#char: benedict
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Soft Focus Fog {Benedict Bridgerton}
Chapter 1 - Lily of the Valley
benedict bridgerton x fem!reader
requested: n/a
words: 2.8k
a/n: as stated in the masterlist, this fic is a slowburn fic. do not expect the romance to blossom immediately. this is the beginning of what very well could be a long series. so let's get started!
(the book being read toward the end is The Romance of the Forest by Ann Radcliffe)
warnings: n/a
pronouns: she/her
series masterlist
as a flower, the lily of the valley represents the return to happiness
Despite how hard you had tried to fight it, your father had finally managed to send you to live with your aunt, uncle and cousin until you were married.
Your aunt had been the one to travel out and collect you from your family home, stating that your cousin was away for the end of winter for some classes, and with her husband out of the house on business for over a month, she was more than happy to travel and get out of the lonely house.
“I assume you understand how the social season operates, yes?” The second the carriage door was close behind you, your aunt changed from a loving family member to a purpose-driven woman, whose goal was to get you married as soon as possible (in the kindest way possible).
“Yes, Aunty.” Your thumbs played with the hem of your handkerchief, staring out the window beside your Aunt’s head as the familiar buildings of your small hometown disappeared.
“You are too old to be presented to the Queen, unfortunately, and therefore cannot have her favour for the season when it begins next month.” You fought the relieved sigh at her words. You doubted you would gain the Queen’s favour even if you wanted it - something based on beauty and merit and general ladylike attributes, the latter you were often told you did not entirely possess - but being completely discounted because of your age meant you could continue to stay out of the spotlight. Hopefully keeping you from being married without you putting in any work. “But you can still participate in all other aspects and find your husband.” Flicking your eyes to her, you tried to hide your panic. “Your parents have told me about your reluctance to get married, wanting a love match. Those are very uncommon I’m afraid but I hope you are not going to cause issue while you stay with us.”
You were fortunate enough to have been born with both an older brother and older sister, as well as two younger brothers, meaning there was far less pressure for you to be wed for any social or financial gain. But you were not a fool. You knew that should you be married, whether for love or not, it would need to happen soon. Being an unwed lady at the age of four and twenty would turn most suitors away, but with every year that passed, the more would look to a younger potential bride.
“Of course not, Aunty. I would never do anything to sabotage cousin Edith’s marriage prospects, especially not when you are being so kind as to let me live with you in London. I will not cause any issue, you should hardly know I am present.” Your tone was light, half-joking. She and the rest of the household would, of course, be aware you were there. But you completely intended on staying out of their way, pushing suitors towards your cousin where possible and being so unbothersome that you would almost be furniture. Out of the way and causing no problems at all.
“I’m glad.” Her face softened and she leaned forward to place a hand on your own, stilling them. “Do try to enjoy yourself at the balls and festivities though, dear. You are a beautiful young lady. Should you make it clear you are looking for a husband, there are still many fine gentlemen looking for a wife. And I can assure you that you are not the only one looking for a love match.” You gave her a grateful smile, softly thanking her for the reassurance. You hoped that she was right, and that there was a man in London you could love.
The moment you arrived at your aunt’s home, she took you by the arm and showed you around.
“I’ve been here before, Aunt Lucia.” You laughed as she ushered you into the dining room by her hand looped in your elbow.
“I know, but it has been a couple of years, and visitors do not know this house like occupants. And you are no longer just a visitor, so you must know the complete layout.” As you moved through the dining room, Lucia introduced you to the staff who were working and setting up for supper.
Dotted around the large home, tucked into corners were fresh Spring flowers in shades of pink and purple. It was the beginning of the season, so there were flowers to spare. Something your aunt had taken full advantage of with the fresh decorations.
Finally, you reached the room that had been designated as your own. Your luggage had already been brought in by house staff and was neatly lining the wall.
“Get yourself comfortable, dear. Supper will be ready shortly.” Once the door had shut behind her, you finally turned your attention to your lady's maid and friend from home, Eleanor.
“So, how do you find it?” The last time you had visited your family in London had been with your parents and siblings, and you were too young to have or need a lady’s maid, meaning that it was the first time Eleanor had seen the large home.
“It is beautiful, miss. Larger than I expected, though.” She slowly turned around the room, taking it in. “I should need another tour by one of the other maids while you are eating to make sure I know where everything is.” She laughed softly to herself as she spoke, pausing a moment to look out the window into the back garden.
“Well, I am glad you like it, Eleanor. And I am glad to have a friend with me here.” You walked to stand beside her, joining her in looking out the window. It wasn’t a large garden, nothing like you were used to at home, but the hedges and large trees made for a well-enclosed space. “While I do love my family, I do not know how I would fare without you.” You looked at her with a soft smile, and she looked back with an expression of lighthearted doubt.
“I am sure that is not true, miss. But I am flattered nonetheless.”
By the time you were called down for supper, your bags had been emptied - clothing all moved into the wardrobe and your favourite books added to the short bookcase in your room.
The table was set for three, though the table appeared to be designed to seat eight. But the third setting had you tilt your head, as far as you were aware, it would only be you and your aunt that evening. You turned your head at the sound of hasty steps coming down the staircase and saw your aunt - who had changed into a new dress of her signature colour - moving toward you.
“My apologies for being a moment late, I had meant to meet you at the table.”
“It’s okay, Aunt Lucia. I do not mind.”
“I know, but it’s your first night here and I wanted to make it the nicest dinner you could ever have.” She had a light smile, her tone joking. “But I do have a good reason for being late-”
“And that is the return of her husband.” Appearing from around the corner, you saw your uncle. You let out a gasp and moved toward him quickly and into a hug.
“Uncle Walter! Aunt Lucia said you were not returning for another week!” He gave you a squeeze before letting you step back.
“Business concluded early and I could not wait to return home to my beautiful wife.” He winked at her over your shoulder and you smiled at his fondness. “And I’m glad to welcome my niece to London on the day of her arrival.” Walter held out his elbow and you moved to stand beside him and took his arm. “Now, shall we have dinner?”
The following morning, after breakfast with your Aunt and Uncle, Lucia took you to the markets and begin to explore London.
As you moved together from stall to stall, her occasionally stopping to look at fabrics or stationeries.
“I will be escorting you along with Edith during balls, though I do also encourage you to meet some of the other ladies of the Ton on your own. It is always good to have friends.” You picked up a small, bound notebook and turned it over in your hands. “There are two balls that happen every season, the Queen’s and Lady Danbury’s. Other houses may hold balls, those will be announced during the season.” You hummed, handing some of your pin money to the woman behind the counter to purchase the book. “I assume you understand how courting works?”
“Meet a man at a ball, dance with him should he ask. If he likes me, he may choose to call on me. After that, we may promenade, then should that be successful, he should ask my male guardian for my hand.” As you listed, you pointed at the fingers of your left hand to count, notebook tucked under your arm. “Usually that would be a father, but mine has given Uncle Walter permission to accept any proposals should they happen during my time here.” Lucia nodded as you spoke, confirming everything you said.
“The only thing you did not list is that should they ask you to dance at a ball, they must write their name on your dance card.” You clicked your tongue with a nod, acknowledging the detail you forgot.
By the time you had finished walking through the markets, your aunt had purchased five different fabrics and two new vases. And you had filled your basket with a pair of leather-bound notebooks, a handful of new quills, and a pot of ink. While you were sure there would be stationery at the house, you wanted some of your own.
“Was there anything you would like to do today before we return home?” You thought for a moment before you glanced at the sky and noticed the light blue was beginning to be tinged with darkening purples and oranges. You pulled your shawl tighter around your shoulders as a breeze cut through.
“No, not today. It is beginning to cool quickly.” Lucia nodded, agreeing. “I can explore London more tomorrow. I have plenty of time.”
During the course of the week, you were introduced to Madame Delacroix at the Modiste - where you also were introduced to Lady Featherington and her daughters - and found a bakery that you quickly decided had your favourite pain au chocolat. But it was on the Saturday that you found it - the library.
On either side of the library reception were clerk desks, with a gentleman behind each. And along all three walls were floor-to-ceiling shelves, with only a door on the back wall breaking the wall of books.
“Good day, madame.” The clerk behind the desk to your left called out. “Was there a book you were looking for that I could assist you with?” You walked towards him, trying to skim the names of the books on the shelf.
“Hello. No, nothing in particular. Did you have a list of your inventory I could look at?” His posture straightened as he reached for a large book that sat on the counter, the cover the same colour and almost blending in.
“This book is due to be updated with the books received from the end of last month, but it should give you a mostly comprehensive list of our stock.” You thanked the man as he turned it toward you, and opened the cover as he stepped away to assist another patron.
Books wrapped neatly in brown paper to protect them on your journey home, you thanked the clerk who had assisted you. There were only two books in your bundle, and you were sure you would finish them quickly. But books provided you with comfort, and you were glad to find something that could provide you with the same routine that you were used to at home.
After dinner, you took one of your new books - a green leather-bound book with copper foil lettering on the spine - and made your way into the back garden with a chamber candlestick in hand.
At the end of a short path, under a tree, sat an arch weaved with vines that sheltered a bench. In the night, the arch and bench were only lit by the light that filtered through the windows and the small candle you carried. But once you lit the garden lantern that was stuck into the ground in front of the bench, it gave you enough light to curl up on the bench and read.
You were often caught reading outside, though rarely when it was dark. But when you looked out your bedroom window and saw the bench seat and remembered the gothic romance novel you had just purchased, there was no better place to read than in the spring air by candlelight.
The protagonists had begun their search of the rooms of an abbey they had found, when you were torn from the immersion by the sound of a voice swearing and the hedges rustling to your left.
“Edith.” A young woman’s voice harshly whispered out. “Edith, help me out of this bloody hedge.” The voice sounded panicked, and you carefully closed your book on your finger to hold the page. “Edith, I know you’re there. I can see the lantern. Come help me.” Finally, you closed the book completely as you stood.
As you walked closer to where the hedges moved, a hand shot out, fingers squeezing the air in a grabbing motion.
“I can help you out,” the hand flinched at your voice, “but you should know, I’m not Edith.”
“Oh.” The young woman sounded confused but her hand did not shrink away. “Well, I should still like the assistance.” You laughed lightly, then grabbed her hand and forearm with both your hands, book tucked under your elbow. Once you had a comfortable grip, you counted down from three then gave a stern tug. And out from the hedge stumbled the young woman.
Once she regained her footing, she smoothed down her dress and then looked up at you.
“No, you definitely are not Edith.” She laughed at herself as she spoke, head tilted and smiling softly.
“[Y/N] Lamberton. Edith is my younger cousin.” Her mouth dropped open with a gasp, eyes lighting up with recognition.
“You are the unwed older cousin! Edith has told me all about you and how you are to live here until you are married!” She bounced on the balls of her feet as her eyes darted across your face. “All the way to London so you finally wed, but allowed to choose to who and when! Oh, the freedom. I have so many questions. Are you going to wed? Or do you wish to become a spinster?” She opened her mouth to continue to ask questions, but you took the opportunity to talk in the moment of quiet where she took in a breath.
“Yes, I am that cousin.” She blinked for a moment before realising that she had begun to ramble and not allowed you to talk. “You seem to know a lot about me for someone who I do not even know the name of.” The words were light and amused, and you held a friendly smile for the younger woman.
“Oh. Right. I’m Eloise Bridgerton. I live next door.” You nodded, vaguely remembering reading her name in letters from your cousin. “It’s lovely to finally meet you, Miss Lamberton.”
“Please, call me [Y/N]. And it’s lovely you meet you too.” You noticed Eloise’s eyes glance at the book in your hand, then over the bench where you were sitting. “Would you like to sit with me? Or are you needing to get back into your own yard?”
The next two hours were spent talking with Eloise about the book you were reading and what it was like at your home. She asked a lot about why you were unwed and your thoughts regarding the subject. The latter she had the most questions about, and you quickly realised she was a young lady who was very dissatisfied with her position as a woman in the world.
She was stubborn and determined, and though clearly naive about some of the ways the world she lived in worked, she knew what she desired. Eloise Bridgerton desired freedom.
“I must return to my own garden before my brothers come looking for me, but it was wonderful to meet you, [Y/N].” She stood quickly and brushed off the back of her skirt. “I hope to see you again. I enjoyed spending time with you.” As suddenly as she appeared, Eloise darted through the hedge and out of view.
Shaking your head with a laugh, you re-lit your chamber candlestick, extinguished the lantern, and made your way back into the house.
reblogs and kind words are appreciated!
#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton x you#benedict bridgerton x y/n#bridgerton x reader#bridgerton x you#bridgerton x y/n#char writes#soft focus fog series
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Little feet scamper across the brown crosshatch tile floor. She ran up to a slightly opened door,pushing it open all the way . Climbing up her parents' bedside
"Dad!Dad! Pway time time!" She excited, said as her dad promised they would play tea party today if she ate all her veggies last night. Alastor had his eyes close,listening to his daughter,he wanted more shut eye because it was probably the brink of the morning,"Luci..You're daughter's awake." His voice husky,sounding irregular.
Lucifer was lying on Alastor's arm,snuggling him,drooling with a messy bed head. He lets out a small groan,not wanting to get up either,"Before sunrise, she's your daughter,Al."
"Twea party!" She excitedly said,practically jumping up and down on the bed,then slapping her tiny hands on Alastor's face, who opened his eyes finally and smiled at his daughter,"Good morning my child." He said, taking his arm back from Lucifer, who whined, but the red demon ignored him,wrapping his arms around his super hyper chid,"How about some breakfast first? I'll make your favorite cornbeef hash with egg on toast." Her taller father suggested.
"Yesth!!" Charlie beamed at her dad,making him smile sweetly at her.
"Can i have eggs benedict?" Lucifer asked softly.
"No. Make your own breakfast. Breakfast is only for those who actually are up. Though..." Alastor pretends to think as he cuddles his daughter who squeals with delight,"If you were to get Charlie ready for the day for the day, then maybe I'll consider it.hhmm sounds that sound?"
He watched his lover sit up slowly,hanging his head with his eyes closed,"You're so sneaky..." he mumbles as Alastor smile only grew.
"You're hungry, aren't you? I say it's a fair deal. You get Charlie ready while you're doing that. I'll make us all breakfast."
The blonde opens his eyes,taking a second before smiling,taking his daughter from Alastor,"Come onn, Char Char! Let's get you all ready!" He excitedly said,rocking her in his arms.
Charlie shakes her head,"Noo, play with daddd." She said,wanting to play with her father.
"Charlie,honey,i am your dad!" Lucifer pouts as his daughter shakes her head.
"You're mwama!" She said as Lucifer face turned slightly pink,hearin' Alastor chuckling.
"Welll, uhh, let's play with Mama then..." Lucifer shyly said,getting up from the bed,going to the door.
"Have fun, Mwama~." Alastor taunts lightly,his lover turn his head slightly to look him to only mouth to him to shut up. The two blondes left the room as Alastor got up,and he got his morning clothes on along with quickly brushing his short red hair and then putting it into a small ponytail. He goes into the kitchen to start making breakfast,whistling softly to himself,enjoying the peacefulne-
"AH! CHARLIE NO! DON'T DO THAT! "
Alastor hears his lover but keeps cooking,"Sounds like they are having fun. " he chuckles,"Good for them."
Lucifer had told Charlie to stay still for a second while he ran the bath water,making sure it was not too hot or cold.
While little Charlie's father was busy,she decided to play submarine, meaning she saw the toilet paper,taking it and putting it in the toilet,getting on her tippy toes, and pressing the handle.
Water was quickly filling up,Lucifer took notice of it immediately and was panicking,"AHH! CHARLIE NO! DON'T DO THAT!!". He quickly goes to the toilet, putting his hands to get the toliet paper out as quickly as he can while Charlie is going through the cabinets.
Lucifer turns his head,"Honey,no! Don't go inside of there! Get out of the cabinet!" He said desperately,finally getting the toilet unclogged,throwing it away in the nearby trash can. He quickly wipes his hands on his ducky pajamas.
Ew- he's gonna have to wash them later...
He picks up Charlie,"Come on, kiddo.lets, get you cleaned up." Sighing,taking the unplugged razor he uses for shaving out of her hands,placing it on the counter.
Moments later, Charlie is splashing around in the tub,playing with the rubber duck toys as Lucifer gets soaked in the process while trying to add the bubble bath.
"You're gonna be the death of me." Lucifer said, looking at all the water on the floor that he has to clean up along with himself.
He gets a rag,dipping it in the water before,ringing it out and cleaning Charlie's face, which she didn't like at all,splashing more water on him. He was quick with it before doing her ears next. She nearly bites him,thankfully, he moved his hand away in time,"Charlie, i know you're gonna hate me... but i gotta wash your hair."
"Nyooo!" Charlie splashes around as Lucifer is mentally screaming on the inside. He takes ahold of her gently,while the other hand gets the shower hose,turning it on and wetting her hair in which Charlie squirmed around some more,trying to get away from the scary snake.
Luckily for her poor father, her hair didn't take long to get wet,he put baby shampoo in her hair. He learned his lesson last time for using shampoo for adults. Let's just say there was a lot of screaming and crying while Alastor got pissed at him while he eased his daughter cries.
"Nooo! Scarryy!" Charlie cries.
"It's okay,it's okay, darling! I'm right here!." He massages the shampoo in her hair with his free hand before getting the hose to rinse her hair.
"It won't hurt,i promise! I would never want to hurt you." He reassures her,squeezing her hair before continuing rinsing it out. Tears start to fall down Charlie's eyes as her whimpers turn into cries. Lucifer had just finished rinsing her hair. He takes his crying child out,wrapping her in a warm towel,bouncing her in his arms while drying her off.
"It's okay,you're fine, see? That wasn't so bad ." He said, hugging her while her cries soften a little.
"Let's get you dried off, and you can see dada, okay?" He said, smiling softly at her.
She sniffs,nodding at him as he dries her off,putting clothes on her along with drying her hair, then brushing it. He also helped brush her teeth.
Alastor just finished making the food not too long ago,like five minutes ago.
Truth be told, he was gonna check up on his lovely husband earlier, but he heard tons of splashing,deciding maybe not. He had already finished his food it was venison sausage with one sunny side up egg,with orange juice to drink. He was washing his plate,stopping when he heard wet footsteps behind him and his daughter happily singing.
He turns to see his drenched husband,"Awww,did you have fun?" He asked,putting the plate down,whipping he hands on his white apron. He has his arms open for her in which she ran excitedly to him,giving her dad a big hug.
Alastor looks at Lucifer,grinning.
"I need an hour... to clean up and clean the mess.. one hour is all i need love." The blonde mumbles,turing around going back to the bathroom.
The Radio Demon laughs heartily,"Come on honey, let's get something in that little tummy of yours." He says as Charlie excitedly nods her head.
Once Charlie had aten,Alastor put some cartoons on to distract her while he cleans the dishes,leaving his husband's plate in the microwave to stay warm, then cleans the tabel,and around the house some. Once finished, he goes to charlie,"Ready to have that tea party, or do you wanna watch more of that tv more?" He asked,patiently waiting for an answer.
She practically jumped up in joy,"TWEA PWARTY!!"she says as her dad chuckles.
Lucifer comes out of the bathroom in his normal lazy day clothes, which is just some sweats and black shirt,he had also cleaned the bathroom. He goes to the kitchen, and as he walks by, he sees his a sight,so dear to his heart. He smiles softly, seeing his husband in a pink flowly dress wearing a tiara while his daughter was dress like a queen as they are drinking tea.
"Your Highness,would you like more tea dear?" Alastor asked politely.
"Yes!" Charlie exclaimed as Alastor poured the tea elegantly,even adding one lump of sugar for her. The blonde girl giggles,drinking some of the tea as her eyes light up as she sees her mwama!
She waves frantically,"Hwoo Mwama!!!" She said,making Alastor glance at him.
"Awww,hello sweetly. Having fun? Hmm?" Lucifer smiles adoringly at her.
"Yess!!"
"Hon,your foods in the microwave. " Alastor said,making the other's heart melt even more.
God,how did Lucifer get so lucky with the most wonderful family ever?
#hello tumblr#no proofreading we die like men#appleradio#hazbin hotel#hazbin alastor#lucifer#lucifer morningstar#charlie morningstar#little charlie#wholesome#fluff#soft Alastor
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Fandoms / characters I'll write for
TV SHOWS:
American horror story
any ships (includes reader or ships between two characters)
characters (my favs):
- Maddison Montgomery
- Tate Langdon (any Evan Peters char.)
- Michael Langdon/Xavier Plimpton
- Cordelia Fox (Any Sarah Paulson char.)
- Misty Day
- Mallory
- Countess Elizabeth ofc
The walking dead
Characters
- Rick Grimes
- Carl Grimes
- Carol 💥
- Maggie
- Glenn
- Owen (he's hot lmao)
- Negan
-Beth
- Michonne
- Daryl
-Philip Blake (the governor)
The boys
characters
-homelander
-soldier boy
- hugh
-ANY FEMALE CHARACTER
Breaking bad
characters
-Jesse pinkman
- Andrea
- Jane Margolis
MR ROBOT
characters
- Elliot Alderson
- Tyrell 💥
- Johanna
- Darlene
- Dominique
Hannibal
-any characters/pairings
(I know it will be impossible to write smth without gay ships so...I will do it :))
FILMS:
-American psycho
-The hunger games
characters:
- Katniss Everdeen
- Peeta
- Finnick Odair
-Coryo Snow (young ofc)
-Finch (that cute ginger girl from part 1)💥
-Tigriss
- Inglourious Basters
characters
-Hans Landa💥
-Dieter Hellstrom💥
-Bridget
- Shoshanna
-Aldo Raine
-Batman Begins/any other parts
characters:
-Bruse Wayne
-Jonathan Crane 💥
- Miranda Tate
-John Wick
(almost any characters)
Anime
-Jujutsu kaisen
characters:
- Maki Zenin💥
- Mai Zenin
-Nobara Kugisaki
-Gojo
- Nanami Kento
- Riko Amanai💥
- MeiMei
-Tsukumo Yuki💥
-Chosou
-Shingeki no kyojin
characters
- Eren Jaeger
-Floch Forster
- Armin Arlert
- Mikasa Ackerman
- Petra Ral💥
- Hange Zoe💥
- Zeke Yeager
-Pieck Finger
-Anie Leonhart
- Sasha Blouse
-Kumetsu no yaiba
only female characters
AHHH THAT'S A LOOOOT BUT IT'S NOT EVERYTHING
well I would like to add that if you fan of these aktors/aktresses, I'll be writing fanfiction with any of their characters
- Angelina Jolie
- Christian Bale
- Jennifer Lawrence
-Cillian Murphy
- Bill Skarsgard
- Elizabeth Olsen
- August Diehl
- Benedict Samuel
💥- means I find this character hot lmao
#writers block#requests#tv series#anime#anime and manga#breaking bad#the walking dead#american horror story#the boys#mr robot#hannibal#the hunger games#inglourious basterds#batman begins#john wick#jujutsu kaisen#shingeki no kyojin#kimetsu no yaiba#jennifer lawrence#christian bale#cillian murphy#bill skarsgård#elizabeth olsen#august diehl
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(from smooth-boob) 🎁 Have a piece of a WIP you want to share? I couldn't resist!
i can't believe i'm doing this
here's almost the entire first chapter of a/b fic (there's meant to be a flashback at the end of 2 y/o anthony running away and meeting his fake parents, but i haven't written it yet 😇)
for passersby who don't know what this is about: this is the fic where anthony runs away when he's 2 years old, accidentally boards a ship that leaves england, gets adopted by nice parents, eventually forgets that he's a bridgerton, doesn't come back to live in england until he's 13; meets benedict at oxford in 1806 and they start a relationship. if this bothers you, do not read below the cut (it contains smut), just move on, don't send me hate, i am a real person
(i should start copypasting the summary and disclaimer lol)
-
Benedict meets the love of his life one ordinary autumn evening in an Oxford pub.
He's not a big believer of love up till this point. Thus far he’s found it entirely consigned to the great epics of the ancients, the tragic tales of Shakespeare, even King Char and King George, loving in their madness, loving despite no rhyme nor reason, loving when they should have no right. But then, surrounded by his peers who he does not care very much for, a Lord Fife and a Lord Cho and the second son of a baron and the third son of an earl whose names he does not care to remember, he looks up over his glass of beer and finds a finely dressed gentleman making his way over to them.
And his heart skips a beat.
“I hear you’re the best coxswain and crew out of all the undergraduates,” the gentleman says, loudly enough to halt their conversation, with no introduction of himself whatsoever. He has dark eyes and dark hair, lush with a hint of wave, curling over his forehead and pushed to one side.
Benedict hurriedly sips his drink.
“What of it, Mr.…?” Lord Fife eyeballs him.
“I'd like to place a wager on your winning the next race,” the gentleman rests a casual, black-gloved hand on their table. “On one condition.”
Fife raises his eyebrows. “What’s that, then?”
“I’m the coxswain for the crew.”
Silence. Then the table laughs uproariously, Benedict excluded.
The gentleman has a glint in his eyes, a tilt of his head befitting a lord. Arrogant. Attractive. His nose is straight, aristocratic, and his lips—
Smirking. Thin and pink, but full.
“My good man,” Fife finally says around chortles. “We don’t even know your name.”
“Nor have we seen you around, have we, lads?” Cho looks about pompously. “Are you a first year?”
“You’ve got me,” the mystery man straightens, tipping his top hat, impeccably smug. “A first year, looking for a crew befitting my talents. The best crew. Third years. Well-seasoned. You.”
“And… your name?” Fife drawls.
“Bailey. Anthony Bailey.” The gentleman holds his hand out.
Fife glances around at them all rather than taking it. “Hmm, Bailey, do we know a Bailey?”
A chorus of shaking heads.
Fife’s gaze sharpens. “What’s your father’s name? Where are your estates?”
At this, Bailey tilts his chin up. “My father is a merchant. And our estate is a shop in Bloomsbury. Which I’m sure you wouldn’t know of, since all you lords seem to learn is which of your first cousins has the biggest dowry so you can fuck them till you sire an heir—”
Fife punches him in the stomach, and the others set upon him like dogs, and Benedict yells and grabs the closest man to him, the second—or was it third?—son of a baron, whoever he is—
But heroic tales where justice is served are consigned to the epics, are the stuff of fairytales, have no place in reality. So the merchant is tossed out onto the cobblestone street, and the door slammed shut against the sudden autumn rains.
-
Benedict slips out the back door under the pretence of taking a piss outside.
The merchant is in a nearby alleyway taking shelter under the arch of a doorway. He has a cut on his cheekbone that he dabs at with a handkerchief; he puts it away with a mostly concealed wince when Benedict approaches.
They stare each other down like two fighters forced into the ring. Benedict’s heart aches; the merchant looks so tired.
“If you must punch me,” he says at last, looking away, “I would be grateful if it wasn’t in the same place twice. So, the stomach is off-limits. As is my eye. And my nose, though it hasn’t been punched, but I have plans with a special someone tonight, and I’d rather it not look bloody or broken.” He pauses. “Come to think of it, you should probably stay away from my face altogether.”
Benedict’s mouth twitches. “I’m not going to punch you.”
“Oh, that’s a relief.” It’s very droll. “You lot seem to have trouble doing anything but.”
“You… seem to know our prejudices well? The upper class?”
“Well, you rather like buying the things we make. You just don’t like it as much when we dare to step out of line or try to better ourselves or forget our lot in life.”
Benedict approaches him, cautious, like he would with a wild animal. Or a wounded one. “We were once like you, generations ago. Mere landowners. Until the crown granted us a title.”
“And how many generations ago was that, my lord?” The man’s voice drips with disdain.
Benedict winces. “Nine. I’m… I’m the ninth. In my family.”
The merchant looks sidelong at him in the lantern light, up and down, Benedict suddenly conscious of his finery, and the merchant’s coarser fabrics and simple brocade waistcoat indiscernible in the dimness of the pub earlier.
“So…” The merchant’s eyes drift back up to his face. “You’re an… earl?”
“Viscount.”
“So your father is an earl?”
Benedict swallows. “My father is dead.”
Rain pitter-patters on the cobblestones. Benedict’s fingers, lungs suddenly itch for a smoke.
“I’m sorry.”
Benedict almost smiles. “I’m surprised you have any sympathy left for us.”
“I’m not completely heartless. I know that death doesn’t care how rich or poor you are, how titled or how bottom-of-the-barrel you are. Once gone, the dead are all the same. Sorely, terribly missed.”
“Quite right.” Benedict’s mouth has gone dry. After a moment he holds his hand out. “I realise I haven’t introduced myself. Benedict Bridgerton.”
The merchant raises his eyebrows, a smirk playing on his lips. “The Right Honourable The Viscount Bridgerton?”
“Or just Benedict,” he grins. “I’m not fond of the title.”
“Then call me just Anthony.” He firmly shakes his hand, leather against warm skin. His eyes up close under the shadow of the doorway are near black, bottomless and blown wide.
Their gazes hold like puzzle pieces interlocked, clicking forever into place.
Benedict clears his throat, titillatingly unable to let go of his hand. “Do you have somewhere to be? You uh… mentioned having plans with a special someone?”
Anthony moves closer, impossibly so. “I noticed your staring in the pub.”
Benedict laughs, slightly desperately and high-pitched. “So you’re not the best coxswain in Oxford after all? You just… wanted me?”
“Why can’t it be both?” Anthony’s voice is intoxication against his lips. “I’m the best coxswain, and you’re my special someone?”
“Even when you thought I was going to punch you?”
“Well, I fervently hoped you would not.”
Anthony slides a hand under his jacket to rest against his hip; Benedict sucks in a breath like he’s starved of air. “Do you have some place we could go?”
-
Anthony cages him up against the door to his room and uses their combined weight to slam it shut. “Sorry about the mess.” He locks it and lights a taper on the nearby table, then licks a stripe up Benedict’s neck.
Hand fisting in Anthony’s hair against the sensation (and Anthony moaning into his mouth), Benedict has the barest second to look over his shoulder. Anthony’s room is organised clutter: books and papers on the desk by the window, spare candles on the shelf, more papers scattered on the badly-made bed.
“It’s not so bad,” Benedict says. “In fact I’m quite sure I’ve seen worse—”
Anthony kisses his words away like he’s ravenous, like they’re both running out of time. He drags Benedict by his shirt front over to his bed and Benedict falls onto it willingly, Anthony climbing atop him, caging him once more.
“You’ve seen worse?” Anthony grins, punctuates it with more kisses to the underside of his jaw. “Dare I ask where?”
“Well, when you have siblings…”
“I don’t. I have a mother and father, six freeloading stray cats, and about double that for the number of people I’ve had at some point or another in my bed.”
“People? Not men, specifically?”
“Men, women, and everything in between. And now, you.” It should sound callous; instead Anthony sounds almost reverent. He pulls his lips away from Benedict’s earlobe and extraordinarily gently unties and pulls off his cravat. Breath caught in his throat, Benedict reaches up and does the same for him.
Anthony’s cravat, unlike the duller colours of his waistcoat and jacket, is dyed a rich indigo blue.
“Mmf.” He impatiently pushes up Benedict’s waistcoat and shirt to get to the skin beneath, laying his hands everywhere, simultaneously trying to help Benedict with shucking off his own clothes. His jacket and waistcoat and boots are discarded on the floor; Benedict grabs his wrist when he gets to his leather gloves.
“Keep them on,” he says, hoarse.
Anthony’s gaze darkens, unfathomable pools of black. “What have you in mind?”
He doesn’t wait for an answer, his other hand sliding down and unbuttoning Benedict’s trousers, Benedict gladly lifting his hips to help Anthony push them down to his knees. “Your fingers,” Benedict says breathlessly, “in my arse—”
“Fingers?” Anthony smirks. “Rather confident of you.” He puts his index finger in his mouth, sucking and coating it with spit.
Benedict takes his hand from his mouth and guides it to his own, lapping around two fingers, tasting warm slick leather, Anthony trembling in his hold.
“Fuck.” With his free hand he takes Benedict and strokes him to full hardness, Benedict groaning at the sensation of leather on his cock, the back of his head hitting the mattress and Anthony’s fingers sliding out.
He pushes Benedict’s legs up, finally rids him of his trousers and boots and tosses them to the floor. “This all right?” He circles his entrance and Benedict bites his lip, settling his heels on Anthony’s back.
“Yes—”
Anthony pushes in.
Benedict’s eyes nearly roll back in his head. “Fuck.”
“And you wanted fingers,” Anthony teases.
“Hush—”
Anthony crooks his finger and hits his prostate, and Benedict cries out.
“Shh.” Anthony leans over him, keeps fingerfucking him, kisses away his whimpering, Benedict pulling him closer and roughly tangling his fingers in his hair.
“Fuck.” Now Anthony’s breaths turn ragged; he pulls back a fraction, panting against Benedict’s mouth. Glances down at Benedict’s cock between them, and the corner of his mouth lifts. “You’re going to come without me touching you?”
Benedict groans, cupping Anthony through his trousers, heat pooling in his stomach and groin, “I’m not that green,” he says between gritted teeth.
Anthony grunts and eases a second finger in, scissors, fucks him, curls them just so, and Benedict chokes, pants, and comes undone just like that, almost incognisant of it, gasping in bliss and relief and mild embarrassment, Anthony kissing him open-mouthed and lazily and his hand working him through till he’s spent.
Then he mouths his way down till he’s at his stomach, and cleans his come-splattered skin with his tongue.
Heat radiates raw and anew between Benedict’s legs.
“Can I suck you off?”
It comes out rough, awed; Anthony looks up at him startled. “You… you want to?”
Benedict nods.
He sits up after a moment, all of him shaky, turning Anthony so that his back rests against the wall. Anthony is still staring at him, loose-limbed and wide-eyed; Benedict tugs his trousers down and pushes apart his thighs.
“You… you don’t have to,” Anthony stutters.
Benedict looks up at him, one hand on his length. “Do you want me to?”
Anthony bites his lip and nods.
The first taste is salty, Anthony’s cock already tipped with pre-cum. Then it’s just sheer musk; Benedict adjusts so that the flat of his tongue is on the underside and gets up on his hands to swallow him whole.
“Oh—” Anthony’s fingers, toes curl; he quickly sets the gentlest hand in Benedict’s hair. “Oh, fuck…”
Benedict starts fucking him, fondling his balls gently, pressing down hard on Anthony’s hips when he involuntarily jerks. “Fuck, sorry—”
Benedict sucks him hard and Anthony keens, sliding further down the wall, fingertips fluttering at the nape of Benedict’s neck.
Benedict swipes his tongue over the head, bobs up and down, finds Anthony’s other hand fisting the sheets and slides his own underneath to hold it tightly in his. “Fuck, I’m—I’m going to—” Anthony gasps, tugging at his hair, warning him off; Benedict holds fast.
Anthony’s come hits the back of his throat, salty and bitter and hot. Benedict swallows it all, nips the insides of his trembling thighs when he’s done; Anthony curves over him and drags his lips against his temple and pulls him up, kissing him like a man starved, kissing him like Benedict hung the moon and the sun and the stars.
Benedict pulls them both down to the bed when he starts to catch his breath, lying side by side, face to face; he caresses Anthony’s cheek, removes his gloves, slides his hand down past his sweat-damp open collar and feels his pounding heart. “You all right?” he murmurs.
Anthony lifts his eyes to his, still breathing hard, brushing his nose against his. “Yes. Are you?”
Benedict grins. “More than.”
Anthony closes his eyes and contentedly hums.
After a moment he opens them again, something small and hopeful and anxious now threading through him like a childhood fear of the dark. “Will you stay awhile?” he whispers.
Benedict blinks. Quickly eases into a smile. “Of course.”
He settles beside him; Anthony pulls him towards his chest with an arm over his shoulders, rests his head atop his.
Outside, the pitter-patter of rain continues to fall.
#anyway ty for the ask!!#ask game#a/b fic#things are subject to change ofc. it's a wip.#like i literally just swapped berbrooke's name to cho#fic talk#untracked bridgerton#smooth-boob#my fics
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genuflect: To bend the knee, esp. in worship.
440 words of smutty/fluffy Aziraphale/Crowley under the cut 👀
Oh, how many times had he imagined Aziraphale knelt in genuflection before him, worshipping his corporation as the humans did to each other? Way back when, in Biblical times, he could have gotten off on the blasphemy of it alone, never mind how he expected Aziraphale’s strong, steady hands would hold him fast by the hips while that quick, clever tongue worked miracles between his shuddering thighs.
Who could have thought that angelic cupids-bow mouth pursed with divine righteousness hid such desire, such an urge to claim the pleasures of the world for himself and indulge?
Crowley knew it. He knew it the moment he saw how the look in his eyes shifted from curiosity to ravenous hunger at the first taste of rich ox rib slow-roasted over the fire, thick fat crackled and the meat barely clinging to the bone.
But never, not once in the 4,500 and some odd years since, had he imagined it could feel like this, with his angel worshipping him not for the idea of him but for who he truly was. Every brush of gentle fingertips, every caress of lips, every murmur of praise—the unceasing hymn of Crowley, my dearest; Crowley, my beloved; Crowley, Crowley, Crowley—threatened to untangle the charred, desiccated knot of self-loathing at his core he hadn’t dared touch since he dragged himself out of the boiling pit of sulfur and looked back up at Heaven far above from his new vantage point so far below.
It was all too much. When his angel coaxed his human faculties to their absolute breaking point and then swiftly beyond it, Crowley pitched and shuddered, crying out a wordless prayer of his own despite his greatest efforts to keep it all inside. But Aziraphale had dented his armor, chipping away at it until finally he rent it to pieces. His pent-up feelings welled up within him and found the gaps, escaping into the scant, liminal space between them in trembling fingers and choked-off sounds full of the words he couldn't say.
"Angel...!"
Just as he started to feel too exposed, too vulnerable, Aziraphale was there, offering sanctuary. Crowley pressed his face to the juncture of Aziraphale’s neck and shoulder, hiding private tears that stung like sulfur but felt like benediction.
He never thought he could feel like this, not ever again. But then Aziraphale came along and restored the part of him he’d thought broken and twisted beyond recognition. How could he even begin to express what that felt like? Not in 10,000 or a million or a billion years could he find the words to encompass what Aziraphale had done for him, what his angel meant to him. The universe wasn’t big enough. And yet all the humans, on every inch of earth at every time in their history knew as if by instinct what to say. Crowley whispers three little words against the shell of Aziraphale’s ear.
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Novels We Love Set in Libraries
[via Penguin Random House]
Libraries are places built upon the desire to solve the mysteries of existence, to understand the cosmos, and to probe the secrets of the human heart. These books set in libraries all explore what we find in the stacks.
The Starless Sea by Erin Morgenstern
The Book of Form and Emptiness by Ruth Ozeki
The Personal Librarian by Marie Benedict and Victoria Christopher Murray
The Strange Library by Haruki Murakami
The Lions of Fifth Avenue by Fiona Davis
The Shadow of the Wind by Carlos Ruiz Zafon
The Borrower by Rebecca Makkai
The Library at Mount Char by Scott Hawkins
The Invisible Library by Genevieve Cogman
The Midnight Library by Matt Haig
...
Click through to see more titles.
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SAINTS OF THE DAY (June 3)
St. Charles and many other martyrs for the faith died between 15 November 1885 – 27 January 1887 in Namugongo, Uganda.
Charles and his companions were beatified by Pope Benedict XV in 1920 and were canonized by Pope Paul VI on 18 October 1964.
In 1879, Catholicism began spreading in Uganda when the White Fathers, a congregation of priests founded by Cardinal Lavigerie, were peacefully received by King Mutesa of Uganda.
The priests soon began preparing catechumens for baptism, and before long, a number of the young pages in the king’s court had become Catholics.
However, on the death of Mutesa, his son Mwanga, a corrupt man who ritually engaged in pedophilic practices with the younger pages, took the throne.
When King Mwanga had a visiting Anglican Bishop murdered, his chief page, Joseph Mukasa, a Catholic who went to great length to protect the younger boys from the king’s lust, denounced the king’s actions and was beheaded on 15 November 1885.
The 25-year-old Charles Lwanga, a man wholly dedicated to the Christian instruction of the younger boys, became the chief page and just as forcibly protected them from the king's advances.
On the night of the martyrdom of Joseph Mukasa, realizing that their own lives were in danger, Lwanga and some of the other pages went to the White Fathers to receive baptism.
Another 100 catechumens were baptized in the week following Joseph Mukasa’s death.
The following May, King Mwanga learned that one of the boys was learning catechism.
He was furious and ordered all the pages to be questioned to separate the Christians from the others.
The Christians, 15 in all, between the ages of 13 and 25, stepped forward.
The King asked them if they were willing to keep their faith. They answered in unison, “Until death!”
They were bound together and taken on a two day walk to Namugongo where they were to be burned at the stake.
On the way, Matthias Kalemba, one of the eldest boys, exclaimed:
“God will rescue me. But you will not see how he does it, because he will take my soul and leave you only my body.”
They executioners cut him to pieces and left him to die alone on the road, which took at least three days.
When they reached the site where they were to be burned, they were kept tied together for seven days while the executioners prepared the wood for the fire.
On 3 June 1886, Feast of the Ascension, Charles Lwanga was separated from the others and burned at the stake.
The executioners slowly burnt his feet until only the charred remained.
Still alive, they promised him that they would let him go if he renounced his faith. He refused saying:
“You are burning me, but it is as if you are pouring water over my body.”
He then continued to pray silently as they set him on fire. Just before the flames reached his heart, he looked up and said in a loud voice, “Katonda! – My God!,” and died.
His companions were all burned together the same day while praying and singing hymns until they died.
There were 24 protomartyrs in all. The last of the protomartyrs, a young man named John Mary, was beheaded by King Mwanga on 27 January 1887.
The persecutions spread during the reign of Mwanga, with 100 Christians, both Catholics and Protestants, being tortured and killed.
St. Charles Lwanga is the patron saint of African Catholic Youth Action.
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The Sea Is History
Where are your monuments, your battles, martyrs?
Where is your tribal memory? Sirs,
in that grey vault. The sea. The sea
has locked them up. The sea is History.
First, there was the heaving oil,
heavy as chaos;
then, like a light at the end of a tunnel,
the lantern of a caravel,
and that was Genesis.
Then there were the packed cries,
the shit, the moaning:
Exodus.
Bone soldered by coral to bone,
mosaics
mantled by the benediction of the shark's shadow,
that was the Ark of the Covenant.
Then came from the plucked wires
of sunlight on the sea floor
the plangent harps of the Babylonian bondage,
as the white cowries clustered like manacles
on the drowned women,
and those were the ivory bracelets
of the Song of Solomon,
but the ocean kept turning blank pages
looking for History.
Then came the men with eyes heavy as anchors
who sank without tombs,
brigands who barbecued cattle,
leaving their charred ribs like palm leaves on the shore,
then the foaming, rabid maw
of the tidal wave swallowing Port Royal,
and that was Jonah,
but where is your Renaissance?
Sir, it is locked in them sea-sands
out there past the reef's moiling shelf,
where the men-o'-war floated down;
strop on these goggles, I'll guide you there myself.
It's all subtle and submarine,
through colonnades of coral,
past the gothic windows of sea-fans
to where the crusty grouper, onyx-eyed,
blinks, weighted by its jewels, like a bald queen;
and these groined caves with barnacles
pitted like stone
are our cathedrals,
and the furnace before the hurricanes:
Gomorrah. Bones ground by windmills
into marl and cornmeal,
and that was Lamentations—
that was just Lamentations,
it was not History;
then came, like scum on the river's drying lip,
the brown reeds of villages
mantling and congealing into towns,
and at evening, the midges' choirs,
and above them, the spires
lancing the side of God
as His son set, and that was the New Testament.
Then came the white sisters clapping
to the waves' progress,
and that was Emancipation—
jubilation, O jubilation—
vanishing swiftly
as the sea's lace dries in the sun,
but that was not History,
that was only faith,
and then each rock broke into its own nation;
then came the synod of flies,
then came the secretarial heron,
then came the bullfrog bellowing for a vote,
fireflies with bright ideas
and bats like jetting ambassadors
and the mantis, like khaki police,
and the furred caterpillars of judges
examining each case closely,
and then in the dark ears of ferns
and in the salt chuckle of rocks
with their sea pools, there was the sound
like a rumour without any echo
of History, really beginning.
-- Derek Walcott
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Rules: Share your OC's full name and the meaning/origins behind it. Then (If you'd like) inculde any insights or symbolic meanings about their name you wish to share, or just your reasons for giving them the name that you did!
No pressure tags: @zablife @raincoffeeandfandoms @call-sign-shark @thegreatdragonfruta @red-riding-wood @runnning-outof-time @arcielee @assortedseaglass
Eva Leonor Smith Riley
Cw: use of a slur, mentions of suicide
For oc names i go with how the parents would name them given the society they live in and vibe. Eva was no different.
Eva gets two lastnames because of naming conventions in mexico, so its her father's surname followed by mother's maiden name.
So first name and middle name:
Eva: is the latin spelling of the hebrew words Chava/Hava meaning life or life giver.
While i could lie and say Eva’s name was chosen of the symbolism that she helps Tommy heal and grow into a better man, she is named Eva after Evita Peron, first lady of Argentina who after her dictator husband was overthrown.
She was rather influentian and there was a myth taht where her body was hidden(it was exhumed and stolen) flowers would appear there.
Eva's name also comes from a 1917 femme fatale played by Mimi Derba in La Tigeresa named Eva who pretended to be a poor woman to win the heart of a lower class man and then broke up with him, faked her death which drove him insane only for her (now married to a rich man) to visit the institution he was in for charity and he kills her in his mad rage.
While the femme fatale is more in line with s1 Grace , Eva reveals in Of Gods and Witches she seduced the president's son and when he discovered his father was gonna have her assassinated while under house arrest he commits suicide ala Antigone and Haemon. This all happened while she was secretly dating her best friend and cousin’s secret girlfriend, Antonia.
But in the fic, Eva is named Eva because her mother, Isabel, schemed to make herself go into labor in the Sistine Chapel(right ubder God's Creation of Eve)to get the current Pope (Benedict XV) attend the baptism and his successor the future Pope Pius XI to be her godfather because the archbishop of mexico refused to go to her family's estate to baptize Eva’s older brother Gabriel.
Leonor: is the portuguese and spanish variant of Eleanor meaning Torch, light and/or sun ray.
Leonor was the name of her great grandmother who descends from Emperor Moctezuma, the last Aztec ruler, through his son Juan Moctezuma who was made a spanish noble. Leonor Moctezuma, Eva’s great grandmother, was born to a member of the Moctezuma family and a Nahua secretary in Mexico City.
Last Names:
Smith: anglo-saxon 'to hit or strike' possibly related to a person who was a metal worker.
So Smith is a common English surname and the surname of a romani traveller king named Absalom Smith in the early 19th century. He died in 1826 with the title of king of the gypsies (please excuse the slur)and had been elected so in the early 19th century according to the Mamchester Times. He was a fiddler and his daughter Beatte Smith was so beautiful there is portrait of her in Belvoir Castle, Manchester.
The Smiths were apparently an important Romani family like the Boswells who the Shelbys claim descendance from and the Welsh Romani woman Tommy seeks to see if the sapphire was cursed is also a Boswell. Eva was originally going to be a Boswell but that would've made her a relative of Tommy and i decided against it.
Riley: anglicized irish last name meaning rye-clearing.
So Eva’s grandfather Patrick Riley was an Irish immigrant and oc nephew to John Patrick Riley, Captain of the Saint Patrick's Battalion who were composed Catholic Irish, Scotsmen. Freed slaves and men of color tired of the racism they dealt with in the US and defected to Mexico right before the Mexican American War in the 1850s.
John Riley immigrated to the US due to the Great Famine and despute being known for his great strength of character and morality died alone and penniless in Veracruz as the torture and defeat of his battalion at the hands of the americans left him with very severe trauma and teh letters D on both sides of his face branded onto his skin for desertion even though he deserted before the war.
It provides as to why Eva is of mixed race and how her grandmother who is old money ended up having red haired children and show how diverse Mexico actually is
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And I’m back…
I’m not sorry 😂
So we know Sophie’s got issues with her body and we know Benedict loves her regardless of how she looks…
How would he show her and make her feel better after giving birth and feeling like she’s huge and unattractive and maybe thinking Ben doesn’t want her anymore??
*Trigger Warning: this post contains mentions of body and related self-esteem issues*
Following Charlie's birth, Sophie would be so overjoyed with the newborn they had waited so long for that she spends the first six weeks or so in a little love bubble, not thinking about anything else beyond her beautiful son. However one day Sophie catches sight of her reflection as she steps out of the shower and for the first time since having Charlie she realises just how much her body has changed. She knew her postpartum belly wouldn't recede right away by any means; but as she stared long and hard at the newly formed paunch she was suddenly hit with the tidal wave of insecurity that had last affected her during her late teens when she had been dating Fletcher.
She couldn't get her head around the fact that this was what her body now looked like and she began comparing herself to Daphne and Kate, both of whom seemed to have effortlessly bounced right back into their pre-baby figures. That was on top of the fact that her two sisters-in-law had both had multiple pregnancies - how did their bodies look so good while in her eyes Sophie's own body resembled a pile of wobbly lard?
Even though the rational part of her brain tried to reason with her that her postpartum body was perfectly natural and that she shouldn't be so hard on herself, the cruel viper-like voices in her head argued otherwise and made her self-esteem crumble away. From then on she tried her best to work off her post-pregnancy body; she'd wrap Charlie in a baby sling and go for long walks in the woods around My Cottage, she'd do lunges and squats while getting her newborn to bring up wind or settle him, and whenever Benedict was looking after Charlie or getting dinner ready she'd lock herself in the bathroom and sneak in some stomach crunches despite the discomfort she felt in her abdomen whenever she tried them.
Much to her chagrin however after a couple of months she looked in the mirror and her body seemed completely unchanged from all the efforts she had gone to. She could have sworn her belly had actually gotten bigger and the longer she stared at it the more it seemed to taunt her. She considered cutting down her portions but her rational brain had a loud enough voice to point out what had happened last time she had come to that decision and how that had been the start of her downward spiral of her love of food. She knew it wasn't a good idea to humour that again, but even if she tried Benedict would pick up on it considering he had insisted on making all of their meals since Charlie had been born. It definitely wouldn't go by unnoticed by him if she started leaving her plate unfinished or even skipping meals, and the last thing she wanted to do was give him any cause for concern.
Her silent frustrations with her body image continued as she tried to up the ante with her exercises - but it all came to a head one day when she was in the shower. She heard the bathroom door open and figured Benedict was going to brush his teeth or grab something from the cabinet; but instead the shower door opened.
"Hey-"
"Oh!" Sophie gasped and instinctively flung herself into a corner with her arms wrapped around herself as best she could to shield her body from him, though she still felt utterly mortified being naked in front of him with her back and bare bottom to him.
"Soph, it's just me!" he laughed off, presuming he had done nothing more than make her jump when she wasn't expecting it.
"Oh, uh, I know." she quivered in response as she continued to face into the wall.
"Hope you don't mind me jumping in," he continued and she heard the shower door close behind him, "but I've just put Charlie down and thought I'd join you-"
"Oh no, that's okay." she replied hurriedly after hearing the suggestive tone in his voice. "I was just about to get out,"
"Really? Because I was thinking of keeping you in here a little longer," he hummed into her ear and she felt his hands rest on her hips-
"Ben, don't touch me!" she exclaimed - and just like that, despite the running of the shower head above them, the air suddenly turned still.
His hands flinched off from her hips and she heard him take a step back, and despite the fact she was turned away from him she could feel his eyes staring into her, no doubt with shock for the harsh rejection she had just resorted to.
"Soph?" he called to her uncertainly. "What's wrong?"
"Nothing." she responded immediately, desperate to kerb the painful awkwardness she had just inflicted between them.
"Can... can you at least look at me?"
"I... no. It's fine, Ben. I'm just... I'll be out in a second."
But still the tension hung in the air despite Sophie's internal pleas begging for him to just leave so she could grab a towel and cover her body and protect his eyes from the state her figure was in.
"Soph; are you scared for me to see you naked?"
As soon as the question had left his mouth she had tensed up, her arms wrapping around herself even tighter in what she was sure was a pathetically embarrassing attempt of hugging herself to console the ongoing humiliation this moment was turning out to be.
"Sophie," she heard him breathe her name with the realisation that her body language had answered the question.
"Please, Ben." she swallowed tightly. "I just need you to not look, okay? I'm gross. My body looks awful. It's not attractive and I don't want you to see me this way and I've been trying so so hard to work the baby weight off but it's not happening quick enough and-"
"Soph."
She stilled as she realised he had stepped forward right behind her again, his voice close to her ear but not too near to cause her discomfort.
"I want to see you." he told her.
"Ben," she shook her head, despairing at the thought of what his facial reaction would be if she dared to turn to face him.
"You couldn't make me stop looking at you even if you tried." he spoke gently. "There is nothing about you that I wouldn't want to see. You are and always will be the most beautiful woman in the world, and there's nothing that could ever stop me from being attracted to you, from wanting you, from loving you. Okay? So please; please turn around and let me see you."
Slowly but surely with every word he uttered she had felt her insecurity-driven resolve melting away, the abundant love he had for her in his voice soothing her of the fear that he would no longer be attracted to her or ever want to be intimate with her again as a result of her newly-changed body.
And so she unfurled the arms she had wrapped around herself protectively, she let her shoulders relax, and after taking a hesitant breath she turned around to face her husband. However as soon as she did she felt a twinge of regret as she took in the sight of her husband's well-toned physical form and became self-conscious once again because why would someone as physically fit as Benedict ever regard her with her changed body with any desire?
"Hey, whatever it is you're thinking; stop it." Benedict told her at once, knowing instantly his wife was getting in her own head.
"You don't get it." she shook her head and averted her eyes away from his. "I mean look at your physique and then look at mine." she gave a wobbly sigh. "You look like that while my body's-"
"Incredible."
Sophie gave a self-deprecating snort at her husband's pity and rolled her eyes, only for Benedict to cup her face and turn her to meet his gaze.
"Don't you understand just how much I adore your body?" he tenderly addressed her. She opened her mouth to make a self-effacing reply only to gasp when his other hand rested on her abdomen. "This is the body that carried our son for nine months. Watching your body change to accommodate him was nothing short of awe-inspiring. To me it's your body's own form of magic. This," he said and caressed her soft belly, "this only makes you more amazing, Sophie. I thought I revered you before but this has made me love you even more. You're an absolute wonder and I thank the stars above that I get to be with you."
She hadn't been expecting such an impassioned speech and she certainly hadn't anticipated the heartfelt words he had used to explain just how much she and her changed body meant to him. Her mouth had become dry as she listened to everything he said and gazed into his eyes as she accepted the sincerity of his words.
"And I am so so sorry for ever letting you think that my love for you could ever change," he continued, his voice breaking from a sense of guilt that pained Sophie to hear, "or that your body changing would ever change my feelings for you,"
"No, no, no, Ben." she quickly assured him and rested her hand over his heart. "Nothing you ever said or did made me feel like this. It was just my own insecurities coming back and making me think otherwise."
"I would never ever want you to feel self-conscious around me." he stated and resting his hand over hers. "And I am genuinely sorry if I ever did make you feel insecure - like I know I haven't initiated anything since Charlie was born but that's got nothing to do with not wanting you or not finding you attractive; I figured you'd be the one to initiate when you felt ready. But I'm sorry instead if I made you feel-"
"Ben," she sighed with a soft smile as she pressed a finger to his lips, "I already told you it wasn't anything you said or did or even didn't do. I just got stuck in my own head and let those insecurities convince me that I was no longer attractive and consequently would be undesirable to you. But I was wrong to ever think that, especially since you've always assured me that you love my body no matter what."
"I do." he said. "I always will."
She smiled at him and just like that all of her negative feelings simply floated away as she was reminded just by the look on Benedict's face as he regarded her that the man she married couldn't love her any less. He had provided her with utter love and devotion ever since they had gotten together, treasuring her and voicing his appreciation for her every single day, and it was this resounding admiration that had built up the confidence and assurance she had to know that what they had was everlasting. She felt silly for ever doubting that and letting the demons of her past sink their claws into her again but now that Benedict had ridden those tormenting voices with his endearing words of affection, Sophie decided she would never let those voices ever defeat her self-esteem.
She then leaned in and kissed her husband, and throwing caution to the wind she pressed her body against his and wrapped her arms around him, deciding that now was as good a time as any to finally reignite the sexual intimacy she had been craving for weeks now but that had been prevented by the cruel thoughts of Benedict no longer wanting her. The insecurity-ridden voices were instantly proved wrong as Benedict passionately escalated their kissing, groping her bottom and squeezing the soft belly that she had been so self-conscious about. He focused entirely on providing her with pleasure, kissing down her body and giving specific attention to her tummy to prove just how much he desired her in spite of the apprehension she had suffered from. By the time they stumbled out of the shower to carry things on in bed and had finally worn themselves out, Sophie was more than satiated and at ease with herself, and as Benedict dozed off with his hand resting on her abdomen she knew she would never have any misgivings about the way her husband viewed her body ever again.
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The Sea Is History by Derek Walcott
Where are your monuments, your battles, martyrs?
Where is your tribal memory? Sirs,
in that grey vault. The sea. The sea
has locked them up. The sea is History.
First, there was the heaving oil,
heavy as chaos;
then, like a light at the end of a tunnel,
the lantern of a caravel,
and that was Genesis.
Then there were the packed cries,
the shit, the moaning:
Exodus.
Bone soldered by coral to bone,
mosaics
mantled by the benediction of the shark's shadow,
that was the Ark of the Covenant.
Then came from the plucked wires
of sunlight on the sea floor
the plangent harps of the Babylonian bondage,
as the white cowries clustered like manacles
on the drowned women,
and those were the ivory bracelets
of the Song of Solomon,
but the ocean kept turning blank pages
looking for History.
Then came the men with eyes heavy as anchors
who sank without tombs,
brigands who barbecued cattle,
leaving their charred ribs like palm leaves on the shore,
then the foaming, rabid maw
of the tidal wave swallowing Port Royal,
and that was Jonah,
but where is your Renaissance?
Sir, it is locked in them sea-sands
out there past the reef's moiling shelf,
where the men-o'-war floated down;
strop on these goggles, I'll guide you there myself.
It's all subtle and submarine,
through colonnades of coral,
past the gothic windows of sea-fans
to where the crusty grouper, onyx-eyed,
blinks, weighted by its jewels, like a bald queen;
and these groined caves with barnacles
pitted like stone
are our cathedrals,
and the furnace before the hurricanes:
Gomorrah. Bones ground by windmills
into marl and cornmeal,
and that was Lamentations—
that was just Lamentations,
it was not History;
then came, like scum on the river's drying lip,
the brown reeds of villages
mantling and congealing into towns,
and at evening, the midges' choirs,
and above them, the spires
lancing the side of God
as His son set, and that was the New Testament.
Then came the white sisters clapping
to the waves' progress,
and that was Emancipation—
jubilation, O jubilation—
vanishing swiftly
as the sea's lace dries in the sun,
but that was not History,
that was only faith,
and then each rock broke into its own nation;
then came the synod of flies,
then came the secretarial heron,
then came the bullfrog bellowing for a vote,
fireflies with bright ideas
and bats like jetting ambassadors
and the mantis, like khaki police,
and the furred caterpillars of judges
examining each case closely,
and then in the dark ears of ferns
and in the salt chuckle of rocks
with their sea pools, there was the sound
like a rumour without any echo
of History, really beginning
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Soft Focus Fog {Benedict Bridgerton} Masterlist
TOTAL WORDS: [to be added upon completion of series]
Paint me
in the soft focus fog of your
tenderness, pull me from
myself.
- Typewriter #2091 [Tyler Knott Gregson]
Spring of 1813, the social season where Lady Whistledown made her grand appearance just in time for the young lords and ladies of the ton to begin their search for love and marriage. Sometimes love happens the moment eyes meet, other times it builds gradually from a friendship. Whether beginning as new lovers or as friends, every marriage wishes to be built on love.
A young lady moves to London to live with extended family and finally find marriage within the Ton. And that is where she meets one Benedict Bridgerton.
reader's pronouns: she/her
Author's Note: While I usually aim for gender neutral fics, the nature of regency England and it's very rigid gender roles means that for this fic, I can't do this. And while I entirely believe that Benedict is bi, the reader will be a lady of the ton in this fic. The dialogue is fairly fluffy and regency-era, but it's not perfect as I'm not a historian so it's my best effort.
This is a slowburn fic and will take place over a few years. The reader and Benedict will not get married in the same season that they meet.
love at first sight + friends to lovers + slowburn
For additional warnings and tags that do not fit the tumblr format, see the AO3 posting of this fic
Chapters
Chapter 1 - Lily of the Valley
warnings: n/a
words: 2.8k
Chapter 2 - White Dianthus
warnings: n/a
words: 3.1k
#rhp housekeeping#char writes#benedict bridgerton x reader#benedict bridgerton x you#benedict bridgerton x y/n#soft focus fog series
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https://twitter.com/intermarium24/status/1623362867255816194
A Russian Orthodox priest giving a warlock’s last sermon, a devilish benediction in front of the universal church of human self-humiliation, war.
With godly purpose he ushers the soldiers into the charred corpse fields and spontaneous cemeteries around Ukrainian towns.
What does any life mean in the gun barrel heat of this faith?
Moscow is heaven, the divines transmit its national testament, and the animals in the land die of heart attacks.
God’s stuck in our throat and we’re choking.
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hshqintro: eduardo bolívar y tovar
&&. is that ( danny pino )?? no, it’s just ( eduardo bolívar y tovar ). he is a ( prince ) of ( venezuela ). he is ( 40 ) years old and his birthday is the ( twenty fourth ) of ( november ) which makes him a ( sagittarius ). he is ( adventurous and empathetic ) and ( protective and casual ) but, unfortunately, also ( frivolous and acquiescent ). those traits just make him a ( gryffindor ) and in scientific terms an ( esfj ). he is ( heterosexual ) and the program’s ( conversationalist ). his theme song is ( volare ) by ( domenico modugno and franco migliacci ). his interests include ( dancing and baseball ). he practices ( catholicism ) and is a supporter of ( francisco bolívar y tovar ). his quirk is ( claiming small inconveniences are god’s way of keeping him humble ) and favourite quote is ( when i choose to see the good side of things, i’m not being naive. It is strategic and necessary ) by ( waymond wang ) because ( he is a fundamentally optimistic person ). last but not least he ( does ) believe in true love.
biography.
Eduardo has been chatty since he was born. He learned to speak quickly and never quite stopped much to his parent’s consternation. Did he have important things to say? Not really. But in a family where he was the third sibling and second brother, it seemed important for there to be someone who could relate to the younger siblings and their smaller woes. Not everything had to be as serious as Francisco might claim. Since he does not know he is his parent’s only true born son, he never felt quite the same call to responsibility and seriousness the older siblings did. Ana was always his favorite, he was unfortunately easily weakened by big puppy eyes and enjoyed feeling like he really mattered to someone.
He was somewhat average in his studies, but he was pretty good at judging professional competence and finding good advisors with the right expertise. Thus, his parents appointed him Grand Duke of the Guyana region which contains the valuable oil reserves found in the Orcino Belt in the state of Delta Amacuro as well as its valuable port cities. Though the position was powerful, he has been subservient in his role as a supporter of his brother, never even considering the possibility of taking on more power.
The fact that his first true love and fiancee was a school teacher only kept him firmly entrenched in the family dynamics. He met her during a public tour, at an event organized for his investment in baseball facilities for local schools, and fell head over heels immediately. The fairytale was easy to sell to the public because it was real, and Maria had been charmingly good-natured. Unfortunately, their love was not meant to last, and only a few months after their engagement she broke it off, unable to handle the pressure that came with royal life.
Something in Eduardo changed after losing his love, and the tragedy after losing more of his family. He redirected his energy into supporting his family even better, remaining stalwart in his affection and loyalty to Ana during her own struggles. He couldn’t simply let another person he loved go without a fight. Six years later, to support his family, he agreed to a political match with [princess/duchess of TBD latin american country] -- he is good at being family, but not as focused on being a husband. Still, in the past couple years, he has come to love her in his own way. He does not realize that his wife doesn’t mind because she has greater ambitions for them: the Venezuelan throne.
Eduardo joins the program now because he is concerned for Ana and to share the exciting (and nerve-wracking) news that he is going to be a father!
extra.
TLDR; Eduardo loves his family and doesn't realize he could pose a threat to Francisco's throne at all....
Char Inspo: Jesse Katsopolis (Full House), Sokka (Avatar: The Last Airbender), Mickey Haller (The Lincoln Lawyer), Benedict Bridgerton (Bridgerton), Graham Dunne (Daisy Jones & The Six)
Plots and Connection Ideas: friends/best friends, enemies, friends to enemies, university friends, sporty friends, wine friends, exes, flirtationships, fellow dads club, anything else~
Discord: cityharlot
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Writing Realistic Future Names
You writing something with aliens? Dystopian future? Doctor Who fic? 'Humans are the Weird ones' post? Need names?
Are you, like me, tired of dystopian names which are normal names written dumbly, or futuristic settings with normal names (looking at you Star Trek), or absolute nonsense? Well here's some cool ways to get futuristic names that make sense.
Celeb and Fandom Names
Names like Draco, Hermione, Sherlock, Mycroft, Enola, Benedict, Castiel, Destiel, Jensen, Danneel, Spock, Katniss, Primrose, Teyla, Elsa, Anakin, Loki, Constantine, Jinx, Rhianna, Catra, Adora, Zendaya, Halsey, Misha/Mischa, Korra, Katara, Toph, Cardi, Mabel, Ariel, Whoopi, Madonna, Oprah, Usain etc are gonna become increasingly popular, like they already are, even more so once enough time passes that people stop associating them with certain pieces of media or certain famous people.
Other Language Names
Historically, in different times different countries have a total global influence, and that will effect names. Right now, it's the USA. During the Rennasaince, it was France. We're pretty close to having Japan and other Asian cultures become the next big influence, what with all the anime everyone globally is watching/reading. Now, depending on how far in the future you're writing, add global influence from other countries. Dutch names like Marjolein and Ninthe and Brechtje, pronounced to the accent of the setting of your story. Try to go with cultures who have potential to be big: don't choose some small country somewhere that nobody has ever heard of. Go for Native American or Mexican or Russian or Japanese or Egyptian.
Surnames
Use surnames for first names! A lot of names that used to be surnames are now gender neutral first names, such as Avery. Use surnames! Johnson, Harris, Smith. All of it!
Strange Shortenings
Shorten traditional names in unntraditional ways! Richard always gets shortened to Richie or (for some unfathomable reason) Dick. What about Char? Chard? Those are kick-ass names. Chris for Christian? Cancelled. It's Tian now. Cathy for Catherine? Wrong. Let's make it Rhine. Amy from Amelia? Let's screw with that, turn it into Ammy. You get it.
Pretty Words
People tend to call their children by name of something pretty, and then those names exist untill after the words have lost their meaning. Right now, most of our names are Biblical Hebrew and Latin and Old English/German. We're at the point where slowly, child names are gonna mean things in today's language again. It's already happening a little; Dawn and Hope and Autumn... but give me children called Justice and Fauna and Prime and Amethyst and Earth. Ash and Queen and Happy and Light and Feline. Give me twins called Sapphire and Sapphic, like we call our twins Catherine and Caithlynn or Tim / Timothy and Tom / Thomas now.
Spelling
Spelling is going to shift with the years, and you want your names to reflect this. This one pretty much only works for at least a hundred years into the future. Here's some guidelines of what spelling might become:
t / th = d
s / k = c
ee = i
a = e (sometimes)
y = i (sometimes)
ks = x
o = oe
h = h (add more often)
Examples: Katherine = Caderine, Timothee = Dimoedhi, Blake = Bleke, Susanna = Cucennah etc. Of course, you can do it your own way, or only use some of these guidelines if you want. Feel free to play around with it. If you chose to go for this, keep in mind that there will still be some names in old spelling, just like we still have towns called Kooperdeck and stuff like that. This technique sounds dangerously close to the "say names while your mouth is full of oreos" technique that some dystopian writers use that I hate, but because it's based on logic and what the future might actually be like, as long as you use this in moderation, it'll sound really cool. Out of these examples, Caderine and Bleke are better to use than Dimoedhi and Cucennah, because "Timothee" and "Susanna" have been pretty much lost. If that's what you're looking for though, then that's your thing, I just personally like to be able to see realistic names and eventhough those names are based on logical prediction, they sound made-up.
Gender
You need to pay attention to the percieved gender of names. You can use names that are gendered or slightly gendered right now as gender neutral names. But if you're inventing new names, do pay attention to whatever percieved gender they have in your universe. You can use Chard and Jensen for girls, Caderine and Sapphire for guys. In fact, you should definetly use names like Loki and Earth and Rhine as non-binary names.
Disclaimer: I haven't studied history, and most things I reference here as 'historically, x has happened and is therefore likely to repeat in the future' are just things I've picked up on and heard about and logically deduced, and they could be wrong. However, I consider myself very smart and I really really like history, so you should consider this as a fairly accurate depection. Just know that if someone who actually studied or researched this topic says I'm wrong then I'm probably wrong.
So there you go! How to write realistic future names. Have fun!
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I definitely don’t think bridgerton is gonna cancelled after s3, they’re surely doing s4. I’m not sure about subsequent seasons honestly. That will depend from views and if s3 will have a significant drop I think it means the peak was reached and s4 will have less views than s3 and on and on. Which I think is also why they made s3 about Colin and s4 about Benedict. Benedict has a catch and he’s a fanfavorite so it’s more likely ga will watch his season. The problem is that if s3 tanks (which I don’t think it will, but still who knows), I don’t think s4 will be a hit. I definitely think they’ve lost the majority of the SA audience they had in s2, unless they use Simone in promo but lol they didn’t use her in her own season so they probably won’t. But in general I think that because it worked one time, it doesn’t mean that the “one sibling a season” structure will work everytime, cause the risk is there every year and to me they’re doing nothing to get the audience engaged. The writing isn’t helping cause instead of making the ga care about the principals they’re adding plots that last a season and then that character disappears and to me it’s completely nonsense. The promo sucks and 90% of the people involved in the show needs media training. Personally I’ve completely lost interest and I don’t know if I’ll watch s3 honestly 🤷🏻♀️
yeah i don't have much to add bc u said it all! i definitely think the writing is not helping with keeping the audience interested for many seasons on end. that is very clear and i hope they've at least heard some of that feedback, though it seems there was not much time between s2 and writing s3 so who knows... i really hope they manage to pull it all together better, because the family dynamics are definitely my fav part of the show by far. i'm really hoping that regé leaving was the reason they didn't pull much from s1 and that moving forward they do a better job of following up with the past seasons' chars. especially w kate and anthony now being the heads of the family! it would be really disappointing if they don't explore that now esp when k&a are definitely more popular than daphne and simon.
i also think "one sibling a season" will not work forever, especially because in the later books some of the stories are happening at the same time... i like the idea of benedict perhaps already meeting sophie this season and looking for her but only having that resolved in the next. i also like the idea of fran meeting john now but not being a huge focus and michael only showing up in her season. we'll have to wait and see but i think that would be smart and would warrant less bullshit plots that disappear after 1 season which you're right doesn't make sense at all. you have enough characters damn it use them!
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