblings dismay, it almost guides all of your decisions. but when you rely on what you want... you find it to be rather rewarding — starting with a simple game of fencing. En Garde.

a/n: i’ve written so many drafts, but i think im really gonna post this one lol. i haven’t written goodies about men in a WHILE so forgive me if it’s bad you guys :((

.

.

“Mama is going to have more than a word with you when she finds out about this, Antoine.” 

“Wouldn’t you rather participate in an activity you’re actually good at, than just… Promenading around the yard?” He scoffed, using an overdone posh accent. 

The mama you shared was very particular when it came to the season of your debut. You happened to be the first daughter of the Sinclair Household, out of two, to debut into society. Which meant, all eyes were on you – technically. Coming from a well-renowned family, many people held many expectations for you. And, the Ton couldn’t wait to deliberate about someone who slightly strayed from tradition and normalcy. That could easily dampen the reputation your family built through years of networking.

It should also be mentioned that your father is the ultimate source for how the Ton perceives you – he’s a Marquess, anointed by the Queen. So, maybe it wasn’t only high society you had to look out for. 

It was the lovely lady who governed, her grace. 

Which makes this rendezvous, with your favorite suitor, all the more complicated. Antoine was very adamant about ensuring your happiness. As your brother, that was his job – so he claims. Antoine, is a very generous elder brother – honestly, better than most. Better than his own friends who happened to share the title. The season had only begun a month ago, but he’d noticed that you hadn’t caught the eyes of anyone in particular. Your family was high enough in society to at least attempt a love match – he knew you deserved that much.

So, he examined the pool of eligible men around him. Choosing to ignore their overbearing sexual history, since he himself was questionable in that department. His character was separate from his reputation with women – which wasn’t that thick of a book, by the way. Antoine was a good man who just so happened to love the company of beautiful women. He was simply a product of what society enabled – and there were more like him. 

He didn’t want to be biased, so he began with Mr. Lumley. He was an attractive young man whose record was clear. Mr. Lumley had already called for you, offering you flowers and such. But, you weren’t completely sold. You accompanied him to a ball hosted by the Abernathy’s, but no flutters were felt. And, you were determined to feel those flutters.

Next, he jumped to his closest friends – the Bridgerton’s. Whom of which you met on plenty of occasions. Antoine didn’t care to consider the Viscount, being that he was familiar with how he desired his future. His first consideration was Colin. He was kind and harbored that love for adventure that you did. However, he notice a subtle glance he gave to Penelope Featherington and decided not to tread on that territory. Finally, the artist of the family, Benedict. Antoine had noticed the two of you got on nicely – more than nicely. That’s when he began to plant his seeds of love – he calls it. 

When your brother found a trashed sketch of your face… He knew his meddling worked. 

Antoine is more than positive he’d helped you find your match. So it didn’t matter what your mama thought, or even the Ton. He was a genius.

In a little over forty-eight hours, Lady Bridgerton is planning to host a ball at Aubrey Hall. You were invited as a noble guest, being that you were being courted by her second eldest. And, there you were standing walking down the backyard steps of the manor with your brother – complaining. He had proposed a date to your potential lover. A date that isn’t very ladylike of you to participate in – even if you were fantastic at the art of it. Your mother had come a day later than the two of you, and she’ll be in Kent sometime this day. If she saw you… 

“This isn’t an activity for a future wife, Antoine.” You may have been quoting your mother, but her words often rang true. And, even if it wasn’t it’s not like you had the reigns, as a woman, to tempt fate. Spinster age was around the corner. 

Fencing. What a lovely sport. If only you could proudly proclaim your love for it. 

You were wearing the same beige frock you wore when playing with your siblings. It had long billowing sleeves, but the bodice was still firm to your bust. Stylishly laced at its edges. “Since when did you care what future wives did?” He grumbled, dressed in his white fencing attire, holding both of your swords. “You knew Benedict before your debut-”

“And he wasn’t interested until my debut!”

“That changes nothing, y/n. If he didn’t like you we wouldn’t be here now. And, we most certainly wouldn’t be walking across a field to go fencing behind bush-lining.” 

A nervous sigh fell from your lips, as you waddled across the grass. The pair of you were meeting Benedict and his brothers a little ways from the back of Aubrey Hall. “The one thing you can trust is my word, sister. I would never steer you wrong.” He patted your shoulder, sliding his arm along them to pull you closer. 

The sun was blinding your eyes as you approached the shaded area, fortunately, shaded. One of your arms slides around the middle of his back, leaning on him to gather your strength. You’ve never been the type to be insecure – maybe this season was messing with you. Not once have you ever been hesitant to show off your skills. The stress of being a debutante, even while officially courting, was changing you. Was this the path to becoming a woman – watering down your passions, or feeling bad if you didn’t? 

Smile.

“Lord and Lady Sinclair,” Anthony spoke, bowing his head shallowly, while the pair of you approached. The two other brothers do the same.

“Anthony,” Antoine boyishly grinned.

“Viscount Bridgerton,” You disconnected from your brother to dip coyly. “Mr. Bridgerton… Mr. Bridgerton.” Your eyes flickered from Colin to Benedict – the artist that held your heart between his hands. Antoine joked about with the boys, patting their shoulders playfully. 

Benedict leaned down to speak lowly near your ear. “How come you didn’t tell me you knew the art of fencing?” He raised an eyebrow. The sensation of his warm breath on the side of your neck and the shell of your earlobe. A dry giggle left your lips, looking up at the tallest brother. In truth, it was because of your mother’s nagging voice in your head. But, you couldn’t share that. Of course, not. 

“It simply never came up – slipped my mind, forgive me.” 

“No need to ask for forgiveness…” Benedict leaned closer to your ear once more. “I already knew. You can thank your brother for that.”  

In response, exhaled forcefully, glaring at the back of Antoine’s head. Thanks a lot, now I look like a liar. Rolled your eyes, stalking towards him with a bit more ferocity than you walked in with. Anthony nodded his head in your direction, causing him to turn around with an absent mind – looking directly above your head. “Antoine!” You sharply called. He immediately looked down, meeting your height. “Are we fencing or not – we do not have all day.” You pull the fencing sword from his hand, turning on your heels. 

“Ah, my bad, sister. We shall begin… Benedict.” Antoine looked at the man standing back behind you, a smirk curling on his lips. He prepared to step forth, but you held your hand out. Your palm hovering over his chest. 

“No, not yet. Antoine…” You pointed with your dulled sword. “You first.” Benedict’s eyes never leave your frame, watching as you command his attention. He takes a few steps back, wandering to sit on the bench along with the other Bridgertons. 

Antoine inhales, hanging his head briefly with a mischievous smirk. “Ah… There’s the y/n I like to see.” 

“En Garde, brother.”

You place your non-dominant hand on your hip, using the other towards your opponent. Your eyes were carefully trained on Antoine, squinting intimidatingly, positioning your feet. He readies, doing just the same. Your brother and you had been in this position plenty of times, and often they ended with him laying in the grass. Rarely ever you. “Antoine, remember, this is your sister – she is a lady. Take it easy on her.” Anthony teasingly called, glancing over towards you. 

A scoff fell from your lips as you lunged toward your brother, colliding his sword with yours. “Save the insults for when you’re on the end of my sword, Lord Bridgerton.” Antoine lunged toward you, but you jumped back avoiding the contact of the dull sword. You hummed, cockily swinging your weapon. The sound of the swords clashing filled the space, with little grunts from the both of you. Antoine managed to get two taps against your waist, and you managed to get one on his. However, as per, he ended up kissing the grass. 

You laughed in victory, bowing to the small audience. “Who’s next?”

Minutes flew by as you tackled both Anthony and Colin Bridgerton – successfully knocking them to the ground. You actually had to go against the eldest brother thrice before he completely gave up. Which only earned giggles from Benedict as he lounged on the bench. 

“Do not laugh yet, brother. Laugh when you prevail that storm of a woman – Lady y/n, I mean. My apologies.” 

“Your mistake was purposeful, Lord Bridgerton.” 

You responded, as your eyes followed Benedict as he positioned in front of you – sword in hand. A competitive twinkle glimmered in his blue eyes as he straightened his posture. “I do apologize for my brother’s — they’re not known for challenging their opponents.” 

“Lies! Lies, you tell!” Colin exclaimed, pointing at the artist.

With a chuckle, you circled that vertically gifted man. “And… You are?” You raised a single eyebrow, hitting his sword with your own. The trace of a smile being left on your lips, batting your eyelashes at him. “A gentleman shall never go back on his word. Are you going to challenge me, Mr. Bridgerton?” 

“Only if you wish, my love.” 

A beat. 

Your eyes widened, lips parting in awe. But, easily your eyebrows deepened in determination. He was playing dirty. Using his sparkling eyes and boyish smirk to dismantle your throne. “Charm — a devilish trick. Don’t let his advances disturb you, y/n.” Antoine supported, leaning on his knees intently. 

“Wouldn’t dream of it.” 

Benedict lunged, but you dodged. Your eyes were glued to his eyes. Honestly, if your families weren’t near — you’d probably toss the dull weapons to the side and pounce on the man. Benedict didn’t have to speak to charm you. A simple glance was all you needed. “Ouch.” He placed a hand on his chest, feigning pain. “I would hope that my charm disturbs you a little.” 

You raise your eyebrows, tapping your swords again. “Disturbs me or flatters me?” 

“Perhaps, both.” He pauses, as you lunge toward him. Barely grazing his arm with the thin blade. You curse under your breath, biting the inside of your mouth. “To leave you utterly enamored is, in fact, a goal of mine.” 

Hm. You hum, smiling with your bottom lip stuck between your teeth. Technically, he’s met that goal on many occasions — he just couldn’t know that for sure. “Is it, now? How’s that working out for you?” He lunges towards you, the sounds of your swords clashing multiple times. Your non-dominant hand gripped the skirts of your dress as you backed up into the treeline. 

Benedict shrugs, backing up and gathering his breath. “Fairly well, I believe.” 

“You think?” 

“I know-“ 

His voice was cut off by the pinched tone of a stressed mama. You immediately freeze, pivoting and holding the sword behind your back. There she was stomping across the grass, with your younger sister following behind, begrudgingly. “Mama,” You fought a frown with a smile. Benedict had slowly walked behind you, taking the sword from your hands. Thankfully, you sent him a smile. 

“Mama, you’ve arrived in Kent! Welcome.” Antoine tried, standing from the bench. 

“Marchioness Sinclair, it is truly a pleasure,” Anthony spoke, elbowing his brother to speak. “Truly.” Colin co-signed, bowing his head. 

Your mother was fuming, smoke was practically coming from her ears. “What is the meaning of this nonsense, y/n?” She questioned, deliberately. You adjusted how you stood, looking back at Antoine. He shrugs, trying to think of something on his feet that could save the both of you. 

Then, he stepped forward — Benedict, not your brother. “I asked her to join my brothers and I for a round…” He glanced down at you. “Or two. I heard she was quite a force to be reckoned with when it came to fencing, and I was only curious.” His eyes gleamed whenever they were set on you, examining your uncomfortable stature. 

She eased, sighing. Her scrutinizing eyes softened at the words of the young man. Even so, her presence spoke loudly for her. She was a Marchioness. “Is this true, y/n?” 

“Yes! Absolutely!” You may have answered too quickly. “Mr. Bridgerton graciously thought to include me, based on mere hearsay… Very polite of him.” You nodded, sharing a tight-lipped smile with your mother. She crossed her arms over her satin bodice, squinting her eyes — glancing from you to Antoine. 

“Hm. Very well.” A beat. 

Her eyes landed on each party, suspiciously. 

“I’ll be waiting to hear of your victories, y/n.” She turned around, gliding back towards the manor. Your sister hesitantly turns with her. She sent vibrant thumbs up, and a theatrical wink in her wake before then. Once she’d gotten to a legitimate distance, you groaned, stuffing your face in your hands. 

Antoine shut his eyes tightly, pinching his nose. “Mama has perfect timing. Absolutely perfect.” You nodded, running your hands down your face. 

“Absolutely perfect.” You mutter, allowing your arms to slap by your sides. Hesitantly, you turned towards Benedict, offering an energyless smile. “Thank you for stepping in…” 

He nodded, holding his hands behind his back gallantly. “Oh, I would do it a thousand more times if needed. Of course, Lady y/n.” His eyes glanced around the area seeing the damper her mother’s arrival placed on the group. Anthony scratched the back of his head, whispering to Colin. “Why don’t we resume our game later? I can see that your mama’s interruption has compromised the mood.” 

You chuckled, pushing a piece of your curls behind your ear. “Didn’t she… Yes, we may resume at a much later time. I might’ve worked up a bit of an appetite, to be honest.” 

“Appetite, you say? I’m beyond famished!” Colin began stalking past everyone, heading towards the house. You suppressed a laugh, holding your fingers over your lips. Anthony and Antoine followed after him, nearly forgetting about both you and the artist. 

Benedict offered his arm, sharing a charming smile. “How does cucumber sandwiches with classic English tea sound?” 

“Splendid, of course!” You marveled, sliding your arm through his. Adoringly holding his gaze, as you approached the large manor behind the boys. 

…

Julianne, your sister, sat in the room you shared flipping through the pages of the books Eloise lent her. “Ugh, can’t I have a love like Mr. Bingley and Jane…” She pouted, wiping fake tears from her cheeks. You snickered, taking the remaining pins from your hair, and placing them in the bowl on the vanity.

 Turning in the plushy seat, you leaned on the back of the chair. A wistful expression adorning your face. Julianne shuts the book as she couldn’t help but feel the emotions leaking from your pores. “What happens to be on your mind, sister?” She adjusts herself on the bed, where she turns her feet to where the pillows are. 

You shake your head, pursing your lips. “I’m not sure…” 

“Ah, well, that’s believable.” She remarks, kicking her feet back and forth. “You’re not sure what’s on your mind.” 

Abruptly, you stand from the chair, walking to the long window that serves a view of the grand backyard of the manor. “I am realizing, I think, that I am past merely liking Mr. Bridgerton.” You paused, blinking as you were slowly coming to terms with your unruly emotions. Sure, you’ve said before that he held your heart — but, he may really be holding your heart. Delicately, to add. He was a very gentle man. “I may be in love with him, Julianne.” 

She gasped, holding her hands intertwined under her chin. “He’s your Mr. Bingley!” Julianne cheered, swinging her legs off the bed. 

“Not literally. But, yes — if that makes me the prettiest Bennett sister, Jane.” 

“You…” She narrows her eyes, before slightly glancing out the window. Then, her eyes widened tremendously, pointing quickly at the figure wandering in the dark. You were still looking at her harboring a teasing grin, but her attention elsewhere caught your eye. “Oh, Blast! Is that Mr. Bridgerton just there?” 

He held a candle as light, but he slowly wandered the field and garden. Palming some of the bush fixtures. You gasp, pushing her to the side of the window, while you stumble to the other side — where you’re out of sight. “You must meet him down there.” 

“I mustn’t! If mama catches me-“ 

“y/n, you are about to be a married woman — who cares what mama thinks, good God.” 

You inhale, furrowing your eyebrows. The opinion of your mother has grown since your debut. Feeling as if you had to succumb to this unattainable role. Your sibling had more faith in your betrothal than you did — which was odd considering your situation. You pondered — should you really go down there? What were you going to say? “I will keep watch for you.” Julianne offered, with a spreading smile. “Just don’t do anything too scandalous.” 

Smiling, you grabbed the thin blue robe that went over your white nightgown. “No promises,”

That was a jest. Total jest. 

Grabbing a candlelight, you scurried down to the back. Managing to be as quiet as a mouse on your mild journey through the manors. Your eyes caught the sight of the back of his disheveled hair, slowly maneuvering around. Hesitantly, you stepped onto the low vibrant grass. Glancing over your shoulder for any prying eyes — praying your mother didn’t catch you in this position. You wanted to be married organically, when he asks your father for your hand. 

When you’d gotten closer enough to him, you called his name. “Mr. Bridgerton,” You stated, holding out the candlelight. “It’s quite late, is it not?” 

He slowly turned around, as if he was expecting you. A smile grew on his lips. “It is quite late… I just desired fresh air — nightly fresh air.”

“Ah, yes. Nightly fresh air — the best form of air on the market.” 

He was wearing loose-fitting clothes, just as you were since it was after hours. His eyes donned your frame, examining the length of your hair and how different it was compared to your daily looks. The effortlessness of your beauty rendered him shocked — enamored. Perhaps, even disturbed. “Turn down your light.” He spoke. 

Your eyebrows deepened, confused by his words. “Huh? It’s dark, Mr. Bridgerton.” 

“Would you want to risk your mama seeing you and me unchaperoned… At night?” 

Chewing on your bottom lip, you considered his words. That was the last thing you wanted. “Perhaps, not.” You took in a hefty breath, blowing out the candle with an innocent expression. Benedict chuckled, doing the same, then holding out his hand for you. The sound of your heart thumped in your ears, almost making you dizzy. And with a courageous inhale, you placed your hand in his. 

He could take you anywhere and you wouldn’t dare complain. But, you couldn’t help but question.

A toothy smile graced your lips, his hand gripping yours bare. For the first time without some sort of glove. “Where are you taking me?” His long legs were no match for yours. Long strides quickly pulling you to wherever the destination may have been.

He looked over his shoulder. “Do we not have a round to finish?” Your lips gaped open, your other hand reaching toward his arm. Halting your steps, you pulled him to a stop. The grin on your lips was impossible to wipe off. 

Breathily, you inhaled. “Did you plan this, Mr. Bridgerton?” The candlelight was being held by your pinky, aching from the weight. But, the contact of your hand against his firm arm was so comforting. He was so comforting. 

“I did not, My Lady. However, I did wish to see you tonight.”

His wishes came true. 

“And, I also wished for you not to be so formal with me. Please, call me Benedict.” His much larger hand, squeezed yours, pulling you closer to his tall frame. Your pointer finger tapped along his bicep, batting the long eyelashes your mother gave you — sincerely. 

You grinned, with your bottom lip stuck under your teeth. Trying to resist the size, but it was impossible. His light eyes glistened with something that was unfamiliar to you, but you failed to fully catch it. All you noticed was that his gaze gave you a bodily reaction. Your chest and cheeks grew hot, where his hand met yours, a sensation tingling from the contact. “Only if you call me y/n and nothing else.” 

Benedict chuckled, as your chests touched, looking down into your mind-controlling gaze. “And nothing else? So… My love happens to be off the table?” He raises his eyebrow, eyes glancing towards your lips. 

“If it isn’t true. But if it is — call me that however many times you please.” Your eyes glanced toward his lips, but you stepped back, glancing in the direction he was taking you. “I believe you were taking me somewhere…” 

His lips parted, but he quickly recovered. Nodding, and following through with his original plan — which was warping as time progressed. The pair of you had been attracted to each other since the moment you met. More so, Benedict than you. He just assumed that it would never happen, considering his closest friend was your brother. He didn’t expect Antoine to be so helpful to both of you. 

But, now, his attraction to you has skyrocketed. From being around you so much, studying your face, spending long nights thinking about your face… And body. Benedict is nearly spent. While he wasn’t trying to rush, he genuinely wanted you. All he needed was a few minutes alone—

“Did you really set all this up… All for hopes?” You inquired, seeing all the swords poked into a holder and gloves for the sport set beside them. 

“All for hopes… All for you. I mean a game is not finished until-“ 

“It is finished.” You mused, releasing his hand and approaching the weapons. With a giggle, you pulled the glove that was for your dominant hand on. Plucking the dull sword from the holder. “You are a thoughtful sort. I’ll say, you may have met your goal, Benedict.” You walked backward, watching as he gathered his gear. “Consider me utterly enamored.” 

You were fluttering. It was the flutter. 

He pulled his glove on, taking his sword and taking a few steps back. “As am I, my love. I only hope that doesn’t damper the competition.”

Benedict truly had you swooned. If you were willing to give in completely, the competition would be over. Or, at least you would've wanted it to have been over. You did have, unfortunately, one more man to defeat. “And risk my ultimate victory? Never!” You pointed your sword towards the man, smirking excitedly. Chest rising with anticipation. “En Garde, kind sir.” 

He tapped your sword with his twice, before lunging. The game between the pair of you had gone on longer than it had with the others. Sparing longing glances, causing either one of you to stumble. The both of you attempted to dismantle one another with flirtation, but you deemed yourself to be much stronger than expected — the both of you. It surely was torture, though. 

Then, all of a sudden, Benedict threw his sword to the ground. His chest heaving up and down — eyes stuck to you, unable to look away for even a second. You dropped your arm, letting it hit your hip still clenching your sword. The competitive sneer dropped from your lips, a look of expectation adorning your face. It seems he has reached his peak of keeping his distance from you. 

“You’re an insufferable opponent…” He muttered, but it was already so quiet. Something in particular leaking from his words. You were so stunned that you could only stand there — in utter shock. 

A breath flew from your lips. “Why’d you stop? You might’ve stolen my victory.” 

“I wouldn’t ever want to steal your victory.” He approached you, resorting you to backing up. Choosing your steps carefully. Your hand rose, the corner of your lips curling weakly. He stopped advancing, holding his hands near his head. “Go on… Take me, y/n.” 

Something in your gut told you his words had meant something else. His body language told you his words meant something else. Uncharted territory for you. The tip of your sword prodded at his abdomen. “I win.” You whisper, fluttering in places that have yet to be explored. He pushed the blade away with two fingers, resuming his approach. Remaining in your place, your arm drops, still holding the sword in your hand. 

He had entered your space, his hand drifting down your clothed arm. Leading to the gloved hand that held the dull weapon. Your breath hitching in your throat. Benedict pulled the handle from your fingers, keeping his striking gaze on you. He tossed it to the side carelessly, then pulled the leather glove from your hand. “You win.” He whispered, aligning your hand with his. 

This touch was different — more intimate than you ever experienced. It set your skin ablaze, it made you… It made you really want him. This feeling of want was different, nothing you’ve ever felt before. His other hand found solace at your waist, pulling you closer to him. You had no choice but to oblige, stumbling forward. “I must apologize,” He began, darting his eyes in an upside-down triangle. “y/n, I simply cannot contain myself anymore.” 

Neither can I.��

“You have convicted my soul. You have since the moment I laid eyes on you — that evening, only a year ago, where your brother introduced us.” Benedict enunciated, his thumb caressing your ribcage through your thin nightgown. You gasp, gripping the hand that was in yours. It couldn’t be true. Benedict Bridgerton pining after you before your debut. He was an adventurist – a rake, who also did art. You’ve heard whispers about him and his brothers… And your brother. How they wanted to push off marriage until they’ve made themselves useful, some more than others. 

Were you being bamboozled? How on God’s green earth were you getting this close to this… Unattainable man. Convicted. You have convicted his soul – sounds like the words of a true poet. 

“When Antoine and your father granted me the blessing in pursuing you wholly and completely…” He shook his head sincerely. “I have never felt so honored.” Wow. Your eyebrows furrowed, eyes watering – the experience seemed to be too real. And, he continues. “y/n, you have bewitched me. There has not been a day where you’ve been absent from my mind. Not a second.” 

“Benedict,” You spoke, your tone in utter surprise. He was sharing more characteristics with Mr. Darcy than with Mr. Bingley. He must’ve been doing this on purpose, he has indulged in the works of Jane Austen nearly as much as you. 

His hands caress up your arm, leaving your hand, finding comfort on your jaw. His thumb grazes your cheek lovingly. The artist struggles – tempted to just crash his lips against yours, but he couldn’t just yet. You blinked slow, wishing he’d lay himself upon you. It’s not like you could really formulate your words eloquently. You placed your hand on his elbow, leaning into his touch with need. It felt exhilarating to be touched by him – you wanted more. “Ben…” All you could do was repeat his name, dripping with unfathomed desire. You both breathed heavily, the sounds coming together as a union – nearly breathing each other’s air. His nose brushed yours, just before his lips plotted on the tip of it. A whine pulled from your throat in anticipation. 

“y/n,” He spoke your name like a prayer, wistful – snagged from his diaphragm. 

Slowly, he leaned down to her hovering his lips over yours. As if you’d done this before, your lips parted. The tip of your tongue grazing your bottom lip. You couldn’t help but hold your breath, breasts swelling from your loose bodice. 

Pulling you flush to him by your waist, he finally and gently, places his lips upon yours. You release air from your nose, sliding your hand around his neck, your fingertips touching the shorter curls of his hair. Flutter. Flutter. Flutter! He kissed you with no matter of haste, he was savoring your touch. His hand remains in the divot of your waist, barely threatening to leave that spot. 

Fireworks were exploding in the skies of your mind. Lips moving along with his, slowly drifting into a mode of passion. His grip intensified on your waist, wishing he could push you closer to him – as if you weren’t already touching. All it took was a hum to release between your lips for him to walk you back into a tree. When your back hit the bark, you yelped in surprise. Your attention is still completely on him, hands running through his dark shiny hair. Being overcome with impulse, you gripped his hair from the root – cousin a groan to erupt from his throat. 

Benedict pulled back, the ends of his lips curling. “You… You are something.”

“Come here,” You party whine and demand, tugging him back to your lips. 

He wouldn’t dare deny you, meeting your lips feverishly. His hands had grown to be more bold groping at your body. His intimate touch was beginning to make you heat up in nether places. Sounds erupting from your vocals that you have never heard in full. This would be quite the circumstance to be caught in – face-making with the man you are courting. Rather compromising. 

But, it felt so good. 

This is why it took a lot for you to pull away. 

Breathing heavily, placing your hand on his chest – desperately wanting to tear the loose shirt from his body. “This… This is improper.” You heaved, a coy smile stretched on your lips. Benedict breathed just the same, his thumb wiping the corner of your lips adoringly. 

“It is… But to hell with decorum.” 

You laughed, caressing the back of his neck – wanting nothing more than to be entangled with him for all eternity. “Mind your tongue, Benedict.” You playfully scolded, looking up at him through your thick eyelashes. The softness of his untamed strands comforted you, subsiding – not erasing – your unbearable coil of desire. 

“ I am minding my tongue…” He leaned forward, wanting to kiss you once more. 

“We should get some sleep. I’m sure we are going to need as much energy as possible to bare my mother.” Your hand feels the strength of his throat, accidentally running over her adam’s apple as you descended. “And without sleep, that is impossible, my heart.” The man paused, both of his hands on either side of your face, lightly squishing your cheeks. 

“My heart, is it?” Your face heated up, embarrassment flooding your hazy irises. You tried to flee his hands, but he wouldn’t let you. “I adore it. Just like I adore you… My love.” 

His words and gaze make it impossible for you to leave. Your sister had to have been awaiting you or is asleep by now. She reminded you not to be too scandalous – whatever that meant. “I must go, despite how difficult you make it.” Your eyes jested, bashfully. Hands gripping his forearms lightly, urging him off – yet, not desiring his lack of touch. “You make it very difficult, might I add.”

“As do you, but you are right.” He slides his hands from your face, down to your shoulders. “I have to put this equipment away, and get a good night’s rest for-”

“My mother.”

“Yes, your mother – and whatever the day will bring.”

You look down to the grass, chuckling. Taking one of his hands in yours, you draw little hearts with your thumb on the back of his hand. “Then, I will leave you to it. Good night, Benedict.” A part of you was sad as if you weren’t going to see him in the morning for breakfast. The hours were too long – you wished you could stay beside him all night. He leans down, to kiss the back of your hand. Holding his lips against your skin, savoringly. 

“Good night, y/n. I wish you heavenly dreams.”

You walk backward, slowly sliding your hand from his grasp. A beat passes, eye contact being the pair of yours’ main source of communication – so it seemed. “I love you, y/n Sinclair.”

Thump, thump, thump. A grin spreads on your lips, broad and silly, yet just as beautiful. “I love you, Benedict Bridgerton… Wholly and completely.”