#and make society better for those who are too young to know any of it yet.
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To Know You…
Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader
Summary: Benedict knows you better than anyone. But does he know himself well enough to know what he truly wants?
Warnings: none really… fluffy fluff. Childhood friends, class differences, marriage mart shenanigans, dancing, marriage proposals, Benedict being adorable while also a complete dumbass, unrequited to requited love, love confessions.
Word Count: 10.4k (yeah, it's a long one, folks)
Authors Note: this is a request fill for @curlsincriminology (ask HERE) about Benedict showing you all the wonderful things he sees in you, but will he figure out his own feelings before it's too late? Thanks to the complete trooper @colettebronte for beta reading this monster one-shot. Enjoy <3
I: To Know You….
“I would rather not, Miss y/l/n,” the young man clips, walking away from you at a brusque pace.
You sigh and look down at your feet. Mrs Parsons will be so very disappointed, is all you can think.
—
Benedict may not have heard the words spoken, but even from his vantage point at the other end of the ballroom, he could see the disdainful way the young man uttered his parting words to you. It makes anger flare hot in his chest, his fist forming reflexively at his side.
He watches as you look down, shoulders hunching, folding in on yourself physically, as if the rejection for a dance has manifested in a body blow. He feels a pang in his gut—of sympathy, indignance on your behalf and mainly at the injustice of it all. To him, you are a wonderful, intelligent, caring person worthy of a good match. Still, the circumstances of your upbringing seem to stymie your attempts to join so-called ‘polite’ society at every turn…
—
You look up with a defeated mien until your eyes land on one person who has always been able to ameliorate any of your more morose moods—Benedict Bridgerton. Instantly, you feel lighter. You give him a polite nod across the crowded room, and, to your delight, he returns it, a hint of a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. It is just so very characteristic of him to offer silent support, to understand, from witnessing a moment of interaction, precisely what you are feeling. A large part of you feels so wistful that there is no other man quite as nice as him. Suddenly, your overwhelming need is to leave this stuffy ballroom and catch some air.
You grew up under the tutelage of the kindly doctor’s widow, Mrs Parsons, whose house is not far from the vast Bridgerton estate in Kent. The naturally born daughter of nobody quite knows whom, you were taken in as her ward when you were abandoned upon her doorstep at a mere two years old. Her reputation for kindness towards young waifs and strays is likely why you were left there. It is an event you were too young to recall, so all you have known your whole life is her generosity and kindness, raising you as if her own.
And now that you are of age, she takes you to events around Kent in the hopes of securing you a respectable husband, the most prestigious being tonight’s Hearts and Flowers Ball at Aubrey Hall. The Bridgertons have always been gracious enough to invite local families, those without the means to partake in the London season, to events at their country estate—a kindness that allows for your attendance tonight. It’s just such a pity that the one bachelor Mrs Parsons was so very keen for you to meet, one Mr Reeves, just rebuffed you so thoroughly.
You glance down at the remaining empty slots on the dance card tied to your wrist and sigh again. Now that you are out on the terrace in the fresh evening air, the light breeze is at least a partial balm, allowing you to recover from the sting of rejection away from the hubbub of the ballroom.
“I will never understand how the men of this county can consider themselves anything approaching mannered.”
You would know that refined voice anywhere. It haunts your dreams. Just the sound of it making your ribs tighten. You turn to see Benedict sauntering towards you, two drinks in hand, that sympathetic smile still in place.
“You are far better off without such rudeness,” he adds dryly as he pulls up beside you, arching an eyebrow for your entertainment.
“You are far too kind, Mr Bridgerton,” you answer, taking the glass he offers with a meek smile, trying not to let your ardent admiration for him be too evident.
“Mr Bridgerton?!?” he scoffs, “What happened to BenBen?” he teases gently, recalling your childhood name for him when you were a mere four and he was nine.
“We are at a formal event; I should address you as such, should I not?” you reply playfully, a warmth spreading inside as it always does when you get the chance to have a witty, convivial exchange with him.
By gosh, if there is one man to whom you would pledge yourself without hesitation, it is him. But, of course, he is the second son of an illustrious family. To think you would have any chance to win his heart would be as likely as a future king to marry a commoner. Still, you can dream…
“At least call me Benedict, Skylark,” he winks over his wine glass as he takes a sip, butterflies erupting in your tummy at the affectionate nickname he has used since you were small; you have to avert your eyes to avoid blushing deeply.
Just as he goes to speak again, his brother, the Viscount, materialises at his side. Looking to all intents and purposes as if he is trying to escape the ball as much as you are.
“Mother is best avoided tonight, brother,” Anthony warns sagely, taking a large gulp of his champagne. “She is under the erroneous impression I am suddenly in want of a wife.”
You can't stop the giggle that bubbles up from within at his wry observation of his predicament.
“Hello, y/n,” he greets warmly, just noticing you are also there, his face morphing into a youthful, playful grin. If Benedict is the husband you have always dreamed of, Anthony is the elder brother you have always yearned for. In fact, that is always how he has treated you, akin to Eloise and Daphne, who you grew up playing with, being of similar age.
“Hello, Anthony,” you chime back. “How was the hunt earlier? Did the infamous Bridgerton brothers kill another prized stag?” you inquire, keen to engage both of them for as long as they will entertain you. Just being around them always lifts your spirits to no end.
—
Benedict observes you as you listen intently to Anthony’s recounting of the hunt earlier that day, impressed by your resilience. He has no doubts any other woman would feign an attack of the vapours had a man rejected her so harshly. But here you are, politely listening to his brother’s boasting, even though he can tell you are hurting inside.
Perhaps it helps that your snub went primarily unnoticed. You are unknown to the Ton; any witnesses likely dismissing it as the business of ‘country folk’ unworthy of note. Which, frankly, he could scoff at, seeing as he holds you in higher regard than all of the other attendees combined.
“How about you?” Anthony ends his story with a question to you, interrupting Benedict’s train of thought. “How has your experience been at our fine event this evening?”
“Oh, the house is splendidly decorated and the music wonderful,” you obfuscate behind flattery. Anthony appears to buy it, but Benedict sees behind your facade, the flame behind your usually bright gaze dimming a little, making something ache in his gut to see it.
Damn that idiot for ruining your evening! This just won’t do…
—
You can feel Benedict’s eyes upon you as you respond abstractly to Anthony.
“Y/n here is too polite to say it, but she was treated harshly by that young Reeves chap from Tenterden,” Benedict edifies as you bow your head, embarrassed. “Let’s be sure to rescind his invitation to future events, brother,” he appends with a surly tone.
“Duly noted,” Anthony nods sincerely, a brush of confusion flitting over his face regarding his brother's vehemence.
“No, there is no need…” you begin to protest weakly but halt mid-sentence under the intensity of Benedict’s gaze.
“I bore witness. Believe me, He shall not darken our door again,” he states firmly.
It appears the matter is very much decided, and you don’t want to put up much of a fight, seeing as it ultimately benefits you. You do, however, want to bathe in the warm glow inside whenever Benedict defends you. It's wonderful to have someone looking out for you, especially one so handsome and kind.
—
Two days later, you are taking afternoon tea with Mrs Parsons at the local tea shop when Benedict breezes in, looking so majestic dressed in Bridgerton blues that you grind to a halt. Luckily, he has not seen you as he makes a beeline for the counter.
“‘Tis rude to stare, my dear,” Mrs Parsons lectures sotto voce, nodding to your teacup, frozen in mid-air.
You shake your head a touch and place said item back in your saucer as she turns briefly to look at what or who caught your attention. Then she reaches out, her lace-gloved hand gently patting yours.
“It would be prudent to set your sights a little more realistic…” she advises with a sympathetic air. “Not that I fault your choice,” she adds, so quietly at first you're not sure you heard her correctly, but there is a tiny playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Your mouth falls open fractionally, and you stare as she shrugs. “I may be old, my dear, but I am not blind.”
Well, I never, Mrs Parsons!
As you take a bite of food, Benedict twists around from speaking to the proprietor, and he sees you. There’s a jolt down your spine as he breaks into a huge smile that claims his whole face. And you almost choke on scone crumbs as he makes a beeline over to you rather than the exit.
“Good afternoon, Miss y/l/n, Mrs Parsons!” he greets effusively. “Would it be terribly impolite to ask to join you briefly?”
Mrs Parsons' face is a picture of surprise. “Not at all; the pleasure is ours, Mr Bridgerton,” she responds affably, gesturing to the spare chair at your small round table.
As Benedict sits, Mrs Parsons shoots you an incredulous look. It's your turn to shrug fractionally.
“Mrs Parsons, I feel it necessary to tell you Mr Reeves was excessively rude to Miss y/l/n here at the ball, and I wanted to assure you that he will not be welcome at Aubrey Hall again,” he divulges sincerely.
Mrs Parsons looks taken aback and turns to you. “Why did you not tell me, my dear?”
“I-I did not think it necessary…” you twist your mouth into a bashful pout, biting your lip.
“Mr Bridgerton, thank you for bringing this to my attention, and I thank you for your generous offer, but that sort of action does not seem warranted,” she replies accommodatingly.
“That is what I said…”
“That is what she said…”
You and Benedict speak in unison at the exact same moment, and your eyes ping to each other, both laughing then bowing your heads immediately. You know your cheeks are flushed.
—
Benedict loves the look in your eye sometimes. That spirited sparkle with glowing cheeks. In his opinion, that is the only look you should ever wear; no one, especially one as unworthy as Mr Reeves, should be allowed to rob you of it. He feels a strong compulsion to do everything in his power to keep you looking like that—carefree, happy, stunning. It’s what motivates his subsequent words.
“If it is not considered too impudent for me to do so, I have a suggestion for Miss y/l/n’s introduction into society,” Benedict offers sincerely. “I believe you should be able to find her an excellent, worthy match by casting a wider net.”
“What are you proposing, Mr Bridgerton?” Mrs Parsons inquiries, almost warily.
“That Miss y/l/n come to London and partake in the remainder of the season as a guest of my family. My mother seems to think it an excellent idea, and I know my younger sister Eloise is already a good friend. I do not see why they could not attend events together,” he shrugs genially.
Mrs Parsons's face is a picture again. “You have already spoken to the Dowager Viscountess of this matter?” she checks, unable to modulate the astonishment in her tone.
“Of course,” he confirms with a nod. “I made such a suggestion this morning when your names came up. She heartily concurs. Miss y/l/n here is too bright and good of a person to have her marital choice limited by geography or circumstance.”
His eyes fall on you, and his heart gallops at the searing look you are giving him.
—
You don’t even try to temper your doe-eyed expression as you look upon Benedict, him extolling your virtues to the audience of the tea room.
Even distracted by all the wondrous things he has to say, you can detect the noise level on the surrounding tables has reduced; everyone in town always keen to eavesdrop on a Bridgerton conversation. Especially one that contains such noteworthy gossip as a local young lady being invited to the London season at the family’s behest.
“My dear, I trust that Lady Bridgerton will look after you well,” Mrs Parsons professes. “I have no objections should you desire to seize this opportunity.” Her tone pointed, very much encouraging you to do so.
“That would be just wonderful, Mr Bridgerton,” you exhale with a grateful smile. “I cannot thank you enough for even thinking to raise such a petition.”
“Think nothing of it, Miss y/l/n,” he smiles, standing up and giving you both a brief, shallow bow. “I shall see you anon, no doubt.”
And with that, he sweeps out of the tearoom, your eye line tracking his concave outline through the curved glass as he rounds the corner out of sight.
“Well, well,” Mrs Parsons puffs out her cheeks. “I am not sure what you did to inspire such actions in a gentleman. But bravo, my dear, bravo,” she holds her teacup aloft in a toast.
You are a jumble of emotions and could not even begin to answer Mrs Parsons about what you could possibly have done. Mostly, you are just elated by the prospect of the chance to attend the whirl of the London season, even if there is also a small pang of regret that Benedict is so keen to see you matched.
II: …Is To Love You
The following Tuesday, as your carriage pulls up outside the grandeur of Bridgerton House, you have nothing but butterflies. And as Lady Bridgerton - Violet as she insists you now call her - and her lady’s maid show you to your charming guest room, you cannot temper your excitement.
“Get yourself freshened up, my dear. There is a soiree this evening at the Queen’s new residence no less, and there is no time like the present to begin your introductions,” the dowager viscountess warmly counsels.
You nod your thank yous, and after they take their leave, you twirl excitedly around the room, taking in the elegant furnishings and airy sunlight flooding in. You pull up in front of a large sash window and are delighted to see bounteous gardens beneath. The rear of the property is very much an oasis of calm in the heart of the city. But one sight in particular draws your eye: a majestic oak with two swings attached to a stately arm. It looks like a place of refuge, and you feel oddly compelled to take a seat there.
Three hours later, walking into the palatial Buckingham House, you are in a different world from the one you know in Kent. Candlelit crystal chandeliers glint like towering clusters of jewels, spraying thousands of shards of light around the room. Every railing is bedecked in hundreds of drooping flower garlands, and the walls groan with enormous portraits of royalty. The mellifluous strains of a chamber orchestra fill the air. Your grip on Eloise’s arm is tight as you try not to look agog at all the opulence surrounding you.
“And I thought Aubrey Hall was grand,” you murmur quietly, and she just guffaws.
—
Benedict arrives late to the soiree from his bachelor lodgings, bustling in as stealthily as possible, knowing he will likely catch his mother’s ire for his tardiness.
But then he sees a sight that makes him temporarily stop dead in his tracks. There, hanging on to his little sister, surveying the room utterly lost in reverie at its grandeur—is you. He has not seen you dressed up as you are now, made over with the full attention of the Bridgerton staff. And he isn't afraid to admit to himself, at least, that it catches his breath. How they have applied cosmetics and styled your hair, emphasising your already evident beauty. And the dress they have chosen… well, he is almost ashamed of the heat pooling low in his gut; he has never seen you in such tailored, refined silks.
Whosoever marries you shall be quite the luckiest man indeed.
He doesn't miss the way you inhale sharply when your eyes finally land on him, his chest swelling slightly with pride as your lips part in surprise before breaking into that winning smile which always seems to brighten every room, tonight being no exception.
As he pulls up to the family, he hears his mother opining to you about the men attending the ball.
“Y/n, I would like to introduce you to Lord Shelton; he is a fine young man with many interests, and he has a lovely estate near Hove,” his mother recounts as you listen intently.
“Oh god, no,” Benedict immediately intervenes, “Shelton has amassed significant debt at the Pudding Lane gaming hell…”
Violet looks up surprised, then raises an eyebrow. “Pray tell dear son, how do you have knowledge of such? Benedict Bridgerton, you had better not be frequenting the hells of the East End,” she threatens quietly, in that stern maternal manner that has any grown man quaking in their polished shoes.
“No, of course not, mother,” he bristles, his eyes cutting briefly to you, not wanting you to think such things of him. “It is an open secret at Whites’, and why he is currently banned from the card room there.”
—
You cannot tear your eyes off Benedict as his mother side-eyes him.
Violet hums sceptically before declaring. “Well, not to worry, there are plenty of other options available for Miss y/l/n…” She steers your attention towards another crowd of young men, all talking and sipping champagne. “Baron Corning, Lord Jennings, Viscount Tewkesbury,” she recounts, nodding subtly to each one. “Any would make a fine addition to your dance card, my dear.”
“We can do much better than any of them,” Benedict chides.
You are slightly taken aback at how very much he sounds like Anthony tonight; apparently very invested in curating who you should dance with. The problem is, with each additional suggestion his mother makes to you, he roundly dismisses them out of hand.
Is no one in attendance up to his standard?
“Benedict, dear, a word?” Violet states pointedly after a third round of his withering opinions. “Get yourself another lemonade,” she smiles at you, patting your hand before looping her arm in her son’s and dragging him away.
—
His mother’s arm is surprisingly strong when she needs it to be.
“Darling, may I remind you, while Miss Y/l/n is indeed a wonderful person, I do not think we can afford to be too picky for her prospects. Her background is rather… unestablished,” Violet points out diplomatically as soon as you are out of earshot.
“We can do better than braggards, bores and philanderers,” Benedict shoots back, raising a pointed eyebrow.
She looks up at him and sighs. “Well, that is true.”
“As I thought, mother,” he winks as she affectionately swats his forearm. “Why not benefit from my knowledge? In fact, perhaps it is prudent I assist in your search for a suitor.”
“Oh, is it now?” Her tone suddenly filled with intrigue, her face entirely too scrutinising for his liking. “And does not my second son wish to join their ranks?” She adds entirely unsubtly.
“I have no time for romance; I have my art. I am most preoccupied.” He waves a dismissive hand, but even he knows his answer is tellingly brusque.
“And yet, you do not seem too busy to assist with the search, dear…” she points out archly.
Benedict has no response to that.
—
The day after the grand ball, you are sat in the dappled shade in the gardens of Bridgerton House, attempting needlework. It's never been your strength, frankly. You would much rather be allowed to partake in more physical pursuits, like archery or fencing, a want to burn off nervous energy as you await the arrival of any suitors. You did end up dancing with a couple of gentlemen, both of whom were…. fine… in your estimation.
After messing up yet another stitch, you throw down the embroidery hoop and emit a deep sigh when a familiar chuckle rings out behind you.
“Not your favourite pastime?” Benedict correctly guesses.
“You can say that again,” you grumble, twisting to smile at him, a little frisson in your belly at his mere presence, alone as you are.
He rounds to take a seat opposite you, across the table.
“So let me guess,” his face charmingly skewed into a thoughtful mien. “You would prefer to be doing something, hmmmm, more athletic?”
You giggle and cast your eyes downwards briefly, abashed he seems to know you so well. “Correct again.”
“I remember you being a crack shot in archery,” he smiles nostalgically before continuing with genuine curiosity. “Why did you not continue it?”
“I was informed ‘tis unbecoming for a lady,” you rue, the mental image of Mrs Parsons deeming such things ‘unladylike’ flitting through your mind.
He scoffs. “Since when did fearsome little Skylark care one jot for societal expectations?” he teases gently, with a wink, as again he invokes the nickname he bestowed upon you a long time hence.
You smile briefly before you become more sanguine. “Since I have been informed I must find a husband…” you sigh.
He frowns a touch. “Any man would be lucky to have a wife who can keep him company on the archery field. I know I, for one, would greatly appreciate a spouse with whom I could share such a pastime.”
A bittersweet twinge in your gut that one day he will indeed be married to some deserving, no doubt elegant, lady.
“I would venture that you are not like most gentlemen in that regard…”
“Perhaps not,” he agrees, looking thoughtful, “but then you are not like most ladies, Skylark.”
“I am not a lady…” your counterpoint softly-spoken, almost ashamed.
“You are more lady than any other member of the Ton,” he asserts, his gaze suddenly intense, as if he is willing you to believe his point. “And you should be free to pursue any pastime you wish.”
You say nothing, just smile wanly, wishing you could believe it was true.
—
How you constantly doubt yourself causes a little stab behind Benedict’s ribs. A sudden burning need to prove that you should do as you please. He slaps his thighs and stands up swiftly.
“In fact, I am going to go set up the archery targets right now,” he nods decisively, making a beeline for the far corner of the garden where he knows the targets are kept, hoping you will follow.
“Coming?” he calls, twisting to look back at you. “I won't tell anyone…” he adds with a conspiratorial wink, seeing from the involuntary bounce of your leg how much you wish to join in.
He cannot help the smile that engulfs his face as you jump to your feet with a mischievous giggle. Nor can he help deliberately aiming badly, letting you roundly defeat him at target practice, basking in the victorious glint in your eye as you tease him gently for losing.
He also pretends not to notice his mother watching from a high window, her expression riveted and so very telling.
—
Later that day, you are reading quietly with Eloise when Violet sweeps into the drawing room with her lady's maid.
“Y/n, Sir Denton is here to see you,” she smiles brightly.
“Oh, I…” you stutter, sitting upright, surprised.
“I can send him away, Miss?” The maid offers, intuiting your disquiet.
“No, no, it is fine… I am just surprised, that is all. ‘Tis almost 4pm. I was not expecting that anyone would be calling, given the late hour.”
Benedict suddenly materialises in the doorway. As ever, there’s that trademark flutter in your chest.
“Any reason Denton is lingering in the hallway?” he inquires airily, grabbing a teacup and pouring himself some.
“He is here for y/n,” Violet breezes as his eyes cut to you, a wave of irritation seeming to cloud his face.
“Well, we should dismiss him,” Benedict sniffs, pausing in his action, his face souring.
“Why?” Violet frowns.
“I had a chance to look into his past since I acquiesced to his dance with y/n last night…”
“Acquiesced?!” Violet scoffs, but Benedict ignores her interjection, save for a curt eyebrow raise.
“I have subsequently discovered he has vastly overstated his assets,” Benedict bristles imperiously.
“Who woke up and made you Anthony?” Eloise pipes up witheringly.
Benedict shoots her a look of irritation. “Anthony has deputised me to run family matters while he is away on business this week, sister,” he reminds pointedly.
“Yes, but you did not have to adopt his personality as well,” Eloise shoots back, disgust evident on her face.
“I take finding y/n here, a suitable match, seriously,” he volleys. “Do you wish to see your good friend married to someone unworthy of her?”
“Well, no…”
“Then kindly permit me to handle matters,” Benedict orders with finality, uncharacteristically forthright in his opinions.
“I do not wish to see her married at all…” Eloise mutters under her breath as he stalks away to dispatch Denton before anyone can argue.
You just sit there mildly dumbfounded, unsure what to make of it all.
—
The following evening, you are attending a music recital with the Bridgertons; Benedict is notably absent, which makes you a touch melancholic in a way you don’t want to dwell on.
However, the evening turns for the better while you are taking refreshments at the interval. A friendly-faced young man strikes up a conversation with you after an introduction from Violet.
“Are you enjoying the music tonight, Miss y/l/n?” he asks genially.
“It is very nice, Lord Glassborough,” you offer politely, trying to stifle your slight boredom. You enjoy music, but a two-hour concert is a little too much for you. You much prefer a short set of songs as they play at balls.
“I find it rather dull myself,” he opines quietly, leaning in. “I much prefer a lively song one may dance to.”
You know your face is a picture of surprise that his opinion is an exact mirror of your own.
“Have I offended you so?” he checks, looking mildly contrite.
“Not at all, my lord. I was actually just thinking the same myself,” you chuckle quietly.
He looks inordinately pleased and breaks into a friendly, toothy grin. He seems like a nice, agreeable sort. A pleasant, if not particularly handsome, face. Over his shoulder, you see Violet looking inordinately pleased you appear to be getting on so well.
—
“I am not sure I can do this...” you sigh as Ms West genially taps the metronome.
“You can, dear; just remember your finger placement,” she encourages as your fingers fall to the cool ivory keys.
And so you begin again. Attempting to master this tricky piece, your eyes tracing the lines of music as you play the pianoforte. Violet is so keen for you to brush up on your skills, given Lord Glassborough’s interest in you yesterday. You could not find an adequate excuse fast enough, and so here you are, in a slightly reluctant music lesson, trying your best to recall how Mrs Parsons taught you to play a few years ago.
“Men do so appreciate a lady who can entertain them with exquisite music,” Ms West nods approvingly as you play.
Mostly, you are relieved when you make it to the end with no mistakes, at least none glaringly obvious.
“I much prefer to sing…” you admit tacitly as Ms West shuffles the sheet music.
She looks at you surprised, then shoos you from the piano stool. “Sing for me then, my dear…” taking a seat and beginning the opening bars to a song that, fortunately, you know well.
You begin to sing along, growing more confident with every note, allowing yourself to get lost in the words, the story of a lady awaiting her true love.
“Exceptional!” she peals delightedly over the sound, and you feel bolstered to continue, her playing the perfect accompaniment.
—
Benedict stops short as soon as he enters the house. The most lilting, beautiful sound echoing gently down the marble hall.
“Who is that Jenkins?” he asks of the butler who takes his coat.
“I believe it is Miss y/l/n, sir.”
He draws inexorably closer, finding himself watching you through the crack in the doorway, listening to you sing a touching tale of love that sounds so hauntingly hypnotic in your mellifluous tones. Your eyes are closed, and you sway to the melody, lost in reverie, in the narrative you weave.
The piano stops abruptly.
“Can we help you, sir?” an elder lady calls crisply.
Benedict realises the door has crept open slightly before him, enough for him to be seen by your music teacher. He watches as you swing around and look horrified that you may have an audience. It makes him take a resolute step forward into the room.
“Do you need us to desist? Is it perhaps too loud?” the lady checks deferentially, likely assuming him to be the head of the household.
“No!” His reply is a touch too forceful. “Please continue,” he modifies. “I was merely drawn by the splendid sound I heard. I am not sure I have ever heard such a wondrous voice,” he adds, keeping his gaze steadfastly upon the lady, not able to look you in the eye as he confesses as such.
—
You are mortified when you realise Benedict heard you singing; you have always managed to keep it private, until now at least. But now your heart is suddenly pounding at his extolling words.
“She does indeed have a most excellent voice,” Ms West concurs with his sentiment, looking at you expectantly as Benedict walks further into the room, his face with the same hopeful expression.
“I am not sure I can…” you stumble, nervous for an audience, most especially him; his is the opinion that would matter to you the most—you would be crestfallen should he not like it.
“Sing more for me, please, Skylark?” His ask is gentle, beseeching as if it were just the two of you alone.
“Skylark?” Ms West sounds enchanted.
“My childhood nickname for Miss y/l/n,” Benedict explains as he takes a seat.
“Skylarks have a wonderful song,” she sighs wistfully.
“Indeed,” Benedict chimes, his eyes still upon you. “I never knew how appropriate it was until this very moment.”
Something warm cracks in your chest at his sweet words, making you courageous. At least enough to nod when Ms West looks to you again from the piano. And so you restart the song for your special audience, heart in your mouth. The words coming easily to you, an extra layer of meaning he will never know as you sing words of unrequited devotion, looking to him in your braver moments. His face is enrapt, leaning forward, his eyes soft and expressive.
As you reach a high note at the end of the song, holding it, Benedict bursts into applause, jumping up from his seat and taking you by surprise, grabbing your gloved hands in his.
“You should always be singing Skylark…” he pronounces. “Truly beautiful. Please promise me, no matter what happens, that you will always, always sing…”
You duck your head briefly, unsure how to deal with his effusive praise. Ms West’s face is a picture as you stand there, your hands still trapped in his, feeling a tingle where the warmth of his skin seeps through the layers to yours.
“I-I-I promise,” you reply meekly, a touch dazed as you raise your eyes again to meet his, the intensity making your lungs restrict.
“Thank you.”
Two words have never sounded so sincere or loaded with significance.
III: … And I Do.
A few days later, it is the Trowbridge Ball, a decadent affair that is usually the most talked about of the season, apparently. You share a carriage ride there with Benedict and Eloise, trying your best not to stare at him—so handsomely dressed in a white cravat and black velvet cropped jacket that clings to his tapered shape. But mostly, you fail. Your skin flushes hot the more you look at him. You could swear that his gaze strays to you, too, subtly sweeping the fine teal silk Madam Delacroix has expertly tailored for you.
“You look beautiful this evening, ladies,” he offers politely to both you and Eloise.
“What do you want?” Eloise cuts across your reply, narrowing her eyes at her older brother, instantly suspicious of his flattery.
“Can I not compliment without an ulterior motive?” he frowns, their usual sibling dynamic emerging.
“Not usually,” Eloise sniffs, with another suspicious glance, before looking out the carriage window.
You take the opportunity to mumble your thanks to him. His responding smile warms your entire being, his hazy eyes lingering in a way that makes your skin prickle. And when he offers a chivalrous hand to assist you down from the carriage, you could swear his hand lingers upon yours a few seconds longer than is necessary.
Around an hour later, as you go to partake in a refreshment, a sneering Lady Cowper utters something cruel under her breath as you pass, her sour-looking daughter smirking beside her. You do not hear all of the words, but you do not need to. One sideways glance tells you all that you need to know. It seems so unnecessarily cruel, never having even exchanged so much as a word with you, but even as you feel a lump in your throat, their attention is already elsewhere.
“Ah! Mr Briddgerton,” her entire demeanour changing to oleaginous charm, “my daughter looks particularly stunning tonight, does she not? I do believe you should secure a place upon her dance card before there are none left!”
You watch Benedict blanch at the very words.
“I do not dance, Lady Cowper, but I bid you ladies a good evening,” he responds, polite but firm.
You try your hardest not to giggle at the disdained look on their faces as he sweeps past them, and you feel light as air as, instead, he draws up to you and winks.
“That woman does not realise she is doing her daughter’s prospects more harm than good with her brashness,” he comments dryly as he grabs a glass of champagne from the stand next to you.
“I am not so sure the daughter would do much better without her; she seems perpetually furious about her own hairstyle,” you opine sardonically, making Benedict snort loudly into his champagne glass. A lightness fizzles in your being as he shoots you a look of unmistakable admiration for that remark.
“I daresay you are a much better dancer than her,” he contends, not breaking eye contact, placing aside his drink before leaning in and continuing in a hushed voice. “Perhaps you would do me the honour of a dance, Skylark, to confirm my suspicion?”
There is a vault in your chest as he employs your private nickname in public and, not only that, is offering you a dance when, just a moment ago, he declared publicly that he would not.
You can only nod, heart hammering, as he breaks out into the most handsome smile, offering you his arm and leading you to the centre of the room as you hear a ripple go through the nearby crowd. Apparently the sight of one Benedict Bridgerton taking to the dancefloor is a rare occasion indeed.
—
As he takes your gloved hand in his and curls an arm around your shoulder, he realises this was perhaps a mistake. An impromptu offer, the hollow thrill of petty revenge for the insult he observed the Cowpers sling at you. But now he realises it has rather backfired upon him.
He cares not a jot for the gossiping, people nodding and pointing to you both as you begin to dance. No, the problem is much more concerning than that.
It is how discombobulated he feels having you in his arms.
How your body seems to fit and move perfectly with his. How, when you dare to look up at him, his mouth goes a little dry. He has never truly noticed how striking your eyes are until seeing them this close. Indeed, the evident beauty of your face, the way you seem to glow from within, more tonight than ever. It makes his chest - and somewhere else on his body - feel entirely too tight.
—
Nothing could have prepared you for this.
The feeling of literally being swept off your feet. With Benedict's handsome face smiling down upon you as you seem to float around the dancefloor.
Surely, this is what dreams are made of?
You know it is a flight of fancy, but it seems as though the floor beneath your feet is a shower of diamonds rather than candlelight refracted through chandeliers. The warmth and strength of Benedict’s embrace caged around you, respectful but so close it makes your lungs feel too small to gasp the air you need to keep moving. But you never want to stop. A whirlwind of sensation as you twirl, carried away by the music, the man, the moment.
“Thank you, Benedict,” you breathe, knowing you are likely looking up at him far too adoringly but unable to mask it, a burning need for him to know how grateful you are for this dance, not even noting your over-familial use of his first name at a society event.
His eyes flash and you could swear they dilate a fraction before you must turn your back to him, following the steps.
“I was right,” he rumbles cryptically from behind you now, his large hands wrapped around yours as you hold them aloft together, following the moves of the dance. “It is indeed an honour to dance with you.”
Your belly flares as you turn in unison and realise that you are now dancing right in front of Cressida, her expression murderous. It makes you bolder than you have ever been, tilting your head sideways a fraction so your cheek almost brushes Benedict’s, fuelled by the envy you feel seething from within her.
You could swear he sighs ‘Skylark’ as his hot breath tickles your ear, your chest pounding, a flavour in the air you can taste, a powerful stirring low in your belly.
—
Benedict knows this is a dangerous path and yet is powerless to do anything but walk it. Breathing your nickname into your hair as he inhales your scent, heightened by the movement of your dancing. A light, sweet floral perfume but underneath the smell of you, familiar from many years of friendship but altered now, more decadent, an undercurrent of tart berries that thrills and stirs deep within him. Even while knowing his ever-vigilant mother is watching, an inscrutable expression upon her face.
He is almost grateful when the music ends before he does something foolish. But then you are staring up into his face, all doe-eyed expectant beauty and his tongue feels unexpectedly tied. He is almost grateful when an interrupting hand wraps around his shoulder.
—
You watch Will Mondrich whisper in Benedict’s ear, and before you know it, he is offering apologies to you with a shallow, polite bow before hurrying away. Coming back to reality with a bump, you drift awkwardly from the dance floor, feeling judgy eyes upon you, suddenly flooded with concern your behaviour was entirely too wanton.
Before your thoughts can spiral too far, however, someone materialises at your side.
“I do so hope your dance card is not full tonight, Miss y/l/n,” a newly-familiar, chipper voice cut in.
“Lord Glassborough,” you breathe; your relief at seeing his cordial face is palpable. “I am available to dance right now,” you smile politely, taking his proffered arm and letting him lead you back out to the spot you and Benedict had just vacated.
As the music begins and you move together, the difference is… noticeable. Gone is the frisson over your limbs, that excitement as if your skin could vibrate off your bones. Instead you feel comforted, almost a brotherly presence as he leads you in the dance. He is technically proficient, but it feels lacking—that tension, that heat burning in the space between you. It makes you yearn for Benedict even though he was just with you. It makes your stomach settle with a leaden weight you realise you will have to settle for less than what you truly desire.
Still distracted by your mental comparison, you absently acquiesce to his suggestion to take some air upon the terrace as the dance ends. You sense Violet, ever the vigilant chaperone, follow as he leads you into the cooler air outside.
“Miss y/l/n…,” Lord Glassborough begins cautiously. You sense a nervousness in his being, pulling your full focus to him. “I think us most compatible, would you not agree?”
“We make most excellent friends, indeed, Lord Glassborough,” you hedge, not wanting to appear overzealous.
“And friendship is the most appropriate foundation to build something more… tender,” he argues with a smile. “I do believe I could offer you a most agreeable life.”
There is a strange twinge in your chest as suddenly, you realise what this is. The moment everyone, except perhaps yourself, has been awaiting all season.
“I would be honoured if you would consent to be my wife, Miss y/l/n,” he humbly offers a sincere kindness shining in his eyes.
And there it is. An offer of marriage from a perfectly nice, respectable gentleman done in an appropriate manner.
To one side, you see Violet clutch a hand over her chest, face delighted, even as you form fists within your delicate gloves, wishing this moment were not happening so soon after a truly breathtaking dance with the man of your dreams. Who is not the same man as the one before you, nervously shuffling from foot to foot, awaiting your reply.
“I am honoured, Lord Glassborough,” you answer cautiously, bowing your head demurely. “This is a big decision to make. Please allow me time to give you my proper, considered answer?”
“Of course,” he bows chivalrously, his accommodating nature making this moment all the more bittersweet. He is indeed a lovely man.
He is just not the one you want with every fibre of your being.
—
That night, you cannot sleep. Knowing you have the most significant decision of your life to make. So, in the small hours, you find yourself drifting to the deserted kitchen of Bridgerton House to do what you do best when you need to think calmly—baking.
An activity you have grown up doing with Mrs Parsons. Many hours spent happily with flour dusting your hands, sun streaming into her grand but homely kitchen. A perhaps slightly maverick pastime for a lady of her social standing, with staff to do such things for her should she wish it, but so very enjoyable nonetheless.
Throwing a large, heavy baking apron over your nightdress and robe, you potter around, the flagstone of the basement floor cold underfoot, a grounding feeling that stops your mind from racing too much.
You have no idea how to respond to Glassborough’s proposal. On one hand, he is a seemingly nice man, certainly of a good family. You are sure he would be a perfectly acceptable husband, unlikely to be mean or untoward. It is just… a nagging voice is telling you to turn him down despite him being an imminently sensible choice, your heart wanting, well, the impossible. A man that excites you, not just a safe, practical option.
You are onto your second batch of lemon and rosemary biscuits when a voice makes you jump out of your skin.
“What on earth…?”
There in the doorway is Benedict, looking confounded to find you here. The very man who makes your heart skip, always. He is dressed the most casually you have ever seen him— also barefoot, in a white frilled shirt and dark trousers, brocade braces slung around his hips. You swear you may have to grab the bench before you to stay upright.
“Y/n! We have cooks you can call upon at any time should you need food!” he fusses, instantly concerned, moving to ring a bell on the wall.
“No! Please do not!” You exclaim, rushing to stop him, grabbing his sleeve in your haste. “I-I enjoy baking. It is relaxing; it helps me to think.”
His brow knits and his eyes flick down to your hold on his sleeve, a warm vein pulsing under your fingertips. You snatch your hand away quickly, a blush staining your cheeks, mumbling an apology as you scurry back to your biscuit-making.
“Alright,” he concedes slowly, still appearing confused. “When I saw the sconces lit from the rear stairwell, I assumed one of the staff was still down here.”
You find it bemusing that he seems at pains to justify why he might also be in the kitchen, especially to you, a guest. This is Bridgerton House, and he is a Bridgerton. He may go wherever he pleases, surely? And yet here he is, doing so.
“I was rather hoping for some hot cocoa,” he explains with that soft, crooked smile that always makes your heart flutter.
“Oh! Well, umm, I could make you some cocoa?” you look down, wiping your hands upon your apron and moving to do so.
—
That you would make such an offer, as if seeing yourself as unpaid help, spurs him into action.
“No, you certainly will not!” He decries, moving swiftly towards the larder before you can. “I am perfectly fine with some cold milk,” he assures, re-emerges with a bottle and pouring himself a glass, leaning back against the sink to take a sip.
Despite the lateness of the hour, he finds your heretofore secret pastime strangely fascinating. A lady who bakes. By choice. So he watches as you return to making your biscuit dough, entertained as you begin to beat the mixture quite furiously with a wooden spatula.
“Have those ingredients caused you some sort of personal offence….?” he jests lightly, nodding to the bowl.
He observes a flit of contrition across your face before you answer.
“I, umm, have a decision that I must make; baking helps me think,” you explain vaguely, then appear to rapidly change the subject. “I am, however, sure of one fact - some biscuits are a must to accompany milk. There is a completed batch over there.”
“Genius,” he opines with a wink, enthusiastically moving to grab one from the cooling rack you signalled to, delighting in the blush that darkens your cheeks. But he decides to push the topic you abruptly avoided. Concerned there could be a topic you are genuinely wrestling with. If his opinion on the matter can ameliorate your burdens, he would be most honoured to assist.
“What sort of decision must you make?” he inquires before temporarily losing the power of speech. There is an explosion of tart lemon and earthy herb on his tongue that melts into a buttery sweetness, utterly divine. “Lord alive, these are delicious!!!” he exclaims around the mouthful.
“Thank you,” you answer softly.
You are always so modest about your talents; it sometimes makes him want to grab your shoulders and shake you gently. To make you see what he does.
“To answer your question, it is a perplexing matter that needs serious consideration,” you explain, stopping short of detail. It appears you are not yet ready to share the news with him. Something about that makes him a touch sad, but he also does not want to pry if you are reluctant to divulge.
—
Benedict swallows the bite he has taken, and you find yourself staring at the movement of his throat as he does. Knowing one thing to be true—if it were his proposal, you would not even hesitate for a split second. That wistful thought makes you suddenly melancholic, and you sigh, pushing aside your mixing bowl, realising this may be an issue baking will not fix.
“I do so hate to see you doubt yourself, Skylark,” he offers quietly after a beat, mien so earnest. “Trust yourself. You will find the right answer for your dilemma; I am certain of it.”
He is so remarkably supportive that, ironically, you almost want to scream at him.
“I should leave you to your thoughts,” his tone is gentle, reluctant.
“Please, there is no need, Benedict,” you try to assure. “To be honest, in all of this world, yours is the company I enjoy the very most…”
That truth is out of your mouth before you can censor it.
You sheepishly glance over to be met by a surprised look on his face. He takes a few steps towards you, probably without realising it, and suddenly, he is very close, faint wisps of his woodsy, citrus cologne tickling your nose.
“And I, yours, Skylark…” he rumbles, his gaze falling to your lips.
Time seems to stop, and you feel pinned under glass, staring up into his handsome face as he breathes slightly ragged, your body rioting as he engulfs your senses, definitely too close to be considered gentlemanly, polite…
…But then, he takes a sharp inhale and steps back as if coming to his senses. He turns heel with a hastily muttered goodbye, and before you know it, he is gone. Leaving you bewildered, your thoughts scattered.
—
The following day, Benedict is idly reading the paper, partaking in a leisurely lunch of tea and cake, when his mother swans in, reeling off a set of instructions for her lady's maid.
“Oh, and lastly, do not forget, we should secure an appointment with the modiste, in case Miss y/l/n should know her answer today…” Violet concludes breezily as she takes a seat.
“Yet another ball we must suffer, mother?” Benedict drawls drily, folding down his paper and taking a hearty bite of zesty lemon drizzle.
She shoots her son an exasperated look before neatly smoothing a serviette into her lap as she is served her usual afternoon Earl Grey by the butler. “Miss y/l/n will be in need of a wedding dress, Benedict, dear.”
He spits an array of crumbs onto his newspaper, coughing in shock. “She will need what?!?” he wheezes, barely recovering.
“Lord Glassborough proposed to Miss y/l/n last night, my dear, at the ball. She has yet to give her answer, but I am certain she will. They are a fine match,” Violet declares, taking a sip of tea.
“Why did she not mention it to me?” he mutters, more to himself than anyone, his forehead creasing heavily in a frown as he swallows the rest of his mouthful.
“Why would she have?”
“We talked last night…” letting slip perhaps too much in his perplexed state, lost in his own tumbling thoughts.
“When last night? We returned from the ball very late,” a suspicious tone in his mother’s voice, belatedly releasing he should know better than to think aloud; she is sharp as a tack.
“I-I found Miss y/l/n baking last night… in the kitchen when I went for cocoa… she told me she had a dilemma she was wrestling with…” he admits, looking down at the paper, the words now a jumble before his eyes. “Mother do you think it is possible she will say yes??” Benedict's head snaps up, his heart suddenly pounding in his ears.
“She would be a fool not to,” Violet points out, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow at him. “Unless there was another, perhaps more wanted, proposal she could consider. Do you possibly know of one? Son?”
Even he can read between those lines.
“I-I am late,” he abruptly changes tack. “I promised to meet Anthony today to discuss the soil at Aubrey,” he bustles rapidly, standing and fleeing the room before he can allow his mother to see how much of a complete lie that is.
—
Benedict spends the afternoon at White’s, downing perhaps one too many whiskeys as he grills his fellow patrons upon the Glassborough family. Looking for any reason he can find to object to the betrothal while steadfastly refusing to examine why he feels so passionately about the subject. He also spends time checking the hefty tomes of Debrett’s the club holds.
He returns to Bridgerton House just as dusk settles in, the sky streaking red and pink as he enters.
“Where have you been, dear?” Violet asks as he rounds into the parlour.
“Researching,” he gruffs economically.
“What? Or rather whom?” Violet inquires, revealing she already has a firm idea of what she asks.
“I can find nothing wrong with him!”
Benedict paces, an energy emanating from his being as if he is rattled by that very fact.
“That is a good thing, is it not, son?” Violet reminds pointedly. “We want y/n married to a good gentleman…”
Benedict shoots her an exasperated look but relents. “I suppose…”
“Is not your reluctance perhaps for another reason, my dear?” Her question is gentle, if not particularly subtle.
He slumps into a wingback chair with a defeated sigh. “Go ahead. Say your piece, mother.”
“I have watched you, darling,” she begins gently, watching him tip his head back and screw his eyes shut. “I do not know exactly when, but your regard of Miss y/l/n has altered, and I am not the only one to observe it.”
Benedict's eyes fly open, and he tips his head down with a frown as his mother continues.
“Even Colin has marked a change in you. If you feel anything, my dear, then Miss y/l/n has the right to know. Before it is too late. The right to make an informed choice if you are bold enough to give her one. Son, I have only ever wanted my children’s happiness. And if your happiness lies somewhere that perhaps even you have not realised until now…. well then I encourage you to follow it. Follow your heart.”
Her impassioned speech suddenly makes the pieces of a jumbled jigsaw before his eyes arrange into a pattern, a way forward that is suddenly clear and sharply in focus.
It makes him leap to his feet, an urgency thronging in his being.
“Where is Miss y/l/n?” he almost barks.
“I do not know,” Violet confesses, “but I do know she has not yet seen or written to Lord Glassborough,” she adds.
“Good…” he rasps, headed determined out of the room to find you.
—
The verdant lush grass is cool between your toes as you curl them over, sighing heavily, the night now dark, a twinkle of silver among the navy sky, soon to be black. The swing under the big oak, a refuge you have sought many times since staying at Bridgerton House, feels a particularly poignant place to be tonight as an internal war rages within you, your decision swaying back and forth as much as the wooden seat you are perched upon, the rope digging into your cheekbone as you slump against it, flummoxed.
You know what your answer to Glassborough should be. Indeed, what it should have been from the moment he asked.
A resounding yes.
In every practical measure, this is the best possible outcome of your London season. A proposal from a thoroughly decent, acceptable gentleman, way above the station you were expecting, given your less than prestigious certainty of lineage.
And yet.
And yet.
There is a large part of you, your heart, that wants to turn down the proposal, foolhardy as that may be. Wanting to feel akin to what you felt as you danced with Benedict last night. You are not so foolish as to believe he would ever propose, but perhaps there is someone else out there for you that may evoke something similar for you? Even if only half, it would be enough. Enough for you to build a future around and feel contentment in your heart, to not just settle for what your head knows to be a sensible choice.
—
Having searched the house, he rounds into the garden and stops short, heart leaping into his throat as he spies you, swaying gently upon the swing, looking thoroughly lost in thought. It makes his chest ache that you are so melancholic about a decision that should indeed be joyous. The selfish part of him celebrating, hoping that perhaps you are not. His memory recalls with perfect clarity how you have looked as lost as he now feels every time you have been close. The unbearable lightness of hope seizes his legs and draws him inexorably closer.
—
You whip around as you sense company and have to take a deep breath as your eyes fall upon Benedict. His face pinched with a restless intensity.
“I was hoping I would find you,” he exhales.
“You have,” you shrug, still confused by his crackling energy, him seeming in a rush to say something.
“Skylark, you deserve the very best of everything. Sincerely. And part of that includes that you should know the truth in the hearts of those lucky enough to know you…” a slight quake in his voice as he takes a step closer.
“Alright…” you respond cautiously, your brow creasing as you sense the nerves emanating from him.
You gasp as he rapidly drops to one knee before you, a hand clutched to his chest.
“I have been a fool to not see it before now. My own ardent admiration for you, for your talents, for your beauty. I realise now, perhaps too late, that you are truly the most wondrous, precious being in this world. You may not always see it, but it would be my greatest honour to show you, every day, if you will permit me, what I see when I look upon you. What I have always seen if I am honest with myself. A light that shines brighter than any other, a bird that soars higher and sings more sweetly than any other. A soul that it would be a privilege to be bound to. I know it is perhaps the worst possible timing, seeing as you already have a proposal from a perfectly acceptable gentleman. Still, I could not let you get married without letting you know the contents of my heart.”
You are stunned. Speechless.
Your heart pounds in your ribcage as you sit there stupified for what must be an age, Benedict looking upon you expectantly, breath slightly ragged from his long speech. Somehow, convincing yourself this could only be a dream. That the man you have adored since before you can remember has just made the most beautiful poetic confession of love you have ever heard. And it’s to you.
So, you do the only logical thing that comes to mind. Pinch your own leg. Hard.
—
Benedict is momentarily confounded at your actions.
“Owwww!” you yelp. “Not dreaming then…” is your muttered follow-up, rubbing your own knee as his face morphs into the most enormous grin, a lightning bolt of joy tearing through him as he realises what you are doing, that you can scarcely believe this is happening any more than he can.
“It is really me, Skylark,” he chuckles softly, seeing the way your eyes dilate rapidly as he can't help the lopsided grin that claims his face, a warmth behind his ribs that is just for you.
“I realise that now,” you sass back, and there is a stirring in his trousers at the tone you employ.
“I love you.”
It's a reflex; he doesn't even realise he says it. But as soon as it's out of his mouth, it's like an invisible burden has been lifted from his entire being. The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.
—
You know your face is aflame as you snap back at him, entirely without meaning to, but then he says three little words that tilt your whole world even more.
“I-I-I love you too.”
You are bewildered when you say it aloud.
The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.
“Marry me? Please. My darling, wonderful friend,” he implores, his bare hands grabbing yours, tingles shooting over you as your skin touches his.
“Yes!! I will!!!” you answer breathlessly, not even a second of hesitation.
He leans in and captures your lips with his. They are warm and soft as they move gently with yours. And when he opens your mouth with his and his tongue rolls delicately over yours, it feels as if all the fireworks you have seen in the sky live now inside you, popping and exploding in a riot of colour. A whole new world of sensual pleasure is promised in that one move.
“Are you certain?” you murmur as you break apart for air, a flash of insecurity that this is happening so fast, even as there is a strong pull inside, a want to keep kissing him over and over.
He smiles, tilting his forehead to yours, a wistful look in his blue eyes.
“To know you, truly know you, is to love you, Skylark,” he sighs, his words a blanket settling over your quaking heart. “And I do. I truly do.”
Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @notanotheruniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies
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im gonna start a fight; and, at the same time, i need you to take this in the most good-faith way possible, but:
videos that involve body-checking and intentionally (and uncritically) show a mealplan of an unhealthy number of calories are just a revamped version of pro-ana food diaries.
and yeah, i know there's arguments. i address some of them under the cut. but at the end of the day, we're just coming back to romanticizing mental illness; we've just found a better platform for it.
this is already something we've done. we knew it was wrong and tried to stop it. and tbh. it just wasn't enough.
there are people who argue "well, what if you have an eating disorder, you can't help it if you don't eat!" except that as someone with an ED; we are not infants. we know what we're doing. part of having an ED is that you are like, maybe too self-aware. even if we can't help our own food choices, we don't need to fucking romanticize the disorder - something we've been warning you about since 2013. there are hours of setup, filming, and editing that go into these videos. they do not happen to fall into place randomly. there is a reason they are pieced together to be beautiful, bright, inspiring.
there's this woman who pretty much only posts daily plans under a normal amount of calories, and everyone defends her saying but it's better than nothing! and i'm like. except she opens those with images of her showing off her body and provides no context in the video or caption that suggests that she believes what she's doing is unhealthy. she has hundreds of thousands of followers on a platform designed for young kids and teens. i refuse to believe that by accident her content just happens to be cheery advice on "healthy" versions of starving.
for any other symptom of mental illness, we would be incredibly enraged by this kind of placid acceptance of a "tips and tricks" fast-start guide. imagine if people posted pink & pretty videos saying "best places to cut yourself" as if it was a fucking storytime. we, as a society, are so fucking fatphobic that we would rather accept blatantly harmful displays of self harm than admit that we are obsessed with a hyper-thin body type.
i am not suggesting someone never talks about their disorder. i talk about mine. actually, it's a plot point in my book.
here's the difference: i recognize it's a fucking mental illness. i am very careful to never mention a specific weight, eating pattern, or calorie plan. i always make sure to position it as something that ruined my fucking life. i do not put cheery music in the background and hearts and sparkles over my worst moments. i do not film it in bright light. i do not start each passage with an image of a thin body followed by "here's how to look like her."
eating disorders should not be framed as aspirational. and the problem is that society worships the "after" image, so long as you don't get too sick. there is a reason so many people who quit being "influencers" will later admit - i wasn't eating well that whole time; an obsession with food was completely destroying my life.
we let any uncredited, uncertified person write the most backwards, fucked up shit about how to get the body you desire! because the underlying, secret belief is: well, at least they're thin! and the real thing that fucking gets me each time - they make fucking money off of it. their irresponsibility and societal harm literally pays off for them.
"why do you care so much." "don't like it don't look." "so what if people experiment with new ways of thinking of food?"
thank you for asking. we're about to get extremely personal. it's because when i was 18 i discovered "thinspiration"/"thinspo." and it absolutely influenced, shaped, and codified my pre-existing eating disorder. i went from having some troubling habits and traits to being incredibly unwell within what felt like a matter of days. there were actual pages designed to train me on how to have an ED correctly. it was all so suddenly easy. i was sick; and the nature of the illness meant - i wanted to be sicker.
it takes an average of 7 years for a person to fully recover. i know this personally - even now, 10 years from the worst of it, i still fucking struggle. i am so much happier now and i eat what i want and i literally don't think about food at all (19 year old me would shudder) and yet - i still fucking know the calories of plain toast with butter.
an eating disorder is one of the deadliest types of mental illness. over 1 in 4 people with an ED will attempt suicide.
and i'm sorry. i just do not see the exchange rate of "high rate of engagement" versus "the value of a human life."
#and there's something else in there about like ....#tbh once i got over something like 1k followers#i stopped being specific about my ED for a REASON.#yes on ur personal locked blog that u use like a diary go ahead etc#but we are OBVIOUSLY not talking about that. we're talking about the sheer NUMBER of people i could be talking about#in that one paragraph. that you and i probably were thinking about 2 different influencers#bc they get to say that they're just posting FITNESS and if it's FITNESS it's OKAY and im like#jesus christ lord almighty#every person in recovery from an ED: this is incredibly dangerous holy shit do you know how much this would have triggered me#each of these ppl: how dare you!!!!!!!!! i am only harming those who WANT to engage with my content!!!!!#their followers: leave them alone !!! they can't help that they make an hours-long choice to frame their disorder as if it was#fucking cottagecore !!!!#like girlie this person needs THERAPY#again! i didn't even have that large of a following before i IMMEDIATELY deleted any specific mention of calories food etc#bc i recognize responsibility and i didnt EVER want to even ACCIDENTALLY encourage this#and im not even GETTING PAID FOR THIS!!!#aND THEY ARE!!!#something something something they know this content makes them money#they don't give a SHIT about u babe
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SkyWing tribe sheet!
my computer always fucks up colors in export for some reason and its really obvious with these guys :( i promise they're more saturated my computer just sucks
anyway i really liked doing these guys, skywings are fun and i think they have a lot of potential. enjoy!
Physical Appearance + Traits:
-SkyWings, as their name suggests, are dragons made for the wind and sky. They are better fliers than any other tribe, with enormous wings and several birdlike features. Some can fly for more than a day without landing, and even when they aren’t flying they make their homes at the peaks of mountains, with the entire world beneath them.
-They are quite large, taller than any other tribe, with long necks, long tails, and regal figures. They don’t have any obviously deadly weapons, but they have no clear weaknesses either; they are generally successful dragons.
-Their coloration consists of almost entirely warm colors, specifically red and orange. Yellows and golds are sometimes seen too, and more uncommonly, purples and browns. Their colors are bold and striking; they are one of the few Pyrrhian tribes that has no need for camouflage.
-Young dragonets are hatched with a coating of feathers, particularly on their wings, necks and tails. Most dragons simply shed their feathers as they grow; some, though, carry a few into adulthood, usually lining their wings or making a thin ruff around their necks. These feathers are often even brighter than their scales.
-SkyWing horns are a mark of pride, and they continue to grow for as long as they live, meaning some of the oldest SkyWings have horns that resemble enormous and heavy antlers. Sometimes their horns are decorated with wires strung with jewels.
-SkyWing fire is the hottest and most powerful fire any tribe can produce. At its hottest it scorches through bone, and it can be used with accuracy from a long distance. It is their main weapon in combat, and quite a devastating one if their opponents don’t know how to properly fight it. They also use it for a number of other things, though. (More on this in the “society and culture” section.)
-Their wings are stronger than those of most tribes, allowing them to temporarily use them for balance rather than their front legs. This lets them hold and work on things more easily. (This headcanon belongs to @sidyashchiy-na-plakhe!! i saw your post and really liked it, hope you dont mind me adopting it)
-Not dissimilar to SandWings, they have darker streaks near their eyes to help with the glare of the sun when they’re flying, often facing the horizon directly.
Life Cycle:
-SkyWings are hatched in clutches between one and five, although four and five are a bit less common than one through three. SkyWing parents are not involved much with their dragonets. By tradition, they lay eggs in nests high in the mountain peaks, and return occasionally with food once they hatch. The rare unlucky SkyWing newborn may be snatched up by a large bird, but they’re big enough that it isn’t usually an issue. They are also hatched with disproportionately massive wings, big enough to make the fall less likely to be lethal if they fall before they learn to fly.
-Once the dragonets are large enough, though, or once they get hungry enough to search for their own food, they will leave the nest, often simply jumping out and letting the wind carry them, learning to properly fly quite quickly. Once parents notice that the nest is empty, they simply stop bringing food. They will never know who their dragonets are, but SkyWing superstition says all dragonets will eventually make their way to the kingdom, where they will be made a part of the tribe. And, truthfully, they almost always do.
-This practice, which some tribes find strange or even barbaric, is seen by Skywings as an important part of their life and tradition. Each of them took the same journey, and so did the generation before them, so they have faith that it will continue to work out well. It’s in their nature to leave their nest and find the kingdom, and it doesn’t result in enough casualties for them to try to halt the tradition. The only dragons this practice does not apply to is the royal family, for the sake of tracking bloodlines.
-By the time they are entered into the wider kingdom, dragonets usually know how to hunt and avoid danger, so all tribe life offers them is the ability to meet other dragons and find work. There isn’t much of an education system in place, with the exception of mentorships for some careers, such as metalworking, and military training. If they take part in work for the kingdom, they’ll have societal benefits and a secure place in the tribe, and most end up in that position eventually. But there are always a few SkyWings who simply live on the outskirts, uninterested in the larger tribe.
-They don’t form many close relationships, being fairly solitary dragons as soon as they leave their siblings. They do not very often form genuine romantic relationships, but marriage is fairly common simply as a formality or political maneuver. Royals in particular almost always get married, though they don’t usually form natural bonds with their spouses. The only responsibilities parents have is bringing food to their nest until the dragonets abandon it.
Culture and Society:
-SkyWings are proud and solitary; these things combined have given them a reputation of being rude, aloof and uncharismatic. They are powerful fighters and fliers, but their strength is not in diplomacy. Their kingdom norms, though, which allow every dragon to simply utilize for the tribe whatever talents they may have, at their own leisure and for whatever profit might be available to them, suits them well and has made for an uncomplicated but successful society. (This is excluding a few periods such as the reign of Queen Scarlet, who reshaped the tribe into something more dictatorial.)
-They are generally quite matriarchal; every tribe has a queen, but SkyWings tend to have a more overall unbalanced system. Females are a bit larger than males and are usually in higher positions of command.
-Fire is extremely important to SkyWing culture - it produces light, warmth, and without it they would be much less deadly in combat. It has its place in almost every tradition and is used in almost every career path.
-They are the most superstitious tribe in some ways, their lives dictated heavily by tradition and spirituality. The way dragonets are raised is one example; there are countless others, including funeral rites that involve burning, gladiator fights performed for glory, a general belief of night marking bad luck, and others.
-Continuing on this note, SkyWings - though most would never admit it aloud - are almost universally afraid of the dark. The caves and caverns in which they live are always warm and well-lit, via torches lit by their own fire, and they are almost exclusively out by day. They worship the sun and daytime, believing it to chase away the shadows in its glory. NightWings, for similar reasons, tend to be unnerving to them.
-And to elaborate on gladiator fights: The arena near the palace was originally constructed for SkyWings to prove their prowess by fighting other SkyWings and completing various challenges. During these fights they would wear a special set of ceremonial armor, which they could then keep if they succeeded. (Scarlet, of course, transformed this arena into a convenient way to execute prisoners, and later Queen Ruby reinvented it completely by erecting a hospital where it had once stood.)
-In general, SkyWings are one of the only tribes to wear armor, and the only tribe that has used it for entire armies during war. A particular emphasis is placed on wing armor that allows for comfortable flight while still protecting the wing membranes, as a flightless SkyWing is considered as good as dead by its tribe.
-Jewelry almost always involves precious stones, particularly rubies, diamonds and citrine. It’s very common to have these jewels embedded in scales; some royals have done this with such excess that they appear to have crystals growing out of them.
Diet: Carnivorous. They eat birds, mountain goats, deer, and occasionally fish, rodents or whatever else they can catch. Sometimes raw, sometimes scorched. They don’t typically make full and elaborate meals like other tribes; the only common seasoning they use is salt. Other than the rare use of herbs for flavoring, they eat no plants at all.
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Study Buddy (1)
Michael Gavey x reader
Summary: when study partners are assigned, Michael - much to the envy of the boys in their class (and the girls) - is given (y/n) as his partner, but he might be the only one in the class who didn't want it.
Warnings: swearing like once, some sexual references at the end
Word count: 1.1K
A/N: hey hotties, sorry this one is short, I'm hoping to do a few parts so if you have any ideas or comments let me know :p
ʚ♡ɞ “NOW, I WANT to encourage you all to socialise a little more," Professor Wickes announces in his gruff voice, clearing his throat and pushing his glasses back up his aquiline nose, sighing as he rests his aging palms against the top of his monogamy desk, "as, well... you could all use it."
The class of introverted - for lack of a better word - maths nerds stare back at him, scowling a little at his words, but not protesting.
"Besides, your next exam is worth a fair amount, so I want to make sure you're all sharp." He continues, sitting down in his seat with a sigh,
"We've allocated you all a..." he looks down at the paper in his hand and sighs, closing his eyes and pinches the bridge of his nose. He looks up at the other man in the room, Professor Müller - an overly enthusiastic, young, recent graduate who had become head of something or other involved in initiatives to improve this or that. "You seriously want me to call it that?" Professor Wickes asks, looking at Professor Müller, who nods with enthusiasm. Professor Wickes sighs and mumbles something under his breath before continuing, A study buddy... we've allocated you all a... study buddy."
The students all glance around the room, their eyes landing on (y/n) - mostly the boys - with suppressed giddy grins and shy waves, eyes running up and down her. She scowls a little and scoffs, sliding further into her seat a little, arms folded over her chest as she tries to cover it a little, noticing one boy - Thomas Roland - staring at them.
Your tutorial groups will now also be a little different, they will be with just you and your study partner - only until the exam." Professor Wilkes explains, putting down a sheet of paper on his desk, "come and look then."
The students, notably the boys, practically shoot out of their seats, rushing to read it. After a few seconds, they turn with scowls. Their eyes all fix on a figure sat at the table in the back corner of the room, head down, hand writing furiously against his notebook. At the feeling of their stares, he lifts his head, adjusting his glasses.
“What?" Asks Michael.
Their eyes then trail to (y/n), sat in her seat, phone out, laughing to herself at something someone said, twirling a strand of her hair, crossing and uncrossing her legs to adjust her leather skirt and tights. She, too, feels their stares and looks up.
"What?"
"Are you free this afternoon?" (Y/n) asks, trailing behind Michael, who is walking quickly through the corridors of Magdalen College.
"No."
“This evening?" She continues, having to run a little to catch up, the heels of her leather boots clicking against the stone floors as she does.
"No.”
She sighs, "tomorrow?"
"No."
"When then?"
She sighs and speeds up so she's stood in front of him, stopping him from walking. He sighs and rolls his eyes, his grip tightening on his textbook that's clutched to his chest.
"Why don't you want to study with me? Do you not like me or something?" (Y/n) asks, a confused furrowing of her brows adorning her face, "I mean... sorry if I, like, give a bad vibe or something.”
He scoffs at her words and rolls his eyes again.
"See!" She says at his scoff and eye rolling, "you have a problem with me."
“I don't have a problem with you, I have a problem with... your kind." Michael replies.
"My... kind?" An amused smile and raised eyebrows form on her face, "please tell me you aren't one of those guys who are always like 'ugh society... nice guys.... females..’”
Michael blushes, "No. But 'female’ is the correct ter-"
"Oh, my God, please stop before I gag." (Y/n) replies with a grimace, "let's not.”
He rolls his eyes and tries to walk past her. (Y/n) sighs and holds her hands up, "Come on, it's just a couple of study sessions. We don't even have to talk, just a chill vi-" she's about to say vibe, but feels his incoming scoff, "atmosphere."
He sighs.
"Look, an hour, tops. She says, "besides." she pauses a moment, her eyes looking up as she seemingly finds the courage to continue, "I could.. I could actually use some study help.”
“..."
Michael's eyebrow raises a little, "you?"
"Yes."
"Need help?"
"Yep."
"From... me?"
"No, that random guy there. She says sarcastically, pointing to some passing student who looks at her and back steps, thinking she was calling him over, "no-sorry, no, I.. she apologises to the student and sighs, "just... nothing." The student looks at her weirdly before continuing on his way down the corridor.
"Just... please?" She asks, turning back to Michael.
He's silent a moment. He's considering it.
"I work alone."
She closes her eyes and takes a breath, "please?" (Y/n) thinks to herself and then continues, "I’ll give you something in return. I could pay you? Like a tutor?"
"I don't need money"
"You're a student of course you need money.”
"I don't want money."
She groans, "Well I'm not going to fuck you."
Michael's eyes widen and he blushes deeply, flustered, "Well... I don't want you to."
"What do you want then?"
He thinks again. He could ask for... no, that's too shallow. Too stupid. It would go against everything he stands for, it would compromise his values and his inte-
"Get me invited to a party."
She raises a brow at the request. But she nods.
"Okay, deal"
Michael kicks himself internally, pissed at himself for asking for such a shallow thing - but he also can't ignore the little spark of excitement that flickers in his tummy too. He composes himself and nods, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose.
"I'm... I'm free now, if you want to get it over with." Michael suggests.
"I thought you were busy?" (Y/n) asks with a grin.
“...shut up."
They start to walk. She laughs and links her arm with his, "lead the way.”
He quickly moves away, pushing her arm off and hugging his textbook tighter, "don't touch me."
“Why? Worried you'll get hard?"
He blushes deeply and scoffs, turning his head and stepping further away from her. But he doesn't reply.
He blushes deeply and scoffs, turning his head and stepping further away from her. But he doesn't reply.
"Oh, my God, you are such a virgin!"
"Shut up." ʚ♡ɞ
#saltburn#saltburn fanfiction#michael gavey#michael gavey x reader#michael gavey fanfic#michael gavey x you#x reader#fanfiction#ewan mitchell#ewan mitchell x reader
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It’s one in the morning let’s talk Six of Crows analysis - it feels like it’s been ages since I did any analysis, which is like the entire point of this account so sorry about that but here we go: We should talk more about Adem Bajan you guys okay because first of all he effectively comes to represent the vast majority of everyday people in a clear juxtaposition to both Inej and Van Eck, but he also is in a position of far less choice than I think we give him credit for.
As a reminder, Bajan is a young Suli boy (presumably somewhere around 19 but we have no confirmation of that) working in the Van Eck household teaching Alys music. He is highly implied to be having or to have interest in having as affair with Alys, and was Van Eck’s chosen jailer for Inej at the beginning of Crooked Kingdom. Van Eck claims he made this choice because he thought “a Suli boy would be most conspicuous” when he was attempting to lure Kaz into a trap to save Inej, but it was also an inarguably smart decision in that, as Inej even comments herself, Bajan was easy to talk to, made her feel nostalgic, homesick, and alone, and very nearly succeeded in drawing information out of her without having to restore to torture. If anything, resorting to torture was Van Eck’s major mistake at this point but that’s really a conversation for another time. Bajan is a really interesting character because he doesn’t want to hurt Inej and specifically encourages her to tell him things so Van Eck won’t escalate things further, but when Van Eck does escalate things Bajan is unable - or possibly unwilling - to stop him. For this Inej calls him a monster, and when he claims he did nothing replies “no, you’re the man who stands idly by congratulating himself whilst the monster eats its fill”. She draws a Suli phrase on him that effectively means he’ll be rejected by the community forever and his spirit/soul won’t be accepted, and she describes it as the worst fate or something along those lines sorry I can’t remember exactly. But what’s the most interesting thing is that even though he claims not to believe in any of it Bajan gets noticeably upset by this and says “that’s not fair”. Inej is surprised that he’s this soft, and there’s a very clear juxtaposition between the lives they have lived.
BUT - let’s look at this from Bajan’s perspective. And remember - this is important - Bajan is not described as an employee of Van Eck’s, but an indenture. An indenture. So Bajan is a young boy indentured in a foreign country to a man as high up in the country’s government as you can get and who has clearly been illustrated to the reader as a terrible person on several different levels that I won’t dissect in too much detail right now. He appears to have acclimatised himself to Kerch surroundings and acts with elevation above his status, because that’s what he has to do to survive in the upper echelon of a deeply classist society that actively diminishes and disapproves of his culture. (<<if anyone wants references for that let me know and also I’ve written about it quite a bit before so that’s kicking around on my page somewhere) He refuses to speak to Inej in Suli because “it makes me maudlin” and my question to you is: is he rejecting the language to further attempt to fit in and as a product of internalised prejudice, or because it’s so incredibly painful to be half-connected to a culture not only that he has forced himself to reject but also that he feels he can never safely return to? Probably both. He tells Inej he doesn’t believe in Suli superstition, religion, or culture, and yet is deeply upset when she uses it against him. Is this because he actually does believe, or wants to believe, in the Saints and the Suli interpretation of them but has rejected them for survival and the supposed betterment of himself? Possibly.
Bajan strikes me as very similar to Jesper in the way he presents himself as free, flirty, and casual, but had a considerable weight to almost everything he says and considerable pain hidden closer to the surface than he may have realised. I think there are parallels between him and Inej if we want to see them, but also a very stark difference in the way Kerch and Ketterdam have treated them. Bajan may not be privileged but even as an indenture he has - or at least as far as we know has had - a far safer and kinder experience than Inej has. This could be related to gender since the hyper-sexualisation of Suli culture is mostly centred on women - “the Menagerie always stocked a Suli girl” (I’ve intensely analysis this quote before so I won’t now but ugh there’s so much to say) - but we do know there are young boys captive at the pleasure houses as well although less commonly and it’s also possible that this difference is linked to Bajan’s decision to turn his back on Suli culture in order to appeal more to Kerch society whilst Inej continually embraced her culture and arguably became more religious in response to her experiences.
This is complicated because I’m not entirely sure how I feel about Bajan. I understand and support Inej’s perspective and everything she saw whilst in a far more dangerous position that he was, but is it possible that this was a lonely boy who saw someone he thought was like him and tried to communicate with her the only way he thought was safe? You are completely isolated in a foreign culture and hate yourself for having suppressed your own upbringing in order to survive, but now you meet someone else who yes, is in more danger than you, but who you might be able to help so that she can help you in return. You aren’t safe to speak freely and so you subtly tell her that you are an indenture, hoping she acknowledges that none of this is of your free will and because you know that she was indentured too (and remember from a societal pov there is very little understanding of what indentured girls at the pleasure houses actually go through and although that doesn’t excuse ignoring Inej’s trauma it may explain why he doesn’t fully acknowledge that their positions aren’t equal), you tell her that speaking your own shared language makes you feel maudlin, hoping she realises that you desperately miss your homeland and using your language makes you feel even further from your family than you already are because you can’t share it with them. She doesn’t seem to be taking any of it in, your employer has every intention of hurting her and you don’t know what else to do, so you make a last plea: you ask her about home. You think you’ve already made it clear that speaking about home is painful, so you ask her about it to invite that pain, to share it, so you both understand. But it fails, because she only sees your employer puppeteering you. You openly beg her to tell him the truth so that he won’t hurt her but she refuses to comply, and after all of your efforts and your desperate attempts to connect and beg her to help you both go home, her response is to turn your home against you and banish you from it for eternity. So when you see her the next morning, how could you possibly look her in the eye?
Bajan did not make all of the right choices in his brief time on the page. He didn’t. But maybe he was trying really hard, and he had no other options left.
Anyway I’m not saying this is definitive one way or the other it’s just an interpretation but I find him a very interesting and very sad character and I although I support all of Inej’s actions in these scenes from her point of view I do find myself wondering how she appeared to Bajan and how he felt in the aftermath.
#I’m at it again with the hyper analysis of minor characters#I’m so tired and I may have made mistakes in this or misremembered stuff or something idk but sorry if I did#grishaverse#six of crows#crooked kingdom#leigh bardugo#inej ghafa#kaz brekker#jesper fahey#nina zenik#wylan van eck#matthias helvar#adem bajan#bajan#kanej#Wesper#helnik#six of crows meta#six of crows analysis#crooked kingdom meta#crooked kingdom analysis#grishaverse analysis#soc analyst#soc analysis#save shadow and bone#save six of crows#Soc#soc inej
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In the poly post you said that ithaqua is as close as it get to a yandere may I ask why you think that ? Or any headcanons related to that if that's okay with you (sorry if the English is bad )
As luck would have it, Ithaqua is one of the few Hunters I think I have a decent grasp on rn so I was also able to crank this out quickly! (To my other request-ees: I'm working on HC requests for several other characters rn! I should have them ready to spam-post sometime this weekend <3)
So here's some general and sfw relationship hcs for Ithaqua ;)
-A first small note, his exact age is not listed, but he’s described as a “young adult,” so I imagine him to be somewhere between 18-22.
-Ithaqua is a man who has entirely rejected society. He wants nothing more to do with it, with anyone, and any instance of breaching his territory is met with wind-swift punishment.
-It all fits when you consider the major events of his life. He was abandoned in a snowstorm, left for dead, because he was thought to be a devil. He was saved and raised by a “witch,” a kind woman who stood outside of society’s norms and was feared and hated for it. Their solitary home was trespassed on in the night, defiled, and his mother was kidnapped, tortured, and broken by a man with his exact face. Every small bit of comfort he ever had was destroyed by a mirror image of himself that was raised in “civilized” society. If that doesn’t cement the idea that people from that world can’t be given a chance, I don’t know what would.
-And I think on some level he questions the reality of it all. Did he do it? Did he destroy his own life? Was his so-called brother actually a copy of himself? Was Nathaniel supposed to be the better or the worse version? Was he himself evil before…or is he evil now? None of it matters in the long run, though. His only remaining goal in life is to defend his home and his mother’s resting place from interlopers. But he does get this distant, sour expression sometimes when he contemplates these things.
-I think he’s close to an as-is yandere because, if we assume he’s still capable of bonding with someone on a genuine level, that person would be a one true exception to his otherwise all-consuming distrust and hatred for society. He could not be “led to water”, so to speak, even by a partner who exemplified everything good left in the world. He’s just not capable of making that leap anymore.
-So again, he’s territorial, and that would 1000% extend to a partner. He’s not a master and you’re not his pet, but god would he try to keep you in his clutches. Use every sweet word and convincing anecdote in his arsenal to convince you to stay in the forest. The thing that keeps him from being all-out controlling is that his mother let him make his decisions for himself. She taught him how to survive in the wilderness, and she taught him about the rest of society, and she let him decide for himself if he ever wanted to get involved in it. He didn’t of course, because how could a place that shunned his mother be good for him? You deserve to make those choices too, even if he disagrees with what you pick.
-He will, however, watch you like a hawk. To not sugarcoat it, he’ll stalk you. Ithaqua wants to be prepared for the moment everything goes wrong. The moment he knows for certain will come, when you see he’s right about other people. When that happens, he’ll swoop in to save you. He refuses to be late again, like he was for his mother.
-He doesn’t leave the forest unattended often, but when you spend longer stints at your home in a village, you’ll notice the weather gradually becoming worse and worse. It seems to snow every day, and the wind is so harsh that walking outside is deafening and blinding. When you return to visit Ithaqua, the village mysteriously returns to its normal weather patterns.
-Ithaqua hates when other people interact with you. No one is no one is safe enough, trustworthy enough for him to not worry for your safety. They don’t deserve to even stand near you. But he won’t do anything until they do…or you say he can.
-Anyone he takes as a partner would have to remind him of his mother, at least a little. She’s the only example he has of a “good person” so he’s not likely to give people with divergent personality types much of a chance. He’s also more likely to trust a woman over a man, by a small margin.
-He won’t stand for being doted on or babied by anyone other than his mother or partner. he won't fall for other people's faux-gentleness! Don’t you know who he is? What he is? Call him cute or pitiful again and your blood will stain the snow red.
-His lips are always chapped to hell and back, sorry. Sharp kisses only for you.
#idv x reader#identity v x reader#idv night watch#ithaqua x reader#idv ithaqua#turbulentscraw#almost yandere...
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A speech by The Duchess of Edinburgh at the Community Sport and Recreation Awards, at Headingley Stadium, Leeds, ahead of The Duke of Edinburgh’s 60th birthday:
First may I say how wonderful it is to be here with so many people who are doing so much to change lives through grassroots sport. There have been some remarkable stories that have been honoured today and a particular congratulations to Fulham Reach Boat Club for being recognised as Community Club of the Year.
If I may, I beg your indulgence for a few minutes, as I wanted to also take this opportunity to recognise another great milestone and share a small tribute to my darling husband as he celebrates his 60th Birthday, this Sunday.
Now I know from the many years of marriage we have chalked up, 25 years in June to be precise, he will be horrified at seeing me up here speaking about him in public. Without looking at him, I am guessing he will now be sitting back with slightly narrowed eyes, possibly with his arms folded, or one arm stretched out across the table and to all intents and purposes looking identical to his father when I made speeches about him.
I twice spoke about The late Duke of Edinburgh in his presence, on both occasions feeling like I was about to launch myself out of an airplane without a parachute, but holding on to the vague hope of a soft landing. You have to appreciate that my father-in-law never liked anyone to pay him compliments, believing that it was the organisations he supported that were important, not him.
However, the fact that I wasn't in the doghouse after either of the speeches reassured me that I hadn't at least committed any major faux pas and I was therefore able to stand the getaway cars down.
So, like then and with my husband of the same opinion as my father-in-law, and with fresh fully fuelled cars at the ready here goes – as I give you more of an insight of the man to whom I am so proud to be married.
Edward is probably best known for his support of the youth organisation the DofE, founded by his father which takes much of his time as he chairs committees, writes strategies as he helps to guide and shape the current activities and future of the charity in the UK and across the world. He challenges those who lead it, encourages others who work within it or support it, and loves meeting and chatting with those who benefit from it. You can only guess the number of hours he devotes to this, the most inspiring of youth charities.
Beyond the DofE, he passionately supports an array of other charities and organisations, each of which he takes as seriously. Whether it be focussing on the sporting endeavours from athletes around the Commonwealth both able and disabled; encouraging organisations offering opportunities for people to gain access to sport and activities such as the fantastic work of the Sport and Recreation Alliance, which we are celebrating today; working throughout the arts with young talented musicians, or seasoned professionals who enrich our society, or visiting and encouraging the wonderful Central Caribbean Marine Institute which does so much to protect and enhance our unseen and vital underwater world. The list is long and a reflection of just some of his interests.
I encourage you to take a walk through his CV of affiliations and marvel at the breadth of them, each doing their part to make our world a better place and to understand that he is not just a name on a piece of paper, but that he commits of himself to them all and cares deeply for each of them.
He takes undoubted pride in his military affiliations too. Not only do I think that he wears a uniform extremely well, he takes an enormous interest in their vital work and loves nothing better than to go offline and spend happy hours talking one-to-one with those who do so much to serve our country.
He has been my guide and shown me the way over the years. He has given me much help and advice (not always taken I admit), and his knowledge and instincts that have been honed over decades of service are invaluable - so we share speech notes (not this one, sorry darling!), chat through issues our patronages may be tackling, and together I think we make quite a good team.
Like an iceberg, what is seen above the water or in public is only a small proportion of what goes on behind the scenes. What is never seen or can ever be quantified is the effort spent on ensuring good governance for his patronages, encouraging people to support worthwhile causes, chairing committees, meeting chief executives and think tanks, writing papers, speeches, forewords, introductions, the list goes on.
But whatever he is doing he gives 150% of himself, and if all else fails he gives any energy he has left out to our exhausted dogs or laying waste to the garden. Like my father-in-law, my husband never seeks compliments for himself. So when acknowledgment has come his way it has always been a total surprise to him, which is why I am grateful for this chance to, for once, be able to publicly celebrate and compliment him.
He was so happy and humbled when Her Majesty Queen Elizabeth made him a Knight of The Garter in 2006 and was equally delighted and moved the day His Majesty The King – who we are both incredibly proud to support – made him Duke of Edinburgh. Both he deserves in equal measure and I am so proud of the man he is.
He is the best of fathers, the most loving of husbands and still is my best friend.
So here's to you my darling Edward and may I along with all your family and so many friends and many others wish you the Happiest of Birthdays!
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Against the World SO17 - Prologue
Pairings: Shohei Ohtani x Reader
Summary: Y/n and Shohei's journey started in high school. A place where the both of them found themselves thrusted into the spotlight without warning.
Word count: 2.8k
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Her friends told her that their relationship work was because how busy they are.
It’s because the both of them are really successful in their own respectful field. That the both of them are both really dedicated to their own craft and realized that time and effort is essential to keep improving themselves. That both love their works so much, making them both really busy and in the end-
Their relationship works because of that.
They met in high school.
Y/n likes to think that it’s fate, their meeting that is.
L/n Y/n was born from a Japanese mother and an American father. She doesn’t know much of her dad, considering he left her mom when he realized she was pregnant with his child. Y/n doesn’t really care. It’s not hard to forget a man that had never been in your life to begin with.
The same thing couldn’t be said to her mother.
After all, the woman had been heartbroken. She had given her heart, her young adult years, her dedication, for a man that decided that she’s not worth it. She had given him everything, only to be left with a child that he doesn’t want.
Maybe that’s the start of her resentment towards the man that had never been there. To see the woman that had raised and loved her staring longingly at the only picture that she has of the man. To see the woman closed her heart tightly. Never letting anyone to enter anymore.
To see the woman who had been so strong to raised her as a single mother in the midst of the Japanese society that had never looked her situation favorably.
Born and raised in Iwate, Japan, Y/n thought that she will grew up in this small city forever. She never really has an ambitious or big dreams to chase. From the start, she’s content with her life. A loving mother, a comfortable house, and friends to play with.
That is, until she was scouted as an idol during her first year of middle school.
If she must be honest, she had never really had an interest to become an idol. Nor had she put much thought when she said yes to the guy that scout her. It was a spur of a moment thing, where Y/n doesn’t really have much going on about her life.
The idol industry in Japan started young after all. Much younger than any other idol industries all around the world. She figured there’s no harm in trying and if in the end she doesn’t really like it, she can just quit considering that she still have her whole life before her.
She really didn’t expect the world of glitz and glamour. The kind of world that she’s not familiar with where she’s nothing more than an object to be idolized by someone. Where she has to put up a smile 24/7 on her face as she dance and sing in front of a crowd of people that really should be doing something better than obsessing a 13 year old girl.
Though alas, Y/n fell in love with the stage.
The bright light, the light that shone upon her, and the screams of adoring fans. The way her voice resonated across the air as she captured every pair of eyes, all of them focusing on her. All of them, putting all their attention to her.
For a girl that always craved love and validation all her life – an absentee father and a mother that is too busy - It really doesn’t take her long before she starts to love all of those. To start loving that aspect of being an idol and her life.
The stage is her first love. It’s something that will never fail to bring out a smile across her face. Something, that she could see doing years onwards.
But of course, life is not that perfect. What with her debuting under a small company amidst the already packed idol scene in Japan, it doesn’t take long for the company to put her into a hiatus. A hiatus is the fancy term, considering the company is basically trying to find an investor that’s crazy enough to invest their money on the not famous idol Y/n .
And well, no one wants to.
Her latest album sales are less than 1000. The same thing could be said to her most recent fan meeting where almost no one showed up. Her company too realized the failing potential of her idol career, that’s why they’re putting her in the so-called hiatus.
Her dorm room was taken too, considering how tight money is. Not wanting her to live on the company practice room or even the streets, Y/n was sent home back to Iwate.
Compared to Tokyo, Iwate is a quiet town. It’s the town where she was born and spent her childhood in and yet, it feels almost unfamiliar. She’s not used to the dark streets without the colorful billboards and various advertisements. She’s not used to the mountain scenery without any tall building disrupting her sight.
She’s not used to this.
This uncertain future of hers. These signs that keep on showing. Showing her that it's time for her to give up on her hopeless dream. That there's no way she can succeed as a celebrity and capture the heart of many.
"I don't want to go to school," she had said to her mother, finger playing with the food in front of her. "So many people knows that I left Iwate for Tokyo to become an idol... if I went back now people will laugh at me."
"And what?" asked her mother, voice a bit firm. "Leave your education?"
Y/n went quiet at that.
She knows that her already doomed future will become more doomed if she choose to leave her higher education without a good reason. A university graduate could hardly get a decent job after all. What can a high school drop out do?
"You finish your school," said her mother again. "Finish high school at least. We can talk about university later."
The start of her high school life is bleaker than ever.
Her earliest memory is of her and her mother watching a baseball game late at night.
She remembered being excited, considering for the first time ever her mother had let her to stay up way passed her bedtime. Her mother had told her earlier, with a pretty and yet secretive smile, that she has something to show her.
Y/n is excited. Practically bouncing at her feet as she stared at the bright television screen in front of her. There’s a baseball game in front of her. Of the cheering crowds and the colors of the teams splattered across the screen.
“Y/n-chan,” breathed out her mother, also entranced as her arm wrapped around the younger’s smaller girl. “Baby, look,” she said as she pointed towards one of the man who was walking to the field, bat in hand. “That’s your dad.”
Dad, is a foreign concept for the young girl.
She had never met her dad before, and yet, her mother had told her countless of stories about the man. Y/n practically knows almost nothing about the man and yet at the same time, she knows everything to know about regarding the man.
The man on the screen has a small frown on his face as he went into his batting position. His mother let out an entranced gasp as the crowd started to grow wild when the pitcher too, went on about his pitching motion. And without further ado, the crowd went absolutely wild when the man hit off a homerun almost immediatelt.
“Oh my god!” yelled the older woman, practically hugging Y/n. “Oh my god!”
Y/n blinked. “What’s going on?” asked the girl, turning her head towards the older woman. “Is it a good thing?”
“It is baby!” exclaimed the woman as she smothered plenty of kisses on y/n’s face. “Your father had just won the world series!”
That was the first time she ever heard about the world series and her early introduction to baseball. At first, she was excited. After all, who won’t be after discovering that your father is a world famous baseball player? That your father is just someone so cool?
And then she realized why she never see her father.
Y/n was nine when she watched an interview that her father did. An interview that he did with his family. His family that’s not y/n and her mom.
She watched as the little girl around her age sat on her father’s lap, smiling widely with a pretty dress that y/n wished she could own. She watched as the woman besides her father laughed, hand looped around the man arm as the woman who’s definitely not her mom gave her father a small peck on his cheek.
She watched this picture perfect little family laughed and joke inside her screen.
It made her felt a bit empty. She had asked her mother countless of time why they never sees her father. Something that the older woman had never answered directly. It was always a “we’ll see him soon,” or “he’s a really busy man.”
Well, now she knows why she never sees her dad.
Her relationship with baseball grows a bit complicated at that.
To be precise, she really doesn’t have any personal vendetta towards the sport. Though, being reminded about your absent father every time she see the sport is an unpleasant feeling. To know that your father doesn’t care about you or your mom every time she sees someone playing baseball is something that she hates.
Growing up trying to avoid baseball in a country like Japan is a hard thing. Baseball is a national sport here so encountering the sport on a daily basis is not something uncommon.
Y/n hates it. She hates the fact that her father made her hates baseball. She hates the fact that her father cheats on his own wife. She hates the fact that her father doesn’t care about her or her mom. She hates the fact that baseball reminds her of her useless existence. That y/n is an unwanted child born out of wedlock.
She hates it so so much.
Though, as she stared at her new high school, she started to question many things.
“Why did I choose this school…” she muttered as she saw the large banner being displayed in front of the school building. A banner that’s congratulating the school baseball team on entering Koshien.
Turns out, her new high school, the Hanamaki Higashi High School, is a school famous for their baseball team.
Y/n really does have a rotten luck.
"Didn't you go to Tokyo to become famous?" asked the girl in front of her.
Y/n let out an awkward laugh. "I'm on a hiatus," she said. "I want to pursue my education first before continuing my career," continue the girl, lying boldly.
The girl laughed at that. "Well it's great to have you back!" she said. "Can't believe we have a celebrity on our midst!"
Said girl let out an awkward laugh at that. The opening ceremony had just began and there's countless of eyes on her. She should've been used to this, all the prodding and curious stare that's being directed towards her way.
And yet, she can't help but hate the feeling.
She could almost feel all the judging look and the raised eyebrow. She doesn't know how many of them would belief her lie of deciding to pursue her education over her career but she hates it nonetheless.
Y/n wants to hide.
She first met him as they were assigned to sit together.
Before then, she had known who Shohei Ohtani is, considering his hulking height. The teen had stood out like a sore thumb during the new student orientation, towering every single student. Ema, who is considered tall in a Japanese standard, had to crane her head up to see his face.
Besides that, Y/n too, had heard the whispers about him.
Apparently, Ohtani-san is a really good baseball player. Like, really good. During his middle school days, it seems that he had set some kind of record that made many famous baseballs school wants to recruit him. The reason why Ohtani-san chose their school? Who knows. All they know is that the baseball club head coach had jumped in joy when he realized the potential that Ohtani-san has. While of course their school too boast an amazing baseball program, it can’t be compared to those from a big city like Tokyo or Hokkaido.
All in all, Y/n impression on his is that Ohtani-san is a really quiet guy.
While Ema is all about cheerful greetings and wide smile, Ohtani-san is all about prolonged silence and deep gaze. If the both of them are colors, Y/n would be a bright yellow while Ohtani-san will be a drab grey. Not too bright, and yet, he’s not that closed off from those around him.
Admittedly, they didn’t talk much. Y/n had tried to talk to him, several times in fact, but the answer had always been short and clipped. During class too, he had only ever passively followed along the lesson. Never tried to answer an open question or be the one to come in front to answer a problem.
The only time she had ever see him alive is when he’s playing baseball.
When the bell rings, Ohtani-san would be brightened considerably as he almost immediately shot past the door with his bag. Once, she had asked one of the baseball club members about it.
“He’s always been the first one on the field,” answer one of them. “And the last one to leave.”
Y/n hummed at that answer.
She had thought their relationship will always be like that. The amicable seatmates that don’t really talk much with each other but didn’t bother each other as well. That is, until the next seat rotation at the end of the semester.
“Oh,” said Y/n, arriving at her designated seat. “Ohtani-san, we’re together again,” she said with a smile.
Ohtani-san looked up from his phone screen before he’s scrambling to hide it from her point of view. He looked a bit embarrassed at that. “L/n-san,” he answered after managing to gather his bearings for a bit. “Yes, um…”
He trailed off at that, seemingly unsure on what to response. Y/n doesn’t really mind as she took her seat. The girl gave the male a polite smile before she reached out for her bag, taking a fashion magazine that she had brought today.
There’s a casting for this clothing brand model… Maybe Y/n could try that?
“-San,”
Or maybe should she audition as a voice actor? But she thinks it will be hard to transition back to a singer if she does that.
“-n-san,”
She really doesn’t want to give up her dream to become a celebrity though. Should she try online auditions? Like in South Korea or-
“L/n-san,” called out Ohtani-san, catching her attention. They had been sitting silently for almost 10 minutes at this point, waiting for the morning bell to ring. Y/n never thought that the baseball player will strike up a conversation with her.
“Hm?” she answered with a smile on her face, a bit distracted, looking away from the magazine in front of her. “What’s up?”
He looks hesitant at first, opening and closing his mouth afterwards before he thrusted his phone towards her. It’s a recording of a baseball game.
“I… I was watching a game last night,” he started before pressing the video to play. In it, someone is doing the first pitch. “I was wondering if this was… really you?”
She stared at the phone screen in front of her. Dark eyes staring at the girl who’s doing the ceremonial first pitch with her long dark hair half hidden with the team’s cap.
It’s her. Y/n knows it’s her.
After all, that instance had been one of the highest peaks of her career. One of the baseball teams, the tigers, had asked her to throw the first pitch on one of their home games. Truthfully, considering her popularity, the only reason that she had gotten that gig was because the general manager of the team is her company’s ceo cousin. Back then, when it was her that’s going to throw the first pitch, no one knows who Suzuki Y/n was.
The cheers were minimal, but Y/n doesn’t really care. After all, it’s an honor for her to do that.
No matter how her feeling is towards baseball – or, like, MLB – baseball is, the number one sport in Japan. For a failed celebrity like Y/n, to be able to throw the first pitch in one of the first-class team league in Japan is a sign of success.
Considering how much of a baseball geek Ohtani-san is, she really should’ve expected him to realize her job.
Answering him, she let out a large grin. “Yeah, it’s me,” she answered, leaning forward towards the desk. “Really cool right?”
Ohtani-san flushed before he nodded his head. “… Yeah,” he let out. “I didn’t know you’re… famous.”
“Not many knows that” she let out a chuckle. “I’m a bit of a failed idol, you know.”
The other teen furrowed his brows. “That can’t be it,” he said, tilting his head. “You did the first pitch for the Tigers.”
“Eh, it’s all about nepotism, Ohtani-san.”
He still doesn’t look unconvinced.
“… I searched for your videos,” said the baseball player after a while. “Last night, to make sure that it’s really you.”
Y/n raised an eyebrow at that. “You did?”
Ohtani-san nodded his head. “Yeah,” he let out before showing his phone screen towards her. It was one of her music video. The most recent one actually. “And, um… you were amazing. I really thought that you’re a famous star when I watched you perform.”
That- that warms here. Unexpectedly.
"You do?" she asked.
"Yes," replied the male without missing a beat. "I thought that it's amazing that you can perform like that despite so many eyes staring at you! I- um, I'm a nervous person naturally... so I really won't know what I should do if I were on your position."
She had heard people praises her performance many times. That if only she didn’t debut under such a small company, she would’ve been a star in the industry. Usually, she would’ve responded those praises with her automatic smile. Thanking them for the praise before humbling herself down.
Usually, such praise won’t make her heart skipped a beat.
Maybe it’s the sincere look on his eyes, or how he sounds as If he’s utterly convinced at that statement. She doesn’t really know. All she knows that simple praise opens up the gate of friendship between the two of them.
“Thank you,” she said, letting out a huge smile. “That really means a lot.”
Ohtani-san let out a smile at that too.
"Though, don't you have many people watching your baseball games?" asked the girl.
The male's cheeks warmed a bit at that. "Uh- um... if it's during games I would be too focused at the game itself so I won't notice anything besides it."
"I see," said the female. “So, who’s your favorite player at the tigers cause I got a lot of autographs from them-“
After that, Ohtani-san became Ohtani-kun. And Ohtani-kun, became simply Shohei.
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I really want a Sense and Sensibility adaption where the characters look their ages. Their ages are such INTEGRAL parts of their characters.
Elinor looking like she's in her late twenties completely removes the context of the responsibility she takes on. This is not someone who has seen a lot of life and is the one sensible adult in the room. This is a girl who is the age of a college freshman who regularly has to exercise more practicality and sensibility than her middle aged mother. This girl is nineteen, and she takes on navigating heartbreak and dealing with a much reduced income and supporting her sister and putting on a dignified face for society all at once, only like a year after her dad dies.
Marianne being sixteen is important to her character! She's not a twenty something who is perseveringly vivacious and energetic, she's a dumbass teenager who is loud and sensitive with her feelings and has ridiculously romantic opinions because she's too young to know any better. Marianne is like those young high school girls always posting about their boyfriends and making fun of slightly older people and then being completely knocked out of the park by heartbreak. Her age justifies much of her character - she is affectionate and loyal, but she also has silly opinions like thinking anyone who doesn't wear their heart on their sleeve doesn't have a heart at all. And that is okay, because she is sixteen and she will grow and learn.
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Hiii! If it's ok, can I request general headcannons for a platonic yandere steve rogers? Thank you!
Hi! Thanks for sending this in!
Warnings: Yandere themes, hardcore manipulation from Steve
When Steve becomes platonically obsessed with someone, he will automatically take up the mantle of their older brother or father if you're young enough.
And I can definitely see him being more likely to do this with some feral ass child he met somewhere.
Like, if you display the slightest bit of rage at the world or are considered a delinquent or "bad kid", Steve will immediately try to take on a mentor role and try to steer you in a better direction.
Because he was that kid. He was the one always fighting people and ended up getting beat up in alleyways. And he had Bucky to help him and make sure he wasn't left in those alleyways.
But who do you have? Parents? Siblings? Nah, you got Steve now. The golden boy Captain America who now sees himself in you.
And he'll be very very protective. He absolutely does not joke around when it comes to your safety.
I don't think he'd immediately try to kidnap you. I think he'd prefer to have a normal relationship with you for the most part. He'll be far more overbearing than any normal person would be, but you never see the worst of it unless you intentionally provoke him.
Such as going out of your way to get yourself hurt or running away, in which you will be promptly locked away and have restricted access to the outside world and other people.
But other than that, you can go to school and/or work and have friends. An unfortunate thing is that Steve does end up butting into every aspect of your life.
He likes to know all of your teachers' names or bosses' names to run background checks on them and make sure you are truly safe with them and that they treat you well.
Steve will also end up meeting your boss behind your back to use his status as a well-known superhero to get you a pay raise and promotion. Same with your teachers and getting you good grades.
He will end up meeting all of your friends, too, and getting the names of their parents to make sure they're all decent and upstanding members of society.
When you end up calling someone your friend and trusting them, Steve just wants to make sure they don't stab you in the back. The first sign he gets that they can't be trusted around you, he will end up framing them for something.
Sometimes, he frames them for some crime, and their reputation gets ruined. Other times, Steve just ruins their reputation in your eyes.
He particularly likes the second option when you have a crush on someone.
Steve hates the idea of you dating. He barely tolerates your friends, so why would he allow someone to get romantically involved with you. That much access to your heart is dangerous. They could so easily break it and leave you devastated.
So he figured he could fix two problems at once. If he ends up not liking a friend and you have a crush at the same time, he'll just set up a bunch of coincidences that make it seem like your friend is intentionally going after the person you like.
And Steve will make sure you ditch both of them. Even if it hurts you now, it will help you avoid more pain in the future.
If you couldn't tell, Steve's a big manipulator. He likes to keep up a pristine image for you. He wants to be a good role model for you so that you aren't afraid of him.
But he still won't hesitate to get his hands dirty if he has to.
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The villains dying is the worst ending
If shigaraki, toga or Dabi die, that would be the worst outcome for everyone who matters in bnha.
And if the heroes win this final war and achieve everything they want, that will only then lead to the "bad ending" where nobody actually gets what they want.
Anything the hero kids are trying to protect and achieve isn't going to exist without the villains.
Specifically their villains.
So far, out of everyone, ochako is at the top when it comes to success in dealing with her villain.
Stopping Toga's threat and getting toga to see that her efforts were genuine in trying to help someone all of society had rejected.
Wanting to understand why toga was a villain and wanting to talk further with her after everything.
But then toga had to save ochako, and if toga does die (though unlikely considering what she and other characters have survived already) then ochako's arc, and any future that had any impact, is over.
Because ochako isn't going to make anything better for people like Toga, for those who have quirks that aren't easy to live with.
(The only logical next/endgame step for ochako's character-
-with the current state of their society's infrastructure, there's no way ochako's parents/construction jobs will be hurting for business and therefore money-
-and aside from deku (in his reckless nature and self-sacrificing personality), the heroes really aren't the ones who ever needed saving.)
Ochako doesn't know enough about what Toga went through yet, and there's no one else who could reliably tell her everything from the perspective of someone born with a quirk that's rejected by their society, what exactly led to toga becoming a villain and what it was like.
Toga's perspective and presence is the only way that ochako's own presence would be more effective.
Because she was barely able to convince the civilians to let deku into the heroes' own shelter, literally begging them to have some compassion for the young hero who's fought for them all this time.
And it only worked with the support of others deku had directly saved. (Kota and the heteromorph woman)
She can advocate for how things should be, use another megaphone and talk about what changes need to be made, but if that's it, just talking and asking, then nothing will happen.
It's the same problem with deku for the same reasons.
The civilians/government don't want to do what would be necessary to make sure more villains like the Lov aren't made and Deku doesn't have any real power to make them.
Or rather he doesn't have the willingness to force what needs to be done.
All-might made change to their society, making it more peaceful (and more apathetic), but that was only because it benefited those in power.
The government wanting to maintain control and order, and the civilians who were absolved of any responsibility to help others in need and abandon anyone who has "villainous" traits.
All-might intentionally gave people exactly what they wanted and unintentionally gave them permission to take the easy way out.
So just because deku or ochako are powerful heroes, that does not mean that they can influence the system/people or government.
If the hero kids commit to saving the villains and changing things, given everything we've seen of the civilians and government so far, there's no reason to think that they'll will go along with any of it.
Because it is the harder path and risks them losing their control and oblivious peace/permission to be their apathetic selves.
Same for shoto too.
Dabi's main beef with heroes is centered around endeavor but that doesn't mean he's wrong about everything else.
The heroes aren't held to a standard or accountable for anything.
They'll say they have to set an example and publicly apologize when things go bad (only if they're found out), but there are never any real consequences to be pointed to from within the system itself, much less any safeguards.
There's nothing stopping another future Endeavor from trying to make another "masterpiece" and thus creating another Dabi.
Shoto is currently still more focused on improving himself and being a hero/helping his family.
Which isn't a bad thing at all.
There's just no "bigger picture" or "this needs to be fixed" view from him yet, despite this aspect of hero society being a big part of his origin.
The civilians and the higher ups in hero society (as well as most all of the pro heroes) don't want anything to change, they all only want their "normal" back, the same state of things that created the core villains in the first place.
So the goals of: helping those with difficult quirks before they become villains, making sure the government helps with that and doesn't start assassinating people again, no more hero rankings/no more emphasis on being better then your peers-
-and overall change for the better can't be done by the hero kids alone.
But their villains, being alive and there in their lives, fixes all of that.
Toga, shigaraki and dabi would inform and push ochako, deku and shoto in the direction they need to go in to make a difference, and give them the force they wouldn't have on their own to ensure it happens.
If ochako (through toga) knows what needs to be done and asks the civilians again to show basic human decency to those who they previously rejected/abandoned and the civilians inevitably (because it's the more difficult path) say: "Yeah...no."
Toga (backed the Lov) would then respond: "Bet?"
If deku really commits to shredding the Rug of hero society and the government has a problem with that, and says no to what Deku tells them needs to happen, as a hero he can't really force them to do anything.
Unless shigaraki comes in behind him saying: "Work with him or deal with me again..."
(Lady nagant could, in theory, fill this roll, but she's not as powerful or untouchable as shigaraki, so the threat is lessened.
Not to mention it wouldn't be as narratively strong.)
If necessary, life or death-future in the balance, change doesn't happen willingly, then it needs to be forced.
As for shoto, he did say that there were still arguments that he wanted to have with his brother, so maybe that will set him on the way to pushing to make sure another endeavor can't get away with any quirk marriages and stop another touya from becoming Dabi.
And if this doesn't happen and heroes/hero kids get their ideal ending, the kind seen in endeavor's vision where everyone is all cool and successful pro heroes with the villains out of the picture?
Then nothing in bnha will have mattered and they're all still going to lose everything anyway.
Not right away but sooner rather than later, hero society's flaws (which again won't be fixed by the hero kids alone) will create another group of villains just like the Lov, putting everything back to square one.
Then after that: Quirk singularity doomsday.
The last plot thread that the heroes definitely can't beat, they won't even acknowledge it as a threat or as truth.
Even through some heroes have seen evidence of it's truth, like at the Provisional Hero License Course where they clearly saw that children were being born with more powerful quirks than before.
The villains know the quirk singularity is real and only the villain side, however evil or immoral they are, accepts this threat and has the knowledge to counter it.
(Through their own power and the doctor.)
Compared to the hero side who has none and no one who would work with them to even attempt to deal with the quirk singularity.
And no, Eri is not a solution to the quirk singularity, they would literally have to sacrifice her body like overhaul did to mass produce anything, and even then it wouldn't be enough for the entire world.
Same with the "AFO and OFA destroys all quirks theory", since the quirks only work through direct physical contact, how would that even be feasible for all of humanity??
Final flaw in this:
It's true that this presently isn't what the Lov want (definitely shigaraki and Dabi don't) but it's been shown, through toga and ochako at least, that the possibility for change is there, it's just that both parties have to make concessions and put in the effort-
-and obviously all involved need to survive.
Because the only way that there's going to be any kind of good ending in bnha is with the core villains being alive and with the heroes.
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I just thought up this request I don’t know if ur requests are still open but I can wait if they aren’t (no pressure!) k so my idea is Miguel Ohara x reader where the reader has powers similar to klaus from the umbrella academy they can talk to the dead and when they first see Miguel they just know he’s lost someone and he’s still grieving and later on they comfort him over it, maybe Gabrielle’s spirit shows up and gives him the closure he needs
Thank you so much Anon for being my ever first request! I made sure to make it my best writing ever! Enjoy!
Our Little Secret
(Miguel O'Hara X Ghost Seeing! Spider-Person Reader)
Quick Background: Reader can see the dead; they can see and talk to them, but they do it in private in case other people think they are going crazy. Reader can also have the ability to let ghosts possess them if they require their assistance.
Word Count: 2.5k
Disclaimer: I do not own Marvel or any of its characters!
Warnings: A bit of sad stuff, ghost, comfort in the end! (H/N) means hero name. Use of (Y/N), Ghost Briella
Spanish Translation (Since there is a lot and I want you to understand the short story, so it goes up top for this post)
1. Lo siento: I'm Sorry
2. Gracias: Thank you
3. Qué? ¿Cómo conseguiste eso: What? How did you get that?
4. Nunca: Never
5. Tú? Puedes ver a los muertos: You? You can see the dead?
6. Suficiente!: Enough!
7. Mi sol: My Sun
8. Mi mundo: My world
9. Yo también te quiero: I love you too
10. Mi sol, lo siento mucho por ser la razón por la que no puedes cruzar: My Sun, I am very sorry that I am the reason you can't cross over.
11. Prometo que cambiaré, y seguiré tu consejo, sé que debe dolerte verme solo. Además, creo que encontré a alguien que podrá hacer lo que me pedistes: I promise I will change, and I will follow your advice, I know it must be painful for you to see me alone. Besides, I think I have found someone who can do what you asked me of.
12. Ve a la luz, Mi Sol: Go to the light, my sun.
13. Muchas gracias: Thank you so much.
14. Muy bien, es un trato: Alright, it's a deal.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
You walked around the Spider Society Headquarters following Jess, a woman you met not long ago. You try to concentrate on what she was saying only to be distracted by the number of ghosts lingering around the base. “So many dead uncles. And relatives” You whisper before paying attention back to Jess. “What was that?” She turns around. “Nothing! I just said there are a lot of Spider people, it’s amazing.” Chuckling nervously, you continue to follow her. She stopped to talk to a couple of young Spiderlings. You patiently waited and tried to ignore the ghost calling for you.
“Can you see me?”
“Can you help me please!”
You tried to shut them out, controlling your breathing but their pleads for help only made your heart ache. You wish you could help them all out but there is only one you and so many ghosts still stuck in the world. Those who need help to pass over to the light, but you knew better. It would be impossible to help all the ghosts. Sometimes this power of yours, is a curse but you push those negative thoughts away. “You alright?” Jess placed a hand on your shoulder. Finally, the voices of help were gone. Nodding, you smile at her “Yeah. So, when do I get to meet the big boss?” You fixed your mask a bit, patiently waiting for her response. “Speaking of that, I was just informed Miguel’s back, so follow me.” She guides you down the hall. You followed, still spotting a few ghosts lingering around the halls. You did your best to look past them but, in the end, they always know. Your eyes glanced over to the door, you could tell right away that room was filled with sadness, devastation, overall, you know behind that door someone was grieving a loss.
Once the doors opened, your eyes scanned around the room. Whenever someone is grieving, there is always a ghost attached to them. Any negative emotions bring either good or bad ghosts. After scanning the room, you find nothing and focus on the tall and muscular man which you presume was the leader of this whole function. Seeing he was the only person in the room, you knew he was the vessel of all this negative emotion. Once he turned to look at you, you were right on the nail. You could tell right away he’s grieving a loss of someone dear to him. Composing yourself you smiled at him “(Y/N), also known as (H/N)” You introduced yourself before watching a figure turn around the corner quickly making something fall down. You quickly webbed the item before it fell and broke. “Woah, nice reflexes there.” You looked up to see a small woman appear in front of you. “Um? Thanks” you say looking back where the figure has run off. “Lyla, I didn’t call for you.” Miguel glances at his AI. “Ahh Come one, I just wanted to meet the new recruit.” She then appears on your shoulder taking a selfie with you. “This one is for the memories!” She then disappears. You only stood there trying to take in everything that was happening at once. "Lo siento* Lyla is my AI, and she can be a bit…much” Miguel mutters before grabbing the item from you placing it on his desk. “I um…it’s alright. I’ll get used to it eventually.” You look past him trying to see if you can see the figure again before giving up seeing nothing. Looking at him, all you can see is a man who lost something or rather someone. “I wanted to thank you for letting me in the team…I didn't know there were so many spider people out there…I don’t feel alone…mostly.” You say to him, knowing no one else in the spider society can see ghosts like you. Unless they haven’t found them, it’s only you so far. “More threats are coming so it’s important to expand the Spider society.” Miguel walked around you. “I’ve been monitoring your fighting ability and I have to say I’m impressed. We need more people on the team like you.” ‘Wait? Did he just say monitoring me?!’ You thought before thanking him. “Thanks, it’s years of practice of being a spider hero.” You looked over to his screen seeing him watching each Spider person's missions. ‘Does he know I see ghosts if he’s been watching me?’
After the brief introduction with your boss, you walked around the empty hall to head to the cafeteria before stopping to see a small head poking before they let out a childish gasp hiding back. Looking around, you quickly walk over “no no!” You whisper, “It’s okay, I won’t hurt you.” You looked around the halls before hearing a small voice behind you.
“You can see me?”
Turning around you are met with a young girl, kneeling down, you smile at her nodding. “Yup I can see you...and you were that troublemaker who knocked the item off.” You gently poke her nose only for your finger to go through her. She still giggled before nodding, “It was an accident” She whispers. “It’s fine, I know young ghosts like you have a hard time using your little ghost powers” You assure her before looking around making sure no one else was walking by. “I heard there is a lounge room near here, think you can guide me so we can talk more?” You smile as she nodded quickly, guiding you to the room. Once you made it, you peaked in seeing it empty and walked in. “Okay, let’s start with this, my name is (Y/N)” You sat on the sofa and looked at her. “My name is Gabriella, but you can call me Briella, it was what my Papa always calls me” She sat next to you, but her body hovered over the couch. “That’s my next question, is your father, Miguel?” When Briella heard his name her eyes showed admiration, nodding quickly. “Yes! He’s the best and I know he’s trying his best.” She puts her hands up showing how much he was the best. You smiled at her love for Miguel, “Perhaps…that's what prevented you from moving forward…ever thought of crossing over?” You didn’t want to pressure her into crossing over, every ghost was different, some cross over right away and others take their time. Briella thought for a moment, “Yes…but I haven’t seen the light.” She looked at you with her eyes tearing up. Panicking you tried to rub her back but once again your hand went through. “No no, it’s okay, it just means there is something or rather someone preventing you, your father” You explained to the young girl. “Want my help?” You asked as she nodded her head quickly.
“Okay, this is what we need to do.”
It’s been a week and finally, you were going to set the plan. You were slowly getting the hang of ignoring the ghosts in the HQ. You would have your private conversations with Briella in the lounge room. Becoming friends with the girl, you felt bad for her. She feels so alone here with the rest of the ghosts not minding her as they were busy trying to find a way to cross. She was ecstatic to call you a friend. Sitting on a table at the cafeteria, you spotted Jess carrying a heavy pile of folders. “This is our chance, meet me at your father's office” You whisper out to Briella before getting up. “Here let me help Jess” You quickly took the folders from her. “Is this going out to Miguel? I can take them; you need some rest after all.” You assure her. Jess chuckles “I owe you one, my back is killing me!” She chuckles before sitting down. “Be careful, it’s pretty heavy” She calls out as you walk out of the cafeteria. “You don’t say” You grunt at the weight leaning slightly to the right before fixing yourself.
You walked through the door to Miguel’s office. “I have folders for you!” You called out to him seeing him working up on the platform. You pant heavily once you set them down on a desk. “How can she be so strong?” You mutter referring to Jess. She didn’t seem to have trouble holding these files. “Gracias*, leave them there.” He doesn’t bother turning around. You look over to Briella who nodded her head. ‘Alright, we’re both ready’ you think before sitting on the desk next to the folders. “I have a question” You called out. “And?” He kept working on the screens. “How much do you know about me? Seeing you’ve been watching and all.” This got his attention, he stopped and turned around glancing down at you from his platform. “What? Why do you ask?” He jumps down landing in front of you. You kept standing there, “Well, I was reading these” You pulled out a file with your name. “ Qué? ¿Cómo conseguiste eso*?” He tries to take it from you, but you pull it away in time. “A little friend help me” You smile under your mask hearing Briella giggle. Miguel only rubbed the bridge of his nose, “Hobie” He mutters. You shake your head, “No but there is one detail you missed about me, a power you forgot to add.” You opened the file reading it. “Reading this makes me look too normal like any other spider person…I wish I was like that.” You mutter thinking back to all the ghosts' pleas of help you had to ignore. “I never miss anything, Nunca*” He watches you reading your file before caging you in grabbing the file from you. You let out a gasp before composing yourself, thank God for the mask covering your face. “Well, I can see the dead” You mutter looking at him. “Tú? Puedes ver a los muertos*” He lets out a sigh, “I don’t have time to play games” He looks at you, frowning. “It’s the truth…” You slip under him trying to keep it safe for Briella eyes, but you have to admit, she has a good-looking dad but right now you had better things to do then eye her father up and down. “Your daughter, Gabriella, is here with us.” You watched him as he stayed silent and next thing you know; you were slammed to the wall. “suficiente*!” He yelled as his hand pushed your shoulder roughly into the wall. You grunt letting him, he has years of grief pent up, you give him the pass for today only. You watched as Gabriella gasp panicking and appears next to you whispering something to you.
“You don’t know anything! She’s long gone!” He yells pushing you more into the wall. You only look up to him “Mi sol*” You whisper out in pain. He stops “What was that?” He pulls his hand away from your shoulder. “You would call her Mi Sol when in reality she’s your world but calling her Mi mundo* was odd for her, so you stuck with Mi Sol” You looked over seeing him shocked. Miguel backed away before looking around “Mi Sol?” He calls out in the open. “She’s behind you” You walked away from the wall and stood next to Briella. “She’s standing next to me; she reaches around my waist” You called out her height. Miguel looked at your waist then moved his head over. Gabriella smiles seeing her father was looking at her, well though her since she wasn’t visible to him. “Briella would you like to?” You asked her but she shakes her head. “What?” Miguel looks at you. “I asked if she wanted to possess my body so she can speak with you, but it seems she doesn’t want to. So, I’ll be the interpreter” You smile at him.
You and Miguel sat on the ground as Briella converse with her father through you. “Tell him I love him so much!” She smiles. You chuckle and look at Miguel, “She says she loves you so much.” Miguel looks so much better to you; he was smiling for once ever since you met him. His smile was contagious, it even made you smile for no reason. “Yo también te quiero*” He looks at the empty spot near you. “Oh! Tell him to be happy, that soon I will be crossing over. When I do, I want him to find someone who loves him as much as I do! Someone who will look after him for me…like you.” You quickly turned to her “ W-What?” You looked away before translating to Miguel, “She says to be happy, that soon when she crosses over, she wants you to find someone who loves you as much as she does...someone who will look over you while she’s gone.” You repeat leaving out the last part making Briella cross her arms pouting. You let out a quiet chuckle watching her reaction. Miguel looks over at the empty spot again, “Mi sol, lo siento mucho por ser la razón por la que no puedes cruzar.*” He begins as Gabriella looks at him carefully, paying attention. “Prometo que cambiaré, y seguiré tu consejo, sé que debe dolerte verme solo. Además, creo que encontré a alguien que podrá hacer lo que me pedistes*.” He says while looking at you. You were busy looking around the office to give them their space till they needed you again for translation.
You look over seeing a light, “Briella…it’s time” You smile walking over to them. “Is it the light?” Miguel gets up looking at you. You nodded, “It’s time for her to cross.” Miguel took a deep breath in and looked over at the direction you were looking, “Ve a la luz, Mi Sol*” He whispers. Gabriella walked over to it, stopping in front of it. “Tell him I love him, and I will miss him...also thank you (Y/N)” She smiles before going in. You watched as the light disappeared, “She said she loves you and that she’s going to miss you.” You look over to him only to feel his arms around you. “Thank you…Muchas gracias*” he whispers into your shoulder. You felt his tears staining your suit, you rubbed his back. “It's no problem.” You whisper back. Pulling back, it quickly wipes his tears before looking down at you, “This needs to stay between us” He steps back a bit. You smile “I was about to say the same, keep that ghost power out of the files for me…I don’t need all the spider people asking me if I can see their dead uncle or something” She sighs. Miguel lets out a deep chuckle. It felt nice seeing him happy, hearing his chuckle and seeing that handsome smile. “Muy bien, es un trato.” He pulls his hand out, you grab it shaking it.
“It’s our Little Secret.”
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Author Notes: Thank you so much Anon! I hope this was something you were thinking of! Sorry if it's a little long to all of you. Remember to check out the poll I have going on! It's a 100 follower Special. Also...THANK YOU EVERYONE! I have reached the 100 Follower goal on this day (07/07/23). Remember to stay hydrated and to keep on simping (Simp City Population: 110 💕) Thank you for the likes and reblogs! Please reblog so others can be aware of my works! ILY 💕
#miguel ohara x reader#miguel o'hara#miguel ohara fic#across the spiderverse fic#miguel o'hara x y/n#miguel ohara x fem!reader#request#answered asks
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Who are your top 5 (or top 3) favorite characters from JJK? And why you loved them? And your top 5 favorite moments from the series? Thanks.....
I admit, most of my favorite characters from JJK I somewhat thirst over but I'll try to keep those thoughts out of why I love them (because I do have some genuine reason besides thirst for liking them).
1. Toji Fushiguro
First and foremost, I like his calm attitude yet snarky way of talking. Also he's just a badass. We all all saw him kick ass any time he came on screen. His physique and strength is something to envy ngl (which I had big muscles too). And yes, not the best dad but I KNOW this man was the best fucking husband he could be.
2. Kento Nanami
HE DESERVED SO MUCH BETTER! It's obvious he cares a lot about people, especially young sorcerers. I like to believe that while he hates how Jujutsu Society operates, he tries to make the small changes necessary to make it better (aka not having child soldiers die and get traumatized like he did). Plus I fully agree that both aspects of life (living as a sorcerer or working a normal job) sucks too.
3. Ryomen Sukuna
HOLD ON HOLD ON HOLD ON BEFORE YOU ALL STAB ME TO DEATH CEASAR STYLE- He's genuinely an interesting antagonist to me. He has layers, I think that's apparent. He's cocky, but for good reason. And there have been moments where I near shat my pants watching him (we all saw that Jogo vs. Sukuna fight and those jumpscares he did. Also both VAs did amazing cackles). His true form from the Heian Era is also so cool to look at as well, and I think may inspire me to be more creative with my own character designs in the future.
4. Suguru Geto
HOLD ON, HOLD ON- Once again, I love a layered antagonist and HOLY SHIT HE HAS LAYERS! Like- ok- I get what his goal is. I get what he wants. And frankly, if my lover best friend died, came back to life, and close friend I was meant to protect died as well, yeah I'd be kinda fucked up so see people celebrating and not batting an eye. Yes, running a cult and committing literal genocide are. . . choices. But in the end, his goal is to protect sorcerers (a group constantly being used and controlled by the majority of non-sorcerers) and that makes some sense.
5. Toge Inumaki
I personally think he's a bit underrated, and underutilized. Sure, I know he's not loaded with Cursed Energy but like- that technique he has can be overpowered as hell. Also, I like how he insists on using ingredient names to convey how he feels when he could just- avoid commands? Like he can obviously use nouns. As long as there's a proper subject, then verbs won't use the cursed speech technique (Don't flame me if I'm wrong, I haven't read through too much of the manga). He's cute, I love his vibes, and he is my son.
As for moments in the series, they're more small than most expect:
1. Whenever Mahito gets his ass beat - Self explanatory. Yes I'm still fucking mad about what happened to Nobara and Nanami.
2. When Yuji met Toge in the streets of Shibuya - SALMON! But fr, I love the small moments that show friendship between sorcerers that otherwise don't meet up much. And Toge just being there, chilling with a megaphone to help people is funny to me.
3. The last conversation between Megumi and Toji - AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH! PAIN! BUT ALSO YOU CAN SEE HOW HAPPY TOJI IS FOR HIS SON! I'M GONE. DEAD.
4. THAT Nanami scene - MAPPA served us good as did Kenjiro Tsuda. "The number and locations of your allies," anything for you, love. Let's go to Malaysia and sit on a beach. I giggle every time.
5. The phone conversation Suguru and Satoru have - The expressions and conversation kill me everytime. They're 'close friends' your honor.
#jjk#jjk fluff#jjk x reader#jujutsu kaisen#inumaki toge#jjk inumaki#jujutsu kaisen inumaki#geto suguru#jjk suguru#jujutsu kaisen suguru#fushiguro toji#toji fushiguro#jjk toji#ryomen sukuna#sukuna#sukuna ryomen#jjk nanami#kento nanami#nanami kento#jjk manga#jjk memes#worldseer rambles
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enhypen as dads (act)
pairing : enhypen x fem!reader
genre : dad!enhypen , fluff
not proofread
📎rei's notes : this is just my opinion and we will never know if I'm ever correct 🥳 I know it's weird include the younger members too but I hope you understand that this 'how they'll act' not 'how they'll be'
Heeseung :
rate him 10/10
he has the father figure
It doesn't matter how many kids he has, he treats all of them equally.
he is the type of dad who would stay up late to prep his kids lunch box and leave a extra note in it that says 'I hope your day in school goes well! Don't get into any trouble!'
his kids all love him bc he picks them up from school and buys them ice cream (even though you told him to stop)
"don't tell mom I brought you guys ice cream"
... you'll find out eventually when one of them spills the tea
—
Jay :
rate him 10000000/10
literally the definition of dad
he treats his kids and you well. Cooking you guys dinner even when he is tired.
just note he is definitely going to dress up your kids in branded clothing only (bc he has the money)
"jay, babe, I don't think they need branded clothes at a young age"
"y/n, shh. This is fashion"
every saturday, he would bring his kids out to have a father and child(ren) bonding day while you rest at home.
he would tuck his kids in bed and make sure to leave them a goodnight kiss.
—
Jake :
rate him 9.5/10
that 0.5 is him, losing his brain cells whenever he brings his kids to his dance rehearsal.
"NAURRR! LEO! COME BACK HERE!"
* chases after your 3 y/o son *
he would be super duper adorable if you guys have a daughter. especially if she's only 1 y/o.
he is going to dress her up in those cute outfits and take many many pictures. (*whispers* he has a dedicated folder for his kids)
—
Sunghoon :
rate him 8/10
a menace to society...he tries to be a good dad
BUT THEN
he likes to annoy the hell out of your kids
your son doesn't like him very much bc sunghoon likes to prank him a lot.
"Jun, your mom loves me more than you"
* cues your son cries *
"PARK SUNGHOON! YOU BETTER SHUT YOUR MOUTH!" *smacks hoon's head*
RIP /jokes
—
Sunoo :
rate him 9/10
probably the calmest among the rest BUT
he would probably get nervous whenever your child cries
"Why are you crying!?!?"
* your child cries louder *
"please don't cry, I'll give you my wallet" 😓
—
Jungwon :
rate him 10/10
I mean he is the ✨LEADER✨
your kids flavor him more than you
why?
he buys them whatever they want...and maybe bc he has the most adorable face that makes your kids melt.
"he won't stop crying", you handed your son to jungwon. Your son immediately stops crying.
you looked at him like 👁️👄👁️
"what the hell, yang jungwon..."
"It's the face y/n"
"are you calling me ugly then?"
*panics* "N-NO! WHAT! BABE!"
—
Niki :
rate him 8/10
as much as I love him...he is the real menace to society
your kids always complain about their dad not being fair
"Riki, what did you do?"
"*gaps* Y/N! WHAT HAVE THOSE DEVILS DONE TO YOU"
you face palmed yourself. Niki tries to hide the candy behind him.
"Riki, just give them back their candy"
Niki pouts and throws a tantrum. You blinked blankly at him.
Your child enters the room and yeets a pillow right on his head.
"SEE I TOLD YOU!! THEY ARE DEVILS!!"
© nokacchan 2022
#enhypen#enha#enhypen scenarios#enhypen x reader#enhypen x you#enha x you#enha x reader#enhypen fluff#enha fluff#enhypen soft thoughts#enhypen soft hours#heeseung x reader#jay x reader#jungwon x reader#nishimura riki x reader#jake x reader#sunghoon x reader#sunoo x reader#enhypen x y/n#enhypen imagines#enhypen fanfics#heeseung#jake#jay#sunoo#sunghoon#Niki#nishimura riki#jungwon
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Older!fruity four cleanses my soul so here are some headcanons:
Steve starts losing his hearing at a young age bc of all the head trauma, so he gets hearing aids relatively young. He’s very self conscious about it and doesn’t like to wear them at first, but Eddie keeps saying how super hot they look on him, which helps a lot.
Robin takes a course in sign language when she is in college. She picks it up very quickly due to her combination of creativity, love of gesturing her arms around while speaking, and natural aptitude for languages. She passes her knowledge on to Steve and the rest of the party, and decides to keep studying to become a sign language interpreter. Steve struggles with it at first, but with time and practice he gets better and it eventually makes his life much easier.
Steve and Robin get platonic-married to each other, and Eddie and Nancy too. Eddie is very resistant about it bc he doesn’t want to conform to the heteronormativity society forces onto them, but he eventually gives in because the others want it so badly. He does make the most ridiculous demands for the wedding so it becomes the most over-the-top weird ceremony you can imagine. (He wanted Steve to wear his Scoops Ahoy uniform to the ceremony but unfortunately he lost that bet which means Eddie himself had to wear a ridiculously extravagant white wedding dress. Steve nearly peed his pants laughing when he first saw a veiled Eddie walk in)
Nancy gets this perfect white suburban mom look which really confuses people who don’t know her, because her personality couldn’t be further from that. Robin thinks it’s hilarious (and hot af)
Robin herself adopts an increasingly butch-y look over the years. She doesn’t dye her hair when she starts going grey and she barely uses any makeup anymore. Nancy loves how soft that makes her look.
Steve goes grey earliest and he gains a lot of weight around his 40th, which Eddie loves. He’s obsessed with Steve’s pillow-soft belly.
Eddie gets a lot of deep wrinkles in his face (and Steve loves tracing his fingers over those lines when they’re lying in bed together). Even after he eventually settles into a quieter lifestyle, he never loses his long hair, though. When he goes grey, he gets compared to Brian May a lot.
The four of them live in a semi-shared house; both pairs have their own spaces (which especially becomes important when Steve and Eddie get loooots of kids while Robin and Nancy prefer to be cool aunts and stay childfree themselves) but they still do a lot of stuff together and love to have dinner together. Steve is by far the best cook. Eddie and Robin are both terrible and nearly burn the house down whenever they try to cook. Nancy’s a decent cook but hates doing it.
Wayne basically adopts all four of them as his own. When he gets old and starts needing some help, Eddie and Steve happily take him in. They can take care of one more person easily, and Eddie is beyond happy to give back to his uncle after everything Wayne has done for him.
Feel free to add some of your own HCs, i am desperate for more tbh
#don't mind me rambling about stranger things#fruity four#steddie#ronance#steve harrington#eddie munson#robin buckley#nancy wheeler#wayne munson#headcanons
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Anomaly Part 2
Warning: Spoilers for ATSV
Part 2 my other story already posted
Description: It has been a month now since you started working with the Spider Society. In between the Anomaly missions that Miguel sends you on and time back in your own dimension once again being that neighbour hood Spider you barely had time for yourself. You and Gwen spent a lot of time in your own dimension but never hers and you thought it was about time you got some answers about her home back in her own dimension.
Characters: Gwen, Y/N.
You had just finished up with another anomaly and made your way back to the Spider Society. After checking in with Miguel and saying goodbye to all your friends you and Gwen were about to head back to your place as you normally would when you held out your hand to stop Gwen from creating your portal.
“What is it?” She asked, those eyes looking into your soul, you don’t know why but you were nervous all of a sudden, to be fair every time you did ask Gwen about her dimension or anything else apart from what she had already told you (The whole other you dying). You had reason to be a bit anxious and worried, swallowing your fear you finally asked her about it.
“Look Gwen I love it when you come over to mine and A/N but I just want to get to know you a bit better you know, like I need to know more about the person who’s stealing all my jumpers” You said a tiny tremble in your voice. Gwen’s eyes hardened at your question and you began to recoil.
“I told you I don’t want to talk about it…” She trailed off lost in thought, her eyes riddled with sadness and hurt. You put a hand on her shoulder to show comfort.
“I understand loss, we all do, much like every other Spider-Man here it seems I lost my uncle at a young age, my parents too. Heck my whole family it seems the only person I have is my aunt, we are literally the only people in the world you can relate too, now I’ve let you stew on it for a couple of months and it may still hurt, but don’t be like Ben and let it change you” Gwen looked at you for a couple of seconds before shying away from your touch and crossing her arms.
“Remember how I told you my dad was Captain and tried to arrest me as the Spider” You nodded your head holding your breath terrified you would scare her off. “He was the first person on the scene, he saw me there holding Peter and you, the other you when I managed to find you and A/N. he came in holding up a gun like I was intentionally out to kill, accused me of killing my only friends. To be honest he didn’t know, how could he know. It stuck with me and ate away, the guilt of not being able to save the people closest to me. Before I was recruited, I did my usual routine, hear over the police radar, go to save those in trouble and it was my first anomaly actually, best way to explain him was a parchment vulture”
You let out a little chuckle at that and so did she. “A parchment vulture?” You asked, she smiled a little and nodded her head continuing on. “Anyway long story short while we were fighting, I had saved all these people from a Helicopter crashing into a museum with Miguel and Jessica. However he cornered me, I ran out of web and he was not messing around. I had to tell him who I was, he was still going to do his job, called in his little friends and I couldn’t stay around any longer” Gwen tightened her arms around her body, making herself feel even smaller than she already did. You took a couple steps forward ready to offer comfort if you needed too.
Her voice choked a little as she tried to get out the last little bit, the only real person she had left was against her, wanted to arrest her and was hurt by her actions.
“Miguel and Jessica swept me away and offered this gig, I haven’t been back since and as you know its been just over a month since I joined” You reached out to Gwen slowly asking for permission, she sunk into you, her arms wrapped around your waist, her head tucked under you chin just ever so slightly as she sobbed remembering the feelings.
“You should go see him” You said to her as she quietly came down from her heightened emotions. She pulled away from you and looked into your eyes before she pulled away fully. “I can’t” She responded before opening the portal to your dimension and entering it, leaving you there to digest all that information she threw at you.
“Its her choice, she knows what she’s doing and its not your life Y/N so stay out of it” You shook your head and followed in after her.
You were on the roof of your apartment, you could see Gwen had sat down already looking over your city. You sat down next to her and she slowly leant into you.
“I’m not good at opening up anymore, I haven’t even spoken about my dad since I left” You had a small smirk on your face. “I think I’m just a lovable person that makes people want to open up” you responded, she chuckled to herself and pushed you away.
“Careful, if that ego grows anymore I’ll have to get you a new Spidey Suit”
“I am always here if you need someone to talk to, I know you’ve been through loss but like I said we can relate” You said gesturing to all of Spider Society, somehow Gwen though knew you were talking about yourself more.
“Thanks’ Y/N” And it was genuine, as genuine as it would get between you.
“Come on then Gwen lets get something to eat, A/N said she was cooking your favourite” You swung down to your window and Gwen followed suit.
#across the spiderverse#gwen stacy x reader#reader insert#into the spider verse#oneshot#spider gwen#gwen stacy#spiderverse spoilers#spider verse
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