#wrongly-charged

[daz4i]

guys i know it's fun to have like, information backing up your ship, but please take fan wikis with a grain of salt especially when there isn't a link to any actual source. anyone can edit those they're not some official information presented by the creators of a thing

[just-some-random-blogger]

Tin Soldier

Gwayne returns from Rook's Rest to King's Landing where his wife has been patiently waiting for him, knowing he would need stress relief.

Gwayne Hightower x Reader | 2k+ | cw: fem!reader, wife!reader, pwp idk what to tell you, ok nvm porn with feelings, gwaynes BRATTY, smut (piv, bdsm, pet play??, biting, marking, scratching), fluff can you believe that, typos, etc.

A/N: inspired by this post. i wish @barbieaemond and @targs-on-zorses a very much i hope you suffer

"Oh, praise the gods," I mutter under my breath once I spot the two knights entering through gates of the Keep. I dismiss my handmaiden and head towards them.

Gwayne and Criston spot me, the former's hardened face softens. I offer them a smile and clasp my hands, "very good. The Mother has delivered you whole." I nod in regard, "ser Criston."

The said man nods, "my-"

"You would greet another man before your husband, woman?"

I turn to Gwayne. His jaw clenches. I hold back a grin and pucker my lower lip instead, "I only wished to thank the Hand for returning my love to me with no missing limbs."

He scoffs. His horse trots in place. Gwayne does not enjoy that. He very much did not enjoy that.

"I should thank your husband for doing the same for me, my lady," Criston replies, making me turn back to him.

I smile. Gwayne dismounts. "Then I rejoice in knowing you both will return safely so long as you have each other."

A stable boy comes to get my husband's ride. He spares me no glance when he walks passed me. I turn to my feet with a chuckle, rubbing my belly that bubbled in excitement, "welcome home, ser." We share a nod before I chase after my lord.

He is walking incredibly fast.

I gather my skirts, "my lord!"

Gwayne does not stop. He only continues to storm to our shared chambers. When he reaches the stairs, I break into a sprint, laughing as I did, "lord husband!"

Needless to say, my calls fall deaf on his ears. I have to catch my breath once I enter the room.

"RETURN ME?!"

I close the door behind me, eyes not leaving my armored lover as he paces around the room. My breath hitches at the sight of him. Oh, how I missed the clanking of his steel uniform.

Gwayne turns back to me, pointing a harsh finger to the ground, "WOULD THAT I BE THE ONE RETURNED-

My eyes sparkle at his vexed expression.

"OH! IF YOU ONLY KNEW HOW COLE WAS-"

I reach for his breastplate, "twas a jest."

"Well, you jest wrongly," he glares, swatting my hands away. I press my lips together to suppress my smile. He charges towards the vanity, "you now not how insufferable that Dornishman is."

He begins to undo the cuffs on his forearm. Oh, by the Seven, he was actually upset. He never removed his own armor, not when I was present. I sigh, "Gwayne-"

"Do not-" he pulls roughly on his sleeve "-address me, woman."

I purse my lips and grab his shoulder plate. He shrugs me off dramatically and I reel back in momentary shock, only to huff and grab him by his steely collar.

He glares at me.

I raise my brows, mouth opening to start a new argument. But his face, marked with hurt, though dramatic, makes my heart tinge. I decide not to pursue it.

He recognizes this and lift his nose. His brows quirk in challenge.

I tilt my head and sigh, "begging your pardon, my lord," I brush my hands down to the sigil on his heart, "tis distasteful to speak on matters I know not of."

Gwayne stares at me for a moment. I peer at him through my lashes, absentmindedly drawing shapes on his chest, "I submit. I wish not to quarrel."

He does not reply, but he visibly relaxes, save for the way his brows knit, "my lips."

My eyes fall to his mouth where a cut laid on the bottom corner, "yes. You've been cut." I pull away to grab some ointment for it, "we shall treat your lip again after your bath."

He watches as I go through the vials on the table. Just as I open the lid of the salve, I feel his rigid body press against my back. I look over my shoulder, gazing up at his face as he embraces me.

"You have not kissed them," he mutters, "you insult me twice, wife."

Oh, what darling. I pretend to think, "I thought I was woman."

"Wrong again," he takes the vial from me, setting it down with little attention. He turns me around and traps me against the vanity, "my woman."

He waste no more time keeping our lips separate. Gwayne picks me by the waist and sits me on the table as his lips reacquaint themselves with mine. My body melts against him, my legs part to welcome him between and my hands sneak their way into his nape.

He pulls away, "damn this helmet."

I giggle but stop him when he tries to rid of it. He raises a brow then sighs, "not again."

"What?" I laugh innocently, "it suits you well."

He shakes his head but makes no further move to rid himself of his steel hat. He does however begin to bunch my skirts up. I mumble, "my tin soldier."

He groans. "Perhaps I'll fuck you in my helmet, vixen," he wraps my legs around him, "see how you like it."

I gleefully retort, "so long as you fuck me, ser-" he begins to kiss my neck, "I will be- OH!"

Gwayne sharply pulls away, face concerned.

I cover my mouth with my hands, "I'd nearly forgotten!"

He can do nothing but watch as I wrangle out of our position and shoo him away. He grumbles as I go through a drawer, "I got you a gift."

"Must you give it to me now?"

I laugh and turn back to him once I have it in my hand, "I find you will regret it if I do not give it to you sooner."

His brow quirks in interest.

I grin and motion with my head, "to the bed with you."

Gwayne is sat on the side of the bed in an instant. He eagerly looks at me. I saunter over with a look of mischief. His eyes widen when I kneel by his feet. At this point, he knew exactly what my surprise was and he simply reaches a hand out to me.

I place a bell in his palm. Gwayne releases a deep breath that breaks into an excited chuckle, "oh, my girl, you might regret this."

I simply look at him with a smile.

He stares at me, knowing then that our game had started. His lips part infinitesimally as he basks in the power he now had. He rings the bell, "you may speak your mind, pet."

"Thank you, ser."

Gwayne rings it again, "get me out of this fucking armor."

"Yes, ser," I say, coming to my feet to undo his top. I feel his eyes on me as I do so.

He releases a breath, hands coming to my side, "I have free rein on your body, do I not?"

"Of course, ser."

"Mmm," he rubs my ass then smacks it, "strip for me," he rings the bell.

I turn to him, "after I-"

"Now," he blurts.

I pull away from him and begin to undo the ties of my dress. It is a slight struggle but not impossible. Once my dress drops to the floor, he rings his bell, "stop."

I still where I stand.

"And your smallclothes," he rings.

I oblige, pulling them and letting them drop to the floor. He reaches a hand out, ringing again, "come to me."

I take his hand and he spreads his legs. I sit on his lap and he rings, "you may proceed, pet."

I continue to undo his armor, "of course, ser."

Ring. "Kiss me as you do so."

I do not speak, only follow the command. I kiss him intermittently as I finally remove a shoulder plate. It is considerably harder to do than undoing my dress because of all the latches. I decide to prioritize undressing him, but it seems that was a mistake.

He snakes his hand up my skirt and squeezes my inner thigh, "my lips are wanting yours, pet."

"I am doing my best, se-"

"Well, try harder."

Gwayne thoroughly enjoys my struggle and unabashedly complains when I am not kissing him. I begin to grow increasingly frustrated when I prioritize kissing him yet finds it in him to complain about how hot his armor is. At some point, I begin throwing the metal I do get off him angrily to the ground.

His chuckle is deep, "careful, pet. That is your lord's armor."

"Fuck your armor," I grunt, chucking his cuffs to the floor.

He laughs and licks his lips.

"I was given permission to speak my mind, was I not? I mutter, sliding off his lap to undo the cuffs on his legs.

"I did not give you leave to leave my lap," he stares at me.

I glare at him and sit back down. He examines me for a moment, rings his bell, and chirps, "get off."

I sigh and stand.

"Uh-ta-ta-ta-ta," he grabs my arm and raises a finger. He looks up at me, shrugging, "what do we say?"

I suck in a breath and force a smile, "of course, ser. Thank you, ser."

"Good," he raises the bell before ringing it, "proceed."

I drop to my knees and continue to rid him of his wretched armor. He brushes my hair back and rubs my lips, "indeed again, you you are not kissing me."

I huff, looking up at him. His eyes sparkle as I say, "a thousand apologies, ser." I attempt to do the impossible, kissing him while undoing the cuffs on his shins. Amazingly, I eventually complete the task and do so with another huff.

Gwayne rings his bell and knocks on his helmet, "you missed one, pet."

I sit on his lap and place my hands on his shoulders. He watches me as I frown. I look at him pleadingly but he allows me no satisfaction. I have no choice but to take his helmet off. He snakes an arm around me, "hard, that one, was it?"

I place his helmet on the night stand and kiss him, "I wish to please my lord."

He smirks, "then shall you be rewarded." He carelessly chucks the bell behind him, causing me gasp, "Gwayne!"

"I enjoyed our little game but find I no longer have the patience for it," he grabs my thighs and turns me on him.

"That's why we keep losing the bell, you keep throwing it!"

"Fuck the bell," he quips, making me straddle him, "I want to fuck my wife."

The next thing I know, my dress is being ripped off and he's hastily undoing his breeches. I cannot help my laugh as I shift atop him to free himself, and once he is, I grind on his hardened cock, making him grit his teeth. I bask in the feel of him after removing his shirt. By the gods, how I've missed the feel of his chest on my palms.

He allows me to dote on his scars and freckles. I could weep at his beauty. He then inks his head into the crook of my neck and I wrap my arms around him.

"My wife," he licks a stripe to my jaw, "I dream about your skin."

I brush my fingers up his hair and tug gently, "Gwyane."

"I miss your taste," he mutters in between kisses. He tightens his hold on me, "I miss your taste, miss your skin, miss your lips, my love," he rakes his fingers up my back, "did you miss me?"

I moan as I sink myself down on him. He squeezes my shoulders and drops his jaw.

I grab his cheeks and press our foreheads together, "missed you so much— missed your touch, missed having you inside me, missed your smart mouth."

He chuckles and kisses me, "missed yours." Gwayne begins to buck into me, arms tight around my waist.

I grunt and bring his face into my chest, throwing my head back as I ride him. He sucks on my skin, intent to leave evidence of him on me. I tangle my fingers into his hair then pepper kisses on his forehead. He smelled of sweat and dirt and ash; I relish every bit of him.

I whimper when he sinks his teeth into the side of my throat before suckling. I clench around him in response. I pull his hair and speak his name. He replies with a moan, grazing me with his teeth once more.

My riding becomes harder. The sound of our breath and the utterance of each other's names mingle with the creak of the bed and the wet sound of slapping skin. He grabs my hips, flesh spilling between his fingers, and bites his nails into me. He huffs, guiding me into faster and rougher pace.

I lean my forehead on his once more, darting my tongue to his lips. He chases my tongue, catching it between his teeth, then does the same to my lips. I whimper when I taste blood. He licks the iron off and trails kisses to my ear, "come on my cock, baby, want you to come with me."

I whimper out and nod, "Gwayne."

"Come on," he mutters, "come, my love."

Pressure builds inside me, and we soon both grow erratic. There is a thick silence before guttural cries reverberate through the room. My body comes alive. The thick, hot, pleasure is so intense my breath is knocked out of my lungs and I quickly feel myself seize up.

My husband, ever dutiful, sinks his nails into my thighs and fucks out every last bit of the melting sensation from the both of us. A hoarse noise rips from my throat and makes my toes curl into my soles. Gwayne even overcompensates and plows into me until I'm reeling. I knew it was too much for him too, and so I supply him with the shaky whimpers I knew he desperately craves.

I feel lightheaded by the time he stops. He rests his head on me before finally collapsing on his back, taking me down with him. His chest rises and falls rapidly, our skin now sticky with sweat.

His hands rest on my thighs. I bring mine to both his shoulders. I pant against his jaw, "that was intense."

He hums, "well," he huffs, "you missed me too much."

"No," I nuzzle into his neck and draw shapes on his skin, "you missed me too much."

He brushes his nose against my head, "I hate to be the bearer of bad news but I didn't miss you at all."

"Good. I didn't miss you either."

He rubs my skin, eyes fixed on the ceiling. Out of nowhere, he whines in a high pitched voice, "OH Gwayne- OH! You feel so gOOD- AH AH-"

I swat him and with a dropped jaw. I lift my head and glare at him, "I did NOT say that!"

Gwayne's eyes fall on me, lips pursing. He brings one arm behind his head and takes the other to my cheek. My belly flutters at the sight of him. He was beautiful like this, shining after our love making. His rough thumb rubs my face, "pity." He brushes my hair back, "I'm going to have to fix that."

I roll my eyes at him but I am unable to fight back my smile.

He smiles back. His eyes soften and his voice is careful, "... did you miss me, my love?"

"Gods," I nearly roll my eyes at the back of my head, "oh, my sweet boy. My sweet pathetic boy who I so terribly missed."

He grins. The lines by on his cheeks only deepen when he laughs.

My stomach rolls again. I speak in earnest, capturing his cheek, "every day, I thank the Seven that I bask in your beauty."

Gwayne's eyes rove over me. He rubs my arm, "we should have another babe."

I scoff, "Gwayne-"

[ghwosty]

seriously why do dentists be like this tho

I show up to my 10:20am appointment 10 minutes early just sit and wait in the chair for a whole ass hour after my initial appointment time it is literally 11:20 as I'm typing this and I've only been seen by the nurse that took me back to the room.... this is time theft, they are thieving my time

[the20thangel]

The Shocking Prize for the Raven Knight.

Summary: While attacking a Green camp, Benjicot finds the missing Targaryen!reader princess that the Greens managed to kidnap and frees her. As they return to Kingslanding, Rhaenyra surprises everyone with the choice of gratitude she wishes to bestow on the lord for saving her daughter.

Word Count: 2.1K

Masterlist

Benjicot led his men through the Lannister camp, going through the men like they were training dummies. Red and gold fell to his men, red and black proudly waving Queen Rhaenyra’s flag. Pathetic, he thought, these Lannister men were like their lord, a loin with no claws or bite. 

As his men continued fighting through the Lannister, Benjicot focused on the second part of his mission. He was finding the lost princess. He received a raven about how Rhaenyra’s daughter was taken during the Battle of Gullet after Prince Jacaerys was killed. The princess's dragon died during the battle is killed, similar to Vermx, Prince Jacaerys’ mount. This forced the princess to be held captive and was going to be essentially sold as a prize to Prince Aemond. Luckily, the prince perished Under God’s Eye from Daemon. So the captive princess was held now as a war prisoner, trying to see how much they could get away before returning her to her mother, who grew more and more desperate to have her daughter back at her side. 

As he weaved through the camp and tents, he got worried, not finding any Targaryen princess and trying to remember the appearance he described. Black hair with violet eyes. It should have been hard to find since Lannisters were known for their golden blond hair, not black, but no princess was still in sight. As he grew increasingly stressed about not finding a princess, he saw one more tent in a lone corner towards the end of the camp. 

Quickly scanning his surroundings for any knight, Benjicot ran to the tent flap to see someone kneeing at the ground, their head covered by a veil. He knew from the structure that it was a woman kneeling. Walking towards the figure, he tried to be silent, not wanting to alert any knight outside. As he slowly reached her, he placed his hand on her shoulder. 

“Excuse me, my lady-” 

Benjicot was interrupted when suddenly the mysterious woman turned, reaching for his dagger. She tripped him as he tried to block her, making him fall to the ground. He felt a weight on his chest as he looked up. Seeing a beautiful maiden with black hair and violet hardened eyes glaring at him as she held his dagger to his throat. His breath was physically and metaphorically taken away from him. Queen Rhaenyra’s daughter was a force to be reckoned with. 

Once the princess heard footsteps coming to her tent, she feared it was that awful Lannister lord or Aemond. She decided she would rather die trying to kill them and freeing herself than being taken by those dreadful men. As she attacked the knight and went to stab him, she was blocked, forcing herself to notice the red and black colors. Recognizing them as House Blackwood, the princess quickly stood up from his chest, allowing Benjicot to sit up as he stared at her with wonder. 

“My apologies, my lord. I have wrongly mistaken you for a Lannister or Aemond.” She apologized, moving a hand to him and helping him stand off the ground. 

Not releasing her hand, Benjicot assessed her for any damage to her body; seeing she looked healthy enough, he sighed. Queen Rhaenyra would be glad to hear her daughter was safe and sound. 

Benjicot smiled, bowing and kissing her hand, “No, my princess. It should be I apologizing. Knowing that enemies are around this camp, I should not have sneaked behind you.” 

The ebony-haired princess smiled at the lord, “Then, as long as we both accept our apologies, there should be no bad blood around us.” 

As Benji was about to speak, they both heard a shout from the entrance, seeing Lord Jason staring at them red-faced. Huffing in anger, the Lannister lord yelled as he charged towards the young duo. Benjicot braced for him, raising his sword as the two began to duel with the dragon princess stalking around them. Benjicot grinned widely; this lord was clumsy in his sword fighting, quickly finding the upper hand as he slashed Jason Lanninser on his legs, causing the golden loin to yell in pain and sink to the floor. As Jason glared at Benjioct, he spat, claiming how his brother in Kingslanding would make House Blackwood pay for treason—going further in saying how he will have two beauties, Aly Blackwood and the princess. Making Benjicot stiffen in anger, but before the Lord of Casterly Rock could continue in his word rampage, he was cut off by a dagger slashing his throat. This caused the lord to choke on his blood, flopping down on the ground with a thud. 

In shock and wonder, Benji raised his sight again as the princess sneered at the dead lord. 

“He disgustedly talks too much; I have grown tired of his moronic speaking. The realm will be relieved to be rid of him.” stated the princess, using her trousers to wipe off the blood from the dagger as she returned it to Benji. The Raven lord grinned, shaking his head. 

“Keep it, princess, you have a talent with the dagger; let it keep you safe on your journey home.” explained the lord, smiling at seeing the princess grin back at him. 

As the lord and princess sneaked out of the tent, they saw that the Blackwood men were joined by the Stark men, leading to victory over the greens. Smiling, the princess greeted Cregan Stark, who clapped Benjicot for finding the princess and exclaimed that he was glad the princess was safe and sound. Aly Blackwood introduced herself to the princess, asking her to join her in her tent to refresh before they made their way to Kingslanding. 

The princess furrowed her brows, “Kingslanding, why not Dragonstone?” 

The trio paused, forgetting that the princess could not know how the war was transpiring. 

Benjicot stared at the group before sighing as he turned to the princess, “Your mother, Queen Rhaenyra, has been able to take hold of Kingslanding from the greens. That is why Jason Lannister seemed desperate. He clings that his brother Tyland could lead a rebellion against your mother from the dark cells. He is wrong.” snorted Benjicot in the hilarious thought of the Lanniesters. 

The Princess nodded, relieved her mother was well and finally able to reclaim her throne from Aegon and his green harpies. Grinning, she expressed her desire to travel as fast as possible to Kingslanding; she wanted to reunite with her mother quickly. As they planned, it was decided that Benjicot and the princess would ride together, seeing how battles still needed to be fought closer to the storm lands and crownlands. Traveling with a vast army would only cause a larger target on the princess. 

The Princess changed her clothes to House Blackwood to try and become unrecognizable to any allies of Aegon. As she exited the tent, she greeted Benji, who once again had his breath taken away from her beauty, especially when she saw her in his house's colors. 

“How do I look, my Lord?” questioned the princess teasingly as she spun around for him. 

Gulping, Benji smiled at the princess, his cheeks heating up, “A true beauty, my princess, but may I ask for you to call me Ben.” 

Laughing at his cheeks, the princess replied, “Very well, Ben, please call me by my name rather than my princess.” 

The two leave in the cover of night, hoping to reach the red keep in a few days. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As Queen Rhaenyra walked with Aegon and Joffrey, a servant quickly came and handed her a raven. Pausing, she quickly opened it once she saw the House Blackwood sigil on it. Rhaenyra gasped in delight. Her daughter was found safely and was in due time to arrive in her arms. Her darling jewel, she raged for days after hearing that Jason Lannister had her captive. She would finally be back to her side, grinning. Rhaenyra shared the news with her boys, laughing as the two young princes rejoiced at being reunited with their beloved sister. 

The day after, Rhaenyra was waiting by the steps of the Iron Throne; the court was buzzing in, seeing the Queen glowing with joy as they eagerly awaited the princess's arrival. As the throne room doors opened, people gasped, seeing the dragon princess walk in proudly wearing House Blackwood clothes with the lord of Raventree Hall grasping her arms and leading her to the Queen. 

As the duo paused before the queen, Benjioct released his princess, moving back a step as he bowed to his queen. Rhaenyra grinned in gratitude at him as she embraced her daughter, whispering how much she missed her. The Princess nearly returned her mother’s embrace, finally letting herself relax. She was safe, and she was home, all thanks to Ben.  As they separated, Rhaenyra called for the court's dismissal. She invited Benjicot for a luncheon but did not allow him to decline, so she walked away, dragging her daughter out. The princess rolled her eyes as she turned back to him. 

“Come on, Ben, join us, please,” pleaded the princess, grinning as she saw him following. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

“I wanted to thank you again, Lord Blackwood, for bringing my daughter back to me safe and sound,” the queen praised, grinning as she saw him flush red.

Benjicot could feel his cheeks heat up again, not used to being praised by a queen and princess. 

“I would gladly do it again, my queen; it is my honor to serve you.” he shyly spoke, blushing more as both mother and daughter giggled at his shyness. 

“Isn’t he the sweetest mother? Instead of puffing his chest in pride, he is humble in his actions, becoming nervous from praises.” teased the princess, laughing when Ben turned to her with mock betrayal, playfully glaring at her. 

Rhaenyra smiled at the sight; it seemed her daughter and the raven lord had grown close to each other. As the Luncheon continued, she grew more intrigued seeing how easily they spoke, jested with each other, leaving to each other's company. Not only that, but she also saw how he treated her sons. Aegon and Joffrey took a liking to the lord, asking him questions about battles and his sword skills, which the lord happily indulged the young princes every time. 

As the luncheon finished, the Queen stated she needed to think about specific events and that she would see everyone later at court. Bowing, the princess saw her mother leaving with her brothers. Turning to Ben, she grinned, enjoying that she would spend more time with him alone. 

As the two walked around, joking and teasing each other, they did not notice a dragon queen staring. Seeing their ease in each other’s company, she grew confident in her decision, turning away from the window. Rhaneyra allowed herself to become excited about the news she would share later. 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Once again, the court was gathered in the throne room. Rhaenyra noticed her daughter finally switched from Blackwood clothes to her Targaryen gowns. She grinned, seeing how Benjioct stared at her daughter with a particular look in his eyes. Facing back to her people, she greeted them. 

“My good people, it is with great pleasure that we celebrate the return of my daughter, your crown princess, home safely.” 

The crowd cheered and clapped joyfully as the princess bowed to her mother. 

Rhaenyra raised her hand, asking for quietness as she continued to speak, “But if it were not for the hard works of Houses Stark and House Blackwood, our princess would have been still lost in the hands of the greens and their allies. Lord Blackwood, please step forward.” 

The crowd again cheered as the young lord stood infront of his queen, kneeling respectfully. 

“Lord Benjicot Blackwood, thank you for bringing my daughter home safely. House Targaryen will always be grateful to House Blackwood… to show my gratitude, I have decided to honor you in a great alliance.” 

The crowd quietly gasped, wondering what alliance and prize would the queen bestow the young lord. 

Smiling, she turned to her daughter for a second before returning her gaze to Benji, “I am proposing, my lord, to create a strong alliance between our two houses in the form of marriage. It is my greatest pleasure to propose my daughter’s hand in marriage to you and you to be her future prince consort.” 

Both princess and lord snapped their eyes to the queen, widening in shock as the crowd gasped—marriage…. a marriage between the raven lord and the beautiful dragon princess. 

Slowly, the princess smiled bashfully, turning her head to Ben, who turned to her, staring and smiling at each other… marriage, they wouldn’t mind marrying.

[chaiisms]

BALDURS GATE 3 PARTY BANTER PROMPTS LIST.

all of the following prompts are taken from party banter between the companions in larian studios' baldurs gate 3 (2023). there should be no spoilers! also, a disproportionate amount of these are from astarion and karlach. i'm not sorry.

I am enjoying our walks together, aren't you, [ name ]?

You'll be as depraved as the rest of us in no time.

Friend of yours?

Were you always so sneaky?

If there's hope for me there's hope for anyone.

How are we not there yet? My feet are killing me.

This is what I get for trying to strike up conversation.

We're not going to have trouble, are we?

If we continue this way, we may get too close for comfort.

Don't get too comfortable. We shouldn't overstay our welcome in such a place.

Do you have pet names for each other yet?

[ name ]! Was that a joke?

You know what - that is not the easiest of questions for me to answer.

Given your own nature, are you really the one to judge?

You can read?!

I'm surprised - I expected you to turn your back once you got what you wanted.

I wouldn't know a flirtation if you whacked me alongside the head with it.

Why stay somewhere safe and comfortable when we could be in mortal peril?

Can't say I love what they've done with the place.

I'm learning to enjoy the taste of chaos. Count me in.

At least you didn't tell me to 'be myself'.

You have so much to learn. Repeat after me: honey muffin, sweetie pie, sugarplum.

Nice to be in a crowd of normal people for once.

So [ name ], how is your sad, hopeless pining going?

You seemed a million miles away just then.

I fear I've been rather hasty to judge you, [ name ].

Ready to enter the belly of the beast?

Step one of starting a conversation: think before you speak.

I hear your relationship has taken on a new aspect recently…

All right, just keep it down. We're conspicuous enough without your hyena call.

Not one for roughing it, I see.

Why not have a little fun?

You're right, of course. Forgive me.

My money's on you, [ name ].

The echoes - listen! They're coming from three directions!

Want me to carry you?

Feeling at home?

Treat them right, or you'll have me to answer to.

Oh, darling, would you?

No doubt they found me too intimidating.

A girl could get used to this.

Now I don't know what to believe.

Well - yes, it was a joke.

I know that, too. It just wasn't funny.

And here I thought I rubbed you the wrong way.

Man, it's good to be home. First round on who?

Oh, I wouldn't actually leave. After all, where would you be without me?

You've quite the knack for finding the bright side of things, haven't you?

Well what would impress you, then?

Let's just stop this conversation right here, shall we?

Must've been an awful day for the people who lived here

You've clearly thought this through a great deal. I'm impressed and appalled in equal measure.

Sure, but think of the stories you'll be able to tell.

I never was scared of the shadows.

I know you're not really as heartless as all that.

I judged you wrongly. I'm sorry.

Are you charging for this sage advice, or is sticking your nose into my business just a hobby?

Pragmatism, thy name is [ name ].

That's ironic, coming from you.

We're either very clever or very lucky.

You do not need luck to survive, [ name ]. Not when you have me.

That will make getting word to my mother rather tricky.

Stop gawking at the decor. This place is dangerous.

I can't tell if you're joking.

So, what's it like caring for someone other than yourself, [ name ]?

You think I'm beautiful?

I feel it too. Here if you need a pick-me-up.

Yet another thing we have in common. We're two peas in a pod.

Is it so unbelievable that they would simply like me?

Use your words.

You gonna catch me if I eat a brick?

[ name ], I've heard you talking in your sleep.

Let's never speak of this again.

You can take a day off once in a while, [ name ]

Hey! Something bit me.

Cheer up. It might be all downhill from here.

I love a nice secret hideaway, don't you?

Think the bar is open?

[i-hate-accidents]

i hate accidents: the ball

femme!reader x benedict bridgerton, femme!reader & the bridgerton family, femme!reader & penelope featherington

summary:  the adventures of a working class femme who befriends a fellow writer, a boisterous family, and a bewitching second eldest son

sections:  I. the beginning / II. the between / III. the ball

y/n:  bipoc, she/her, afab, nonbinary femme, queer, working class, of immigrant parents

content warnings:  classism, mentions of financial survival, microaggressive sexism, microaggressive gender assumption, intersectional low self-image of y/n, positive/supportive families, nondescript mention of gagging (not related to self-image) in [III.iii], sexually charged 18+ interactions in middle to end of [III.iv]—minors dni, please stop at the end of the paragraph that begins "you repeat his words with sped up mockery"; you may resume at "you jut out your hip"

word count:  15.7k (of 38.8k)

story context:  everything in s1 and s2 of the tv series is canon for this story except for the s2 epilogue with the bridgertons.  this story takes place leading up to and into the 1815 season. 

additional notes:  this story is incomplete. scenes that are not written are described in chevrons <> with third person pov or are delineated by isolated ellipses. additionally, the author has only watched s2!  she has not watched any of s1 aside from clips, and they have not read the books aside from quotes used in edits.  they have not yet watched queen charlotte.  the author kinda knows the gist of an offer from a gentleman; they are familiar with sophie beckett (and are excited to meet her/them in the tv series!).

author’s note:  this is the first time the author has written fanfic in 13-15 years.  :)  it is her hope that they have made some progress since her pre/teens.  additionally, this fanfic has been written, on and off, over the course of two years.  the author sincerely hopes you find some sort of joy in it, especially the readers who maybe hope to see themself a little more specifically in the world we so love.

tagged: @omgsuperstarg @stvrdustalexx @bedobeeeee @crazymar15 @kahhorri @mayalopes @benedictbridgertonss @athensflower @02wrldz @queerlavalier @merlslrem @pillsbury-doughgirl @lamourdure3ans and all who have read either/both sections one and two—thank you. <3

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.i ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“you look like a princess, y/n!” hyacinth squeals in delight.

“i regret not being of age yet to attend balls,” gregory sighs.  “i would have been honored to ask you for your first dance.”

you beam at the youngest bridgertons with all the fondness in your heart.  judith, an elderly maid of number five, had attempted to dispel hyacinth and gregory from the room as your hair was done, but you had asked her to please allow them to stay.  the two kept you at ease throughout the foreign process, and their sweet sincerity kept you grounded amidst the anxiety that still floods your veins.

“you are both too kind.  and fear not; tomorrow morning we will have a ball all of our own,” you lean in for a whisper, them following suit to listen.  “and perhaps we will need the talents, and bravery, of a young sorceress and a young knight to save the guests from the intrusion of an unruly wyvern.”

“you promise?!” hyacinth and gregory yell at the same time.  you hold out your pinky finger, just as you used to do with your siblings, and the two young ones wrap their pinkies around yours.

“i promise.”

“you are all done, miss y/l/n,” says alice, placing the last pin into your hair.  she steps back and curtsies.  her formality towards you renders you uneasy; she treats you as above her but you are of the same world.  you school your facial features from showing your unease; you do not want to upset her or have her wrongly think that she has done something wrong.

“no need to call me ‘miss.’  i am simply y/n!”  you grin at alice.  “a friend.”

she smiles, albeit a bit sheepishly. 

“of course, y/n.  are you ready to see yourself?”

you shudder in a breath.  you had asked not to be prepared in front of a mirror.  to have seen your transformation so readily reflected at you at every point of this process—

you exhale frantically.  the maids and genevieve had graciously accommodated your wishes, both going so far as rearranging this room and her fitting room to avoid any lines of your sight with a potential reflection; you were, and are, utterly grateful.  

but i am unable to delay the inevitable any longer.

standing up and squaring your shoulders, you give alice a feeble nod.  she bows her head in response, a small, encouraging smile on her lips, and leads you to the mirror as hyacinth and gregory turn in their seats to watch you cross the room.  

it is just a dress.  it is just a tiara, and just some jewelry, and just some gloves, and just some shoes, and just a bit of makeup.  it is just you.  it is still you.  be the courageous person you are, y/n.

or—

just before you see even a miniscule bit of your reflection in that accursed mirror, you shut your eyes tight.

—be a coward.

you continue step by agonizing step, approximating where the mirror is, and shudder in another breath.

perhaps i am being too dramatic.  perhaps i can faint and feign illness.  perhaps i shall run away by way of the nearest window.  perhaps i—

“the mirror is to your left, y/n; whenever you are ready,” coaxes alice.

you exhale once more.

or perhaps, i should open my eyes.

and so you do.

oh.

“oh,” you say aloud.

the person you see in the gilded full-length mirror is, somehow, a complete stranger and entirely you.

the one time you’ve worn makeup before was for your elder sister’s wedding:  a bit of your mother’s rouge on your cheeks and lips to have some color to your otherwise dull face.  now, your cheekbones glow with a blush much more complimentary to your complexion than a mere red as your lips shine with a gossamer of a similar shade.  entirely new to you are the glimmering minerals on your eyelids that magically bring attention to your eyes and make them shine like starlight.

your eyebrows have been plucked (much to your initial pain but your current appreciation), maintaining their shape and fullness but now without strays.  

soft tendrils of curls frame your face, and your hair—normally worn down when not working—has been pulled back into a loose coiffure and styled with sprigs and small blooms, the crown of your head graced with a silver tiara.

“this,” violet smiled fondly when she first set the tiara on top of your head, “is the tiara i wore to my first ball after my presentation.  i had insisted on keeping it, thinking i could pass it on to my daughter when her first ball had come.  but daphne was resolute on having her own tiara, and eloise was resolute on not wearing any,” violet laughed, her eyes shining when they connected with yours, “i see now, though, perhaps it was always meant to be yours.”

“violet, i— i cannot wear this.  it is too— it’s too—”

sumptuous?  opulent?  regal?  

no.

well, yes, the tiara is all those things.  but those were not what had concerned you then.  it’s too—

“beautiful,” you admitted quietly.

something as beautiful as that surely does not belong on the head of someone like you.

“well,” violet smiled, “then you are merely proving my point, my dear.  it perfectly suits you.”

you hold out your hands, flare out your fingers, and stretch out your arms, examining the dark forest green of your long satin gloves, mesmerized that a muted color with such depth and richness could be achieved through dyes.

moving your hand, you touch one of the small rosewhite pearls adorning your earlobes and, with your other hand, touch the inky oblong pearl that shimmers violet, indigo, and green as it hangs from the thin, black velvet choker around your neck.

“my dear,” mama appeared in your doorway one evening as you wrote at your table, “do you require jewelry for your occasion?”

“oh.  i suppose i do?  i hadn’t given it much thought.”  jewelry had been the last thing on your mind of things that terrified you of the impending ball.

“well, if you have not been offered anything by the bridgerton family yet, i thought— i thought perhaps you might like these.”

she approached you, a small wooden box in her hand, and placed it on your table.  taking the box into your hands, you looked at it and then up at mama.  she smiled at you but something of her countenance seemed strained.  nervous.  you offered her a smile in an attempt to assuage whatever concerns preoccupied her mind and, turning back to the box, unclasped it open.

“these are the earrings and necklace i wore when i married your papa.  they were gifts from your grandmama that were gifts from her mama.  i had tried giving them to your sister when she was to be married, but she thought…  they are plain, nothing like what those fashionable people wear, i am certain; but if you have nothing else, i—”

you shot up from your seat, throwing your arms around your mama, feeling how she reeled from the ferocity of your sudden embrace, as you clutched onto the box of her wedding jewelry.

“they are beautiful, mama,” you said quietly but emphatically as the vehemence of your emotions tried to trap your words in your throat.  “they are the most beautiful things i have ever seen, and i am so— i am so honored to be bestowed with the blessing of wearing them, and of wearing them proudly.  thank you.”

you heard how mama sniffed her nose, and how she tried to hide it, as she gently rubbed your back, as she always had in your moments of vulnerability.

“i love you, my child.”

“i love you, mama.”

you then touch your exposed shoulders.  the neckline of your dress, nowhere near your neck, follows the curved peaks of your breasts to meet and form a small v-shape in the crevice of your bosom.  

“where is the chemise?” was the first thing you had said when you first tried on the gown at the modiste.

genevieve grinned.

“there is none.”

your jaw dropped.

“then what of a stay?  what sort of stay would be worn with this?”

turning slightly, and noting your rather bare upper arms in the process, you angle your exposed back towards the mirror.  another v-shape, its furthest point down a third of your bare spine.  

“my dear, both you and i know that you already know the answer to your inquiry.”

“oh, my good g—”

never, in your life, has the expanse of your upper body been so naked and on display than in this ball gown.

“i do not mean to doubt your artistry, genevieve; truly!, the dress is magnificent, but—” you turned to kathani, who had exclaimed and clapped with immense delight upon seeing you in the gown, “is this—— permissible?”

the viscountess had arched an eyebrow at you then.

“y/n y/l/n, concerned with the rules of society?  and of high society, at that?”

“no— no!” you yelled all too loudly as genevieve chortled and placed pins for final alterations into the dress.  “i just, i just do not want to embarrass you and your family, is all.”

you had not meant for your voice to come out so quiet and small.  the older women’s faces softened immediately.

“you could never embarrass us, y/n,” kathani stated with such tenderness.  then she smiled.  “you look beautiful.”

the off-white base layer of the dress feels luxurious against your skin, the fabric hugging your upper body, puffing out at the sleeves, and, from the underbust, flowing and falling into a cone silhouette for the skirt—but what truly awes you is the artistry of the outermost layer.  a cream translucent silk, the piña seda (you recall genevieve proudly naming it as) of the outermost layer glistens while you sway and turn your body, light shifting and transforming the ever beauty of the dress, the swish of the skirt moving like how waves are described in the passages of your books and in the reminiscing of your parents’ memories.  lined at the underbust begins the intricate thicket of embroidered foliage, painstakingly threaded with innumerable shades of greens and blues, a shimmering teal threaded throughout to gleam in tandem with the sheen of the fabric.  the embroidery of foliage then grows and thickens as it cascades down the middle of the dress and comes to an encircling end a few inches above and around the floor-length hem.  in the negative space of the piña seda are spread out, small ivory embroideries of floral motifs.  

it is a dress deserving of someone most beloved in titania’s garden court. 

“indeed,” genevieve affirmed, a smile on her lips akin to kathani’s.  “those in attendance will not be prepared.  you will look the most beautiful of all.”

and perhaps…

perhaps you should be unnerved by how different your dress will be from the others’ of the ton.  perhaps you should be unnerved by how easily you will stand out from the crowds.  perhaps you should be unnerved by the attention, the whispers, the stares you will inevitably receive with your dress, with your appearance, with your presence, with your very existence.  but, instead— 

“i do look like a princess,” you say finally.  quietly. 

you do look beautiful.

like you could belong amidst the ton.  

like you could belong with the bridgertons.  

like you could belong with him.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.ii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“are you anxious, y/n?”

you turn to gregory at your side and see the swell of worry in his eyes.

“what gives you that impression?”

“you are shaking terribly,” hyacinth comments from your other side, replacing her usual pluck and wit with a worry akin to her brother’s.  

the two had volunteered to escort you from the dressing room that you had been prepared in to the grand staircase of number five.  with their arms hooked around yours, gregory on your left and hyacinth on your right, the youngest bridgertons have been walking you down the corridor.  your heart aches with anguish:  you know you have failed when the children are the ones to care for the adult.

“i am sorry to have concerned you both.  yes, i— i am anxious.”

“it is reasonable to be anxious.  but there are a great many cakes at these balls, or so i’ve heard, so you can eat one, and then another, to help ease your nerves!”

“how is that of any help, gregory.”

“it is plenty of help!”

“to eat and eat when she is already uneasy?  the last time you were uneasy, you nearly—”

“do not recount that in front of y/n!”

“why not!”

“it is not— it is not proper!”  gregory’s voice jumps in pitch, causing a swift blush to form on the apples of his cheeks.  hyacinth snorts.

“why does your voice do that?”

“i do not know!  kate said it is natural for bo— for young men to experience such a thing!”

“aren’t young men meant to be tall?”

“i am an inch taller than you now!”

“you are not!”

“i am too!”

you laugh.  the youngest bridgertons halt their dispute and look at you. 

“i must say, your usual squabbling is keeping me much at ease,” and you offer a sympathetic smile to gregory.  “i am sorry that it seems to be at your expense, however.”

his eyes shine.

“you need not worry about me!  i am glad to see you smile.”

“i as well,” hyacinth adds.  you turn to her and see how her eyes shine too. 

“i am most grateful to you both for being at my side on such a night.”

“we are most grateful for you, y/n.”

“that is something, and probably the singular thing, hyacinth and i can agree upon.”

you plant soft kisses on the tops of their heads, just as mama and papa and your elder sister had done when you were their ages.  gregory and hyacinth nestle their heads into your upper arms and only part from you when the three of you reach the top of the first set of steps.  

“are you ready?” 

though you wish to say ‘no,’ you brace yourself with a deep inhale and nod.

your heart quickens with each step as time around you slows.  your mouth has gone dry, and your body feels entirely numb, sensation only returning to you when you feel hyacinth and gregory unhook their arms from yours.  turning your head, you see them stepping backwards, away from you, leaving you at the center of the landing to the rest of the grand staircase.  you face forward once more, and ahead, below, you see the gentlemen and ladies of bridgerton house, waiting for you, looking at you.  

you swallow. 

for the very first time, in your dress, by yourself, you take a step forward.

breathe, y/n.  shoulders back; tilt your chin up, but not too much; just as kathani had taught you.  and just, breathe.

but it is hard to breathe with all eyes on you.  with—

i must control myself.   i must not seek him out.  i must not seek out his face.  i must not seek out those o—

you step on the hem of your dress and feel yourself start to fall forward.  thankfully, god, for whatever reason, has blessed you with enough dexterity in this very moment, and you manage to catch yourself from tumbling down the steps as you hear gasps from above and below you.  you mumble an apology (you don’t know why; it is not nearly loud enough for anyone to hear) and offer everyone a smile.  upon seeing their relaxed shoulders and reassured expressions, you continue to descend the staircase.

stupid benedict.  distracting me in remembering how to walk, and how to breathe, and how to— 

oh.  

i am doing it again.

shit.

goddamnit, stupid benedict!

somehow, you reach the landing of number five’s entrance hall without any additional accidents and, approaching the bridgertons, immediately look to the viscountess.  as if knowing you seek her approval, kathani nods her head; a beam illuminates her countenance.  you feel yourself ease, your shoulders relaxing (that you promptly square again; you are, after all, pretending to be a lady for the night), your heart racing less, if only minutely, and manage a smile.  you feel someone take hold of your gloved hand and, turning to face the source, see violet gazing at you. 

“beautiful.”

it is all she says, but with such tenderness in her voice, it makes your heart swell.

“the importance of appearance,” rasps eloise, causing you to turn to her, “and the lengths gone to achieve so-called perfection of such, especially for those of feminine disposition, is an entirely antiquated, offensive concept that must be eradicated from our, and all, societies—— but you do, look, beautiful, y/n.”

you grin. 

“we’ll eradicate it together; and with help along the way, i am certain.”

when she responds in kind, you turn to the gentlemen, and, to your mortification, colin and anthony bow at you.  the high society etiquette directed towards you from your friends overwhelms you with an embarrassment that you cannot even begin to fathom; they haven’t performed such formalities towards you since your first meeting all those months ago.  but, in spite of your horror, the sincerity of their intentions, as well as their countenances, touches you deeply.

“madame delacroix and the maids have outdone themselves,” remarks anthony.  “as mother and eloise have said, you look beautiful, y/n.”

“indeed,” colin beams.  when he turns to benedict, however, his smile transforms into an expression befitting of a fairytale creature; one with mischievous intentions.  “what say you, brother?”

you follow his line of sight and connect with ocean eyes.  the flood of self-consciousness and the tempo of your heartbeats magnify hundredfold under his gaze, the butterflies within you fluttering the most violently they ever have, and you feel as though your entire body has been set ablaze.

anthony, with what looks like a smirk, nudges his brother with his elbow.  as if suddenly aware of where he is, benedict hastily bows at you and, returning his ocean eyes to yours, says,

“you look— well.”

you hear eloise snort.  turning your head towards her, you see she has completely sucked in her lips.  to her left, kathani smiles massively.  to kathani’s left, violet remains ever poised but with wide, sparkling eyes.  you still feel self-conscious but are infinitely amused by whatever is happening to the bridgertons and, with a playful smile on your lips, return your gaze to benedict.

“thank you, mr. bridgerton.  i had felt uneasy with an unnerved stomach earlier, but i am glad to know that my health appears to be in proper order.”

and you deeply curtsy at him. 

from above you hear the sweet giggles of the youngest bridgertons.  ahead, in your periphery, you see how anthony closes his eyes as he sucks in air through his nostrils and how colin, with an unabashed laugh, clasps his hand onto benedict’s shoulder.

“well!” anthony booms, attempting to control his smile on what ought to be an authoritative expression. “i believe we have a ball to commence.  shall you lead the way, viscountess?”

and with an expression both equal in authority and warmth, kathani declares,

“i shall.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.iii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you had grown ease of mind knowing that you would not be asked to dance.  not only were you a stranger to everyone in the ton aside from the bridgertons and penelope, you were also not handsome like the debutantes flitting about the room, swishing prettily in their gowns, strategically but delicately fluttering their eyes at a gentleman with which they wished to dance.  with anonymity and a plain face, you enjoyed the haven of people observing, snickering at the artifice and smiling at the sincerity.  kathani chatting with her guests.  anthony standing by her side.  penelope dancing with colin.  eloise hiding behind a plant.  violet beaming at her family.  (you tried to convince yourself that you had not noticed the absence of a particular person.)  your nerves have finally begun to calm, finding content in your station at the margins of the dance floor.

when colin bridgerton approaches you, hand outstretched in your direction, with a twinkle in his eyes.

“miss y/l/n, may you do me the honor?”

“i’m sorry, what?”

he laughs.

“will you dance with me?”

you gape at him.

“you’re mad.”

“my mind is perfectly intact.”

“this is unwise.”

“this is the best decision i have made this night.”

“i shall surely step on your toes.”

“i have worn my sturdiest shoes for the occasion.”

the corners of your mouth tug down into a moue at the third bridgerton’s stubborn charm.  his grin merely widens as your eyes narrow to slits at him.  penelope approaches from behind the beguiling imp and smiles warmly at you.

“it will be fun,” she encourages. “i promise.”

penelope!  no!

“et tu, brute?” you bemoan.

she shrugs.

“what is a ball without dancing?” penelope offers.  sweet innocence colors her voice, but the delighted glint in her eyes reveals her true duplicitous nature.  she knew exactly how to play the game of this conversation, no doubt a devious plot concocted between her and her beau.

you sigh.

“fine,” you huff, slapping your hand into colin’s palm.  “i would be honored, mr. bridgerton.”

the diabolical duo laughs at the sarcasm that drips from your words as colin leads you to the lineup on the dance floor.  

–

“how is the dance treating you, miss y/l/n?” 

“i hate you.” 

colin guffaws.  (you see in your periphery how heads shift towards him and how eyes narrow at you.  the partner you had just left looks at you with particular scrutiny.)

“if your hatred towards me is the cost of you enjoying the ball, then it is a burden i shall carry, and happily so.” 

“has anyone ever told you how infuriating you bridgertons are?” 

“no, but we very well know that we are,” he grins, “and we take immense pride in it.”

you groan, throwing your head back.  (you hear murmurs around you.  not ladylike.)

“are you truly not having fun?”  the gentleness in his voice makes you look back at him.  his expression is soft.  sad.  guilty.  “we can leave the lineup, if that is what you would like.” 

you consider his words and his offer.

“i am having fun,” you reply truthfully.  his eyes light up at that and your heart warms at the sight.  “it is just— being in a circumstance so wholly unfamiliar— it’s overwhelming, is all, i think.  but…” you feel a smile form on your lips, “knowing that you all—as infuriating as you bridgertons are—are here with me, by my side, wanting me to enjoy myself, wanting me to be happy, it makes all the overwhelming feeling worthwhile.  i am happy.  you all make me happy.”

colin doesn’t say anything.  he just stares at you as the two of you dance still.  you are about to inquire—

“i am grateful to call you my friend, y/n.  becoming your friend has been one of the greatest blessings to have been bestowed upon me and my family.”

you suck in a breath. 

as is becoming yours has been one of mine.

but another thought also lives in your mind.  so, on the exhale of your breath, you smirk.

“only second to falling in love with penelope, yes?”

he laughs, an uncharacteristic shy smile forming on his lips as he looks at his feet and then back at you, eyes shining incandescently.

“i hope you do not take offense to being second.”

“being second to penelope is truly, sincerely, still a victory in of itself.  you are very blessed, indeed, to be her premier.”

you did not think colin’s eyes could shine brighter than they had mere moments prior, but you suppose— no, you are certain that this is the effect that the love of penelope featherington has on the third eldest bridgerton:  the light in colin’s eyes is absolute radiance.

“‘very blessed’ is to put it very lightly.”

with unabashed grins, you and colin continue to dance.  you have to walk most of the steps, often keeping good on your promise and stepping on his toes, but your partner is deterred neither by your incompetence nor by his injuries.  the two of you laugh (drawing leers from the other guests, you notice but brush off) and end your dance with exaggerated flourishes of a curtsy and a bow to one another.

“you underestimate your dancing skills, miss y/l/n,” colin remarks with a beam.

“see if you feel the same after tending to your bruises, mr. bridgerton,” you beam back.

“colin bridgerton!”

you both whip your gazes to the call of colin’s name and see a man fastly, eagerly approaching.

“hastings!” 

hastings?  why does that sound familiar? 

colin and the absurdly handsome man embrace, smiles broad and sincere. 

“i was uncertain you would be joining us on this occasion.”

“we would have seen to arriving early, as we had intended, but augie is proving to be quite unpredictable with his tantrums as of late.”

“he must take after his uncles,” colin smirks with odd pride.  that makes the other man chuckle.

“unfortunately, it seems to be so.”

he then shifts his gaze onto you.  his expression is curious and— sweet?  kindly.  you feel yourself become rather self-conscious as you notice, in your periphery, colin assuming a posture of gentlemanliness.

“my apologies for my dreadful manners.  simon, this is miss y/n y/l/n.  y/n, this is simon basset.”

simon bows most graciously at you.

“good evening, miss y/l/n.  it is a true pleasure to finally meet you.  i am simon basset, daphne’s husband.”

daphne?  

as in daphne bridgerton?

you recall the day you and benedict toured the art gallery:  a portrait, a fairly recent one, it seemed, of a beautiful young woman and a beautiful young man—the duchess and the duke of hastings, the plaque read.

your jaw drops.

“you are the duke!”  you remember the etiquette kathani taught you.  “your grace!”  and you sloppily curtsy.

simon laughs.

“that is hardly necessary.  please, if you feel comfortable in doing so, call me simon.”

“yes— of course!, your— simon,” you compose yourself.  “and you may call me y/n; i would prefer it, actually.”

simon grins.

“then, y/n, may i have the honor of having your next dance?”

your jaw drops again, your composure completely falling away.  you look at simon, who is utterly amused by your reaction, and then to colin, who is utterly delighted by the turn of events, and back to simon.

“that is a mistake.”

that earns guffaws from both of the men.  (you feel stares falling upon them and, once again, scowls falling upon you.)  

“i am more than willing to make that discovery for myself, if you will allow it.”

you throw back your head (ignoring the additional glares shot your way) and, with a sigh, whip it back to look at simon with a fatigued, but earnest, smile.

“i shall allow it.”

colin bows his head at you, his grin having never left his countenance since the end of your dance together, and steps to the side as you place your hand into simon’s outstretched one and are led to the next lineup by the duke.

–

“has the duchess accompanied you to the ball this evening?”

“while it is poor courtesy to speak on behalf of my wife when she can speak for herself, i can say, with confidence, that she would much rather you call her daphne.”

“kathani had taught me your society’s etiquette in preparation for the ball, in the event it would be necessary,” you roll your eyes.  “while i find it all utterly ridiculous, and entirely unnecessary for me in particular, i want to honor the knowledge that my teacher has bestowed upon me as a way to honor her.”

simon grins.

“you are a dedicated student.  indeed, she is in attendance.  the last i had seen her, she was tending to benedict.”

your heart sinks.

oh no.

“tending to benedict?  is he unwell?  did something happen?  is he all right?”

you hear how your voice rises in pitch and grows louder and more frantic with each word.  (you try not to care for the stares that you feel on you.  they are not of importance right now——or ever.)

is that why i have not seen him all night?  because he is in poor condition?  shall i leave the ball?  shall i see where he is being tended to?  shall i—

“y/n?”

oh.  yes.  you were having a conversation with simon.

“sorry, what did you say?”

“i had said that i did not mean to worry you,” simon says sincerely, but there is something in his smile.  not suspicious, neither mocking nor teasing.  it is as if he is withholding the full expression of his emotion.  “i simply mean that she is speaking with him and— encouraging him, is all.”

you feel the entirety of your body, mind, heart, and soul ease; but now, you are perplexed.

“encouraging him?  whatever for?”

“i had not stayed with them long enough to hear the details of their conversation; i had sought you out rather immediately.”

“me!”

the dance had timed perfectly that upon receiving such information, you are forced to turn to another partner (who is unnerved to have you as a temporary companion).  when you reunite with simon, his chuckling has mostly subsided.

“indeed.  the viscount had encouraged me to ask you for a dance.  the viscountess then stated that you required the practice.”

“i—— am utterly lacking in words in how to respond to that.”

“if it is of any comfort to you, it was something i had already intended on doing.”

“that is, rather strange?”

he grins.

“i can see how that is so from your perspective, yes.  but from mine,” and it surprises you how suddenly simon’s countenance softens, “i had to find out for myself how wonderful this y/n y/l/n is to have so easily won the affections of all the bridgertons at number five.  daff and i, as well as francesca, were becoming quite jealous that we did not have the good fortune to spend time with you as the rest of the family has had.”

“the family has… spoken of me?”

“in these past months of knowing you, you have become their most beloved topic of conversation.  hyacinth and gregory idolize how resplendent of a storyteller you are.  eloise adores being challenged by your intellect.  colin aspires to your ferocity of quick wit.  kate cherishes every discussion you share together.  anthony reveres your unwavering resolve.  violet becomes overcome with delight at every recounting of a memory in which you are involved.  and benedict…”

you swallow.

“yes?” 

you hear how feeble and quiet your voice has become.  

“never stops speaking of you; so much so that it would be impossible to abridge what he loves in you.”

you shut your eyes closed at the words “he loves” and attempt to control the tears that threaten to flow at the word “you.”  

the love he has for you is not the love you have for him.

“i— i did not know that they held me in such high regard,” you whisper.

you flutter your eyes open, grateful that no tears have fallen, and are greeted by the gentlest of smiles from simon.  it assuages your soul.

“the highest of regards.  they care very deeply for you.”

“and i care very deeply for them,” you declare softly.  you then feel yourself break out into a smile.  “i cannot say the same for you, yet, but i can see it forthcoming.”

simon throws his head back with a loud laugh, your smile transforming into a large grin (as you ignore the scowls that fall upon you).  simon whips his head back to you, and he too wears a large grin.

“i am honored that you see the potential within me.”

with a final spin, you and simon release the other’s hand, ending the dance in a curtsy and a bow, both of your grins non-faltering.

“thank you for bestowing me the honor of dancing with you.”

you snort.  (you hear scoffs and other suppressed noises of disapproval.)

“i fail to see how much of an honor it is to have someone incessantly knock into you, but if such is your feeling,” you curtsy with much theatricality and, upon your rise, let out a sigh of relief.  “now, i shall retire to the margins once more.”

simon, once again, looks as if he is withholding the full expression of his emotions, but in it you detect— delight?  you narrow your eyes.

“what?”

“you are not meant for the margins, y/n; please forgive me,” and with that, simon bows, his smile still non-faltering, and turns to leave you in the middle of the dance floor.

you are about to call out his name, curious and agitated by his vagueness—

“y/n?”

you turn around to the familiar voice and are greeted by a smiling anthony.

“oh no.  are you going to ask me for the honor of having my next dance?”

the viscount looks as if he is about to howl with laughter and attempts to mask it, poorly, with his absurdly elated smile.

“is the idea of dancing with me truly so appalling?”

“the idea of dancing more is what i find so appalling.”

“i shan’t force you to do anything you do not want to do.”

“but how will your pride take it?”

this time anthony fully howls (earning looks of confusion at the host and their looks, predictably, turning to glares when they trace the impropriety back to you).

“i am always working on humbling myself,” he says, his expression softening.  “i assure you that i, as well as my pride, can manage your rejection if it means that you are happy.  you need not worry about my well-being.”

these damned bridgertons, and their damned charm, and their damned sincerity.

despite your internal accusations, you smile.  you offer your hand (hearing a gasp or a few around you), and beaming, anthony takes it.

–

“you look like a princess, y/n!”

the saccharine words of hyacinth echo in your mind.  with the transmutative magics of your fairy godmothers in mama, violet, kathani, genevieve, judith, alice, and the maids of bridgerton house, the impossible was made possible:  you look like a princess.  but it is not until this very moment, after descending a regal staircase, after entering this enchanting ball, after dancing with two dashing gentlemen and now a third, that you feel like a princess.  you recall how you and your siblings played imagination; how you often asked to be the princess; how you did it so often that mama sewed you a dress from scraps of fabric and papa crafted you a crown out of discarded branches and your elder sister announced you as princess y/n whenever you played and your younger sibling waltzed with you around the first floor of your home.  it makes you elated with childlike wonder how fortunate you are to be here and how lovely it is to be here, how strange and wonderful it is that imagination has become real life; as if it is all a wish for which you did not know you had wished, a wish that you did not know you had wanted to come true until it came true.

but—

“is there something on your mind, y/n?” you hear anthony ask, sometime after returning to him as your partner.  “you seem pensive.”

“ah, yes.  despite my gripes with you, and your brother, and your brother-in-law insisting on dancing with me—”

“i gave you an option not to do so!”

“i am not finished speaking!”

he huffs out air through his nostrils, waiting with what seems to be a morsel of patience for you to continue.

“despite my gripes with you, your brother, and your brother-in-law insisting on dancing with me—” anthony gives you a tired look that of an older sibling; you grin, “i am enjoying myself.  i just wish, i just wish my family could be here with me, to enjoy it too.”

anthony’s expression softens immediately, and it makes your heart tighten.  you know with what gravity, duty, and love he looks after the entirety of his family; you have witnessed it at every given second since becoming his friend.  if someone were to be with you as you navigate this pain, you are glad that it is anthony.

“we shall invite them to the next ball we host,” he declares.  your jaw drops.  “it was a lack of foresight on my part for not doing so for this occasion, and i shan’t make that error again.”

you try to do rough estimations of what costs that would entail for the bridgertons— dresses and coats and shoes and four to six sets of two abstained days of work at least.

“anthony, i cannot possibly ask you to—”

“you did not ask,” he grins.  “i offered.  and i do so wholeheartedly.  it shall not be a trouble for us, just strategic planning as kathani and i work the books.  and before you protest—” you frown, both disappointed and flattered that anthony could sense your retaliation, “it is something i—as well as the rest of the family, i am certain—wish to do.  if you won’t consider it for yourself and your family, then perhaps consider it as a gift to us selfish bridgertons.” 

that makes you laugh loudly as you feel tears form in your eyes (whispers of you be damned).  expression turning gentle once more, anthony continues,

“it would be an honor to finally meet your family.  if they are even an inkling like you, then they must be truly wonderful, indeed.”

with a small sniffle of your nose and all the gratitude in your heart, you smile.

“they are.  they are truly wonderful.  i love them so much.”

anthony smiles in return with a nod of his head.

“then it is settled.”

“you are a good brother, anthony.”

you have wondered often if that is something anthony knows.  while the bridgertons’ love for one another is apparent in all that they do and say and breathe, you haven’t heard them say very complimentary things to one another, particularly to the eldest.  it is typical of families to tease and to jest, you know that intimately, but you also know how important, then, it is to tell your family what you truly think of them, how you truly feel of them.  they ought to know just how much they are loved.

though his overall demeanor is composed and dignified, the softness in anthony’s eyes reveals his true emotion.

“and you are a good sibling, y/n.”

< their dance eventually comes to an end.  someone approaches them. >

“good evening, brother,” benedict turns his ocean eyes to you.  “good evening, y/n.”

“good evening, benedict.”

you vaguely hear something in your periphery.  you turn to it and see a brilliant grin lighting up the viscount’s countenance.

“huh?”

“i had said that the viscountess is calling me over to her.  i must pardon myself.”

“oh.  yes.  farewell, anthony.”

his grin broadens, dimples forming in his cheeks, and he bows.  you see how, as he brings himself upright, his eyes shift towards his brother, the delight in his grin never leaving but something in his eyes… softening?  before you can fully process it, he has turned and now walks towards kathani.

you turn back to benedict.

“i—— good evening, y/n.”

“good evening, benedict.  though, we have already greeted each other this night, just moments ago.”

“ah, yes— that—— that would be correct.  and— is… correct.”

he is anxious.  your heart aches at the sight, and you want to reach out and touch him, comfort him, ease whatever his concerns are—but you refrain.

benedict clears his throat.

“are you— are you enjoying yourself?”

while heavy by benedict’s current state, your heart cannot help but glow brighter at his question.

“yes, tremendously so.  the dancing has been plenty fun, despite how horrendous i am at it.”

that makes benedict laugh, and relief floods your body, mind, soul, and heart.  it is good to hear him laugh.  to see him smile.

“i do not think you are as horrendous as you think you are.  your form has been quite good.”

you cock your head, feeling the scrunch of your eyebrows and the smirk on your lips.

“you have been observing me?”

his jaw drops, his body stiffening again.  suddenly shy, he looks at his shoes and, with a cough, looks back up at you, and you attempt to hold in your gasp.

how.  

how is that, after all this time, he makes these butterflies within me flutter still.

“i— i do not have a clever diversion for that.  yes; yes, i have.  i suppose i have been building the— the courage within myself.”

“‘the courage’?  the courage for what?”

he swallows.

“to ask you to dance with me.”

oh.

“oh.”

he looks… he looks scared.  exposed.  vulnerable.

you feel them within yourself, too.

he offers his hand.

“may i dance with you, y/n?”

you place your hand in his.

“yes.  yes, you may, benedict.”

i am terrified of nothing else and would love nothing more than to dance with you.

benedict leads you to the floor, his ocean eyes never leaving yours, your eyes never leaving his.

the quartet starts up, and you detect how it is music for a waltz.  of all the dances you were taught, even you can admit that you were best at learning the waltz.  

…

you curtsy as he bows.  benedict places his hand on your waist, and you try not to elicit your gasp from feeling his touch.

< their dance commences.  they are silent.  a lot of staring and shit.

< notably, y/n is not cognizant of the ton’s perception of her while she dances with benedict as she had been with her previous partners.  it seems her sole focus in this moment is dancing with benedict, being with benedict.  her heart, mind, body, and soul is with him.

< y/n’s mind goes Rampant when benedict places his hand on her exposed shoulder. >

do not close your eyes, you reprimand yourself.  if you close your eyes, you will indulge.  you will indulge in this sensation.  in this touch.  in his touch.  in benedict’s bare hand on the expanse of your exposed skin.  in imagination.  in fantasies.  in thoughts.  in other thoughts on other parts of your body that you so, so very much want him to—

“i had not spoken properly.”

you try not to shudder a gasp upon hearing his voice.

“pardon?” you say, a bit breathless.  the dance calling for it, benedict twirls you, and you are now face to face again.

“earlier; when i had commented on your appearance, i had said you looked well.”

you snort, recalling the peculiar word choice, and that earns a smile from benedict.

“what i had meant to say is—“ he swallows, “you look beautiful, y/n.”

“i think,” you respond perhaps too swiftly, “that is testimony to genevieve’s skill and not to my appearance.”

“i think genevieve only enhances what is already there.”

you want to change, you don’t want to change— you do want to change the topic.  you cannot handle whatever— whatever benedict is insinuating.  the indecipherable, intense, attentive gaze of his ocean eyes on you.  it is so much; it is too much.

“she spoke of you.”

shit.  why did i say that?

his face immediately falls, ocean eyes transforming with it.

shit.

“genevieve spoke of me?  with you?  why?”

“kathani had accompanied me to the modiste, and i had shared with genevieve how i became acquainted with penelope and the bridgertons,” you half-truth.  “talking about the family, and then you, was a natural consequence.”

“what did she say?  about me?”

you try not to wince at the urgency in his voice.

“she shared how you and she had— an intimate and passionate acquaintance,” you divulge, using the words your friend had to describe the artists’ relationship.  perhaps you imagine the sensation, but you feel benedict wince as you dance.  “and that it was brief and no more.”

“she said that?  ‘brief and no more’?”

“indeed.”

he sighs.  you detect relief in the exhale, but perhaps you had, once again, imagined it.  you always had an active imagination; trying to bend what you perceive to what you wish was real.

“i see,” is all benedict says.

“do you care for her?” you inquire.  it is truly masochistic, what you are doing.  but you cannot help yourself.  it is something you often do when benedict is near.  when you and he are so close.

there is a small silence.

“i did.  at least, i think i did,” he shares. “i was hurt when our— acquaintance came to an end, but i was not heartbroken.  i had known nothing of heartbreak, not until—”

and he suddenly stops speaking, sucking in his lips.

“until?”

“nothing.  nevermind.  forget i had said anything,” he says all too quickly.  you laugh, and he scrunches his face in adorable disapproval at you.

“well, that only makes me the more curious, benedict!  the mystery of it, and your very clear blush, indicate it must have been quite the event.”

“i am not blushing!”

“you cannot lie about something i can literally see.”

“you are infuriating.”

“and what do you think you are?”

benedict just pouts at you, though you see the twinkle in his ocean eyes.  you want the twinkle to be of affection, but you will settle for amusement.  for friendship.  you take pride in how you can elicit this reaction out of him.  you take joy in how he can elicit this reaction out of you.  you love him, and you are grateful that is something you can say and know and feel.  even if he does not love you as you love him.

“the first time i felt heartbreak,” he begins, finally giving in.  you perk up in anticipation.  “was when— was when you had walked out of the house after i had crumpled the paper to the floor.”

you nearly stop in your tracks, halting your waltz with benedict entirely, until you find a way to recover and continue the steps with him.  he is looking intently at you, waiting for your response.  you inhale a breath and on the exhale say,

“oh.”

it is a pathetic response, but it is the only one you can muster at this moment.  breath has entirely left your lungs, your heart palpitates at a maddening rate, the lightning of benedict’s touch and proximity magnifying at every passing second.

“i had hurt you, this person whom i—” he swallows, “whom i care for, deeply and completely.  i was, and am, ashamed of my deed and the arrogant thoughts and beliefs that led me to do it.”

“i have long forgiven you for that, benedict.”

“it is something of which i am not deserving.”

“you cannot tell me what to think or do,” you challenge, arching an eyebrow at him to add levity to the conversation.  benedict smiles, despite himself, and it makes your body flood with relief and joy. 

“i would never dare.”

“as you shouldn’t,” you grin, then inhaling and exhaling through your nostrils.  “you need not flagellate yourself for what you did.  that accomplishes nothing, and guilt is entirely useless in the structures that be,” you say resolutely.  more softly, you continue.  “my forgiveness is something i gave you willingly because it is what i truly wanted.  because i knew, and know, how you wish to do better.  i see that in everything you do; in your art, in your character.  it is something i admire in you.”

benedict simply stares at you, his ocean eyes impossible to decipher again.  his gaze is overwhelming, but you refuse to break it.

“i was about to say how undeserving i am of your compassion,” he says, “but then swiftly realized you would have just admonished me.”

you laugh.

“you were correct in thinking so, yes.”

he looks at you still, his expression still impossible to decipher, but there is something soft about it.

“thank you, y/n.”

the butterflies within you flutter once more.

“and if you ever wish to discard your paper again,” you diverge from your feelings, “simply hand it to me.  i am always in need of more.”

he laughs fully, the corners of his eyes crinkling with delight, and you feel the flutterings violently rage within.  perhaps diversion was not the wisest choice (or perhaps it was, if it meant that you were the one to make benedict laugh like that).

“i have gotten quite good at maximizing the amount of negative space on a sheet, but nothing would delight me more than to support your writing.”

“i am most grateful for your patronage, mr. bridgerton.”

benedict makes something of a gagging noise, and you snort loudly.

“you are making it strange with the master-servant relation, y/n.”

“ah, so you are learning,” you comment with a sagacious nod of approval.  it is now benedict’s turn to snort.

“what can i say?” he grins.  “i have the greatest of teachers.”

“they have done quite well; please give them my regards.”

“i shall.”

and with the music coming to an end, you turn to face one another, wide and wild smiles on your faces.  you curtsy as benedict bows.  

“may i fetch you a drink?” he inquires after you are both upright again.

“is alcohol served at these occasions?”

benedict laughs.

“champagne it is.”

he gives you one more bow, lingering a moment more with one more smile, before taking off to retrieve your drink.

you try to bite back your smile, but it’s entirely useless.  you twirl in your spot, feeling the swish of your dress in the spin, for you cannot help yourself.  you cannot help how much joy radiates off of you in this moment, how giddy you are.  it feels like a fairytale.  you look in the direction benedict took off and feel your smile widen.

it is dangerous what you are doing— indulging in this.  but you do not care.

this is undoubtedly the most wondrous night of your life.

“so you’re the pauper that the bridgertons have invited to their ball.”

you freeze.

“how else would you have been asked to dance by the host—the viscount and a bridgerton, nonetheless; his two brothers; and the elusive duke of hastings?  it is an endearing sight, really.”

her posse snickers.

“the bridgertons have always been so kind and thoughtful in that way, extending their hands to the less fortunate.  why they chose you, however, remains a mystery.  if it were a pretty face that appealed to them, i perhaps could have understood, but you are simple at best.”

“you are cressida cowper,” you state.

penelope and eloise had warned you about a cruel creature amongst the ton, and the young woman before you matches all of the criteria they had described:  icy platinum hair, draconian eyes, and a haughty disposition that ought to be reserved for the royals.

cressida daintily gasps and smiles at you with what seems to be all the mockery she can muster.  

“i see that my reputation precedes me!  though, only those of my standing can refer to me as such.  cannot have my name tainted by the mouths of the lowly.”

you feel the gazes of other guests on you.  you hear muffled sneers.

this is entertainment for them.

you should say something, stand up for yourself— against cressida, against her posse, against the ton— but you don’t.  you can’t.  your mouth has gone dry, your mind has gone silent, your body has gone numb.  you have never, ever felt more powerless.

“your dress— did the bridgertons pay for it?  of course they did.  pity, though, for their wealth to go to waste on such an offensive thing.  allow me to assist you—”

and she pours her drink onto you.

you try not to gasp at the chill of the liquid making contact with your skin.  looking down, you see a reddish purple stain seep into the cream fabric of your ball gown as it continues to travel downwards.

you hear cressida giggle.  you look up.

“better,” she simpers.  “beautiful at last.”

her posse sneers with delight.  the guests who had tried to suppress their laughs do nothing to hide their mirth now.  

this is entertainment for them.  my humiliation— it is entertainment for them.

you step into cressida’s space, eliciting a stunned gasp from her as the others follow suit, and shove your face as closely to hers as possible.

“if we were not in your domain, i would rip out your delicate hair and strike my hand across your pretty little face.  but i am a lady—not in blood nor in title, but in character.  and with your words and your deeds, you have shown just how utterly undeserving you are of such a title with your complete void of morals, compassion, and integrity.  i do not care what you think of me, cressida, or what drinks you pour on me because i can rest easy in my sleep and waking hours knowing with perfect certainty that i am nothing like you.  i bid you good night.”

and maintaining the ferocity of your glare on her horrified eyes, you muster up the most mocking, deep curtsy you can, turn, hitch up your skirt, and run away.  you cannot care for the booming silence from that creature and her posse, for the murmurs and glowers of the ton thrown your way.  you cannot take time to process what words a flutters-inducing voice snarls at cressida.  

no. 

you must simply run away, quickly and efficiently, because you refuse to give into these monsters’ satisfaction of seeing your tears.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.iv ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

the cool air of the night whips your face as you run as far and as deep as you can into the gardens.  you curse your damned shoes, for they are slippery and nothing like your sturdy boots, and they make you realize even further how much you have fucked up in allowing yourself to get this far.  in allowing yourself to go to the ball, in allowing yourself to dance, in allowing yourself to fall in—

feeling your shoe catch on something, you fall forward and throw your hands out in front of you, your gloved palms digging into the bark of a tree trunk as you attempt to steady yourself.  you attempt to control the staggered rhythm of your breath, the sobs that choke out of your throat, the palpitations that threaten to collapse your heart.

why did i allow myself to get this far?

“y/n—”

you snap your gaze over to the call of your name as your stomach knots, somehow, even now, with flutterings upon hearing his voice.

“benedict, no— just— no,” you manage to croak out, stepping away from where he approaches.  you hold up your hand, as if it is a magical force that will push him away.  it does not.  “just go, please, just go.”

“i refuse to leave you, y/n, you are hurt—”

you cackle, sniffling the snot that tries to escape your nostrils.  you push your remaining hand off the tree and turn towards him.  

“hurt?  what gave you that impression?  is it the tears?  they are just water, benedict, they will dry.”

“this is not the time to jest!”

“then what do you want of me!”

“to allow me to help you!”

“why!  why do you care!  why do you care for some, some low status person like me!”

“that is not how i see you!”

“THAT IS WHAT I AM.”

he freezes.  you feel yourself clenching your hands into fists, your nails digging into your palms through the satin of the gloves that were bought for you.

“you are the son of a viscountess, a brother to a viscount.  i wonder every day if my family will have enough food to eat at our one meal.  we—” you gesture between the two of you, “—are not of the same world.  and maybe, maybe it should have stayed that way.  to, to have stayed in our own worlds.  we should have stayed in our own worlds!”

“and is that what you want?” he shoots back.

“what?”  you snark.

“is that what you want?  for us to stay in our own worlds?”

you fall silent, words suddenly failing you, breath suddenly leaving you.  he huffs out a breath and continues.

“if that is what you want, i shall stay away from you.  i shall never bother you.  i shall never hurt you as i have.  we shall—” benedict swallows, “we shall forget each other.  if that is what you want, y/n, i shall give it to you.”

you do not respond to him.  you stare into him as he stares into you.

“is that what you want?”

you shake your head as you feel fresh tears rush to your eyes.

“then what do you want?” he softly asks.

you flutter your eyes closed and breathe in.  on your exhale, you open your eyes to the tear-blurry sight of benedict still looking at you with such tenderness in his ocean eyes.

“i want you,” you whisper.

you barely have time to process anything else when benedict surges forward and wraps his arms around you in a crushing embrace.  tears fall even harder than before as you cry into his chest and wrap your arms around him.

benedict pulls back from the embrace to look at you, to cup your cheek, to wipe away the tears that fall so quickly from your eyes.

“i want you, y/n.  i want to be yours.  i want to be in your world, i want our worlds to be one.  i want to go wherever you go.  i want to make you laugh and to make you smile every day and every night; i want to do everything with you.  i want to be with you, to share this life with you.  from the moment i met you, from the moment you intended to shake my hand, i have wanted nothing more than to share all the time i have on this earth with you.  i do not care for balls, i do not care for the ton, i care— i care for you, y/n.  these are not the circumstances in which i wanted to confess this, with you crying and us yelling at one another, but i must be true with you.  i—”

“benedict?”

“yes?”

“may i kiss you?”

benedict’s jaw drops and you laugh at his shock, sniffling your nose as you beam at him.  he quickly recovers, breaking out into the smile that has always made you flutter with butterflies, the smile that you always secretly hoped, dreamed, wished was reserved for you.  and you begin to think that, after all this time, perhaps it is.

“good god, please, yes—”

he barely completes his ‘yes’ when you jump forward to crash your lips into his.  benedict practically trips backwards with the force of your eager leap, the two of you laughing into your kiss at the messiness of it all, as he holds you both steady.

this is your first kiss.  you are so glad that it is benedict.  

and somewhere within you blooms the hope that he is your last first kiss.  

you have no idea what you’re doing, or what you should be doing, but you are far too much enjoying having benedict’s lips on yours, your hands on his cheeks, his hands on your waist, and your bodies pressing more and more into each other to give the slightest care.  and the smile you feel against yours makes you think that benedict doesn’t mind—at all.

you pull apart to breathe, but your lips do not move far from one another.

“i love you.”

“i love you, too.”

“and i am sorry.”

“for loving me?”

you feel benedict jump back as he holds you, his face absolutely crestfallen, panic flooding his eyes, and he’s about to open his mouth to speak when you giggle and peck his parted lips with yours.

“i’m teasing you, my love.”

benedict’s eyes soften but quickly glint with mischief.  you’re curious about the expression when you feel him tickling the sides of your waist.

“okay, okay!” you gasp with laughter as he tickles on. “i— i yield, i yield!”

benedict grins victoriously, his tickles fading into him softly rubbing circles on your waist.

“i am sorry for saying that is not how i see you, when you spoke of your social standing.  i had not meant it that way, but i understand now how it was understood, and i should not have said it as i did.  i know that i have lived a life of unfathomable ease with the wealth and circumstances into which i was born.  the privileges i hold are not things i had reflected on, really, until— until i met you.”

you soften at his earnestness, by the way he humbles himself before you.  but you cannot help the giddy mischief that bubbles from within.

“did you only reflect on your privileges as to win a femme’s favor?”

benedict’s jaw drops again, but you see how his ocean eyes shine with like-minded playfulness. 

“do you truly think so lowly of me?”

you grin.  

“perhaps.”

you feel benedict teasingly threaten his hands into tickling position onto your waist, and laughing, you shoo them away.  he grins and softens his gaze once more.

“what i wanted to say to you earlier is— i wish you did not speak of yourself so harshly.  as if you are unworthy of care from me because of your status.  i care for you, i love you, y/n,  as you are.  as you were, as you will be.  with all your circumstances, all your experiences, all your deeds, all your words, all your thoughts, all your feelings.  for your heart, for your mind, for your soul.  i love you because you are you, and i wish for you to see that, for you to see you as i see you.  as so many of us see you.”

“i— i do not know what to say.”

“you do not have to say anything; just to, if i may ask of you, seed my words into your heart and mind and soul and know them to be true, wholly and completely,” a playful smile forms on his lips.  “though, i must say, i am rather pleased with myself for rendering a writer with ferocious conviction speechless.”

you roll your eyes, but your voice is soft.

“you have had that effect on me for quite some time, benedict.”

benedict swallows and gently rubs circles onto your waist again.

“i love you, benedict.”

“i love you, too.”

< y/n and benedict, hand-in-hand, start to walk towards the house; they are taking their time. >

“are you certain you want to return the ball?” benedict inquires.  “we can stay here in the gardens and wait until the last of the guests have gone.”

you hum.

“i would like to dance.”

“ah, was there a gentleman or a lady who caught your eye, miss y/l/n?”

“oh, loads.  i hope it won’t make you terribly jealous, mr. bridgerton.”

“it will, but i shall simply stare at them maliciously if their hands are to roam.”

“yes, my form is reserved for your hands and your hands alone.”

you exchange grins.

“indeed.”

benedict nuzzles his face into the crook of your neck, and you laugh.  he lifts his head and plants a soft kiss on your temple.

“are you certain?  i do not mean to doubt you or your wishes to dance.  we can dance out here, under the bright light of the moon.  i want you to feel content and safe.”

“i do feel content and safe.  with you.  with the family.  within myself.  i shan’t let the ton or cressida ruin my first ball.  though, the idea of dancing in the moonlight is quite enticing.  perhaps another night?”

“you have my word,”  and bringing your hand to his lips, he kisses your knuckles.  a serene silence falls between you two until benedict makes some sort of a noise in his throat, as if to clear his voice.

“i, uh, must say,” benedict begins, “your confrontation with cressida was, uh, quite— alluring.”

you stop, letting go of his hand, and stare at him.

“alluring?”

a delicious blush colors your love’s face.

“indeed.”

a newfound bravery blooms in you.

you step into his space, not breaking eye contact with his blown out pupils, the ocean of his eyes mere outlines.  you sneak your lips towards his ear and hear a soft whimper emit from his lips.

“is that something of interest to you, mr. bridgerton?” you murmur, your bottom lip barely grazing his earlobe.  you feel him shiver and inhale.  “when you see someone be put in their place?”

he exhales frantically.

“it is something of interest to me when— when you do it,” he admits, as if out of breath.  you smile, pressing your bottom lip softly into his earlobe.  he does nothing to hold back his moan as you do everything in your power to hold in yours.

“that is good to know,” and quickly rip away from him.  

in your step back, you take in benedict’s state—flustered, expectant, ruttish—and wink at him.  you turn and walk away at your leisure, putting on a performance of superiority as you hide your own arousal.

it is only a few moments later that you hear benedict follow you.

“you,” he says, voice still fraught with desire but full with love, “will be the death of me.”

you look back at him and grin.

“and what would you like me to put on your epitaph?”

“benedict bridgerton, he who, in life and in death, loves the best soul to have ever existed.”

you cannot help your giddy self and close the distance between the two of you once more, grabbing his face and pressing your smile into his.  benedict happily obliges as he places his hands at the low of your waist and pulls you closer into him.

< they get into it! 

< y/n takes off her gloves so that she can touch benedict; she is about to throw them on the ground. >

“wait—”

and he takes your gloves.

“hm?”

“your gloves.  they were costly to make,” benedict states as he stuffs them into the inside pockets of his jacket.  “i don’t want to be flippant in letting them be discarded to the ground.”

you gape at him.

“you concern yourself with the cost of my gloves?”

“why, yes, of course, it is something i—”

you clutch onto the lapels of benedict’s jacket and push him backward into a nearby hedge, his mouth now agape and his pupils dark with a desire you very much want to satisfy.

“i find your consideration quite alluring.”

in the midst of his apparent arousal, benedict giggles, and that makes you grin.

“what is it?”

“a hedge, y/n?  of all things to anchor me against?”

you roll your eyes.

“it was this, benedict, or the bark of a tree.”

“ah, so i should be grateful then.”

you repeat his words with sped up mockery, making him laugh and the corners of his eyes crinkle in the adorable way that is so very distinctly benedict, and you capture your love’s lips again to shut him up, smiling and laughing into the kiss.

…

“what do you want?”

“you.  whatever you want, benedict, i want it.  please.”

“are you certain?” he breathes into your ear.

“god, yes, benedict, please, yes.”

“then—”

benedict positions his head downward, burying his face into the crevice of your bosom, and before you can even begin to tease him for his absurdity, you feel the wetness of his tongue flat against the curvature of your right breast.  your gasp of surprise quickly transforms into an ungodly guttural wail, feeling yourself dig your fingernails into benedict’s back, arching into him to steady yourself, as he painstakingly drags the flat of his tongue from your right breast against the expanse of your exposed chest to the length of your right shoulder.  dazed and euphoric, you feel how benedict sneaks towards your ear, hovers it, panting ragged breaths,

“i’ve wanted to do that since you descended the stairs in that dress.  and—”

taking your left hand, benedict pushes your middle finger and forefinger fully into his mouth.  he methodically works his tongue against them as he guides your hand to pull and push in him, his blown out pupils never once leaving your intoxicated stare.  you feel the desperate urge to throw your head back at the incandescent eroticism that throbs from your fingertips to the rest of your body, but may god smite you if you willingly tear your eyes away from the divine sight of benedict’s almost oceanless eyes gaping into you as his gorgeous mouth sucks on your fingers.  just before you feel as though you are to fully blank out and ascend into the heavens, benedict rips your hand out of his mouth, the action creating an obscenely delicious ‘pop’ sound, and, wrapping his hand around your wrist, pulls you back into him, your face finding respite just below his shoulder.

“i’ve wanted to do that since first drawing your hand.”

you laugh-cry into his jacket.

“shit, benedict.”

your love laughs and nudges his head into yours and rests it there as he softly rubs circles on your back with his thumb.

“please—” good god, breathe, “please remind me to ask you more frequently what you want.”

“did you enjoy it?”

“no, benedict, i quite plainly hated it.”

“i’d be glad to accept your critiques.”

“i know you would,” you smile into his jacket and, lifting your head, are greeted by your favorite sight:  benedict, with his soft smile and his gentle ocean eyes.

“i have never felt like that before,” you admit in a whisper.

“nor have i,” he whispers back.  that shocks you, and you must have made your reaction visible because benedict emits a laugh through his nose, soft smile and gentle ocean eyes unfaltering.

“but you have been with others before; you’ve had similar experiences, yes?”  

you had assumed that your exhilaration must have been, apart from it being benedict, rooted in your lack of experience in such things.

benedict brushes a loose strand of your hair away from your eyes and tucks it behind your ear, his hand moving down to cup your cheek, his thumb gently rubbing it.

“yes, but those were different.” 

you cock your head in response.  he smiles, as if it is apparent.

“because they are not you.”

the sweetness of benedict’s ocean eyes are quickly replaced with shock then delight and then you don’t know what because he closes them as you crash your lips into his.  whatever you had just felt before, you want it again.  you want benedict.  all of him.  and you want all of him to feel what you just had.

you lick his teeth, and granting your wish, benedict opens his mouth more, groaning, bringing his hands to the curvatures of your ass, pushing your bodies even closer together though no space left exists between the two of you.  you move your hand to the back of his head and, gripping a tuft of his hair, pull it roughly just as you capture his tongue with your mouth and suck hard.  the sounds that benedict produce in reaction are entirely inhuman, but you vaguely deduce he is trying to say your name, and you’ve never attended a concert but, my god, nothing will ever sound as harmonious as the symphony that is your name gutturally trapped in benedict’s throat.

continuing with the work you’ve done to undo benedict thus far, you take your other hand and start to rake it against his body, starting at the base of his throat, taking time and leisure to explore, lowering and pressing into his chest, wondering wildly what beauty exists behind his damned shirt, lowering and feeling the firmness of his stomach and trying not to completely undo yourself with the sinful, transcendent thoughts of putting your tongue there, lowering and lowering and touching something curious and unfamiliar and hard and—

when he pushes you off of him.

“benedict, i— i am so sorry,” you panic, “please, what did i—”

“no, no,” he swallows, “you did— you have nothing to apologize for, my love, you were— uh— you were doing quite——” he clears his throat, “you were doing quite well; very well, actually…”

you continue to frown, still concerned.

“then why are you so tottery?”

“because— because if we were to continue, i do not think— i know i would not last for— um, for very much longer.”

you jut out your hip, putting the knuckles of your fist on it, and furrow your eyebrows at him.

“benedict bridgerton, i still do not understand what you are trying to convey.  speak plainly.”

“we should stop.”

your jaw drops, as does your hand from your hip.

“why?” you practically whine.  you should be embarrassed by your desperation, but to be entirely frank, you couldn't care less.  benedict huffs out a laugh, still breathless, and, stepping towards you, lays a tender kiss on your forehead.

“as much as i would love for us to continue, i think being in the family gardens with a ball being held a few meters away is hardly an ideal location for the more— involved aspects of such activities.  the aspects i’d like to explain to you,” he takes another step into your space, lowering his voice to an unfamiliar but enrapturing gravel, “the aspects i’d like to show you.”

you swallow your whimper.

“i—— i would very much like that,” you manage.  and then you grin, “though, exploring such aspects in the family gardens sounds like it would be quite the adventure.  a calculated risk, if you will.”

the alluring tone of benedict’s voice is completely replaced with a giggle, and your grin broadens as you press even closer into him and nudge your nose against his.  benedict rests his forehead against yours and flutters his eyes closed.

“what did i do to have you love me back?” 

you flutter your eyes closed.

“you were you.  you are you.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.v ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< ahead, y/n sees kathani.  she makes the connection that kathani must have accompanied benedict as a chaperone so that y/n wouldn’t be “disgraced” by having a man by himself chase after her.  

< as the two approach the viscountess, kathani recognizes how disheveled y/n and benedict look and promptly fixes them to look more presentable. she takes some hedge leaves out of benedict’s hair. >

“i see that you are well, y/n?” inquires kathani.

“never better, actually.”

she laughs, a smile falling on her lips.

“i am sincerely glad to hear that.”

< they walk closer to bridgerton house. >

“you are fortunate that it was not anthony who volunteered to chaperone.  he would have not reacted well to his loved one being dishonored, as he would say, particularly on family grounds.”

“oh dear,” you say, nervous and suddenly self-conscious.  you do not want to be the target of the eldest bridgerton’s wrath.  “what have i done to dishonor—“

kathani laughs.

“i wasn’t referring to you, chellam.  i was referring to him,” and she juts her chin out at benedict.

“me!”

“anthony will be furious when he finds out that you have been— private,” she says, gesturing to his newly tidied appearance, “with y/n in the gardens.  not very gentlemanly of you.”

“he won’t find out!” benedict pauses. “he won’t find out— right, kate?”

kathani just makes a face of feigned deep thought and you chortle.

“kate!”

“i do not keep secrets from my husband, benedict.”

“but what if it’s for love?” he implores.  he says it facetiously, but you feel with what conviction he exudes his true feeling.

kathani’s expression softens as she looks between you and benedict.  you offer a small nod and a smile, confirming her thoughts.  she beams at you but then narrows her eyes at benedict.  there is no heat to her gaze; she is, however, having the most sublime time making her brother-in-law squirm.

“i do not keep secrets from my husband, benedict,” kathani repeats.  benedict groans, throwing his head back like a disgruntled child, and you belly laugh at him.  

“i hope you are ready for gregory to be your second,” she continues.

you almost double over as benedict snaps his head forward to look at his sister-in-law.

“gregory!”

“indeed.  it is a shame as well— anthony’s accustomed second being the one he has to duel,” she sighs dramatically.  “oh well.  colin will make a fine replacement.”

“this family is ridiculous,” you declare, grinning like mad.  “gregory seems a tad young, though.  what about eloise?  i am sure she would be a more than suitable second for benedict.”

“oh, i have no doubt,” grins back kathani, “but i would not dare involve a woman in the idiocy of men and their ludicrous concepts of honor.”

you and kathani laugh loudly, delighted by how much you are enjoying yourselves, untroubled by benedict’s moping.

“it has been wonderful being in love with you, benedict,” you state simply.  “it’s a pity that it has to come to an end so soon."

kathani snorts.  benedict stops in his tracks and gapes at you.

“you think i would lose the duel!”

“anthony is more stubborn; he would let it fuel his will to live.”

“i think you underestimate how much i love you and how that fuels my will to live.” 

you smile.  in your periphery, kathani smiles. despite his current displeasure with you, your love smiles.

“i suppose i do.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.vi ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< upon returning to the ball, y/n, benedict, and kathani see how anthony and violet are ensuring that the cowpers are leaving.  before the family leaves, y/n approaches cressida. >

“i do hope to see you at another one of these events.  if you find a way, of course, not to have yourself kicked out.” 

and you curtsy.  you turn to your love, his mouth in a wide smile and ocean eyes sparkling, and offer him a wink. you hear the quartet start up. 

“i believe it is time for another round of dancing.  care to be my partner?” 

“i would love nothing more.”

< they dance.  it is sweet, silly, romantic, and delightful.  both y/n and benedict touch each other beyond what is considered proper, like hands laying too low on the waist or eliminating the space between their bodies, but they truly do not care.  their unabashed joy is abundantly evident to everyone in the ballroom, but they are only focused on one another.  they are in their own world.  they giggle, they grin; it is the happiness they both deserve.  

< they dance the next set.

< after her and benedict’s third dance together, y/n makes eye contact with violet, who is at the margins of the dancefloor, eyes wide with joy. >

“as much as i love dancing with you, my love,” you beam, “i think i am in need of a new partner.”

< y/n approaches violet and with a bow asks her for the honor of being her next dance. though delighted, violet remarks how she is too old, and y/n says that the youngsters can learn a thing or two from her wisdom and skill. >

“we would need permission from the host,” offers violet.

“from anthony!  you birthed him!  you granted him permission to exist!”

that makes violet laugh.

< violet agrees, and they walk hand in hand to the dance floor.  in this dance, y/n and violet are partnered, benedict partnered with penelope, kathani partnered with anthony. >

…

“you’ve told each other."

“has anyone remarked how keenly insightful you are, violet bridgerton?"

“no,” the dowager replies with twinkling eyes, “but it is something of which i am well aware, and take great pride in.  i am happy for you both.”

“i am so glad to have your approval.”

“oh tosh!  as if a mother’s approval or disapproval can get in the way of real, true love.”

“perhaps so, but it is affirming to have the blessing from someone you so dearly love in a matter such as this.”

“you make it easy to love you, my dear.”

< the dance calls for a switch in partners.  y/n becomes partnered with penelope, and violet becomes partnered with benedict. >

“thank you, pen.”

“whatever for?”

“for bumping into me at the markets.”

penelope laughs.

“accidents are quite good, are they not?”

“i despise them, actually,” you declare with a grin.

< penelope reveals that benedict shared with her why he was not seen for the first three dances of the night. >

your jaw drops, and penelope merely titters in response.

“is that why i didn’t see him!  because he was lurking in the crowds to prevent men from approaching me?”

“it has been my discovery that the bridgerton brothers do not handle their jealousies well.”

“do you think gregory shall be the same?”

“oh, i am entirely certain.  he shall likely be the worst of all.”

the two of you snort as you are sent back to your partners, penelope with benedict and you with violet.

“and what has you and penelope in such giggles?”

“making barbs at your sons.”

violet laughs.

“they make it awfully easy to do so, do they not?”

< the dance comes to an end.  violet plants a soft kiss on y/n’s head.

< turning, y/n connects eyes with benedict who wears an incandescently happy expression. >

how could you not see it before?  how in love he is with you.

< tired but elated, y/n takes a break from dancing.  she reunites with the rest of the bridgertons at the ball.  y/n finally meets daphne, who remarks that she has heard so much about y/n.  eloise shares how the family wished to check in on y/n when she had returned to the ball to see that she was well; in a rare smile rather than a smirk, eloise shares that, upon seeing her dance and dance again with benedict, that she looked quite well indeed. at some point in the conversation with the bridgertons, y/n inquires when she can meet francesca.

< time passes, and joy is had amongst the bridgertons, penelope, simon, and y/n.  y/n cannot believe her happiness.

< the last dance is called.  benedict approaches y/n. >

“may i have the honor of being your final dance of the night?"

“you aren’t tired of me yet?”

“i shall never tire of you, y/n.”

upon taking your hand, benedict twirls you once then twice as he leads you towards the dance floor.  giggling and grinning, you decide to do the same to him, causing him to giggle and grin right along with you.

< they dance a fourth time. >

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.vii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< the guests have made their leave from the bridgerton ball.  colin, eloise, and violet have gone to their respective bedchambers.  

< anthony, benedict, kathani, and y/n walk up the steps of the grand staircase. anthony has his hand clamped on benedict’s forearm and pulls him up the steps with particular determination and quiet fury. >

“i know where i sleep, brother!  i have slept there since we were children!”

“i am well aware of that, benedict, and i am also well aware of how you— roam when enticed.”

benedict looks at anthony, to you (you just shrug as you look on at the exchange with excitement), and back to anthony.

“do you people really think so little of me!”

“i do not think little of you, brother, i just know you.”

benedict’s shock deepens incredulously, though you see the smile underscoring it all.

“i am a man of honor!  i am a gentleman!”

“yes, as am i, as is colin, as was father; all bridgerton men are, and all bridgerton men are idiots around the persons for whom they have affections.  now, go into your bedchamber,” anthony finishes as he shoves his younger brother into the room.

“you are a nightmare!” you hear your love shout from within.

“and you are to stay here for the remainder of the night!” he shouts back, leaning forward to grab the knob to benedict’s bedchamber and pulling the door shut with a loud thud.  he turns to kathani, composure returning to his senses. 

“my dearest, may you call samuel and lawrence, please?  i shall have samuel stationed here and lawrence stationed outside benedict’s window.  they will be paid double their wage for these extemporary responsibilities.”

you laugh with your whole stomach and feel tears sting your eyes.  you have no concern in hiding your howls until you remember hyacinth and gregory are asleep and promptly clamp your hand over your mouth.  your hand succeeds in muffling your laughter, but marginally.

kathani rolls her eyes at her husband and deeply sighs.

“i shall,” she replies, smiling at her love’s antics.

pleased with her answer, anthony right about turns at benedict’s door, places his hands behind his back, and stands up tall, taking his temporary duty as guard with the utmost gravity.  something then eases in his posture, and he turns to you.

“i hope you have enjoyed your night, y/n.”

your heart swells.

“it was wondrous, anthony.  thank you.”

he beams, brilliant delight in his eyes.

“i wish you good rest.”

and with a bow of his head, anthony turns away from you and assumes his station once more, gravity and perfect posture and all.

the viscountess turns to you, her smile having softened, and says, “let me escort you back to your bedchamber.  i shall help you prepare for bed.”

–

“despite his many flaws,” kathani says with all amusement and fondness in her voice as she removes the pins from your hair, “anthony is, indeed, a man of honor and honesty.”

“i never had my doubts, but—” you snort, “that has certainly proved it.”

“it is because he thinks so highly of you,” she shares, looking at you in the mirror.  you turn around in your seat and connect with her eyes, eyes that are filled with so much warmth.  “he cares deeply for you, y/n.  anthony is only that overbearing and overly protective when it comes to his family, and he sees you as our family.  we all do.”

you suck in air through your nostrils, feeling the swell of your heart.  how did you get so fortunate as to be so loved by this family?  

though, you detect something in kathani.  her words are sincere, of that you are not doubtful, but they do not seem complete.  it is as if she wants to say more, if the blossoming twinkle in her eyes is indicative of anything.  but kathani does not elaborate.  

instead, she picks up the brush on the vanity and gently brushes your hair.  it reminds you of when your elder sister used to brush your hair before bedtime.  you close your eyes, humming.

“i see you all as my family, too.”

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ III.viii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< the next morning, late morning.  the dining room. >

“you are infernal,” benedict deadpans to anthony, staring at his brother and taking his seat next to you.

“you are incorrigible; i was correct,” anthony responds, his eyes not leaving his paper.

“correct about what, brother?” hyacinth asks.

despite their current rivalry, benedict and anthony both freeze.  kate speaks on their behalf.

“your eldest had deemed it necessary to have lawrence stationed outside below benedict’s bedchamber window in the early morn and was proved correct in doing so; your second eldest had attempted to escape by way of that route.”

“stationed outside his window?  why would that be necessary?” gregory inquires.  he turns to benedict.  “and why were you trying to leave through your window?” 

in his periphery, benedict sees you whipping your head.  you seem to have suddenly found some interest in the painting on the wall faced away from the current scene.  he notices how you hide your smile behind your fist and how you attempt to suppress the convulsions of your laughter.  kate, on the other hand, unapologetically laughs.

“i am certain you will learn in due time, gregory.  it is something of a tradition, it seems.”

“will i get to participate in this tradition?” hyacinth enthuses.

“NO!” benedict and anthony shout in tandem.  they look at each other, and the elder gives a ‘see!’ face to the younger.  benedict just rolls his eyes.  

his eyes eventually land back on you:  you have now totally hidden your face in your hands with elbows perched on the table for support, any attempts at hiding your laughter now entirely gone.  your entire body vibrates as you somehow squeak and guffaw into the palms of your hands.

“ugh, why do adults always speak in such vague statements!” hyacinth grumbles as she slumps in her chair and crosses her arms.  she then suddenly shoots back up and looks at you.  “y/n, you only speak in riddles when we play!  may we play now?”

“yes!  may we play now?” gregory pipes up.

“please!” the two youngest plead in tandem.  benedict looks to you, and wiping away your hands to reveal your face red from laughter, you say,

“i would be— i would be delighted to do so,” you take sharp breaths in between attempts at controlling your laughter.  “perhaps—” you full on snort, and it makes benedict break out into a grin, “—perhaps, after the young sorceress and— and the young knight slay the wyvern, they— they will save the— the—” you laugh hard again, “the princess, captive and forlorn in her tower.”

gregory and hyacinth shout their joy and take off from the table.  

“you haven’t been excu!— oh, nevermind,” anthony grumbles in an uncanny, childlike resemblance to his youngest sibling.

benedict watches as you use your forefingers to swipe at the corners of your e/c eyes, fits of laughter still bubbling out of your mouth.

i love her, and she loves me, he thinks in awe.  it has been on repeat in his mind since you confessed to one another in the gardens just the night prior.  she is mine, and i am hers.

“your lordship,” you giggle still as you look at anthony, and benedict snickers, “may i be excused to play make-believe with your youngest siblings?”

anthony rolls his eyes with much theatricality, but his smile at you is sincere.

“you are not my sibling,” he states, but benedict catches how his elder brother quickly glances at him with eyes that say ‘yet,’ “you need not my permission, but yes, you may.”

you bow your head in dramatic gratitude, causing kate to titter and anthony to look to the ceiling, and you lift yourself up from your seat.

before you follow after his siblings, benedict reaches out and gently takes your hand.  you look at him, and he feels how his stomach flutters when his blue eyes makes contact with your e/c.  just as it did the first time, just as it did every time after.

benedict feels you softly rub three circles on his hand.  he softly rubs four circles on yours.

“good day, princess,” you say with a wink at your love, slowly slipping your hand away from his and then turning to walk out of the dining room.  benedict stares at you as you leave.

i love her, and she loves me.  she is mine, and i am hers.

“when do you intend on proposing, brother?” anthony smirks as he puts his teacup to his lips.

benedict smiles, looking off at where your laughter is heard. 

“later this afternoon.”  

anthony chokes on his tea, and kate, patting her coughing husband’s back, arches an eyebrow at her brother-in-law, amusement dancing in her eyes. 

“without a ring?” 

benedict turns to look at the couple and grins.  

“who said i don’t have a ring?”

“you are joking,” anthony says matter-of-factly.  “we all are excited at the prospects of y/n officially joining this family, but you just confessed your love for one another not even twelve hours ago.  we are still breaking fast!  there were guards at your door and your window!  how could you have already procured a ring?”

benedict smiles, digging into his pocket.

“i do not jest, brother.”

and, with pride, he holds up a thin band made of twisted paper.

“now, if you will excuse me,” benedict announces, lifting himself out of his seat, giving a kiss to the top of kate’s head, and ruffling anthony’s hair.  “i must be going.”

“and where are you off?” anthony demands as he straightens out his hair.

“do you think i am going to propose to y/n without asking her family’s permission first?  would not be very gentlemanly of me if i did.”

“how do you know where she lives!”

“that is what you were asking penelope last night,” kate answers.  anthony looks at his wife, incredulous and in awe.  benedict grins.

“exactly so, sister.  i’ve always known you held all the intelligence between you two.  i would have seen to it sooner, but—” 

an image of e/c eyes and ink-stained hands flashes in his mind, the flutterings in his stomach intensifying.  butterflies— that is what he will paint next, he decides.  

after he finishes his portrait of you.

“—i was held captive in my tower.”

[strwberri-milk]

please please please can u write a zayne version of the "topping from the bottom" ficlet you did for raf and xav🙏🏻🙏🏻🙏🏻 need to see how my dommy daddy takes it

-🪩

You were being a little bit of a brat as you always have a tendency to. Zayne was used to it, fully aware that you just liked to mess and playing with him. You never go too far so he's never had a reason to punish you and make sure you learn your lesson.

You were pushing him beyond belief, teasing him as he took a call from the hospital. You were knelt between in his legs, resting your head on his thigh as you nuzzled against him. He could practically feel your breath over where he felt that he needed you the most, trying to no avail to push you back.

Once the biting started he knew you were pushing him for a reaction. He simply shakes his head, giving you a sharp look. You just smirk up at him, knowing that you've gotten the reaction that you wanted to get from him. You were hoping you'd be able to take control of him, wrongly believing that this was how you'll be able to achieve that.

You crawl over his body, already stripped down for him. He watches you silently, hands crawling up before you swat them down. His brows furrow, playing up his submission to you. He lets you do as you wish, keeping his hands off of you but unable to stop the bucking of his hips.

You jerk him off slowly before angling his cock against your hole, moaning softly as he starts to slide in. You try to bite back your noises, not wanting to lose control of the situation but Zayne immediately catches your reaction. He knows it won't take him much time to finally crack you.

He watches you struggle to take all of him inside, taking this as a chance to put his hands on your hips. You're about to bat them away again when he suddenly pushes you down to sit fully on his cock. You moan loudly, the stretch feeling as good as it always does.

Your mind goes blank as he starts up a slow and steady pace, cooing at you for trying to take charge when you weren't even ready. He tells you that it's fine, that he'll take care of you - that's his job after all.

Any attempt to regain control goes out the window with a strategically aimed thrust. He cuts off any attempt you make to speak with a rough kiss and a grind against your body, nails digging into you as he continues to tease you. He loves the way you look like this, peppering kisses all over you as his pace brings you to a slow build of pleasure.

[chamiryokuroi]

Shout out to the only government office that actually does their fucking job here in Mexico.

Recently Cartier accidentally posted earrings with the wrong price on their online store here in Mexico. Something like instead of $14,000usd they posted them at $14usd

This one guy saw the price and before Cartier could change it he bought two pairs. Obviously Cartier didn’t want to send him the earrings because that was “ridiculous” and they tried to return his purchase and send him a “present” of champagne and a leather article as a sorry.

Dude say “lmao no” because he knew what’s up.

Enters PROFECO the only government office in all of Mexico that actually does its job.

By law here in Mexico if you as a seller post a price incorrectly it does not matter if it was a slip of a finger or a misunderstanding, the moment the price is available to the public you are legally obligated to sell it by that price. PROFECO is the one in charge of making this happen.

It has happened before with TVs at walmart, Alienware laptops at their online store, even sales wrongly worded “Buy 1 get 10 free” instead of “Buy 10 get 1 free” and each time the store had to go along with it.

Cartier wasn’t the exception and this guy got his pair of earrings for only $30usd when the price should had been $30,000usd

[donald-trump-official]

I’m writing a rough draft for my day one celebratory pardon, what do you think?

“I, president Donald J Trump, a victim of massive voter fraud and rigged elections, who has endured targeted partisan attacks the likes of which the world has never seen before, who definitely won the 2020 election and never engaged in peaceful insurrection, and after being treated very unfairly by the weaponized DOJ under the last guy, The Big Guy, do hereby grant a full and unconditional pardon for my fake and radical DC conviction in the thug Jack Smith’s totally phony case against me, the racist Fanni Willis RICO charges I was so wrongly convicted of, the declassified documents trial the terrible and cruel Judge Cannon thinks should happen during my inaugural week, and the corrupt and liberal hell-hole New York’s charges against me for something relating to a women I’ve never met”

[sourcherryandsprinkles]

Don't expect a call | Xavier Thorpe x Addams!Reader

Summary: Your and Xavier's relationship unexpectedly turn into something else over the summer

Word count: 1.9k

Request: 6, 9, 22 with xavier please!! I'm dying to see what you will write with them, knowing how awesome your works in general are! Have a good day 💜 ‘‘Would you just shut up and kiss me already.’‘ + “I wasn’t done kissing you.” + ‘’How can you be so blind?’’

my taglists are here + you can send requests here at any time

—

Following the death of Principal Weems, the rest of the semester was canceled and everyone went home. Students and parents crowded the hall with their suitcases, making it difficult to navigate. Lurch would be picking you and Wednesday up, but you needed to find your sister first.

Your shoulder was still tender from the arrow you took during the battle against Crackstone, but it was healing well. There will undoubtedly be a scar, but nothing too noticeable.

Your eyes searched for a pink blob, figuring Wednesday would be with Enid. Since the battle, the two have been attached to the hip.

During your search, your eyes fell on Xavier at the top of the stairs, leaning against the railing. He waved and you lifted your eyebrows. What could he want?

The heels of your shoes clicked as you walked up the stairs and made your way to Xavier. You and him had started on the wrong foot at your arrival at Nevermore, but you were good now.

A smile grew on his face when you appeared in his sightline, happy to see you were on your two feet and well. He tried to visit you at the infirmary, but you were already gone when he showed up.

''I heard you're a free man now,'' you said flatly.

Xavier nodded once. ''Yep. All charges dismissed.''

Although you weren't the one who wrongly framed him, you felt a little responsible for the time he spent behind bars. Wednesday needed to apologize for what she put him through. Those days and nights he spent in the small cell must've been long, sad and lonely — even for a solitaire like Xavier.

''I got you something. It's a thank you for taking that arrow for me. You didn't have to do that.'' He handed you a black box with a matching ribbon, trying to conceal how smitten he was for you. ''Welcome to the 21st century, Addams.''

You opened the top, impressed by the fancy wrapping, and revealed the small object inside the box: a brand new and shiny cell phone. Your eyes shifted to the gift giver.

''My number's in there already.''

''It's bold of you to assume I would need it.'' You closed the box. ''I hope you don't expect me to call you.''

Xavier shook his head. He would be waiting forever. ''No. Never. But I'd settle for a text, though.''

''Goodbye, Xavier.''

*

For the first weeks of being home, you ignored every one of his texts. You made it look like you didn't care, but deep down you were very happy to get a message from him. Thing kept telling you it was rude to not answer and that you should text him back, but Xavier knew to expect nothing from you. You doubted he was offended by your silence.

After a full month of silence, you started giving him short answers once in a while. He was surprised the first time you replied. He even sent you a shocked emoji of his face. But you had to tell him that the quote he was reciting was wrong.

And, you were starting to miss him. Just a little.

One late evening, you found yourself looking him up on social media. There were mostly artsy pictures of tubes of paint and dirty brushes, paintings, a garden you assumed to be in his backyard, and the most recent, a selfie of him and Ajax. According to the posting date, it had been taken a few days ago. You noticed Xavier's hair had gotten longer. He was now able to do a full ponytail without having shorter pieces falling out at the front.

He looked handsome.

*

Summer came, and so did Enid. After begging her parents to let her take a flight across the country to visit you and Wednesday — mostly Wednesday —, they finally agreed. Her mom said it was her reward for finally wolfing out, which sounded wrong to your ears.

Your parents were surprised when they saw her coming out of the Addams' black Cadillac, looking the exact opposite of their daughters, but they grew fond of her very quickly. After two days, she was already part of the family.

While Wednesday was slowly and secretly falling for the sweet werewolf who favored the color pink, you caught yourself developing feelings for Xavier. He had taught you how to make video calls and it was so much better than texting.

''What is this called again?'' you asked, seeing Xavier's face through the small screen.

''Facetime.''

''Oh. Yes.'' You always forgot the name. ''I like this.'' I like seeing you.

Xavier smiled, his dimples poking through his cheeks.

You began talking about the black dahlias you grew in your mother's greenhouse and although Xavier didn't know shit about plants and flowers, he listened to everything you had to say. He loved listening to your voice.

As summer went on, it was getting more and more difficult for him to hide his feelings. Even through a screen. He was falling hard for you. But you didn't like him that way and, although he deeply wished you would feel the same, he respected that. He liked you so much that he just wanted to be around you — or in your life —, including being okay with being placed in the friendzone, even if that was obviously the last place he wanted to be.

*

The leaves began changing colors and Lurch drove the Addams clan to the academy. A single black dahlia rested on your lap, which earned a confused look from your sister. If you wanted to bring flowers to your dorm, wouldn't it have been more practical to bring a pot?

You ignored her question and went back to looking out the window until the gates of Nevermore Academy came in sight. A strange feeling bubbled in your stomach and your mother didn't fail to notice the slight twitch of your lips.

After saying goodbye to your parents and Pugsley, Wednesday left to find Enid and your eyes searched the quad for Xavier. You spotted his best friend, and found the green eyed artist by his side.

A small smile curled on your lips, but you quickly composed yourself. To make up, you gave a death stare to the first year boy on your right. He quickly hung his head down. It wasn't nice, but you had a reputation to maintain.

Raising your eyes back to Xavier, you watched as he laughed at something Ajax must have said. It was nice to see him in person and not trapped in a tiny phone screen.

You smoothed your dress and went to him. ''Hi.''

Xavier's attention snapped the second you opened your mouth, a melody to his ears. ''Hi,'' he greeted back, trying to fight the smile on his face but failing.

Beside him, Ajax bit back a snicker, then excused himself.

''This is for you,'' you said, handing him the black dahlia you were holding. ''Grown in my personal greenhouse.''

A soft flush coloring his cheeks. Xavier acted standoffish with everyone, but you had him wrapped around your little finger.

A misogynist would be offended, saying men offer flowers to women. Not Xavier.

He accepted the single flower and twirled it between his fingers. ‘’It’s beautiful. Looks more a deep burgundy and a deep mahogany than black, though.’’

You scoffed lightly. ‘’Trying to impress me with your artist vocabulary?’’

‘’Is it working?’’

‘’No.’’

The corner of his mouth curled.

He would never admit it out loud, but Xavier loved when you’re mean to him. Your blunt honesty and one-liners that knocked people off their pedestals was part of your personality and he found it endearing.

Xavier's phone alarm went off and his smile fell. He fished the device out of his pocket, then read the reminder with a disappointed face. ‘’I gotta go. I have a video appointment with my therapist in ten minutes.’’

You didn't want him to leave, but you couldn't hold him back.

‘’Okay. I'll see you later.’’

‘’Do you...want to walk with me to the dormitory?’’ Xavier asked, holding his breath as he waited for your answer.

You gave him a single nod and headed toward the right aisle of the Academy.

As you were walking, Xavier’s arm could brush yours from time to time. Each time it did, you felt spiders in your stomach. You could smell his cologne too. A mix of pine and something else you couldn't decipher.

‘’After Dr. Kinbott's death and everything that followed, my father was quick to find me a new therapist. An expensive one that would fix all of his son’s crazies in the most secrecy.’’ Xavier scoffed, shaking his head at his father's terrible parenting. ’’She’s been helping me deal with the aftermath of my arrest and put order into my thoughts. I thought my life would go back to how it was before I got arrested, but it didn’t. Although I was proven innocent, some still believe I murdered those people.’’

‘’Tyler was the monster—’’ you quickly said.

‘’I know.’’ He dropped his head, his next words quieter. ‘’But I guess it’s easier to believe an outcast did it than the sheriff’s ‘normie’ son...’’

This made your heart ache for Xavier. He may be obstinate and irrational at times, but he would never murder somebody. Especially not Rowan, who he used to call his roommate and friend. They had a fallout a little before his death, but nothing that would have pushed Xavier to kill him.

If you heard anyone say something bad about him, they better run or they'll know what you're capable of. The Addams were known to be crazy, but you preferred to say wildly devoted to the ones you love — whether it be a friend, a family member or a lover. There's nothing you wouldn't do to defend or protect the ones you cared about.

You were snapped out of your thoughts when you reached the boys' dormitory.

That walk was over way too soon.

‘’Xavier?’’ He shifted his green eyes down at you, your height difference more apparent when you were standing close. ‘’Before we part, there's something I need to tell you.’’

He drew his eyebrows, a wash of concern over his face. ‘’I’m listening.’’

‘’This summer has been revealing for me. I found in you a friend I didn't know I needed. I've always been a lonely person and I'm comfortable that way, but it's nice to have a friend. But as the days and weeks went by, I found myself looking forward to your every text and call and sometimes, I never wanted them to end,’’ you admitted transparently. ‘’It took me a while to figure out why I was feeling that way and why I always had spiders in my stomach every time someone mentioned your name. Xavier, I…I think I want us to be more than friends. I don’t know if that’s how I’m supposed to say it, but—’’

Just like in those horrifying normies rom-coms, Xavier crashed his lips on yours, interrupting you with a kiss.

You took a few seconds to react, not expecting him to do this, but then responded to his kiss, standing on your tiptoes and curling a hand behind his neck to pull him closer. Xavier’s lips moved over yours with extreme softness, kissing you the way he always wanted to.

You pulled back for air, finding yourself smiling when seeing a smudge of your lipstick on his face. It wasn’t that noticeable, but you liked that it was there. ‘’I've never been in love before, so I cannot promise you I'll be a perfect lover—’’

Xavier shook his head. ‘’I don't care. Perfect is boring anyway.’’ He held back a grin, pressing his forehead against yours. ''I prefer spooky and kooky.''

—

Wednesday taglist: @sofiaadler @partyfly @hoodforcalum @thelilacmourning @ellessecretobsession @su-alteza-emia @achoo—uu @not-leaprvt @xaviersgf @peterparkerdilf @roadworkaheadisurehopeitdoes @dragon-chica @coldtacozinepanda @wrldofsage @eddiemunsonsluvrrr @capriaura @officialsaturn @babyfiva @maevaomizzolo @kelloggs-world @whosljt @ajpanda181 @belovedrey @emerycrt @elizabitchsshit @heaven-hiding @lilithlikestoread @est-liber @moonisu @dessxoxsworld @parker-nite @bellblake121890 @vesperazhier @kaldurahms-lover @beeebo234 @nephilimsss @mayuphoenix @sweetheartlizzie07 @watermelon-18 @snixx2088 @555stargirl555 @robinscardigan @chumchum19 @lilttblog @aphex2winn @heizenka @mystargirl-interlude @hwrtsiren @babygirljay20 @wildflowerlyss @strangersomeone @openfandoms @charlottelaffin @iheartmaddyperez @starless-starkov @ali-r3n  @poppet05  @ell0ra-br3kk3r

 @rhaenyraswife  @teaganthemorningstar  @aphex2winn @moompie  @ifevilwhyhot @oliviah-25 @spenglerslime @wetwilliam02 @yellowcupcakes @haileyismoo @theyslayallday @wrldofsage @manofworm @rhydianissuperior @supersanelyromantic @nicangel13 @toylewestinnyc @meme-queen-1999 @rottenstyx @mxxny-lupin @idli-dosa @silenzju @ar40s @sweeterheartxamerica @renaissancewhxre @jordierama @lilppsblog @harrystylesfp  @katsuki420 @ravenssh1t @izzy-laufeyson @iluvwomenblog @kenzi-woycehoski @arunaposeidondottie @liidiaaag  @lilaconner @katsukis1wife @momoewn  @amithesimpoffandoms @chaotic-fangirl-blog @hawkegfs  @lyxrix @mommyruuetrue  @acornacreacure @lucassinclairsgf @youdontneedtoknowthisinformation @aabananaa @starrrslove @marissapearle @sshesang @scarxvodka  @xoxo-zainab @illf4iry  @yourfavdummy @leoluvsur-pappy @kcskye123 @wenvierismycomfort @pedrosprincess @luvvtxinityy @targaryenmoony @icarly23 

All and more taglist: @spiokybirdstarfish @kenqki @liidiaaag @hawkegfs  @gillybear17  @areaderinlove @acornacreacure @black-rose-29 @fudge13 @cece05 @rosie-cameron @Caxddce @laylasbunbunny @gemofthenight @beautyb1ade  @hi-bored-as-fcuk-rn  @lovelyy-moonlight @mellabella101 @vxnity713  @marzipaanz

[morbidology]

The murder of a child is every parent’s worst nightmare, but what if you’re then wrongly accused of that child’s murder? That is the very nightmare that befell James Joseph Richardson, who was wrongly convicted of the murder of seven of his children.

On 25 October, 1967, Richardson left his seven children, ranging from two-years-old to eight-years-old, in the care of his neighbour, Bessie Reece, as he and his wife, Annie Mae Richardson, went to work for the day. Progressively throughout the day, each child became violently ill. By the next morning, all of the children would be dead. An autopsy revealed that all of the children had been poisoned.

An initial search of the Richardson apartment revealed no poison. However, the following day, a bag of parathion was discovered in the shed behind the apartment. It was noted that it wasn't there the day beforehand. Despite the fact that Richardson was a caring and loving father and that there was no reason for him to kill his children, he was arrested and charged with their murders.

Cellmates of Richardson claimed that he had confessed to murdering his children and during a time when racial segregation was high, an all-white jury found this evidence enough to convict him, completely disregarding the fact that the children were fed by Reece, not Richardson. He was sentenced to death.

Richardson remained incarcerated for twenty years. Mark Lane, a well-known trial attorney, decided to take matters into his own hands and began to look into the case. It was revealed that Reece had been out on parole at the time of the murders. What for? She murdered her husband with poison.

At the time Reece was living with caretakers as she was suffering from Alzheimer’s. She had confessed to the murder of the Richarson children 100+ times to these caretakers. It was also revealed that the cellmates of Richardson had lied about his confession in return for a lighter sentence.

Richardson was eventually released in 1989 and filed a lawsuit for his wrongful incarceration, getting just $150,000. Eventually, in 2014, bill HB 227 was signed into law, meaning that wrongfully incarcerated inmates can be granted compensation for time served. It was estimated that Richardson could be awarded up to $1.3 million, however he hasn’t yet received that compensation.

[renmedys]

SAY HELLO TO THE ANGELS

higuruma hiromi has killed for the first time and it makes him think of you. (or: now that he has killed, higuruma realizes that his condemnation of you those many years ago was, perhaps, wrong.)

pairing: higuruma hiromi/reader warnings: description of violence & murder, reader is a lil crazy words: 1.7k notes: title namesake is interpol's "say hello the angels"

HIGURUMA thinks of you often. At the heart of all his tolerance and patience and pro-bono work that he does, it’s you who reminds him that there are people worth saving. It’s you who reminds him that protecting the weak and fighting for those who cannot fight for themselves is a noble way of life. It is precisely because of people like you, who show no remorse or shame for the crimes they perpetrate, that he can continue to believe in those who are truly innocent. 

He had… disliked you, the first you met. Hate is too strong a word, and Higuruma makes a point to try and not hate his clients. He remembers being baffled by who you presented yourself to be, there in the detention center, a wall of glass between you. 

When he pulled the chair out, you’d looked up from inspecting your nails, around your wrists a pair of handcuffs that chained you to the table. He knows now that you could’ve broken free of those confines with ease. He saw your eyes rake over Higuruma’s neat suit and pristine appearance until they landed on his face. He watched your eyes flit about in the slightest of  circular movements, tracing the dark circles that had started to build beneath his eyes.

“You’re my lawyer?” you had said with a scornful laugh. 

Higuruma only sighed as he sat down, flipping open the case file he had brought along with him. “(l/n) (y/n),” he read, skimming through it. “You are charged with the murder of three adults and two children at 5:28 PM on March 23. I’ve reviewed your case, and I recommend that your course of action—”

“You think I did it, don’t you?”

Higuruma raises his gaze to yours. You have a crooked grin sitting on your face and a knowing look that makes Higuruma feel like you see right through him. It makes his skin crawl.

“No, I—”

“That’s alright, Mr. Rookie Lawyer,” you chirp. “I did do it. So I’m going to plead guilty.” Higuruma blinked, at a loss for words. “I killed them,” you say again, as if Higuruma didn’t hear you the first time, smiling without a care in the world. “I just wasn’t expecting to get caught.”

Your lawyer’s face was struggling to remain stoic, and you found that notion strangely pleasurable. Behind his eyes, you could tell that he was disgusted with you.

“Why?” he finally asked.

“I wanted to,” you shrugged. “I thought it’d be fun.”

“That’s it?”

“I thought it would make me happy,” you told him, “and isn’t that what life is? The pursuit of happiness.”

“For reasons like that,” he says slowly, “you murdered five people.”

“You look like you don’t know two things about happiness, Mr. Lawyer,” you said, wagging a finger at him. “You can look down on me all you want, but even you can see the difference between us. You’re not happy in that line of work, are you? It’s cute, you know, seeing these public servants preaching goodwill. What brought you to the law, Mr. Lawyer? Vocational calling? Were you one of those kids who thought you could make the world a better place? Did you think you’d be the valiant hero who defends the people wrongly accused? I bet you’re just overjoyed to be defending people like me—”

“Enough.”

Higuruma wanted to leave. The pressure of your gaze and corruption of your soul were the reason his job was so unbearable sometimes. He couldn’t fathom what you were saying. To kill for pleasure, for happiness—sure, he knows that people are twisted and have sick urges, but you believe your worlds so wholly that he cannot be sure any longer that these ideas can be boiled down to delusion. Perhaps some people are, at their core, just horrible beyond repair. 

“You can plead guilty,” he had said, standing to leave. He was wrong to take your case, no matter how desperate he was to get his practice off the ground. He had read your file, and assumed you were one of those people caught in the wrong place at the wrong time. After all, who would think on first glance you had the capacity to rip out the hearts of three men and tear apart the bodies of two children? Yet after speaking to you, he realized he was wrong—and even if he wanted to believe, even if he knew defending you was the right thing to do, he could not deny that somewhere deep inside he despised you. “We’ll try and figure out a way to reduce your sentence. You can tell me the order of events in detail another time.”

But he never got the chance to see you again, because the next day he was served with a notice that you’d requested a new lawyer. Your case was open-shut, and the trial lasted barely an hour. He wondered how you could’ve ever been happy perpetrating violence.

Until now, years later, as his client is staring at him with contempt after all of Higuruma’s efforts and sleepless nights scrounging for evidence that would prove his innocence, he hadn’t a clue of what you meant about happiness. This case isn’t his fault. Higuruma Hiromi is not to blame for the gavel that is about to hand down his client’s sentence. The anger and hatred for the actions of higher authorities he is subjected to is not deserved. A man he worked tirelessly for, a man he believed in, a man for whose sake he had shown time and time again he would not give up on now looks at him with a stare that is icier than yours, and it fills him with a rage Higuruma doesn’t know how to calm. The ramblings of the court proceedings turn into garbled static as blood rises to his head. When he hears silence, Higuruma stands and demands a retrial on the spot.

In that moment, he wonders if killing them would make him happy.

HIGURUMA finds you in the same prison he first met you. The Culling Games had begun not long ago, and it’d been mere hours since he spent all his points on a new rule and transferred the remainder to Itadori Yuuji. Now that the onslaught of aggressors out for his life finally seemed to calm, he resumed his search for your whereabouts. The prison is within the boundaries of the colony he’s currently in, and when he arrives he finds the grounds desecrated by blood and ravaged bodies. He sees the decapitated head of a guard lying on the stone floor. For you to have survived—and he’s sure you have—you must be a strong jujutsu sorcerer. That makes your easy submission to the conviction of your crime those many years ago all the more puzzling.

In the chaos, most of the convicts escaped. Higuruma walks through empty hallways and pries open jammed doors, climbing over fallen rubble. He had half expected you to be gone as well, but he finds you in one of the cells, lying on the floor. With your hands behind your head, you look as if you’re on a grassy hill cloud watching, eyes closed in content.

“It wasn’t you,” is the first thing Higuruma says to you. This much is now clear with his newfound abilities.

“No,” you hum. “It was the curse I was there for.”

It makes more sense that way. “Are you one of them?” he asks. “Those sorcerers?”

You laugh. “No, no. Not for a long time now. Since even before I met you.”

“Ah.”

“So, why seek me out, Mr. Lawyer? You need some wisdom in this new world of yours?”

“No,” he says, shaking his head. “I wanted to ask you something.”

You crack open an eye to peek at him. “I think I can guess what about.”

“Why did you plead guilty? You didn’t do it.”

Shrugging, you feel your shoulders brush against the concrete. “I wanted to see what it would be like.”

“That’s all?” he asks quietly.

“Isn’t wanting to enough justification?” you ask. Then you click your tongue. “I guess maybe not to a lawyer.”

“But you’re innocent.”

“For that crime, maybe. But I’ve killed before, for the same reasons I told you back then. And what about you, Mr. Lawyer? Are you still innocent?”

Higuruma lowers himself to the floor, sitting against a chunk of rock outside your cell. “No,” he says quietly. “No, I’m beyond saving, I think. When this is all over, I’m going to turn myself in.”

“Now why would you do that?” you tut, and Higuruma thinks it’s ironic you’d say that. Despite the ceiling and walls of your confines being blown apart and merely the remains of a wreckage, you act as though you are still trapped, not leaving. You’ve also willingly turned yourself in. 

“You've killed people too, (y/n)-san.”

“Plenty,” you confirm.

“I couldn’t understand you back then, when you said that you thought it might make you happy.”

“You still can’t, Mr. Lawyer.” His eyebrows raise slightly. “When you killed those people, how did you feel?”

You sit up now, turning your body towards him. Higuruma knows you’re a killer, and he figures that you could probably kill him in the blink of an eye. There’s no fear, though. He feels strangely calm in your presence, and it reminds him of all the cases he fought where he thought back to you. People who do not want to be saved cannot be. So all the other clients he had over the years, who pleaded innocent and needed someone to trust them—Higuruma knew that there was a chance for them to be absolved. You taught him that.

His eyes fall to the floor. “It felt awful.”

You let out a gentle laugh, retreating into the corner as you lay back down on the concrete, rolling onto your side so that your back faces Higuruma. “Then there’s still hope for you yet, Higuruma. You’re a lawyer, aren’t you? Protecting the weak is your job. Go.”

Higuruma seems somewhat moved by your words, and it is the first time he hears his name in your voice. He stands and dusts himself off. “After this, (y/n)-san, what will you do?”

“I haven’t decided yet,” you tell him. “I’ll stay here, probably. At least until the games are over.”

“I’ll come back,” Higuruma then says, and this time it is his turn to catch you by surprise.

“Why bother?”

Higuruma’s lips curve upward slightly. “I just want to,” he says, and the sound of his fading footsteps make you wish that perhaps you had lived a more righteous life.

[rainbowgod666]

Wizardposting blogs and my view of them, OR:

My ass out here cataloguing wizards like they're pokemon 💀 i ran out of things to do fr 💀💀💀

@official-megumin: dutch (EDIT. SHE ISNT. I WRONGLY REMEMBERER A POST OF HERS. I KNOW HER ASS IS LIVING [OR FROM] NORTH EUROPE THO) megumin that still has the "only knows one spell and its the stupidest and hardest to unlock and use. Balancing the Meta my ass" problem. In a relationship with @a-sentient-cup

@autism--wizard: just a lil neurodivergent guy that likes spooders. Not much of it really. Possibly strong enough to defeat spiders georg

@the-adhd-sorcerer: moot :) also more powerful than they let on, but its like DBXV2: starter gear and GODLY stats

@mossy--wizard: moss-fueled neurodivergent boi with lots of moss. Yes their blog feels like a wet forest in the sunlight, drying up after a long rain. Not really interacted with them tho...

@wizard-council-bureaucrat: basically the MC of tumblr wizardposting. If they say something its either wizard law or just a suggestion. Probably the only wizard here that ISNT "surprisingly powerful even though their learning was less than advanced"

@wizard-intern: the blorbo.

@the-gnomish-bastard: ok i get that theyre basically pilaf from dragonball, but A: the stew arcanum is REAL bur the 24 gods thing either sounds like bullshit or he made a stew out of 24 REALLY HUBRIS-FILLED PEOPLE (which would explain his "holy fucking shit how are you even capable of HAVING A STRUCTURE WITH THE FUNCTION OF A BRAIN"), B: he was the dude that came up with the whole "floating wizard island thing" (which has so many holes like wtf put it back down) and C: im pretty sure they have been corrupted by some kind of mushroom deity, which would explain the fact that when calling him "stupid" its like SCP-682 saying that humans are disgusting. Because there literally isnt a stronger word in the human language. How in the fuck does someone have so little intellect we have to do like the jewish population of europe after 1945 when they came up with the word "shoah" to describe what happened to them. To the user running that blog. GET SOME PSYCHIATRIC HELP ASAP. Holy shit.

@not-a-suspicious-wizard: "I aM vErY tRuStWoRtHy" dude everyone knows you wanna do some weird "subjugate reality" bullshit. How about you start making drafts and NOT murdering opponents? Seriously dude if you wanna be in charge as long as you dont try weird "consolidating power like its the 1940s" shit its alright. Maybe take some craftmanship things as a hobby! Make your own throne! Come up with something to do when you are too tired to do Dominant King Bullshit! Play modded minecraft/terraria! Make origami! If youre gonna blanket the world in darkness, at least make it look cool and welcoming instead of "inevitable rebel uprising lol have fun with Prophetic Children lmao" :3

@incompetent-wizard: are you SURE youre incompetent? Chances are, you're just unlucky 😊

[spectral-snippets-and-drabbles]

Death Warrant!Au

When the rejuvenating, life-extending effects of ectoplasm to the dead and dying was discovered by planets across the stars, it triggered mass conflicts that left several systems obliterated beyond repair. Hundreds of Billions had migrated to the Realms in numbers that were never seen before by the residence of the dead. They had various forms of damage and disfigurement on their new forms as a result of the ectoplasm being weaponized and used on them. Their very beings were corrupted beyond repair with their minds significantly altered with highly specified obsessions.

• Peoples from the destroyed worlds being so afraid that they lashed out, ripping anything that saw them to pieces out of fear of being attacked.

A serpentine creature of the Realms eagerly stalking them and fed upon their cores to grow stronger.

• Soldiers of these races were hell-bent on continuing to fight and proceeded to attempt subjugate this dimension that was new to them. Their rage guiding them blindly as they left paths of destruction throughout the realm.

A beast, wrongly slaughtered in the early madness of an delicate fledgling world that happened to be rich with ectoplasm followed the warpath and basked in the rage.

Eventually, more creatures like them came to prominence as a result of these strange new victims. Being aspects of emotion that were born from the masses in the war.

The Ghost King during this time period could not sit idly by and watch these newly born ghosts run rampant and terrorize his kingdom. With a heavy heart and a weapon in hand, a call to arms was called and the purge of these beings began. It tooks thousands of years, but when the last corrupted ghost was destroyed, the King took to the realm of living and wiped away all traces of the Realms from the minds of the survivors with all recollections of this terrible war for ectoplasm erased from history.

As his rested his eyes one final time, before the Tyrant would cowardly claim his life, made a major, sacred declaration that all citizens was made:

• If any hostile, mutant ghosts were to be found, they were to captured and examined by the king's council to await judgement. If they are too dangerous to restrain and seek bloody violence, they are to be destroyed.

• Any scientists trying to use ectoplasm for endangering life were to be have their memories erased and put to the sword for their crimes.

• Anyone foolish enough to Defy Death using ectoplasm, the greatest violation of the laws in the infinite Realms, they were to be put to death as and immediately given their Second End.

~•~ ~•~ ~•~ ~•~ ~•~

When Pariah Dark, the Cowardly Tyrant King, is defeated and Danny fianlly takes the throne after a few centuries of training, the Observers hand him a compiled a list of names who violated these sacred laws.

They have him start with Earth and Danny's jaw hits the floor with what the charges he was seeing. He can already hear the chaos in the meeting room.

• Amanda Waller, Vandal Savage, Darkseid, Granny Goodness, a court of owls(?)...the list is long, and that's just Earth alone!

• Jack "The Goddamn Joker" Napier and a few of the more violent Rouges of Gotham are charged with Veil Destabilization.

Even Jason Peter Todd Wayne...the Red Hood!? Danny can probably work something with Jason, force him into therapy sessions (along with the whole damn family) with Jazz and a couple cleansing sessions and supplements from Frostbite...the others had to go...

The continued slaughter of the innocent, combined with the suffering they endured and the misery felt by Shades who couldn't move on was making the veil deteriorate at dangerous speeds. New pits would form across the city eventually as a result.

Lady Gotham has done everything she can to keep the madness from happening but she can't hold it back any longer. Her core is ready to shatter under the stress and is constantly in agony, but she won't abandon her knights, despite Danny's pleas to save herself.

There's a certain brigade of furry's who may or may not like this news but said brigade had no choice but to take it on the chin. They have children who Defied Death in their ranks and the Realms are not afraid to destroy anyone foolish enough to stop them.

• Lex Luther is charged with crimes against humanity. And several other violations in regards to unethical experimentation.

One sticks out to Danny.

Lex used Danny's stolen DNA from a stray core shard from the Guys in White, who he was was funding in secret, even after they were disbanded, to create a clone comprised of the Earth's resident Kryptonian, the bald bastard, and himself to kill and replace said Kryptonian...the guy who literally helps save the earth time and time again from doom.

...Yeah, Lex is undoubtedly, fucked beyond total comprehension. Anyone defending him was risking all-out war with the Infinite Realms.

But hey, at least Danny was finally having child of his own! The little tyke is only a few years old in the tube, Ellie's visits are far and in-between and Danny's status as a Halfa made him sterile and develop an embarrassingly strong case of baby fever.

He's sure the ghosts from Krypton would love to help out in raising Conner in case Kal-El wasn't really planning on being around the boy. After all, being cloned himself, Danny knows the emotional baggage that comes with being violated to this degree by your enemy.

He just hopes the guy can come around and accept the little guy...

[m4ndysk4nkovich]

trauma is an explanation, not an excuse.

this is something i find myself thinking frequently whenever i look through what people have to say about fiona gallagher, or even what the writers of shameless have to say about fiona gallagher.

i think that a lot of the behaviors fiona exhibits throughout her run on the show make a lot of sense when you consider what she endured growing up.

growing up for her, it was about survival. it was about keeping her baby brothers (and eventually, debbie, carl, and liam, too) from freezing to death and about making sure her parents hadn’t overdosed. she was never worried about some of the things her younger siblings (such as debbie) worried about, which caused a strain in her relationships with them.

fiona grew up never putting herself first. she was a victim, but was never treated as one. her parents left all responsibility in her hands, and she was still just viewed as a help rather than a mother.

speaking of this ^ frank’s first line regarding fiona was calling her a huge help, and his last was telling her that she just helped. frank’s monologue from the pilot ended up being one of the most important scenes in the entire show (which i will discuss later).

after years of going without recognition, she starts to change. she starts to crave it. does this happen before the show starts or during it, i don’t know. in season two, debbie points out how fiona always makes everything about herself (which of course, debbie was criticized for). i think that debbie was right. in this case, i’d say that fiona making everything about herself is more her taking the responsibility over everything, because that’s all she knows. she thinks that she can handle everything because she’s been doing it since she was in kindergarten.

in season three, she actually gets guardianship of her five siblings, which is pretty big. she had even tried to adopt them all. so basically, she was seriously taking all of the responsibility. she even told jimmy-steve that these kids were her life. and they were.

then, she got caught up in work and life happened, liam ended up overdosing (because of her) and everything fell apart. this is where we were truly introduced to the fiona we know.

she had already been refusing to take responsibility in the first episode of season four (with ian), but by the time that lip starts to act cold towards her because of liam’s accident she begins to refuse to take any accountability at all. she claims to not be guilty, but she was. she was in charge of him, she left an open bag of coke out and liam got into it. she was guilty.

as the seasons go by, she falls deeper into this victim complex, and then in season seven, she straight up starts telling debbie and carl that she will not support them and that they need to pay rent. she tells them to put her on the bottom of their emergency contact lists. why is this an issue, you may be asking? because she was legal guardian. the only other person taking care of them was frank and if you want to know why frank couldn’t be it, think back to season seven frank (he had a whole new family, for starters).

that is child neglect. you can phrase it however you want to try to make it better, but in the end, that was child neglect, nothing more, nothing less.

in season seven, fiona is twenty-six. debbie is sixteen (with a baby) and carl is fifteen at that point, it doesn’t matter what they did, get pregnant, start dealing, whatever, they’re her kids. she signed up for it so she doesn’t get to act like she didn’t.

in season seven, debbie’s child is almost taken away from her and she asks fiona to help her get a marriage license so that she won’t lose franny. fiona says yes, but when debbie asks her to do it (and mind you, it was urgent, franny ended up being taken- just not by dcfs), fiona screams and says not everything is about debbie. she’s right! it was about franny. yes, debbie approached the situation wrongly but if you were sixteen and you were about to lose your kid you’d be that way too.

later in that season, when fiona finds out debbie’s child is home and safe, she gets irritated that she wasn’t the one to save franny.

is this because of her victim complex or her hero complex? is it maybe envy, envy of monica, who has never acted like a mother towards debbie, yet won her over that easily? i don’t know.

my issue with a lot of fiona fans is that whenever fiona is criticized, on screen or off screen, they use her raising five kids as the ultimate excuse. no matter what. even if she’s in the wrong, it’s all, she raised five kids!

i hate to be the one to say this, but being the oldest, it’s weird how people excuse her actions more than anybody else’s. out of all of the siblings, she’s the only one who we only ever saw as an adult. fiona was twenty-one in season one, and twenty-eight in season nine. she’s been a grown ass adult, she should be held accountable and should take accountability. lip, ian, debbie, carl, and liam all deserve the benefit of the doubt in some situations when they were younger, she doesn’t. she was still young, yes, when you’re in your twenties you can’t be expected to act fourty, i get it, but it’s still odd how babied she can be.

i’m not saying i don’t think that fiona should get any passes, or that i don’t think that fiona did it all, because she did. i excuse a lot of her actions, but not everything. it kind of diminishes her entire character if you excuse and twist every little thing about her.

the reality of it is, she is not a good person. neither are lip, ian, debbie, carl, and maybe even liam, eventually. one of the many points of the show is that they all just kinda… suck. they aren’t necessarily bad people, but good people? angels? no. and that’s why i hate it so much when frank, fiona, lip, and even ian (who’s one of my favorites) get defended for everything. it kind of defeats the purpose, they are shitty, they can do shitty things and still be good characters (not frank though lol); and the same thing applies but reversed, when characters like debbie, who was a kid in almost every season, get held accountable and shit on for every little thing, it ruins the character. you can’t see the good in her or see the impact her decisions actually make because you’re busy viewing her as this monster (when the monster in question is just a teenage girl).

even then, frank’s actions can’t all be excused by being abused as a child, fiona’s actions can’t all be excused by raising five kids, lip’s actions can’t all be excused by his childhood/addiction, ian’s actions can’t all be excused by his illness and debbie, carl, and liam’s. actions can’t all be excused by their age. the actions can somewhat be excused in some scenarios, but it isn’t like enduring trauma is a get-out-of-jail-free card for everything.

[revvethasmythh]

Some aspects of Laudna's behavior from the most recent ep have really started to stand out to me re: her backstory. We're told basically that after leaving Whitestone she roamed to different cities and was subsequently run out of many places by the townsfolk for being...well, a creepy undead witch. This is really all we know of thirty years of her life, we have nothing more detailed than that until Gelvaan, which is also not very detailed on what exactly she was doing there. And it's interesting because this backstory feels like it's meant to elicit a lot of sympathy on Laudna's behalf--i.e. she is being wrongly chased out of places for the crime of being/looking different. But something about the way she approached Imahara Joe's establishment--sending in the creepy whispers, specifically making a bunch of terrifying "rattling noises", and responding with a smile and saying "It works every time" when they heard a noise in response--really has me like. okay. Laudna, did you get chased out of places because you were terrorizing people in those places? because it sounds like you've done this before, potentially many times, and what's "fun scary" to one person can so very easily be "scary scary" to the people on the other end of the schtick.

Laudna clearly loves people, but I do have to wonder if she experiences a certain amount of dissonance about the effects that her actions cause. She very much has this Manic Demon Nightmare Girl persona thing going on, and that delighted, manic energy mixed with her penchant for the macabre, often directed at other people where she enjoys their freaked out reactions? I think, perhaps, there were reasons she kept getting run out of places that we have not, uh, unpacked as of yet.

To go deeper with this, Laudna is a character who rarely feels like she's in charge of her own destiny. Some of this is intentional, like the repeated puppet imagery re: Delilah. But I wonder if, perhaps, Laudna is someone who has had so many things--bad things, terrible things--happen to her that she had learned to erase her own role in her life. There was nothing she could do when the Briarwoods took over Whitestone, there was nothing she could do when she was murdered by Delilah, and there was nothing she could do when she was resurrected as the undead creachure that she is today. But there are thing she could have done in the intervening thirty years to change her situation. She could have pursued threads about getting rid of Delilah for thirty years, long before meeting Imogen. She could have (somewhat) altered her behavior so she wasn't freaking people out wherever she went and maybe she could have stayed somewhere. She could have been proactive in making changes and pursuing things in her life and I just wonder if she has forgotten that she can do that for herself and that the things she does do have consequences. In ep 49, she told Imogen, "The gods have never kept us from our ability to have a choice." But she only says this to Imogen. When does Laudna finally make an active choice? When does she realized that her behavior and the consequences of the behavior are in her control? When does Laudna decide that it's time to stop being a spectator in her own story, a person that things happen to? Soon, I hope. She should be the main character of her own story, and right now she simply isn't