#very good show too folks l

[sebssunshine]

i’m listening to the audio book of manhunt: the 12 day chase for lincoln’s killer and tell me why like a full half of john wilkes booths success at avoiding capture was because he was hot???

like this man was just so smoking that people INCLUDING OTHER MEN over looked the fact that he ya know killed the president and helped him

[fayes-fics]

To Know You…

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

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

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

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

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

I: To Know You….

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

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

—

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

Well, I never, Mrs Parsons!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

II: …Is To Love You

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

Whosoever marries you shall be quite the luckiest man indeed.

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

Is no one in attendance up to his standard?

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Benedict has no response to that. 

—

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

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

“Not your favourite pastime?” Benedict correctly guesses.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why?” Violet frowns.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Well, no…”

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

“I believe it is Miss y/l/n, sir.”

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

The piano stops abruptly.

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

“Skylark?” Ms West sounds enchanted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you.” 

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

III: … And I Do.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You watch Benedict blanch at the very words.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

—

Nothing could have prepared you for this.

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

Surely, this is what dreams are made of?

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

“What on earth…?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Thank you,” you answer softly. 

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Why would she have?”  

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

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

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

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

Even he can read between those lines. 

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

—

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

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

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

“Researching,” he gruffs economically.

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

“I can find nothing wrong with him!”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

—

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

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

A resounding yes.

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

And yet.

And yet.

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

—

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

—

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You are stunned. Speechless. 

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

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

—

Benedict is momentarily confounded at your actions.

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

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

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

“I love you.” 

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

—

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

“I-I-I love you too.”

You are bewildered when you say it aloud. 

 The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

[joelsgreys]

a safe haven l ten

Post Outbreak! Joel Miller x Female Reader

series masterlist l previous chapter l next chapter

summary: After a long night, Joel and Ellie take you home.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. (TW) THIS CHAPTER CONTAINS MENTIONS OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, MENTIONS OF AN INJURY SUSTAINED FROM AN ACT OF DOMESTIC VIOLENCE, PREGNANCY, CONVERSATIONS SURROUNDING PREGNANCY LOSS . PLEASE HEED THE WARNINGS. Ellie and reader are very close to each other, Joel deals with feelings of guilt, Joel and Maria make nice, Joel gives reader a bath and washes her hair, food consumption (i am just gonna apologize to my lactose intolerant folks right now, trust me i must pretend with you), both reader and Joel have some big feelings, reader mentions her deceased father, angst, soft and domestic Joel, fluff.

word count: 5k

a/n: i have not updated this series since october. :l i feel a a mixed bag of emotions updating after all this time, but most of all, i am grateful to know there are a couple of people out there who are still invested in this story. to anyone who has been waiting: truly, it means the world that you have shown me patience, support, and kindness. believe me, i am going to be seeing this story to the end, and it is all thanks to those who continue to show this lil story of mine a whole lotta love. special shoutout to the loveliest human @mrsmando who made me this beautiful mooodboard every single time i got stuck during this chapter, i looked at it and it gave me the boost of inspiration i needed. thank you mimi <33 this chapter is fairly tame, the next chapter is already in the works, and there are a couple of time jumps coming. overall, we are down to the last handful of chapters. let’s finish this story and give these two the ending they deserve, shall we?

“What the hell is taking Tommy so fucking long?” Ellie whines. She’s sprawled out on the couch with her head in your lap, and her arm draped over her eyes. Her feet are hanging, dangling over the edge of the couch at an odd angle after you’d warned her not to get muck from her sneakers on the linen fabric. Despite Joel insisting over and over that she head on back to the house, she had stubbornly refused, not wanting to leave your side. “It’s been over two hours! He’s taking fucking forever, man. What’s the fucking hold up?”

Joel bites back a sigh, masking his own impatience. Or at least, he tries. He’s grown just as restless as the kid, if not more. Much like Ellie, he’s desperate. He’s itching to take you home already, almost too anxious to watch you take that first step over his threshold, and into your new life with him and with Ellie. He aches, aches, to get you settled into the place where you would be spending the remainder of your days with one another, where you would be safe, and loved in the way you deserved to be loved—the place where he would cherish and adore you until his final breath.

“Don’t know,” he answers, his voice sounding rougher, more gruff than usual. Reaching up, he scrubs his hand down the side of his face, adding tiredly, “He might be a while longer, kiddo. It could be another hour, could be more. Like I already told you, s’probably best if you just go on and head back to the house without us, alright?”

“No. I’m not walking out that fucking door unless she’s with me.” She pauses and pulls her arm away from her face for a moment, just long enough to throw a teeny glare his way. “Unless you’re both with me. The three of us go home together, or it’s no fucking deal. Got it?”

He shakes his head in utter exasperation.

“Ellie, we’ll be right here down the fuckin’ road—”

Her hand shoots out and she flips him off.

Just when he’s about to chastise her, he stops himself, clamping his mouth shut. It’s pointless.

Kid’s too goddamn hard headed for her own good, and Joel knows he’s just wasting his breath with her.

“I’m sure he’ll be back soon,” you reassure them both, weaving your fingers through her hair to scratch at her scalp in an effort to soothe her. “Right, Joel?”

He meets your exhausted, worn down gaze from where he’s standing across the room, and his heart lurches in his chest. As the guilt begins creeping in, he’s forced to look away. He can’t imagine the living hell you had been through over the last twenty four hours alone. And the worst part about it was the realization that last night, while he was fast asleep in bed just a couple of houses up the road, that fucking bastard had his belt wrapped around your throat.

Joel feels sick to his fucking stomach all over again.

Horrifying, vividly real images of you helplessly trapped underneath Luke scratching and clawing at the leather around your neck with trembling fingers, struggling to breathe oxygen into your burning lungs as he tugged it tighter and tighter through the buckle flash in his mind, a gruesome nightmare turned into reality.

Exactly how far had Luke taken it?

Until you had grown too weak to keep fighting?

Until you almost lost complete consciousness?

Until he noticed the life threatening to leave your eyes?

Is that when he had finally stopped pulling on the belt?

Joel shudders, a bitter taste climbing up his throat as it sinks in. He could have lost you—and his unborn child.

This shouldn’t have happened.

He shouldn’t have let you walk away that night.

This wouldn’t have happened if he hadn’t let you walk away from him that night.

“Joel,” you say his name, quiet and weary.

His head snaps back in your direction and he glances at you, almost missing the subtle shake of your head. It is a silent warning telling him not to go there, though you know by the tight clench of his jaw it’s too late for that.

Joel makes the futile attempt to hide it, but he sees it written all over your face—you know what he’s thinking because you know him like the back of your own hand, and you just know he’s placing all of the blame for what happened to you on his own shoulders.

But can you honestly fault him for that?

How can you expect him not to feel like he is somehow responsible for this? Just how the hell is he supposed to make himself believe he hadn’t failed you?

Joel promised—he had fucking promised you—that he wouldn’t let anything bad happen to you. He had sworn to keep you safe, made a vow to protect you from Luke, but here you are, your soft, delicate flesh marred with the painful evidence of yet another one of his failures.

And it was all because he had let you walk away on that fucking night.

He should have done something.

Even if it meant running the risk of you never speaking to him again—even if you never forgave him, spent the rest of your life angry and hating him for going against your wishes. He should have something.

“Joel—”

“Be right back,” he mutters, lightly shaking his head.

Shoving away from the doorframe he’s leaning against, Joel pivots on the heel of his boot and starts down the hallway. He walks into the kitchen where he finds Maria standing at the counter, tapping her fingers against the smooth, laminated oakwood as she waits for the coffee she’d offered him a few minutes ago to finish brewing. She’d offered to whip up a quick supper, but food was the last thing on everyone’s mind.

“Tommy’s been gone for a couple hours now. Girls are startin’ to get real tired of just sittin’ around waitin’ for him to come back,” he tells her, exhaling the sigh he’d held back in the living room. “What do you think could be keepin’ him so long?”

With her back still to him, Maria reminds him, “Well, he did mention he was going to round up the council and get them together for an emergency meeting.” She lets out a sigh that matches his own—it’s been a long night for her, too. When the last drop of dark roast drips into the glass pot, she carefully takes the pot by the plastic handle and pours the steaming coffee into a speckled, white and blue ceramic mug. “Do you take it with milk and sugar?”

“No thanks, that’s alright,” he declines as politely as he can.

“I also have cinnamon if you’d like?”

“Plain black’s just fine.” He gives her a nod of gratitude when she hands it to him. “Thank you. And I don’t just mean the coffee, but for, uh—for bandagin’ up my hand for me, too.” He clocks the brief look of surprise on her face and almost laughs. He doesn’t blame her for being taken aback, because truth be told, so is he. Since he’d met Maria, he had known she didn’t trust him as far as she could throw him. There was something of a mutual understanding between them, a silent agreement they had made to keep each other at arm’s length, to only interact when it was absolutely necessary.

Never did he think he would be standing in her kitchen, thanking her for patching up his hand, and for making him a cup of coffee out of the kindness of her heart.

His brother wouldn’t believe it.

“Don’t mention it.” Crossing her arms over her chest, she leans back against the counter. “How’s it feel, by the way?”

“S’fine,” he replies, shrugging. “Nothin’ I can’t handle.”

There’s a momentary silence. A taste of tension lingers over their heads, and he knows at one point or another, he’s going to have to address the affair, the very reason everything had unfolded in such a terrible manner.

Guess now’s as good a time as fuckin’ any, he thinks to himself with an inward sigh.

Joel lightly clears his throat. “Listen, since we’ve got a minute alone, just the two of us, I was wonderin’ if, uh—if we could talk ‘bout somethin’? If that’s alright?”

“Of course.” Maria gives him the floor.

“I know that she—” Pausing, he shuffles from the heel of one boot to the other, his ears burning hot. He had known it wouldn’t be an easy conversation to have, but he underestimated just how uncomfortable it would be, regardless of what she already knew. “I know she told you and Tommy all ‘bout us, and ‘bout our relationship. See, the thing is, the first time I saw her—”

Again, Joel stops, the burning sensation now radiating, spreading from his ears to his face and down his neck, flushing his skin a deep, deep shade of pink. Unable to meet his sister in law’s gaze, he glances down into his mug, as if he will somehow find the right words to say somewhere in the depths of his coffee.

“It was never my intention, y’know,” he finally says after a minute. “Goin’ after a married woman. I swear, I never meant to fall for her. I just fuckin’ did. I think I might’ve fallen for her long before I even met her,” he confesses. He feels himself darken to a shade of maroon under her curious stare. “And somehow, for reasons I ain’t all too sure I’ll ever understand, she fell for me too.”

Maria raises an eyebrow at him. “Look, I’m not judging you, Joel,” she assures him, shaking her head. “If that’s what you’re thinking. I’m not judging her, either.”

He looks up at her, blurting out, “You’re not?”

She moves her hands to cradle her swollen middle. “Do I wish you two had handled everything differently?” she answers her own query with a nod of her head. “Oh, I’m sure we all do. But I’ve known her for a long time now. I know the kind of woman she is. And I’m starting to see the kind of man you are.”

“And what kinda man is that, Maria?”

He waits without the slightest clue as to what she could possibly say.

“Since you came back to Jackson, I’ve chosen to keep my distance from you—but make no mistake, I’ve been watching you like a hawk since day one. Waiting for any signs of trouble. Waiting for you to fuck up. Waiting for you to give me a good reason to throw your ass out of this community because I didn’t trust you. Not after all the things I was told about you.”

He snorts. “You goin’ somewhere with this?”

“You are not who I thought you were,” Maria admits, smiling wryly. “I’ve gotten to see a different side of you. You pull your weight around here by doing your job and doing it well. You stay out of trouble—for the most part. And more importantly, I have seen the way that you’ve stepped up to be a father figure to Ellie. It takes a good man to do that, Joel.”

“Think that’s the nicest fuckin’ thing you’ve ever said to me,” he muses, setting his mug down on the counter. “I stepped up because I love her. I love them both. Those two, they’re the best parts of me. They’re the reasons I keep goin’ and now I’ve got another reason on the way.”

Maria smiles, but it vanishes as quickly as it appears.

Catching her hesitance, Joel asks, “What? What is it?”

“What comes next is not going to be easy,” she warns him, lowering her voice. Even with the living room a fair distance from the kitchen, she doesn’t want to run the risk of you overhearing her. “For as hard as we’re going to try to contain the fire, it will spread, and everyone in this town will find out about everything—including the affair. People are going to talk, and believe me, they’re going to have a whole lot to say about it, Joel.”

He can’t help but roll his eyes at her.

“Think I can handle some fuckin’ gossip, Maria.”

“I know you can. But I’m not sure if she can,” Maria tells him, quietly. “It worries me. She’s been through a lot in just one night alone. I don’t want her stressing anymore than she already has. She is in a very delicate stage of her pregnancy right now, Joel. If she’s not careful, she could have a miscarriage. She had one about two years ago when her father became sick—” Observing his lack of a reaction, she realizes, “You knew that already.”

“Yeah,” he sighs. He knows where she’s going with this. “I did. She told me ‘bout it.”

“It makes her chances of having another one higher—”

Joel doesn’t even allow himself to think of it happening to you again. “I get it,” he interjects, trying not to sound too curt. “I’ll make sure she takes it real easy, alright?”

Lifting a hand off her belly, she reaches out and takes a hold of his forearm, gripping it tightly.

“Promise me something, Joel. Promise me that you’ll look after her,” Maria pleads him, gently. “Please. After everything she’s been through—I need you to promise me that she’s going to be in good hands with you.”

He nods. Without thinking, he places his hand over hers in an unexpected token of affection and reassurance. “You have my word, Maria. I’ll take good care of her.”

She gives his arm a grateful squeeze, then glances over his shoulder at the clock on the wall. “It’s getting pretty late. We don’t know how much longer Tommy’s going to be with the council. Why don’t we just go ahead and call it a night?” she suggests. “We can all get together first thing in the morning at your place to talk about it.”

“Yeah, good idea,” he agrees. “She really needs to rest.”

Maria gives his arm another squeeze. 

“Go on then, Joel. Take your girls home.”

“Finally!” Ellie exclaims with a dramatic flail of her arms as she shoves through the front door.

“Alright, kiddo. Get your behind upstairs and into the shower,” Joel instructs her, flipping on the lights in the foyer. “Y’smell like fuckin’ horse shit.”

She lifts the collar of her shirt to her nose, takes a whiff, and makes a face. “Yeah, I won’t argue with you there,” she mutters. She toes off her dirty sneakers and leaves them beside the door before dashing up the staircase, taking two steps at a time.

He shouts after her, “And don’t use up all the hot—”

“Yeah, yeah, I fucking know the rules, dude!”

Moments later, you both hear the shower going.

“Little shit,” he grumbles.

You exhale an amused huff through your nose.

Joel withdraws his arm from around your shoulders and reaches for your hand, lacing your fingers together. “C’mon, darlin’.” He guides you up the stairs and down the hallway into his bedroom where he switches on the light before proceeding to lead you over to his dresser. “I’ve got a bunch of shirts in this top drawer here,” he says. Dropping your hand, he pulls it open for you and gestures to it with a jut of his chin as he takes a step backwards, moving out of the way. “Go ahead and pick one to sleep in tonight. Want you to be comfortable, so help yourself to whichever one you want, sweet girl.”

Nodding, you begin to rummage through the drawer, unaware of the moment he slips away. You reach for a t-shirt, but then a plaid green flannel catches your eye. You pluck it from the drawer, running your fingers over the soft, warm fabric. “Is it alright if I wear—?” You turn around, stopping mid sentence when you realize he’s no longer standing behind you. Puzzled, you follow the sound of running water into the bathroom where you find him kneeling beside the tub. “Joel? What are you doing?”

“Runnin’ you a bath.”

You notice the bloodied bandage beside him on the tile floor. “Joel, are you serious?” you scold him. “Maria just patched your hand up for you.”

“S’okay, peach. I can rewrap it when we’re done.” Joel sticks his injured hand under the faucet to check the temperature, the cold water soothing his cuts. Once it turns warm, then hot, he pulls out his hand, waiting for the tub to fill halfway before shutting the faucet off and rising to his feet. “C’mere, sweetheart.” He rolls the sleeves of his shirt up to his forearms, then beckons for you with both of his hands. “Let’s get you washed up.”

You remain standing by the door. “Joel, you don’t have to do this for me.”

“I know.”

“I’m capable of washing myself—”

“Yeah, I know that too,” he says, chuckling. “S’only fair, darlin’. Don’t you think?”

That’s when it hits you—how this moment is mirroring that night you had cleaned Joel up after you and Ellie had brought him home from the clinic with an injured shoulder. He allowed you to take care of him, and now, he was looking to do the same for you. And all you had to do was let him.

“But your hand—”

“Will be just fine,” Joel persists, stubbornly. “It’s nothin’ but a few cuts and scrapes. C’mon—or else I’m gonna march right over there and get you myself, peach.”

Knowing Joel, you certainly wouldn’t put it past him to throw you over his should and carry you to the bathtub.

“Fine,” you relent with a small sigh of defeat.

Setting his shirt down on the sink, you slowly walk over towards him and whirl around, letting him help you out of your knitted cardigan. You finish undressing yourself, inhaling a deep breath as you muster up the courage to turn back around and face him—when you finally do, it feels like a punch to the gut to see the heartbreak in his dark brown eyes, the subtle tremble of his bottom lip. You don’t have to look at yourself in the mirror to know it looks about a hundred times worse when you’re not wearing clothes.

Keeping your arms down at your sides, you fight every urge to cover yourself up. You’ve never felt so fucking vulnerable.

Clearing his throat, Joel holds out his hand. “C’mere.”

You accept it, and he helps you into the tub.

“How’s the water? S’not too hot, is it?”

You shake your head and he leans forward, kissing your temple so sweetly, your eyes flutter closed.

He washes your hair first, then takes a clean washcloth, lathering it up with a bar of milk and honey soap—the same soap he would smell on your skin all those nights. Admittedly, Joel preferred castile soap, but switched it when he found himself missing you during those weeks you were apart from him, when he needed the comfort of your scent. He is gentle with you, so gentle, as if he’s afraid you’ll shatter into pieces in his hands.

As he lightly drags the washcloth up your back and around your neck, you stiffen, prompting him to freeze too. “Fuck. Baby, did I hurt you?” he asks, and you hear the slight panic in his tone.

“No,” you say quickly, desperately trying to swallow the lump rising in your throat. “No, you didn’t hurt me. It’s just—” Every overwhelming emotion slams into you all at once, and you can’t seem to figure out which one to feel first. Humiliation? Fear? Relief?

The water sloshes around you as you pull your legs up to your chest and wrap your arms around your knees, giving yourself permission to feel them all. Bowing your head, you begin to sob quietly, hoping that Ellie, who is just down the hallway, won’t hear you crying again.

Joel says nothing. Washcloth still clutched in his hand, he leans forward over the edge of the tub and wraps his arms around you, pulling you close, or at least, as close as the barrier between the two of you will allow him.

“Joel,” you choke, trying to push him off. “Stop it. Your clothes, they’re getting all wet.”

“Hush. Don’t fuckin’ care ‘bout my clothes,” he croaks, and for a second, you swear he’s about to cry too. But he doesn’t. He holds himself strong. Tugging you closer against his chest, he buries his nose into your soaking wet hair, whispering his reassurance. “You’re okay, baby. You’re safe, my sweet girl. I’ve got you, alright?”

He pulls back slightly, dipping his hand into the water, placing it on your lower belly.

You look down, your eyes glazing over his bruised and battered knuckles. Proof that Joel Miller really would do anything for you.

“I know you do,” you say, softly. “I know you’ve got me, Joel.”

A while later, you’re dried, dressed, and composed. You follow Joel out of the bathroom and back into his room, where he has you take a seat on the bed. Noticing you had missed a button on his flannel shirt, he does it for you. He plants a kiss on the top of your head and says, “Give me a minute while I change.”

He peels off his wet clothes, being careful so as not to further agitate his sore, injured hand. After changing into a pair of gray sweatpants and an old, faded black t-shirt, he turns around only to find you’re sitting in bed underneath the covers.

“Sorry,” you apologize with a nervous chuckle as you rest your back against the headboard. “It just looked so warm and cozy—and it smells like you. I couldn’t resist making myself comfortable.”

Joel pads over to the side of the bed. He leans over, planting one hand on either side of you as he dips his head and brushes his lips against yours. “Ain’t got no reason to apologize, baby,” he assures you in a gentle murmur. “This is your bed now too, peach. This is your room. This is your home. Alright?”

Home.

You’re home.

He touches the tip of his nose to yours, and then draws himself back up to full height. “There’s somethin’ that I’ve gotta take care of downstairs, peach. I won’t be too long,” he promises.

It’s almost midnight. Joel goes about the kitchen and he prepares you the quickest meal that he can think of. He plates the sandwich he’d thrown together and pours a glass of cow’s milk—he’s always sure to keep a pint of it in the refrigerator to make the kid her oatmeal in the mornings.

He heads back upstairs, only to find that while he had been gone, Ellie had joined you, making herself a little too comfortable on his side of the bed. He stands there at the door, watching the two of you.

“Hey, so is it true babies can hear stuff while they’re in there?” Ellie questions you, curiously.

“Mhm,” you reply with a nod. “They can hear music, for example. Voices—”

“Voices?” She smushes her face into your stomach and he hears a muffled, “Hey, dude!”

You giggle. “Ellie, I think it’s still a little too early.”

“When do you think it’ll be able to hear me?”

“I’m not too sure. In a few months, maybe?”

Ellie lifts her head, humming. “You know, I bet there’s baby books in the library,” she tells you as she sits up. “I’ll have Dina help me look for one tommor—oh shit.” She stares at you with wide eyes. “Dina! How are you going to tell her and Talia about Luke?”

Joel grimaces. He hadn’t thought of that, either.

“I—I’m not too sure.”

“You have to fucking tell them. Dina has to know about him. She has to know what a piece of shit he is, and so does Talia.”

Sensing your discomfort, Joel steps into the bedroom and intervenes before she can say another word. “Ellie, get to bed. S’late.”

“But—”

“Don’t make me tell you again,” he warns her, sternly.

She huffs, rolling her eyes. “Fine.” She climbs off the bed and on her way out, she eyes the plate in his hand. “That chicken?”

“Turkey. And it ain’t for you, it’s for her. So scram, kid.”

“Couldn’t have made me one while you were at it, old man?”

“Ellie, if you don’t get outta here right now—”

“Alright!” Ellie holds her hands up. “I’m leaving. Jesus.”

She disappears, closing the door behind her.

“Pain in my ass,” Joel mumbles, shaking his head as he walks over and carefully perches himself beside you. He hands you the plate. “Here, darlin’.”

“Joel, I appreciate this, but I’m really not very hungry.”

“Maybe not, but y’gotta eat,” he insists. “Baby needs it.”

Thankfully, you accept it without further protest.

“I’ll have Ellie get your things tomorrow,” Joel states as you’re eating. “Maria can go along with her since she knows the house. They’ll get your clothes and whatever else you might need outta there.”

“My father’s belongings.” You accidentally talk through a mouthful of turkey and bread. Swallowing, you tell him, “I have some boxes of his stuff in the basement. But they’re way too heavy for either of them to carry.”

“I’ll take care of that for you.” He reaches up, wiping a breadcrumb from the corner of your mouth with his thumb. “I can ask Tommy to give me a hand. Don’t you worry, peach. We won’t leave your dad’s things behind, I swear it.”

Relieved, you shoot him a grateful look, then polish off the last few bites of your sandwich.

“Here,” he says, offering you the glass of milk. “Figured it’s good for you, and good for the baby. Y’know, since it’s got calcium and…stuff.” He shrugs sheepishly, no clue as to what he’s talking about. “Vitamins, right?”

Nodding, you grab the glass and take a reluctant sip.

“You hate milk,” Joel realizes, raising an eyebrow.

“I do,” you admit with a laugh. “But you’re right. It’s good for both me and the baby, so cheers.” And with that, you somehow force the entire glass down.

He sets the dishes aside on the nightstand, figuring he can take them downstairs first thing in the morning.

Without bothering to rebandage his hand like he’d told you he would, Joel turns off the lights and climbs into bed with you. “All those nights wishin’ I could bring you home,” he muses as you curl into his side. “Wantin’ nothin’ more than to hold you in my arms in this bed. In our bed.” His arm slips around your shoulders, a laugh rumbling through his chest. “Almost doesn’t feel real, darlin’.”

Tilting your head, you nuzzle your nose into the scruff of his beard, prompting him to laugh again. Then, he remembers his conversation with Maria, and his smile fades from his face, his lips pursing together.

You catch the sudden shift in his demeanor.

“Joel? What’s the matter?”

“M’fine, baby. It’s just—” He hesitates. “From this point forward, I need you to let me handle things.”

“What do you mean?”

“I don’t want you gettin’ all stressed out, alright? I don’t want to run the risk of you—” He’s unsure of how to say it.

“Of me losing the baby,” you finish for him, quietly.

Joel winces, knowing he was wandering into sensitive territory. “Yeah. I—I really don’t want that to happen.” He pauses. “Maria mentioned to me you’re in a delicate stage. When do you reckon you’ll stop—how long until you don’t gotta worry ‘bout it?”

“After twelve weeks, my risk isn’t as high. If I make it to the second trimester in six weeks, then my chances of having another miscarriage are lower.”

Though you speak calmly, he clocks your anxiousness.

You’re worried, and he’d be lying if he said he wasn’t fucking worried out of his mind too.

Being a father at his age wasn’t ideal, but he wanted this child. It was part of him, and more importantly, it was a part of you.

Joel squeezes your shoulders. “I only ask ‘cause I was thinkin’ that, y’know, once we get to that point, maybe I can go ahead and start buildin’ the baby’s crib.”

“You’re going to build the crib?”

He nods. “And the highchair too. I can even make you a diaper changin’ table if y’want one.”

“Joel.” You can’t help but chuckle. “Our worlds were just turned completely upside down. You just found out that I’m pregnant, and you’re already thinking about building furniture? Aren’t we getting a little ahead of ourselves?”

“Hey, those things take a whole ‘lotta time,” he says in defense of himself. “Besides, winter’s right around the corner and I don’t wanna be out in the garage freezin’ my fuckin’ ass off. If I can get a head start now, I can have them all done in the spring by the time the baby comes.”

You fall silent.

“What’s on your mind?”

“I’m really scared of losing it,” you confess. “When I first took that pregnancy test, I wanted nothing more for it to be negative. Now, I’m terrified I won’t make it past my first trimester again. I really don’t want to lose it. I want this baby, Joel.”

He turns his head, meeting your eyes in the silver light shining through the lace curtains over his window. “S’why you’ve gotta let me handle things, darlin’. Okay?”

“Okay.”

“C’mere, my sweet girl.” Joel presses his lips to yours, murmuring against them, “I love you.”

His declaration comes with natural ease.

And so does yours.

“I love you too, Joel.”

[minnarr]

REFERENCE POST: very minor characters of Word of Honor

I originally gathered these blorbos together for a presentation called "Writing in the Margins: finding story in the minor characters of Word of Honor" (sometimes, in a pinch, I title slide deck party presentations like a paper because it's easy). My criteria for this presentation was that I wanted to highlight characters to whom a lot of people's reaction would be, "Who?" So characters like Gu Miaomiao and Gao Xiaolian and Deng Kuan, while my beloveds, are not here because they are just a bit too present in the story.

Why should you click through and read? Well, honestly, I'm adapting this as a resource for fellow fic writers who just want some folks to help flesh out the world. This post is divided into three sections: Chengling's Generation, Tianchaung's Orbit, and The Previous Generation. There's so much just going on in the background; let's take a look.

Chengling's Generation

Mu Yunge

Introduction: Episode 5* Suggested Episodes: 5, 7

* by "introduction", I mean the episode in which their name card appears, officially introducing them; for some characters, as with Mu Yunge, their first appearance in the show happens before that point

Mu Yunge is an interesting inclusion because I don't like him. He's pretty much there to suck, and then die. He's here for two reasons. One, he does a lot to flesh out his world; two, he's in the boyband in the concert they did after Word of Honor wrapped, and that is my favorite part.

I'm really only going to address the first one here. Oh, Mu Yunge. He's there to show how the Department of the Unfaithful operates, and how very present the violent misogyny they address still is in his world. He's also (to all appearances) a young man in good standing in the martial arts world. Deng Kuan is close enough to him that he's selected as one of the friends to take part in the deathmatch in his name. What does this say about the young men of that generation? And his death also has echoes in the background drama in the show: Mu Siyuan (his dad) becomes a loud voice against the ghosts and later Gao Chong.

Zhu Yaozhi

Introduction: 3 Suggested Episodes: 7, 14, & 24

Zhu Yaozhi is fascinating to me because he is such an encapsulation of what Word of Honor does with its larger plot. Because, like, there's all these moving pieces and a lot of them are moving in the background and the main characters don't really notice or give a shit, but they're definitely moving along arcs that make sense from their point of view.

This guy is a disciple of Yueyang Sect, Gao Chong's sect (along with Deng Kuan); we see him multiple times just doing kind of grunt work/investigation for them, most notably when he follows up on the guy Gu Xiang beat up for harrassing musicians and then is apologetic and embarrassed for believing his side of the story (episode 7). He's also buddies with Mo Weixu, Cao Weining's shixiong, and teases Cao Weining to him. (See this gifset for part of the scene in question, from episode 14). Early Zhu Yaozhi is a goofball who's just doing his job.

After Gao Chong's disgrace, he goes searching for Gao Xiaolian and we lose track of him until he turns up again in ep 24 being menaced by Mu Siyuan. Mu Siyuan wants him to say his master was evil and colluded with the ghosts, and Zhu Yaozhi refuses and tries to punch him. It's great. It also gives us Shen Shen to the rescue in the middle of his own loyalty/figuring out how to be truly righteous arc. I have a lot of feelings about this. He's such a useful character for showing us what Yueyang Sect is like and what becomes of it after Gao Chong dies.

Song Huairen (L) & Xie Wuyang (R)

Introduction: SHR: 5 / XWY: 8 Suggested Episodes: SHR: 5 / XWY: 9, 17

I've paired these because they're both Xie Wang’s competition, young men who also call Zhao Jing yifu. They are both disciples of Yueyang Sect; Song Huairen is supposed to be a favored disciple of Gao Chong. Xie Wang eliminates him the same night we meet him and plays it off to Zhao Jing as the shell game with the Glazed Armor going wrong.

Xie Wuyang meanwhile starts off as a character who makes Zhang Chengling’s life at Yueyang uncomfortable—up to and including whipping him during training. Very satisfyingly, Gu Xiang knocks him out when he’s giving Chengling a hard time in episode 11. Later on, after Zhao Jing has settled in at Yueyang, Xie Wuyang serves him in his private rooms doing stuff like giving him manicures. 

Mo Weixu

Introduction: 14 Suggested Episodes: 14, 26-28

Mo Weixu is the son of Mo Huaiyang (Cao Weining's horrible shifu) and Cao Weining's da-shixiong. When he first appears, he scolds Cao Weining for having no ambition but then shoos him off to check on Gu Xiang anyway, and we see this mix of sternness-as-concern and indulgence continue. He's kind to Gu Xiang, and helps guide her through greeting their shishu Fan Huaikong properly, but he also warns Cao Weining that she might not be everything she appears. He's kind of the level-headed ballast to Cao Weining's naivete and worries about him.

Mo Weixu is not at Cao Weining's wedding. Mo Huaiyang says he had to cleanse his sect because his disciple and shidi were bewitched by Gu Xiang. However, in episode 36, Xie Wang specifically says that they never found Mo Weixu's body, even though they definitely found Fan Huaikong's. Fellow fic writers: you know what that means.

Tianchuang's Orbit

Bi Xingming (L) & Cheng Zichen (R)

Introduction: 31 Suggested Episodes: 31

Disciples of Siji hidden in Tianchuang! These two were both taken as disciples by men within Tianchuang and took their surnames; Bi Xingming’s first shifu is Bi Changfeng, the guy who took the nails in episode 1. Cheng Zichen's is a guy called Cheng Xiu. They show up in like one episode but I’m obsessed with them. They lead the party of Tianchuang ducklings who rescue Zhou Zishu and then get inducted into Siji as Zhou Zishu’s disciples. Bi Xingming is specifically shown to be very eager about this, but is told he’ll have to wait to have a ceremony about it till his shixiong Chengling comes back.

Princess Jing'an

Introduction: 1 Suggested Episodes: 1

Talk about one-scene wonders—Princess Jing'an left an impression on me. What kind of past interactions does it imply that she calls Zhou Zishu Zhou-shixiong, but he doesn't know she and Jiuxiao were in love? I have questions and I want to answer them. Also even in her like 2 minutes of screentime we see her sharp and defiant and angry and it makes me want to write her SO bad.

Qingluan

Introduction: [N/A] Suggested Episodes: 30

She is literally mentioned in like 1 or 2 lines in episode 30 so she’s less fascinating for her Word of Honor appearance than for how she is mentioned here paired with her role in Qi Ye (the novel that's the prequel to the novel SHL is based on): In Qi Ye, Su Qingluan (originally named Su Cui'r) is a beauty who becomes part of the crown prince party, gets caught working against them, and is confined to a house as Helian Yi’s concubine for the foreseeable future.

In Word of Honor, she’s one of the people (the list also includes Zhou Zishu, Yunxing, Qin Jiuxiao, and Jing Beiyuan) who swore together in her courtyard to make Jinwang emperor, which implies a much more active role in their party than in Qi Ye. We also know she killed herself before the events of canon (or at least as far as Jinwang knows; in the same section, Zhou Zishu says that Jinwang poisoned Jing Beiyuan to death with a straight face). This seems to be part of the whole party splintering over time. Once more: implied story, free real estate (jazz hands).

Jing Beiyuan's six siblings

At one point Jing Beiyuan justifies being called Qi Ye (Lord Seventh) by saying he's the seventh kid in his generation. (There's a different, much more absurd, justification in the novels). I take him at his word just because that's the funniest option. I don't have more to say beyond just:

Six

SIX!!!!!!

are they worse than him? are they normal?

just

SIX

The Previous Generation

Qin-furen

Introduction: [N/A] Suggested Episodes: 12, 24

SIDEBAR: the moms. The dads have SO much narrative weight in the story in ways that most of the moms really don’t—they’re often nameless or fully invisible—so I leap at even the tiniest mentions of what they’re like and think a lot about them. Qin-furen’s the only one who really lands in the sweet spot for this post: enough info to play with and not make a total OC, not enough screentime that I expect to find many fics with her.

This is the wife of Qin Huaizhang, Zhou Zishu’s shifu. She’s mentioned in just a handful of lines and unnamed. She rescued rabbits and apparently was fearsome with her husband about it. She was friends with Chengling’s mom, who had a similar dynamic with her husband, according to Chengling. In episode 12, Zhou Zishu says, “I wanted to practice martial arts when I was a child. Sometimes, when my master forced me to play, I would seek help from his wife. She always stood by my side and criticized my master.” I have spent a truly stupid amount of time looking at her gravestone trying to glean info, and I’m still not really sure what we should be calling her.

Yue Feng'er

Introduction: 19 Suggested Episodes: 19

The eldest disciple of her generation at Healer Valley and the wife of Rong Xuan. She rough-houses with Shen Shen and is known by her own title as well as being the eldest of the Three Heroes of Healers Valley. She’s presumably well-known in the martial arts world, and woven right into the web of friendships that started off all this tragedy. And she also loved her husband so fiercely that when he was poisoned she used a forbidden technique and took the heart out of a living man to try to heal him. She’s a powerful healer and at least as much a monster as he is and I like her so much.

[dd-is-my-guiltypleasure]

A LIFE IN THE DAY

David Duchovny: ‘Love can happen at any age, right?

The actor, 63, on The X Files, songwriting and snacking

EKATERINA GERBY

Interview by Helen Cullen

Wednesday January 17 2024, 12.01am GMT, The Sunday Time

Duchovny was born in New York City. He studied English at Princeton University and Yale, before breaking into acting in the late 1980s, starting in TV adverts and working his way up. In 1993 he began playing the role of the FBI agent Fox Mulder in The X Files, which ran for nine years. He later played Hank Moody in Californication. He has also released three folk-rock albums and published five novels — last year he directed a film adaptation of one of these, Bucky F***ing Dent. Duchovny has two grown-up children from his former marriage to the actress Téa Leoni. He lives in California, with his girlfriend, Monique Pendleberry, and his two dogs, Brick and Rookie.

I like to get up at dawn because those are my best thinking and writing hours. I love the sunrise but it also means I can get some work done before the sun gets too much. That’s the best time of day for me. I have a coffee that makes me think I’m brilliant for ten minutes and that’s all I need to get going.

Food to me is just fuel and I don’t have very advanced taste buds. I think everything kind of tastes OK, which people react to with suspicion. For breakfast I like oatmeal — what my Scottish mother called porridge.

If I’m filming I still like an early start, but I shot my recent film What Happens Later, with Meg Ryan, all through the night because we filmed in a regional airport after it closed at 9pm. That’s a bit of a nightmare for me as a morning person, but we developed a great camaraderie from working while the world was asleep. My daughter, West, thought it was great to see a romantic comedy film with people my age, but I don’t think of myself as any age, so I hadn’t thought about that. Love can happen at any age, right?

Everybody wants me to have a hobby, but I’m blessed because I love my work. I’ve been able to branch out into music, writing and directing. With songwriting I can pick up the guitar at any time. If you wait for inspiration to hit, you’ll be sitting on your ass for ever.

I knock off for lunch about 12pm. That’s when I have the one big meal of the day that would be recognisable to other humans as a proper meal — vegetables and a protein such as fish. The rest of the time I snack.

In the afternoon I work out. I love the games I played when I was younger — boxing, tennis and basketball — but as I get older I tend to get hurt doing those, so I’ve found Pilates is best for me. It’s still super hard but the least dangerous.

I live in Malibu and the height of my fame has passed, so it’s not difficult for me to move around any more. It’s a different era now because everybody has a phone, so paparazzi are more a thing of the past. I tend to go to the same places where people are bored of seeing me.

There are always different reasons why fans might stop me — it could be still because of The X Files or Californication. I am very proud of The X Files. I can’t think of another show like it in terms of cultural impact and longevity. I just thought we were making good, goofy TV but Chris Carter, the creator and director, saw what was coming in terms of the culture of conspiracy theories. Gillian Anderson [his co-star] and I went from being unknown to globally recognised in a couple of years. We don’t get to see each other that much as she lives in London, but there’s no one else I can share that with.

West is an actor now too. It wasn’t something that I would have charted out for her because I know how difficult it is, even more so for a woman, but I want her to do something she’s passionate about. There are still dark corners in Hollywood but the pitfalls and dangers are much more upfront.

I do enjoy a party, but I’d rather spend time with friends in the evening. Because I like to get up so early, I go to bed early also. I feel electric light has really f***ed with our sense of mind and body, and that we were made to hide in the cave at night from predators and wake up with the sun, so I try to do that. Constitutionally, I feel like that works for me.

Words of wisdom

Best advice I was given

It doesn’t matter if people laugh; it matters if it feels funny to you

Advice I’d give

There’s no such thing as good advice — you have to come to it on your own

What I wish I’d known

Take a moment to appreciate what you’ve done before worrying about the next thing

What Happens Later is in cinemas now and available to stream in spring. The Reservoir by David Duchovny is out now (Akashic Books £19.95)

×

[swiftllama]

September Compliments ☀️🔍

[Compliments Masterlist]

Hey guys! Back for another month! A month of a lot of small compliments sprinkled throughout this time around, but we still got quite a few full-on great complimentary moments. One in particular was very special 🥰

So let's get into it...

September 2023

Thinking OUTSIDE The Box (Herd Mentality)

Right off the bat, first day of the month, we got a Games video, and this video actually started off a theme throughout this month. The boys were in quite a few videos where they were playing games this month and were either competing against or working as a team so we got a lot of them complimenting each other on a job well down, plus the bestie-ism was shining through :-

Q: 'Name a brand beginning with an A’

Anthony: "I went to clothing for some reason."

lan: "Oh then I know what you did then."

Anthony: "Do you?'

lan: "You went to clothing.”

~

Anthony: "I put American Eagle. I'm thinking mall culture."

lan: [nodding] “I was thinking- I actually thought you'd either put American Eagle or All Saints."

-

Q: 'Name an animal beginning with a P’

lan: "I'm giggling [at his answer]."

Anthony: "I think I know why you're giggling.”

~

lan: "I put p**sy!"

Anthony: "I knnnew."

-

Anthony: "Did you [lan] just win?"

lan: "Oh!'

Anthony: "That's a win!" [cheering and clapping] "Yoooo! Because the nose [lan's answer for that round] knows!'

-

Q: 'Out of all the animals in the world, which is the cutest?'

lan: "I said cat."

Anthony: "I said kitten."

[everyone debating whether it counts as the same animal]

Anthony: "Also Ian," [shows him his card] "I wrote cat and crossed it out. I almost wrote it."

-

Q: 'Who is the toughest Disney princess?'

lan: "I did, I think her name is Merida?"

Anthony: "I put the one from Brave."

lan: "Oh!"

Anthony: "Yeah!"

I actually made a post of this moment because it was so cute! How excited they were they had the same answer and also Anthony's little tap dance when he realises 😊

l also loved Angela pointing it out :-

Angela: "Wait, that was so cool that you both said that really random one."

Chanse: "That is fun. Yeah."

Anthony: "Yeah."

lan: "She's tough."

Anthony: "But isn't she- she's like an archer."

Angela: "Sure, but like nobody talks about that movie."

Jackie: "I thought of it too, but I was like 'That's too much of a deep cut.'"

What did I say about the bestie-ism shining through? 🥰

-

lan: "Hey everybody. Here's a good one, Anthony I feel like you and I are gonna be aligned on this one."

Q: 'Name a rapper'

~

lan: "I said Drake."

Anthony: "I wrote Snoop Dogg."

So obviously not the same answer but very cute how lan thought they would be on the same wavelength and he gives the reason as to why he thought that :-

lan: "So Anthony and I played a, we played a fun little game yesterday, where we went on Spotify and we were trying to guess who were the top artists, because it ranks them-"

Literally awing out loud! the fact they were just playing that game together, it wasn't for a video or anything, just something they were doing together in their free time 🥹

Bonus - HELP! I became an NPC!

So this next moment doesn't really fall under the 'compliment' umbrella, but it is something that has become a sub-genre of these posts - is the 'daddy’ thing. Yep, you guessed it folks, Anthony was at it once again. Although, like in the 'You Posted That' episode, he's switching it up and now he's referring to himself as 'daddy’ :-

Anthony: [face appearing as if through a phone screen like in the main sketch]

lan: [pretends to put his fingers up Anthony's nose and then into his mouth]

Anthony: "Ooooh, daddy like."

Why are they like this 🤦‍♀️

Also I think @lilac-hecox & @only-frann summed up a perfect description of this Compliments Series :-

Hope you guys don't mind me tagging you, but this is literally what this series is 😄

Anyways, that was just a jokey little one, but as I said, it's now a 'thing' of these posts so I couldn't not include it.

Moving on...

We Already Regret This Embarrassing Photoshoot ft. Smosh

The boys went back on Good Mythical Morning for the first time in almost 8 years, and although this time around we didn't get any frosting foot massages or Titanic re-enactments there was a few compliment-adjacent moments :-

Link: [talking about the photo they had to re-create] "And lan, I gotta give it to you, man. You remembered a lot."

Anthony: "He did! The glasses. The shirt."

-

Anthony: "I'm feeling good about that one [their photo]."

lan: "I'm feeling good."

And then we got one of their high-five/hand-grip moments that they do a lot.

-

[lan and Anthony announced as the winners]

Anthony: "Yeeeah!'

Another high-five, of course

Anthony: "Yeah! Let's go!'

They just absolutely live for congratulating each other on anything and everything now and it's very sweet. And there's more to come!

Food Battle 2011 - Flashback w/ Smosh

As they're rewatching Food Battle 2011, lan points out in one of the shots how his cross-country team photo can be seen in the background :-

Anthony: "That's you lined up with all the cross-country... pals.

Oop was that jealous!anthony shining through a little there 🫢

lan: [laughs] "Pals."

Anthony: "Backlit. Looking epic."

So again, just another small little compliment, but lan's cross-country/running is brought up again and praised/complimented by Anthony in...

HELP! I became an NPC! Watch Party

[discussing how American sports are confusing]

Anthony: "I feel like Smosh and sports just don't mix in my brain."

lan: [laughs] “What sport do you think that aligns the most with Smosh?"

They go through multiple silly suggestions between the two of them and ones they read from the chat, before lan suggests :-

lan: “I feel like, and it's probably just because I did it, but cross-country. Smosh is cross-country."

Anthony: "Just cause you're part of Smosh and you did it?"

lan: "And you just keep going, and you just keep going. Just keep running."

Anthony: "Is that how you felt doing Smosh even when I left?"

lan: “Yeah. Like just gotta keep going. Just one more mile. One more mile."

Oh lan 🥺 I just had to pause to react to that before I get to the complimentary part of this conversation, but that's so sad. But also a perfect description of what I imagine it was like for him during those times when Anthony was gone. Having to remind himself to just keep going and pushing forward regardless.

Anthony: "What was your longest run?"

lan: "I did a marathon."

Anthony: “Yeah, I remember you ran past my street and I woke up bright and early, and I was like [pretends to be half asleep and waves].”

lan: [smiling] “Yeah, yeah I did."

Anthony: "How long was that run?"

lan: "26.2 miles."

Anthony: "Daaaamm, I didn't know [the] marathon was 26.2 miles, shiiiit.”

lan: “Yeah, and I averaged a little under an 8 minute mile.”

Anthony: “That is not bad. For 20 times 26?! That's good!"

So couple things to cover here!

1. Anthony waking up early to catch lan run by his street so he could wave to him CAN YOU HEAR ME CRYING 😭 that's the cutest thing ever!

2. Anthony saying how good of a time lan got in the marathon is so sweet. I live for Anthony bigging him up 🥹

Anthony's Birthday

This next lot I'd call complimentary-by-extension. Anthony's birthday rolled around and in typical lan fashion this was the birthday tweet we got from him :-

Oh lan, wouldn't expect anything else from you 😅

Thought that was going to be it but then Mr. Padilla came through for us! And this was the particularly special moment I mentioned in the beginning of this post. He made the post linked in the main header of this section, thanking everyone for the birthday wishes and said how it had been Mykie and his anniversary the week previous and how she took him to the Grand Canyon. The post was all photos of the two of them, but in amongst it all, he included this gem :-

lan 💛

Isn't this just the softest thing.

I mean...

1. We finally get to see lan interacting with Anthony's dogs 🙌 Also the fact you can tell how comfortable they must be around him given the fact she's laying on his chest quite content which means lan is around them often enough to have that bond with them 🥹

2. The fact they spent Anthony's birthday together after so many years of birthdays unshared & it also makes Ian's tweet funnier, like him being next to Anthony, realising people are probably expecting him to publicly wish him 'happy birthday’, him writing the most basic tweet with a low-quality gif, posting it, and then going right back to hanging out with Anthony 😆

Aaaaand…...

3. Probably the softest thing about this, and where I'm going to get a bit emotional writing/thinking about it because I have a lot of feelings about it, is the fact Anthony included that photo of lan within his birthday/anniversary post. It's just so unbelievably soft. I cannot get over it. There was was no mention of lan in the caption or anywhere else, it was all photos of Anthony and Mykie, but within it, this one little candid shot of lan. It's so special. And says a lot without explicitly saying anything at all. It's just like, 'here's a post of things that matter to me.’ I like to imagine Anthony choosing the photos for that post, and even with it being a birthday/anniversary post, he still made the conscious decision to include that photo of lan. Something he didn't need to do, the photo wasn't relevant to the post, and yet, he included it anyways. He wants people to know that's how he spent his birthday, with the people he loves most - he couldn't not include that photo of lan. And I think it comes back around to the fact he's just so happy to have lan in his life again and he'll take every opportunity to say/show it. I can picture him sitting there looking at lan laying on his floor across from him, his dog on lan's chest, and his heart just feeling so full and happy at the fact he has his best friend with him again when a year ago he didn't think this would ever be a reality for him again. It's just so, so special ❤️

Finishing off Anthony's birthday was something that came a few days after :-

Anthony's response to lan's birthday tweet ☺️

What I also love about this, is the fact that lan never tagged Anthony in his tweet and given it was a few days later that Anthony responded and by that point the tweet would have been buried in his timeline, and also that Anthony barely uses Twitter. Knowing all these things it's very likely that Anthony searched for lan's account for him to see that tweet 🥰

POKEMON ROOMMATE BATTLE Watch Party

In the BTS for the POKEMON ROOMMATE BATTLE sketch lan keeps getting distracted playing Pokémon for the whole shoot, eventually getting the gameboy taken off of him by Erin 😅 In this livestream they're watching the sketch and Anthony says :-

[scene where 'lazy lan' is sitting in the beanbag playing Pokémon not wanting to move]

Anthony: “This is actually what you were like on set that day cause you were just playing Pokémon the whole day."

lan: "Oh yeah, so we rented that prop from like a prop house."

Anthony: “The gameboy."

lan: "The gameboy. And it was working - it was full battery, Pokémon Red was in it, and I booted it up and was like ‘There's no way. No. No’. and I was just straight up playing Pokémon on and it was-"

Anthony: "Was it everything you remembered?"

lan: "It was sick, dude. It was fun. I was having fun. I was getting really distracted and it was not good for the shoot. But I think I got my Charmander to like level 11 or 12."

Anthony: "Yeah, you nailed it."

Just a cute little compliment I felt should be included 🙂 But sticking with the Pokémon theme, it leads me on to the next compliment...

‘I Choose You' Smosh Hat

Anthony posted this Instagram promoting the Smosh Pokémon-style hat they released as merch, but what stood out to a lot of us is his choice of the first photo + the caption :-

THE IMPLICATIONS! Him crowning lan with the hat and him saying ‘I choose you' 🥹 It reminds me of something I covered in my first Compliments post - the section covering the Smoshcast with Anthony and Shayne saying how they came back together and "choose to be best friends again" 💛🖤

Our Actual Worst Puns (Puns of Anarchy)

Another round of games and compliment-adjacent moments :-

Ian: [handing the cards out]

Anthony: "Oh, look at you. You're providing for your family.”

Just found this moment cute, Anthony referring to them as a family 🥹

[Jackie chooses Anthony's card and he reveals it's his]

Jackie: "I take it back."

Anthony: “I'm also 'Hand Solo' though, so [the other card Jackie was going to pick]?

Arasha: "I'm so pissed [because Anthony is winning]."

Ian: "Wow. Anthony's cleaning up” [claps]

-

[Round Category: Baby Boomers]

Ian's card -' A Whole New World' changed to 'A new video of an old, white person freaking out’

Anthony: [picks Jackie's card] “That was good. Although, I will say, I know this was yours, lan [from his handwriting]. That was an adventure, man. I appreciate that."

This isn't the only time the handwriting thing is brought up in the video :-

Keith: "Dude, where's my car?' turns into, 'Dude, where's my car? Oh wait, I can't drive?’ By far the best one, lan. And I know this came from you."

Anthony: "I know it came from lan too, cause I can see the handwriting."

Why is Anthony being able recognise Ian's handwriting so cute. He just knows him so well ☺️

One other moment I loved from this video was something I already made a post about here. Of Jackie referring to them as 'best friends' and Anthony laughing the hardest at his answer firing shots at lan, again, bestie-ism shining through 😄

Joycon HIDE AND SEEK (Everybody 1, 2, Switch)

Last one of the month! This video was full of so many great moments - two lanthony piggybacks, so many bestie moments, and them just being overly cute the whole time 🥰

And also many moments of them complimenting each other on doing well in the games. So many that I decided to compile a little video. Enjoy! :-

And that was it for September!

Hope you all enjoyed and I shall see you next time ❤️

[girlfriendsofthegalaxy]

tuesday again 3/12/2024

beat breath of the wild and have no real interest in rot13’ing spoilers for a seven year old game. also early thoughts on the first couple hours in tears of the kingdom. so if you don’t want to see that don’t read the playing section

listening

there is a particular piece of exploring ambient music that plays in a particular cave in genshin impact's fontaine and i adored it. i kept going back to that cave to trigger the music. it reminds me very much of Erich Wolfgang Korngold, who won several Oscars for early Technicolor swashbucklers-- The Sea Hawk, The Adventures of Robin Hood, et al. this particular piece leans into it the most and really grabbed me bc that's what Fontaine is all about: the romanticism, the folk heroism, the seafaring swashbuckling. i wish they leaned into it a bit more across fontaine, but i haven't played since i got fired and had to give my laptop back so perhaps the last patch has more similar music?

the use of bells in this is super great and pulled my attention first, but the way it ends-- a sort of sliding violin halt, some woodwinds fluttering up, a flute twining in. i hope their composing team wins some fuckin awards this year bc all the genshin music is good but the fontaine music is really a cut above.

either you've seen enough lavish technicolor adventure movies to know what the fuck i'm on about or you haven't, i hope this makes sense for why i was so excited about hearing this particular style in such an unexpected medium. here actually listen to this

-

reading

The Water Outlaws by S.L. Huang, i think a post on here influenced me bc it promised gay genderfuckery but i put it on hold SO long ago i could not tell you when that was or what the post was. it’s not NOT gay and genderfucky. but that’s really not the point of the book. this also wasn’t the easy read i was expecting it to be. let's yoink both the photo and the pitch from macmillan:

Lin Chong is an expert arms instructor, training the Emperor's soldiers in sword and truncheon, battle axe and spear, lance and crossbow. Unlike bolder friends who flirt with challenging the unequal hierarchies and values of Imperial society, she believes in keeping her head down and doing her job. Until a powerful man with a vendetta rips that carefully-built life away. Disgraced, tattooed as a criminal, and on the run from an Imperial Marshall who will stop at nothing to see her dead, Lin Chong is recruited by the Bandits of Liangshan. Mountain outlaws on the margins of society, the Liangshan Bandits proclaim a belief in justice—for women, for the downtrodden, for progressive thinkers a corrupt Empire would imprison or destroy. They’re also murderers, thieves, smugglers, and cutthroats. Inspired by a classic of martial arts literature, S. L. Huang's The Water Outlaws are bandits of devastating ruthlessness, unseemly femininity, dangerous philosophies, and ungovernable gender who are ready to make history—or tear it apart.

this book kept me company through a particularly bad bout of insomnia and i did enjoy my time with it, i'm glad it exists in the world and i'm glad to have read it essentially in one sitting. if i owned a hard copy, i don't think i would hang on to it. it was Fine, it's simply not for me. a bit too chewy and for bigger fans of Chinese history and/or wuxia i think.

there is an extremely large cast of characters (i often found myself referring back to the dramatis personae) and quite grim in parts. sexual assault, cannibalism as revenge, a very realistic war. a lot of really terrible, really grievous things happen to bodies. the fight scenes are clear and competent and will in fact unfold in your head like a martial arts movie.

it does take quite a while to get going and unfolds more like a TV show than a political thriller movie. this is a fat fucking book. this is a twenty hour audiobook. it strongly benefits from shifting POVs over its length, Huang is particularly good at differentiating tone and what each character pays attention to for maximum effect. she's also really good at one of my favorite things, displays of political deftness where you can’t see how someone would have made any other choice. some really top tier leftist infighting

while it is gay and it is genderbending, i would not say discussions of sex and sexuality are at the forefront. this is a group that has been pushed to the margins for their gender and sexuality, but this is a book concerned with how they survive and there isn’t a lot of space for discussions that aren’t about survival. there’s no fucking on page, but this book did not advertise itself as a romance or erotica so i don’t fully understand other readers' criticisms here.

this is a very competently written book. i am not going to remember it in a month's time. i don't normally emphasize it to this degree bc i feel a little bad about going "meh" at this tale of women fighting for societal and personal freedom, something i too have done but with less gore, but there is a wide gray sea of books that are simply fine and i don't particularly love or particularly hate bc they weren't quite what i needed or what i expected at the time. so it goes.

-

watching

there is a revelation in Yellowstone season 3 episode 7 (picture unrelated i just like having a picture for each section) that made us (me, my bestie, my bestie’s husband) all SCREAM and have to pause it and leave the room for a moment to compose ourselves. the amount of Things per episode that happen in that show. they really fuckin use all of their forty-four minutes.

i watch so little modern prestige tv i i keep thinking about why this has its hooks in my brain so, and i think this is the same concept as homestuck and soap operas and war and peace: once you get sucked into a huge sprawling semi-nonsensical drama you are In It BayBee

-

playing

i didn't know lizalfos could do that. i don't like that. stop it.

somehow i had never gotten up to this platform near dueling peaks stables and was rewarded with...some arrows. but the sun rising turned the marsh all gold, and all the atmosphere shading was firing on all cylinders, and it looked real pretty. the weather in breath of the wild is fun.

i had been under the impression that the divine beasts had been slowly siphoning away ganon’s energy or something and had not realized that they were lining up shots and were the equivalent of little laser sniper dots. hearing that joyous musical cue and watching ganon get got by that tremendous beam of light was maybe the funniest moment in the game???

anyway did finally beat breath of the wild!!! did tear up at the end! im annoyed that the postgame just vworps you back immediately pre-castle but i get it from a game architecture perspective.

at the very last bit of the fight i fell off my horse who got stuck against the beast’s leg taking damage and i was SO scared it was going to kill my horse but we were ok!!! i think i overprepared for that fight. the thunderblight light ganon fight was way harder imo.

popping that map back open postgame and seeing a cheery little 43% completion in the corner was. good god. i had 105 shrines and 66/77 side quests, all but four of the shrine quests, and like 250 koroks. i guess the koroks count for way more than i thought??? or perhaps i didn’t actually discover as many named places as i thought??? i would probably have more coherent thoughts about the end of this game if i were not Extremely Depressed and wasn't able to immediately jump to tears of the kingdom. as it is, i feel sort of "huh. ok. that's checked off. next task: ganon But More"

on to tears of the kingdom: i love zelda with her little bi bob. i do NOT love link with longer hair. give him his ponytail back

i loooooove these little grotesques on the temple of time-- i was spoiled for the end of tears of the kingdom bc i watched my bestie’s husband play through the last three hours. i have just enough context to make everything more confusing. also, i was fully expecting the time skip to be like several thousands of years but it’s like a month at most???

it is So Funny to me that the lord of the mountain in the last game is an extremely rare occurrence you have to go visit at a specific place, and in this game he just wants his appy slices :) this is an excuse to talk about other rideable animals: i started a new switch profile to replay botw lo these many weeks ago, forgot to choose that one when starting totk, and don’t have any of the horses i spent the last month with :( the horses from my first playthrough several years ago are, quite frankly, not very good stats wise.

i went right to hebra to start the rito quest (where is the divine beast??? what has happened to the divine beasts???) but keep getting my shit kicked in one blow so i think i will fuck around the castle and do some more shrines. my overall impression is that this game is way more fiddly. there’s more Stuff to combine and keep track of. i wish i could premake fire and ice and bomb arrows instead of having to select them every time. that’s a lot of button presses in the middle of a fight. also my controller is succumbing to some fatal connectivity issues so this portion of the tuesdaypost may be slower for a bit. i will scrape up some money for a new controller bc this is a real loadbearing activity but it’s going to take a minute to ship to me i assume.

-

making

listen i deep cleaned my living/dining and bedroom today in a fit of remarkably productive anxiety, that’s about all that’s happening this week. i finished repainting some large frames, i framed one thing but don't like it, i fucked up framing another thing and i have put it back in the closet to simmer/until i remember how to measure things again

[darlingian]

🌿w e e k l y 🍄 t a g 🕯️ w e d n e s d a y🌙

hello forest dwellers, star gazers, and dream weavers. let's reveal a little bit of ourselves to each other and experience the joy of being known. (Or keep your secrets, Gandalf, idc.)

which character from any media would you like to have as a father?: Bob Belcher. Omg that man. 🥹

if money, laws, time, and effort were no object, what animal would you want to have?: a skunk. like obviously I'd have a lot of money to figure out the smell issue. But have you SEEN THE BABIES?! 😭 (everyone google a baby skunk rn. you won't be disappointed.)

what is your Chinese takeout order?: I like ginger beef, honey garlic veal, all the dim sum, and mango pudding.

what's your favourite emoji?: ✨this one. I held myself back from adding it to the title but couldn't resist adding it somewhere apparently lol

would you rather have a library, greenhouse, or home theater in your house?: a library. Hands down. The library from "A Marvelous Light" specifically would be lovely

what childhood tv show do you think of the most fondly?: Arthur. Oh my gosh I am still so in love with that show.

what was your tumblr like when you first joined?: I joined in June 2010 according to my archive. It was a much different place. Lol my blog was just a bit of everything. But leaning more on the aesthetic side because I was in highschool and wanted people to think I was cool.

what clothing style do you love but don't feel compelled to replicate yourself?: Fairy-kei and goth lolita! So unique and beautiful.

if you were plopped into a fictional world, which one would you know the layout of the best?: I think I'd know my way around Stars Hollow pretty well.

what is your favourite piece of art?: Ophelia by John Edward Millais

do you have a water bottle? what does it look like?: I have a venti white pearlescent Starbucks cup. I need a new one though. Those owala ones are tempting!

what fanfic trope is a quiet fave?: I don't shout about it, but sometimes a slow burn is sooooo good. The yearningggg

do you carry a daily bag? what does it look like? what's the weirdest thing in it?: my current bag is a leather crossbody satchel purse. I thrifted it and I love it. I have a hospital bracelet and a packet of Mrs dash from the psych unit in there. Lolol

If you had to ship Mickey with another Gallagher, who would it be?: Oh lordy. Carl. Lol I think Carl has similar dufus energy to Ian and Mickey clearly likes that. Ahaha 🫣

what is a fanfic trope you didn't expect to like and then very much did?: AUs. I was so determined that all I wanted to read was canon compliant, post-canon, and filler.

Do you think s11 Mickey can still carry s11 Ian?: Yes. And I think he tests it all the time. 😂 (Maybe that's part of the reason he wanted to get swole. Ian has bulked up and it is getting harder. Lol)

who got custody of the killing bat when they sold the house?: I think Lip just assumed he could have it. And Debbie stole it at the soonest opportunity. "Because I'm a vulnerable, single mom, Lip!"

Thanks for playing! I'm gonna tag all these fine folks: @deedala @michellemisfit @suchagallabitch @jrooc @mybrainismelted @gallawitchxx @gardenerian @heymrspatel @thepupperino @mickeysgaymom @milkmaidovich @creepkinginc @too-schoolforcool @tellmegoodbye @metalheadmickey @heymacy @iansw0rld @callivich @energievie

[spotsupstuff]

Okay, I need to know what Sparrow's dad said about the rot because it is haunting me like Sos is haunting the narrative.

Is there a post that describes Sparrow's dad to know about him more? What is his name? (It seems he also haunts the narrative)

he is not to be really known

and really he only haunts the narrative, yes, but specifically when Sparrows (or her family) is the focus. to the Iterators he's just another fleeting life of an unimportant figure

he hasn't said anything about the Rot, good chance he's never even heard about it. what he talked about to Sparrows was his belief that the Void Sea was not to be discovered, disturbed and then used. in the Rot comic, Sparrows talks about the connection she's made herself as a Mechanic between the Rot (a thing specific to Iterators) and the Void Fluid being key ingredient for their existence

though it had to dawn on her at some point that if her dad was right about the introduction of the Void into the society not being right and therefore the Iterators' existence (including Caper's) is inherently wrong on that basis, she's not the sort of person to ignore the facts even if they hurt. the Rot is connected to Void. the Void allows Iterators to live. her husband is unintentionally hurting the spiritual balance by simply living. it hurts, but there is nothing she can do about it so she'll keep on loving him while keeping her thoughts to herself

more to Dad: • he doesn't have a name and i'm not planning on giving him one • he's native to Euros' facilities while Inkling comes the facilities of Aftertaste of Disdain • big believer in the original local pagan religion. so he prays to and believes in the Folk Gods. since he's so strong in his religious faith, he spiritualy cultivates himself a lot. that's why he's so thin and grey (the greyness in his case means that if he dies he will not respawn) • he died at 51- which is basically like dying in late 20s in human years • met Inkling when he was 20 and she 16. he was travelling the through the Eo group territory in the name of his spiritual journey when he stopped for a while in Disdain's facilities. they became good friends there and since during that time Disdain's place was facing food issues (effectively putting the lower circle through famine in the name of preserving the higher circle- as a result of the war's poorly managed consequences. they lasted stupid long), with her family's agreement he took Inkling with himself back to Euros' facilities which were stable since he was a very new Iterator unaffected by the war • they stayed friends for about 6 years. then one day Inkling started trying to hit on him by secretly putting her food into his backpack for when he'd go to work. food meant a lot to her, as someone who grew up in famine, so she thought that would carry the message across real well. poor man thought he was haunted by a food ghost until he one day caught her in the act • stayed girlfriend n boyfriend for about 4 years. got married and 3 years later had the twins. 4 years After the twins, came Sparrows • originally he was simply a farmer, but when he came back home with Inkling, he learned how to be a shoemaker so he could spend more time at home with her (since she is a tailor) • the granda i sometimes mention was the Dad's dad. he however took in Inkling so readily that at some point she just started referring to him as her dad and he likes to call her his daughter • he was a good father! often imparting his thoughts on the children for them to Consider, not blindly accept. he read them stories, took them out for trips in the district, showed them how to use the farmer equipment and so on • despite this, Sparrows has mixed feelings about him. she loves him and takes care of his grave when she's home, but she can't help but be angry at him for being... "too spiritual" and therefore removing himself from the respawn pool. if he hadn't, he'd still be here with them! but well... it's not like he Wanted to die to some lizard getting a jump on him and leave his family behind to fetch for themselves. she doesn't come to terms with this till much later, possibly with Euros' help

[aftonfamilyvalues]

I am terrified if men.

I mean my father did everything to me but rape me. And he’d assert dominance over me /threaten me because he didn’t want other guys to sleep with me, date me, didn’t want me to get married, etc.

I’m no contact and he knows better than to contact me because if he does I’ll take legal action. My mom died and she was the one protecting him.

I seek therapy because I want to heal and am repeatedly invalidated about my trauma and about the reality that most men are abusive, sexual predators.

I’ve expressed that I’m sad I didn’t experience ge t romantic love..

Which is only to say that I’m all about separatism and even though I’m not dating men cause I’m traumatized by them, I have this regret over not having been able to explore a healthy sexuality, and a fear of missing out.

The last therapist I had was malicious/emotional abusive. Would read and be on the computer during sessions and deny doing it. Claimed I talked to much, (bad luck with this super narcissistic, very misogynistic old woman, grandmother /in her 60’s,) she ignored me /was very devaluing, then perked up “it can happen at any age!” She either thought I was lying or l exaggerating about being abused, or/and definitely not listening because I’ve never expressed wanting a bf or a husband, ever. Of course I did as a teenager/child. It’s honestly so demoralizing when even a therapist views you as inferior and like your being single is a problem and thinks you’re talking too much and attention seeking.

I’ve never not had a female therapist downplay or invalidate my trauma and male violence. I wish there were more feminist based pyschotherapists / bare minimum, therapists who do not project their family values Bullshit. I’ve never not have had a therapist view me as the problem to all my experiences. I’ve therapists judge me and treat me as subhuman for being childfree and single.

I def need therapy as I’m so traumatized that I’m scared to sleep and not sleeping anymore and it’s impacting my health. I also can’t regulate my emotions well and I’m a fearful avoidant with ptsd, some folks say therapist isn’t necessary because most are bad. I’d honestly argue most therapists have very misogynistic beliefs…

Is there any way to ver that out. I get so gaslight I lost my sense of self/ I’ve had to recover from bad therapy but once out of therapy I start feeling less crazy… I do we’ll months on my own without talking to someone but then need therapi.

I’m legitimently scared of them at this point. I did give my last therapist feed back about her behavior, when I told her “I’m a person, and I don’t deserve this treatment” and then responded with “I don’t believe you” she raged and yelled at me, blaming me for her being distracted, telling me I talked too much.

I’m started to lose hope however that there are therapists who recognize patriarchy and oppression as a root cause to mental illness, rather than a partner as a cure for mental illness 🙄without claiming I’m the problem when I’m the one showing up to therapy for what happened to me. Therapists all just think their patients are mentally I’ll crazy women who can’t get a man. I feel insane when I go to therapy. Because I’m terrified of men and the focus is never on me as an individual, but (I shit you not, and tbh I even told her she was giving me harmful advice,) but tk shift the focus on my “distortion” of why I think I “can’t have that now.”

(I actually believe there are good therapists in just scared to open up now /be devalued/have a therapist not even treat seperatism as viable or even suggest it to me as an option. I don’t need a therapist to suggest it to me but I’d trust one much better who did. It sucks leaving a therapy session feeling worse because you don’t feel good enough.)

I really think most therapists are sexists because they have male bias

i think ive mentioned it before but therapy is more of a business nowadays. all these therapists arent people that actually want to help, very few of them do, most of them saw a growing industry and decided they could bank on it. they dont care to help and heal, they view therapy as a way to make someone (women) "normal" and fit in to society rather than working through trauma and have a healthy life, even if that life isnt the typical one. ive also seen a lot of therapists feed into bad behavior, validating the emotions and victim complexes of abusers all while teaching them a new progressive language to wield against their victims. i still think about how my friend went to therapy and the entire time going culminated into the conclusion of "your life sucks and theres nothing you can do about it" like what???? it seems like traumatized people come out of these sessions worse and i have no doubt that abusers are going into this field to extend their reach. i feel like the more people glamorize therapy the more this is going to happen.

[seltzer-tastes-pretty-good]

Some other BF&GF headcanons bc they are rotating in my brain rn

-Boyfriend's beeping is a vocal stim for him when he isn't singing. He also sometimes goes semi-nonverbal, where he'll substitute normal words for it, leading a few to believe that's just how he talks normally. Girlfriend is pretty much the only person who understands him when he's like this as well. She picked up a couple meanings behind the beeping. "Beep Bo Baaah" means 'I'm hungry', for example.

-Girlfriend's stim is chewing on stuff. Blankets, shirts, her phone, you name it. The biggest victim of this, though, are pens and other art supply. It's not uncommon to see a splotch of ink on her teeth after biting just a little bit too hard on one of her drawing pens. Boyfriend's solution was to get her some stainless steel pens...but she ends biting through those too.

-GF spoils BF rotten whenever she can. Mostly with food and weird thrift store finds. Boyfriend's bedroom and basement contain a whole assortment of funny little trinkets and clothes that GF picked out and went, "Hm, yes, he will like this." and he always does.

-BF, of course, doesn't get along with either of GF's parents, with one exception; MM during her poker games. Mainly because he's a good way to distract everyone from the nineteen cards she has up her sleeves at any given moment. She invites him and GF over, they distract and annoy the other participants so she can cheat, then she buys them both one of those big soft pretzels with cheese dipping sauce.

-BF's parents, on the other hand, are actually on very good terms with GF and support the relationship. They don't visit together very often, because their a little too eager, and really want them to start planning out a wedding already. GF is very adamant that they somehow get their parents approval before they even mutter the W-word, lest her folks' wrath be upon several thousand innocent people.

-GF, when bored, will sometimes watch those Family Guy clips with Subway Surfer gameplay underneath for an hour or so. She knows it's garbage but, hey, it keeps her brain occupied.

-Despite not being able to cook anything that isn't a PB&J, GF is a huge fan of Cooking Shows, Hell's Kitchen being her favorite. Whenever she binges the show, she thinks 'ha, I can do better than these chumps'. Then proceeds to cause a kitchen fire. Every single time.

-if BF was ever sent to court, he'd immediately ask for the aid of Phoenix Wright, the video game character...then GF would suddenly make him real using her powers. Yep, that's a thing she can do. If he refuses to take the case, then they'll settle on Saul Goodman. Neither have seen the show, mind you, but they saw a lot of memes about it.

-Another power of GF is access to a personal pocket dimension. How do you think she gets those speakers anywhere she needs them? This is the same place she keeps her phone, her wallet and, on occasion, a few minions to back her up in a fight. It's more convenient than a wallet and she doesn't need to splurge on a dress with pockets. If someone really irritates her, she can also someone her speakers mid air to drop on someone as an attack.

-Both BF and GF are also very clingy and touch-starved. The two spend a lot of time cuddling. This is also why hand holding is so effective on helping him recover from an L.

[twig-tea]

15 people, 15 questions

Tagged by @my-rose-tinted-glasses, @infinitelyprecious and @he-is-lightning-in-a-bottle! Thank you friends 💕

1. are you named after anyone?

Nope! My folks just liked the name they chose for me. They did the thing where they tried to choose a name that they thought would be unique and ended up with one of the most common names in the year, for both me and my brother.

2. when was the last time you cried?

Watching the What Did You Eat Yesterday S2 finale.

3. do you have kids?

Nope! Never wanted any, so I'm happy with the status quo.

4. what sports do you play/have you played?

HA. Here we go. In elementary school I was on a neighbourhood softball team and was terrible; in the end of year tournament, we were two outs and I was at bat and struck out for us to lose, which soured me on this game permanently. I also took neighbourhood tennis lessons and sucked at that too though I really did try. In middle school I was on the basketball team because I was tall and the coach was convinced I could learn hand/eye coordination....she was wrong. I am a decent defense player because height lets me block but I cannot land a foul shot to save my life (or my team's). For fun during lunch l I played [American] football with other enthusiasts. We would play tackle in all weather and on pavement, and we had a great time (I wasn't good but I enjoyed it). By high school I had finally convinced everyone around me I have no hand/eye coordination or physical skill and stopped all sports activities. PHEW. These days I do no sports though I will go to my company slo-pitch games and heckle like heckling's a sport.

5. do you use sarcasm?

Absolutely, but I try not to use it in that mean way in which people try to make someone feel bad about themselves.

6. what’s the first thing you notice about people?

Body language, how they hold themselves and move.

7. what’s your eye color?

Close to slate grey/blue.

8. scary movies or happy endings?

I don't respect this false dichotomy.

9. any talents?

My superpower is the ability to sing along to any song whether or not I've heard it before, and whether or not I know the language. Other than that, I'm pretty good at understanding what people are trying to say and not just what they actually said, which comes in handy in show analysis as well as interpersonal communication and work. And I am good at modifying/adapting recipes to use what I've got/what I like on the fly. Those are my core talents!

10. where were you born?

Toronto, Canada

11. what are your hobbies?

Other than watching All The BL/GL/QL? I am crafty, I like playing with mixed media stuff, lap weaving, and bookmaking/bookbinding. I haven't had the energy for it the last few years, and that's been mildly devastating. But I made holiday cards for the first time in years this year, which was very fun! I also have been known to puzzle, and I garden when I can. And I hike on occasion!

12. do you have any pets?

Nope! I'm allergic to most pets (fur and feathers; I tried keeping fish but was allergic to the algae on the tank, so I gave up). The dog in my avatar is my parents' rescue dog they got after I left home, and I see her when I visit them! She's a "hypoallergenic" breed mix but that's actually meaningless and I'm still allergic lol

13. how tall are you?

180cm; and the kicker is I've been this tall since elementary school so I went from being the tallest person in the room by a LOT to half the boys in the room shooting up to my height or higher, which was a weird experience!

14. favorite subject in school?

Tie between English, Biology, and Chemistry. I loved science and words and analysis in both subjects. I ran the bio and chem clubs in high school!

15. dream job?

University textbook editor, which I did for ~7 years! And it was everything I wanted it to be, but I eventually outgrew it. I love what I do now too (essentially I'm in management), and I know I'm lucky that I've had jobs I love for most of my working life.

I won't tag anyone because I've been absent for days, but if you see this, this is permission to do this tag game, and tag me so I see your post 💕

[pancake-breakfast]

Oh, good. I'm glad I have time for a couple more chapters because I wasn't too keen on having to stop where I did last night.

Stream-of-consciousness thoughts for TriMax Vol. 8, Chapters 3-4 below.

Chapter 3: Counter Attack!!

CW: Body horror?

Who in the heck is even capable of launching a reasonable counterattack here? Vash would have to get free, Eye of Michael and/or the leftover Gung-Ho Guns would have to care.... Do the people at Home know something we readers don't? (I mean, they probably know a lot we don't, but still.)

Ah, yeah, looks like Home is doing stuffs.

Heh, Home is equally skeptical of counterattacks, I see.

So, basically, it sounds like their plan is to cause enough trouble for Vash to appear somehow. I wonder if any of these folks actually know (or even suspect) where Vash is. They could really use Wolfwood right now.

Oh, man. Meryl really did get a huge dose of Vash's memories, didn't she? She looks pretty grim about it.

Forty men chasing Knives anywhere sounds like a trap set by Knives.

Awww, flashback Vash! Look at that floofy blond hair! He's not even wearing glasses! He's just... Vash.

It feels like this is a mixture of Luida telling the story in the present and panels showing the flashback. If I were to take a wild guess, this one panel is actually young Luida wanting to chase after Vash.

Man, Luida's sharp. She's gambling all of this on what she knows of Vash.

THE PLANT SMILED. GOSHDARNIT, STOP PRETENDING THEY'RE UNAWARE AND NOT SENTIENT TO SOME DEGREE!!! SHE SMILED BECAUSE SHE WAS THANKED!! Always remember to thank your Plants, people.

Yeah, take THAT memory, Knives! Your weird vat of sisters is fighting back in their own way.

WTF, did the plants project that vision?? Did Wolfwood see it, too?

Uhhhh, that ship seems to have grown some... appendages....

Dang, look at that crazy old military plane. That's probably some fancy-pants tech for them.

Knives, honey, you look like a mess.

The Plants really are fighting back, aren't they?

LOL, this panel, though.

!!!!!

!!!!!!!!!!!!!

WOLFWOOOOOOOOOOOOD!!!!!!L;KJA;LFJAL;KSJDFL;KAJFHA

Chapter 4: Escape

CW: Blood, body horror

Hells yes! Let's get to escaping!

I mean, seven months of restraining Vash with very little in terms of breaks would drain anyone. And it's not like Knives cares if he's burning through his most loyal and dedicated underling.

Vash looks exhausted.

Ohh, this could go poorly....

Heh. Can't hold 'em both, Legato.

"Everything's different when I'm back to back with him."

Dang, as tired as he is, Vash is showing incredible control over his own abilities.

That's right, carry your man out of there, Wolfy.

Ugh, Livio! Now is not the time!!!

Ah, they're on the path to the orphanage. No wonder Wolfwood's desperate enough to try moves like this.

LIVIO!!! NOW. IS NOT. THE TIME!!!!

Dammit, Livio's not alone, either.

No thoughts. Just pain.

Aww, is that... little Livio? He really was just a twink.

Ugh, this is so beautiful and painful. I love his prayers. They're so simple and heartfelt.

VAAAAAAASH!!! SAVE YOUR MAN!!!

Oh, man. Something something about Vash being the one to answer Wolfwood's prayer. Wolfwood, you are deeply beloved by a literal angel.

Mini angel arm! Angel finger!

Vash just spitting their words back at them. He doesn't have the patience for this after seven months of suffering.

Oh, shit. It's Knives.

I think Elandira's got it figured out.

I think Knives' plan wasn't very well thought out. Chances are this is gonna mess with Knives' sense of self. Actually, that's probably why so many people saw that vision. If he's got their memories in him and he already exudes weird Plant aura even when asleep, then chances of him accidentally exuding a memory like that are high.

Yeah, they all underestimated how far Vash will go to save people. A person. It could just be one person. That person doesn't even need to be as close to him or have done as much for him as Wolfwood has. His body is a testament to how far he'll go to save others.

Knives looks like he might have realized he done fucked up. Or, at the very least, that his plan's about to fall apart royally.

And for once, Vash is in full control of his angel arm even at full power like that.

Gods, I love his cheeky little smirk here. Elandira's telling him to stop, and he's just like, "Make me."

Ohhhh, he reversed it to get them out of there! Now they just have to... uh... survive falling all the way to the ground, I guess.

Knives isn't thrilled about this, I see.

Dude. IDK what's going on here anymore, but it's gross and scary.

It's over? Bullshit, this is only volume 8.

Archive

Trigun Vol. 1: Covers + 1-3, 4, 5-6, 7-8, 9-10 || Vol. 2: Covers + Extras, 1, 2-4, 5-6, 7-8

TriMax Vol. 1: Covers + 1-2, 3-4, 5-6 || Vol. 2: Covers + 1, 2-4, 5, 6-7 || Vol. 3: Covers + 1-3, 4-5, 6-7 || Vol. 4: Covers + 1-2, 3-5, 6-7 || Vol. 5: Covers + 1-2, 3-4, 5-6 || Vol. 6: Covers + 1-2, 3-4, 5-6 || Vol. 7: Covers + 1-2, 3-4, 5-6 || Vol. 8: Covers + 1-2

Extra Credit: Trigun Vol. 1: Nebraska vs. Vash's Motivations, Vash's Loneliness, Vash's Depression (pt 2 of post), Soupy Brains || Vol. 2: Coin Factoids || TriMax Vol. 1: Lina, Vash, and a Haircut || Meryl, Vash, and the Pursuit of Happiness || Vol. 5: Knives, Vash, and Hatred for Humanity || Vol. 6: Coping Series: Wolfwood, Meryl, Vash

[tidal123]

Why you should watch the cdrama Love and Redemption

 1. Because it’s a fun hi-fantasy costume TV drama featuring fun mystical creatures: Yaoguai

Those are traditional Chinese supernatural beings! Like fays, silkies, chimeras or even werewolves etc, these are the Chinese versions mythical creatures. Although often translated as “demons”, Yaoguai in Chinese culture are mostly natural beings that are simply more powerful than mortal humans. They often have some magical or transcendent qualities. Not gonna lie, Yaoguai is one of my most favorite part of the ancient Chinese culture due to how fun they are, as you can imagine. It is also where folk tales mixed with the elite literati class culture, which is interesting enough in itself. 

Due to the fact that Yaoguai are powerful natural beings not supposedly confined by dominant social conventions, you can imagine the range of topics that is possible with them as a theme: man and nature, fear, marginalized groups, racism, ethnic-centralism etc. The show L&D is quite thought-provoking, but let’s just focus on the fun for now.

A little bit of history: The Yaoguai culture is almost as old as written Chinese culture: one of the earliest surviving Chinese book The Legend of Montains and Seas from 4000~2000BC depicted numerous Yaoguai in their natural habitats: strange creature and plants with magical abilities. They range from gods to monsters to supposedly regular dwellers of the wild. Japanese Yokai, which are fascinating in their own right, also take many influences mostly from this era of Yaoguai.

In later times, a new kind of Yaoguai stories emerged. Probably due to ancient Chinese observing phase changes, cycle of nature and other energy flows and theorizing about Qi(‘air’/energy) and transformation, Yaoguai started to gain human forms from animals/plants/even objects too, mostly by practicing Taoism cultivation in-line with the Way or bestowment of spiritual power by luck or intention. The Way is a Taoist notion that can simply be explained as ‘how the universe works’ which cannot be fully articulated. You can gain a vague sense of how ancient Chinese view it by looking at the Yin-Yang pattern: I’d say it’s rather holistic and involves interacting contradictory forces in a deeper harmonious level. Anyway, the show’s Yaoguai are mostly inline with this later kind of Yaoguai, because although many Yaoguai from the Lengend of Mountains and Seas took stage, they still cultivated and gained human forms to interact with humans.

If you are interested in Yaoguai, Love and Redemption is a perfect intro. It has Yaoguai as a major theme of the show. Not just mentioning them or using them on screen, Yaoguai is actually part of the main plot. Also the show is very in style with the old-school Yaoguai stories of the past (conflicts and love with human etc), adding some modern thoughts and twists(gender role subversion, for example), which makes it a worthy continuation of the traditional Yaoguai genre.

Listen to the show’s opening theme song  琉璃“…bloodlines do not divide good and evil…choose with kindness, not heaven’s will…” here on YouTube (you can turn on English captions):

Opening Song Fanvid featuring male protagonist Yu Sifeng

[lanymme]

Just finished the True Route. I ugly cried like twice at the sad moments, which is how I know it's good. Kiara's final showing was incredible, and there's so much info and differences between translations I have to pick through.

Saber ending hit me harder though. Kinda hard to match up to your first playthrough, I guess. I don't think any game has ever made me cry tears of joy before so that was really special.

[SPOILERS]

I think Sakura is an excellent heroine but they really needed to give her more time. Structurally, True End route follows well off a normal playthrough, and the way it takes time at the very end to totally change your perspective of the stuff you've already played is great.

However, I don't think there was enough content added or changed to make it not feel like kind of a slog. In particular, the relationship with AI Sakura misses a lot without the time taken to develop it, and IMO the ending didn't lean into Hakuno and Sakura's chemistry as well as their scenes in the latter half of the game, which burned with passion. Lacking the instant flame of chemistry, they really could use more scenes together to make it feel like a full route, not just a secret ending. BB is magnificent though. maybe a lil in love with her lmao. She had unbelievable chemistry with Hakuno, when she's being more honest and Sakura-y. The secret punishment scene for her was excellent aftercare for my poor heart, and it's so tragic they never get to be together canonically, because they would love each other so so so well. My hearttttt.

Some of the blocking details vis a vis the past never resolved to me, so I wasn't able to lock in on some key moments. Just before the climax, Sakura referenced a moment when she had disappeared, and I didn't get it at all: it was kind of impossible for me to put together Kiara's master plan in full detail, too, which is a big L, and took away some of the impact.

Overall, I think CCC is somewhere between a flawed masterpiece and a cult hit. I really really love this game. Now that I'm done with it, and it's a "game I've played" instead of "a fantastical experience I might have in the future" I have to go mourn that perspective a little, I think. But I'm glad I played it.

That's all folks!

[louisisalarrie]

https://www.tumblr.com/louisisalarrie/750989157938102272/hello-love-i-like-sending-you-asks-because-youre

Ahh big thanks! This ask was mine and I love your response. You’ve kinda said what I was thinking re his lifestyle…but with more insight as you’ve been in closer contact with him/Harry/other artists.

I’m a Brit from the North of England (not Yorkshire but fairly close). I’m a tiny bit older than Louis…and yes I drink and enjoy a good night out with my mates…many good nights out in fact! I’m well up on the drinking culture over here (which I think is similar to Aus) hence my ask. I don’t view L as having a problem. He’s a normal young guy who likes to have a few but I see posts where some folks try to imply he’s boozing all the time, which I just don’t believe. To be L does not appear like someone who is out of control with drinking. Far from it! I’m so, so glad you responded in this way. It’s what I was thinking/hoping but it’s good to see it from someone who has worked with him.

Very pleased to read he manages to get plenty of food in him too. He’s so slender that you sometimes wonder with all his smoking if that curbs his appetite. Doesn’t sound like it though - aww good lad! I’m laughing at you mentioning his crazy post show munchies !! Please elaborate…if you can!! What sorts of things did he have when you worked with him??!

Thanks again for all the info…amaaaazing insight and post ! X

TW alcohol and drugs

In response to this

You’re welcome anon!!! Glad I could help xx

Yeah, definitely quite similar to our drinking culture then!! Hahahah we loooove a beer. So yeah, I think that’s why sometimes people can blow it out of proportion a bit though, and be worried about him. But like… if I was living his life? Damn straight I’d be having bevvies and partying every once in a while! Anyway, yeah, he’s pretty healthy otherwise (except the darts lol).

Oh bro his post show munchies… idk how that dude doesn’t put on any weight. I also know that he wasn’t sharing a hotel room with any band/crew (if I remember he was on a separate floor with his security guard and they were on a lower floor), but he probably invited oli or some of them in to smoke, because im sure he couldn’t slam that all on his own hahahahaha. Just… a very solid amount of Maccas, burgers, chippies, a couple of beers, I think desserts too from memory??? Hahahaha just… wow. I totally understand him tho. If im a little stoned/drunk im like a horse hahahaha