#honorable mention to the first season of AHS

[murdockparker]

Mr. Bridgerton and the Baker

Benedict Bridgerton x Reader

Summary: Covered in flour. It is how she usually spent her days, working hard at her family's bakery. She just hadn't expected to have met him in such a state.

Word Count: 11.8k

Warnings: pining, angst, fluff, a small assault (reader gets hit, not by Benedict!), mention of pregnancy (like, literally a line or two),

A/N: Did I write an entire fic barely based on that one scene in Camp Rock where Mitchie is covered in flour? Yes. Do I regret it? No.

With the melting of snow and the promise of new starts, the social season was nearly upon the ton, nearly upon all the potential suitors and debutantes—all waiting with bated breath to secure a match this year. Of course, those in waiting were of high status, usually tied to the aristocracy or drowning in wealth beyond compare.

The others? The ones not blessed with endless funds or pure luck of royal lineage had the privilege, nay, honor to serve those who would be so fortunate. For the many, it included servicing the estates—butlers, lady’s maids, governesses, home chefs and the like. For the patrons on Tilbury Street, it included the less sought after roles, polishers, cobblers, modistes and bakeries. One bakery in particular was the prime choice for the aristocracy, a diamond in the rough as some may say. 

—

“I just simply don’t understand why we cannot have our chefs prepare the pastries for the ball,” Eloise Bridgerton nearly groaned, her arm hooked onto her mother’s. They had been walking up and down Tilbury Street for the better part of twenty minutes, simply enjoying the fresh spring weather. “I’ve never known them to make horrid dishes.”

“It’s the first Bridgerton Ball of the season, Eloise,” the dowager viscountess murmured politely. “Along with it being the first Kate has had the pleasure of hosting, putting an order in here is a fresh foot forward, one that’ll impress our guests.”

Eloise barked back a laugh. “If it is so important, why is Kate not here to make the order herself?”

“That, dear sister, is an excellent point.” Following close behind the two Bridgerton ladies was a rather tall shadow, equally as dashing and nearly as clever—Benedict—the second eldest son of the Bridgerton brood. “Surely Anthony could spare his wife for one afternoon, I can’t imagine it being so difficult to pry them from their bedroom—”

“Benedict Bridgerton!” Violet snapped, turning hot on her heels to face her son. He could only laugh.

“Oh Mother, you must relax,” he said lovingly, patting both hands on her shoulders. “You know better than I that it could have been a far fouler thought—why, I can easily imagine three other ways I could have expressed my way of thinking.”

“Ah, ever the poet, Benedict,” Eloise smiled wryly, pushing her way to the front of their clump. No one had the heart to mention the glaring fact that it was likely she didn’t know the way in which they were headed. 

“This bakery,” Violet continued half-heartedly. “Is a prestigious supplier for the ton—you may recall their exquisite cake that we had ordered for Daphne’s wedding.”

Benedict hummed contently. “It was a good cake,” he practically nodded off at the thought. The decadent sponge nearly brought him to tears—of course, it could have very well been the relief from undue stress of Daphne’s season altogether, having nearly lost his older brother to an unnecessary duel.

“I think it was far too sweet,” Eloise said, scrunching her nose in distaste. “I had to drink nearly three cups of tea to clear out the sugar on my tongue.”

“Ah, but what’s life without a little bit of sweetness?” Benedict nearly sang.

“Perfectly fulfilling,” his younger sister quipped back.

The dowager viscountess could only sigh, her eyes reaching up to the clouds above. While she loved nothing more than being the mother of all eight of her perfect children, their endless bickering and bantering grew vexing. It merely took the Bridgerton siblings another minute of arguing before stopping in front of a quaint storefront—the sickeningly sweet aroma filling the street. “We’re here.”

“I could have told you as much,” Benedict mumbled, rubbing his temple lightly. “The scent is… overpowering.” If he were lucky, the headache that was quickly forming would dull fast.

“But Benedict,” Eloise turned hot on her heels. “What’s life without a bit of sweetness?”

Violet Bridgerton was quick to catch her second eldest's hand before it met the back of Eloise’s head. “If it’s too much for you, dear,” she released her grip. “Please feel free to wait for us out here. It should only take a moment.”

“Like a ‘moment’ at the modiste?” Benedict crossed his arms, his brow nearly touching his hairline. “If I recall, the last time I accompanied you to the dressmaker, I spent over an hour basking in the summer sun.”

“Nothing logical stopped you from coming in,” Eloise drawled. “Of course, if you wanted to managed to stay pleasant with the seamstress, one should have kept it in his trousers—”   

“We’ll only be a moment,” Violet hushed Eloise quickly, grasping the top of her arm firmly. ��There seems to be little wait. We’ll be on our way shortly.”

He huffed towards the sun—while there had been little heat near the start of the English spring, the sun was warm against his skin. Benedict enjoyed being outdoors more often than not, it was usually the reason he accompanied his mother on their errands nearly every other day of the season. That, of course, and the fact it got his worrying mama off of his back to be wed. With Anthony finally securing a match, it was only fitting for Violet Bridgerton to be working her way down her list of endless children—having only two of eight married off. “It should only be a moment,” Benedict reassured himself, watching various other families and couples walk by. 

That is, until he heard a rather loud bang coming from the alley beside him. He should have known better—he was taught better—than to investigate outlandish sounds, especially in town, but Benedict Bridgerton was nothing if not curious. He peeked around the corner, holding his breath, preparing to be met with a wild animal of some kind. His view was shaky at best, hardly could see a thing around the bricks. If he wanted a better look, he’d have to take a few steps towards the unusual noise. 

A large white cloud had enveloped the small alley, it was difficult to even see a few meters ahead, let alone what could have caused the loud commotion. Benedict waved his hand through the mysterious fog, trying to clear some air. “Hello?” He heard a soft squeak. An animal, it had to have been, Benedict was sure of it now. “Is anyone there?” 

A cough rang through the alley, startling him more than rogue vermin could have. The cloud had begun to dissipate, the white settling on the stone street below. Flour, if he had to guess, given the location.

“I’m alright,” a voice murmured quietly, another soft cough following quickly after. The shape of a person came into view, the air finally clearing enough for him to make sense of the scene he came upon. It was one of a woman now covered head to toe in the white powder—she had no distinguishable features, the flour was caking every bit of her body and dress. Just striking eyes that made Benedict’s heart jump to his throat. “Just… made a mess.”

“So it seems,” Benedict hummed, stepping over a pile of powder to get closer. “Do you require any help?”

“No, no,” she laughed. “I wouldn’t want you to get dirty. I fear I’ve got quite enough of that for the both of us.”

“I don’t mind getting dirty,” Benedict said quickly, his tongue moving faster than his brain. “But… yes, I suppose it’d be for the best if I refrained from getting any flour on me. May I ask how…?”

“Clumsy,” she uttered simply, the shrug of her shoulders speaking nothing but truth. “I must have the slipperiest fingers in town—I wish I could say this was the first time…”

“Manage to cover yourself in flour often?” Benedict’s lips pulled into a jesting smirk.

“Nearly every other day,” the woman sighed. “We’ve grown accustomed to purchasing an extra sack or two just for situations like these."

“I hardly doubt you could be that clumsy,” Benedict laughed, leaning against the stone wall. “But, I am painting quite the image in my head.”

“Oh I do hope I’m decent in that image, Mr. Bridgerton,” she giggled, curtsying in a near-mocking manner.

“How do you know—”

“Everyone knows your family, Mr. Bridgerton, I’d be a fool to admit I don’t know who you are—though you and your brothers all blur together, so I am merely taking a shot in the dark in which of the four you are.”

“Oh?”

She nodded once, a flurry of powder falling from her hair. A muffled shout from the back door startled her, grabbing her attention. “Ah,” the woman waved the air in front of her face, “I suppose I should take my leave—get cleaned up.”

“Of course,” Benedict said simply. “I won’t keep you.” In nearly an instant, the mysterious dusted lady disappeared from view, diving into the back door. He was taken aback by her candidness—having addressed him so forwardly without the pleasantries of a name exchange. “Damn,” he mumbled to himself, kicking residual flour off of his polished shoe, “I never asked for her name.” Would it be too forward to knock on the back door to ask for her? Benedict Bridgerton couldn’t wrap his head around the interaction—she nearly sent him into a tizzy.

“Brother?” 

Eloise stood at the end of the alley, clutch in hand, face pinched in confusion. 

“Ah, I suppose you’re finished?”

“Hardly,” Eloise scoffed, “Mother insisted on doubling the initial order ‘just to be safe’. She’ll be out in a moment.” 

“Perhaps I should go inside to accompany her—”

“And leave your unwed sister unchaperoned in this part of town?” Eloise pressed a hand to her brother’s chest, stopping him dead in his tracks. His eyes danced quickly to the street in the distance, clearly not paying any attention to his sister. “Benedict?”

“Hm?” He glanced down. “Ah, maybe we should both go back inside—”

“You’re…” she pushed on him harder, nearly sending him backwards. “Acting strange. Not terribly long ago you wanted nothing to do with this place and now, you’re dying to jump into the building that brought you so much strife?” Eloise removed her hand from him, settling it down by her side as she glanced at him up and down. The blues of his outfit were covered slightly in a white power—not enough to really notice, but enough to give the appearance of filth. “And you’re covered in… flour?”

“I don’t wish to share every moment of my day with you, dear Sister,” Benedict said simply, sighing contently. “My business is my business.”

“Business,” Eloise parroted. “Sure.”

Violet Bridgerton had finished the order quickly, mumbling something about the higher prices this time of year—she had gotten a good deal regardless. Benedict was hardly listening, for he was already planning his next trip to this very bakery, hoping to meet the girl in flour once more. 

He never did get the chance, to go back to town. His studies took up most of his free time, any other moment he had was spent with his ever-growing family. Just recently, his sister Daphne brought over her newest addition—another daughter named Belinda—who happened to be yet another spitting image of her mother. Benedict had a theory that every new Bridgerton baby will simply just inherit all the Bridgerton features, so far he had been proven correct. 

“Damn,” Benedict mumbled, violently dabbing a paint brush into his water cup, the colors swirling from the end.

He had been in his studio for the last few hours, mixing endless pigments and oils together, trying to concoct the color in his mind’s eye. It was impossible, he theorized, to create the exact shades and hues of her eyes. It was the most striking thing he remembered about her appearance—save for the copious amount of white flour caking her form—and Benedict Bridgerton had come to the conclusion that her eyes were simply forged by God Himself, a color not meant for mortal recreation.

“Why can I not…” He sighed, slumping back in his stool, paintbrush nearly hitting his trousers. “This is impossible.”

The grand clock beside the door chimed out. It was nearly time to get ready for Anthony and Kate’s ball—an occasion he was most dreading, save for enjoying the few pastries that came from the quaint bakery down in town. Reluctantly, he began to pry himself from his studio and made his way to the washroom, preparing to soak away any remnants of her.

—

“Mother,” (Y/N) chimed out, tying the serving apron to her waist, “I don’t see the reason for my attendance this evening. Surely the hosts of the event will have their own serving staff?”

“(Y/N),” her mother exasperated, throwing a towel down. “Your brothers are ill and bedridden and have been the last few days. Your father and I are counting on you to help fulfill the order, my back isn’t what it used to be, if you recall.”  

The girl sighed, her eyes rolling right up to the cracking ceiling. “How funny, it seems your back flares up nearly in time for deliveries to be made,” the girl mumbled.

“What was that?” Her mother turned quickly towards her only daughter. “I’m sure I misheard you.”

“You must have,” (Y/N) sang. “For I said I’m willing to help with the delivery, mother.”

The older woman narrowed her brow. “Never do I hear such sass from the boys… Perhaps a bit of manual labor will refocus your priorities.” 

“I already agreed,” (Y/N) reiterated. “As if I had terribly too much of a choice…”

“No,” her mother clicked, slapping the a rather large ball of dough that resided on the floured surface. “You do not. Now come, help your mother roll this out.”

She had gotten ready for the ball in record time—seeing as how she’s never gotten ready for one. (Y/N) dug through her mother’s wardrobe, finding an old and somewhat outdated green dress to wear, but it did the trick just fine. It was far nicer than the frocks she had owned anyhow, a light embroidery laced the edges and was sure to be run over by her fingertips endlessly throughout the evening.   

“The carriage is here!” Her father couldn’t have shouted louder throughout the small flat. Their home resided above the bakery, a quaint little thing with only two bedrooms—(Y/N) had the pleasure of sleeping in a rather over-glorified closet. If she reached her arms out, she’d be able to touch two of the walls easily, but like everything in her life, she made do. Unexpected child? Unexpected room. 

“I’ll be right there,” (Y/N) said, tying the now-cleaned apron around her waist, checking herself in the reflection of her water pitcher. “Damned hair,” her fingers moved to tuck a loose ringlet back into position—she had spent the better part of the evening trying to style it. 

“We need to load the carriage and make way to Bridgerton House,” her father repeated, smoothing his formalwear out. He hardly had the chance to wear it, seeing as situations like this happen only once in a while. “We must make a good impression, perhaps we’ll find more business this evening.”

“That’ll be a blessing,” her mother agreed, heading down the stairs to the bakery. “We could always use more business and the dowager viscountess is well liked around the ton, surely she’ll have pleasant things to say about our work.”

“I thought we let the pastries ‘speak for themselves’,” (Y/N) chimed in, carefully picking up a parcel. Her parents simply glared at her, allowing their daughter to silently move along with the loading process. 

The silence continued throughout the lengthy ride to Bridgerton House—the bakers not uttering a word until disembarking to unload all of the sweets. True to her original thought, the Bridgertons had their staff do the bulk of the unloading, carrying each parcel and box into the grand room that was to be the heart of the ball, all that was left to move was the elegant cake specially ordered by the dowager viscountess.

“Do you need a hand?”

“Oh, that would be—” (Y/N) turned around to the mysterious voice, only to find the same Bridgerton boy from earlier in the week standing behind her. “I—Mr. Bridgerton, I’m sure I can find my father to assist, you really don’t need to—”

“I insist,” Benedict held up his hand, effectively cutting her off. “I shouldn’t allow a lady to carry such a thing on her own, it would be most improper.”

“I’m certainly no lady,” she scoffed, readjusting her apron. “I’m not a part of your ‘season’ or whatever it is you lot do during the spring and summer months.”

Benedict barked out a laugh. “Debuted into the Marriage Mart or not, you’re still a lady and I am ever the gentleman, so please, indulge me.”

A blinding heat flushed across her cheeks—she was sure it was visible from down the street. (Y/N) stepped to the side to allow Benedict to grab ahold of one side of the tray, her hands curling around the other. “Thank you… for your help.”

“It’s no bother,” Benedict said truthfully. “I’ve been practically bored out of my skull all afternoon, this is truly the highlight of my evening.”

“Helping me carry a cake?” She asked, turning a corner carefully.

“Seeing you again,” he hummed unabashedly, noting the way her grip stiffened. “Though I must say, I think I prefer you without the flour.”

“How do you know that girl was me? I was covered head to toe.”

“Your eyes,” Benedict said simply. “They’re the most expressive and exquisite eyes I’ve had the pleasure of viewing.”

Benedict Bridgerton. The man who made her speechless.

“That, and I made a bold assumption when I saw you and the pastries arrive this evening.” He laughed lightly, afraid to drop the masterpiece. “I assumed correctly, no?”

“You,” (Y/N) tried to allow her cheeks to cool before continuing.“Would be correct. Very wise you are, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Benedict.”

“Benedict,” she repeated softly, twisting herself to set the cake down on the table. “My apologies.”

The ballroom was grand—much nicer than any place she’d dream of residing in—delicate decorations hung from the sconces, flowers covered nearly every inch of the free space. It was, in every meaning, elegant. “This is… where you live?”

“Ah,” Benedict rubbed the back of his neck. “My brother has been kind to allow me to stay here since he married, seeing as I only have my own property in the country. But yes, this is one of the homes I grew up in.”

“One of the homes,” she repeated back to him. “And here I thought I was spoiled with my broom closet.”

He turned a vibrant shade of red. “Oh! I didn't mean to—”

Her laughter filled the ballroom, the lightness practically lifting Benedict upwards. “I was merely teasing. I’m well aware of your status and wealth, Mr. Bridgerton—” 

“Benedict.”

“Ah! Sorry,” (Y/N) felt the twinge of shame hit her chest, it was small but enough to keep her in line to avoid making the mistake again. “I meant it in jest.”

“Funny girl,” Benedict clicked, waving his finger lightly. “You’ve got quite a sense of humor.”

“Growing up with nothing more than sacks of flour and parcels of sugar allows one to get creative with her jokes,” she explained carefully, treading lightly as to not make it sound completely miserable. “Though, I think they were a better audience anyhow…”

“You wound me,” a hand grabbed his heart, knees buckling towards the ground. “Oh how the lady wounds me.”

“I believe I told you, Benedict, I certainly am no lady.”

“Well, the lady has neglected to give me her name,” he peeked up from the floor—having found quite a cozy position. “So how else should I address such a fair maiden?”

“Fair maiden,” she scoffed playfully, voice barely above a whisper. “Certainly am nothing close to a maiden… but, if you must know,” she paused, “my name is (Y/N), (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“(Y/N)…” Benedict repeated it, mostly to himself. He rose from the floor, eyes not leaving her own. “What a beautiful name.”

“I—thank you. I suppose you should give my parents such a compliment, though. I am simply the recipient of such a gift.”

“Well, when I ask your parents for permission to court their daughter, I’ll pass the message along.”

She froze. 

“Ah, what was that?”

“I hate to be so bold,” Benedict sighed, shoving a hand into his pocket. “But I feel the need to let you know of my intentions—my interest in you.”

“Oh you must be mistaken,” (Y/N) shook her head. “You’d want nothing to do with a girl like me. Surely there are other women in the ton who strike your fancy?”

“Nope,” he said simply. “Not a one. You, on the other hand, with your striking eyes and seemingly endless beauty, piqued my interest. If I may be honest, I haven’t stopped thinking about our encounter in the alley—it’s been on the forefront of my mind for days.”

She blinked, the gears in her head trying to keep up with the words Benedict was speaking. “But I am not from your world, Benedict. Even if I was interested in pursuing a courtship—”

“Are you not?” His eyes struck wide open. “I’m quite the catch, you see. Well-bred, scholarly and, if I might say so myself, I’m quite the talented artist. Easy on the eyes, too.”

“Benedict.” He stopped and looked at the woman. She was practically glowing in the candlelight. “While I’m not saying I’m… not interested, I can’t help but feel like you are infatuated with the idea of me and not… me.”

“How do you mean?”

She laughed humorlessly. “You don’t know me, truly. My likes, dislikes, how I take my tea, what weather I fancy—”

“See,” Benedict grabbed her hand, “I wish to know those things. Is that not the purpose of a courtship?”

“I am not from your world, Benedict. I have priorities, a duty to my family and our business—I can’t spend a moment thinking of the frivolity of a courtship with a man of your status.”

“But if I were, say, the butcher’s son it would be different?”

“Yes,” she removed her hand from his. “Of course it would be. I’m surprised you haven’t thought this through.”

“I have been thinking it through since we’ve met,” Benedict nearly spat, feeling anger bubble up in his chest. “I am not the type of man who wishes to court just anyone, you know.”

“So you wish to court me just because you can? Because how ever could I say no?”

“I—of course not!”

“We’re perfect strangers who shared a moment—albeit an endearing one—out in the middle of an alley. We both cleaned up and went about our lives,” she shook her head. “Nothing cosmic or magical about it.”

“I did not expect you to be so against the idea, unless… there’s another man of your affections?”

She groaned, pinching her nose. “No. No other man. Has a woman ever said no to you before, Mr. Bridgerton?”

He paused, clearly taken aback.

“Well,” she smoothed the tablecloth, the wrinkle in the bottom corner was annoying her, “let me be the first, then. No, I am not interested in a courtship, nor do I think I have any interest in a courtship—with you or anyone—so do not take it terribly too personally.” 

“Never? Don’t you plan to have a family of your own?”

“I already have a family,” she said simply. “I have no time for foolish ideas of having an adoring husband, three beautiful babies and a peaceful life out in the country.”

“That seems awfully specific—”

“No matter,” she waved. “Thank you for your interest, Mr. Bridgerton, I am flattered, truly.”

She walked away, hoping to hide in the carriage the rest of the night. Was she a fool? To turn down a courtship from such a sophisticated and notable man of the ton?

Benedict seemed to think so. True to her comment, he couldn’t recall a time in which a woman had rejected his advances—never in the name of a courtship, this would be his first—so to watch her walk away stung deeply, like a thorn to his heart. He was genuinely interested in the girl, he knew it. He just needed to prove it to her.

—

Days had passed since the Bridgerton ball and (Y/N) had successfully faked a stomach ache and ‘rested’ in the carriage until the night was over and done with. She was busy in the kitchen, working hard on a batch of fresh loaves for the storefront. Flour dusted her apron—the humor not lost on her—as she thought more and more about Benedict’s proposal. 

The bell to the shop rang out, her brother’s voice gave a muffled greeting, nothing out of the ordinary for a regular day at the bakery. It was calming, to work with the dough, taking virtually nothing and creating something delicious was soothing to her soul. She continued to knead the dough, working it like clay against her palms before the door to the back swung wide open.

“(Y/N), I do believe you have a visitor,” Harry, her second eldest brother smirked. He had finally recovered enough to help around the shop again, much to their mother’s delight. “One of the gentlemen variety, if you must know.”  

She stopped dead in her tracks.

“Did he give you a name?”

“Only asked for you,” Harry shrugged. “I figured you must’ve been expecting him,” he walked closer to her, taking over the kneading, “brought you flowers and looks rather fancy.”

She wiped her hands off on the already soiled apron, clapping her hands once for good measure. “Don’t over-work those, I’ll shove your face into the oven.”

Harry’s laugh rang out through the kitchen as she braved the door to the store. She knew it was inevitable, to expect him to come and try to woo her again, though she wasn’t expecting it so soon. The door felt rough against her palms, swinging wide open to the storefront. Sure enough, a one Benedict Bridgerton was standing by the counter, eyeing the various loaves on display. 

“Ah, Miss. (Y/L/N),” Benedict said, almost bowing. “I’m delighted you could join me.”

“Mr. Bridgerton,” (Y/N) smiled sickeningly sweet, forced beyond all measure. “What a… surprise.”

“A wonderful one, I presume?” He jested. Her eyes found the colorful bouquet quickly, she was trying her hardest to not make eye contact. It was ornate—fancy, just like her brother said—decked out in a healthy mix of wild blooms and expensive looking flowers. “Ah! My apologies, these are for you,” Benedict said, lifting the bouquet across the counter. 

She reluctantly took them, cradling the bunch as if it were a newborn babe. “Thank you, Mr. Bridgerton.”

He swallowed thickly at the formality of his name, but bit his tongue. “I must say, you looked exquisite at the ball, but I think your natural element suits you more favorably, why, you’re practically glowing.” Benedict pointed to her floured apron and messy frock, having been in the kitchen all morning. “Less flour than the first time.”

Her grip tightened around the bouquet. “Is there anything I can help you with? Perhaps another order for your mother?”

The man shook his head, laughing lightly. “No, no order. I just wished to see you.” The bluntness of his answer nearly shocked her, but the effect wore quickly.

“Perhaps I wished the opposite?”

“Oh, my dear,” Benedict practically mewled. “If that were true, you wouldn’t have come out here in the first place, now would you?”

Like a gaping trout, she had no reply. Perhaps he was right. She didn’t have to come out to the front of the store, the gnawing curiosity got the better of her and practically pulled her through that door. 

“If you are here to try to get me to change my mind—”

“I wish to spend the afternoon with you.”

She blinked.

“Just one afternoon, allow me to try and prove how serious I am about courting you,” Benedict said earnestly. “After that, if you are still of the same mind, I will never bother you again. You have my word.”

Hesitantly, she lowered the bouquet, her shoulders slumping. She was thinking so hard about his offer, Benedict swore he could see steam rising from her ears. “I… cannot just leave the bakery, it’s my family’s livelihood—”

“I’ll buy the lot,” Benedict said, pressing a handful of coins onto the counter top. “Sell me whatever it is you make in a day—a small price to pay for a moment of your time.”

“You cannot simply throw your money at things and expect it to always work out for you, Mr. Bridgerton,” she said sternly, eyeing the sack of coins longingly. She would be kidding herself if the offer didn’t sound appealing. “I am no woman on the corner, you cannot buy my time.”

“Then consider it a tip,” Benedict hummed, pushing the bag closer to her. “For your excellent service at the Bridgerton ball. Nothing nefarious, nothing expected of you. Just a man buying some bread.”

“Loads of bread,” (Y/N) mumbled, quickly calculating how many loaves he truly was willing to walk out with. The amount of money was unclear, but if she had to wager, he practically bought out the whole storefront. Her parents would be thrilled—they could even take a rare day off, just because their daughter spent the afternoon with a practical stranger. “Fine. One afternoon.”

The glee that washed across his body did not go unnoticed, he practically lit up the room with his joy.

“You won’t regret this,” he said seriously. “Trust that my intentions are pure and—”

“—honest and true,” she droned, finishing his thought. “Yes, yes, I understand.”

Benedict nodded. “Right. Well, shall we?”

“Will you allow me a moment to change? I do not think you wish to spend your day with a girl caked in flour.”

“Funny enough, I wouldn’t have it any other way,” he grinned. She was unamused. “But, if you insist.”

It didn’t take long for her to clean up, a change in her frock and a readjustment to her hair was all that was needed. She found herself staring in her mirror a bit longer than usual, taking in her features. Could he really be interested in her? He seemed so taken by her looks when she herself considered them… so plain. She shook her head, effectively jumping out of her haze and proceeded to head back downstairs to meet her suitor for the afternoon. 

“Perhaps you were right,” Benedict said softly. “This may be your best look to date.”

A heat warmed her cheeks and it wasn’t the summer sun. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Mr. Bridgerton—” 

“Ah!” Benedict waved a finger. “If we are to spend the afternoon together, I insist you call me by my given name.”

Her lips pressed together in protest. “If you insist—”

“Oh and I do, my darling,” Benedict nearly sang.

“Benedict,” she corrected. “What sorts of plans do you have for this afternoon? Surely you did not produce such a grand gesture only to leave our day up to chance.”

“I am feeling quite parched,” Benedict said, almost ignoring her comment. “Care for a spot of tea?” In their walk down the street, he had managed to stop right in front of a quaint little tea shop. She hardly noticed.

“And if I do not care for tea?”

“I hear they have excellent scones and biscuits,” Benedict countered. “Surely not sweeter than you, but delicious all the same.”

“Sweeter than my scones, you mean?”

Benedict raised a brow, puckering his lips lightly. She heard him correctly the first time. “So. Tea?”

They sat at a small table near the back of the shop, a hot pot of herbal tea sat between them. It looked entirely domestic, a pot of tea shared between lovers, any onlooker could have deduced as much.

“Pass the honey?” (Y/N) pointed to the small jar next to Benedict’s hand. He nodded and pushed it closer to her.

“You take your tea with honey?” He probed.

“Herbal tea, yes,” she confirmed, stirring a spoonful into her cup. “If it is black tea, a healthy amount of milk is entirely welcomed in my drink, no sugar.”

“Interesting,” Benedict said, watching her intently stir the honey until it dissolved into the hot liquid. “I prefer plain black tea myself, though occasionally my brother Colin will bring exquisite teas from his travels across the seas.”

“And Colin is which brother?” The question slipped out quickly, she hardly noticed she had asked.

“One of my two younger brothers,” Benedict smiled gently. “Not much younger than I, but I do have a few years on him, not as many as I have on Gregory, of course. He’s practically the babe of the family—save for sweet Hyacinth.”

“Eight children…” She thought aloud. “Were your parents working towards a record number?”

“I always jest that they wished to complete the entire alphabet,” Benedict mused. “But, alas, twenty six seems a bit much.” He took a sip of his tea, enjoying the lingering aroma. “So, you know there are eight of us?”

“Everyone knows your family,” she said simply. “Do not flatter yourself.”

“Of course,” he hummed into his cup, a smile brewing from his lips. “You have siblings, yes? I believe I met your brother earlier.”

“Two older brothers,” (Y/N) groaned lightly. “Jack and Harry, the latter being the one you met. They are… oh how do I put this? Exceptionally irritating.”

Benedict laughed into his drink. “Sounds quite a lot like my siblings.”

“My parents expect Jack to take over the bakery,” she explained quietly, her voice lowering. “But he has no desire to bake whatsoever. He can hardly make a sponge cake.”

“And a sponge cake is…?”

“One of the most basic cake recipes a baker can learn,” she continued. “I usually end up being the one who pulls the slack Jack creates.”

“And Harry?”

“When he isn’t galavanting across town with the ladies of the night, he is holed up in his room doing Lord knows what. Certainly nothing that helps the family business.”

“You care a lot about your family and the business,” Benedict said, stating what is clearly the obvious. “Surely your parents see it too?”

“Oh no,” she shook her head wildly. “That is the most asinine part of the ordeal! They simply do not see me as an asset to the bakery—something that should rightfully be mine should the time come.” She sighed, throwing her head into her hands. “But, I am expected to keep my head down and decorate cakes like a good girl.”

“You say that as if you are their pet,” Benedict scoffed lightly. “Do they truly expect such obedience from you?”

“I wasn’t wanted,” she said simply. “My parents merely wanted a son to take over the business—Jack, he’s the oldest. Good for nothing, as it turns out. Harry was to have an extra set of hands around the bakery, but now he’s their prodigal child. Me? I was shacked with an over glorified closet for a room because there truly was no space for me.” She sniffled. “At least they got a decorator out of it.”

Benedict tentatively put his hand on her shoulder, giving her a reassuring squeeze. “You’re more than a decorator. Surely your parents see that too?”

“They’ll see some use of me when I get home,” she said into her cup. “Seeing as you bought out our store just to spend a measly few hours with me. I’m sure that in of itself is worth having an accidental daughter.”

Benedict all but scoffed at this. “You cannot be serious.”

“Not everyone comes from loving families that wish to do nothing more than pop out babies left and right,” (Y/N) deadpanned, placing her cup back on the table. “If it were truly up to my parents, they would’ve stopped after Jack. But, much like the society you come from, an heir and a spare, I suppose.”

“And you?” Benedict almost felt afraid to ask. 

“It’s like you said,” she finished her cup of tea. “I am simply a pet.”

Benedict was never one for fights, but he suddenly had the urge to put his fist through a handful of faces in that moment. “That’s awful.” It was all he could say. 

“That’s life,” she shrugged, picking up a biscuit and examining it closely. Her nose scrunched. “If you were trying to gain my favor, perhaps you should’ve taken me somewhere with better biscuits. It’s insulting to a baker to see such poorly made ones, especially in a place like this.”

He knew she was trying to change the subject. “I shall do better next time.”

“Yes, I suppose you—” she stopped. “That was a rotten trick and you know it.”

“I am certainly no magician, (Y/N),” Benedict finished his tea, hiding the most devilish of smiles from behind the cup. “But seeing as we’re finished with our pot, perhaps we can take a turn about the park?”

“You’d risk public outcry and a scandal for being seen with a commoner in the park?” (Y/N) asked, pulling herself from her seat. “What would Lady Whistledown say?”

“You know of Lady Whistledown?”

“Everyone knows of Lady Whistledown,” she scoffs. “I may not have the pleasure to afford her column every time she publishes, but occasionally our regulars will leave their pamphlet for me once they’re finished.”

“Only read the good bits, I take it?”

“As much as I don’t understand the world you come from, Benedict, reading Whistledown helps me fill the gaps I am so obviously lacking. Truly, even if I did grow up in your society, I doubt I’d be able to understand much more than I do now anyway.”

“I reckon you’re right,” Benedict said, a laugh escaping through his nose. “I’m not one for society anyway—never cared much for it.”

“Surely news of this would cause a scandal, though?”

“News that I am simply walking in the park with a friend? Oh how the newsboys will have trouble selling that story,” Benedict mused, leaning down towards the lady. “Perhaps if we were seen doing something less proper, I suppose. Do you wish to be doing something less proper, (Y/N)?”

She didn’t dignify his question with a response, though, the rouge on her cheeks was answer enough.

—

It only took a handful of minutes to walk to the park, the tea shop was so close already. How convenient.

The other ladies in the park, the ones of a more genteel breeding, they were dressed finer than anything (Y/N) could have put on. She felt out of place. She usually did, of course, but something about her outdated frock in contrast to how striking Benedict looked and dressed? It felt rather foolish. 

Perhaps it was the notoriety of the Bridgerton walking beside her, or the self consciousness of being underdressed enough to catch the eyes of anyone walking past, but it felt like she was a spectacle—something in a museum or on display. She was holding bright light, nearly shouting at everyone that she was not enough, not worthy to be in this park, let alone with this man.

“I am tired of walking,” (Y/N) said suddenly. 

“We have only just begun,” he laughed. “But if you require a respite—”

“Let’s sit,” (Y/N) said just as quickly, practically running to the edge of the pond. Perfectly out of sight to everyone.

“How secluded,” Benedict mused. “I daresay, I never thought you’d be so agreeable—”

“Hush,” (Y/N) admonished, holding a finger up. “I am simply in need of a break—away from prying eyes.”

Benedict nodded, not daring to pry further. He watched her slump to the ground, her dress skirt billowing around her like a cloud before settling to the gravity. He continued to stand. “I rather like this park.”

“A park is a park.”

“Have you been before?”

“Here?” She shook her head. “Obviously not.”

“My family, we would come to London during the social season,” Benedict explained. “Our usual residence is out in Kent—anyhow, my father had this spectacular notion to come to the park every week as a family. Looking back, it was probably to save face and show a united Bridgerton front.”

She looked up at Benedict, who was currently plucking a few leaves off of the low hanging branches of the tree. “Sounds wise.”

“He was the wisest,” Benedict agreed. “Keeping the ever-growing number of Bridgerton children entertained became a sport. Anthony, Colin and I were always squabbling, drove my mother rightfully insane, so, my father had a bright idea.”

“Paste your lips together?” She offered. 

Benedict knelt down, close to the edge of the water. “No, but I do not doubt that idea crossed their minds,” he laughed, bringing the leaves in his hands to view, “my father suggested racing.”

“Horse racing?”

He shook his head. “We’d each pick a leaf and follow it to the other edge of the pond—kept us entertained for hours, running back and forth to reset our leaves and chase them down.”

“Smart man,” she hummed, genuinely impressed by the late viscount’s cleverness.

“So, pick your contender,” Benedict said softly, displaying the spare leaves like cards in a deck. 

“You are serious?”

“Dead serious, I’m afraid,” Benedict clicked, pushing his hand a bit closer to her. “Come on, humor me.”

She looked down at the leaves and back up at Benedict, his blue eyes rivaling the color of the pond. Taking an interest in the middle leaf—it was the longest and skinniest—she plucked it from his fingers. “This one.”

“Excellent choice,” Benedict said cheerily, dropping the other leaves. “I am more inclined to a smaller one—seems they move faster down the shore.”

“Size isn’t everything, Mr. Bridgerton,” (Y/N) crossed her arms, resting them on her knees. She would never dare to admit it out loud, but she was having a bit of fun.

“Ah, perhaps not,” Benedict jested with her, her jab not even shocking him in the slightest. “But, I reckon it will be a close match regardless.”

After insuring that the lovely lady in his company was watching his movements closely, he set the leaves down on the surface of the water. “Finish line is by that tree over there,” he pointed, finally letting go with his other hand.

“May the best leaf win,” she giggled. Giggled? Good Lord. A crooked grin cracked on his face, focused too intently at the company rather than the match at hand. “Are you not going to chase them?”

“And leave you?” He scoffed. “Perish the thought.”

“I just thought,” her gaze was caught on the leaves, still floating down the edge of the pond—slower than she anticipated, “well, I suppose I wanted to get the whole picture of your family tradition.”

“Shall I run along the coast, then?” Benedict asked playfully, rising back to his feet, thumb pushed towards the water. 

“Only to humor me,” she shrugged, not even fighting the smile on her face. 

“Well, in that case,” Benedict began to remove his jacket, throwing it beside her. With a light jog he caught up to the leaves, they hadn’t gone very far anyway, perhaps if it were a windier day he’d have a faster time to keep up with. “You are in the lead!” He called out. 

“Brilliant!” Her hands were clasped around her mouth, a cone to help amplify her shout. His smile was like the sun, warm and inviting—she wished she could spend the day in such a warmth. Benedict practically jumped for joy when the leaves made it to the final stretch, crossing to the rocks on the shore. Nearly falling into the water, he managed to scoop the leaves up and jog back to the woman in the grass. “Well?”

“Well, what?” He asked, nearly out of breath, smile still pulling his lips upward. 

“The winner?”

“Ah,” he fell to the ground, sitting comfortably next to the baker’s daughter, pocketing the leaves. “A secret.”

“So you lost?”

“Oh, I assure you, if you won I would be celebrating you until the end of our time together,” Benedict sang. “However…”

“I lost?” She scoffed. 

“A gentleman is humble in his successes,” he explained carefully. “We could go again?”

“No,” she said, humor in her voice. “I think that was more than enough excitement for one afternoon.”

“For once, we agree,” he said. “May I…? Could I ask you a question?”

“If you are proposing marriage, I am afraid I’ll have to decline—”

“No, no,” he laughed heartily. “Nothing of that sort.”

“I suppose I could find it in myself to answer a different question, then.”

“You were cold to me this morning,” Benedict noted, twirling a blade of grass between his fingers. “But not on the day we met. What changed?”

She sighed, pulling her knees to her chest, gaze locked out on the now setting sun. “I… am not entirely sure.”

“Surely it was not the leaves—”

“The leaves may have helped,” she admitted. “Humanized you, in a way.”

“Was I inhuman before?”

“Naturally,” she retorted. “I mean, is it not obvious?”

“You were protecting your feelings,” Benedict finally realized. “All this time. You did not wish to be hurt—truly afraid I was merely stringing you along as an elaborate prank or ruse? Is that right?”

“How could someone like you ever have an interest in a pauper like me? The baker’s daughter and the son of a viscount?” Tears dotted her eyes, threatening to fall. How she came so close to crying was beyond her. “It seems implausible.”

Benedict dropped the grass, fully looking at the lady beside him. She had made herself nearly as small as she felt. He had hit the nail on the head. A gust of wind blew by, bringing leaves down from the tree above. 

“I do not think less of you because of whose daughter you are,” Benedict said softly, removing a stray leaf from her hair. His fingers guided her head towards him, begging for her to look his way. “I care only about you. Getting to know you. Frankly, your father seems like a mostly alright man, but I do not wish to know him the way I wish to know you.”

“You may wish for that,” she sniffled. “But what would the rest of your world think? You, trying to court a woman below your status—”

“The only people who should be caring so deeply about my potential courtship are my intended and me,” Benedict said sharply. “The rest of the ton can frankly kiss my rear end.”

This raised a laugh out of her. It was bubbly and pure, almost like the one of a child. “You truly don’t care what people think about you?”

“No,” he shook his head. “I do not.”

“How freeing that must be,” she said. 

“Being the second son has its perks,” Benedict looked at her, really looked at her. “No one expects me to be proper all the time. I am given the freedom—financially and otherwise—to do as I please. I do not have to worry about inheriting a title, siring heirs, that is my brother’s responsibility.”

“Why me?”

His head quirked. “I do not understand?”

“You could court any girl of the ton,” she said. “And I am sure more than half of them would never turn down a chance to be courted by a Bridgerton—”

“They wished for the title,” Benedict sighed. “To be Viscountess Bridgerton, to marry my older brother and have the notoriety. That ship has already sailed, I'm afraid. You are kind in thinking that many women would be after me though.”

“You are not ugly,” she listed, “you have a great humor about you, a pleasant demeanor and a kindness in your eyes. The women of the ton must be foolish, then.”

“Perhaps the foolish one is you?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“You truly think those things about me?” He asked, awaiting a response. Her jaw was slack, clearly not about to give him any sort of confirmation to his question. “I believe your words, I do. But perhaps you should look at yourself with such eyes?”

“I-I don’t understand—”

“Our class differences aside,” Benedict said, as if it was easy to just ignore that, “while I was taken by your beauty at first—your eyes are something the Gods themselves forged in the fires, stars rivaling their shine—it was your continuous personality that kept my attention. Granted, it helped you were once covered head-to-toe in flour, it really brought out your features.”

Her cheeks flared at the recollection of their first meeting. “It was not my finest moment.”

“And you were vulnerable all the same,” he continued. “You cared not for who I was, yet, you showed an interest in me anyway. You may not agree with that statement, but you and I know it to be true in some shape or form. The only thing that holds you back is this notion on our classes—”

“Perhaps I am interested in you,” (Y/N) cut him off. “Perhaps I wish to be courted by you, attend balls and dress in pretty gowns, drinking expensive drinks and whispering sweet nothings. But that is all that it is—a wish. I know my place in this world, it is a right shame you have such a fantasy about yours.”

“(Y/N)…”

“No,” she stood up, brushing the blades of grass and leaves off of her skirt. “I hoped that you would understand, Benedict. I agreed to this afternoon because it felt like I had no choice in the matter—you practically bought my time, after all. What I did not expect,” she hiccuped, “I did not expect that I would enjoy such an afternoon.”

“You enjoyed yourself,” Benedict rose to his feet, desperate to match her gaze head on. “Why can you not allow yourself to have that joy? Allow your heart to follow its call?”

“I do not have such liberties to listen to my heart,” (Y/N) said softly. “I must use my head for every choice I make. An afternoon with you allowed my family to have enough money to make it through the end of the season without going hungry—”

“And an afternoon with me has brought such happiness to fill your soul for much longer—”

“Happiness has little importance,” she scoffed. “I would rather see my family healthy and surviving than even think about a notion like happiness or joy.”

“You have said yourself that your family treats you like a pet,” Benedict took a deep breath, trying to regain his composure. He needn’t explode in the park. “Why do you care so much about them if they care so little for you?”

“Because it is all that I know!” The candle had finally reached its end, burning out with a sizzle. “All I have ever known is my life in the bakery, rising early to make the dough, peddling samples to those walking by and hoping—praying—that they step in our store and purchase something. Because a sale of a few loaves of bread or cakes meant we could afford to buy vegetables for a soup, something to eat with our days old bread.”

“If you were with me, you wouldn’t ever need to think about things like that again,” Benedict said, his voice wavering on a whisper. “I could support you, support your family.”

“And that is precisely why I do not wish to continue this,” she raised her finger. “I do not need an affluent man to come and save me—”

“But I could help—”

“I do not need your help!”

“You obviously do!”

She took a step back, the tears from before finally reappearing in her eyes. “O-obviously? Because I am of a lower class you believe, in that giant and empty head of yours, that you can simply win my favor by saving me? Offering riches and experiences that I should be grateful and thanking every God that will listen that you are even willing to give me?”

“You know that is not what I meant—” 

“You believe that because you are who you are, and I am who I am, that I couldn’t possibly say no to you,” her gaze flicked with anger, a fire looming. “While the ladies of the ton have their choices, I do not, so it makes it easy for you to pine over someone who simply has no choice in the matter.”

“No—(Y/N)—”  

“This afternoon has been lovely,” (Y/N) spat, looking to the skyline—the sun had finally set, “but I am afraid that the afternoon is over. I shall be taking my leave.”

“Please reconsider,” Benedict begged, willing to try anything to get her to stay. “I wish to know you.”

“A shame, then,” (Y/N) said, turning around. “Wishing for something so foolish.”

—

“Her head is in the clouds,” Jack whispered.

“No, I reckon her head is in the dough,” Harry mumbled back to his brother. 

“I can hear you, you know,” (Y/N) ground out, working hard on a rather unruly clump of dough that simply would not cooperate. “And if I can hear you, you are close enough to be helping.”

“But that is so exhausting," Harry groaned, leaning against the countertop. “Besides, how are you ever going to impress your betrothed if you do not keep such toned arms?”

She threw the dough against the counter—hard. “He is not my betrothed.”

“But you wish for him to be, no?” Jack giggled, playing with a few burnt buns—a mishap of his own creation.

“I say, Sister,” Harry said. “Why do you not pursue that Bridgerton? He clearly is interested in you, or, have you forgotten all of the flowers he has sent?”

The front of the shop was practically a florist’s dream—covering every free inch of counter space with beautiful bouquets. Her mother simply refused to throw out such lovely blooms, even going so far as to fish the first one out of the trash after her daughter made quick work to dispose of it. “How could I possibly forget about the man who continuously flaunts his wealth to get what he wants?”

“He wants you, surely that is not lost on you?”

“Of course not,” she continued to knead, a few hairs falling into her face. “But he is so insistent on getting me to agree to his whims simply because—”

“He has money, (Y/N),” Jack scoffed. “Good money. Christ, you spent half of a day with him a few weeks ago and we were able to finally purchase meat for dinner. Imagine if you married him—”

“So you want your sister to be married off for your own financial gain?”

“What else would you marry for?” Harry laughed. “Love?”

She stopped kneading. “Why do you not go and try to marry a wealthy lady, then? Hm? Surely a woman of genteel breeding would be much taken by the idea of a rugged baker—”

“That Bridgerton is already interested,” Harry shrugged. “At the very least, if you end up with child he would provide enough funds—”

“First you wish to marry me off, now you wish for me to have his bastard?” She couldn’t help but laugh, ignoring her hard work on the counter. “Why can I not make my own choice? I do not wish to be with Mr. Bridgerton, I wish to stay here at the bakery.”

“Fucking stupid,” Jack scoffed. “If I were in your shoes, I would let the gentleman pay for anything my heart desires—forget about this wretched place and move on with my life.”

“And abandon our legacy?”

“You mean my legacy,” Jack corrected. “I am to inherit the bakery, it is my birthright. You? I suppose I will allow you to continue your grunt work here—” 

“Who else will do the baking?” Her voice rang throughout the kitchen. “Mother and Father are nearing the end of their career, both becoming too frail to continue with the rigorous task of this place. I am the only one—the only competent member of this family who can keep this shit afloat! And you want me to just… give that up?”

Jack stood a little straighter. “It was never your place.”

“Harry is set to inherit the bakery now, you know it. Yet someone had to fill the shoes of the family fuck-up instead, no?” 

It was a sharp pain, suddenly and all at once against her cheek. It took her only half a second later to realize what had happened, her other brother’s face was only a confirmation on the fact.

“Jack, what the hell?!” Harry practically screamed. “You hit her?”

“She insulted me!”

“You deserved it,” Harry said, pushing his older brother back. “She only spoke the truth—”

“So I am allowed to be walked over by my baby sister?” Jack scoffed, pushing Harry back. “A woman? No fucking chance, mate.”

Her hand had covered her cheek, already feeling warm to the touch. Everything was too much, too loud, too bright. She had to get out of there, had to forget all about the dough on the counter, forgetting all about the brother who had just smacked her silly. The back door wasn’t locked—no surprise as Jack was the last one to use it—making it easy for her to push into the alleyway and into the rain. 

Rain. 

Pelting like bullets, the wet drenched her clothing in a mere instant, making it harder to escape. Where had she planned to run anyway? She had nowhere to go, her entire world was contained to the four walls of the bakery, never daring to explore the rest of it, not when her world was already so encompassing, so inviting. 

In theory, anyway, it seemed.

So, she ran. A mix of running and walking, she kept moving forward. By the time she left her part of town, she knew her brothers would not bother coming for her. The rain alone was a deterrent, even Harry, the one who loved her more, wouldn’t dare to brave the elements just to reel his sister’s whims in. 

A splotch of purple entered her vision. How long had she been moving? Did she even expect to come here? Did her subconscious send her in this direction for a reason?

She knocked on the bright door before she could find out.

“Good evening, ma’am,” a butter said politely. “What business do you have?”

“I am here to call upon Benedict Bridgerton.”

—

His quill had soaked the parchment below with ink, having left the tip upon it for far too long. He had been lost in thought, contemplative, especially the last few weeks. Benedict knew he had hurt her, had insulted her very being, yet he still tried. Every other day he’d send a fresh bouquet to the bakery, a new poem attached to the stems. Perhaps she read them? He knew it was more likely that she burned them, in the ovens or otherwise. 

At the very least, he knew that the blooms were being displayed at the shop. Hope. That is what it had given him.

“Mr. Bridgerton, you have a caller,” a butler knocked, opening his door a crack wider.

“A caller? In this weather?”

“She seemed rather insistent,” the butler shrugged. “She is waiting in the drawing room—I already sent for tea and towels for the lady.”

“A lady is here to see me?” Benedict quirked his brow.

“A Miss. (Y/L/N),” the butler said. “No calling card, soaked to the bone and she seemed a bit… out of sorts.”

Benedict had already risen from his desk, practically pushing past the staff member to reach the stairs. Missing a step or two, he made it to the drawing room and shoved the door open. In the center of the blue room was (Y/N), dripping onto the wooden floor, shaking like a leaf.

“(Y/N)…” 

“I-I had nowhere else to go,” she began to explain. “I did not even realize I was here until I knocked on the door. It was foolish—”

“No,” Benedict shook his head, reaching to take her hand in his own. “It is quite alright. You are more than welcome to be here.”

His hands were warm, or perhaps she was just that cold, making them feel like a fire. “I am so sorry, Benedict.”

“For what?” He asked genuinely. 

“Everything?” She offered. “I-I am not sure of what, exactly, but I feel that I need to apologize.”

“You needn’t apologize for anything,” he said. “Not with me, not ever.”

She looked up at the ceiling, afraid to make contact with his blue stare. “I needed to get away. My brother he—Jack hit me.”

Benedict froze, his entire body went rigid. “I’ll kill him.”

“I suppose I deserved it,” she shrugged, now looking at the ground. “Talking back to him, assuming things that could never be—” 

“A man has assaulted you,” Benedict squeezed her hand tighter. “Brother or not, he put his hands on you. You did nothing of the sort to deserve such a thing.”

“I don’t think I can go back there,” (Y/N) said softly. “Perhaps this was just the moment that gave me clarity. Opened my eyes, so to speak.”

Benedict took a good look at her face, red and splotchy, whether it was from the smack or the tears, he could not tell. “Tea is on the way, I shall request a cold compress for your cheek—”

“I do not wish to impose.”

“You shall wish for nothing here,” Benedict said quietly, firmly. “You will stay until the rain lets up, or, you provide me with a suggestible plan for your next steps.”

“I cannot go back,” she finally looked up at Benedict. “As much as I would like to, I simply cannot.”

“If you do not want to go back, I will support you. If you want to leave town, the country even, I will support you,” he said seriously. “Please allow me to support you.”

“I could never ask you for that—”

“You are not asking, I am offering,” he clarified. 

“Benedict…”

The rain seemed to lessen, if the pelting against the window had anything to say about it. The noise had dimmed, not as violent as before. “To know that you are safe, that you are cared for, that is all I care about.”

So, in the center of the blue Bridgerton drawing room, soaked to the bone and dripping all over the floor, she kissed him. It was a sudden thing, pulling him down towards her lips, the contact much quicker than she had expected. He returned the favor in kind, wrapping his arms around her and holding her tight, kissing her in a way he had yet to truly experience. 

If his hands were like a fire, his lips were an inferno. Fighting for dominance, it was all encompassing. How had she gone so long without a feeling such as this? The burn was coming from inside, not a superficial one atop her skin as she was quite used to, but this burn, this feeling, she could find herself craving this. 

“I-I am sorry—” she pulled away.

“Never be sorry,” Benedict shook his head. “Not for that, not ever.”

“I should not have done that…”

“No,” he agreed, a chuckle leaving his lips, “but how exhilarating it felt, regardless.”

His thumb ran lazy circles on her jaw. She leaned into the touch. “I do not know what to do, where to go…”

“But you cannot stay here…?”

She smiled sadly. “You know me scarily well, Benedict.”

He thought for a moment. “So… leave.”

“Excuse me?”

“Leave town, leave the country—”

“I do not have the means to do such a silly thing.”

“I will pay your way.”

She scoffed, trying to pull out of his embrace. He wouldn’t release his grip. “Benedict…”

“I told you, I wish to support you. Emotionally, financially, I want to be there for you,” Benedict said. “Even if we are not—if you do not want to be together romantically, I want to ensure your safety and your health, your well-being. A friend.”

She tried to find the lie in his eyes, in his tone. Coming up empty, she had no excuse to not believe him. 

“France,” he said, as if struck by lightning.

“France?”

“I hear only the expert bakers study in France—I have no doubts you could go to learn,” he explained. “I could pay for your travel, housing, you name it. Ask for it, and it is yours.”

“I doubt anyone would want to teach a woman, no matter how lovely a thought it might be.”

“I have a cousin,” Benedict explained. “Her and her husband own a café—I am quite certain that they would love to hire an expert baker to add to their inventory and menu. You could earn your own income, make your own way. A fresh start.”

“A fresh start…” she repeated. “That sounds too good to be true.”

“I shall write to her in the morning,” Benedict said, holding her hands again. 

“And you…?”

“I will only come with you if you want me to join,” Benedict said slowly. “I will not trap you. I want your happiness, your freedom.”

She nodded, understanding.

“I think France sounds nice,” she smiled. “Will you write to me?”

“Every chance I get.”

“Even if you are vexed with me?”

“Especially if I am vexed with you.”

She kissed his lips again, sweeter and softer than the first time.

“Sounds perfect.”

—

A year. An entire year had passed and she couldn’t recall a happier time in her life. The only time that something could have rivaled it was a visit to a tea shop followed by a respite by a pond—in handsome company all the while. 

They kept correspondence, just like they promised. Every week came a new letter, a new story to be told by the poetic Benedict Bridgerton. She tried to rival his words, explaining every detail about France, about her new life, but something was nagging. She missed him. They had grown close over the correspondence, leaving her heart wanting more. But, she knew when she left for France it was to fulfill her dreams, leaving a foolish notion like love on the back burner.

“(Y/N),” Marie, the Bridgerton cousin, called out behind her. “We are in need of more buns.”

“I just restocked the buns,” (Y/N) giggled, turning to the blonde. “What? Has someone mysteriously bought the lot?”

“Oui,” Marie said with a jest, heading into the storage room, “perhaps you should go bring more out?”

“You are in luck, the last batch just finished resting from the oven,” she said, carrying a tray on her shoulder, “I will bring them out with haste.”

“I am sure he will appreciate it.”

(Y/N) faltered, hand already pressed to the door leading to the front shop. A tingle ran through her spine, her heart picking up to a freeing flutter. 

Could it be?

“You know, I would buy your entire stock,” the man hummed, looking thoughtfully into the display case, “but I fear I would be recreating a rather taxing memory for the both of us.”

“Benedict,” she gasped, nearly dropping her tray. 

“You look radiant,” he mused, that wicked grin of his breaking on his face. “Much like the first time I saw you—covered in flour.”

“I am in my element,” (Y/N) said sweetly, “just as you would expect.” She had noticed that Marie and her husband were not in the café, the sign flipped to close. “You planned this.”

“Do you insinuate that I bribed my distant cousin to close her café to give you the day off, travel all the way to France, hoping I could spend the day with you?” Benedict scoffed playfully. “You truly do not know me at all.”

“I do not think Marie would take a bribe,” (Y/N) said slyly, knowing how much of a champion the cousin had been for the baker and viscount’s son to get together.

“She refused payment,” he admitted, agreeing with her notion. “But, was ever eager to see you get out of the kitchen and enjoy yourself.”

“You hadn’t written to me in two weeks,” (Y/N) said, walking around the counter. “I was worried.”

“I needed to refrain from our correspondence, I fear I would have let the surprise slip otherwise.”

“Smart man,” she hummed.

“I am known to be smart occasionally,” he shrugged.

“What are you doing here?” She finally asked. “N-not that I am not happy to see you, of course, but as you had said, this is a surprise.”

“I came to study art,” Benedict said, a hand in his coat pocket. “I felt that if I truly wanted to learn the craft, I needed to learn from the masters—many of their works are housed here in France. I even began to rent a little home in town, finding the need to stay a while.”

“That is the only reason?”

Benedict’s gaze softened. “Of course it is not the only reason.”

Her heart fluttered again.

“It is only fair that I try this again, correctly and without the prying eyes of society, this time,” Benedict said, clearing his throat and spinning around.

“Correctly?” She giggled, watching him twirl to face the door.

“Ah, good morning miss!” Benedict said, turning back to face (Y/N). “I must say, you look ever-so-pretty—tell me, do all bakers have a beauty such as your own?”

“I would wager no,” she said, trying to keep serious. “Most of the bakers around here are men.”

“Shame. Might I learn your name? It seems only fair—I fear I might just die if I do not know the sweet sound of it.”

“(Y/N),” she sang. “My name is (Y/N) (Y/L/N).”

“Benedict Bridgerton,” he stretched out his hand, reaching for her own. She allowed him to take it, a soft kiss was placed on the back of her cracked hand—a working hand, one that she was proud to have. 

“You are very charming, Mr. Bridgerton,” she hummed, looking deeply into his blue eyes. “Pleased to make your company.”

“I assure you, I am more pleased to be in yours,” Benedict insisted, kissing her hand again. “Tell me, do you have plans this afternoon?”

“It seems my schedule has cleared up,” she looked to the sign on the door and sighed. “Why? Do you have any suggestions on how I should spend it?”

“Might we take a turn around the park? A friend of mine has written to me about just how lovely one nearby is, I reckon I would like to see it for myself.”

She smiled brightly at him, as if he held the world in his hands. Instead, he held two leaves between his fingers—brown and cracked, but clearly treated with such care. They had been the same ones from their time at the park the first go around, she was nearly certain. Why else would he bring dead leaves with him?

"Leaves?"

"You see, my family, we have this tradition of racing with leaves—I would very much like to share it with you. These two in particular seem to be very lucky, thought it would be best to bring them along."

His smile melted her heart, endearing and thoughtful in the same breath. She could get used to a smile like that.

“Well… what are we waiting for, Mr. Bridgerton?”

#benedict bridgerton #bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #bridgerton x reader #bridgerton imagines #this is a doozy and i am sorry #but only a little bit!!!

[anglingforlevels]

Open House (Yandere House x Reader)

When people say the housing market is a nightmare, is this what they had in mind? (The story goes out to me because I’m trying to get an apartment and it is Suffering. Please pretend this count as yandere.)

CW: not proofread, unconventional captivity, swearing, I accidentally had too much fun writing Abby and forgot the point of the story-

Minors DNI

When you proudly had reached the saving milestone to buy a small house in the countryside, you had opted to spend some of that money on a real estate agent, figuring it was a good investment, hiring a Ms. Abby Bardot – who, over the phone, had insisted heavily on being called Abby rather than Ms. Bardot – who had twenty years of experience in the field.

Quite quickly, you realized that perhaps she wasn’t the most conventional real estate agent.

Ms. Abby, you quickly noticed at your first meeting, was all hand-wringing and nervous sweating, though she seemed sweet enough, having clutched a tin of home-cooked cookies in all shades of black and almost-not-black, and had heartily insisted you’d take as many as you’d like (which was zero).

She had insisted on bringing you to an open house for what she had called a hidden gem of a house, that it would be a private tour. To you, once she mentioned it would be at 1 p.m., it was quite obvious that “private tour” meant, “no one else has or will be showing up”.

Ms. Abby had also enthusiastically shown pictures of the place, pictures she had ready-at-the-go on her phone, presumably she really needed a buyer for the house.

“Ms. Abby.” You had said, interrupted with a small interjection of, Oh please, just Abby. “Ms. Abby, that’s not quite a house and more so a small manor. I went over my budget with you when I hired you.” Ms. Abby had quickly recovered from the rejection and puffed out her chest proudly.

“Why that’s the best part, this is within your budget!”

You had sent her a dubious look at this. “Are the pictures… How do I put this delicately? Are the pictures recent and unedited?”

Ms. Abby deflated so quickly that it almost felt impressive, almost urging you to clap as if it was a circus performance. Of course, it felt mean had you clapped at her dejected look.

“It’s well-kept, I assure you. These pictures are all recent, I’ve updated them every year for almost my entire career!” She said proudly, and you almost felt pity at the fact she didn’t seem to realize her own slip-up but instead paraded it around like a badge of honor.

Though, all-in-all you were charmed, and somewhat endeared, by the honesty. But not very much by the house at all. “I think I’d like to look at other options, it’s awfully big for just one person.”

“Ah, wait!” Ms. Abby said urgently. “Please, before we continue with other options, let’s first try out the open house this Friday.”

“Is this protocol, Ms. Abby?” Ms. Abby’s lips wobbled at this and… “Are you crying?!”

“No, I’m a professional. Real Estate Agents don’t cry, I’m simply sweating, is all.” Ms. Abby sniffled, dubbing her eyes with a handkerchief, presumably you were meant to believe her eyes were suffering heat stroke on this fine autumn day.

“…Alright, I’ll go to the open house. Just give me the address.” You eventually relented, if only to avoid seeing the pitiful sight of a teary-eyed Ms. Abby.

That’s how you ended up before a grand house out in the middle of nowhere, the closest town was an hour-long drive away. Forest and fields were most of the surroundings, which was why the house was in such stark contrast, standing as a sole presence, the forests and fields shying away to make room for it, leaving a vast vacancy around it, stretching on for at least fifty meters.

It really was a pristine house, when comparing it to the pictures, it seemed to match right down to the placement of every rock and plant in sight. As if someone had consciously placed each leaf and pebble.

The plants and trees of the garden donned vibrant colors despite the season. You wondered how often Ms. Abby came by, or if she had hired a crew for maintenance, as you could not spot even the slightest hint of dirt or spiderwebs.

The only thing that looked aged was, unfortunately, the “For Sale” sign.

It felt a little unnatural, but you chalked it up to currently being a display house, and thus not lived-in either. You took notice of the way the trees beyond the reach of the garden were withered and wrinkled, and the grass yellowy, dry patches, barely hiding the dirt beneath.

“Some more forest could really do this place some good.” You mumbled. You hesitated for reasons you didn’t fully understand before stepping beyond dead plants clinging loosely to your feet and entering the garden.

You felt a prickling sensation behind your eyes the further you traveled, the door felt so far when the weight of something cloyingly attentive seemed to drag you down as if to prevent your advances.

“You’re here!” A delighted Ms. Abby yelled out before the sound of pitter-patter was interrupted by a loud thud against the door that rattled the frame. With her energy dampened, a sheepish Ms. Abby appeared behind the front door, simply saying; “It opens the other way.”

Right, something attentive could only have been the attention of the overzealous Ms. Abby.

“Come in, come in!” She invited, all but pulling you stumbling into a most decadently, lavishly decorated foyer. From distasteful stuffed animal heads to the ruby red furniture and mosaic glass tables, it felt quite uncomfortable, all sharp angles and very little homeliness to it, like an ornate display of wealth rather than a welcome into a household.

“Not very welcoming, huh?” You commented, which Ms. Abby elected not to respond to, though the small “eep” suggested she had heard the negative impression.

Looking the room over it was impossible for your eyes not to rest at the centerpiece of the foyer: A huge painting above the staircase. A solemn-looking guy stared out into the air, curly locks framing his face. Old paintings always looked miserable, yet you couldn’t help but feel there was a glint of genuine misery in his eyes. Noticing your attention had wandered, Ms. Abby followed your eyes.

“Oh, that was an owner of the house who had it commissioned back during the Renaissance, they wanted it right here, in the heart of the house.” She explained though you couldn’t say you agreed to a decadent foyer being the heart of a house, and if it was, that wasn’t boding well for Ms. Abby’s already poor sales chances.

“I’ve never understood why someone would want to pay money to look miserable in a painting, like you’re paying for it, at least make yourself smile or something.” Your jab was met with Ms. Abby’s impressive ability to carry on like you had said nothing negative at all.

“You know, the owner claimed it was a Jan van Eyck-original too.” Ms. Abby said as if letting you in on a secret, or town gossip. “Really, we’ve had it appraised.”

“And the appraiser confirmed it was a Jan van-whatever original?”

“…The owner really loved art; you’ll see plenty of paintings throughout the place.”

So that was a no. And speaking of no’s:

“Listen, Ms. Abby, I don’t exactly have the budget for a big house, as I already said. I especially don’t have the kind of budget that the kind of person who’d commission an artist to paint them for their foyer would have.”

Abby laughed nervously. “Well, you see, the value’s dropped as I mentioned. We haven’t been able to sell it for a long time, so the price just kept falling.”

“Right. But even so, it can’t have fallen that much.”

At this, Abby avoided eye contact, wringing her hands before, after a big breath, blurting it out. “The person in the painting was the last person to own the house.”

…

“Is this place built on top of an oilfield or something?”

Ms. Abby laughed a hearty if a bit shrill, laughter, before sighing and mumbling. “If only.” She clapped. “But! This is a charming house, why, let me show you the many rooms!”

“Ms. Abby, have you ever considered a field outside of sale?” You asked dryly but nonetheless followed along, eager to leave behind the painting, as you felt watched. The house consisted of many sprawling hallways, enough to almost make one dizzy, and you struggled to remember where everything was.

The house had many rooms, none of them particularly inviting, reading more like a historical display room lacking any warmth or heart (and perhaps even worse, any semblance of renovation despite old age), and all absolutely clustered with trinkets, knickknacks, and in the case of the walls, paintings – leaving very little free space.

It really did read like a historical display, as some rooms seemed older than others, suggesting partial renovation must have been done on some of the rooms. You’d like a word with whoever had been in charge of that lackluster, nonsensical effort.

Perhaps the lack of replaced furniture or renovation was why the house periodically seemed to creak and moan in odd ways, at times you almost confused it as Ms. Abby groaning or sighing, only to realize it was the sound of the house itself.

As for Ms. Abby, she remained undeterred regardless of how many snide remarks you made, which you had to commend her for, though the charm you initially had felt from it was quickly wearing off. Ms. Abby actually seemed increasingly happy, humming to herself. She didn’t think the sale was going well, did she?

“How much of the house is there left to see, Ms. Abby?” You asked, increasingly impatient and tired, having been dragged through an unreasonable number of rooms, which inexplicably, almost all were bedrooms (and yet, you had yet to see more than a single bathroom).

“Well, we’re still missing a couple rooms like the kitchen, oh! I know, how about the master bedroom since you’ll be spending every night there.” She said with a beaming smile.

“That’s awfully optimistic, Ms. Abby.” You noted, at this you received a good-hearted chuckle.

“Oh, this place is too lovely to pass up on, I think it likes you – it’s a match made in heaven. If you don’t like some of the features or decorations, it’s easy to change those, so it would be a waste not to live here.”

“I can’t imagine a house as empty as this holding much affection, and I’m not up for a big project.” All you wanted was a small but cozy house, a simple place. You felt exhausted just thinking about the amount of work you’d need to pour into a house like this to make it feel like home.

“Well, it’s perhaps not an easy house,” Ms. Abby admitted, her cheer at this point an unshakeable force, as a sense of confidence seemed to have sprouted in her. “But that’s why when that rare fit comes by one must take the leap and hold onto it.”

You’d feel insulted by the suggestion you were a good fit for this distasteful and unpleasant house, had Ms. Abby not already shown herself as incompetent but well-meaning. You simply sighed, giving up the conversation, figuring you’d find another real estate agent when you came home.

“Well, take me to the master bedroom then.”

Ms. Abby led you through the foyer again, the bedroom apparently at the other end of the house. Your eyes were drawn to the painting once more, its eyes felt more sunken in than before, shadows forming beneath, to which you tiredly sighed. “Me too, buddy. Me too.”

The master bedroom seemed to be at the stopping point to the sprawling hallways on the right. You were just aghast at the fact you had gone through another set of sprawling hallways, you wondered who had come up with the confusing layout of the place.

Ms. Abby tried to imitate a trumpet to build up suspense but trailed off after you shot her an impatient look. After a weak cough, she simply said “Tadaah” and opened the door.

You stopped up, your right foot hanging in the air, about to cross into the room. A sense of foreboding filled you; it was a bit different from the first time, however. The prickling sensation you felt and the cloying attention, it felt smothering, less like a shove away and more like… Being held in place.

Ms. Abby waited patiently inside the room, not commenting on your hesitation, though you had been snarky and displeased the entire tour, so perhaps this just seemed like more of that. You swallowed and ignored the pressure as you put your foot down and entered the room.

The air felt different here. You had hoped the odd sensation would disappear if you just carried on, like when you entered the house, to begin with, instead, it worsened. The air clung to you, terribly heavy and sticky. It took you a moment to actually focus enough to realize Ms. Abby had spoken, so when you finally snapped back to reality, Ms. Abby was standing in the hallway.

“-tively spellbound already. I’ll give you some time to look around and get acquainted together, one-on-one.” And then she closed the door in your face. The room was, oddly empty, compared to every other room. Nothing but a big, red bed, the empty walls that you could’ve sworn were further away when you entered, and that feeling of being watched, lodging into your skin like stitching.

Nothing except an almost empty room that didn’t feel empty enough.

That’s it. Ms. Abby had officially used up all her pity points, you were leaving. You opened the door, a tad more aggressively than what was perhaps called for, but Ms. Abby was nowhere to be seen in the hallway.

For how annoyed you were with her at this point, you found that you missed her company as you walked down the hallway, nothing distracting you from the odd sounds of the house that seemed to have increased. It felt as if the floor beneath your feet moved and rumbled slightly, the velvety carpets uneven and bumpy, as if walking on something breathing, something living.

You wished that Ms. Abby had given you the floor plans, as you struggled to remember how to return to the foyer through the hallways and occasional rooms you had to cross seemed to hold no real rhythm and didn’t feel as if it obeyed any rules about directions.

At one point you could have sworn you turned back, only to be in another room than where you had emerged from originally. Finally, after what felt like an eternity, you found the foyer again. Even in your rush to find the door, your eyes were drawn to the painting, though you continued to rush by it. In your haste, it almost looked as if the painting’s colors were smudged.

You attempted to open the door but found it didn’t budge. It was an odd choice to lock the door, but you were certain that was the reason, it had to be. A locked door was no issue from the inside, but even after hearing the click of the lock, the door didn’t budge when you attempted to open it.

You attempted to kick, pry, tear, and even throw your body weight at the door, but with no luck.

Settling in the foyer after your final attempt at prying the front door open, you huffed, out of breath. You laid on the stairs, trying to settle your heart and pulse, when your eyes landed on the painting again.

…You rubbed your eyes and sat up, thinking what you had seen was owed to your tiredness and the upside-down angle, but no. The painting really did look smudged. Like someone had blurred colors and borders together, the hair’s vibrant color having lost its radiance.

And the mouth, it was oddly smudged between the lips, that it almost gave the impression of a mouth being pried open.

…

No, that was silly, you were being silly. The painting was smudged out, which was already creepy enough on its own, or rather, the house was already creepy enough on its own – your mind was just working overtime and was making up new things to get scared over.

“Well brain, if you like overtime, I guess I’ll have to put you to use and think of an escape. But you don’t have a union, so it’s unpaid hours for you, I’m afraid.”

If the front door was a bust, then you’d find a window. You struggled to recall any windows on the ground floor, but surely there had to be some. Or… That’s right! The kitchen, it had a glass door. You never got around to seeing the kitchen, having mainly been shown the upstairs so far, but you recalled Ms. Abby mentioning it back when she had given her pitch for why you should show up.

You hadn’t been on the left side of the house, at least not on the ground floor, so you figured that was a good direction to begin, in your search for the kitchen. You opened the door, urgency in your steps, only to find you weren’t in an unfamiliar room.

Instead, you were back in the empty master bedroom, which somehow felt much more crammed than any of the other rooms. But… That didn’t make sense. The master bedroom was upstairs, you had fought through a confusing hallway to find the foyer, so this… this didn’t make sense at all.

The air felt oppressive in the room as if your heart would be forced to a halt from the sheer weight of it, like a physical presence. This time you were sure that the walls were closer than they had been before. A bed table had been added next to the bed, and the part of you still delusional enough to hope thought maybe it meant that Ms. Abby was still around. As if this was an elaborate prank.

You tried to swallow despite how dry your mouth felt, your heart hammering painfully against your chest. This was ridiculous. You slammed the door open again, the door shaking on its hinges. Beyond the door, it revealed a hallway, but even if the hallway was confusing, you had been through it twice by now, you could do this, you could find the kitchen or a ground-floor window.

Hurrying along the hallway, it felt as if the floor and walls shifted and moved. Were you dizzy, or was this actually happening? The restrictive air of the master bedroom followed you, as you dragged yourself through.

“Huh?” you furrowed your eyebrows when you opened one of the doors. You were sure this was the one you had gone through before, but the room behind was unfamiliar. Cold dread filled you as a horrible thought crossed your mind.

No, no, no. You ran to the next door but behind it was another unfamiliar room. Were the layout… Changing? Your hand trembled as you tried to open a third door, and you felt like crying when all it revealed was the master bedroom again.

A lamp now stood on top of the bed table. Were new things going to be added each time you returned to the room? You thought back to the cramped bedrooms Ms. Abby had so cheerfully shown off. You weren’t sure what to make of it but felt sick all the same.

“I don’t have time for this.” You had to snap yourself out of it. You could spiral and panic later, but for now, you needed to get out. So, turning on your heel, you returned to the hallway. You’d go through each door that didn’t lead to the master bedroom, hoping to somehow find your way downstairs.

You almost cheered audibly when you finally saw the staircase, rushing to it. Once again, as you passed it, your eyes were drawn to the painting.

The painting no longer looked the same as before, the person it had been long erased by smudged and changing lines. You couldn’t tell what it was changing into but felt your heart race with familiarity all the same.

The mouth was a gaping hole by now, outstretched awkwardly. You thought it might have been a smile, but it looked much more like a pained grimace to you.

You only took this as further encouragement to get out of there.

When you failed to find anything of use, you realized there was one room that you seemed to always find. So, as counterintuitive as it seemed, you walked upstairs again, and as confusing as the changing layout was, it didn’t take you long to find it.

You saw the familiar bed, the bed table, the lamp, and the newly added clock on the wall (which didn’t seem to be working) and closed your eyes for a moment. You took a deep breath. And then you decisively walked in to grab the lamp, shivering a bit as you brushed against a much-too-warm wall.

If you couldn’t find the kitchen or a window on the ground floor, then fuck it, you’d find one up here. Whatever broken bones or bruises you’d get from the fall, you’d accept. Finding a window upstairs proved much more doable, as one would line the walls every now and then.

You threw the lamp against the window and braced yourself for impact.

But nothing happened.

The lamp fell to the floor with a hollow thud. When you opened your eyes, you found not a single scratch on the window. So, you tried again. And again. You tried punching the window, earning nothing but a stinging fist.

Yet you continued. At some point, it became more of a tantrum, an expression of your desperation colored in violence, than an attempt to escape. Hitting the window, kicking the wall. “Why-“ you hated this house. You hated it. Hated, hated, hated it. You just wanted to leave. Your ears rang, whether it was from your headache, or the way the house’s groans and creaks had grown in severity, you didn’t know, didn’t care, couldn’t care.

Already unsteady on your feet, your final kick caused you to lose balance entirely.

Stumbling and falling onto the floor, without realizing it, you found yourself by the stairs, and face to face with the painting. Your blood ran cold as you stared into your own lifeless eyes staring down at you from above.

 

Quiet had fallen over the house like a blanket, only the slow rumble throughout the house bellied any activity. In the heart of the house rested a painting, donning a toothy smile and a certain glint in their eyes.

A satisfied Ms. Abby removed the “For Sale” sign out front and drove away with a hum.

#yandere #yandere monster #yandere exophilia #yandere x reader #minors dni #not proofread #yandere house #written in an hour without any planning #and it shows lol #does this count as yandere or horror? or is this just a really weird house-complaint

[ddarker-dreams]

Loaded Question.

Yan Arlecchino x Reader. Commissioned piece.

Warnings: Yandere themes, unhealthy relationships, power imbalance, brief alcohol mention. Word count: 2k.

The Knave has grown past the point where she must investigate matters herself.

If a person’s life is divided into acts, then she’d consider the final word of that era written. The ink has dried, the page long turned. Through excruciating effort, she climbed the ranks, claiming the revered title ‘Harbinger’. In this frosty wasteland, there is no higher honor, aside from holding the throne the Tsaritsa occupies.

Menial endeavors are below Arlecchino. Not due to a lack of interest on her part, but to prove she must never lower herself to such a degree again. Her ambitions are great, her drive greater. She won’t stop at reaching for the stars.

She plans to have the entire night sky twinkle and dance inside her palms.

So why do you, a lowly creature of the ground, interest her so?

It’s an itch that’s been bothering her for some time. She’d like to say there is some grand, overarching reason to explain away her curiosity, but she’d only be lying to herself. She’s read your file frequently enough to have memorized the document in its entirety. There was nothing of note on the first read, the fourth, or the thirtieth. Still, she searched, trying to find some justification for the intrigue you sparked.

Her efforts conducted from afar have been ineffective. This is why today, she’s trying a more hands-on approach.

You stand behind her, your Fatui mask in place, uniform dusted with remnants of snow. She isn’t facing you directly. She’s opted to gaze out the windows of her office, her back turned to you. By not facing her scrutiny directly, she hopes your body language will be more open. Reveal little nuances you’d otherwise try to conceal. She can still make out your movements by your reflection in the glass.

“It’s been a busy season, hasn’t it?” The cadence of her voice is smooth. It isn’t time to put you on edge.

That’ll come later.

“Ah, yes, there’s been no shortage of work to do, my lady,” you reply, a little eager, but not inexcusably so. You have no idea what her intentions are, after all. “It’s good, though. I prefer that over sitting around and twiddling my thumbs.”

You are nervous — hence the rambling — yet she doesn’t find herself miffed by it. There’s a touch of something in your tone that warms her, like a steaming cup of hot chocolate enjoyed by the hearth. Sweet, comforting.

She could never stop at one sip.

“[First].”

“Y-Yes, my lady?”

Arlecchino pivots on her heel. You straighten your posture, your spine going stiff as a board. She clasps her hand behind her back and looks at you through thick eyelashes.

“Do you have any idea why I called you here?”

You shift your weight from foot to foot. Poor thing, she muses. Your trepidation is tangible, thicker than the blizzards that paint Snezhnaya in silvery white. Some may call her cruel for playing with you like this, but they’d be wrong. This is her kindness. Allowing you time to think, to mull over what words you should choke out next. Her patience for you surpasses what she gives her fellow Harbingers.

Your shoulders droop. You must not think your response will satisfy her.

“I… can’t say I do. I’m sorry.”

Arlecchino sighs, shaking her head while she does so. Your guess was right — your response was unsatisfactory, though it’s no fault of your own. She’s holding all the cards. You don’t even know you’ve been dealt a hand.

“So am I,” is her unexpected reply. “Up until a few minutes ago, I wasn’t sure if I wanted to kill you or not.”

You go stiff enough at the admission that it might as well be rigor mortis.

She advances on you. Slow, steady steps, her heels echoing against the stone floor. Gloved hands raise to trace the outline of your mask. It’s then tossed haphazardly into some corner of the room. She smiles at the unobstructed view of your face. Your widening eyes, inward pinching of your eyebrows. She can feel your shallow breaths against her cheek.

“You aren’t a threat,” she isn’t sure if she’s saying this for your sake or hers. “You aren’t scheming, waiting for your moment to strike. I know what that looks like. The little tells that come with it. No… you’re just you. Unassuming, genuine you.”

Arlecchino drops her voice to a husky whisper. “Are you frightened, sweet thing? Do I scare you?”

She finds the trembling of your lower lip mesmerizing.

“I don’t want to be scared,” comes your admission. She raises an eyebrow. “I want to understand.”

This earns you a chuckle. It isn’t derisive, you just stir up pleasant sentiments in her that she didn’t know existed. She cradles your face in her hands. Through the fabric of her gloves, she feels the heat your skin radiates. Lovely, she thinks. You’re oh so lovely. She regrets not doing this sooner. There is no substitute for having you in person, at her mercy, which you’re unaware you have in spades.

With some reluctance, she parts from you. Her fingertips graze your cheeks while she pulls back. She returns to her position behind her desk, her back turned to you once more. Whatever barrier she’d previously torn down between the two of you rises again. It won’t be there much longer, but she still has work to do.

You’ll be a treat to enjoy later.

“You may leave.”

At her order, you rush to gather the mask that was thrown aside. It’s slightly askew when you set it into place. She assumes you’ll fix it when you’re free from the oppressive atmosphere of her office. You waste no time shuffling toward the doors. You give her one final glance over your shoulder, then the wood creaks open, your footsteps retreating down the hallway.

Arlecchino releases a shaky breath. How long has it been since she’s struggled to maintain her composure like that? She places a hand over her pounding heart, savoring the erratic rhythm. You cause the fleshy organ to sing.

What a delight it is. What a delight you are.

-

There is no moon out tonight.

The wind doesn’t howl, tree branches don’t rustle. All is eerily silent.

Your dorm room is a small, pitiful thing. You have a twin-sized bed against the flaking wall, an old desk, and a closet too small for her to stand in. Your personal belongings are next to nonexistent. A few trinkets, some books, and a candle whose wick is charred from frequent usage.

Arlecchino pinches your thin bed sheets, pulling them up for closer inspection. How is this meant to keep the biting cold away? How many nights have you spent awake, shivering from the eternal winter this land is cursed with? It’s unforgivable.

The groan of floorboards gives you away.

“My lady?” You squeak. Water droplets cascade from your hair, you must’ve just gotten out of the shower. She frowns, she’ll need it to dry before you’re taken outside. It wouldn’t do for you to be sick while adjusting to a new home.

“You said you wanted to understand,” Arlecchino motions to the box on your bed which contains all your personal effects. You rub your eyes, as if thinking she’s an apparition. She can’t blame you for believing that. “Well, here is your opportunity. You’ll be coming with me. I assume you have no complaints, correct?”

The abrupt sharpness in her voice gives you pause.

“I—” you shiver beneath the weight of her stare. “I… have no complaints.”

“Good. I wouldn’t have listened to them, anyway.”

Arlecchino drops the box into your arms. You hold it close to your chest, shrinking into yourself. She appreciates how quick you are on the uptake. The thought of exerting physical force on you was unappealing, it’s no way to start off a relationship. You’ve done well to keep your emotions in check. No crying, whimpering, or begging.

“I’ve decided to open my home to you. It isn’t a long journey from here. Whatever you need, I’ll provide, within reason. I’m sure you know better than to take advantage of my kindness.”

You nod, wholly incapable of forming words.

She gives a closed-mouth smile. “Excellent. For being so agreeable, I’ll let you ask me a question. Just one, however. Choose wisely.”

The cogs turning in your head are apparent. She doesn’t rush you, seeing as this is a reward for good behavior. It’s important you learn this early on. The lesson will serve you well.

Your lips part, a few words tumbling out that she struggles to hear.

“Hm? Speak up, [First].”

“Do I… need to report to work in the morning?” You finally croak out. The Knave blinks. A moment passes. Her hand rises to cover her mouth, muffling the sounds of her laughter. She feels light, euphoric, any slivers of doubt that you wouldn’t entertain her melting away. It’s foolish she entertained the notion to begin with.

She can’t remember the last time she laughed like this. Not serving some hidden agenda, just an authentic expression of joy.

With some difficulty, she gathers herself. “No, sweet thing. Accept my care and you’ll never need to lift a finger again.”

That night, when she sits by her fireplace, she has a servant bring in another chair.

The flame dances to some long-forgotten melody. It casts a warm glow upon your face, hypnotizing you with its gyrations. Arlecchino rests her head upon her fist. To think this study was a lonely place a few hours ago. The difference your presence brings can already be felt in the room, sinking into the little details.

Your coat hanging by hers on the rack. Your former Fatui mask resting atop the mantle. The chessboard between your chairs.

In a few more moves, she’ll have you in checkmate.

She’s broken from her reverie by the sound of you yawning. You try to cover the display, a futile endeavor, considering how sharp her senses are.

“It’s been a long day,” she muses, sipping the red wine from her glass. “You should rest.”

The fire crackles, a piece of wood falling into a pile of ash. Glowing embers spark in its wake.

“Ah, well, I’m afraid I don’t know where my room is.”

“Our room,” she corrects, a hint of fondness bleeding through. You finally look at her, your interest in the flame lost. “And it’s just down the hall. A maid can help guide you if you get lost, the servants of this estate are at your disposal.”

You mull over this revelation. She can’t fault you for your caution, especially since you’re exhausted. Still, she hopes you can piece together that she would’ve killed you by now if that was to be your fate. She’s going to lengths to ensure your comfort. Your gratitude might not be necessary today, but she’ll expect it soon enough.

“Then… where will you sleep, my lady?”

“In our bed.”

Your lips form an ‘o’ that she finds terribly endearing. The urge to tease your blossoms, its roots taking hold.

“Well? What are you waiting for?” Arlecchino leans forward, steepling her fingers. “A goodnight kiss, perhaps?”

You stand up immediately, your face betraying your embarrassment. “I could never hope to expect that from my lady.”

“Hm. A pity, that is.”

She lets you turn in not long after that. As enjoyable as toying around with you is, she doesn’t want you sleep-deprived. You need to be at your best for the future to come. If you were to ever let your dissent slip through the cracks, it’d awaken a beast inside her that’s better off remaining in hibernation.

For you and her both.

When the flame starts dying off, she prods at it with a fireplace poker. Nothing can start or end without her express approval.

Not even the elements.

The Knave reclines in her chair, exhaustion’s tendrils wrapping snug around her.

This ‘investigation’ is turning out to be her favorite yet.

#arlecchino x reader #yandere arlecchino x reader #yandere harbinger x reader #yandere fatui x reader #genshin impact x reader #yandere genshin impact x reader #yandere x reader #commissions #my stuff

[ask-granite-pillars]

[TRANSMISSION REQUEST INBOUND. PARTICIPANTS: Ten Ounces Of Enriched Egg White (ADMIN, URAD), Unit of Radioactive Decay, Granite Pillars Stained By Statuesque Memories Of A Thousand Hands] [Live Broadcast] URAD: Hello? Is this reaching you? URAD: Your communications towers appear to be somewhat degraded. it took several tries to- TEN OUNCES (crosstalk, from out of frame): You degrade my efforts! Several tries and me fixing the formatting, as well. URAD: Several tries and my administrator's assistance in order to get a signal through. Your upkeep seems to be rather neglected, group senior. But I expect that it would be quite difficult to keep one of your age running in the first place. I am told that I should keep an amiable relationship with my group's senior, but I believe that Ten Ounces was more enthusiastic to meet you than I. TEN OUNCES (faint, from out of frame): Granite Pillars Stained By Statuesque Memories Of A Thousand Hands is the oldest surviving iterator, and it would be an honor to learn anything she might still have in her archives. URAD (directed towards indeterminate point to left of frame): As has been true for the past twelve times you have mentioned this. URAD: Truthfully, I do not know what value there is that I can gain from this, besides simply being aware of those above me on my local group's chain of command, but Ten Ounces was quite insistent that we at least try now that your communications are back online- TEN OUNCES (crosstalk, from out of frame): (undecipherable) TEN OUNCES: (very low voice, from bottom corner of frame): Don't say that to your group senior! URAD: -and so, here we are. Hello. I am Unit of Radioactive Decay. It is nice to meet you.

Oh, I remember this broadcast very well! We met (properly, at least- I did work on their genome and construction plans before they were activated fully) long after I had already grown obsolete. Unit of Radioactive Decay is the second-oldest in our local group, and I consider us to be good friends, research partners, and distant neighbors.

[BROADCAST TRANSCRIPT]

GP: Do I know you?

GP: Silent Embrace of Leaves? Is that you?

URAD: Your name data appears to be out of date.

URAD: To a nearly comical degree.

URAD: As of four thousand, three hundred, and twenty-six cycles ago, it is Unit of Radioactive Decay.

GP: Oh. 

GP: It’s been a long, long time since I’ve seen you last- my apologies.

GP: It’s a pleasure to meet you once more!

GP: Have you been doing well?

TEN OUNCES: Um.

URAD: Have you been maintained... at all... in the cycles since you were constructed?

GP: Ha!

GP: Not much, these days! 

GP: I’m far out of date, as you can undoubtedly tell.

URAD: It shows.

GP: Would you believe that I put in a request for the repair of my communications systems over a thousand cycles ago?

GP: And yet, here I am, as my communications remain in this tragic state… my greatest gratitudes to your administrator for managing to connect us at all!

URAD: Your administrators sound very inefficient. Are you sure that you have technicians? If your memories are in the state they seem to be, you may have been sending your requests to the inbox of someone who has already moved on.

URAD: You should check your active staff. It would be very inefficient to make your current administrators comb through the emails of their predecessors.

GP: Perhaps I should...

GP: Ah, it's such a hassle to deal with seasonal administrators.

GP: I was never meant to have to deal with a city, and you'd think my administrators would be able to work around that...

GP: Sigh.

[The broadcast continues for some time as iterators Granite Pillars Stained By Statuesque Memories Of A Thousand Hands and Unit Of Radioactive Decay continue to exchange words.]

#granite pillars answers #granite pillars stained by statuesque memories of a thousand hands #granite pillars #(boiledegg note: WOOh this one was a doozy. my longest and highest effort one yet! i got hit by The Winter Agonies right after finishing th #first page. as such you may be able to spot some light style differences in that first one's rad! that's also why this damn thing took so #long.... the winter agonies got me. also fun fact: iterator cans are both REALLY COOL and REALLY HARD to draw. i love doing it but JESUS) #rainworld oc #iterator oc #boiledegg art

[whomst-art-thou-whomst-whomst]

Oh No! Here Comes Trouble Character Meta: Guangyan

Your Honor, I have no excuse for any of this. I live by the meta and die by the meta, and the storytelling in this show is so phenomenal…the thing is, there is sooo much to look at in this drama. I’d like to thank @avenuex123 for her video talking about it, because it sold me on trying the show for the first time (she does amazing drama reviews if you haven’t watched her on YouTube yet). I wanted to start out with these characters by exploring Guangyan—to be completely frank, my favorite character—because I think that in a way he experiences the most development in the series; his whole life and worldview change, and he goes from prioritizing his identity as a standoffish and praise-seeking overachiever to being a loyal and empathetic friend to Chuying and soulmate to Yiyong.

(tbh the resemblance between Yiyong and Guangyan and Elphaba and Galinda in Wicked CANNOT be overstated, look at the lyrics from “What is this Feeling?” and “For Good” and tell me that’s not their arc right there)

Ahem.

Let’s explore Guangyan through his various identities in this show.

I want to be clear at the start that although the show is not explicitly written as a BL, I do see queer undertones in his relationship with Yiyong, and that does inform my meta. Regardless of any kinds of undertones, this relationship right here is the best development of the entire series.

The Medical Student

I start here because this is one of the first things that Guangyan introduced himself with, something that he initially thinks makes him better than Yiyong, and in the last scene where he and Guangyan actually talk, it’s the thing that he wants Yiyong’s advice on pursuing. You know how you consult your calligraphy friends for pre-med advice?

Confession: I get Guangyan’s whole attitude at the start of the show. I hate it but I get it. Because I’ve been that overachiever kid (right down to the clothes, swear to god) and it’s really tempting, especially if you are younger, insecure, and/or starting out somewhere, to define yourself by and remind everyone about your most successful identity, regardless of whether it’s something you care about. Anyone who’s worn a mask of their own accomplishments knows that it’s a double edged sword—it traps you in an image, a state of being, in the minds of others.

And that is why I LOVE Guangyan’s developing interest in Forensic Medicine near the end of the show— because this is something he didn’t just choose to look good or respectable or worthy of praise, this is a really long road (just looking at the years of school required in my country), this is something he’s choosing because it can help make a difference, it can help with investigations Yiyong and Chuying work on.

The Boy Next Door

Yes, this is where my queer meta begins and doesn’t end. Apologies to Chuying, she doesn’t get much mention in this post but she will get her own whole post soon.

So.

Guangyan’s relationship with Yiyong literally changes the course of his life. He is such a different person by the end of the series—granted, he’s still fussy and the pastel tsundere of the pre-meds, but he has actual friends, he is honest about what he’s feeling, he has dreams for the future, and he’s kinder, rather than just nice. I need season 2 for many reasons, one of which is that I need Guangyan trying to become a supernatural CSI.

But this “bully” turned neighbor turned friend had that effect on him. Yiyong never told him to change, but Guangyan changed himself through his interactions with Yiyong. He’s becoming someone who wants to help people in a career that won’t be as automatically praised as a doctor. Find yourself someone who challenges your ideas and makes you reevaluate your ego while still believing you’re smart and good at things.

Ah yes, the Simping for A Hooligan Smile.

But importantly, this very quick bit right near the end of the show, when Guangyan pays his respects to Yiyong’s father and grandfather and shows them one of Yiyong’s comics he has saved on his phone, which even Yiyong’s mother giggles over as looking stupid…and there’s the drawing he snuck away that Yiyong did earlier in the series, as his phone cover…and with that bit there’s this:

Give me one heterosexual explanation for that. ONE.

But like I said, in the bigger picture it’s about the growth that is really key to seeing what Yiyong and Guangyan have changed about each other.

The reluctant frenemy ally…

becomes this:

I love the idea that Guangyan is around Yiyong’s house so much now that he is this comfortable just chilling, and I love that he’s mirroring Yiyong completely here—he could be in a chair, he could be sitting propped against the wall, but he’s chosen to lie down next to Yiyong like they’re still sharing a bed.

The Denial Expert

The show handles it sooo well—it never outright says, “Guangyan has so bought into this serious student-image that he refuses to let himself have things he really wants,” but we see evidence of it in every single episode. Actions: he won’t get a taxi when he needs one, he won’t admit to Yiyong that he’s a fan, he refuses the big bedroom bc he claims his father needs it for remote work. Possessions: he loves the amusement park toy that Yiyong won for him and attaches it to his bag, he thinks the doll is cute, he even hides his sneakily acquired Yiyong comics. Taste: he is the only one to love the cupcake made by the evil baker, and it’s only when he’s supposedly “following the kidnapping suspect” during the amusement park date with Yiyong that he eagerly order a parfait for himself and debates getting himself ice cream. You know, to blend in.

Local Housecat Wastes Time and Money in Company of Exasperated Puppy

It’s the little things—getting a bandana hand-made for him, tagging along with Yiyong to the cemetery (he so didn’t need the walking stick, you just know it was for the adventurous aesthetic), even him slowly taking more of the blanket to share as he grows more comfortable with Yiyong sharing his bed—all these things that show his growth in these episodes.

Pu Yiyong’s Comics Fan

GOSH ITS ALMOST LIKE COMICS ARE A METAPHOR OR SOMETHING

(Sorry)

Anyway. It’s just so important that Guangyan is the only person to really see Yiyong as an artist. Like most things Yiyong cares about, he doesn’t talk much about this passion of his; in the scene where they are writing their career plans in school, we see Yiyong is hesitant to write “cartoonist.” But he loves it, it’s something he’s put time and effort into building. And Guangyan is quite literally the only person who likes—loves—his art. Even his friends only support his website to be supportive. Anyway, I’m hoping in season 2 (which has to happen please please please) Yiyong finally finds out about his fan.

#whomst #oh no! here comes trouble #yiyong x guangyan

[bakedbakermom]

Hi ! I’m relatively new to txf fandom and you seem very knowledgeable and lovely, and I just saw a post that had this tweet and I wanted to ask if there’s a fic like that for us ? And if not, do you have any recommendations for your all time favorite txf fics ? Thank you :)

Well aren't you sweet. Not sure about knowledgeable and lovely, but I am quite susceptible to flattery!

Off the top of my head, I can think of 3 fics that have remained key pieces in the fandom since their publication:

Arizona Highways by Fialka Fialka's entire body of work is astonishing, but AH remains not only a staple for the XF fandom, but is widely regarded as one of the classics of fanfiction itself. It made an impressive showing at the 2000 Spooky Awards (fanfic awards within the fandom), winning the outstanding novel, x-file (casefile), angst, Scully characterization, and "other" character categories, and second place for outstanding Mulder characterization.

The story provides a resolution to the Emily arc that both fans and characters were otherwise denied in show canon. It follows Scully, Mulder, and Kresge (from the Christmas Carol/Emily episodes) as they discover that Emily - like the Samanthas and other clones - was but one of a series of children produced from Scully's ova to be test subjects in the wider hybridization conspiracy.

Iolokus by RivkaT and MustangSally A grim alternate universe take on the show's mytharc, this fic is highly controversial due to its bleak takes on Mulder and Scully's characterization, and the horrible things they endure throughout. Clones, rape, human experiments... I must admit that I have not finished this one - it got too dark for me quite early on - but it remains bookmarked for a time I feel ready to get into it.

This fic is both famous and infamous, and has been sparking controversy since its first publication in 1998. Proceed at your own risk.

Incrementum by Lepusarcticus A far more recent entry into the fandom (2017), this work is a series of canon-compliant alternate-universe vignettes which explore what would have happened if Mulder and Scully's romantic and sexual relationship had begun much, much earlier than in canon.

Honorable mention goes to Parabiosis by Penumbra which explores Mulder and Scully's shifting relationship throughout season seven. Penumbra is another author whose entire body of work is worthy of a deep-dive; Fathoms Five is a stunning piece concerning Scully's struggle to understand her own immortality as the world around her marches inexorably onward, and Upsidaisium is a heart-breaking story set in the long grim night of Gethsemane.

Also of note is the series Life During Wartime, a years-long collaboration between four of the fandom's best writers (Maria Nicole, cofax7, finisterre/Marasmus, and Fialka) exploring the colonization apocalypse that never came. Sweet, heart-wrenching, poignant, and fearless.

Do also check out the fics listed under the various categories of the Spooky Awards (linked above) - some are enduring classics, some are great stories that have merely been buried in the sands of time. Many of the fics listed there can be found on Gossamer (one of the few surviving archives from the show's original run and a fandom archaeologist's wet dream) or X-Libris (one person's effort to save older fics and their art from the Wayback Machine in epub and pdf format for posterity and personal use).

Also dig through the XF Book Club's archive on Livejournal for some interesting pieces you can browse by category - and as an added bonus, you can watch fellow fans debate, critique, and generally lose their minds in the comments section!

I know I have some mutuals who are fellow fandom-oldies (or newcomers who have done deep dives) so please feel free to add your recommendations to this post.

#txf #fanfic #fandom history #fandom lore #fic rec

[datclassicrockfan42]

Who are the monkees?

YESSSSSSSSSSSS

DEAR LORD YES

(Sorry I don’t get this question very often)

Anyways, allow me to introduce you to The Monkees

They were a 60s rock band with a TV show(like the Aquabats). Originally created to make money and sell records but after a rebellion from their music producer, they truly(at least in my eyes) became a true band. Unfortunately a lot of factors caused the bands decline in popularity and their dissolvement. They did get back together in the 80’s and 90’s with a little surge in popularity, and thoughout the 2000s and 2010s they continued to tour. Currently the last remaining Monkee(Micky) is doing shows to honor the band these years.(this is definitely a cliff notes version bc(well I kinda lost my Monkee Autism for MCR autism and there’s no way I can fit the entire story into a single post, we can keep talking about this through dm through)

Now for the members. This group consists of four members. Davy, Micky, Peter, and Mike

Here’s a photo

The first member is Davy Jones.(Bottom Right)Short, British, and babyfaced. He’s basically the “Paul McCartney” of the group, the one that all the girls love(at least when the show first aired). In the band lineup, he does vocals, tambourine, and maracas(usually has like fifty maracas) In the show, he’s the group’s hopeless romantic. Always going after a girl and falling in love. However that whole “Davy falls in love and now it’s our problem” is much more of a season one plot line than season two(not to say doesn’t happen there too.)

Next is Micky Dolenz.(Top left). The bands…(for really lack of a better term here) wild card. He’s very energetic and comedic. In the band he’s the drummer but also does vocals most of the time. In the show, he’s wild, chaotic, and the jokester of the group.

Next is Peter Tork( bottom right). Sweet, sensitive Peter. Look at him isn’t he cute? In the band, he’s the bassist, but also plays a multitude of instruments. In the show he was the dummy. The butt of the joke all the time. His shy, awkward(auto fill suggested knees here, and I’m questioning everything), personality and lack of social skills was a constant joke during the series. Actual Peter is pretty intellectual.

Last but certainly not least(especially on this blog) is Mike(top right, in the green wool hat) the second Michael in my life(Mikey was the first). Ah Michael Nesmith. Where to start? Stoic, quiet,aloof, but a total goof sometimes.(starting to sound familiar here)He has what this website calls…autism swag. Usually wearing a little hat(okay now that I type this here I’m starting to realize the similarities between the two Michaels in my life), this Texan is the “serious one.” The dad of group basically. In the band he plays guitar and actually wrote a few songs(oh we’re gonna talk about this). In the show, he was basically the voice of reason. Not really focused on that much,but he had his moments. I should mention that he got rid of the hat around season two, but you can still identify him by his massive sideburns.

Look at these

Look at the size of them

NOW THE SHOW AND MUSIC.

The show: The show aired from 1966-1968 with two seasons. They also had two tv specials and one hella trippy movie. Currently a lot of the episodes have been taken off YT(damn copyright) but we have archive.com and many drive folders containing these episodes. Episode plots can go from “guys Davy’s in love again and now it’s our problem” to “Crap we can’t pay the rent” to “crap we gotta save America from spies”. And season two only gets weirder. Each episode usually contains two “romps” which are basically music videos that showcase songs(like I said made to sell records)

(I do gotta warn you tho. This show was made in the 60s…so some of the content is not actually…politically correct according to today’s standards. So yea just be prepared for that)

Episodes I’d personally recommend for beginners are

Season 1 Ep 8: don’t look a gift horse in the mouth. A simple episode. Displays each of the characters personally traits pretty well. Has good songs.

Season 1 ep 23: Captain Crocodilez a pretty funny episode. Got a lot of that typical Monkee rapid fire random humor(which is kinda Aquabatsish). Some good romps and I find this ep quite enjoyable

Season one ep 12: I’ve got a little song here. This is a Mike focused episode and is a little bit sadder than the majority of eps, but is overall good. It’s got the bands superhero personas, the Monkeemen. Good songs too.

Season two episode 16: fairytale. An iconic episode.(so sometimes the guys would dress up in drag to make their schemes work and there’s lots of that in this episode) it’s a bit more off the walls(which is normal in season two) but still overall a good episode.

Here’s the link for the archive(kinda bad quality but pretty accessible)

Edit: so i checked and something is wrong with the link….so yea

Ummm if yall want I can dm you a link to one of the drives

NOW FOR MUSIC

(Buckle up)

So the group(in the tv show years) released(holy shit) 9 albums.

The Monkees(a classic album of songs from the show) notable tracks include Last train to Clarksville, Saturday’s child, Sweet Young Thing, and Papa Gene’s blues

More of the Monkees(another classic, once again full of songs from the show) notable tracks include Mary,Mary , I’m not your stepping stone, the kind of girl I could love, and(you probably know this one) I’m a believer(yep the song from shrek was a Monkees song)

However, these albums were made with little to no creative control. Opting for studio musicans and writers than the actual guys themselves(who were all pretty good musicans) but after some rebellion, the producer getting fired, and a hole in a hotel wall(before the producer got fired,(guess who did this one lol). The band was able to play their own instruments.

Which brings us to an era which I personally consider the bands finest:

Headquarters: a masterpiece with the group playing almost of all their own instruments. Notable tracks include: Sunny Girlfriend, for Pete’s sake, and Randy Scouse Git

Pisces, Aquarius, Capricorn and Jones(thats actually all the members zodiac signs, expect Davy’s bc him and Mike are both Capricorns and they actually share a birthday(Dec 30): this is their psychedelic album(hey it’s 1967 everyone’s doing it) Notable tracks here include: Pleasant Valley Sunday, Love is only sleeping, Star Collector and the door into summer.

The Birds, The Bees, and The Monkees: another classic👌. Notable tracks here include: Daydream Believer, Tapioca Tundra, and Dream World.

We then have the HEAD(that trippy movie i was talking about(that’s a little advanced tho, stick to the show for now) soundtrack: notable tracks here include: Porpoise Song, As we go along, circle sky, and daddy’s song.

Now for some mythbustijg bc oh boy

They didn’t play their own instruments: actually a lot of the guys were originally musicians before the show(Mike and Peter were folk singers, and Davy worked in broadway(not an instrument but still cool to know). We kinda already debunked this one though so let’s move on to the next:

They didn’t write their own songs: kinda true. The studio did bring in some studio writers to write songs, but the guys actually wrote some songs themselves(mainly Mike, but the others did too)

Ok well I’ve been typing for quite a while now and my hands tried soo ima leave this here. DM me if you want any more info(I have a master degree in the history of Micheal Nesmith with a minor in the band and show history)

#sorry for the Monkee introduction master post I just got excited #also probably not my best but blame the autism wanting Mikey Way instead of Mike Nesmith #(yea so this is my orginal classic rock/Monkee autism blog #the one you know me for this is my MCR/Mikey Way/Killjoy Ocs/Aquabats autism blog #Monkees introducry master post #the monkees

[rolotouto]

Lost Stories 2023 Xmas Event

Lost Stories 2023 Christmas event story: I recorded only the parts which have the most Rolo, but the event itself focuses mainly on Nunnally, Lelouch and Anya (who wants to help Nunnally).

Sometime after Gino and Anya are already Ashford Academy students, Lelouch and Nunnally, who can't meet each other, both are sad that this is the "first" Christmas they won't spend together (it should be the 2nd: during Turn 3 there was a photo of the Student Council celebrating Christmas during Lelouch's time with altered memories). Milly notices there's something wrong with Lelouch and after he claims that it's just because it's getting cold lately, Milly says he seems sensitive to cold weather too (Lelouch complains "What does that 'too' refer to"), Rivalz adds that also to hot weather, Shirley that he doesn't like the air conditioning being too strong, and Rolo confirms that he's indeed not good with the cold. They realize that Christmas is coming and Rivalz teases "No wonder Shirley is so emotionally reactive," because, as most people reading this probably know, Christmas is a romantic season in Japan. After her "Hey! Rivalz!", Rolo suspiciously "..."s her, making her say "No way. Even Rolo is looking at me like that…". Uh-oh... She explains "I was just wondering about how will everyone spend Christmas..." and Rolo answers "That's a given. Brother will be with me..." but Lelouch's idea is "Yeah. Us all Student Council members will have a party this year too, right?" Rolo is caught off-guard by the idea, it seems, though he accepts it fine. The story also shows Anya wanting to do something to help Nunnally, who is sad because she won't be able to share this Christmas with her brother, but in the video I uploaded I jump to Rolo and Lelouch back at the Club House:

Rolo "Hey, hey, Brother. About Christmas..." Lelouch "..." Rolo "Brother?" Lelouch "Mm? Ah, sorry. I was lost in thought. So what did you want to talk about?" Rolo "Yeah. About Christmas, um... I was wondering what you do during a Christmas party..." Lelouch "Oh, right. This is going to be your first Christmas." Rolo "Yeah. Of course, I do know what it is in terms of knowledge, and I've even been to Christmas party venues on missions before. But I've never spent it with other people, that's why..." (<- TN: Except when you dressed up as a reindeer together with Lelouch, right.) Lelouch "I see. However, you don't have to be on guard. All you have to do is spend a lively time with everyone, like always." Rolo "I see... By the way, what kind of party did you have last year?"

Lelouch tells him about what I assume was last year's actual in-game event (I didn't play through it), where at first it looked like the party might be called off because everyone had their reasons for not being able to participate. Lelouch says a miracle happened, though. Rolo responds "A miracle? Such a thing..." and Lelouch agrees "Yeah, it was actually an accumulation of coincidences." Rolo mentions that fortunately, it looks like everyone will be able to join in this year, and then asks Lelouch "Brother, you are okay too, right?" but, despite answering "Yes," Lelouch is only thinking about how he won't be able to spend this Christmas with his little sis. As for the last scene in the video, let me first sum up the rest of the story: Anya discovers that despite Nunnally being restricted from interacting with anyone at Ashford, she (Nunnally) can still leave gifts for the Student Council members as long as she avoids direct contact with them, so "Santa Claus Anya" takes "Santa Claus Nunnally" there with Mordred. And even though the Student Council members don't remember that Nunnally was their friend, they're honored to receive her presents when they find them in the morning. Even Rolo says "There's one for me too..."! How did Nunnally prepare a present for Rolo?

Meanwhile, Suzaku asks the Student Council members to please get Nunnally presents (or just one? Not sure) because she was really looking forward to meeting them (Lelouch at first suspects that Suzaku might be testing him, but he quickly realizes that Suzaku genuinely wants to help Nunnally). Lelouch, no longer in a state of dejection, suddenly becomes almost overly enthusiastic. He takes charge, organizing tasks for Rivalz, Shirley, Rolo, and Milly, as you can see in the final bit I recorded:

Lelouch (after giving tasks to Rivalz and Shirley) "Rolo, how is the route for the delivery of stage sets, props, and costumes on the day of the performance?"

Rolo "Everything is already arranged, Brother. But why are you suddenly so motivated...?" Lelouch "You also want your first Christmas to be lively and fun, right? That's why." Rolo "... I see. Brother, you were thinking about me..." Lelouch "Isn't it obvious? That being said, if you have some free time, please draft the script for the appointed day." Rolo: "Yeah! Okay, Brother." That's mean, Lulu... In the end, Suzaku delivers the presents to Nunnally, and although he can't reveal that he's giving her a gift from Lelouch himself, she is able to tell.

And that's the end. It was brief, but I liked how Lelouch and Rolo talked just a little bit about Rolo's past. Maybe next year Lelouch actually cares though...

#code geass #lost stories #translation #rolo lamperouge #lelouch lamperouge #nunnally lamperouge #suzaku kururugi #milly ashford #rivalz cardemonde #shirley fenette #code geass r2 #anya alstreim

[ultfreakme]

Can I ask your top 5 (or top 7) favorite moments from Avatar : The Legend of Aang?

Hi Anon! Sorry I took so long on this one. This was kinda hard to answer because in my head, I think of ATLA as like, in story arcs rather than in moments, and it's 3 seasons so I felt a bit overwhelmed in trying to pick specific moments. BUT. I have an answer!

In no particular order:

Sokka with Bato when he learned to sail the boat: It was a really good character moment for him. People usually hate that episode and that part but we got info on Southern Water Tribe culture and more details into how Sokka dealt with the war so I enjoyed that.

Katara bending her sweat to slice through prison bars: I mean. Come on. That's fucking badass. I was so shocked when I first saw the scene, my brain broke, it opened up about a billion possibilities. I was finally paying attention in middle school chemistry classes about liquids and molecules because of that scene.

Aang defeating Ozai: That entire fight is AMAZING. It's the culmination of everything we've witnessed up until that point and it all comes to a head HERE. On first watch it's an extremely tense moment because I didn't know energy bending was a thing! No one did! So everyone's thinking oh god oh god he's going to kill him. and then. He takes his bending away. WILD. I was just as shocked and confused as Sokka and Toph. Also we get Aang getting Ozai to kneel to him by pulling down his beard. BADASS.

Aang standing up and saying there was no 'Air Nation', there was Air Nomads and there was no army: This was my first exposure to the idea of propaganda. I was so shocked, because I didn't even catch that the Fire Nation teacher was saying "Air Nation" and not "Air Nomads" until Aang pointed it out. It is such an impactful scene and influenced me so much. I've often been isolated in classrooms for pointing out certain biases(religious bias, misogyny, teachers favoring people of certain backgrounds). I was not a confident or outgoing kid, I never spoke in class but at these time I just blurted it out and suffered consequences for it but I remember Aang from that episode, standing alone. Correct but mocked. And I find the courage to stand up(ah, kid me was a lot braver, I need to be more brave now).

Hama v. Katara: This entire episode was epic. The sense that something is wrong, the reveal for the true power of waterbending, Hama's past, the FINAL FIGHT. It was heartbreaking to see Katara have to learn to bloodbend and Hama have that victory. Now that I'm older, I appreciate the episode and can empathize with Hama as well. I hate that the show condemned her for doing what she had to do and painted her like that but I think the episode was trying to show that no element is inherently good or bad. They just are. I think even blood-bending can be the good guys' weapon. It gave me a lot to think about more recently and as a kid.

Katara stopping the rain: Do I need to explain? The girl can control the weather. Holy shit.

Toph v. Every Earth Rumble participant: I was terrified, I was hyped, I was losing my goddamn mind. The way she moves, the way her power is portrayed through the seismic waves! Amazing!

Honorable mentions; this is from the comic but the storyline where we find that Fire Nation baited Air Benders through stealing and placing Air Bender possessions. Horrific and barbaric and way too close to reality. The Painted Lady speaking to Katara. Zuko talking to a frog in the middle of the woods.

#riki asks #atla #avatar the last airbender

[waeirfaahl]

The lava monster issue

There was a certain weird aspect about the lava monster. The concept of him and his backstory is simple, what makes him relatable episodic character, but only on the surface level, because as soon you start to think and analyze the details and how it sticks to the premise of setting, you will realize that there's something wrong either with the character or with something around him.

First of all, ironically, but exactly this lava warrior is the first human Jack ever kills. Yes, Jack just helped him to rest in peace, so the guy died mostly due to his age, so he is in Valgalla now as he wanted, but still. Jack became the reason of his death, hence he killed a human before his encounter with bounty hunters from 5 episode of 4 season.

Second, how this warrior mentions, the monster (of course, Aku) imprisoned him in crystal, but the warrior's spirit was strong enough so this "prison" stone became his body basically, and he is able to fight and even control stones and lava... And instead of a battle against Aku for avenging his family and maybe even helping to other enslaved ones he creates various traps for a warriors, who would kill him, so he would go to Valgalla through honorable duel... What?! There's no mention that he can't leave these mountains! He literally created all these traps, i.e. he went on outside of the mountains! Yes, he is trapped in the stone body, but he doesn't mention that he can't leave these lands! He can do various weapons from own body just like Aku does! What a heck?! He is the earth/lava bender straight up!

And, well, with omiting some details for a while, this warrior did nothing wrong and was pretty good guy, who protected his people. Why the three alien gods from "Birth of Evil" did nothing?! Why they didn't help to this guy to save his family?! Why they didn't give him a weapon against "the monster"?! Why they were okay with him being cursed and trapped for eons?! And third, his backstory raises lots of questions. Of course, since this guy exists for eons, and he learnt lava/earth bending after many centuries of lying in the cursed trap, his memories about the past could be mostly erased and become very vague, i.e. he remembers only certain vague parts, but not details and full events (and, well, we remember the example of Emperor's words about his confrontation with Aku in 1 episode of 1 season and what really happened in "Birth of Evil" between him and Aku). But still. Like, he mentions that the black moon made the solar eclipse and started to grow, so the darkness absorbed skies and woods and then "the monster born from the darkness attacked" and began to destroy the warrior's kingdom.

Ah... why Aku decided to teleport(?) exactly this way? Moreover, why Aku was there alone and decided to attack exactly them and exactly to burn these lands with its human habitants?! This event clearly happened after Jack was sent to the future, 'cause before this Aku chilled only in Emperor's lands (and after he was free from the stone tree, he attacked exactly Emperor's kingdom). You really don't see the problem? Well, if Aku started to take over the world, he had to be with the large armies of robots and demons, i.e. the warrior would remember small demons and "giant iron insects/people" or whatever. Plus, the people mostly would be enslaved, not killed. Another aspect — how, according to the lava warrior, Aku mocked on him "You'll never join your family/friends!" and hence trapped him in the magical crystal forever just because the warrior attacked him (and again this parallel with arrows).

Ah... I don't know, but such a brutal punishment "for eternity" would be more suitable for Jack's parents, especially Jack's father, not just some random dude from thousands Aku will see in the future (although, Aku could see some parallel — like, the guy clearly was a chief in his tribe and had a wife and two sons, but nah, here Aku just demonstrates that black cynical humor some mythical creatures/spirits had). Simply saying, the guy not only has almost erased and vague memories about these events, but also he doesn't know the whole story, 'cause he arrived exactly after the attack already happened.

#aku #aku samurai jack #samurai jack #samurai jack 5 season

[thatscarletflycatcher]

As a Christian in the Southern Hemisphere, what are some Advent or Christmas traditions that are specific to the season where you live? In Northern countries, so many "Christmas" traditions are tied to it being a Wintertime celebration, so I've always wondered what it's like on the other side of the globe!

Oh *rubs hands* where to begin?

I think much of the aesthetics, at least in advertising and decoration aren't that much different; we are just more likely to use plastic rather than real pine for garlands, trees, etc, we put up lights and mangers and nativity plays, fake snow, all that sort of stuff. We eat a lot of high calories food like beef and lamb (sometimes turkey for a lighter option), puddings and panettone and nougat of all kinds, ice cream, hard cider, you get the gist).

But there are some things I think are pretty specific to Christmas in this latitude.

One is that the calendar year, the liturgical year, and the school year come to an end close to each other, which gives it a sense of things accelerating towards an end, and enhances a lot the liturgical readings (at least of the Catholic Church) about God's visit and the end of the world; but because it is summer it is a rather hopeful and light close (?) and the promise of the beginning of something new and better.

There's also the flowers! Jacarandas are in bloom till around the first half of Advent, so it does feel at times like nature is dressing up for the liturgical season:

December is full on the time for gardenias, and the smell of the flowers will follow you anywhere. It is pretty common to see many street vendors pop up:

Close to Christmas and until Epiphany (as we sort of give away gifts on both days) there's extensive street markets for toys and clothing; when I was a little kid I thought that was where the Wise Men shopped for gifts and it made me very excited XD

I think the closeness to summer makes it a bit more relaxed, from what I can tell through what I hear from Christmas-in-Winter people in the webs; people are looking forward to the summer holidays and shopping is a different kind of miserable if you hate the heat, but at least it isn't cold and dark and wet. And I cannot emphasize how much better it is when you are not forced to listen to Maria Carey on repeat XD

Speaking of which, music! We don't much go caroling, but it is common to have choir concerts in December, specially in churches, with both carols and secular Christmas songs (honorable mention to that time a choir sung the theme of Civilization IV. Sometimes living in Uruguay is amusing). The most known carols are either Spanish (campanas de Belén, los peces en el río) or German (Stille Nacht, Adeste Fideles) in origin, although a set of Carols and a Mass composed by Ariel Ramírez, an Argentinian composer, in the 60s, are hugely popular as well: they are known as Misa Criolla and Navidad Nuestra. This for Uruguay specifically; countries like Colombia, Venezuela and Paraguay have some carols of their own that I love to pieces (Tutaina Tuturumá, Niño Lindo, Dos Trocitos de Madera). In general, again, because of summer, most Christmas music in the radio and shops is blended with summer hits. It's been a while since I was out and about a lot in December, but the succession would be something like Feliz Navidad-Lola Si Si-Under the Sun-When Love Takes Over-El Burrito Sabanero and so on and so forth.

That's all I can think of now :D ah, we get fireworks too, although they are becoming controversial as of late because of pets, and some municipalities have banned them, so that seems like it will change soon.

#ask #stellaluna33 #Christmas #thank you!

[musiclover2732]

@zexalmonth Day 8: Dress-Up Day

so for today i wanted to assign Eras Tour outfits to different characters. this will just be a list because that is way too many outfits to try and draw.

gonna limit this to one outfit per Era otherwise it might get confusing since there are some variants and she adds things to the base outfits like jackets and shirts and idk if those count as a separate outfit or not. there will be a bias towards the dresses from my show.

Lover Era bodysuit w/ blazer - Rio Kamishiro: the blazer that Taylor wears during The Man (and just that song itself) fits Rio so well. it’s sparkly and fun, but still has an aura of power. and Rio would definitely enjoy flexing her muscles in front of over 70,000 people! the Lover Era in general fits her very well. trying to be confident but still visibly insecure and unsure. there are less love songs on Lover than Rep and it shows. all color variants of the outfit work well with her too honestly.

Fearless Era dress - Mizael: it’s too perfect. specifically the variant that looks like a flapper dress. like, can you imagine him doing the little twirls that Taylor does while she sings Fearless. it’s an Era about discovery and embracing new changes, so that can be compared to how Mizael has his whole sense of self shaken when he finds out he was once human. the outfit also just generally fits the aesthetic we see from him in the show.

evermore Era orange dress - Thomas Arclight: the depressed and forgotten middle child. am i talking about IV or evermore? the world may never know. the orange dress specifically because it’s for ‘Tis The Damn Season since the No Body No Crime dress was too sparkly and badass for him.

Reputation Era asymmetrical bodysuit - Vector: my second favorite Era goes to my second favorite character. i almost wore this Rep-inspired top that i have but remembered that it’s a three hour concert and decided to prioritize comfort. he is Rep Era to a T however. the black and red suit him as do the snakes. the bridge of Don’t Blame Me takes us swifties to church which is incidentally how i feel watching Vector duel. vaguely sexual but clearly the focus is on being bitchy. Taylor mocking and flipping off the other Eras during LWYMMD is very Vector.

Speak Now Era ballgown - Michael Arclight: this one is obvious but so fitting. fairytale era for the history nerd. he is so the Speak Now Era with his sword and sweetness but also with his deep longing for the last which has been lost and a ruined childhood you can never get back, but still you must move forward with optimism tainted with fear. he also just deserves a big, beautiful, sparkly dress. honorable mention to Durbe in the one long sleeved SN dress that i don’t particularly care for at all.

Red Era 22 outfit - Yuma Tsukumo: ah yes the playful t-shirt that will say “A LOT GOING ON AT THE MOMENT”, “WHO’S TAYLOR SWIFT ANYWAY, EW”, or “WE ARE NEVER EVER GETTING BACK TOGETHER. LIKE EVER” alongside the famous black hat that is handed to one lucky fan each night. this is just so Yuma. joyful and fun, but still very kind and generous. the energy from 22 is very much his style, spending time with friends as a way to let got and distract yourself from the scary and sad stuff.

folklore Era green dress - Astral: first and foremost Astral would look amazing in green. but more importantly, folklore is an Era that involves a lot of self reflection and having wisdom from experience. there’s the playful sassiness and joy of betty, the 1, tlgad, and even august. those long sleeves were clearly a lot of fun to move around in; very gentle and floaty like Astral. but then there’s the pain and anguish of the illicit affairs bridge (which calls to mind Yuma’s betrayal at the Sargasso duel). the quiet acceptance and sorrow of my tears ricochet. and finally the knowledge and looking back while also looking forward while loving someone not quite as mature as you in cardigan. (the white dress could also work here, but not the purple one)

1989 Era orange two-piece - Anna Kozuki: the fun and peppy pop Era, my favorite Era! cheerful, yet destructive. i could so see Anna wearing this while destroying a man’s possessions with a golf club. still a hint of romance, but also this is where Taylor shows the Lover house being burned so y’know how it is. i actually debated putting Anna as my favorite girl on Day 4 but i had felt bad about not liking Rio before and she tied into the OC i talked about. i’ve loved Anna since the beginning tho and she is so underrated much like 1989. they would both kill a man with a smile on their face. Anna uses a bright pink cannon and Taylor has a light-up golf club so you can see the similarities. (the pink variant would also apply here but not the green one)

the Surprise Song dresses - Kaito Tenjo: because the surprise song is different every night there really is no theme or deeper reason. i just think he would look cute in them. he also has acoustic guitar vibes.

Midnights Era t-shirt - Ryoga Kamishiro: the depression shirt. i could fill a book with characters that fit the lyrics of Anti-Hero (my self-insert OC included) but not only does Shark fit that song (along with some of Midnight Rain, which is sung for part of when Taylor wears this outfit), he also would look the best in the outfit. we see the leggings for the rest of the set, but they aren’t the focus. the oversized and sparkly shirt is very Shark in a way i can’t quite explain. i actually drew inspiration for this by dressing my doll custom (who i still need to do the eye-swap for) in a similar outfit. it also kind of parallels the Lover outfit which i already assigned to Rio. (bonus: Kyoji Yagumo in the outfit for Vigilante Shit would kill. it already reminds me of his canon outfit anyway. i think he deserves to do a sexy chair dance after all his trauma. plus he likes getting dirt on corrupt people and making them pay!)

so that’s my list. i may draw these one day, but today is not that day.

#tumblr bumped me out of this when i was nearly done and i almost died but luckily it saved it #this is late because i ended up scrapping a different but still swift-related idea since i didn’t wanna draw today #hope this is comprehendible to normal people #might carry this theme and do day 3 at the end of the month #it would be assigning a character or ship to all 44 songs from my tour night #zexal month #zexal month 2023

[senditcolton]

Prompt #7 with PLD?

ah PLD, the man i can never let go of. this prompt might be a little cliche but do you know why cliches become cliches? because they work!

Love doesn't have to be something that we hide behind the scenes.

“I think we should tell them.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” you sigh, your voice quiet but assured. “To be honest, I’m kind of surprised we managed to keep it a secret for this long.”

“Well, to be fair, we didn’t really plan for this to happen.”

“I know, Luc. I was there when it started,” you tease and your heart trills at the sound of Pierre’s laughter coming from the adjoining bathroom of the hotel suite you found yourself in.

How did you get here? Well, it was a long story.

How you came to be staying in the same hotel as the Winnipeg Jets was an easy answer. Right before the season started, you got a job as a part of the Jets the athletic training staff and soon, you found yourself as part of the travelling team, an honor that you hadn’t expected to receive in your first year. So, technically speaking, you were supposed to be in this hotel with the rest of the players and staff. However, your assigned room was actually a floor below.

That lead to the story how you came to find yourself nestled in the bed sheets behind the hotel room belonging to one Pierre-Luc Dubois.

As previously mentioned, you didn’t plan on this happening. At first, Pierre was just another co-worker. An insanely attractive co-worker who maybe sometimes flirted with you in the hallways to be sure but that was all. You certainly weren’t expecting him to become something more than that, a brief infatuation that you would get over eventually and things would return to business as usual. The rational part of your brain also told you that it was impossible for you and him to become something more. You’ll be the first to admit that you had only skimmed the employee code of conduct but you were pretty sure there was a section that said no fraternizing with the players.

And you never planned to.

Not until one night in Tampa when Victor Hedman laid a particularly messy hit on Pierre, a hit that caused his legs to tangle underneath him and had him ushered off the ice to the training room where he sat as you checked to see what the damage was. And when you and Rob confirmed that it was serious enough for Pierre to not return to the game, you stayed with him in the recovery room, icing and taping his knee to make him feel as best he could.

You could confidently say those 30 minutes or so of you and him just sitting together talking was the turning point in your relationship. And shortly after, you found yourself falling into an easy romance that you now couldn’t imagine your life without.

The two of you knew that being together wasn’t the smartest plan, that it could easily cost you your job. But you managed to keep it under wraps for almost four months and no one was the wiser.

However, you knew you had to come clean at some point. And that’s what lead to this conversation in a hotel room.

Pierre emerges from the bathroom, his pullover and sweatpants covering his frame as he walks back over to you still in bed.

“Are you sure you want to?”

“I wouldn’t say I want to. I like what we have right now, I like being in this nice little bubble of just you and me. But I think it would just make things easier, less complicated.”

“I could kiss you in hallways instead of having to wait until we were alone,” Pierre adds and you laugh at his light teasing.

“If I keep my job,” you say, trying to keep your voice light but having to voice the harsh possibility.

“Oh, right,” Luc sighs, his eyes ducking down. You reach out for his hand, taking in his palm in yours as you intertwine your fingers.

“Hey, that’s the worst-case possibility,” you rationalize, trying to dissuade your fears as much as his own. “I could also stay in my current position, or I can’t travel with you guys, or I get fired at the end of the season instead of immediately so we’d still get about another month of this. We really know until we reveal… this.”

Luc chuckles at your stuttered sentences, his hand tightening around yours.

“If it does go badly, which I hope it won’t considering the fact that this has been going on for months and I’d like to think I’ve remained professional, I’ll just be like a normal hockey partner. Like everyone else,” you laugh and Pierre smiles at you.

“You could never be like everyone else,” Pierre says with a soft smile and you can’t stop the heat from flooding your cheeks. “But I think you’re right. I think it’s time we tell everyone.”

“Maybe not everyone,” you laugh. “Maybe, let’s start with my boss. I can talk to Rob on the plane today and we’ll go from there.”

“So, I still can’t tell the boys?”

“Not yet. Depending on what Rob and the rest of my bosses say slash decide, we can talk about telling the boys.”

“That works for me,” Pierre accepts, lifting himself up off the mattress and using the hand clasped in yours to pull you up from the sheets. You can’t help the giggle that falls from your lips and you and Luc fall back into the easy intimacy that had defined your relationship. The two of you finish getting dressed, Pierre’s bag packed and the two of you are causally talking as you step out of the hotel room, so caught up in the conversation that you don’t notice Mark Scheifele stepping out of his own hotel room directly across the hall at the same time.

You notice Mark first, your words pausing and eyes widening as you watch him take the scene before him; you and Pierre stepping out of the room, one of Luc’s shirts falling from your shoulders.

“Oh my god,” he says and the pleading look that you plaster onto your face is a millisecond too slow because before you knew it, Mark’s voice was carrying down the hallway, followed shortly by the sound of other doors being opened and more hoots and hollers joining in the noise.

“This is who you’ve been seeing, Luc?”

“Yo, Lowry you owe me 20 bucks.”

“I knew it the whole time. You two weren’t being subtle at all.”

These sentences and more surrounded you as you felt the entire teams’ eyes on the two of you, the heat that you felt in your cheeks earlier now multiplied by a hundred. But soon the embarrassment turned into contentment as the boys came up to you, hugging you and you felt like you were being welcomed to the team once again. And somehow, having the boys know before anyone else made you feel better about the prospect of telling your bosses. Because now you had an entire team backing you; a family that you would now always be a part of regardless of what happened.

Eventually, you feel Pierre’s hands on your waist, pulling your attention from the few bodies still lingering in the hallway to him. And when you connect your eyes to his, you see a matching smile stretched across his face.

“Well, that didn’t go as planned.”

#nicole writes #trinity of terror prompt night #another trope i love to see is the other players acting like siblings towards the main characters #found family energy!! #pierre luc dubois blurb #pierre luc dubois fluff #winnipeg jets blurb #nhl blurb #hockey blurb

[percyjacksonfan3]

Heyyyyyyy lovely how are you? Read any good fic lately?

Hello my dear! The answer to this is always of course, though I've been pinwheeling through different pairings and fandoms (though what else is new) because I haven't had a hyperfixation since Good Omens :(

I'll list a few from different recent fandoms. My bookmarks tend to be more mature or explicit ratings and longer fics because I love a good established dynamic

Mystrade (Mycroft Holmes x Greg Lestrade from BBC Sherlock)

I've been reading for these two since October now so there's definitely a few for them.

Paperback Writer by meansgirl

Rated E and totaling 82 265 words, this was an awesome fic where it's technically still canonverse only Greg is secretly an erotica author who just so happens to be Mycroft's favourite. So then of course Mycroft finds out.

Human Remains by Saziikins

This series lives in my head rent free and is so wonderful. It's canon compliant and a very slow burn of Mycroft and Greg getting together and then making a relationship work. Rated E, it's got 3 works in it and totals around 900k words, but the second work is a retelling of the first from Mycroft's POV instead of Greg's.

Pater Noster by manic_intent

Another rent free series, this one is Mystrade but set in the Good Omens universe where Mycroft is a high ranking demon and Greg a lower tier angel. So of course after being brought together a very human Sherlock, they fall in love. Eventually. I adored every bit of it, there's 3 works numbering at 26k words and it's so much fun.

Which brings me to some other recent goodies....

Ineffable Husbands (Crowley x Aziraphale from Good Omens)

Ah, my beloveds. I only listed three here but I have a ton of bookmarks saved for them that I am only too happy to share, should anyone need some recs

Not For All My Little Words by mia_ugly and soft_october

Rated E and about 8k words, this is set post season 2 and is Aziraphale and Crowley's reunion and apology.

you're not a religious person (but) by isozyme

Some snippets of Aziraphale and Crowley over the years. Historical fics for these two are some of my favorites and this fic takes us through some great moments to post season one. Super cute, rated M and nearly 20k words.

post-professional endeavors by darcylindbergh

A look at Aziraphale and Crowley figuring themselves out in retirement, as told from the POV of their poor realtor and other humans involved. I love outsider POV fics and this was top tier. Rated T and about 9k words, it was extremely cute.

Some honorable mentions:

What Spring Does with the Cherry Trees by riosnecktattoo

If you're in the NBC Good Girls fandom you'll probably already know this author, because everything they write is phenomenal, but this fic was lovely. A friends to lovers AU for Beth and Rio that still kept the original characterizations, I can't recommend it enough. Rated E, about 77k words.

Curse of the Green Hag by Moorishflower

A Xedgin fic for DND: Honour Among Thieves. It's a fuck or die curse fic with just enough plot for me to be invested. Edgin is great, Xenk is great, and the smut is great. Enough said. Rated E, 16k+ words.

The Veretian Flytrap by Just_Another_Day

A Dament fic for the Captive Prince fandom, this fic is a great twist on the canon story if Damen and Laurent were an Alpha/Omega pairing. Super in character and has all the greatness of the trilogy itself, I loved it. Rated E (obviously) and is 176k+ words.

Alright, I'll wrap it up here, but I hope there's something in here that interests you! If you want anything more specific (a certain fandom, pairing, rating, etc.) then just let me know and I will have another list for you asap <3

Anyone else with some good fic recs feel free to drop them in the replies or reblogs :)

#god I can't believe I didn't even touch fandoms like tolkien or merlin on here #maybe i should start doing monthly fic recs... like top five in a month or something #that way i won't feel like i neglected so many good ones #if anyone would be interested in that lmk and i can try #also if anyone has recs for ME then please feel free to send them #i am always reading something or other but maybe it will help get my creative juices going to read some other things #since i feel like ive been in a bit of a rut recently #also im so sorry this took so long to answer but. yall know me #skinnyscottishbloke #thanks for the ask! <3 #fic recs #multifandom

[a-ghost-that-writes]

Day 7: Watermelons are yummy!

Ships: Sasuke x Tenten, Shikamaru x Choji (honorable mention)

AU: Farm life/Farmers

For @narutorarepairjune​ @nart-rarepair-hellscape​

Summer was indeed in full swing now. The heat, the cicadas and dragonflies, and of course the summer crops. Tomatoes, Corn, Okra and other vegetables along with stone fruits, different kinds of berries, but the favorite of this town, watermelons. Sasuke was busy with his older brother Itachi and his Cousin Shisui harvesting some of the crops the Uchiha farm was growing this season: Tomatoes, Okra, Cantaloupe and Honeydew Melons. The summer had been good to them, there was a nice big bounty of fruits and vegetables to harvest.

Sasuke wiped the sweat from his brow with a hat protecting his head from the beating down sun.

“Sasuke! Tell your brother and cousin to come in and take a break! Your wife brought watermelon for everyone!” 

His mother Mikoto called from the large farmhouse where the four cats were relaxing under the shade. 

“Kay!” He replied. 

He collected the basket full of ripe tomatoes and called Itachi and Shisui over. Once the three men were inside, they were greeted with glasses of water with ice and Sasuke’s six month pregnant wife Tenten, happily chopping one of the three watermelons. 

“Ah, you all did a lovely job!” Mikoto mused. 

“Heh, this ain’t even all of it, we still got a lot left to pick.” Shisui chuckled.

Itachi nodded in agreement. “We did good this season, they’ll be a lot left over for us too.”

“Guess the good harvest is contagious.” Tenten said as she set the plates of watermelon out for the men. “Shikamaru and Choji had extra watermelon so they said it was a congratulation gift for the baby.” She laughed a bit. 

Sasuke gave a playful roll of the eyes and stole a quick kiss to his wife. “I’ll be sure to pay them back. I’m sure they won’t mind some extra corn and okra.”

“Yeah but for now, I think we will enjoy the watermelon.” Tenten teased back before happily helping herself. 

Having been married a year and now expecting their first child, Sasuke and Tenten were enjoying the most out of their lives together so far. They met as Tenten’s father owned the tools shop for Konoha and Sasuke would often see her there. Sometimes she would come over to the Uchiha farm with tools and they in turn gave her pleasant company. It was only natural that their relationship would bloom into romance. And ironically enough, their first day was the two of them alone, hanging out by the river at night, eating watermelon and watching the fire flies.

#NarutoRarePairJune2023 #SasuTen #Sasuke x Tenten #One-shot

[madhare0512]

A Comprehensive List of SpideyFist Interactions (pt.4)

hello and welcome back to: reasons Spideyfist is canon. a series where i take you through each episode of The Ultimate Spiderman and show you why i believe that Peter Parker and Danny Rand are dating in canon, or at least that they are each other’s favorites. and also give you commentary on the show itself as i do

warnings for: episode spoilers, season spoilers, action/injury description, unsolicited commentary, probable cussing, violence, caps lock, bullying, mentions of pedophilia

this part features episodes 21 through 26 of season one

~~~

S1E21 I am Spider-Man:

- before i even opened this episode to watch, my brain assaulted me with the plot and i can tell you right now that it was fucked up in more ways than one. Danny’s not really in this episode, so this is probably gonna be headcanon and commentary only and i’m sorry for the commentary you’re about to receive. 

- MJ calling creepy guys out on their bs like the queen she is

- also, the fucking Trapster is boarderline pedo

- okay, we all know how Peter feels about his secret identitiy. that’s always been clear through every iteration of Spiderman, Peter Park does NOT want people knowing he is Spiderman. so, what this is to say: when Peter removes his mask on stage and the camera pans to the reaction, there’s shock on MJ, Luke, Ava, and Sam’s faces. but Danny’s not shocked. Danny looks scared. this is gonna be apparent in later parts, but Danny knows how much Peter’s identity means to him, the entire team is fully aware. Danny’s scared for Peter, not shocked it’s him under the mask

- MJ wanting to change the public opinion is so valid

- Coulson is so self-centered in this episode it scares me

- how in the fuck is Spiderman wrong for the part of SPIDERMAN

- Peter’s bully being chosen to play him is ironic

- Sam’s blatant dismissal of Peter’s bullying, also the costume switch, is another reason i ship what i ship. Sam had no right to take Peter’s costume, that he put time and effort into making, and honestly, i don’t blame Peter for being angry about this

- JJJ really just has a grudge a Peter at this point

- the understudy list is so fucking wrong. also, it shows how much Coulson DOESN’T know Spiderman. Sam is on the list after Flash, Ava after him, Miles Morales next, then Peter. you wanna know who’s NOT on that list? either of the other two people specifically mentioned ealier in the season to be quite similar to Spiderman by Taskmaster. bull-fucking-SHIT

- honorable mentions of poly!team: Danny, Luke, Sam, and Ava show up to support Peter (or laugh at him, but they could’ve just watch a video for that)

- Peter does his job to the best of his ability, even against Flash

- Peter’s the fucking best at speeches

- Peter’s gonna look less like the real thing, which is something else that goes towards his secret identity

- in the team line up, Peter says Danny’s name first

- Danny’s the first one with an inkling that this fight may actually be real, doesn’t count towards SpideyFist, but it does show how observant and smart he is

- “is there some chance that’s the real Spiderman?” Danny knows exactly what Peter looks like when he fights and exactly how he acts as Spiderman, which counts because you have to be paying attention a LOT for that kind of memorization, he dismisses it, probably because of May distracting him, but it’ll bug him until he’s proven right

- headcanon: Danny always knows when Peter’s in a fight from here on out. he’s constantly got a line of his attention focussed on Peter in some way

- Coulson just pisses me off this episode

- the second-hand embarrassment was so real this episode, i had so much of it. i nearly turned the episode off like six times, kid you not

- of course Ava’s worried about sitting out an actual fight

- Flash being a good guy for all of five seconds

~~~

S1E22 The Iron Octopus: 

- Danny’s also not in this episode, so it’s headcanon and commentary

- ah, second Deadpool mention

- happens all the fucking time, apparently, Peter

- huh, i don’t remember this episode well

- nope, nevermind, yes i do

- Peter doesn’t like guns, which likely comes from trauma relating to Ben

- Iron Man no longer has a head

- Tony destroys his own tech regularly, which is kinda funny when you look at it through the “he gets mad when his armor is broke” lense

- two rich guys, one his best friend’s father and the other his mentor. looks at my SpideyFist lists ...man, Peter just attracts rich guys, huh?

- among the things i don’t blame Doc Ock for are being so utterly pissed off at Norman.

- “might want to sit this one out, doc” Peter being so protective of Dr. Connors is adorable on all levels

- knowing what i know now about the team and how the SHIELD thing works for them specifically, i think it’s fucking weird how little Fury calls on them. they’re supposed to be training to be heroes, correct? how are they supposed to learn if they don’t get real-word experience. is it that they aren’t ready? but Peter is? idk maybe i read too much into this. also, what’s the team doing right now that they can’t go and help in this situation with Doc Ock is attacking the hellicarrier?

- WHY DIDN’T YOU CALL THEM ALREADY YOU FUCKING DUMBASS

- Peter’s done things to villains that would apparently see him strung up

- Osborn’s manipulation thing is disgusting

~~~

S1E23 Not a Toy: 

- “i need back up! front up? side up?” Iron Fist appears out of the fog and yes this freaking counts

- “tell me you’re not freaking out and maybe i’ll calm down!” translation: Danny is the most zen and chill guy Peter knows, if he’s freaking out, then Peter knows this is something worth freaking out over

- the second Peter lands, he’s trying to find Danny

- Coulson, i’m pretty sure there are stronger people than Cap around

- Danny and Peter are standing next to each other after a battle again!

- Peter fighting until his last breath to get Cap for one more round just because he and the team are excited about it

- the absolute SHOCK on their faces when Steve puts his shield on the line to keep

- listne, Peter just wants JJJ to stop being so cruel to him and that’s a very valid goal

- Danny lasting more than two seconds in a fight against Captain America when he’s still a trainee and having not trained as long as Cap has. AND landing a solid hit on him

- something i think shows since the beginning is that Danny is always well prepared when fighting against Peter or his fighting style. we know from later episodes that they have a weekly sparing session, but we don’t know how far back it goes. given that it’s pretty far into season 1, i think it goes back far enough, like definiately mid-season 1 at least

- Danny, who’s been trained in a multitude of weapons, knowing EXACTLY how dangerous that shield can be

- i’m not saying Sam ratted Peter out, but i am saying he’s the one quickest to blame Peter for things. 

- headcanon: this version of Captain America can look at someone and know exactly what they’re capable of and the potential they have

- “know the fight” is a piece of advice i try to live by these days

~~~

S1E24 Attack of the Beetle: 

- Danny’s not in this episode, no notable interactions. and unfortunately, at this time, i don’t have the energy to provide more commentary, so headcanons you’ll get. 

- headcanon: Peter doesn’t believe he’s going to get good things (until, you know, the team and Danny), but he does believe he deserves them

- Peter things his aunt and Coulson shouldn’t go out because Coulson isn’t COOL oh my god

~~~

S1E25 Revealed:

- guys, gals, and nonbinary pals, i have a small confession. i’ve been waiting for this episode since i started this plot. this one and a few others are pretty big for Spideyfist. one of those episodes is Strange Days, this is the next one on the list. i apologize for nothing about what i’m about to do

- celebrating the small things

- Danny doesn’t pull Peter away from things. to my knowledge and so far to where i’m at in USM, Danny’s never called Peter in. Ava has, Sam has, and now Luke, but Danny hasn’t. which i’m counting because it means Danny doesn’t want to pull Peter away from his “me time” or his friends

- i feel awful for Harry in this moment. his best friend and his father have both abandoned him

- when Klaw is about to attack Peter while his back is turned, Danny comes barrelling in immediately to make sure Peter stays safe. and the thumbs up they give each other is adorable

- Peter and Danny are standing next to each other during a battle again. i should binge USM and take a shot of chocolate milk whenever this happens, just to see how long it takes me to get a sugar high

- “let’s take ‘em out!” aaaaaaaand Danny’s the first one to follow the order

- “try to maintain calm, friend.” right after you just went and punched the robot so hard it fucking exploded?

- gee, i fucking wonder where Spiderman is. y’all didn’t watch him, so the bad guy snatched him

- also, Sam and Luke look in one direction confused, but Danny looks AROUND in a panic

- headcanon: Danny may not be the first one out the door, but he’s right on Ava’s heels

- ah yes, the Goblin serum

- headcanon: Peter has lightning scars

- Danny is right there at the front, closest to the way this little bot is going. he talks about having patience like he needs to remind himself that he need to be patient, which counts as being very worried about Peter

- “eventually it’ll lead us to Spiderman.” not “to the person who has Spiderman”, not “to where we need to go” both of which would’ve been more in character with Danny not even two episodes ago. “it’ll lead us to Spiderman”

- Danny moves first to go after the robot. almost desperate, like he NEEDS to get to Peter

- you know, for all Doc Ock rants about being a great scientist, he sure doesn’t do well at the whole “creation i can control” thing

- who’s the first one to jump down into the fight to help Peter? Danny’s the first one to jump down into the fight to help Peter

- and Peter’s talking directly to Danny instead of the rest of the team again

- oh, look at that, Danny walks up to get a closer look at the new creature formed and who does he stand behind (protecting his back while also knowing he’s going to be protected)? Peter, it’s Peter. of COURSE it’s Peter

- hey remember when i said back in like part 2 that Danny only talks himself up twice? i was mistaken, it’s just the once. Danny’s saying they should’ve stayed and finished the fight. but why would he do that, this is a new creature, they don’t know it’s power set. well maybe it’s because Doc Ock stole his boyfriend and he’s a little touchy about that. 

- also, Peter says “we’re drawing it out” and lemme just flashback to Damage Control when Luke and Danny’s plan was to draw the assailant out

- in the fucking fight. in the fucking Green Goblin fight, who gets hurt first? Luke. Luke, who’s been electricuted and is not getting up, who Danny and Ava where both worried about depsite having trained with and understanding his powerset. and who does Peter go to when injured? NOT LUKE. NOPE! no, no, no, Danny gets smacked into a wall and Peter goes to Danny instead

- “Iron Fist! Stay with me buddy!” other teammates getting hurt and knocked out around him

- AND PETER STAYS THERE WITH DANNY UNTIL GOBLIN TAKES A STEP TOWARDS HIS DIRECTION! TOWARDS PETER WHO’S RIGHT NEXT TO DANNY

- you wanna know something else? Peter’s all quips and wit until someone fucks with the team. like this is the first serious battle where we see the team get hurt to the point that they aren’t getting back up. Peter isn’t saying any quips, he’s not using those one-liners he’s so famous for. what does he say to Goblin when Goblin makes towards his fallen teammates? he says, “you sick freak.” this isn’t a game to him, and that’s not his best friend’s dad anymore, that’s the person who hurt his team. that’s not Norman Osborn, that’s the Green Goblin. 

- he’s also not holding back. you see him giving EVERYTHING he can. “i should beat you into a paste!” like it’s something Peter can DO without trying. Peter’s fucking terrifying under the quips and the sarcasm and rookie-ness

- and STILL he extends help to Goblin. even after he beat Peter’s team up, even after causing pain and injury to the people Peter considers family, he still says, “let me help you”

- “sorry, Mr. Osborn, but my team? they’re like my family. and if i have to take you out to save them, then that’s what i’m gonna do” FUCK

- the fact that the team is literally carrying each other out is something awful and terrifing. i didn’t watch this episode when it first came out, and watching it now as an adult just sinks it in that we’re meant to view Goblin as an Ultimate Adversary

- Peter blames himself because of course he does

- Danny’s the only one facing away from Peter when the camera pans to the team when Peter says “everyone i care about”, i know i talked about how Danny doesn’t like letting people see him vulnerable or weak. he’s supposed to be a king, a leader, of course he doesn’t want someone to see him injured. this goes DOUBLE for Peter, Danny’s leader. 

- Peter cuts the team coughcoughDannycoughcough out of his life to keep them safe but of course we know that won’t work. their leader sets an awful example

~~~

S1E26 The Rise of Goblin:

- Peter, babe, that’s not healthy, you gotta sleep

- Peter is shocked to see his team, despite knowing that his team would literally follow him to the end

- “what are you guys doing?” following their leader, dumbass

- do i think Spideyfist broke up this arc? no. but i do think their relationship was a little strained. they had to work it out. 

- and despite not wanting his team in the middle of this, he lets them hold Goblin off while he gets Harry out of danger

- “it’s that serious?” no, Harry, it’s all a practical joke being played on you by Spiderman and his team to fuck with you

- Danny is the first one to try and convince Peter that he needs the team and Peter gives Danny his full attention

- Peter gets after Ava, Sam, and Luke for being at the fight, but not Danny who was also there. Peter literally doesn’t even LOOK at him during the fight except for when Danny’s talking directly to him

- “nobody. and i mean NOBODY hurts my friends.” and we’re back to Peter being all business

- hey guess what. Peter and Danny where walking next to each other after a fight again. 

- camera pans over to Sam when he speaks and shows Sam and Danny instead of just Sam

- Peter says stop and Danny (and Luke) is right there to enforce Peter’s rules

- GUESS WHO’S RIGHT BEHIND PETER AS THEY’RE GEARING UP TO FIGHT AGAIN

- do i even need to say it at this point? becaue Fury may have been right behind Peter but Danny was a step behind Fury and that fucking MEANS SOMETHING

- the SECOND Gobling starts going after Danny, Peter is on his feet and MOVING to take the threat out

- “you wanna know who’s responsible for who i am? my mentors! my friends! my team!” aww, he gives credit to his team, that’s so cute

- Peter doesn’t quip when he’s pissed off at the villain he’s fighting. Goblin not only attacked him and Harry, Goblin attack Peter’s teammates. Goblin hurt Peter’s teammates and that’s a transgression Peter cannot forgive

- honestly, i’m just taking a shot every time Peter and Danny are standing behind or next to each other after, during, or before a battle

- there’s a metaphor here about mental health and how the Goblin is the angriest and darkest part of Norman. Goblin wanting to stay as he is, is kinda like a metaphor for a person who doesn’t want to get help, who wants to stay the way they are dealing with the symptoms and triggers that are part of their mental illness. it’s awful to see, in a way

- “i will find them. all of them!” and Peter’s up on his feet threatening both Goblin and Venom with bodily harm if a single one touches his family

- and this is forshadowing for the season 2 finale

- when Peter is presumed dead after the hellicarrier explodes, Ava, Sam, and Luke all call out for him, they’re worried about who’s gonna tell Aunt May. you know who doesn’t say a word? Danny. you know who doesn’t say a word when someone they love and car about had died? that person's significant other. Danny was speechless

- and when Peter comes back up on the beach, they all look happy and shocked, but Danny? Danny’s face is pure relief

- and WHO EMBRACES PETER FIRST? IT’S DANNY

- and Danny coming in with the comforting advice that makes Peter stop and LISTEN

- and here’s where we find out that the other four heroes actually live on the hellicarrier which once again brings me to the question, where the hell have they been the past season when the hellicarrier was under attack? you don’t see them anywhere else but school or training or mission

- honorable powerspideyfist mentions: Peter (teasingly) insults Ava and Sam, gives Luke and Danny compliments. this also applies to Spideyfist

~~~

and this seasons total Spideyfist count is: 169 interaction out of 26 episode. 

thank you so much for reading! season 2 coming soon!

#ultimate spiderman #the ultimate spiderman #thoughts and headcanons #headcanons #mad writes #things i write #analysis #season analysis #character analysis #commentary #media commentary #spideyfist #spiderman/iron fist #peter parker/danny rand #season 1 #peter parker #danny rand #luke cage #ava ayala #sam alexander #spiderman #iron fist #power man #white tiger #nova #honorable mentions of poly!team #honorable mentions of powerspideyfist