#ben exotic

[kiliantharker]

found the artbook pdf online and im still losing my mind

#it is not lost on me how often they describe ifan/lohse as exotic. though. that icks me out LOL #dos2 #divinity original sin 2 #ifan ben mezd #dos2 godwoken #also i just wanted to draw teeth. not accurately mind you but still #dos2 ifan ben mezd

[jellycrusher]

Wolves and Lambs: Part 3

Alpha Max Verstappen x Omega fem!driver

Genre: Series, Omega verse, Enemies to Lovers, Romance, Eventual smut

Synopsis: Male Alphas are the ones who dominate motor sports all around the world, especially Formula 1. It is a well known fact. Females in general nor Female Omegas are never heard nor encouraged to join the sport since the 1950s. Well, up until now...

Word Count: 3.9k

Chapter’s Premise: "You are his mate."

Taglist: @laura-naruto-fan1998 @fanboyluvr @giffywiffy3408 @notyouraveragemochii @cmleitora @exotic-iris13 @topguncultleader @mirrorball-6 @barcelonaloverf1life @silscintilla

Parts: W&L masterlist / general masterlist

"Mom, how did you know Dad was The One?"

"I just knew. Your dad was a mighty Alpha, someone who commands attention and respect with every step. Out of everyone I've dated, his pheromones were the only one that affected me to such great extent. Turns out he felt the same way with my pheromones."

"Pheromones?"

"Oh my dear y/n. My sweetheart. Someday you'll know in your heart when you meet the right person."

The sound of the V6 engine. Crowds going wild. The feeling of starting on the front row. Red lights go one by one. It's a rush. Nothing can beat this.

Max was quick to snatch the lead from you on Turn 1. Charles also proved he was a tough act to beat. Ferrari's car was faster on the straights but Aston Martin has amazing rear grip during high speed corners.

And for this track with 4 long straights, fast straight line speed was needed. Even with DRS to assist you, you couldn't keep up with Charles. It was degrading your tire too much.

By lap 35, you descended to P12 after a horrific slow pit stop of 3.4 secs. The pressure got to you and you were about to radio-in your frustration but you were also quick to clear your mind.

Y/N: "What is the gap to the car ahead, Ben?!" Ben: "Albon ahead by 2 secs, then Gasly by 4 secs." Y/N: "All on old tires?"

Ben: "Confirm."

You quickly maneuvered your way on the first chicane going on the inside, easily overtaking Albon and Gasly. You gave everything that you can to battle it out with the Mercedes pair. Russell locked up and you took this opportunity to go for wide and overtake. You were in DRS range of Hamilton during the straight and you went for it as you both take the corner.

The remaining laps felt like an eternity. The confidence you had on your car the past few days didn't translate to today's race. Pre-season testing and Qualifying laps were different. Back then, you were getting a feel on the car without actually pushing it to the limit. But now? It's like getting an expensive exclusively tailored running shoe and using it for a marathon after only practicing with it for a few days.

Everyone had their difficulties on the first track of the season since this will be the first time these cars will be tested against each other's. These are experienced drivers. Driving in F2 compared to this is a whole different story.

And then the race ended much quicker than you've anticipated.

As much as you wanted a podium on your first race, it didn't happen. You were grateful to have gotten the pole position during qualifying but you repeat to yourself that P5 on your first race isn't bad. You could've given more but you aren't attuned to the car just yet. It'll get there.

You halt your car at parc ferme along with the other drivers. As you crawl and lift yourself up out the cockpit, the other drivers went on to congratulate you. Pierre and Alex were so quick to put their arm on your shoulders after you removed your helmet and balaclava.

"That was some amazing driving!"

"You got some moves, y/l/n!"

Both cheered at the same time and Pierre even rustled your hair. Yuki and Esteban joined them in congratulating you. Even the elder drivers such as Lewis and Fernando were amused at the camaraderie you've built with the other drivers.

Max was also able to notice your closeness with the other drivers from where he was standing. He had already celebrated with his mechanics and is just waiting at the side to wait for his turn while Carlos is being interviewed for finishing third.

He doesn't usually make a lot of effort to befriend any rookie but it left a bad taste on his tongue knowing that he's the only one you're not in good terms with. His friends are a good judge of characters and seems to be enjoying your company. Being the competitive person that he is, surely it won't be that hard to make you see him as a friend.

After the podium celebration and media commitments, you were summoned back to the hospitality and had a debriefing with the whole team. Datas upon datas are presented on the screen. The team discussed what worked and what didn't work during the whole race weekend.

Fernando praised how technically involved you are with the team for the car's development. In this line of work, you can't be too critical of yourself or else, it might even negatively affect your performance. P5 was a feat worth celebrating.

You ask Megan if you could stay for a bit inside the room to re-watch your race. Your notebook is your only company while you endlessly analyze every bit of your race.

It was enlightening and relaxing after an hour of working alone in the de-briefing room of the Aston Martin hospitality. You bid goodbye to the other mechanics and engineers that were still in the garage and walked across the paddock to your car.

You see, in the paddock, all hospitalities are arranged closest to farthest from the entrance based on your place in the championship last season. It's a given that the race leaders (Red Bull, Ferrari, and Mercedes) are the ones near the entrance. The midfield teams and back markers are at the end

A real Walk of Shame.

But with Alonso's and Lance's help last year, Aston Martin has now become part of the mid-field and a contender for being frontrunner.

You passed by the Ferrari hospitality when you heard Charles' voice calling out your name. He runs to catch up to you and matches your pace.

"Didn't expect you to stay behind as well." Charles called.

"I wasn't satisfied with my performance." You huffed.

"That was one of the best rookie performances on an opening race I've seen so far. Don't be too hard on yourself." He voiced. "Have fun! It's nerve-wracking but one of the best experiences you'll ever feel." Charles pats your head gently.

"You're right. I'm actually having fun looking at the reactions of the boys whenever I beat them." You joked.

"As harsh as it sounds, I'm glad there's a healthy rivalry between you and the grid. Anyways, how will you get back to the hotel?" Charles asked.

"I brought a car. How about you?"

Charles just grinned and chuckled without saying a word. As if waiting for a response.

You come to a realization on what he was hinting. "Do you want to hitch a ride with me?"

Charles did a poor attempt of a wink and did a thumbs-up gesture. You almost snorted in amusement because the man could not wink properly at all. Thank God, he's good-looking.

"As long as I'm driving." You suggest and Charles hitched a breath. "No arguments or else, I'm leaving you here." You looked around at an almost empty paddock.

He contemplated for a minute. "Fine. Just for the record, I am against this and I wanted to be a gentlemen. You owe me a car ride but next time, you're my passenger." Charles gave in and didn't insist.

"Deal."

The drive to the hotel was short but it didn't feel awkward at all. Charles was such a goofball especially when he opened the window and stuck his head out to scream. Clearly, he was on a high for bagging a podium.

There was a brief moment where you and Charles' eyes met. It was actually comforting, rather than awkward. He was comfortable being goofy around you and you were grateful that somehow this moment made you forget how you were beating yourself up because of the race result.

Charles turns up the speaker after he connects it to his phone and even invites you to sing out loud to As It Was by Harry Styles. He bobs his head so hard and screamed every lyrics out the window. You've seen the reactions of some of the people you've passed by. They're either weirded out by a strange man screaming his lungs out or amazed after they've recognized that it was the Charles Leclerc.

A crowd of people were waiting outside the hotel, screaming and cheering when you and Charles arrived at the hotel lobby. Charles waved at them and you dropped the car key to the valet. His fans were screaming his name in a deafening manner.

Charles walked towards them to sign a few merch items that the fans were holding out.

Somebody screamed out your name and it made you stop in your tracks from entering the lobby. It didn't occur to you that you would have fans this early in the season. You were just a rookie. Still a nobody.

Charles also called out your name and pointed at your fans when you turned.

Two small kids and their mom were screaming your name, beaming with joy. As you go near them, you stretched out your hand to take the shirt they're holding that visibly shows your number.

The kid was so adorable when she saw you signing her shirt. She was grinning from ear to ear, bouncing up and down while tugging her mother's shirt.

"She's a massive fan. She said she wanted to be like you when she grows up." Her mother leans slightly forward to whisper.

"Thank you so much! That's such a high honor." You replied as you knelt down and ruffled the kid's hair. "Did you watch my race?"

The kid aggressively nods. "Yes. You were great! I couldn't take my eyes off you from the screen. I promise to watch your race every time!"

"Well, then I promise that you have something worth watching for." You hand back the shirt to the kid and stood up.

Charles was done taking photos and signing stuff for the fans at the same time you were walking back to the lobby.

"Thanks for the ride! I enjoyed it." Charles turns to you after entering the lobby.

"Just rate your Uber Driver 5 stars please." You chuckle. "I enjoyed it too. You're my favorite passenger so far."

Charles was about to talk but was cut by Carlos who suddenly appeared beside him, arms crossed on his chest. You notice that he wasn't aware of your presence yet.

"Hey Charles! Why did I hear from your manager that you refused to use the car back to the hotel? You left it in the parking lot at the --"

Carlos choked at the sudden slap on his back by Charles. "Really? I wasn't aware that we had a car for me." Charles nervously muttered.

The poor man was confused at Charles' deflection but realized straight away when he noticed you watching the two of them. He stood straight up and waved at you.

"Hey Carlos! I brought back your partner in one piece. He hitched a ride with me." You cackled.

"Did he go crazy again? Turned up your speakers on max?" he asks.

"YES! He was a great passenger though." You beamed.

"Hear that? I was a 5-star passenger." Charles puffed out his chest.

"Yes, yes. Mate, you're late for dinner." Carlos said as he pats Charles' shoulder.

"Oh right!" Charles gasped. "Thank you again for the ride. If you need a driver, don't hesitate to contact me. Okay?" he adds as he slowly walk away with Carlos. You nod and gleamed in return.

It was a peaceful walk back to your room. The thrill of your first F1 race was slowly dying down. You weren't as dejected as you were a few minutes ago. Thanks to all the people who were supporting you.

Your phone buzzed as you exit the elevator. You pull it out from your pocket and saw an unexpected name.

HE WHO MUST BE AVOIDED AT ALL TIMES: Hi Y/n! I just would like to congratulate you for a great race. I saw some of the highlights in the cooldown room.

Aston Martin Y/N: Thank you Max. You too, congratulations on P1!

HE WHO MUST BE AVOIDED AT ALL TIMES: So I guess you also have a team dinner?

Aston Martin Y/N: Just a simple one here at the hotel. Nothing too fancy.

Aston Martin Y/N: I'm sure Red Bull would celebrate your win.

HE WHO MUST BE AVOIDED AT ALL TIMES: I didn't want to but Christian insisted. They've started to open the champagnes. Checo also brought some tequila.

Aston Martin Y/N: Tequila as a post-race reward actually sounds good right now

You assumed that was the end of your conversation but it also surprised you that it continued to go on. You were even replying to his messages during your team dinner.

Max was surprisingly easy to talk to. He could throw very hilarious jokes and even shared some memes with you that some fans have made from the Bahrain GP. The one that got you on a chokehold was a meme of George during the driver's parade. A true meme king. You almost snorted out your nose the water you were drinking while you were checking your phone.

Your constant exchange of banters with Max went on even during the two week break until the Saudi Arabia Grand Prix. You haven't yet talked to him personally outside of the phone conversations. It was easier this way. If only his scent wasn't a cause of your torment, you and Max could even be better friends.

Good thing that almost all of the drivers were so busy with media commitments come Wednesday of the Saudi Arabia GP. Even if you enjoy being text mates with Max, you still felt the need to avoid him.

In contrast with what you feel, you find yourself checking your phone almost every hour to see if you've gotten a message. It was quiet.

"How many times have I seen you checking your phone today? Are you waiting for a text?" Oscar asks as he walks with you through the paddock.

"Nah. I don't know. Kinda feels weird my phone is quiet. Must be busy." You murmured. "I heard Lando saying that you have New York Cheesecake for dessert. Can you spare some for me? Steal some from the Mclaren hospitality? Pretty please?" You hide your phone in your pocket and gestured puppy eyes at Oscar while tugging his shirt.

"Geez, you're such a sweet tooth. Fine, I'll steal some and deliver it to your garage later." Oscar replied. He effortlessly leans his arm on your head and teases you.

"Thanks Mom!" You skipped in joy.

"You have to stop calling me that. If that gets out, the people in the internet will surely start making memes of me as Mom Piastri." He jokes.

"That doesn't sound too bad, Mom." You teased the Australian Driver.

Max just got out of the Red Bull hospitality with his physio when he quickly noticed the two of you meters away from him. He takes note of how often he sees you in such a sunny disposition with the other drivers. He wanted to take out his phone and text you right then but was interrupted when his physio called him out.

It's finally race week!

The pace of your car was wonderful during FP1 and FP2 on the first day. There were no issues and the car was enjoyable to drive. You always land in P2 to P4, and it made you confident going into FP3, qualifying and the race.

However, something felt a bit odd on the second day.

Y/N: "There's a bit of a smell. A strange smell coming from the car. Is something wrong?" Ben: "Okay, we'll have a look." Y/N: "Doesn't feel different when driving but can you please double check?" Ben: "Nothing's coming up on our monitors. You can continue." Y/N: "Copy."

This started during FP3 but thankfully, you were able to finish it with no issues.

During Q1, things started to reach a decrescendo. Even the commentators were starting to get uneasy with how many reports you were giving back to your engineer.

Y/N: "My downshifts are really, really bad." Ben: "Standby." Y/N: "They're just super long. The whole downshift procedure." Ben: "Is there a specific corner?" Y/N: "The last corner is fucked up."

What happened on Q2 was the one that takes the cake. It ended your qualifying stint before you even had the chance to get everything out of the car.

Y/N: "Uhh I have a problem. Engine. Engine Problem. It's almost not accelerating." Ben: "Ok. Understood y/n. Well, we'll do what we can. We're happy for you to try and limp home, if possible."

"Traumatic twist that no one saw coming. The dominant Aston Martin car could not complete Qualifying. and y/n will have to fight through from 15th at best." Brundle commentates.

You went back to the hotel feeling dejected and almost wanted to stay cooped up in your room but the boys were so eager for you to join them for a short game night.

The boys were so chaotic playing Overcooked 2 in Lando's room. Yuki and Pierre were screaming at each other on whether they should throw the burgers their avatars were holding or place it on the counter, while Lando and Alex were bickering and laughing while they figure out how to maneuver their avatars.

"I could use some stress reliever. Thank you." You said as you nudge Oscar's side.

"We all needed it." Oscar replies.

Oscar was quick to react when a knock was heard on the door. He ran to get it and came back with Charles and Max following behind.

"Max, such a surprise to see you here!" Alex calls out Max while his eyes are still glued to the screen.

"I begged for him to come." Charles gleefully pats Max's chest and sat beside Alex.

Max sees you standing on the other side of the bed near Pierre and Yuki. You wave at him and he waves back. This was the first time you've interacted with him this weekend.

The first game ended and the boys gave the controllers to the rest of the group. Oscar sat beside you while Charles and Max sat together.

Charles suggested that they change teammates since Charles and Max's team usually wins during game night. As a handicap, Charles would be your teammate and Oscar would be with Max.

You laugh at the suggestion because when Oscar sat down beside Max, he reverted back to his introverted self. He wasn't as close with Max unlike with the others. He looked like a scared little lamb.

Charles was hilarious all throughout the game. He was even more riled up than you. You let him shout the steps to you while you concentrate on finishing the tasks.

Oscar was doing good with Max. They were bickering like kids but they were able to finish the task better than you and Charles. Max was now standing and focusing on the screen like nothing else mattered.

Everyone was basically cheering and screaming at this point. It wouldn't be a surprise if somebody reported a noise complaint.

At the end of the night, everyone bid goodbye to Lando and Oscar and walked back to the elevator together.

"I'm glad you had fun." Max whispers as he leans closer to you. Both of you were at the back of the group.

"I didn't expect for you to join us but I'm glad you did. Now we have the right amount of people to play the game." You replied.

"Oh right..." Max pauses. "Well, I'm glad I came."

Everyone got in the elevator with you being the last one to enter. The boys were still chatting with each other as you were looking at the screen at the side which says the floor. It dinged on the next floor and a group of five entered.

The other 6 drivers were now quiet while the five strangers were chatting. All of you got pushed back and you were now leaning hard against Max who was behind you.

You try your best not to be nervous at the sudden close proximity between you and the dutch driver. Your body burns at the sensation of his hands at your waist trying to steady you after you waddle out of balance when another person got inside the elevator, further pushing you against Max.

Max noticed a sweet scent within the elevator. Probably from the other people who just came in, he thought. However, when his face got close to backside of your neck, the scent got stronger. He can't help but be drawn to the succulent scent you're emitting from your nape.

Your breath hitched in your throat when you felt Max's breath brush against your skin. You could almost feel Max's chest purring against your back.

Max's scent was also starting to change and you were the only one to notice it. The scent emitting from him was sweet and musky. You could almost whimper at how ambrosial it smells. There was no sense of fear, but pure elation.

The other drivers were blissfully unaware of the tension building up between you and Max as they chat away with the others. You also see Charles joking around with Alex and Pierre.

Max felt your knees buckle slightly and his hands that were on your waist steadies you. Unaware of his surroundings, he continues to take in your delectable scent.

"Stop it, Max..." You whisper, careful not to let anyone else hear you but Max.

He was getting drunk with your scent. It was making him dizzy and he couldn't get enough of it. Like a bee being attracted to a flower's nectar.

His fingers on either side of your waist were now starting to bore into your skin. His growls were now getting slightly audible. The other drivers faintly heard it and were starting to notice a sweet scent as well but didn’t actually realize those were coming from you two. You gripped his right wrist but it didn't even faze Max.

It took him out of his trance when you nudged his stomach with your elbow after you heard the elevator ding and the strangers exited. You stride to the side beside Yuki, and Max steps away opposite to you.

No one could describe what happened between you and Max in that elevator. It left the both of you flushed and panting. Your minds lingering on each other's touch. Eyes glued to each other's gaze.

One by one, the drivers stopped at their respective floors. Leaving you and Max to be the last one left in the elevator. Max's eyes never left you. You avoid his gaze and frantically pressed the elevator button.

Max makes his way to you and slaps his hand on the wall next to you, pinning you in position by his proximity. Completely towering over you.

"Care to explain what happened?" Max grumbled, fighting through his daze.

"I don't know what you mean." You whimpered.

"I'm not stupid. Your smell..." Max slowly leans his face near the crook of your neck. He growls under his breath after one whiff of your scent. "Unlike any pheromones I've smelled."

Max was now burying his face in your neck. You notice the screen on the wall about to stop on your floor. "Max!" You push him slightly, freeing yourself away from him.

You stepped out of the elevator, fighting for your life to stay sane and not get affected by Max's scent. Max's eyes were droopy and his lips were glistening.

Max had no control over his body. He was frustrated that he wasn't able to stop you from fleeing away from him. The farther you ran away, the more his daze faded. The doors of the elevator were now closed and continued to ride up the building.

He knew exactly what had happened. He heard about this from Checo and his parents. There was no denying that you were an Omega and the reason why the both of you had felt that way earlier was because the two of you were fated to meet.

You are his mate.

Next part: Part 4

#max verstappen #formula 1 #f1 romance #lando norris #charles leclerc #cl16 #f1 #f1 drivers #f1 enemies to lovers #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 fic #f1 fem driver #f1 female driver fic #mv33 #mv1 #op81 #ln4 #f1 y/n #f1 2023 grid x y/n #f1 driver imagine #f1 omegaverse

[bosbas]

Chapter 7: you search in every maiden's bed for something greater

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: benedict bridgerton x best friend!fem!reader WC: 3.2k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, misogyny (not by anyone relevant dw), idiots in love being idiots in love, angst, mentions of sex and drinking

Summary: You and Benedict have been best friends since childhood, but things change dramatically once you come out in society. You’re struggling to find someone you’re as compatible with and who knows you as well as Benedict, all while trying to quell your ever-growing feelings for him. Shenanigans ensue.

A/N: errr.... it's going to get worse before it gets better. sorry in advance

June 19, 1814 - Perhaps word of this author's disappointment by the ton's lack of happenings has reached Bridgerton ears. Whispers around the ton indicate that Mr. Benedict Bridgerton has been packing his belongings for an extended duration, leading one to speculate if this departure is more than a fleeting journey. The observant eyes of society are left to wonder about the purpose behind such preparations and whether, in the midst of packing, the second Bidgerton son is inadvertently leaving behind not only his material possessions but also a potential union with a certain Miss Beaumont.

Benedict was just about done packing, disappointed that his upcoming trip had been pointed out in the ton's gossip column. He was hoping to slip out relatively quietly, not needing further speculation on why he was leaving you, an undoubted topic of conversation for Lady Whistledown. The very reason he was leaving was for your sake, and he didn't want anyone making his own absence harder for you. 

The past days had been nothing short of agonizing for more than a few reasons. Ben knew his mother was disappointed in him for leaving, not immune to her sad stares and soft sighs, but he just couldn't go on like this. If he ignored his feelings, he knew he wanted you to find a husband, just as you had asked him to let you do. But he couldn't ignore his feelings. Not entirely, at least. Benedict was going half insane watching you dance with eager suitors and hearing you talk about the exotic and beautiful bouquets you had later received from them. He could barely sleep, plagued by thoughts of someone else making you laugh, and the dull ache in his chest had become a permanent fixture. 

His art studio felt cold and empty now, rarely graced by your warm and lively presence. Ben couldn't find it in himself to spend the hours he used to in there, missing your animated commentary as you read whichever book you had taken from the Bridgerton library that day. He had barely been able to paint at all recently, inside or outside his studio, frustrated that every single sketch or painting he started was in some manner related to you. Worse, he found he had little to no inspiration for new works without you by his side. Every single aspect of his life was completely turned upside down by your absence. Even the moon looked different. He could not look at the stars at night without remembering how your eyes looked at night, reflecting the soft starlight in the sky. 

So he was leaving. Perhaps it was a cowardly thing to do, but Benedict was desperate to regain some sense of normalcy in his life. He knew he couldn't have you, but he couldn't watch someone else have you, either. The only viable choice he saw was to go away, back to the countryside. Of course, his family saw right through his weak excuse of "needing time away to work on his art," but at least no one had the sense to confront him about it. Yet still, the truth lingered in the look of pity he received from Anthony and Colin and the quietly exasperated "Are you joking?" he heard Francesca whisper to Hyacinth. 

Ben had come to see you a few days ago and broken the news, and you had barely been able to concentrate since. Even though you had established some distance from your best friend, you still relished in the comfort of his nearby presence. You knew that even if you had a dreadful dance at a ball, one quick smile from Ben could immediately heal your stepped-on feet and put you in a better mood. 

But you supposed him leaving was for the best. At the moment, you weren't seriously considering any suitors yet. No longer having Benedict by your side might end up being more beneficial to you, even if your eyes were constantly filled with unshed tears and your lower lip was raw from nervous biting at the thought of him away in the country for months on end. You supposed you would have to move on from him, laying your feelings to rest. That was the whole point, was it not? Benedict would leave, and you would stop wishing every man you talked to was him. 

You were in your garden now, hiding in your usual spot behind the rose bushes with your nose stuck in a book in an attempt to evade your mother's call to practice your needlepoint. With Benedict leaving tomorrow, you reasoned that you should be excused from mind-numbing activities such as sewing due to your emotional distress. Unfortunately, your mother did not share this opinion, and you were forced into hiding to escape her demands. 

Hearing footsteps coming your way, you shrunk further behind the bushes, hoping you hadn't been caught and could spare another five minutes of peace. 

"Y/N Beaumont, come out of there this instant. You cannot simply avoid me when you don't want to play the pianoforte," came Benedict's voice from above you, taking on a high-pitched voice as he attempted to imitate your mother when she was frustrated with her children. You instantly relaxed, bursting into laughter.

"You are so evil! I thought I had actually been caught out. Although my mother wants me to practice needlepoint instead of pianoforte this time," you said as you rolled your eyes, playfully hitting his arm as he sat beside you. 

Ben laughed, shaking his head and snatching your book from your hands, leafing through it absentmindedly. "Hmmm, I figured it was something like that. I came into your house and saw the Countess quite exasperated, asking me if I knew where you were hiding," he said. Seeing your widening eyes, he quickly continued, "Oh, but don't worry. I would never betray you like that. The rose bush stays between us."

"Well, since you're leaving tomorrow, you very well could have revealed the hiding spot and escaped an untimely death," you retorted. Although you meant it as a joke, you couldn't help the break in your voice as you took in the reality of Benedict leaving for the countryside. You wrapped your arms around one of his, resting your head on his shoulder. You were breaking every rule you had established for your friendship, but you didn't care anymore.

Sighing deeply, Benedict placed his hand on top of yours. He could easily sense the pain behind your playful dig and couldn't help feeling the same way. Not finding the strength to continue the faux-playful exchange, Ben simply placed a soft kiss on the top of your head. "Either way, I could never. You're still my best friend. Always have been, always will be, Y/N Beaumont." 

You could feel a wave of tears welling in your eyes, starting to flow as you softly said your next words. "I know. I'm going to miss you, Benedict Bridgerton."

He looked down at you, feeling a fondness so fierce he felt the prickling of tears in his eyes. He cleared his throat, wanting desperately to end this chapter of your lives on a good note. He grabbed your hands and stood you up so you were facing him. He could barely stand the sight of your tear-stained face, beautiful as ever despite your reddened eyes. A few quiet moments passed between you, both of you attempting to regain composure, but the pain of losing the other made it entirely impossible. 

He was still holding on to your hands, thumbs rubbing softly up and down in the way he had always done. But this time, they did not bring you comfort. Instead, you burst into tears, closing the short distance between you and sobbing into his chest, not caring that your tears might ruin his clothes. To be loved was to be changed, after all, and God did you love him.

Wrapping his arms tightly around you as you sobbed, Benedict was at a loss. He couldn't fathom what life would be like after you, barely remembering what it had been before you. To willingly walk away from this, from you in his arms, from your shared intimacy, from the unbreakable bond the two of you had formed over two decades... he had to be insane. Yet he had no choice, as the past few weeks had shown. All Ben could do was rub a comforting hand on your back as you cried, murmuring sweet nothings in an effort to alleviate the excruciating pain he knew you were feeling as well. 

Finally, he spoke. "I'm going to miss you more, Y/N. And I'm so sorry. I never wanted it to end like this. I never wanted it to end at all, actually." 

Feeling another kiss at the top of your head, you lifted your head to look him in the eyes. You were no longer sobbing, just sniffling as tears ran down your face. "Me neither," you choked out, eyes still on him. You wanted to take in as much of him as you could before he left. You wanted his face burned into your mind forever, leaving a permanent mark you could never get rid of. 

As you sniffled again, you felt him pull you into his chest, hearing him say softly, "It's going to be alright, darling." He placed a tender kiss on your forehead, pulling you back again to look you in the eyes. He then followed a delicate trail, pressing soft kisses between your furrowed brows, on the tip of your nose, and along the tear-streaked canvas of your cheeks. Then, hesitantly, he reached your lips. 

His eyes were intense, heavy with emotion, as you felt his lips hovering above yours. You had never been kissed before, but you would so easily forgo social norms if he just closed the distance between you. You were inches apart, breath intermingling, eyes boring into each other. You could feel the palpable electricity between you, a mix of fear and familiarity. In that suspended moment, your heart beating with his, anticipation hung thick in the air. You were about to cross a precipice of intimacy you never had before, finally acting on the pressure that had been building for years. You wanted him so badly, and you could tell he wanted you, too. At least right now. Desire was running through you in a way it never had before, and you wondered whether the sort of itch you were feeling right now was the same one Ben talked about when he explained the night of the marriage. Is this the itch that would be scratched? You understood what he meant now, needing him so desperately to touch his lips to yours, to bring you the relief you sought in him. Benedict moved a fraction of an inch closer to you, and you drew your breath in anticipation, lips forming into a smile. 

Yet suddenly, Benedict groaned and abruptly withdrew as if an unseen force compelled him to sever the burgeoning connection. Pushing you away in more senses than one, he roughly rubbed his face with his hands. You could tell he was in a state of complete panic. Hurt and confused, you watched him rub his eyes frustratedly, refusing to meet your gaze.

"I'm sorry, Y/N. I'm so sorry," he stammered, a haunted look in his eyes betraying the fear of losing all the meticulously constructed defenses he had placed between you. "I don't know what came over me. That was so not right. I just—" His words stumbled, a confession hanging unspoken in the charged air between you.

You couldn't stop yourself from flinching, understanding the implications of his words. You supposed it should never have been like this. The two of you were best friends, after all. But you were desperate for him to look at you and give away some of what he was thinking, needing any sort of reassurance, so you reached out, softly gripping his bicep. "It's alright, Ben. I know you didn't—"

But he cut you off, his head shaking in fervent denial, avoiding your pleading eyes. "No, it's not. I'm sorry. Look, I should go; I still need to finish packing. But I'll come by early tomorrow morning to say goodbye if you're awake."

Without granting you a lingering look, he turned away, leaving you alone in the garden where you had played together as children, where your friendship had once blossomed. Tears ran unobstructed down your cheeks, and your heart broke cleanly in two. 

---

You found yourself promenading alongside Mr Henri Deschamps in Hyde Park once again, politely nodding every time he looked to you for reassurance that his talk about hunting was not, in fact, the most boring thing you had ever heard in your life. And it wasn't, but you were inclined to think that it was pretty close. Nevertheless, you liked Mr Deschamps more than most other suitors, enjoying the philosophical debates the two of you would sometimes engage in. 

Henri was from France but had come to England with his younger sister to see her married off last season. Although he was successful in this endeavor, he liked England so much that he chose to stay and find a wife for himself. Still, you were a tad fearful that Henri would want to return to France when, and if, the two of you were married. He had been courting you for a short time, only a couple of weeks. Still, you were careful in expressing your desire and taking it slow, despite thinking that you would probably end up marrying him if all kept going the same way it was now. 

All things considered, Mr Deschamps was an adequate match for you. He was intellectually stimulating at times, came from a good background to be able to provide for you, and he wasn't bad-looking either. Besides, his accent was fun to listen to even when his words were not. It had been nearly three weeks since Benedict had left for the country, and though you missed him terribly, you were having a much easier time actually thinking of your suitors as potential husbands instead of fun ways to pass time before you spoke to Ben next. 

Hearing Henri mention something related to a book you were currently reading, you perked up, excited. "Actually, I read that—" you started, only to be interrupted by the man at your side. 

"Ah, of course, you read this, you read that. When does it stop, Miss Beaumont? You are always reading something. Men do not want this. We want an obedient wife who will not cause us any more stress than we have in life. We want a wife who will give us heirs quickly and who will listen to what we say," came Mr Beaumont's interjection. You were stunned, frozen in your spot, but he grabbed your arm and continued speaking as he dragged you with him. 

"Men do not want a woman who is smarter than them, Miss Beaumont. How about you stick to your good qualities, oui? You are very beautiful, but no one will ever marry you if you keep discussing books. No one wants to hear about books," he finished, sending you a pointed look.

You could barely believe what you were hearing. "But—," you tried, only to be interrupted by Mr Deschamps once again. 

"But— But— But���," he mocked cruelly. "But nothing, Miss Beaumont. This is the truth, yet you still argue with me. It is the same in France as it is here: women should not argue with men. You would do well to remember that." 

You wrenched your arm out of his grasp, appalled by his egregious behavior. He rolled his eyes at your reaction, turning around and throwing his hands up in the air, clearly exasperated. You angrily stared after him as your mother, who had been walking a few paces behind the two of you, caught up. 

"What in the world was that? I cannot believe he spoke to you in such a disrespectful manner and in front of everyone, at that," she exclaimed, fuming. Clearly, she had heard at least some of your conversation. You could only shake your head in disbelief, still reeling from Henri's sudden outburst. He had effectively squashed your hopes of ever finding an appropriate husband in under three minutes. It would have been impressive if it didn't leave you so hopeless.

---

Far from the hubbub of the city, Benedict lay in his messy bed, staring at the now-empty spot beside him, illuminated by the moonlight filtering through his half-open curtains. With ever-deepening bags under his eyes and a dwindling excitement about life, he grappled with a reality he never thought he would confront. The echoes of your shared dreams from your youthful days mocked him, a poignant reminder of a time when marriage felt like a distant concept.

This had become somewhat of a routine by now. Benedict had taken to finding solace in the arms of various women, seeking momentary distraction from the ache in his heart. With each encounter, it became glaringly evident that physical intimacy offered no relief from the unending yearning he felt for you and your friendship, forever changed by his choices. 

Loneliness enveloped him each time the women left, a feeling he had become all too familiar with in the past few weeks. He barely slept, opting instead to imagine your life back in the city, full of exciting balls and surrounded by the warmth of your family. And his, he supposed. But most of all, he couldn't help the painful thoughts of you with another man, discussing your favorite books, or forming inside jokes with one another. 

He was comforted only by the fact that he had not yet received a wedding invitation. Surely Benedict would have been invited to the momentous occasion had you finally found someone to spend forever with. However, the comfort he felt from this was significantly overshadowed by the implications of your inevitable wedding. One last goodbye. A proper goodbye, this time. Here, in the countryside, he could theoretically return to you anytime. But once you were married, you would be gone forever, and the wanting he felt now would only multiply, consuming him entirely. 

In the quiet hours before dawn, he often wondered if the past could be revisited, a past where the two of you made plans to get married. The idea of a marriage where he was free to pursue his artistic endeavors and you continued your literary pursuits lingered in his thoughts every single night. It seemed that he was only interested in marriage if it was an arrangement similar to the one you had dreamt up as children, and the chances of attaining that were slim to none. Benedict found himself yearning for a simplicity that had been lost in the complexities of adulthood. With you married off, he would have to find a wife eventually. But perhaps he did not want to marry at all. Maybe he would stay a bachelor, making vows to his art rather than a woman he knew could never compare to you. 

For now, he continued his escapades. In the long run, he was not confident that this would help him forget you or forget the fierce love you inspired in him, but he was desperate for any way to stop thinking about you, if only for a few hours. So he indulged, going to raucous gatherings, mainly populated by artists. People used their canvases at these parties as a means of liberation, but he only used them to mask his true feelings. He could momentarily quiet his mind, painting and dancing and drinking before he eventually came crashing down to reality. 

—

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Tag List (lmk if you want to be added!): @bellahadidnt16 @like-gabriel-and-castiel @riverraingrayworld

#bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton fanfic #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fanfic #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton angst #benedict bridgerton x best friend!reader #bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x you #bridgerton fluff #bridgerton angst #love in bloom #love in bloom: writing

[roxygen22]

First Day of School

"My Little Cocoa Bean" Series

A/N: Reader inserts are minimal in this one. Reader stayed home with Baby Charlotte (aka Charlie) so Willy and Ben/Bean could have some 1:1 time before his first day of school.

☆☆☆☆☆

"Are you excited about your first day of school, Bean?" Willy asked as he walked through the park with his son. He took the day off to spend some quality time with the boy before he started kindergarten the next day.

Ben was slow to respond and fell behind Willy's pace. He stopped and looked back at the small boy. "Bean?"

Ben looked up at Willy, worry clearly etched in his features. He knelt down and rubbed Ben's arm in reassurance. Willy had anticipated some reticence since Ben had never spent a full day away from you or him.

"Papa," he said in a small voice. "Were you nervous on your first day of school?" The boy's lip trembled.

Willy carded a hand through Ben's curly hair, then rested it on his cheek. "Well, Bean, I didn't get to go to school. But, I have had other firsts. And yes, I was nervous every time."

"Like when?" Ben implored as if he could not imagine his papa being scared of anything.

Willy stood and paused to think. "Like my first day as a sailor. I lived on a boat as a child, sure, but that was on a calm river, not the open ocean. I remember standing on the dock staring up at the huge ship, knowing my life was about to change. I hadn't even climbed on board and I was already seasick just thinking about it." They started slowly ambling down the path again. "But, I did it anyway. After some time, I became a tip-top sailor, like I had been doing it all of my life, and got to see places that most people only dream of."

By that point, the pair had wandered to the base of their favorite hill in the park. Willy could see that Ben was still lost in thought. He needed to lighten the mood somehow.

"Hey, Bean?" he asked to get the boy's attention. Ben looked up solemnly. "Race ya!" Willy shouted gleefully and took off running up the hill. Temporarily stunned, Ben stared at him with wide eyes before chasing after him in a fit of giggles.

Winded, they lay in the grass at the summit to catch their breath and watch the clouds lazily drift by. The two took turns pointing out shapes of animals. After a bit, Willy continued his earlier lecture.

"It's perfectly normal to feel those nervous butterflies in your tummy on the eve of change."

"But I don't want anything to change," Ben lamented. "I won't get to play with Mamma and Charlie. I won't get to help you make new chocolate or candies."

"I know it will be different, but you can still come to the factory or shop after school or on the weekends. Your mother and Charlie will still be eager to play with you when you get home. I bet you'll even make new friends to play with at school. You'll find a new normal. Besides, life would be boring if nothing ever changed."

They turned their heads to look at each other. Willy booped him on the nose with his index finger and smiled. "You probably wouldn't be here if I hadn't gotten on that boat."

"Huh?"

"Well, seafaring allowed me to gather lots of exotic ingredients to make magical concoctions that set my chocolate apart from the rest. Without my shop, I wouldn't have met your mother, and we wouldn't have you, my little cocoa bean. And I'll let you in on a little secret," Willy lowered his voice to a whisper at the end. "I was nervous when I found out about you."

"You were?" Ben pushed himself up on his elbows to look down at Willy's face.

"Mmhmm. You made me a papa, Bean. I had never been a father, nor did I have one growing up. I'm learning how to be one every day. It's been my grandest adventure yet."

Ben smiled, then fell onto his back once more to watch the clouds float by.

"Papa?"

"Hmm?"

"I'm glad you did it anyway. Got on the boat, I mean, even though you were scared."

"Me, too, Bean. Me, too." Willy sighed contentedly.

A few beats passed.

"Papa?"

"Can we go get ice cream?"

Willy chuckled. "Ice cream sounds like the best idea ever."

☆☆☆☆☆

-next day-

You, Charlotte, and Willy walked Ben to school. Ben was bouncy and talkative, asking questions about your memories of your own first day of classes. The boy grew quieter, though, as the building came into view. He shrank behind Willy's leg as more parents and children gathered at the fence, waiting for the school to open.

Willy offered him a reassuring squeeze on the shoulder, then dropped to one knee to make eye contact. "Don't be shy. It's alright if you feel a little trepidation."

"But do it anyway," Ben parroted from the conversation the day before.

Willy smiled and wrapped the boy in a hug, "That's right, Bean. Do it anyway."

Ben then gave you and Charlotte hugs and kisses, gathered his bag, and started toward the door. He stopped at the bottom step to turn back and wave at you all. Willy blew a kiss and waved as you grabbed Charlotte's chubby little hand to help her wave back. Tears came to your eyes when you saw Ben turn back to the door, pull his shoulders back and head up with confidence, and walk inside.

Still so small, yet so big, so fast, you thought to yourself. You looked to Willy as he wiped fat tears from his cheeks with his silk scarf. He barely maintained his composure until Ben was out of sight.

"I'm going to miss having him around during the day," Willy said with a sniffle.

"As will I, love. As will I," you replied softly.

Charlotte broke the melancholy with a coo. Willy chuckled and reached out to pluck her from her perch on your hip. "You, missy, aren't allowed to grow up that fast, understood?"

::raspberry::

"I'm glad we're in agreement."

☆☆☆☆☆

Masterlist

#wonka #willy wonka #willy wonka and the chocolate factory #wonka 2023 #timothée chalamet #wonka movie #timmy!wonka #willy wonka x reader #timothee chalamet x reader #timothée chalamet x reader #timothee chalamet fanfiction #timothee chalamet #timothee chalamet x you #timothee fanfic #timothee!wonka #timothee x reader #wonka x reader #dad willy wonka #willy wonka x you #wonka x you #papa willy wonka #papa!wonka #papa wonka #dad wonka #established relationship #female reader #mom reader #drabble #tooth rotting fluff #fluff

[gothhabiba]

loving your falafel research saga and just wanted to ask - something I remember hearing about falafel is that while Israeli culture definitely appropriated it, the concept of serving it in pita bread with salads, tahini etc. is a specifically Israeli twist on the dish. I wonder if you found/know anything about that?

The short answer is: it's not impossible, but I don't think there's any way to tell for sure. The long answer is:

The most prominent claim I've heard of this nature is specifically that Yemeni Jews (who had immigrated to Israel under 'right of return' laws and were Israeli citizens) invented the concept of serving falafel in "pita" bread in the 1930s—perhaps after they (in addition to Jews from Morocco or Syria) had brought falafel over and introduced it to Palestinians in the first place.

"Mizrahim brought falafel to Palestine"

This latter claim, which is purely nonsense (again... no such thing as Moroccan falafel!)—and which Joel Denker (linked above) repeats with no source or evidence—was able to arise because it was often Mizrahim who introduced Israelis to Palestinian food. Mizrahi falafel sellers in the early 20th century might run licensed falafel stands, or carry tins full of hot falafel on their backs and go from door to door selling them (see Shaul Stampfer on a Yemeni man doing this, "Bagel and Falafel: Two Iconic Jewish Foods and One Modern Jewish Identity," in Jews and their Foodways, p. 183; this Arabic source mentions a 1985 Arabic novel in which a falafel seller uses such a tin; Yael Raviv writes that "Running falafel stands had been popular with Yemenite immigrants to Palestine as early as the 1920s and ’30s," "Falafel: A National Icon," Gastronomica 3.3 (2003), p. 22).

On Mizrahi preparation of Palestinian food, Dafna Hirsch writes:

As Sami Zubaida notes, Middle Eastern foodways, while far from homogeneous, are nevertheless describable in a vocabulary and set of idioms that are “often comprehensible, if not familiar, to the socially diverse parties” [...]. Thus, for the Jews who arrived in Palestine from the Middle East, Palestinian Arab foods and foodways were “comprehensible, if not familiar,” even if some of the dishes were previously unknown to most of them. [...] They found nothing extraordinary or exotic in the consumption, preparation, and selling of foods from the Palestinian Arab kitchen. Therefore, it was often Mizrahi Jews who mediated local foods to Ashkenazi consumers, as street food vendors and restaurant owners. ("Urban Food Venues as Contact Zones between Arabs and Jews during the British Mandate Period," in Making Levantine Cuisine: Modern Foodways of the Eastern Mediterranean, p. 101).

Raviv concurs and furnishes a possible mechanism for this borrowing:

Other Mizrahi Jewish vendors sold falafel, which by the late 1930s had become quite prevalent and popular on the streets of Tel Aviv. [...] Tel Aviv had eight licensed Mizrahi falafel vendors by 1941 and others who sold falafel without a license. [FN: The Tel Aviv municipality granted vending license to people who could not make their living in any other way as a form of welfare.] Many of the vendors were of Yemenite origins, although falafel was unknown in Yemen. [FN: Many of the immigrants from Yemen arrived in Palestine via Egypt, so it is possible that they learned to prepare it there and then adjusted the recipe to the Palestinian version, which was made from chickpeas and not from fava beans (ṭaʿmiya). Shmuel Yefet, an Israeli falafel maker, tells about his father, Yosef Ben Aharon Yefet, who arrived in Palestine from Aden [Yemen] in the early 1920s and then traveled to Port Said in 1939. There he became acquainted with ṭaʿmiya, learned to prepare it, and then went back to Palestine and opened a falafel shop in Tel Aviv [youtube video].]*

But why claim that Yemeni Jews invented falafel (or at least that they had introduced it from Yemen), even though its adoption from Palestinian Arabs in the early days of the second Aliya, aka the 1920s (before Mizrahim had begun to immigrate in larger numbers; see Raviv, p. 20) was within living memory at this point (i.e. the 1950s)? Raviv notes that an increasing (I mean, actually she says new, which... lol) negative attitude towards Arabs in the wake of the Nakba (I mean... she says "War of Independence") created a new sense of urgency around de-Arabizing "Israeli" culture (p. 22). Its association with Mizrahi sellers allowed falafel to "be linked to Jewish immigrants who had come from the Middle East and Africa" and thus to "shed its Arab association in favor of an overarching Israeli identification" (p. 21).

Stampfer again:

On the one hand (with regard to immigrants from Eastern Europe), [falafel] underscored the break between immediate past East European Jewish foods and the new “Oriental” world of Eretz Israel.** At the same time, this food could be seen as a link with an (idealized) past. Among the Jewish public in Eretz Israel, Yemenite falafel was regarded as the most original and tastiest version. This is a bit odd, as falafel—whether in or out of a pita—was not a traditional Yemenite food, neither among Muslims nor among Jews. To understand the ascription of falafel to Yemenite Jews, it is necessary to consider their image. Yemenite Jews were widely regarded in the mid-20th century as the most faithful transmitters of a form of Jewish life that was closest to the biblical world—and if not the biblical world, at least the world of the Second Temple, which marked the last period of autonomous Jewish life in Eretz Israel. In this sense, eating “Yemenite” could be regarded as an act of bodily identification with the Zionist claim to the land of Israel. (p. 189)

So, when it's undeniable that a food is "Arab" or "Oriental" in origin, Zionists will often attribute it to Yemen, Syria, Morocco, Turkey, &c.—and especially to Jewish communities within these regions—because it cannot be permitted that Palestinians have a specific culture that differentiates them in any way from other "Arabs." A culinary culture based in the foodstuffs cultivated from this particular area of land would mean a tie and a claim to the land, which Zionist logic cannot allow Palestinians to possess. This is why you'll hear Zionists correct people who say "Palestinians" to say "Arab" instead, or suggest that Palestinians should just scooch over into other "Arab" countries because it would make no difference to them. Raviv's conclusion that the attribution of falafel to Yemeni immigrants is an effort to detach it from its "Arab" origins isn't quite right—it is an attempt to detach it, and thus Palestinians themselves, from Palestinian roots.

"Yemeni Jews first put falafel in 'pita'"

As for this claim, it's often attributed to Gil Marks: "Jews didn’t invent falafel. They didn’t invent hummus. They didn’t invent pita. But what they did invent was the sandwich. Putting it all together.” (Hilariously, the author of the interview follows this up with "With each story, I wanted to ask, but how do you know that?")

Another author (signed "Philologos") speculates (after, by the way, falsely claiming that "falafel" is the plural of the Arabic "filfil" "pepper," and that falafel is always brown, not green, inside?!):

Yet while falafel balls are undoubtedly Arab in origin, too, it may well be that the idea of serving them as a street-corner food in pita bread, to which all kinds of extras can be added, ranging from sour pickles to whole salads, initially was a product of Jewish entrepreneurship.

Shaul Stampfer cites both of these articles as further reading on the "novelty of the combination of pita, falafel balls, and salad" (FN 76, p. 198)—but neither of them cites any evidence! They're both just some guy saying something!

Marks had, however, elaborated a little bit in his 2010 Encyclopedia of Jewish Food:

Falafel was enjoyed in salads as part of a mezze (appetizer assortment) or as a snack by itself. An early Middle Eastern fast food, falafel was commonly sold wrapped in paper, but not served in the familiar pita sandwich until Yemenites in Israel introduced the concept. [...] Yemenite immigrants in Israel, who had made a chickpea version in Yemen, took up falafel making as a business and transformed this ancient treat into the Israeli iconic national food. Most importantly, Israelis wanted a portable fast food and began eating the falafel tucked into a pita topped with the ubiquitous Israeli salad (cucumber-and-tomato salad).

He references one of the pieces that Lillian Cornfeld (columnist for the English-language, Jerusalem-based newspaper Palestine Post) wrote about "filafel":

An article from October 19, 1939 concluded with a description of the common preparation style of the most popular street food, 'There is first half a pita (Arab loaf), slit open and filled with five filafels, a few fried chips and sometimes even a little salad,' the first written record of serving falafel in pita. [Marks doesn't tell you the title or page—it's "Seaside Temptations: Juveniles' Fare at Tel Aviv," p. 4.]

You will first of all notice that Marks gives us the "falafel from Yemen" story. I also notice that he calls Salat al-bundura "Israeli salad" (in its entry he does not claim that European Jewish immigrants invented it, but neither does he attribute it to Palestinian influence: the dish was originally "Turkish coban salatsi"). His encyclopedia also elsewhere contains Zionist claims such as "wild za'atar was declared a protected plant in Israel" "[d]ue to overexploitation" because of how much of the plant "Arab families consume[d]," and that Israeli cultivation of the crop yielded "superior" plants (entry for "Za'atar")—a narrative of "Arab" mismanagement, and Israeli improvement, of land used to justify settler-colonialism. He writes that Palestinians who accuse "the Jews" of theft in claiming falafel are "creat[ing] a controversy" and that "food and culture cannot be stolen," with no reflection on the context of settler-colonialism and literal, physical theft that lies behind said "controversy." This isn't relevant except that it makes me sceptical of Marks's motivations in general.

More pertinent is the fact that this quote doesn't actually suggest that this falafel vendor was Yemeni (or otherwise) Jewish, nor does it suggest that he was the first one to prepare falafel in pitas with "fried chips," "sometimes even a little salad," and "Tehina, a local mayonnaise made with sesame oil" (Cornfeld, p. 4). I think it likely that this food had been sold for a while before it was described in published writing. The idea that this preparation is "Israeli" in origin must be false, since this was before the state of "Israel" existed—that it was first created by Yemeni Jewish falafel vendors is possible, but again, I've never seen any direct evidence for it, or anyone giving a clear reason for why they believe it to be the case, and the political reasons that people have for believing this narrative make me wary of it. There were Palestinian Arab falafel vendors at this time as well.

"Chickpea falafel is a Jewish invention"

There is also a claim that falafel originated in Egypt, where it was made with fava beans; spread to the Levant, including Palestine, where it was made with a combination of fava beans and chickpeas; but that Jewish immigration to Israel caused the origin of the chickpea-only falafal currently eaten in Palestine, because a lot of Jewish people have G6PD deficiencies or favism (inherited enzymatic deficiencies making fava beans anywhere from unpleasant to dangerous to eat)—or that Jewish populations in Yemen had already been making chickpea-only falafel, and this was the falafel which they brought with them to Palestine.

As far as I can tell, this claim comes from Joan Nathan's 2001 The Foods of Israel:

Zadok explained that at the time of the establishment of the state, falafel—the name of which probably comes from the word pilpel (pepper)—was made in two ways: either as it is in Egypt today, from crushed, soaked fava beans or fava beans combined with chickpeas, spices, and bulgur; or, as Yemenite Jews and the Arabs of Jerusalem did, from chickpeas alone. But favism, an inherited enzymatic deficiency occurring among some Jews—mainly those of Kurdish and Iraqi ancestry, many of whom came to Israel during the mid 1900s—proved potentially lethal, so all falafel makers in Israel ultimately stopped using fava beans, and chickpea falafel became an Israeli dish.

Gil Marks's 2010 Encyclopedia of Jewish Food echoes (but does not cite):

Middle Eastern Jews have been eating falafel for centuries, the pareve fritter being ideal in a kosher diet. However, many Jews inherited G6PD deficiency or its more severe form, favism; these hereditary enzymatic deficiencies are triggered by items like fava beans and can prove fatal. Accordingly, Middle Eastern Jews overwhelmingly favored chickpeas solo in their falafel. (Entry for "Falafel")

The "centuries" thing is consistent with the fact that Marks believes falafel to be of Medieval origin, a claim which most scholars I've read on the subject don't believe (no documentary evidence, + oil was expensive so it seems unlikely that people were deep frying anything). And, again, this claim is speculation with no documentary evidence to support it.

As for the specific modern toppings including the Yemeni hot sauce سَحاوِق / סְחוּג (saHawiq / "zhug"), Baghdadi mango pickle عنبة / עמבה ('anba), and Moroccan هريسة / חריסה ("harissa"), it seems likely that these were introduced by Mizrahim given their place of origin.

*You might be interested to know that, despite their Jewishness mediating this borrowing, Mizrahim were during the Mandate years largely ethnically segregated from Eastern European Zionists, who were pushing to create a "new" European-Israeli Judaism separate from what they viewed as the indolence and ignorance of "Oriental" Jewishness (Hirsch p. 101).

This was evidenced in part by Europeans' attitudes towards the "Oriental" diet. Ari Ariel, summarizing Yael Raviv's Falafel Nation, writes:

Although all immigrants were thought to require culinary education as an aspect of their absorption into the new national culture, Middle Eastern Jews, who began to immigrate in increasing numbers after 1948, provoked greater anxiety on the part of the state than did their Ashkenazi co-religionists. Israeli politicians and ideologues spoke of the dangers of Levantization and stereotyped Jews from the Middle East and North Africa as primitive, lazy, and ignorant. In keeping with this Orientalism, the state pressured Middle Easterners to change their foodways and organized cooking demonstrations in transit camps and new housing developments. (Book review, Israel Studies Review 31.2 (2016), p. 169.)

See also Esther Meir-Glitzenstein, "Longing for the Aromas of Baghdad: Food, Emigration, and Transformation in the Lives of Iraqi Jews in Israel in the 1950s," in Jews and their Foodways:

[...] [T]he Israeli establishment was set on “educating” the new immigrants not only in matters of health and hygiene, [77] but also in the realm of nutrition. A concerted propaganda effort was launched by well-baby clinics, kindergartens, schools, health clinics, and various organizations such as the Women’s International Zionist Organization (WIZO) and the Organization of Working Mothers in order to promote the consumption of milk and dairy products, in particular. [78] (These had a marginal place in Iraqi cuisine, consumed mainly by children.) Arab and North African cuisines were criticized for being not sufficiently nutritious, whereas the Israeli diet was touted as ideal, as it was western and modern. […] [T]he assault on traditional Middle Eastern cuisines reflected cultural arrogance yet another attempt to transform immigrants into “new Jews” in accordance with the Zionist ethos. Thus, European table manners were presented as the norm. Eating with the hands was equated with primitive behavior, and use of a fork and knife became the hallmark of modernity and progress. (pp. 100-101)

[77. On health matters, see Davidovich and Shvarts, “Health and Hegemony,” 150–179; Sahlav Stoller-Liss, “ ‘Mothers Birth the Nation’: The Social Construction of Zionist Motherhood in Wartime in Israeli Parents’ Manuals,” Nashim 6 (Fall 2003), 104–118.]

[78. On propaganda for drinking milk and eating dairy products, see Mor Dvorkin, “Mif’alei hahazanah haḥinukhit bishnot ha’aliyah hagedolah: mekorot umeafyenim” (seminar paper, Ben-Gurion University, 2010).]

**On the desire to shed "old, European" "Jewish" identity and take on a "new, Oriental" "Hebrew" one, and the contradictory impulses to use Palestinian Arabs as models in this endeavour and to claim that they needed to be "corrected," see:

Itamar Even-Zohar, "The Emergence of a Native Hebrew Culture in Palestine, 1882—1948"

Dafna Hirsch, "We Are Here to Bring the West, Not Only to Ourselves": Zionist Occidentalism and the Discourse of Hygiene in Mandate Palestine"

Ofra Tene, "'The New Immigrant Must Not Only Learn, He Must Also Forget': The Making of Eretz Israeli Ashkenazi Cuisine."

#sorry for this but you should've known better than to ask me about falafel at this stage in my life #falafel research saga

[scoobydoodean]

Everyone (besides the Braedens) is so annoying about Dean in 6.01. In a way, he's almost treated like some sort of exotic animal by other hunters—"the hunter who got out" is considered an impossibility in the hunting world—both from a moral perspective, and from a trauma perspective.

Bobby keeps repeating "You were out" when Dean gets mad at him and Sam for keeping Sam's resurrection a secret, and while there is obviously a loving angle in Bobby wanting Dean (someone he views as a son) to live a long life, the secret is so unapologetically cruel in the face of Dean's grief that Bobby's actions also suggest more personal motivations. This, along with Dean's demand "Good for who?" when Bobby insists he made the good choice, almost lends itself to the idea that this wasn't just about Dean. It was about something Dean symbolized for Bobby. Dean was living proof that hunters could get out, and have families, and live long lives, and this probably soothes something in Bobby as someone who lost his wife tragically right after an emotional betrayal. In "Death's Door", Bobby is implied to have had a vasectomy he never told Karen about. He was the child who ruined everything he touched according to his abusive father, and decided never to have children because of it. Bobby still grieves losing Karen, and he grieves what could have been if he hadn't let his dad get in his head. Like Bobby, Dean is also a person accused of having a corrupting touch, and Bobby is very aware of Dean's self-worth issues (2.22) and I think sees a lot of his own emotional hangups in Dean. So I think it's possible that for Bobby, seeing Dean get to be happy is something Bobby needs... for himself in a sense? While being something he wants for someone he loves, it also just... soothes something inside him, symbolically and personally.

Other characters don't react so positively to Dean as a symbol representing hunters being able to get out and overcome the tragedies that generally bring them into the life to begin with. The Campbells immediately look down on Dean for not being a hunter anymore, treating him as a greenhorn, suggesting he was never meant for the work they do (his features are too "delicate"), poking around his house like it's a zoo exhibit. Sam also joins in, mocking Dean for having golf clubs.

Samuel feigns sympathy, saying he "gets it" because Mary wanted out of the life too, but it's just a little carefully placed pathos before he launches into giving Dean the same speech Mary was likely subjected to repeatedly, telling Dean they need all hands on deck, that he has a responsibility but would rather "play golf" (which is really what shows most that Samuel has zero understanding of why Dean or his own daughter wanted normal lives).

Sam also completely switches up on Dean by the end of the episode, going from justifying keeping his resurrection a secret because Dean was happy, to saying that Dean can't be normal and should return to hunting because he's putting Lisa and Ben in danger by being with them. Of course, soulless Sam flip flops because he doesn't actually care about whether or not Dean is happy. He was going through the motions of wanting Dean to be happy because he thought it was what he should want based on his memories, and he didn't have any emotional need for his brother and therefore no reason to bother him or care that he was grieving someone who was alive. But the moment he saw Dean display the heart of a hero, rushing to try and save his neighbors when all hope was lost, he saw something that he thought would be useful—someone with a heart who might make the "rules" of how to conduct himself more clear. Dean then seemed like a useful asset.

#6.01 #season 6 #pk rewatches spn number ? #do i look like a ditchable prom date to you? #dean and bobby #samuel #the campbells #mary #dean and guilt #the very touch of you corrupts #dont objectify me!

[holylulusworld]

Him, him or him?

Summary: It’s your birthday and you decide to attend a speed dating event for fun. And fun it is…

Pairing: Steve Rogers, Bucky Barnes, Soldier Boy & Dean Winchester x Reader/You

Warnings: self-indulgent fanfic, multi-fandom fanfic, speed-dating, cocky Ben & Dean, implied smut, mentions of oral

A/N: I wrote this one for my birthday but used Y/N so anyone can be the reader. I’m a thirsty hoe, what can I say?

“You want to do what?” your friend gapes at you. “But you said that you’d rather die than go on a blind date or ever consider speed dating.”

“Uh-it could be fun,” you smirk. “You know, I can tell every guy a different story. For one I’m a stewardess, for the next an exotic dancer, and maybe I’m a dominatrix too. Let me fuck up speed-dating for them as they did with the dates I had to endure. “OH! Maybe I fake I’m going into labor next time.”

“Y/N, spending your birthday with strangers is not how I imagined the day would play out. We still can go to a club or have dinner at your favorite restaurant.”

“It’s on my bucket list, babe.”

“Speed-dating is on your bucket list?” she huffs. “That’s lame.”

“Speed-dating and messing a date up,” you grin. “Let me have some fun before I’m getting too old and lose my teeth.” You chuckle. “Come on, I didn’t doll myself up to not have some fun…”

“Hi, uh…I’m James,” the first guy sitting opposite you seems to be a little shy. He’s hiding behind a base cap and twiddles his fingers. “I came here with a friend. He wanted me to meet other people.”

“Y/N,” you hold out your hand. “I came here to…meet other people too.” You won’t mess with this guy. He seems to be nervous and shy. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same,” he mumbles. “So…what are you doing for a living?” James wants to know. “I’m kinda between two jobs.”

“Oh, I’m a Y/P (your profession),” oddly, you don’t lie to him. There is something about this man making your heart beat faster. “You said that you came with a friend. Is he looking for a date too?”

“Kinda,” James sheepishly looks at you. His soft blue eyes look you up and down, and for a moment it seemed there was a glint in them. “So, doll. Did you do this before?”

“No,” you sigh. Maybe this wasn’t a good idea after all. You want to ask James if you want to talk somewhere else, but the bell rings and he says his goodbyes. “Aw, he wasn’t too bad…”

You watch James switch to the next table. He barely looks at the woman sitting opposite him.

“Hi,” a deep voice pulls your attention toward the man sitting down at your table. “I’m Steve. You just talked to my friend.” Damn, a tall blonde hunk took James’ place, and you fear this was an awful idea. “Did he talk to you?”

“Yes. He was a little shy but nice to talk to. I’m Y/N by the way,” you hold out your hand for Steve too. “Nice to meet you.”

“Same, doll,” he lowers his head and presses a soft kiss to your knuckles. You giggle as it’s a little old-fashioned. “What do you want to talk about?”

“Do you have any hobbies?” you look him up and down. Steve looks familiar to you, but you don’t remember if you met him before. 

“I like to draw, and work on my bike,” he explains in a hurry. The bell will ring anytime and then he’ll need to switch places with some other guy. “Maybe I could draw you if I had more time…”

You lift one brow.

“Crap. I didn’t want to come over as a creep. It’s just you’re a pretty dame and I’d like to draw you, doll.”

You don’t get the chance to answer. The bell rings again, and Steve leaves your table. He gives you one last glance, smiling as you watch him go.

“Crap. He was kinda cute too…and tall,” you mutter under your breath as another guy walks toward your table. His legs are bowed, and he has this sway in his hips you can only call cocky.

“Hey there, sweetheart,” he smirks, and his stunning green eyes sparkle as he turns the chair to sit astride the chair. “How’re doing here? Saw the other guys. Hmm…you can do better.”

“Hi. What’s your name?” you ask, holding out your hand for the cocky guy.

“Name’s Dean. I’m an Aquarius, enjoy sunsets and frisky women. You can find me on Tinder under Impala67.” 

You chuckle at his eagerness. “That was a lot of information within a few seconds.”

“We only got three minutes. Now that you know a few things about me, you can tell me everything about you. How about you give me your name first.”

“Y/N. It’s nice to meet you, Dean,” you shake his hand too. Unlike the other guys, Dean doesn’t let go of your hand. He holds it while you try to tell him more about you. “I like sunsets too, and cocky guys. I assume your username has something to do with your car.”

“My baby. A 1967er Impala. Black. She’s a real beauty,” he leans closer and smirks. “With a huge backseat.”

“Bold and cocky,” you chuckle as he flashes you an adorable smile. 

He sighs as the bell rings again. “Three minutes are much too short to get to know each other. How about we meet outside and see how the night plays out? I’ll be waiting for you if you want me to.”

Someone clears his throat behind Dean’s back. “Buddy, it’s my turn,” the man says as Dean turns around to size the man up. “You had your chance. Now get out of my way.”

“Uh-Dean. Maybe you should switch to the next table,” you try to stop them from fighting. 

“You can have the chair, not the girl,” Dean snarls at the man. He looks over his shoulder and flashes you another smile. “See you later, sweetheart.”

You started with three great men. Sadly, the next men weren’t as nice as Dean, Steve, and James. They talked mostly about themselves, money, their exes, or, and that’s your favorite, how much they love blowjobs.

“Shit, how many more,” you huff as the bell rings one last time. “Hi. My name is Y/N. And no, I won’t give you a blowjob after we are done here.”

“A tempting offer,” the man sitting down chuckles. “But I would never ask a lady to give me a blowjob before giving her heads.”

“What?” your head snaps upward and you meet another cocky smirk. This one seems to be even cockier and more self-confident than Dean. He leans back in the chair and runs his hand over his beard.

“You seemed rather bored, sweetness. How about you tell me something about yourself? Name’s Ben, or the guy giving you multiple orgasms if you want to.”

“Whoa, you’re very…” you don’t find the right words. Is he intense? Cocky? Or arrogant. Maybe a mixture of all.

“You like sunsets?” he asks. “I heard you talking to the other guy. The one with the car he calls Baby.”

“Did you spy on us?” 

“I saw you and your friend before you entered the building and thought I should keep an eye on you, Y/N. You never know if a creep tries to get handsy,” Ben smirks as you lean back in your chair. You’re a little shell-shocked at his admission. “I only had eyes for you today. How about you forget about the other guys and come with me? We can have dinner…and more…”

“Whoa, you just admitted that you followed me and my friend. I don’t think this is the best basis for a first date,” you raise one hand to stop him from talking to you. “The others at least didn’t act like a creep.”

“I want what I want, sweetness,” he shrugs. “I’m not hiding that you caught my attention. It’s been a long time since a woman got my attention like you did.”

The bell rings one last time. You don’t know what to think or feel when Ben gets up from the chair. He smirks and taps the table three times. “I hope to see you later. If not, it was a pleasure talking to you.”

“Same…” you stammer. He makes you a little nervous, but at the same time, you’d like to get to know more about Ben. 

When the show is over you walk toward the organizer to hand them your list of the men you’d like to get to know better.

“Miss Y/L/N, four of your dates tonight submitted a list to us with only your name on it. They wanted me to give you their information,” the organizer says. She hands you a piece of paper with the information about Steve, Bucky, Dean, and Ben.

“Uh-thank you,” you take the piece of paper, awkwardly glancing at the information. “What now? Do they want me to call them or…?”

“That’s up to you, miss. You can call them or ignore them. If you liked one of them, you could get in touch with him,” she says. “If you would excuse me now.”

She leaves you to talk to other women. “BABE! Did you get a number or two?” your friend happily shows you the number of one of the guys she met. “Show me yours.”

“I got…uh…four,” you show your friend the information you got. “I just don’t know which guy I liked more. They were all four really…”

“Hot? Sexy? Fuckable?” she swoons. “You know, maybe two of them are up to a threesome.”

You choke on the air. “What?”

“Guys like shit like that.”

“I can’t ask them to have a-“ you huff. “Steve and Bucky are friends.” You lick your lips. “I mean. Friends share things right?”

“You nasty little slut,” your friend snickers. “Do you want to ask them for a night to remember?”

“I could just rename birthday and call it dick-day from now on,” you muse when your friend’s eyes widen in shock. “It was your idea, remember. I have a threesome on my bucket list too…”

“Hi-hey,” you walk toward Steve and Bucky. “I got your number and was asking myself if you are up to having…” your eyes wander toward Dean and Ben. You frown and wonder when they got best buddies because Dean is laughing about something Ben said. 

“What did you ask yourself?” Steve places his hand on your shoulder. “Doll, talk to us.”

“I don’t know. I was wrecking my brain to decide on whom I want to call,” you sigh deeply. “I liked you, and your friend. But there are two other guys I liked too.”

“Oh-four-leaf clover of hotness,” Bucky smirks darkly. “What do you say, Stevie? Are we up to some competition? I’d like to see her on all fours, serving me and you like a good slut.”

“Gentlemen, did we already decide on who is going to have her first?” you gasp as Dean and Ben step toward you. 

“What? I don’t understand.”

“We talked about inviting you to spend the night with us, sweetheart,” Dean whispers in your ear. “What do you say, Y/N? Do you want to come with us and have a sexy four-leaf clover of hotness all night long?”

Tags in reblog.

#Him him or him? #soldier boy #steve rogers #bucky barnes #dean winchester #multifandom fanfiction #ben x reader #dean winchester x reader #bucky barnes x reader #steve rogers x reader

[seeds-and-sins]

Light My Fire - Part Seven

Pairing: Ben "Soldier Boy" x F!Reader

Rating: M (Crude Language, Curse Words, Sexism, descriptions of explicit sexual content)

Description: Phoenix faces a ghost.

Tagged: @tonixe @chernayawidow, @deans-spinster-witchs-favorites, @ophennie @virgoelf-blog, @my-obsession-spn, @capricxnt

Part Six

Your father died in the war.

1945. The Battle of Okinawa.

You were fifteen years old.

You don't remember much about him, but he was a good man. He promised to come home. When the soldiers came marching in, he wasn't with them. Your mother wasn't the same after that, but she didn't show it on the surface. She cried in the bathroom and whimpered into her pillow, but she never let anyone see her like that. You had admired her when you were younger.

But now?

You couldn't even recall what her face looked like. When you thought about her, which wasn't often, all you could think about were words: strong, independent, fierce, and hard-working. Your mother was a no nonsense kind of gal and that was how she raised you. She was a secretary for some big shot in St. Louis, a working woman that earned her own and fended for her own. If not for her, you wouldn't be here. You can imagine yourself aging, having married and had children ages ago. Maybe you'd be in a nursing home right now. Maybe you'd be in a grave.

But no.

Your mother refused to marry you off like all the other mothers of your time. She didn't believe that a woman belonged in the kitchen and she refused to allow you to think otherwise. She instilled in you a fury that remained even to today.

You both lost touch with one another when you were entered into the program. You were twenty-two years old, your mother had made the arrangements herself. You don't remember why she did, but frankly, it was so long ago you can't bring yourself to care. You never went out to find her. You were certain that she was dead by now. And of the things she left you with, 'I love you' wasn't one of them.

Don't trust anyone, she said.

And don't you dare fall in love. You'll just get yourself hurt. No one cares about you and no one ever will. Remember that.

You should have listened to her, but over time her words just became less and less valuable. You didn't take them seriously anymore. Not like you used to. You doubt she told you them under the assumption that you would live to be almost a hundred years old and look not a day over twenty-two. She couldn't possibly understand what it was like to be in your boots.

It was lonely.

Surely, that would be the exception. If you trusted someone along the way, that was okay. If you fell in love...

But no.

None of this was okay.

And you don't think your mother would approve of you attending the seventieth anniversary of the biggest hero fuck fest in history.

You were scowling in disgust as you made your way through the halls of the mansion. Tommy, Tessa, and the Deep had disappeared, but you weren't so concerned about it. If Tommy and Tessa were still alive, that meant that Ben wasn't here yet. But Ben was on his way and you needed to prepare yourself for the worst. The moaning, the exotic smells that permeated in the air, the sounds of skin slapping against skin, it wasn't making your situation any better.

You couldn't believe that the twins were still doing this. It was obvious by the look on your face that you had never been a big fan of Ben's annual Herogasm. He started it with some other heroes a long ways back and from that point forward he made it a habit to host the orgy in his penthouse every once a year. You had been invited on numerous occasions before Payback had even been formed. Back then, heroes were few and far between. You didn't have hundreds of them like there was now. The invites were little pamphlets with splashes of vibrant colors stamped down by a printing press, some poorly drawn pornographic comic scribbled on the front. They were sent out by whoever was Soldier Boy's assistant at the time. Knowing how Soldier Boy was after he met you in person, if the invites had been sent by him personally, he probably would have come and fetched you himself.

That was much like what happened after he met you. Being a member of his team didn't deter him from you in the slightest. Ben would invite you to Herogasm himself every year after Payback had been created. And every year that Ben approached you about the event, you gave a very firm and strong 'no'. Ben was so determined that he would try everything he could think of to get you to change your mind. As if him barreling through your penthouse door in the early morning wasn't already bad enough. He sent you sex toys, gave you intimate details on who was going to be there, attempted to bribe you with food and drinks and drugs.

It wasn't like you were a prude.

In your younger days, you would do anything to have a good time. You were reasonable and rule-abiding, but it was a known fact that you liked to party. And you were wild and fun and carefree. The world was your playground and you were so excited to learn and try new things. Heck, you weren't even that young then. But within the era arose a lot of great changes and great changes meant new things. Everyone was living life to the fullest and everyone was rocking and rolling, swinging, mixing drugs and drinks, learning about themselves. It was a new age. Gone were the ways of the old.

So, you weren't going to lie to yourself, part of you really did want to go to Herogasm. You couldn't count how many times you had nearly walked yourself all the way to Soldier Boy's penthouse. Be damned the reality of giving him the satisfaction, you just wanted to have fun. The rational and reasonable side of yourself would stop you. You would have to do a regroup on the top of a tower somewhere, pace back and forth as you thought up reasons as to why you shouldn't go.

Orgies were great and all, but there was nothing that beat the physical and carnal intimacy of being with someone in private.

Ben had tried to persuade you that way too: It'll just be you and I, how 'bout that? But there still was the problem of him being in a relationship. Take away the public aspect of it and there still was the fact that he was with Crimson. No matter how many passes Crimson gave him, you wouldn't be just some other girl, you wouldn't allow that. And you couldn't do that to Countess.

The idea of facing him in the workplace after that, you'd never be able to do that. You weren't sure how your teammates managed. Payback had fucked with each other in every which way, even outside of Heorgasm. Herogasm was supposed to be the fuck for free card: once a year, fuck whoever you want, however you want, no consequences. What happens in Herogasm stays in Herogasm, kind of bullshit. You would never be able to do that.

Your best bet was to stay away. And you did.

It was almost ironic that you would confront Ben, after all these years, at an event like this. You weaved through the corridors of the mansion, peeking into rooms and steering clear of naked bodies. You found a surprisingly secluded part of the home and took up a space there. You were fiddling with the edge of your cape, pacing back and forth as you waited.

"Okay. Deep Breathes." You told yourself, muttering reassurances that fell empty in your gut. "Everything will be fine. Everything will work out."

What would you even say to Ben? It wasn't his fault that he had been trapped by the Soviets all these years. If anything, it was yours. You blamed yourself for not saving him when you should have. Why did you wait to confront the team? Why didn't you just go get Ben? None of this would be happening if you did. Maybe you'd finally be retired.

Or maybe you just liked this too much...

You don't know how much time had passed, too lost in your thoughts. A sickeningly sweet smell filtered in, a cloud of smoke floating in the air. You inhaled deeply through your nose, nostrils flaring.

"Halothane?" The smell brought a sense of nostalgia. Criminals tried to use it on you a few times back in the day, assuming it would knock you out cold. Either some super kinky shit was going on or something was about to go down.

You followed the cloud of smoke, turning a corner to find it unfurling from a container that rested at your feet. Some sort of smoke grenade, you deduced. You stepped forward, trotting down a set of steps before coming upon two familiar faces. The two men were in conflict with one another, Butcher easily holding back the larger man with one hand.

"Well, if it isn't Billy fuckin' Butcher." They both paused, eyes landing on you. Butcher faced you, a small smirk lifting his lips.

"Phoenix, the fiery cunt, funny seeing you 'ere."

Billy had tried to kill you a few years ago. His team and him had been tasked with obliterating your entire career and even trying to find a way to obliterate you. They failed, of course. There was no doubt that they would. And you didn't blame them for trying to kill you, you were a loose cannon. Still were. You returned his smirk as you came down those last few steps.

"I wouldn't be smiling if I were you. Don't think ya'know what's about to happen." You paused, cocked your head to the side, your irises glowed red. All too fast, a gust of air slashed at your sides as you moved with a startling quickness. Your hand encompassed Butcher's throat and you pinned him to the wall. The wall crackled around the force of your combined strength and his weight. His colleague threw a fist at a nearby display case, the glass shattered onto the carpet floor, he withdrew a wooden baseball bat. The wooden bat splintered as it hit your back, falling into a mess of pieces. Butcher fought back with a grin, making a good effort, something you didn't miss. That grin of his faded when he realized he wasn't strong enough to pry your fingers away from his exposed throat.

"What have you been up to, you piece of shit? You've gotten abnormally strong since I last saw you." You showed your teeth, your hand as hot as a furnace, holding Butcher in place as if he were a mouse. "You couldn't have taken V, I don't take you to be that kind of guy." Your gaze wandered up and down with a sick curiosity as he continued to struggle, clawing at your hand with an iron grip. "Nooo..." You ponder with a pop of your lips. "You took something else. Ya'know you can't trust that shit, right?"

"Let him go!" His colleague stood back now, withdrawing a pistol. He fired six shots at you, the bullets hit your side and dropped to the floor in little dented beads. You plainly looked between the bullets and him.

"Really?" You spat, "Don't you guys know anything by now? For fucks sake, it's always the same shit with you people."

BOOM!

The explosion surprised you and you relinquished your grip on Butcher. The wall at your back exploded into a mess of rubble, a burst of heavy wind pushing back at you. Billy and his friend collapsed to the ground from the blast, while you stayed perfectly still against it. Your eyes narrowed in its direction. As the structure of the mansion around you wheezed and crumbled from the attack, you heard screams and cries for help follow. You made no move to save anyone. Butcher groaned as he shoved a wall off of him with ease. He smirked up at you.

"You're fucked." He laughed.

The walls were black with soot, plots of fire spanned out across the once pristine white. Your eyes vigorously looked around, you searched for the source. An explosion? Much like the one in Manhatten. John had told you that Soldier Boy had caused that. Stumbling from the sheet of smoke in the air, a figure appeared, down the same set of steps that you had come from, down the same corridor. They grew closer, Butcher stood to his full height, brushing off the layer of dust that had settled on him.

The figure halted when they came into view. His bright blue eyes squinted in your direction before a heated glare contorted his handsome features. Your heart stuttered in your chest, fists clenching at your sides. What were you going to say?

God-He looked just like the last time you saw him. Shiny and bright, a little rough around the edges, but just as strong. As if nothing had happened all those years ago, as if he was just coming back from a simple vacation, he was the spitting image of the man you remembered: the same suit, shield poised at his side, hair grown slightly thicker, no mask.

"Ben." He was going to kill you, wasn't he? You could see it in his eyes. His eyes lacked the fondness that haunted your dreams. When you wished you could be back at the beginning, before all this. Before Vought betrayed him, before Vought betrayed you. "Don't do this." You breathed, your eyes softened, the red in them was replaced by your natural eye color. You extended a hand. "Please."

"You haven't seen me for years and the first thing you do is beg." His voice. Even when he sounded threatening, you missed the deep, transatlantic accent that used to make you feel warm inside. You wished you had never rejected it. Fuck Countess. Fuck morals. You should have kissed him. You should have fucked him. You should have loved him. Seeing him here, none of that mattered anymore. Ben was alive. You were right. He was here. You wanted to run and hug him with all the strength you could muster. You wanted him to hug you back.

I'm better now. You would tell him.

You weren't sick anymore. Last time you saw him, he made you swear that you would be better by the time he got back.

Or maybe you were still sick.

Damaged. Deranged.

People could be sick in different ways.

Why would he want you?

Stop being dillusional.

You weren't the same person you were when you made that promise. When Ben promised to come back to you, he was Ben. Just Ben.

Your rational side returned: Ben wanted you dead now. He wasn't Ben anymore. He was the enemy.

More importantly, he wanted John dead. Who cares if Ben succeeded in killing you? You didn't care if you died. You welcomed it. But John? Fuck anyone who would dare hurt that man. You would fucking burn the world for John. He was like a son. He was your son. No one would fucking hurt him.

"I'm disappointed." Ben added, Butcher slowly walked to stand at his side. Butcher must have felt like he owned the world now. Butcher must have felt indestructible. With whatever substance was running through his veins, with Soldier Boy at his side, all of his dreams would come true: you would be killed and Homelander would be next. You wouldn't allow it.

"I don't know what else to say."

"I waited for you." Ben growled through clenched teeth. "Of all the people, I thought you would come for me."

"I tried." You replied quickly, almost pleading.

"You didn't try hard enough." His voice cracked with emotion as he spoke those last words, before his eyes flitted to something behind you. Someone. You looked over your shoulder: It was John, descending a staircase.

"William Butcher and Soldier Boy." He announced, halting beside you, shoulder to shoulder. "You were behind this. This whole thing. It really is all about me." Soldier Boy glanced back at Butcher, you saw a distant doubt at the edge of his gaze. "William, we made a deal. To fight to the death, you and me." Butcher's expression hardened, he was glaring at Homelander with a deep and sacred hatred in his bones. Heat rose in your fingertips, you were preparing yourself for a brutal battle. Homelander shot a beam of red in Butcher's direction and Butcher was thrown, hitting the wall behind him with a booming thud. Soldier Boy faced Homelander, a coolness washed over him and he stood at the ready. "You were my hero growing up." Homelander took a step toward Ben, "I watched all of your movies hundreds of times." Your breath caught as your gaze flicked between them, an intensity clung to the air. The corridor felt more tight and narrow than before. Fumes of smoke flowing from cracks in the walls, lingering after the explosion. "You were the only one that was nearly as strong as me." Those words came out soft, muttered off the tip of John's tongue. Homelander was wide eyed, someone seeing their childhood idol for the first time and maybe John was a bit disappointed.

"Buddy," Soldier Boy replied. "You think you're strong? You're wearing a cape." You grabbed Homelander's bicep. You could feel the tension vibrating in the muscle. You had a duty to stop this, right? You didn't want this. "You're just a cheap fuckin' knockoff."

"Shut up, Ben." You shot out through clenched teeth.

"And you?" Ben turned on you. "The Phoenix. Fire in the sky. You're the biggest fake of them all. The biggest fuckin' whore." Homelander's bicep slipped from your grasp and he flew at Soldier Boy with a roar. Soldier Boy collided with the wall, but he recouped fast and swung a fist across Homelander's cheek. You flew in to intervene, trying to rip the two apart. Soldier Boy shoved you and you stumbled back, Homelander's laser vision beamed at him. You were about to tear them apart again when a hand grabbed at your shoulder and ripped you backward.

It was Butcher. You blinked at him in shock, his fist collided with your cheek. It did nothing more than snap your head to the side, but you were still surprised. His eyes turned yellow and a beam was shot in Homelander's direction, shoving him back. John was momentarily stunned as his blue eyes lifted to Butcher.

"What did you do?" He snarled.

"Scorched Earth." Butcher replied, you returned by grabbing Butcher by his jacket and you yanked him away. Homelander directed his rage toward him, fists were flying, both of them dodging before making a hit. You turned your attention to Soldier Boy, he was rolling on the floor. You stomped to him, grabbed him by the collar of his chest plate and hauled him to his feet. He punched you. The hit drew blood, the boiling hot liquid ran from your nostril. Before you could collect yourself, Soldier Boy's hand was at your throat and he was choking you.

"I would have given you the fuckin' world." He hissed.

"They-" You choked out, "Got me-" Both of your hands wrapped around his wrist and you fought with all your strength. "Too." His grip loosened just a touch and his eyebrows furrowed at you in confusion. An arm looped around his neck and Homelander was drawing him into a chokehold. Butcher tackled Homelander from behind.

You held your throat, gasping for breath. You stumbled toward the three, reaching out for Butcher when you were shoved from behind. The shove wasn't enough to send you off balance, but you spun on your heel.

It was a naked man.

Starlight's boyfriend? He stared wide eyed at you, you stared wide eyed at him.

Upon recognition of his place in all this, you wasted no time, fire balled in your fist and you threw a wave of heat at him. He squealed, patting himself down, left intact by your attack. Your attentions went back to the trio. You punched Soldier Boy in the gut. Butcher climbed off Homelander to grapple you by the shoulder and throw you.

Soon. In a mess of limbs and fire, it was Homelander and you versus Starlight's boyfriend, Butcher, and Soldier Boy. Soldier Boy and Butcher were far more trained in specific combos of attack, while Homelander just aimlessly tossed his brute strength in where he could hit them. All of them had one goal. It was like you didn't even exist. Any move against you was one to keep you away. The three of them held Homelander down to the ground, Ben's chest began to glow yellow.

What was that?! What was he doing?! You had never seen that before.

"No! Stop!" You screamed, steam rose from the corners of your eyes. You grabbed Ben by the shoulders and pulled with all your might. "PLEASE!"

WHOOSH!

Your efforts were just enough to give Homelander an opening and he escaped their hold, flying into the sky and through the roof. You fell back, hitting the wall.

It was still.

Quiet.

You licked your lips, eyes focused ahead on Soldier Boy's hunched form. Butcher flipped on his side and Starlight's boyfriend stood with a limp and a grunt. Soldier Boy stood, one leg at a time, he slowly faced you. His chest rose and fell with every ragged breath. You held against the wall as he closed in on you.

"I'm going to kill him..." He began, pulling loose tufts of his hair back with his fingers. "And I'm going to make you watch." You tilted your head away. "And then I'm going to kill you." Your vision just so happened to land on Butcher. He was grinning now, blood staining his teeth.

"This is not fair, Ben." You said weakly.

"Aww, are you gonna' cry?" He taunted, lacking any jest, all cold and callous. "Gosh, I don't remember you being such a pussy."

"I don't remember you being so cold."

"Well, that's what happens when the only person you ever fuckin' cared about leaves you to the wolves for four decades!" He shouted, spital ran off his sharp teeth.

"Fuck you, Ben. You don't even know anything. You don't know." You whimpered back, defeated. You couldn't even believe that was you talking. You lifted into the air and flew through the hole in the ceiling.

Ben's eyed followed you, head tilting back. His fists clenched at his sides.

"What did she mean?" He asked out loud, "They Got Me too. What does that mean?"

"Who fuckin' knows, mate. You can't trust a word she says." Butcher replied, eyes narrowing on Soldier Boy in question. Soldier Boy needed to think Phoenix was the enemy. Otherwise, they would never kill Homelander. "She's just tryin' to get into your head."

"That flying fuck and her, are they..."

"What do you think?" And that was the only seed Butcher needed to plant because Soldier Boy's answering grimace was enough. He was hurt and he was fuming and that was how Butcher needed him to stay. He needed Soldier Boy on his side.

"Guys, we gotta' go. Like, now." Hughie stated anxiously, Butcher nodded in agreement.

"Come on." Soldier Boy stood below the hole in the ceiling, his fists clenched at his sides, he gritted his teeth.

You were right there. Right in front of him. As beautiful as the first day he had met you...

And he should have killed you.

Return to Masterlist

#reader #the boys #homelander #the seven #black noir #vought international #crimson countess #soldier boy x reader #oc hero name #billy butcher #hughie campbell #starlight #mothers milk #tnt twins #payback

[scary-lasagna]

X-Mas ask! What would some of the creeps' ideal gifts be? What are they hoping to find beneath the tree this year? And alternatively, how likely are they to actually receive it? Happy holidays! <3

Their lists are much more expansive, but these are at the top of their list!

Jeff - New clothes. He’s been wearing his tattered attire for the past year now, and his bulletproof vest has more holes than a slice of Swiss.

Ben - New gaming headphones. The faux leather on his has been flaking off for a few months now, so he wants a better upgrade with better sound quality and such.

Eyeless Jack - Thermal clothes for winter hunting.

Seedeater - “mmmmmmmeat”

Nina - Victoria’s Secret giftcards

Sally - A bell from Santa’s sleigh

Tim - A vacation

Brian - New hunting equipment

Toby - Whatever merch features his most recent hyperfixation - this month it is crystals thanks to Jane

Kate - Something to throw at Brian when he’s annoying her about what she wants for Christmas

Clockwork - Whimsical jewlery

Jane - Textbooks about learning French

Lost Silver - A gaming chair. He’s always wanted one, and even though a beanbag is much more comfy, a gaming chair would definitely match the rest of his rooms aesthetic. Plus, Ben just makes it look cool.

Dark Link - Better gear. He earns a living off of tactical and stealth work, and his exterior armor is getting a little too gritty to be considered safe and quiet.

Jason - A magnetic bracelet for loose screws and the like while working

Laughing Jack - A book on Exotic beasts

Helen - Clay!!! And lots of it!!!

Puppeteer - Callus gloves for his hands

Slender - “Anything you’d think I’d like” Even though he talks nonstop about a pair of new cuff links and fancy bourbon.

Offender - “I dunno something cool like a blowtorch”

Trender - A vintage sewing machine and kit. He just thinks they’re so aesthetically pleasing.

Splendor - A nail polish set!

Zalgo - Universal Domination. If not available, store brand is fine.

#creepypasta #creepypasta headcanon #creepypasta imagines #list #holiday #creepypasta christmas #christmas

[from-a-legends-pov]

Star Wars Legends: Poll of the Week - Cardplayer, Gambler, Scoundrel, Businessman

Lando’s not a system, he’s a man…a businessman. Which of these Lando Calrissian business ventures from Star Wars Legends is your favorite?

Nomad City, a walking mining platform on Nkllon built from a repurposed Dreadnought-class heavy cruiser and 40 captured AT-ATs, which would constantly move to keep the mining facility on the night side of the extremely hot planet (Heir to the Empire)

Dometown, a kilometer-wide development of homes and other living areas in Coruscant’s lower levels, built in the hopes of luring people away from the crowded upper city and later used as a meeting area for the New Republic Defense Force (Ambush at Corellia)

The Calrissian-Nunb Mines, Lando’s attempt to take over the Spice Mines of Kessel (a notoriously dangerous mining operation once used by the Empire to enslave people) and turn it into a legitimate operation, in partnership with his wife Tendra Risant and his friend Nien Nunb (Fate of the Jedi: Outcast)

Hologram Fun World, an amusement park in a helium gas cloud near the Zabian system, which made use of holograms to simulate exotic locations or exciting situations. Attractions included the Anywhere Room, Nightmare Machine, Joy Domes, and the Enchanted Lagoon; Han Solo and Leia Organa once planned on getting married there (Queen of the Empire)

GemDiver Station, a space station that orbited as closely as possible to the planet Yavin to mine precious Corusca gems in the planet’s lower atmosphere (Young Jedi Knights: The Shadow Academy)

Tendrando Arms, a company founded with his wife Tendra Risant, which made Yuuzhan Vong Hunter One (YVH-1) battle droids to help fight the Yuuzhan Vong. Versions of the YVH-1 droids were used to create Lando’s personal bodyguard droid as well as Nanna, a droid who looked after the Organa-Solo children and later Ben Skywalker (The New Jedi Order: Star by Star)

Hungry for more Star Wars Legends content? Follow @from-a-legends-pov and check out our upcoming Star Wars Legends fanfiction event, From a Legends Point of View, HERE. Signups open April 28 — just a month away!

#star wars legends #star wars extended universe #star wars eu #from a legends pov #sw legends #lando calrissian #tendra risant #Star Wars business ventures #nomad city #dometown #calrissian-nunb mines #hologram fun world #gemdiver station #tendrando arms #nien nunb #han solo #leia organa #from-a-legends-pov #poll of the week

[talonabraxas]

Lucifer-Prometheus Talon Abraxas

Lucifer-Prometheus, radically integrated with all of the parts of our Being, makes of us something distinct, a different and exotic creature, an archangel, a terrific and divine power.” - Samael Aun Weor

[thatonewatching]

Creeps favorite drinks

Jeff- Just drinks a shit ton of energy drinks and soda. Like, he drinks at least three monsters a week but still has okay teeth. Well, as 'okay' as they can be while you're a homicidal young adult. (aesthetic warning) His favorite flavors are the original, aussie lemonade, pipeline punch, and orange dreamsicle

E.J-Water. He can only drink water because it's one of the very few things that still taste good to him. Most things that he used to eat and drink aren't the same (they have a bad taste now) and he can eat them but won't.

Liu-Tea, probably. Tea with sugar, lots of sugar, but no milk. He says it tastes the same with or without milk.

Helen/Bloody Painter-Water and tea. Coffee every once in a while, but that's only a palate cleanser for when he's getting burnt out, and he won't finish it. His water has to be freezing and his tea scorching. (same bro)

Jane-Secretly likes Alani energy drinks but feels like it's something she has in common with Jeff, so she hides her guilty pleasure. Only drinks water.

L.J-Apple juice, the 'Little Hug' fruit barrel drinks, blood of children, chocolate milk, lemonade, etc. Just really childish, innocent drinks that a young kid would drink.

Brian/Hoodie-Black coffee and milk. He's weird, okay? Is it really that bad to drink milk by itself? Exactly. He might also drink some protein shakes if he's feeling exotic.

Tim/Masky-Once again, black coffee and black tea. HE'S WEIRD. He's just a funky little dude, okay? A funky little dude with homicidal tendencies that could kill you and would without a second thought, okay? Alright. Has one of those coffee pots that you can set the timer for, so it makes it at a special time for him.

BEN-Technically, doesn't need to drink anything, but he drinks energy drinks and protein shakes because he likes how they taste. Also, drinks so many energy drinks that they don't give him energy anymore, and he says he 'drinks them for the flavor'. lmao same

Toby-Chocolate milk. He loves chocolate milk because it makes him feel more innocent like he never had a fucked childhood. It just hits DiFfErEnT,

#ticci toby #jeff the killer #brian thomas #marble hornets #hoodie #creepypasta fanfiction #creepypasta #head canons #headcanons #mh tim wright #mh tim #ticci toby headcanons #tim wright #tim sutton #timothy wright #toby rogers #ben drowned #ben drowned headcanons #mh masky #masky #masky marble hornets #creepypasta headcanon #masky headcanons #creepypasta masky #laughing jack #jeff t.K #jeffrey woods #homicidal liu #liu woods #jane the killer

[bosbas]

Chapter 4: the more that you say, the less I know

series masterlist previous part || next part

pairing: benedict bridgerton x best friend!fem!reader WC: 3.4k words

Warnings: period-typical gender roles, idiots in love being idiots in love, angst, alluding to sex but no one actually talks about it

Summary: You and Benedict have been best friends since childhood, but things change dramatically once you come out in society. You're struggling to find someone you're as compatible with and who knows you as well as Benedict, all while trying to quell your ever-growing feelings for him. Shenanigans ensue.

A/N: ummmm if you saw me change this from OFC to reader insert... no u didn't<3 also me making an f1 reference teehee i couldn't help myself

May 23, 1814 - At yesterday's ball hosted by the illustrious Cowper family, one could not help but notice Miss Cressida Cowper, whose ethereal gown left onlookers in awe. Rumors abound that the delicate fabric, allegedly from the Far East, lent an air of exotic allure to her ensemble. However, the discerning eye might notice a subtle familiarity. A striking resemblance, one might say, to a certain gown worn by Daphne Bridgerton, now Duchess of Hastings, in the previous season. Perhaps the secrets of this so-called rare silk are not as elusive as the Cowpers would have us believe.

Despite the "exotic" nature of Miss Cowper's dress, Miss Y/N Beaumont took center stage in the Cowper's ballroom. Miss Beaumont has seamlessly transitioned from the limelight of debutante to the darling of London society. But last night saw a notable shift in Miss Beaumont's approach to the season. Despite numerous suitors vying for her favor, Y/N spent most of her time in the company of her dear friend, Penelope, and the comforting presence of her mother, Countess Beaumont. Was the ton's selection of gentlemen not up to Miss Beaumont's standards?

A deep sigh left your lips. You crumpled up Lady Whistledown's column and placed it on your bedside table, already feeling a headache coming in. The previous night's ball had been somewhat of a disaster for you, and you were doing well not to think about it too much. You didn't know what was wrong with you. All the boys had been perfect gentlemen, some even making you laugh. Yet, the aftermath of each dance left you feeling disheartened, a sentiment you couldn't easily shake off. At least Lady Whistledown hadn't mentioned that your dance card was populated only with the names of Colin and Anthony Bridgerton. It would have also included your brothers' names had they not been away on some hunting escapade.

Realistically, you knew you should be disappointed that only a handful of hopeful bachelors showed up to see you today, bouquets and poems in tow, but you couldn't quite bring yourself to feel bad. Truthfully, you just missed Ben. He had been gone for about five days now, and you were pretty miserable without him by your side. The gnawing sensation in your stomach, an instinctual search for him in a crowd only to be met with the reality of his absence, had become an inconvenient routine.

Ben was consuming your thoughts. Your best friend had been gone for days at a time before, but this time was different. You missed the sly smiles he sent your way when one of your brothers said something particularly preposterous. You missed his rambling about art while you had your head comfortably in his lap. You missed his small touches, a hand on the small of your back, or a bump of your shoulders when he sensed you needed reassurance. But most of all, you missed having him nearby, feeling the warmth and comfort of his glowing presence. Perhaps with Benedict by your side, you would have navigated the challenges of the ballroom last night more successfully. Surely, he would notice his best friend feeling anxious and uncomfortable, ready with a witty remark to make you smile and dispel your nerves. But he hadn't been there, and you had floundered trying to connect with men who sought different things in a marriage. You were feeling especially tender tonight, a painful mix of anger, disappointment, and frustration plaguing you. You were surprised by how quickly the novelty of your debut had worn off, and you were left with a gaping Benedict Bridgerton-sized hole in your heart.

In your childhood, the two of you dreamed up a future together, one where you could pursue your literary passions, and Ben could lose himself in his art. Those innocent dreams felt like distant echoes now, and how you yearned for the excitement with which you drafted these plans. To you, that was still the perfect partnership. But none of the gentlemen you had met so far shared an even remotely similar vision. A small part of you secretly wished Benedict was ready to marry, or better yet, ready to marry you. But reality dictated otherwise. Benedict had likely moved on, envisioning a new definition of marital bliss, leaving you with an aching heart and a future devoid of prospects.

A particularly unpleasant train of thought came to your mind, and you found yourself wondering how Benedict was coping. Surely the countryside was a more pleasant experience than the stuffy ballrooms of the ton, but as he was out enjoying the fresh air, did his thoughts circle back to you? Did he regret missing your debut? Or were you merely an afterthought in his countryside musings?

A knock on your door interrupted your swirling thoughts, momentarily diverting the chaos within your mind. You smiled upon seeing your mother's soft features peek through the door.

"Hello, Mum. Is everything alright?"

"I believe I should be asking you that, actually," Countess Beaumont replied carefully, making her way over to your bed. Of course, Primrose had noticed the astounding lack of gentleman callers at their home this morning, a phenomenon you couldn't attribute to your elder siblings dissuading potential suitors.

In turn, you were feeling an acute uneasiness. You knew this conversation would come, but you were not prepared in the slightest. Questions about your altered demeanor had you nervously wringing your hands, avoiding your mother's gaze. Sensing her daughter's distress, Primrose sat beside you, holding your hands and gently squeezing them in hers. The comforting gesture stilled you and brought your eyes to finally meet your mother's.

"I apologize; I did not mean to–" you began, then cleared your throat, changing your answer. "When you met Father, you were both completely enamored since the beginning, correct?"

"Well, perhaps not the very beginning. But after one conversation, yes." Prim laughed, remembering her first meeting with her husband.

"Exactly. I just don't think I'll have something like that. And I know you wanted me to find a love match, but for the life of me, I haven't found someone I'm compatible with, let alone someone who wants to have an actual conversation with me!"

Primrose probed further with utmost tenderness in her voice, mindful of your vulnerable state. "Is that what worries you? Not finding someone right away?"

You sensed that your mother hadn't come to reprimand you for turning away almost all eligible bachelors the night before, or at least, that was no longer the primary intention. No longer feeling defensive, you began articulating your tumultuous thoughts.

"Partially. Lady Whistledown has certainly done me no favors. She set the bar up so high that now if I don't find someone incredible or appropriately titled or very quickly, I fear the whole ton will be disappointed. Lady Whistledown will certainly make her disappointment known. But my life is not a plot line to be used for the ton's gossip sheet. At least not to me. As a woman, choosing who to marry is the most crucial choice I can make about my future, and the only one I will be able to make at all if I marry the wrong person."

Your throat was growing impossibly tight, and your headache was worsening as you tried to assuage the rising anxiety deep in your chest. "I am terrified of squandering this opportunity, of choosing the wrong person and ending up miserable and bored, of not being able to find love so soon and disappointing you and Father–" You cut yourself off with a sob, tears freely running down your reddened cheeks now. Your mother held you in her arms, waiting for the tears to subside before offering reassurance.

After a moment, the countess gently broke the silence, "Those are all very reasonable fears. I was your age when I met your father, but before then, I was feeling very similar to you. Granted, there was no Lady Whistledown sheet at the time, but the ton's gossip still spread with astonishing speed. Darling, believe me, there's nothing to fear. It's more than acceptable if you haven't found a suitable match yet. In fact, it's quite expected. Your father and I were unique, but most connections take time to develop."

Although you now felt much calmer, lingering anxieties still circled your mind. "But what if there is no connection? I haven't felt anything at all with anyone I've talked to so far, so how can I build a marriage from that?"

A sympathetic smile grew on your mother's lips. "That's quite alright. If you don't find a match this year, you can try again next season. But consider you and Benedict, for instance. Two completely opposite children were brought together because you were left out when both families got together. Now you're best friends, practically inseparable," she replied.

You looked on thoughtfully, once again losing yourself in thoughts of your childhood promises to Ben. Pushing the painful thoughts away and tucking them into a small corner of your brain, you continued your questioning.

"I suppose. But I truly can't imagine marrying anyone I met at the Cowper's ball or even anyone at Queen Charlotte's ball. And last night, I heard Alex commenting on the 'night of the marriage' like it was some big event, so now there's one more thing I must worry about when looking for a husband."

Prim felt her heartbeat falter, shock and fury coloring her features. "The wedding night? Alex said this to you?" she managed to eke out.

Sensing you had ventured into uncomfortable territory but unsure where, you hastily responded, "No, no, I overheard him talking about it with someone else. I don't even know what the marriage night is or why it's so important."

Prim let out a breath, somewhat calmed. However, relief was short-lived as you probed further into the details of the marriage night. The countess was frozen, unprepared for this topic, especially so early in the season. But her nervous energy only fueled your curiosity.

After a faltering attempt to form a coherent sentence, Prim cleared her throat and tried again. "The marriage night is an... intimate moment between a married couple. If you marry the right man, which I am sure you will, it will be very enjoyable indeed. Fun, even, so it is nothing to worry about."

"But what happens exactly?" you pressed, curiosity undiminished.

With a sense of finality, your mother responded, "Y/N, I know you have a curious mind, but it is too early for you to know the intricacies right now. The night of the marriage is a wonderful thing for a couple to experience, and that is the only thing you need to know. For now, enjoy the butterflies and keep being excited about your season. There is still much to look forward to. Like Alexander said, the men are there to court you, not the other way around. I apologize if I got a bit overexcited initially, but trust that we are all here for you and will support whichever decision you make." And with that, the subject was closed, and you sensed that further inquiries would only irritate your mother instead of answering your endless questions about this new concept.

---

"Ben!" came your delighted squeal from across the Beaumonts' garden, where you had previously been sitting with a book in your lap. Now, you were running at full speed toward your best friend, overjoyed to have him back. The impropriety of your run was momentarily forgotten in the sheer happiness of having him back.

Reaching Benedict, you felt yourself being swept up in a tight hug, the arms around your waist immediately bringing a comfort you had not felt since before Queen Charlotte's ball. He gently placed you back on the ground but couldn't find it in himself to let go of you completely. He placed his hands on your shoulders, looking you up and down and trying to take you in as much as possible.

"You've grown quite a bit since I last saw you. Six days, has it been? And already you're almost as tall as me," Ben teased, a charming smile on his face. He hoped his joking demeanor would mask the overwhelming fondness that surged within him. The countryside had been miserable, to say the least. The arrangements to purchase the cottage had gone relatively smoothly, and he could have returned after barely a day and a half away. But he forced himself to remain in the country, not wanting to potentially infringe on his best friend's debut. Despite the sleepless nights and restless days, he resisted the urge to return. What he did not resist, and in fact plagued his mind constantly, were thoughts about his aforementioned best friend. He constantly thought of you, dancing at a ball with a good-for-nothing bachelor, or being flirted with by prospective husbands, or worse, flirting back. Benedict had erroneously thought that his time away in the countryside might have quelled the dull ache in his chest, having instead the opposite effect. But now that he was here, with you looking radiant as ever standing right in front of him, he felt his mind quiet down, relishing in the comfort brought by your presence.

You rolled your eyes and smiled, your affection for Benedict shining through even when feigning annoyance. "Hmm, well, you seem to have shrunk during your time away. Most peculiar," you retorted, easily falling back into your familiar banter.

The two of you walked side by side toward the far end of the garden, where your open book had been left hastily abandoned in the grass. Though there was constant chatter between you, Benedict very pointedly avoided inquiring about your coming out, opting to let you broach the once-sensitive topic at your own pace. But six days devoid of an eager audience for your literary escapades left you yearning to share your thoughts on the thrilling novel that had consumed every one of your moments outside of ballrooms and entertaining callers. And Benedict was more than happy to listen. Seating himself on the soft grass beside your forgotten book, he listened intently and interjected whenever appropriate.

Eventually, you had talked all there was to talk about a 300-page book and chose instead to lean on Ben as you read aloud to him from your current novel. On his end, Benedict was all too aware of your head on his shoulder, your voice carrying a soothing cadence. It was easy to get lost in it. He realized he would miss moments like these once you were married. Since childhood, you had been reading to him in this garden, and it would all be over by the end of the season. But of course, the dull ache he was feeling was because he would miss you after you wed. No other reason.

You suddenly set your book down, finally ready to talk about the elephant in the room. "I spoke with my mother last night. About marriage and the like," you looked over at Benedict, searching his face for any clue about what he might be feeling. His eyebrows shot up, and he nodded for you to continue talking, eager to listen to what you had to say.

"It was quite wonderful, actually; I think a lot of the pressure I was feeling has been relieved," you said with a smile, and I felt Ben relax next to you. Encouraged by another nod and Benedict's murmur of That's good, you continued, recounting the previous night's conversation with Primrose with great detail, conveniently leaving out the part where your mother had used you and Ben as an example of a good connection formed over time.

"Well, I suppose she's rather right, isn't she? Most of us aren't going to fall in love at first sight. Friendships work that way too; look at us," Benedict remarked, and you couldn't help but internally laugh at the fact that he had brought up your connection on his own.

Maintaining the brisk pace of the conversation, you continued, "Yes, exactly, she also said that. And by then, I had calmed down quite considerably, so I asked her about the marriage night and told her that I didn't know what it was but asked if I should worry about that as well."

Benedict choked, quickly masking it with a cough as he swallowed thickly. The marriage night? How on earth did you know about that? He subtly adjusted his sitting position, nodding at you to continue. "And what did she say to that?" he struggled out.

"She chastised me for even knowing what it was, of course, but I had overheard Alex talking about it, so she can't really be upset with me at that, can she? Anyhow, she refused to tell me what it was," you glanced at Ben, your expression expectant. He chuckled, gesturing for you to continue, resisting the temptation to elaborate. He knew that explanation should come from a mother to a daughter or perhaps from a husband to a wife, but certainly not from him. He still felt his senses heightened, knowing this conversation was going into unexplored, not to mention forbidden, territory between a proper lady such as yourself and a self-proclaimed rake such as himself. He was acutely aware of the proximity of your knee to his leg, and a subtle heat crept up his neck.

Disappointed but undeterred, you pushed on, "Well, she said it was going to be enjoyable. If I choose the right husband, of course. Ben, are you sure you can't tell me? Not even a clue? My mother's response was quite unsatisfactory. What does she mean 'fun'? Why will the marriage night be 'fun'? Does she mean the kind of fun like when I'm playing pall mall? Or the kind of fun when you take me on nature walks at Aubrey Hall? Why will no one talk to me about this?"

Ben was, quite suddenly and very wholly, overtaken by a heat he felt everywhere that was traveling down his stomach. He could sense that you were exasperated, but he needed a moment to recover from you comparing sleeping with someone to something the two of you did. Benedict felt his heartbeat in his ears and couldn't tear his eyes away from your lips, pursed in frustration. Lips that looked awfully kissable, if he were to be completely honest. His breathing quickened, and he was actively fighting the desire he felt for the girl in front of him, keeping his hands rigid by his sides to avoid touching you in the way he wanted to. He groaned internally from both the intensity of the feeling and the effort of holding it back. His mind was elsewhere, in a candlelit room with you in a nightgown or perhaps a towel, but he knew he had to answer in a semi-normal way, if possible. He blinked quickly and met your eyes, narrowed and expectant.

"It's really not my place, Y/N. The countess would kill me twice if she knew I had talked about this with you at all, let alone told you what it was," he answered finally. However, the immediate drop in your expression made him feel awful, and he was desperate to alleviate the frown on your face.

"Alright," he relented, "what your mother said was true; it will most likely be fun, given you marry the right man. And, um..." Ben scrambled to find a delicate way to explain the night of the marriage without risking a duel with Alexander Beaumont. "It's not like Pall Mall," he said after a pause. "It's more like... scratching an itch? It'll feel fulfilling, hopefully."

You put your head in your hands clearly through attempting to get anything out of him. "Scratching an itch? What does that even mean?" you exclaimed.

Ben would've laughed at the scene had he not still been feeling out of sorts from the previous conversation. He was astounded and a little embarrassed that he had had such an intense reaction to the slightest mention of the marriage night. He shook his head, trying unsuccessfully to get rid of the thoughts running through his mind. This, he reasoned, was precisely why he was a rake. Evidently, he wasn't ready to marry and needed more time in his rakish ways to get it out of his system. Wiping his brow and eager to redirect his thoughts, he turned to you once again, launching into a detailed explanation of the beautiful countryside landscapes he had seen while away and how he was going to paint them.

---

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#bridgerton #benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #anthony bridgerton #benedict bridgerton imagine #benedict bridgerton fanfic #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton fanfic #bridgerton fanfiction #bridgerton imagine #bridgerton x reader #benedict bridgerton fluff #benedict bridgerton angst #benedict bridgerton x best friend!reader #bridgerton x you #benedict bridgerton x you #bridgerton fluff #bridgerton angst #love in bloom #love in bloom: writing

[bobemajses]

Jewish street musicians in Lviv, Galicia, western Ukraine

The Jewish community of Lviv is one of eastern Europe's oldest and largest. Prince Danylo of Galicia founded Lviv in the thirteenth century, and Jews settled in the city shortly thereafter, arriving from places like Byzantium and Asia-minor (modern-day Turkey), Khazaria, and other neighboring lands. Those fleeing from persecution and the plague in Western Europe began arriving during Casimir the Great’s reign, trading in perfumes, wines, silk goods, and other exotic items that they imported throughout Poland. Under the rule of Stefan Batory (1576–1586), Jewish community leader Yitshak ben Nahman built a synagogue known as Ture Zahav, called Di Goldene Roize (The Golden Rose/Rosa) in Yiddish, after the name of the builder’s wife.

#jewish #ukraine #lviv #klezmer #galicia

[bat-at-the-disco]

Random Star Wars Headcannons I have because I have sw brain rot and no other outlet

Grogu has a whole room in Boba’s palace (well it’s his and Din’s room, but all Din has in there is an armor stand and a mat on the floor with a neck pillow). The rest of the room is filled with toys, many of which are frog themed.

Boba gave Grogu a modified light-saber when he found out Skywalker blackmailed the green bean out of jedi training. It’s one of the ones Boba got off a Jedi bounty, but the kid does not need to know that.

Some of the Tusken raider villages that is sort of extended family with the one that took in Boba found out he was daimyo and gifted him some mastiffs and he absolutely uses them for sand dog-sledding. Grogu likes to ride them like banthas and will even race Boba.

Din teaches Boba Tusken and Boba teaches Din how to use a gaffi stick

Peli gives Boba and Din her eternal loyalty because knowing them has gotten her loads of business from the locals. She absolutely brags about it and you KNOW she exaggerates their friendship— “Who, the daimyo? He’s basically my brother. Family gatherings are wild!”

Darth Vader had a grand total of three coworkers names memorized in his time as Commander of the Imperial Navy— Tarkin, Thawn, and the Emperor. Why would he need to know anyone else’s when he kills so many on the daily? He just reads their mind if he needs to say something to them or just calls them by their status like “Admiral” or “Lieutenant” and whatnot. He ain’t got no time. And if he DOES call anyone by the wrong name, you better believe no one is gonna correct him.

Han Solo equally loves and hates what being married to a politician has done to his fame/career. On the one hand, people are even more afraid of getting on his bad side than before. On the other hand, he can’t do much more than shoplift without getting dragged back home by the ear from Leia.

Cara uses her rare Friend Immunity to share gossip between the Fett and Organa households.

Fennec likes to read and she can clear like three books in a day, easy.

Grogu has diplomatic immunity for being the daimyo’s nephew and the Manda’lor’s son and being pretty much one of the one surviving members of the original Jedi Order.

There are so many stories about Din throughout the galaxy and he has ZERO idea. People will just know him and he’ll just be like “Huh. We’re you a bounty I took down? Yeah that’s probably it.”

Grogu has an art phase that consists of him burning pictures of flowers and frogs and things into the castle walls with his little lightsaber.

Boba collects exotic space animals like a rich guy collects sports cars. The dude has a whole ass petting zoo living in his palace by month two of being daimyo.

Din is a morning person but will absolutely sleep till 2 in the afternoon if you let him.

Ben Solo says Auntie Ahsoka>Uncle Luke any day.

Boba decides that the rancor’s name is Chewie just to spite Han.

Luke and Leia are seldom invited to Naboo Royalty family cookouts because whenever they show up shit happens.

After Luke expelled little green bean, Din either tracks down a force-sensitive mandalorian to teach Grogu or just fucking wings it himself by researching Jedi for like an hour or two then info-dumping to Grogu. “Ok bud you gotta sit still for a while like you did on that weird jedi rock and uhh put your mind in the plants and dirt and stuff and be one with it or something.” “Bah!” “Yes, then we can get second dinner.” Din probably found some old Jedi texts before Luke could get his hands on them. DIY jedi school.

Din and Grogu lightsaber training together!!! Grogu is a lot better at it, needless to say.

#sw #sw headcanons #boba fett #grogu #din djarin #han solo #luke skywalker #leia organa #fennec shand #cara dune #tusken raiders #darth Vader

[kylo-wrecked]

m. au | music!ben: nowhere man

𝐅𝐋𝐀𝐖𝐒. moody | short-tempered | emotionally unstable | whiny | controlling | conceited | possessive | paranoid | liar | impatient | cowardly | bitter | selfish | power-hungry | greedy | lazy | judgemental | forgetful | impulsive | spiteful | stubborn | sadistic | petty | unlucky | absent-minded | abusive | addict | aggressive | childish | callous | clingy | delusional | cocky | competitive | corrupt | cynical | cruel | depressed {'not even mad, though'}| deranged | egotistical | envious | insecure | insensitive | lustful | delinquent | over-thinker | guilt complex | reclusive | reckless | nervous | oversensitive | perfectionist | pessimistic | naive

𝐒𝐓𝐑𝐄𝐍𝐆𝐓𝐇𝐒. honest | trustworthy | thoughtful | caring | brave | patient | selfless | ambitious | tolerant | lucky | intelligent | confident | humble | generous | merciful | observant | wise | clever | charming | cheerful | optimistic | decisive | adaptive | calm | protective | proud | diligent | considerate | compassionate | good sportsmanship | friendly | empathetic | passionate | reliable | resourceful | sensible | sincere | witty | funny

𝐒𝐊𝐈𝐋𝐋𝐒 𝐀𝐍𝐃 𝐇𝐎𝐁𝐁𝐈𝐄𝐒. art | acting | astronomy | animals | archery | sports | hula dancing | bird watching | blacksmithing | boating | calligraphy | camping | candle making | casino gambling | ceramics | racing | chess | music | cooking | crochet | weaving | exercise | swordplay {~depends what kind~} | fishing | gardening | ghost hunting | ice skating | magic | engineering | building | inventing | leather-working | martial arts | meditation | origami | parkour {'THAT'S NOT WHAT IT IS'}| people watching | swimming | puppetry | pyrotechnics | quilting | reading manuals | collecting | shopping | socialising | storytelling | writing | travelling | exotic dancing | singing | yoga | gaming | surfing | knitting | knives

tagged by://@nightmarefuele best buddy 🖤 🐦‍⬛

tagging://

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