How The Tables Turned [Ford x reader oneshot]
Summary: This time, its Ford making you stop what you're going to make sure you get sleep.
Rating: SFW and very fluffy
Warnings: Aside from a slightly suggestive part, none!
AO3 version
A/N: Actually based on a period of time where I tried to learn how to use unity (before the whole drama of it happened). I refused to do ANYTHING but to work on my little project no matter how much I was starving for a few weeks straight. lol.
It’s basically routine at this point for you to drag Ford out of his lab to head for bed. Even if you remind him of the benefits on sleeping and how the lack of it will impact his work, you still needed to get him into bed, sometimes having some food ready for him to make sure he didn’t sleep on an empty stomach.
That’s how its USUALLY IS.
Lately, you’ve started your own personal project involving learning a game engine to play around with. It was mostly just a random idea one day, wanting to try your hand at making your own little “video game”. Nothing too fancy, just something fun to put together and to learn some new skills along the way. There was A LOT you needed to look into and learn to make this happen, however.
From learning a coding language, the game engine itself, a mix between finding free to use assets and even making your own when nothing suited your taste- you had a lot on your plate. It wasn’t all that bad really, considering how this whole thing turned into a full blown hyper fixation fairly soon after starting it. It was easy to let the hours fly by as you were split between watching tutorial videos, drawing and fixing any errors/bugs in any of the codes you wrote down. You were aware of when you needed to sleep, eat and do other things for your health, but something about working on this project made you refuse to move from your chair.
And you weren’t the only one to noticed this.
After a decent amount of time being with you, Ford has grown used to the routine of you coming to his lab to check up on him. It got to the point where he purposely stayed late in the lab to get you to come in and “pester” him to take care of himself better. The feeling of knowing you cared and loved him so much to go out of your way to make sure he knew that was something he relished in. Of course, he did felt a little “silly” and “immature” doing this instead of straight up telling you, but there was no harm being done anyways, so it was fine.
So when you stopped checking on him after a few nights, he couldn’t help but to worry a bit. At first, he figured you were just a bit busy, possibly even out for the night, so he didn’t think too much of it. However, when walking into your computer room and seeing you up staring at your screen with an open notebook with various random things written on it, he couldn’t help to smile a bit as you reminded him of his university days. You were just working on something, nothing too bad.
But as time passed by, he soon realizes he only ever sees you in your computer room. You barely went out for anything, even for food. Ford didn’t want to jump to any conclusions, but he was worried. Things escalated for him when he barely sees you in bed anymore.
It’s not like he didn’t talk to you as you were deep in your work. He would sometimes check in on you when things felt a little too quite after he started to noticed your absent in his lab. Ford was happy you were able to pursue something new and to take the time and effort to do it. He was aware of the little game you wanted to make for the sake of saying “I made this!”. When he had the free time, he’ll listen to you talk about the things you learned, some of the issues you faced and how you fixed them, etc etc. But he can only take so much before he had to really step in for your own sake.
The sky was dark out, and it was around 1am. You weren’t in bed yet. Again. Ford was really concerned for you now. Walking through the dim hallway, he opens up the door of your computer room. He can see you fully concentrated on your screen, looking over some codes you put together, as if you were trying to find any errors in the lines of text that was presented in front of you. It was obvious how dry your eyes were, how your body longed for rest, but the urge to keep going and to fix this one mistake kept you from wanting to sleep despite how much you felt the need to do so.
It was almost funny to him. A taste of his own medicine some would say. It reminds him of the many nights on how he too would refuse to stop for the night, always needing to do one more thing before he could let himself rest. How you would do your best to persuade him to let himself walk away from his work, to take care of himself to avoid any health complications, and to spend time with you in the comfort of your bed.
It made him feel guilty as well. The things you did for him and how much you loved him to always go out of your way to show it. Ford knew he was taking full advantage of that, and he wanted to repay it back.
You jumped a little in your seat when you felt his familiar six finger hand land on your shoulder, being so focused on the lines of text on your screen that you forgot where you were for a good bit. You look over at Ford as he stood beside your seat, giving him a weak smile.
“Oh hey! Do you need anything?” You asked before quickly looking back at the screen again.
“Love, when was the last time you ate?” Ford asked you in a gentle voice.
“Uh… I had breakfast?” You answered, only remembering you had some toast with a sunny side egg on top when you last ate. It didn’t seem like it mattered too much though.
“Its almost one am” Ford replied, a little stern this time. You quickly check the clock on your taskbar, feeling surprised from how much time had passed.
“Oh… oops” you spoke mostly to yourself, feeling a little silly for not checking the time more often. “I’ll probably head to bed soon”
“Not soon,” Ford points out, “you’re going to bed now.” His words made you look at him again, confusion viable on your face.
“Just let me do this one fix-” Ford says your name, stern voice again, causing you to stop your sentence.
“You are fully aware of the effects of not taking care of yourself” Ford spoke to you with a smirk on his face. You knew that he was referencing the many of times where you brought out the facts of how the lack of sleep and self care can affect your health and day to day life. It was the best way to convince him to come to bed and let you cuddle with him until you were both asleep. “You’re no different form me, sweetheart. Got to practice what they preach, as they say”
“Uh…. I’m built different?” You gave a half shrug and a low chuckle at your own joke. Obviously, this did nothing to change his mind. You knew he was right, and had nothing to say to argue back. Ford knew this too. “Fine… let me quickly save and shut off my computer…”
Ford watches you quickly save any progress before shutting off your computer, the light of the screen turning off and making the room dark as it was the only thing on. As you start to stand, your body fully conveyed how tired you really were. You were about to walk to the hallway door before Ford lets out a ‘let me’, and you were now being picked up bridle style in his arms. You let out a small gasp, often forgetting how much muscle the older man has as he often hides it away in his iconic turtleneck. The comfort of him holding you made the realization at your own exhaustion hit hard. You can feel yourself somewhat go limp as Ford carried you to your shared room.
Ford felt you quickly relax in his arms, feeling prideful as he carried you to your bed. Sitting you on the side and pulling the blanket back. He lays you on your pillow before fallowing suit into his usual spot on the bed beside you. Your eyes were shut as you let yourself sink into the soft mattress, the weight of the blanket being pulled over you giving a sense of security, along with how his arms wrapped around you to pull you close to his chest. You let out a sigh of relief as you feel him nuzzle his face into the crook of your neck, getting a few shivers down your spine.
“Sorry…” You mumbled to him, feeling guilty now for making him go out of his way to get you to bed. You feel him chuckle into your skin, the smile forming on his face being easily felt on your skin.
“Nothing to be sorry about sweetheart,” his replied, voice audibly sounding more tired, “I should be the one to apologize, making you go through this almost every night. I see how doing this almost all the time can be a bit frustrating for you.”
“Not if its you,” You were quickly to reply, “I’m always happy to make sure you’re okay”. Ford felt his heart flutter at your words. You always did surprised him with how much you loved him despite how many times you pointed it out.
“The feeling is mutual,” Ford placed a kiss on your skin as he caressed one of his thumbs that rested on you, “lets get to sleep now, I’ll be sure to do something for you in the morning” Ford gave another kiss on your skin, and you can’t help but to feel excited for what he had planned.
Silence followed as you two let yourselves slowly fall asleep in each others comfort. Feeling his steady heartbeat on your back lulled you to your sleep.
Ford smiled when he realized you fell asleep before he did. It was no surprise, you needed it really bad. Without fail every night when he has you in his arms like this, he feels like the luckiest man in the multiverse. He didn’t deserve you, but it was almost as if this is the repayment he deserved after many years of suffering, a way of life saying sorry to him.
And he wouldn’t ask for anything else.
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04: Media.
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Lucille receives a notification from Instagram. Her eyes reads along the line of THE Charles Leclerc liking her story and her post.
The first instinct she does was to call Julia and fangirl with her.
The two girls was screaming at the top of their lungs as if they have won a lottery. Her profile getting followed and her post getting more engagement due to Charles' engagement to it.
Her phone pings, Julia sending her articles of "their" supposed relationship. When in fact, her and him are completely strangers to one another.
Some fans goes far as calling her homewrecker saying that she ruined Alexandra's ans Charles' perfect relationship.
Lucille hangs the call, closing her phone to detox.
"Anak? Okay ka lang ba?" (Lucille? Are you okay?) Her mother questions as she enters the room with Lucille's favorite snack.
"Okay lang po ako, ma." (I'm fine, mom) Lucille answers with an assuring smile on her lips.
The girl takes the snack and place it on her nightstand. Her mother was not chronically online, so she remains oblivious to what is happening.
The media is now calling her the new love interest. The scary part is, they are trying to get more information on her.
Good thing, she doesn't input her information in any of her social media accounts. Only birthday and nickname.
"She's 9 years younger"
"That's an age gap trope😍"
Some approves due and some remains not so happy with it.
══════════════════════════════
withlove_lucille posted a story 1min ago●
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Notification 🔔
@charles_leclerc liked your story
@charles_leclerc has started following you back
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Lucille saw the notification and decided to ignore it.
Charles is definitely just being a nice gentleman and appreciating his fans support for him. She knows that the man is still undergoing a heartbreak recovery.
Probably, sooner Charles will undo everything and realizes he is being hazy.
But Lucille despite her self-assurance could not shake it off. Why her? Why did he chose her to interact with? Was there any reasons?
Something in her mind is telling her something.
The invisible red string glowing gold as two soulmates has found their way to one another.
Entangled with hardship but by the looks of the string, it was a string that is strong and cannot be cut off.
══════════════════════════════
Meanwhile.
Charles accidentally liked his fan's post and story. Her congratulating him and posting him on his story, he felt big joy seeing it.
He knows his fans are ones who never gives up on him and so, he will not give up on them either.
Charles couldn't undo the like thinking that the user might think he didn't like their post and story, so he let it be.
But the next few hours, he didn't expect that it will blow up and a theory about his relationship. He couldn't understand, why he couldn't appreciate his fans at peace without a rumor being created?
He returns to the user's profile and liked the newly posted story about the situation, them clearing things up.
Charles accidentally clicked the follow as if his finger has its own mind. He panics making him close the phone and pace around the room.
He couldn't unfollow the user now especially his eagle-eyed fans that saw him following the account.
He is so doom. He is so done.
The media will have a field day with this. All because his fingers always slips up with this particular account.
Indeed, the medias has released articles about it already. Not even an hour passed and there are articles already.
He starts to feel bad for the person he dragged into this. The innocent person behind the account will be entangled in this mess.
Despite his panic, there is a certain feeling of familiarity. A sense of knowing towards the account as if he have know the person behind it for a long time.
The red string of fate do really have its own way. The accidents that he experience were not accidents but a glimpse of the future.
MASTERLIST || PREVIOUS || NEXT
Author's note
Update for you all! I survived my midterms, I'm kinda free from uni works...but I can't say I'll update regularly.
Regarding the taglist, it is open for everyone. I still have to fix it as I can't tag some accounts.
🏁🆑️🏎❤️
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Chapter Five - No Plan
knight!Benjicot x princess!reader
word count: 3k
a/n: do you guys enjoy reading from benji’s perspective?
song: No Plan - Hozier
You won’t look at him.
It’s quite seriously driving him insane.
He knows he’s overstepped, broken his oath in some ways even.
He is sworn to you, of course, to serve and protect nobody but you, but he is part of a system, a machinery of knights and guards, who, at all cost, must report back to the king.
He wasn’t ever going to snitch on you. But maybe he should have put his foot down.
Were any of the happenings of the past few weeks to come to light, he is almost certain that he will lose his head for it. Or they’d find some other creative way to rid themselves of him.
Had he been stricter upon finding out about your meddling in the arts of healing, perhaps you had never gathered the guts to sneak out by yourself, you’d have never found yourself in the hands of some lowlife scumbag and he wouldn’t know how well you fit into his arm curled around your back.
Then you might still be speaking to him.
Well, you had spoken to him. An hour into your carriage ride you had leaned out the window to tell him to have Fury saddled, already tired of being confined.
Throughout everything, he kept feeling an overwhelmingly deep rooted sense of pity.
He gazes up at the sky, grey clouds gathered above, knit together so tight you couldn’t see the blue hiding behind.
He doesn’t remember the last time he had pitied somebody so much.
Of course, he felt bad for the impoverished, the sick, the depraved. But this was almost sickening; his stomach twisting in uncomfortable ways, each time he thought about your fate.
A girl like you is rare to come by in the place you had grown up in. He does not understand how you could even exist, an enigma, given the people you had been around your life. Though your sister and brother were respectable for the most part, there was something innately warm about you.
As he contemplates he almost resents you again, like he had in the beginning of his knighthood.
How could you be so good?
It is frustrating really, to be around you and watch the way people bend to fit around you, to feel your presence and grasp your attention.
At first he had assumed it to be your status, that got everyone so riled up, but he understood rather soon that, that isn’t the case.
People tried to approach Prince Tristan and Queen Cordelia as well, but around you it seems to be something more honest.
He thinks about your handmaiden and you, the way the two of you giggle each time you are together, the way the cook without request organises your favourite pastries for you.
For fuck’s sake even young children and animals were drawn to you like a moth to the light, despite not having the slightest comprehension of who you are and what importance you held.
Your dumb horse damn near tries to kill anyone that nears it besides you.
It is ridiculous really.
Yes, ridiculous.
He doesn’t understand it.
From now on he would not fall for this anymore.
Benji is a strong soldier. He’s killed. He’s hurt. He’s bled. He would not fall for something as silly as that girlish charm you had. One might think you are actually a witch, with the way you mesmerised the people.
He glances at you in front of him, back straight as a board. There’s a shiver to your unnatural posture.
“Your highness?”, he calls out and he almost can’t believe his own hypocrisy.
“Yes, Ser Benjicot?” You don’t turn around to face him, so he forces his horse alongside yours.
Suddenly he feels silly, back to being a young boy. Or a dog that can’t help but return to its owner. “Are you cold, princess?”
You don’t even spare a second to look at him. “I am quite alright, do not fret.” You’re cold. Closer now, he can see the goosebumps that trail your arms through the translucent fabric of your sleeves.
You’re almost dressed for a funeral, your gown a deep shade of purple.
The king had frowned at you that morning, Benji had seen the way his thick brows had pulled together, lips pulled into something reminiscent of a pout.
He himself was more so wondering how you had managed to get on your horse with the ten thousand layers of tulle and frilliness you were heaving around.
“Do you not wish for a cloak? If you were to get sick you would need to return to travel by carriage,” Benji finds himself warning you.
That does trigger a reaction in you; a deep sigh. “Fine then,” you mumble.
Benji doesn’t like this. He can’t help but feel responsible, the events of last night must be heavy on your mind.
It was all confusing and annoying to him. Nobody had told you to leave the castle, least of all him, but still he faults himself for not having been there sooner.
You had your troubles but you had never been confronted with men who’s inappropriate fantasies aren’t confined by the code of conduct at court.
It doesn’t take long for somebody to appear with your cloak.
With all the fabric it almost looks as though your horse is the one wearing the clothes.
For a few more wholly uncomfortable moments of silence Benji trots along your side, until he decides that it’s likely best to give you time.
Your journey goes on until shortly before sunset. There are still two days worth of travel ahead of you and so one of the guards rides ahead into town and organises a stay for the night.
Benji could see the exhaustion in your face as you’re helped off your horse, wincing and stretching without much decorum.
The servant who helped you looks away in uncertainty. His cheeks are flushed. Benji wants to roll his eyes.
The inn is surprisingly nice; one of the two kingsguard members with you informs him that it is because a lot of merchants pass through this town when travelling to the capital.
You are smiling at everyone, saccharine sweet and Benji wished he didn’t notice the way you are twisting the ring on your finger nervously.
As it seems, spending almost every single waking moment with you for the last cycle of the moon, does take its toll.
Without much ceremony you leave supper early and excuse yourself to your bedroom, your new handmaiden close behind.
She’s a nervous little thing, a mouse-like girl, much younger than Marion and entirely overwhelmed by your presence it seems.
Benji hasn’t heard her say anything yet that wasn’t some variation of an apology.
It is terrifying to be responsible for a princess.
He should know.
He takes a gulp from the beer in front of him.
Ser Corrigan taps his fingers against the table, only remotely in sync with the fiddler in the corner of the room.
“D’you think she’ll be well with that Baron?,” he pipes up.
Benji doesn’t register that he’s being spoken to for a few moments.
“Don’t know. But if he takes after his sister, I should have serious doubts that they will get along,” he answers.
Corrigan nods to himself.
The fiddler plays an old ballad, one of a kind queen long dead, the fire crackles in the room and the night crawls on.
Benji is not on watch duty, so he allows himself more of the not-good-yet-not-bad beer they serve here before he heads upstairs as well.
It is long past midnight by now and it suddenly strikes him that he should have spoken with Ser Corrigan.
He has no friends here.
His room is at the highest floor of the building, guards stood at the top of the stairs.
You are right across from him. The only two people that are to sleep here.
His eyes linger on your door and his fingers itch to knock and ask about your wellbeing but he doesn’t.
He cannot find rest. Of course not.
The last few weeks catch up with him, ghosts that had constantly been in his periphery and have finally clawed their way into his mind.
His uncle sending him away.
The isolation inside the castle.
You.
He tosses and turns, yearning for comfort.
He won’t find it in here and so he decides perhaps fresh air might help him.
He slips out of his room and realises he isn’t wearing his boots.
Then he hears it.
Distant, through the thick of the oak door, he hears your sobs.
He knows he can’t ignore it, even though he lingers for a moment.
He throws one glance at the guards at the end of the hallway, neither of them having noticed him.
Benji steps as lightly as he can across the wooden floor and without so much as the thought of a squeak he slips into your bedroom.
Your eyes are swollen and bloodshot when you look at him, mouth dropped into surprised ‘O’.
Neither you nor him speak until you do at the same time.
“Are you–”, Benji asks.
“I didn’t mean to-” you interrupt.
Silence again. Benji waves his hand for you to go first.
“I didn’t mean to be loud,” you whisper. “I couldn’t sleep.”
He hums in agreement. “Neither could I.” He leans against the door. “And you weren’t loud.”
You’re sitting at the foot of the bed, your hair and robe both somewhat disorderly. “My apologies. For scaring you last night.”
His arms cross and uncross again when he thinks that he might intimidate you like that. “Don’t worry.”
“Benji?”
The name sounds so different when you say it. It rolls off your tongue like river-tumbled pebbles through a creek. A sweet and calming sound.
“Yes, princess?”
Your cheeks are reddened again. “Perhaps you could keep me company? I don’t sleep well outside my own room.”
You look so young like this, he thinks to himself. A vulnerable doe-eyed girl. To be married soon.
What was to happen to you, with your unbelievable innocence? That you should invite a man into your chambers after last night, is more than naive.
He remains where he stands.
“Please?”
How can he refuse you?
You shuffle to sit with your back to the wall, beckoning him to take a seat next to you and he complies.
He struggles to comprehend his innate urge to be useful to you.
“Do you think I’ll find some common ground with him?”, you ask.
Benji sighs. “I’ve not met somebody who doesn’t like you since coming to the capital.”
“You didn’t like me.” You prod at him with one accusing finger.
Your shoulders almost brush when you’re sitting like this, the tiniest sliver of space between them. It feels tantalising.
“That’s an exaggeration. I was merely…,” he trails off. What was he? What is he now?
He watches you shrug. “I do not blame you. It seems I am in a much similar position now. Sent away to a place far from home to spend my days with someone I do not know”
“I told you that there’ll be a way to find some arrangement,” he reminds you. “Mayhaps he’ll not even want you after all.”
You snort. “Did you not just claim the opposite?”
“Well yes, but you know at first glance, perhaps he’ll think you’re too much of a troll.” This is something that once again could cost him his tongue if you were ever to snitch on him, but for now you laugh quietly to yourself.
“Were you always so rude? I’m sure your mother didn’t raise you to talk to ladies like this.”
He looks down at his hands, the scars, the rough parts of it. Yesterday evening on the way home he held yours in them and then after you had clicked his nose back into place, such a gruesome and nasty act from your delicate nimble fingers.
He wonders what his mother would think of you.
“Firstly, you are still a witch and not a lady. And no, she didn’t.”
You know, of course, that his mother, much like your own, is six feet under, engulfed by cold wet soil. You know every noble house in the land. Perhaps you know his own house's history better than he does.
You twist to look at him. “What was your mother like? Your parents?” Then you realise the forthrightness of your words and stutter a bit. “I mean- if you should want to tell me.”
He shrugs. “It matters not. We are bound either way.”
That stirs you the wrong way. “I do not want you to do everything just because you feel you must. I told you so.”
Benji chuckles. “You did not. You told me to be civil or be silent, otherwise you’d order me executed.”
Your back straightens. “I was of course not being earnest, Benjicot.” Red spots dot your neck and cheeks, borderline outraged.
“How was I to know? You got so serious on that beach, you little witch, who knows what potion you could mix into my breakfast.”
He had of course not feared for his life. Just his ego.
Benji clears his throat. “My mother was very headstrong. She knew her place in the world and she knew what to do with what she had. She kept my father on his toes. I don’t know if they were a love match but they had their own dynamic. They were most certainly friends.”
You’re smiling a bit now and decide to lean against the headboard again, feet shuffling beneath the blanket.
“She was a bit like your sister, I suppose. They both have a certain quality about them. I think. The memory blurs with each day.”
“Cordelia likes you, I believe. She is quite selective with who she deems respectable.”
“She’s a bit scary.”
You slap his upper arm, your hand lingering there a moment longer than needed. His shirt is made from much less soft fabric than your chemise is and he wonders what you would think about that.
“She isn’t scary, she has been through a lot.”
“Your family seems a bit fucked,” he says before he can stop himself. Blood rushes to his cheeks. “Uh- Pardon me, I-”
But you laugh. Loud and clear and Benji wants to remind you of the guards outside but he can’t bring himself to.
Better to see you laugh, even if your cheeks are still puffy from tears shed prior.
“No we are. We are. Maybe if our mother had been with us longer, we might have turned out differently. But Cordelia and Tristan aren’t so bad.”
“Neither are you. It really just is the king that’s making problems.” His head drops a bit. “If anything I’m fucked.”
You tug at his sleeve. “I think you’re alright.”
“I am a liability, you said it yourself. And I did terrible as the head of my house.”
“Yes, because you were a child when your father passed. It was right after your eleventh name day, was it not?”
Benji shrugs. He had failed either way and after three short years, everyone had campaigned for his uncle to take the reins until Benji was of age. And then by the time he was, he didn’t care for it, preferring battle and combat to the rigid authority. And now he is here. In your bed.
“Let’s not dwell on it.”
Your hair is so close. He doesn’t understand how you could always smell so wonderful, even after a day’s worth of travelling. Especially with the heavy layers you wear.
This also bothers him.
It seems everything about you is equally fascinating and bothersome to him.
“Tell me about your home. I’ve rarely travelled to the Riverlands, my father does not enjoy the weather there.”
He bites back the comment about how your father likely doesn’t appreciate the weather because he is too prissy to be rained on.
“It’s wonderful. It’s green as far as the eye can see. I suppose you would enjoy riding your horse there.”
“Tell me something interesting. I know what the land looks like. I want to know what you did there. I want to know what your life was before this. Perhaps I can restore some of it. Maybe even bring your old lover to court.”
You had tried to said it carelessly but the way you stumbled over the word lover gave you away.
He ignores it. “I do not have a girl waiting for me. Matter of fact, I think they’re all glad I’m gone.”
You scoff. “What? What were you doing, you rake.”
He laughs lowly, feels it rumble deep within his chest. “That is not a topic I wish to discuss with someone of your sort.”
“What, a woman? You imbecile, just because-,” you start and he doesn’t need to look this time, he’s certain that the red spots are back on your skin.
Benji cuts you off before you get mad enough to have them spread all over. “No, not a woman. A princess of the realm. The realm’s delight, even. I will not be the one to spoil you, I’m sure Marion already did enough damage.”
“I’m not a child,” you huff. “I’ll be wed sooner than later as it seems, I’ll know either way.”
He shrugs and as he does he suddenly realises your head was resting against his shoulder. Immediately he regrets the movement, tries to bend in a way to return you to your previous position. You fit back perfectly, all the while you’re suppressing a vaguely impolite yawn.
“I won’t do it either way. And I won’t tell you the tales of Bloody Ben either, if that’s what you’re looking for,” he explains. “You were shocked enough by the events in the alley, I do not want your head filled with gruesome images of violent men.”
Your eyelids are drooping. “My god Benjicot, will you just tell a story,” you grumble.
His mind races to find something, some memory of his that he wants to share with you, and finds that there are very few.
He’s never been ashamed of his tendency to brutality and he isn't now. He applies it when needed and fairly so. It really isn’t his fault that so many people wanted to see a glimpse of it, prodding at him with razor-sharp insults to get to him. Especially those god-forsaken Bracken boys.
“I fell from a tree as a little boy,” he says, to his own wonder.
He feels your giggle in his bones. “What?”
“Yes. I climbed it to prove a point to some cousin or something, I don’t remember and I remember thinking that I was falling to my death.”
“Goodness Benji, don’t you have a happier story.”
He shushes you. “Just wait until I get to the good part you impatient witch.”
You resign and he keeps going on about how he had clambered his way up the tree barefoot at seven years old, how that had been the moment he understood that he had a fear of heights and how he spent ten hours in that tree before gathering up the courage to get back down by jumping, so in all honesty he didn’t fall, but he did promptly land upon his sword instructor who at that moment decided that Benji was his most precious diamond in the rough, because what kind of insane person would jump down and from that point on their friendship had bloomed.
Then after that story was done he kept on going.
Takes of his childhood, his friends at home, his visits to tavern which he discreetly censored to not come across as vulgar.
He can’t pinpoint at what moment you fall asleep but soon enough your snores begin to fill the room, your head still propped against his biceps.
He figures he should get up but he really and strongly does not want to do so.
Instead he moves you, carefully, with much more care than his own hands are used to, until you are horizontal.
He almost manages to scrape together enough discipline to leave you, but then you do something…peculiar.
Though sound asleep, your fingers curl around the fabric of his pants next to your hand, like a child grasping its mothers skirt in some odd way.
Benji doesn’t get up.
He doesn’t sleep for a second, instead he remains exactly as he is.
This is fine, he figures. What are knights for if not full-time protection?
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There was a moment that struck me, and I think it would strike you too: Donald Trump openly praised Viktor Orbán, as he has done repeatedly in the past. But he said, explicitly, Orbán is a good guy because he’s a “strongman,” which is a word that he clearly takes to be a compliment, not derogatory. You’ve written about the strongman fantasy in your Substack, so I’m curious: What do you think Trump is appealing to here?
Well, I’m going to answer it in a slightly different way, and then I’ll go back to the way you mean it. I think he’s tapping into one of his own inner fantasies. I think he looks around the world and he sees that there’s a person like Orbán, who’s taken a constitutional system and climbed out of it and has managed to go from being a normal prime minister to essentially being an extraconstitutional figure. And I think that’s what Trump wants for himself. And then, of course, the next step is a Putin-type figure, where he’s now an unquestioned dictator.
For the rest of us, I think he’s tapping—in a minor key—into inexperience, and that was my strongman piece that you kindly mentioned. Americans don’t really think through what it would mean to have a government without the rule of law and the possibility of throwing the bums out. I think we just haven’t thought that through in all of its banality: the neighbors denouncing you, your kids not having social mobility because you maybe did something wrong, having to be afraid all the damn time. African Americans and some immigrants have a sense of this, but in general, Americans don’t get that. They don’t get what that would be like.
So that’s a minor key. The major key, though, is the 20% or so of Americans who really, I think, authentically do want an authoritarian regime, because they would prefer to identify personally with a leader figure and feel good about it rather than enjoy freedom.
You mentioned the word banality, which makes me think of Hannah Arendt’s theory of the “banality of evil.” What would the banality of authoritarianism look like in America?
So let me first talk about the nonbanality of evil, because our version of evil is something like, and I don’t want to be too mean, but it’s something like this: A giant monster rises out of the ocean and then we get it with our F-16s or F-35s or whatever. That’s our version of evil. It’s corporeal, it’s obviously bad, and it can be defeated by dramatic acts of violence.
And we apply that to figures like Hitler or Stalin, and we think, Okay, what happened with Hitler was that he was suddenly defeated by a war. Of course he was defeated by a war, but he did some dramatic and violent things to come to power, but his coming to power also involved a million banalities. It involved a million assimilations, a million changes of what we think of as normal. And it’s our ability to make things normal and abnormal which is so terrifying. It’s like an animal instinct on our part: We can tell what the power wants us to do, and if we don’t think about it, we then do it. In authoritarian conditions, this means that we realize, Oh, the law doesn’t really apply anymore. That means my neighbor could have denounced me for anything, and so I better denounce my neighbor first. And before you know it, you’re in a completely different society, and the banality here is that instead of just walking down the street thinking about your own stuff, you’re thinking, Wait a minute, which of my neighbors is going to denounce me?
Americans think all the time about getting their kids into the right school. What happens in an authoritarian country is that all of that access to social mobility becomes determined by obedience. And as a parent, suddenly you realize you have to be publicly loyal all the time, because one little black mark against you ruins your child’s future. And that’s the banality right there. In Russia, everybody lives like that, because any little thing you do wrong, and your kid has no chance. They get thrown out of school; they can’t go to university.
We don’t imagine how a regime change is going to be at the dinner table. The regime change is going to be on the sidewalk. It’s going to be in your whole life. It’s not going to be some external thing. It’s not like this strongman is just going to be some bad person in the White House, and then eventually the good guys will come and knock him out. When the regime changes, you change and you adapt, and you look around as everyone else is adapting and you realize, Well, everyone else adapting is a new reality for me, and I’m probably going to have to adapt too. Trump wants to be a strongman. He’s already tried a coup d’état. He makes it clear that he wants to be a different regime. And so if you vote him in, you’re basically saying, “Okay, strongman, tell me how to adapt.”
Yeah, we could talk about Project 2025 all day. This new effort to bureaucratize tyranny—which was not in place in 2020—could really make the banal aspect a reality because it’s enforced by the administrative state, which is going to be felt by Americans at a quotidian level.
I agree with what you say. If I were in business, I would be terrified of Project 2025 because what it’s going to lead to is favoritism. You’re never going to get approvals for your stuff unless you’re politically close to administration. It’s going to push us toward a more Hungary-like situation, where the president’s pals’ or Jared Kushner’s pals’ companies are going to do fine. But everybody else is going to have to pay bribes. Everyone else is going to have to make friends.
It’s anticompetitive.
Yeah, it’s going to generate a very, very uneven playing field where certain people are going to be favored and become oligarchs. And most of the rest of us are going to have a hard time. Also, the 40,000 [loyalists Trump wants to replace the administrative state with] are going to be completely incompetent. When people stop getting their Social Security checks, they’re going to realize that the federal government—which they’ve been told is so dysfunctional—actually did do some things. It’s going to be chaos. The only way to get anything done is to have a phone number where you can call somebody at someplace in the government and say, “Make my thing a priority.” The chaos of the administration state feeds into the strongman thing. And since that’s true, the strongman view starts to become natural for you because it’s the only way to get anything done.
Timothy Snyder Explains How Americans Might Adapt to Fascism Under Trump
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I think there’s a mentality in the Stranger Things fandom, or certainly outside of Byler spaces, that Byler is just another m/m ship.
What do I mean by “just another” m/m ship?
We all know there’s a long history of shipping male characters together when the show they were in clearly had no intentional romantic subplot.
M/m shipping has existed since the days of Star Trek - and it’s existed for many different reasons. But over time, it’s developed a bad reputation because fans of those ships were reading into things way too much and had so much hope that something might happen to those characters, only for them to end up incredibly upset and frustrated by the end.
There has also been a lot of accusations of fetishisation.
Some of this is also because especially in the early 2000s/ 2010s, these shows used to play on those hopes and have a lot of fun exploring “bromances”, where the writing would be intentionally stirring the pot, but not crossing the line enough for there to be any real plan to take things further.
What’s really important here is that Byler are NOT that kind of ship.
There would never be this much animosity if Will was Mike’s female best friend from childhood.
Yes, there would be a Byler vs. Milkvan war. That would never change - but the excuses as to why Byler have no possible chance of being together would be entirely different. Because yes, their arguments can currently include that Mike’s in a long term relationship, or that the 1980s environment would make it difficult for them to be together, but that’s about as realistic as the arguments have been.
Compare the circumstances to other canonical unrequited love stories
Take away all of the analysis about why Mike might be gay or Bi or even interested in Will in the first place, and just look at the plot in its bare bones state.
Will is canonically in love with Will, and Mike is canonically unaware of this and in a relationship with El.
There are SO MANY examples of this sort of love triangle in fiction, and most importantly there are more scenarios than there aren’t of this love becoming requited. It’s so normal for an audience to see a scenario like this and wonder if this is going to be one of those stories.
What’s happening instead is a lot of heteronormativity.
And that’s either down to the environment that Stranger Things fans find themselves in (people still live very unexposed lives) or they are just generally ignorant about anything that isn’t really in their face or what they want to see.
So there’s a heck of a lot of fans who didn’t even recognise that Will is gay, or just disregarded their assumptions and played up the “slow to grow up” narrative because they were more comfortable with that kind of story, or could relate to it more.
And so from their point of view, because they didn’t see anything, it couldn’t possibly exist. Bylers were seeing things and making them up. Now, after the Duffers and Noah confirmed things, they’re finding a lot of comfort in instead taking some of this fandoms bigger reaches (don’t mean to offend here, sorry) and using them as ammunition instead, e.g. Finn glancing at Noah’s lips for a millisecond during a take.
But the main point I’m getting at is that people who are dismissing Byler are not recognising that this is a traditional love triangle premise.
Now compare the canonical story to previous m/m ships
So because there are some similar activities happening in this fandom to what has been seen in those previous famous m/m ship fandoms, many Stranger Things fans are dismissing Byler as an imagined ship.
But how many of those old ships were able to boast about actual confirmed feelings, albeit one sided, with time left to explore things further?
There is absolutely no reason why the Byler ship resembles any of those “bromances” or queer baiting storylines in previous franchises and fiction.
This isn’t me saying that Byler will 100% become a couple
What I’m saying is that if nothing happens between them in season 5, that doesn’t undo the fact that Byler are a legitimate ship. It doesn’t undo the fact that Will’s feelings for Mike are canonical and that their storyline follows the premise of a traditional love triangle story.
There are people out there who are already trying to make Bylers feel stupid or ashamed for even exploring the potential of the ship, and all they’re doing is showing us how incredibly ignorant they are.
But that’s not to say that lessons can’t be learned from those previous m/m ship disasters
The one thing you should take from them is that people did get really attached, and so being let down by the show really hurt. It’s fine to speculate about Byler, but please don’t set your heart on them and let it break.
If we start to get legit info or confirmation that the ship won’t be requited, please don’t let yourself fall down the rabbit hole of conspiracy and set yourself up for disappointment.
But we have no legitimate reason to rule out Byler right now
The set up is there, the filming looks positive and the Duffers haven’t said anything to dispute the ship’s potential. Speculation is more than allowed - it’s normal and an inevitable result of season 4. So let’s have as much fun as we can and know that we’re doing nothing “deluded” or wrong.
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