#kent also understands but it's a different part of him that he understands

[specialbluehens]

i'm thinking abt if/once shane becomes more involved in jas's life (trying to do better by her & stuff) that at events her & vincent will tire themselves out & shane will pick jas up (she's sleeping or almost asleep) & make eye contact with jodi or kent holding a sleepy vincent & it's just. silent understanding.

#i think their families would eventually have dinner together so jas & vince get to have play dates more #shane weirdly is in a position where he relates to jodi & kent but also relates to sam #so despite his anti social behavior if it's just them #he's chill & can handle a convo abt whatever #idk????? #i think there'd be more mutual appreciation #like i think jodi is friends with marnie not like GREAT friends but ye #& shane has always been an enigma but then she sees the look in his eyes once he holds eye contact #she understands #kent also understands but it's a different part of him that he understands #sdv #stardew vally #sdv shane #sdv jas #sdv jodi #sdv kent #sdv vincent #ramblings #IDK if this makes sense but #my headcanons

[fayes-fics]

To Know You…

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x fem!reader

Summary: Benedict knows you better than anyone. But does he know himself well enough to know what he truly wants?

Warnings: none really… fluffy fluff. Childhood friends, class differences, marriage mart shenanigans, dancing, marriage proposals, Benedict being adorable while also a complete dumbass, unrequited to requited love, love confessions.

Word Count: 10.4k (yeah, it's a long one, folks)

Authors Note: this is a request fill for @curlsincriminology (ask HERE) about Benedict showing you all the wonderful things he sees in you, but will he figure out his own feelings before it's too late? Thanks to the complete trooper @colettebronte for beta reading this monster one-shot. Enjoy <3

I: To Know You….

“I would rather not, Miss y/l/n,” the young man clips, walking away from you at a brusque pace. 

You sigh and look down at your feet. Mrs Parsons will be so very disappointed, is all you can think.

—

Benedict may not have heard the words spoken, but even from his vantage point at the other end of the ballroom, he could see the disdainful way the young man uttered his parting words to you. It makes anger flare hot in his chest, his fist forming reflexively at his side.

He watches as you look down, shoulders hunching, folding in on yourself physically, as if the rejection for a dance has manifested in a body blow. He feels a pang in his gut—of sympathy, indignance on your behalf and mainly at the injustice of it all. To him, you are a wonderful, intelligent, caring person worthy of a good match. Still, the circumstances of your upbringing seem to stymie your attempts to join so-called ‘polite’ society at every turn…

—

You look up with a defeated mien until your eyes land on one person who has always been able to ameliorate any of your more morose moods—Benedict Bridgerton. Instantly, you feel lighter. You give him a polite nod across the crowded room, and, to your delight, he returns it, a hint of a sympathetic smile tugging at his lips. It is just so very characteristic of him to offer silent support, to understand, from witnessing a moment of interaction, precisely what you are feeling. A large part of you feels so wistful that there is no other man quite as nice as him. Suddenly, your overwhelming need is to leave this stuffy ballroom and catch some air.

You grew up under the tutelage of the kindly doctor’s widow, Mrs Parsons, whose house is not far from the vast Bridgerton estate in Kent. The naturally born daughter of nobody quite knows whom, you were taken in as her ward when you were abandoned upon her doorstep at a mere two years old. Her reputation for kindness towards young waifs and strays is likely why you were left there. It is an event you were too young to recall, so all you have known your whole life is her generosity and kindness, raising you as if her own. 

And now that you are of age, she takes you to events around Kent in the hopes of securing you a respectable husband, the most prestigious being tonight’s Hearts and Flowers Ball at Aubrey Hall. The Bridgertons have always been gracious enough to invite local families, those without the means to partake in the London season, to events at their country estate—a kindness that allows for your attendance tonight. It’s just such a pity that the one bachelor Mrs Parsons was so very keen for you to meet, one Mr Reeves, just rebuffed you so thoroughly. 

You glance down at the remaining empty slots on the dance card tied to your wrist and sigh again. Now that you are out on the terrace in the fresh evening air, the light breeze is at least a partial balm, allowing you to recover from the sting of rejection away from the hubbub of the ballroom.

“I will never understand how the men of this county can consider themselves anything approaching mannered.” 

You would know that refined voice anywhere. It haunts your dreams. Just the sound of it making your ribs tighten. You turn to see Benedict sauntering towards you, two drinks in hand, that sympathetic smile still in place.

“You are far better off without such rudeness,” he adds dryly as he pulls up beside you, arching an eyebrow for your entertainment.

“You are far too kind, Mr Bridgerton,” you answer, taking the glass he offers with a meek smile, trying not to let your ardent admiration for him be too evident. 

“Mr Bridgerton?!?” he scoffs, “What happened to BenBen?” he teases gently, recalling your childhood name for him when you were a mere four and he was nine.

“We are at a formal event; I should address you as such, should I not?” you reply playfully, a warmth spreading inside as it always does when you get the chance to have a witty, convivial exchange with him.

By gosh, if there is one man to whom you would pledge yourself without hesitation, it is him. But, of course, he is the second son of an illustrious family. To think you would have any chance to win his heart would be as likely as a future king to marry a commoner. Still, you can dream…

“At least call me Benedict, Skylark,” he winks over his wine glass as he takes a sip, butterflies erupting in your tummy at the affectionate nickname he has used since you were small; you have to avert your eyes to avoid blushing deeply.

Just as he goes to speak again, his brother, the Viscount, materialises at his side. Looking to all intents and purposes as if he is trying to escape the ball as much as you are.

“Mother is best avoided tonight, brother,” Anthony warns sagely, taking a large gulp of his champagne. “She is under the erroneous impression I am suddenly in want of a wife.”

You can't stop the giggle that bubbles up from within at his wry observation of his predicament.

“Hello, y/n,” he greets warmly, just noticing you are also there, his face morphing into a youthful, playful grin. If Benedict is the husband you have always dreamed of, Anthony is the elder brother you have always yearned for. In fact, that is always how he has treated you, akin to Eloise and Daphne, who you grew up playing with, being of similar age.

“Hello, Anthony,” you chime back. “How was the hunt earlier? Did the infamous Bridgerton brothers kill another prized stag?” you inquire, keen to engage both of them for as long as they will entertain you. Just being around them always lifts your spirits to no end.

—

Benedict observes you as you listen intently to Anthony’s recounting of the hunt earlier that day, impressed by your resilience. He has no doubts any other woman would feign an attack of the vapours had a man rejected her so harshly. But here you are, politely listening to his brother’s boasting, even though he can tell you are hurting inside.

Perhaps it helps that your snub went primarily unnoticed. You are unknown to the Ton; any witnesses likely dismissing it as the business of ‘country folk’ unworthy of note. Which, frankly, he could scoff at, seeing as he holds you in higher regard than all of the other attendees combined.

“How about you?” Anthony ends his story with a question to you, interrupting Benedict’s train of thought. “How has your experience been at our fine event this evening?”

“Oh, the house is splendidly decorated and the music wonderful,” you obfuscate behind flattery. Anthony appears to buy it, but Benedict sees behind your facade, the flame behind your usually bright gaze dimming a little, making something ache in his gut to see it. 

Damn that idiot for ruining your evening! This just won’t do…

—

You can feel Benedict’s eyes upon you as you respond abstractly to Anthony.

“Y/n here is too polite to say it, but she was treated harshly by that young Reeves chap from Tenterden,” Benedict edifies as you bow your head, embarrassed. “Let’s be sure to rescind his invitation to future events, brother,” he appends with a surly tone.

“Duly noted,” Anthony nods sincerely, a brush of confusion flitting over his face regarding his brother's vehemence.

“No, there is no need…” you begin to protest weakly but halt mid-sentence under the intensity of Benedict’s gaze.

“I bore witness. Believe me, He shall not darken our door again,” he states firmly.

It appears the matter is very much decided, and you don’t want to put up much of a fight, seeing as it ultimately benefits you. You do, however, want to bathe in the warm glow inside whenever Benedict defends you. It's wonderful to have someone looking out for you, especially one so handsome and kind.

—

Two days later, you are taking afternoon tea with Mrs Parsons at the local tea shop when Benedict breezes in, looking so majestic dressed in Bridgerton blues that you grind to a halt. Luckily, he has not seen you as he makes a beeline for the counter.

“‘Tis rude to stare, my dear,” Mrs Parsons lectures sotto voce, nodding to your teacup, frozen in mid-air.

You shake your head a touch and place said item back in your saucer as she turns briefly to look at what or who caught your attention. Then she reaches out, her lace-gloved hand gently patting yours. 

“It would be prudent to set your sights a little more realistic…” she advises with a sympathetic air.  “Not that I fault your choice,” she adds, so quietly at first you're not sure you heard her correctly, but there is a tiny playful smirk tugging at the corner of her lips. Your mouth falls open fractionally, and you stare as she shrugs. “I may be old, my dear, but I am not blind.”

Well, I never, Mrs Parsons!

As you take a bite of food, Benedict twists around from speaking to the proprietor, and he sees you. There’s a jolt down your spine as he breaks into a huge smile that claims his whole face. And you almost choke on scone crumbs as he makes a beeline over to you rather than the exit.

“Good afternoon, Miss y/l/n, Mrs Parsons!” he greets effusively. “Would it be terribly impolite to ask to join you briefly?”

Mrs Parsons' face is a picture of surprise. “Not at all; the pleasure is ours, Mr Bridgerton,” she responds affably, gesturing to the spare chair at your small round table.

As Benedict sits, Mrs Parsons shoots you an incredulous look. It's your turn to shrug fractionally.

“Mrs Parsons, I feel it necessary to tell you Mr Reeves was excessively rude to Miss y/l/n here at the ball, and I wanted to assure you that he will not be welcome at Aubrey Hall again,” he divulges sincerely.

Mrs Parsons looks taken aback and turns to you. “Why did you not tell me, my dear?”

“I-I did not think it necessary…” you twist your mouth into a bashful pout, biting your lip.

“Mr Bridgerton, thank you for bringing this to my attention, and I thank you for your generous offer, but that sort of action does not seem warranted,” she replies accommodatingly.

“That is what I said…” “That is what she said…”

You and Benedict speak in unison at the exact same moment, and your eyes ping to each other, both laughing then bowing your heads immediately. You know your cheeks are flushed.

—

Benedict loves the look in your eye sometimes. That spirited sparkle with glowing cheeks. In his opinion, that is the only look you should ever wear; no one, especially one as unworthy as Mr Reeves, should be allowed to rob you of it. He feels a strong compulsion to do everything in his power to keep you looking like that—carefree, happy, stunning. It’s what motivates his subsequent words.

“If it is not considered too impudent for me to do so, I have a suggestion for Miss y/l/n’s introduction into society,” Benedict offers sincerely. “I believe you should be able to find her an excellent, worthy match by casting a wider net.”

“What are you proposing, Mr Bridgerton?” Mrs Parsons inquiries, almost warily.

“That Miss y/l/n come to London and partake in the remainder of the season as a guest of my family. My mother seems to think it an excellent idea, and I know my younger sister Eloise is already a good friend. I do not see why they could not attend events together,” he shrugs genially.

Mrs Parsons's face is a picture again. “You have already spoken to the Dowager Viscountess of this matter?” she checks, unable to modulate the astonishment in her tone.

“Of course,” he confirms with a nod. “I made such a suggestion this morning when your names came up. She heartily concurs. Miss y/l/n here is too bright and good of a person to have her marital choice limited by geography or circumstance.”

His eyes fall on you, and his heart gallops at the searing look you are giving him.

—

You don’t even try to temper your doe-eyed expression as you look upon Benedict, him extolling your virtues to the audience of the tea room. 

Even distracted by all the wondrous things he has to say, you can detect the noise level on the surrounding tables has reduced; everyone in town always keen to eavesdrop on a Bridgerton conversation. Especially one that contains such noteworthy gossip as a local young lady being invited to the London season at the family’s behest.

“My dear, I trust that Lady Bridgerton will look after you well,” Mrs Parsons professes. “I have no objections should you desire to seize this opportunity.” Her tone pointed, very much encouraging you to do so.

“That would be just wonderful, Mr Bridgerton,” you exhale with a grateful smile. “I cannot thank you enough for even thinking to raise such a petition.”

“Think nothing of it, Miss y/l/n,” he smiles, standing up and giving you both a brief, shallow bow. “I shall see you anon, no doubt.” 

And with that, he sweeps out of the tearoom, your eye line tracking his concave outline through the curved glass as he rounds the corner out of sight.

“Well, well,” Mrs Parsons puffs out her cheeks. “I am not sure what you did to inspire such actions in a gentleman. But bravo, my dear, bravo,” she holds her teacup aloft in a toast. 

You are a jumble of emotions and could not even begin to answer Mrs Parsons about what you could possibly have done. Mostly, you are just elated by the prospect of the chance to attend the whirl of the London season, even if there is also a small pang of regret that Benedict is so keen to see you matched.

II: …Is To Love You

The following Tuesday, as your carriage pulls up outside the grandeur of Bridgerton House, you have nothing but butterflies. And as Lady Bridgerton - Violet as she insists you now call her - and her lady’s maid show you to your charming guest room, you cannot temper your excitement.

“Get yourself freshened up, my dear. There is a soiree this evening at the Queen’s new residence no less, and there is no time like the present to begin your introductions,” the dowager viscountess warmly counsels.

You nod your thank yous, and after they take their leave, you twirl excitedly around the room, taking in the elegant furnishings and airy sunlight flooding in. You pull up in front of a large sash window and are delighted to see bounteous gardens beneath. The rear of the property is very much an oasis of calm in the heart of the city. But one sight in particular draws your eye: a majestic oak with two swings attached to a stately arm. It looks like a place of refuge, and you feel oddly compelled to take a seat there.

Three hours later, walking into the palatial Buckingham House, you are in a different world from the one you know in Kent. Candlelit crystal chandeliers glint like towering clusters of jewels, spraying thousands of shards of light around the room. Every railing is bedecked in hundreds of drooping flower garlands, and the walls groan with enormous portraits of royalty. The mellifluous strains of a chamber orchestra fill the air. Your grip on Eloise’s arm is tight as you try not to look agog at all the opulence surrounding you.

“And I thought Aubrey Hall was grand,” you murmur quietly, and she just guffaws.

—

Benedict arrives late to the soiree from his bachelor lodgings, bustling in as stealthily as possible, knowing he will likely catch his mother’s ire for his tardiness.

But then he sees a sight that makes him temporarily stop dead in his tracks. There, hanging on to his little sister, surveying the room utterly lost in reverie at its grandeur—is you. He has not seen you dressed up as you are now, made over with the full attention of the Bridgerton staff. And he isn't afraid to admit to himself, at least, that it catches his breath. How they have applied cosmetics and styled your hair, emphasising your already evident beauty. And the dress they have chosen… well, he is almost ashamed of the heat pooling low in his gut; he has never seen you in such tailored, refined silks. 

Whosoever marries you shall be quite the luckiest man indeed.

He doesn't miss the way you inhale sharply when your eyes finally land on him, his chest swelling slightly with pride as your lips part in surprise before breaking into that winning smile which always seems to brighten every room, tonight being no exception.

As he pulls up to the family, he hears his mother opining to you about the men attending the ball.

“Y/n, I would like to introduce you to Lord Shelton; he is a fine young man with many interests, and he has a lovely estate near Hove,” his mother recounts as you listen intently.

“Oh god, no,” Benedict immediately intervenes, “Shelton has amassed significant debt at the Pudding Lane gaming hell…” 

Violet looks up surprised, then raises an eyebrow. “Pray tell dear son, how do you have knowledge of such? Benedict Bridgerton, you had better not be frequenting the hells of the East End,” she threatens quietly, in that stern maternal manner that has any grown man quaking in their polished shoes.

“No, of course not, mother,” he bristles, his eyes cutting briefly to you, not wanting you to think such things of him. “It is an open secret at Whites’, and why he is currently banned from the card room there.”

—

You cannot tear your eyes off Benedict as his mother side-eyes him.

Violet hums sceptically before declaring. “Well, not to worry, there are plenty of other options available for Miss y/l/n…” She steers your attention towards another crowd of young men, all talking and sipping champagne. “Baron Corning, Lord Jennings, Viscount Tewkesbury,” she recounts, nodding subtly to each one. “Any would make a fine addition to your dance card, my dear.” 

“We can do much better than any of them,” Benedict chides.

You are slightly taken aback at how very much he sounds like Anthony tonight; apparently very invested in curating who you should dance with. The problem is, with each additional suggestion his mother makes to you, he roundly dismisses them out of hand. 

Is no one in attendance up to his standard?

“Benedict, dear, a word?” Violet states pointedly after a third round of his withering opinions. “Get yourself another lemonade,” she smiles at you, patting your hand before looping her arm in her son’s and dragging him away.

—

His mother’s arm is surprisingly strong when she needs it to be.

“Darling, may I remind you, while Miss Y/l/n is indeed a wonderful person, I do not think we can afford to be too picky for her prospects. Her background is rather… unestablished,” Violet points out diplomatically as soon as you are out of earshot.

“We can do better than braggards, bores and philanderers,” Benedict shoots back, raising a pointed eyebrow.

She looks up at him and sighs. “Well, that is true.”

“As I thought, mother,” he winks as she affectionately swats his forearm. “Why not benefit from my knowledge? In fact, perhaps it is prudent I assist in your search for a suitor.” 

“Oh, is it now?” Her tone suddenly filled with intrigue, her face entirely too scrutinising for his liking. “And does not my second son wish to join their ranks?” She adds entirely unsubtly.

“I have no time for romance; I have my art. I am most preoccupied.” He waves a dismissive hand, but even he knows his answer is tellingly brusque.

“And yet, you do not seem too busy to assist with the search, dear…” she points out archly. 

Benedict has no response to that. 

—

The day after the grand ball, you are sat in the dappled shade in the gardens of Bridgerton House, attempting needlework. It's never been your strength, frankly. You would much rather be allowed to partake in more physical pursuits, like archery or fencing, a want to burn off nervous energy as you await the arrival of any suitors. You did end up dancing with a couple of gentlemen, both of whom were…. fine… in your estimation.  

After messing up yet another stitch, you throw down the embroidery hoop and emit a deep sigh when a familiar chuckle rings out behind you.

“Not your favourite pastime?” Benedict correctly guesses.

“You can say that again,” you grumble, twisting to smile at him, a little frisson in your belly at his mere presence, alone as you are.

He rounds to take a seat opposite you, across the table.

“So let me guess,” his face charmingly skewed into a thoughtful mien. “You would prefer to be doing something, hmmmm, more athletic?”

You giggle and cast your eyes downwards briefly, abashed he seems to know you so well. “Correct again.”

“I remember you being a crack shot in archery,” he smiles nostalgically before continuing with genuine curiosity. “Why did you not continue it?”

“I was informed ‘tis unbecoming for a lady,” you rue, the mental image of Mrs Parsons deeming such things ‘unladylike’ flitting through your mind.

He scoffs. “Since when did fearsome little Skylark care one jot for societal expectations?” he teases gently, with a wink, as again he invokes the nickname he bestowed upon you a long time hence. 

You smile briefly before you become more sanguine. “Since I have been informed I must find a husband…” you sigh.

He frowns a touch. “Any man would be lucky to have a wife who can keep him company on the archery field. I know I, for one, would greatly appreciate a spouse with whom I could share such a pastime.” 

A bittersweet twinge in your gut that one day he will indeed be married to some deserving, no doubt elegant, lady.

“I would venture that you are not like most gentlemen in that regard…”

“Perhaps not,” he agrees, looking thoughtful, “but then you are not like most ladies, Skylark.”

“I am not a lady…” your counterpoint softly-spoken, almost ashamed.

“You are more lady than any other member of the Ton,” he asserts, his gaze suddenly intense, as if he is willing you to believe his point. “And you should be free to pursue any pastime you wish.”

You say nothing, just smile wanly, wishing you could believe it was true.

—

How you constantly doubt yourself causes a little stab behind Benedict’s ribs. A sudden burning need to prove that you should do as you please. He slaps his thighs and stands up swiftly. 

“In fact, I am going to go set up the archery targets right now,” he nods decisively, making a beeline for the far corner of the garden where he knows the targets are kept, hoping you will follow.

“Coming?” he calls, twisting to look back at you. “I won't tell anyone…” he adds with a conspiratorial wink, seeing from the involuntary bounce of your leg how much you wish to join in. 

He cannot help the smile that engulfs his face as you jump to your feet with a mischievous giggle. Nor can he help deliberately aiming badly, letting you roundly defeat him at target practice, basking in the victorious glint in your eye as you tease him gently for losing. 

He also pretends not to notice his mother watching from a high window, her expression riveted and so very telling.

—

Later that day, you are reading quietly with Eloise when Violet sweeps into the drawing room with her lady's maid. 

“Y/n, Sir Denton is here to see you,” she smiles brightly. 

“Oh, I…” you stutter, sitting upright, surprised.

“I can send him away, Miss?”  The maid offers, intuiting your disquiet.

“No, no, it is fine… I am just surprised, that is all. ‘Tis almost 4pm. I was not expecting that anyone would be calling, given the late hour.”

Benedict suddenly materialises in the doorway. As ever, there’s that trademark flutter in your chest.

“Any reason Denton is lingering in the hallway?” he inquires airily, grabbing a teacup and pouring himself some.

“He is here for y/n,” Violet breezes as his eyes cut to you, a wave of irritation seeming to cloud his face.

“Well, we should dismiss him,” Benedict sniffs, pausing in his action, his face souring.

“Why?” Violet frowns.

“I had a chance to look into his past since I acquiesced to his dance with y/n last night…”

“Acquiesced?!” Violet scoffs, but Benedict ignores her interjection, save for a curt eyebrow raise.

“I have subsequently discovered he has vastly overstated his assets,” Benedict bristles imperiously.

“Who woke up and made you Anthony?” Eloise pipes up witheringly.

Benedict shoots her a look of irritation. “Anthony has deputised me to run family matters while he is away on business this week, sister,” he reminds pointedly.

“Yes, but you did not have to adopt his personality as well,” Eloise shoots back, disgust evident on her face.

“I take finding y/n here, a suitable match, seriously,” he volleys. “Do you wish to see your good friend married to someone unworthy of her?”

“Well, no…”

“Then kindly permit me to handle matters,” Benedict orders with finality, uncharacteristically forthright in his opinions.

“I do not wish to see her married at all…” Eloise mutters under her breath as he stalks away to dispatch Denton before anyone can argue.

You just sit there mildly dumbfounded, unsure what to make of it all. 

—

The following evening, you are attending a music recital with the Bridgertons; Benedict is notably absent, which makes you a touch melancholic in a way you don’t want to dwell on. 

However, the evening turns for the better while you are taking refreshments at the interval. A friendly-faced young man strikes up a conversation with you after an introduction from Violet.

“Are you enjoying the music tonight, Miss y/l/n?” he asks genially.

“It is very nice, Lord Glassborough,” you offer politely, trying to stifle your slight boredom. You enjoy music, but a two-hour concert is a little too much for you. You much prefer a short set of songs as they play at balls.

“I find it rather dull myself,” he opines quietly, leaning in. “I much prefer a lively song one may dance to.”

You know your face is a picture of surprise that his opinion is an exact mirror of your own.

“Have I offended you so?” he checks, looking mildly contrite.

“Not at all, my lord. I was actually just thinking the same myself,” you chuckle quietly.

He looks inordinately pleased and breaks into a friendly, toothy grin. He seems like a nice, agreeable sort. A pleasant, if not particularly handsome, face. Over his shoulder, you see Violet looking inordinately pleased you appear to be getting on so well.

—

“I am not sure I can do this...” you sigh as Ms West genially taps the metronome.

“You can, dear; just remember your finger placement,” she encourages as your fingers fall to the cool ivory keys.

And so you begin again. Attempting to master this tricky piece, your eyes tracing the lines of music as you play the pianoforte. Violet is so keen for you to brush up on your skills, given Lord Glassborough’s interest in you yesterday. You could not find an adequate excuse fast enough, and so here you are, in a slightly reluctant music lesson, trying your best to recall how Mrs Parsons taught you to play a few years ago.

“Men do so appreciate a lady who can entertain them with exquisite music,” Ms West nods approvingly as you play.

Mostly, you are relieved when you make it to the end with no mistakes, at least none glaringly obvious.

“I much prefer to sing…” you admit tacitly as Ms West shuffles the sheet music.

She looks at you surprised, then shoos you from the piano stool. “Sing for me then, my dear…” taking a seat and beginning the opening bars to a song that, fortunately, you know well.

You begin to sing along, growing more confident with every note, allowing yourself to get lost in the words, the story of a lady awaiting her true love.

“Exceptional!” she peals delightedly over the sound, and you feel bolstered to continue, her playing the perfect accompaniment.

—

Benedict stops short as soon as he enters the house. The most lilting, beautiful sound echoing gently down the marble hall.

“Who is that Jenkins?” he asks of the butler who takes his coat.

“I believe it is Miss y/l/n, sir.”

He draws inexorably closer, finding himself watching you through the crack in the doorway, listening to you sing a touching tale of love that sounds so hauntingly hypnotic in your mellifluous tones. Your eyes are closed, and you sway to the melody, lost in reverie, in the narrative you weave.

The piano stops abruptly.

“Can we help you, sir?” an elder lady calls crisply.

Benedict realises the door has crept open slightly before him, enough for him to be seen by your music teacher. He watches as you swing around and look horrified that you may have an audience. It makes him take a resolute step forward into the room.

“Do you need us to desist? Is it perhaps too loud?” the lady checks deferentially, likely assuming him to be the head of the household.

“No!” His reply is a touch too forceful. “Please continue,” he modifies. “I was merely drawn by the splendid sound I heard. I am not sure I have ever heard such a wondrous voice,” he adds, keeping his gaze steadfastly upon the lady, not able to look you in the eye as he confesses as such. 

—

You are mortified when you realise Benedict heard you singing; you have always managed to keep it private, until now at least. But now your heart is suddenly pounding at his extolling words.

“She does indeed have a most excellent voice,” Ms West concurs with his sentiment, looking at you expectantly as Benedict walks further into the room, his face with the same hopeful expression.

“I am not sure I can…” you stumble, nervous for an audience, most especially him;  his is the opinion that would matter to you the most—you would be crestfallen should he not like it.

“Sing more for me, please, Skylark?” His ask is gentle, beseeching as if it were just the two of you alone.

“Skylark?” Ms West sounds enchanted.

“My childhood nickname for Miss y/l/n,” Benedict explains as he takes a seat. 

“Skylarks have a wonderful song,” she sighs wistfully.

“Indeed,” Benedict chimes, his eyes still upon you. “I never knew how appropriate it was until this very moment.”

Something warm cracks in your chest at his sweet words, making you courageous. At least enough to nod when Ms West looks to you again from the piano. And so you restart the song for your special audience, heart in your mouth. The words coming easily to you, an extra layer of meaning he will never know as you sing words of unrequited devotion, looking to him in your braver moments. His face is enrapt, leaning forward, his eyes soft and expressive. 

As you reach a high note at the end of the song, holding it, Benedict bursts into applause, jumping up from his seat and taking you by surprise, grabbing your gloved hands in his.

“You should always be singing Skylark…” he pronounces. “Truly beautiful. Please promise me, no matter what happens, that you will always, always sing…” 

You duck your head briefly, unsure how to deal with his effusive praise. Ms West’s face is a picture as you stand there, your hands still trapped in his, feeling a tingle where the warmth of his skin seeps through the layers to yours.

“I-I-I promise,” you reply meekly, a touch dazed as you raise your eyes again to meet his, the intensity making your lungs restrict.

“Thank you.” 

Two words have never sounded so sincere or loaded with significance. 

III: … And I Do.

A few days later, it is the Trowbridge Ball, a decadent affair that is usually the most talked about of the season, apparently. You share a carriage ride there with Benedict and Eloise, trying your best not to stare at him—so handsomely dressed in a white cravat and black velvet cropped jacket that clings to his tapered shape. But mostly, you fail. Your skin flushes hot the more you look at him. You could swear that his gaze strays to you, too, subtly sweeping the fine teal silk Madam Delacroix has expertly tailored for you.

“You look beautiful this evening, ladies,” he offers politely to both you and Eloise.

“What do you want?” Eloise cuts across your reply, narrowing her eyes at her older brother, instantly suspicious of his flattery.

“Can I not compliment without an ulterior motive?” he frowns, their usual sibling dynamic emerging.

“Not usually,” Eloise sniffs, with another suspicious glance, before looking out the carriage window.

You take the opportunity to mumble your thanks to him. His responding smile warms your entire being, his hazy eyes lingering in a way that makes your skin prickle. And when he offers a chivalrous hand to assist you down from the carriage, you could swear his hand lingers upon yours a few seconds longer than is necessary. 

Around an hour later, as you go to partake in a refreshment, a sneering Lady Cowper utters something cruel under her breath as you pass, her sour-looking daughter smirking beside her. You do not hear all of the words, but you do not need to. One sideways glance tells you all that you need to know. It seems so unnecessarily cruel, never having even exchanged so much as a word with you, but even as you feel a lump in your throat, their attention is already elsewhere.

“Ah! Mr Briddgerton,” her entire demeanour changing to oleaginous charm, “my daughter looks particularly stunning tonight, does she not? I do believe you should secure a place upon her dance card before there are none left!” 

You watch Benedict blanch at the very words.

“I do not dance, Lady Cowper, but I bid you ladies a good evening,” he responds, polite but firm.

You try your hardest not to giggle at the disdained look on their faces as he sweeps past them, and you feel light as air as, instead, he draws up to you and winks.

“That woman does not realise she is doing her daughter’s prospects more harm than good with her brashness,” he comments dryly as he grabs a glass of champagne from the stand next to you.

“I am not so sure the daughter would do much better without her; she seems perpetually furious about her own hairstyle,” you opine sardonically, making Benedict snort loudly into his champagne glass. A lightness fizzles in your being as he shoots you a look of unmistakable admiration for that remark.

“I daresay you are a much better dancer than her,” he contends, not breaking eye contact, placing aside his drink before leaning in and continuing in a hushed voice. “Perhaps you would do me the honour of a dance, Skylark, to confirm my suspicion?”

There is a vault in your chest as he employs your private nickname in public and, not only that, is offering you a dance when, just a moment ago, he declared publicly that he would not. 

You can only nod, heart hammering, as he breaks out into the most handsome smile, offering you his arm and leading you to the centre of the room as you hear a ripple go through the nearby crowd. Apparently the sight of one Benedict Bridgerton taking to the dancefloor is a rare occasion indeed.

—

As he takes your gloved hand in his and curls an arm around your shoulder, he realises this was perhaps a mistake. An impromptu offer, the hollow thrill of petty revenge for the insult he observed the Cowpers sling at you. But now he realises it has rather backfired upon him.

He cares not a jot for the gossiping, people nodding and pointing to you both as you begin to dance. No, the problem is much more concerning than that. 

It is how discombobulated he feels having you in his arms.

How your body seems to fit and move perfectly with his. How, when you dare to look up at him, his mouth goes a little dry. He has never truly noticed how striking your eyes are until seeing them this close. Indeed, the evident beauty of your face, the way you seem to glow from within, more tonight than ever. It makes his chest - and somewhere else on his body - feel entirely too tight.

—

Nothing could have prepared you for this.

The feeling of literally being swept off your feet. With Benedict's handsome face smiling down upon you as you seem to float around the dancefloor. 

Surely, this is what dreams are made of?

You know it is a flight of fancy, but it seems as though the floor beneath your feet is a shower of diamonds rather than candlelight refracted through chandeliers. The warmth and strength of Benedict’s embrace caged around you, respectful but so close it makes your lungs feel too small to gasp the air you need to keep moving. But you never want to stop. A whirlwind of sensation as you twirl, carried away by the music, the man, the moment.

“Thank you, Benedict,” you breathe, knowing you are likely looking up at him far too adoringly but unable to mask it, a burning need for him to know how grateful you are for this dance, not even noting your over-familial use of his first name at a society event. 

His eyes flash and you could swear they dilate a fraction before you must turn your back to him, following the steps.

“I was right,” he rumbles cryptically from behind you now, his large hands wrapped around yours as you hold them aloft together, following the moves of the dance. “It is indeed an honour to dance with you.” 

Your belly flares as you turn in unison and realise that you are now dancing right in front of Cressida, her expression murderous. It makes you bolder than you have ever been, tilting your head sideways a fraction so your cheek almost brushes Benedict’s, fuelled by the envy you feel seething from within her.

You could swear he sighs ‘Skylark’ as his hot breath tickles your ear, your chest pounding, a flavour in the air you can taste, a powerful stirring low in your belly.

—

Benedict knows this is a dangerous path and yet is powerless to do anything but walk it. Breathing your nickname into your hair as he inhales your scent, heightened by the movement of your dancing. A light, sweet floral perfume but underneath the smell of you, familiar from many years of friendship but altered now, more decadent, an undercurrent of tart berries that thrills and stirs deep within him. Even while knowing his ever-vigilant mother is watching, an inscrutable expression upon her face. 

He is almost grateful when the music ends before he does something foolish. But then you are staring up into his face, all doe-eyed expectant beauty and his tongue feels unexpectedly tied. He is almost grateful when an interrupting hand wraps around his shoulder.  

—

You watch Will Mondrich whisper in Benedict’s ear, and before you know it, he is offering apologies to you with a shallow, polite bow before hurrying away. Coming back to reality with a bump, you drift awkwardly from the dance floor, feeling judgy eyes upon you, suddenly flooded with concern your behaviour was entirely too wanton. 

Before your thoughts can spiral too far, however, someone materialises at your side.

“I do so hope your dance card is not full tonight, Miss y/l/n,” a newly-familiar, chipper voice cut in.

“Lord Glassborough,” you breathe; your relief at seeing his cordial face is palpable. “I am available to dance right now,” you smile politely, taking his proffered arm and letting him lead you back out to the spot you and Benedict had just vacated.

As the music begins and you move together, the difference is… noticeable. Gone is the frisson over your limbs, that excitement as if your skin could vibrate off your bones. Instead you feel comforted, almost a brotherly presence as he leads you in the dance. He is technically proficient, but it feels lacking—that tension, that heat burning in the space between you. It makes you yearn for Benedict even though he was just with you. It makes your stomach settle with a leaden weight you realise you will have to settle for less than what you truly desire.

Still distracted by your mental comparison, you absently acquiesce to his suggestion to take some air upon the terrace as the dance ends. You sense Violet, ever the vigilant chaperone, follow as he leads you into the cooler air outside. 

“Miss y/l/n…,” Lord Glassborough begins cautiously. You sense a nervousness in his being, pulling your full focus to him. “I think us most compatible, would you not agree?”

“We make most excellent friends, indeed, Lord Glassborough,” you hedge, not wanting to appear overzealous.

“And friendship is the most appropriate foundation to build something more… tender,” he argues with a smile. “I do believe I could offer you a most agreeable life.” 

There is a strange twinge in your chest as suddenly, you realise what this is. The moment everyone, except perhaps yourself, has been awaiting all season.

“I would be honoured if you would consent to be my wife, Miss y/l/n,” he humbly offers a sincere kindness shining in his eyes.

And there it is. An offer of marriage from a perfectly nice, respectable gentleman done in an appropriate manner. 

To one side, you see Violet clutch a hand over her chest, face delighted, even as you form fists within your delicate gloves, wishing this moment were not happening so soon after a truly breathtaking dance with the man of your dreams. Who is not the same man as the one before you, nervously shuffling from foot to foot, awaiting your reply. 

“I am honoured, Lord Glassborough,” you answer cautiously, bowing your head demurely. “This is a big decision to make. Please allow me time to give you my proper, considered answer?”

“Of course,” he bows chivalrously, his accommodating nature making this moment all the more bittersweet. He is indeed a lovely man. 

He is just not the one you want with every fibre of your being.

—

That night, you cannot sleep. Knowing you have the most significant decision of your life to make. So, in the small hours, you find yourself drifting to the deserted kitchen of Bridgerton House to do what you do best when you need to think calmly—baking. 

An activity you have grown up doing with Mrs Parsons. Many hours spent happily with flour dusting your hands, sun streaming into her grand but homely kitchen. A perhaps slightly maverick pastime for a lady of her social standing, with staff to do such things for her should she wish it, but so very enjoyable nonetheless. 

Throwing a large, heavy baking apron over your nightdress and robe, you potter around, the flagstone of the basement floor cold underfoot, a grounding feeling that stops your mind from racing too much.

You have no idea how to respond to Glassborough’s proposal. On one hand, he is a seemingly nice man, certainly of a good family. You are sure he would be a perfectly acceptable husband, unlikely to be mean or untoward. It is just… a nagging voice is telling you to turn him down despite him being an imminently sensible choice, your heart wanting, well, the impossible. A man that excites you, not just a safe, practical option.

You are onto your second batch of lemon and rosemary biscuits when a voice makes you jump out of your skin.

“What on earth…?”

There in the doorway is Benedict, looking confounded to find you here. The very man who makes your heart skip, always. He is dressed the most casually you have ever seen him— also barefoot, in a white frilled shirt and dark trousers, brocade braces slung around his hips. You swear you may have to grab the bench before you to stay upright.

“Y/n! We have cooks you can call upon at any time should you need food!” he fusses, instantly concerned, moving to ring a bell on the wall.

“No! Please do not!” You exclaim, rushing to stop him, grabbing his sleeve in your haste. “I-I enjoy baking. It is relaxing; it helps me to think.”

His brow knits and his eyes flick down to your hold on his sleeve, a warm vein pulsing under your fingertips. You snatch your hand away quickly, a blush staining your cheeks, mumbling an apology as you scurry back to your biscuit-making.

“Alright,” he concedes slowly, still appearing confused. “When I saw the sconces lit from the rear stairwell, I assumed one of the staff was still down here.”

You find it bemusing that he seems at pains to justify why he might also be in the kitchen, especially to you, a guest. This is Bridgerton House, and he is a Bridgerton. He may go wherever he pleases, surely? And yet here he is, doing so.

“I was rather hoping for some hot cocoa,” he explains with that soft, crooked smile that always makes your heart flutter.

“Oh! Well, umm, I could make you some cocoa?” you look down, wiping your hands upon your apron and moving to do so.

—

That you would make such an offer, as if seeing yourself as unpaid help, spurs him into action.

“No, you certainly will not!”  He decries, moving swiftly towards the larder before you can. “I am perfectly fine with some cold milk,” he assures, re-emerges with a bottle and pouring himself a glass, leaning back against the sink to take a sip.

Despite the lateness of the hour, he finds your heretofore secret pastime strangely fascinating. A lady who bakes. By choice. So he watches as you return to making your biscuit dough, entertained as you begin to beat the mixture quite furiously with a wooden spatula.

“Have those ingredients caused you some sort of personal offence….?” he jests lightly, nodding to the bowl.

He observes a flit of contrition across your face before you answer.

“I, umm, have a decision that I must make; baking helps me think,” you explain vaguely, then appear to rapidly change the subject. “I am, however, sure of one fact - some biscuits are a must to accompany milk. There is a completed batch over there.”

“Genius,” he opines with a wink, enthusiastically moving to grab one from the cooling rack you signalled to, delighting in the blush that darkens your cheeks. But he decides to push the topic you abruptly avoided. Concerned there could be a topic you are genuinely wrestling with. If his opinion on the matter can ameliorate your burdens, he would be most honoured to assist.

“What sort of decision must you make?” he inquires before temporarily losing the power of speech. There is an explosion of tart lemon and earthy herb on his tongue that melts into a buttery sweetness, utterly divine. “Lord alive, these are delicious!!!” he exclaims around the mouthful.

“Thank you,” you answer softly. 

You are always so modest about your talents; it sometimes makes him want to grab your shoulders and shake you gently. To make you see what he does. 

“To answer your question, it is a perplexing matter that needs serious consideration,” you explain, stopping short of detail. It appears you are not yet ready to share the news with him. Something about that makes him a touch sad, but he also does not want to pry if you are reluctant to divulge. 

—

Benedict swallows the bite he has taken, and you find yourself staring at the movement of his throat as he does. Knowing one thing to be true—if it were his proposal, you would not even hesitate for a split second. That wistful thought makes you suddenly melancholic, and you sigh, pushing aside your mixing bowl, realising this may be an issue baking will not fix.

“I do so hate to see you doubt yourself, Skylark,” he offers quietly after a beat, mien so earnest. “Trust yourself. You will find the right answer for your dilemma; I am certain of it.”

He is so remarkably supportive that, ironically, you almost want to scream at him.

“I should leave you to your thoughts,” his tone is gentle, reluctant.

“Please, there is no need, Benedict,” you try to assure. “To be honest, in all of this world, yours is the company I enjoy the very most…”

That truth is out of your mouth before you can censor it. 

You sheepishly glance over to be met by a surprised look on his face. He takes a few steps towards you, probably without realising it, and suddenly, he is very close, faint wisps of his woodsy, citrus cologne tickling your nose.

“And I, yours, Skylark…” he rumbles, his gaze falling to your lips. 

Time seems to stop, and you feel pinned under glass, staring up into his handsome face as he breathes slightly ragged, your body rioting as he engulfs your senses, definitely too close to be considered gentlemanly, polite…

…But then, he takes a sharp inhale and steps back as if coming to his senses. He turns heel with a hastily muttered goodbye, and before you know it, he is gone. Leaving you bewildered, your thoughts scattered.

—

The following day, Benedict is idly reading the paper, partaking in a leisurely lunch of tea and cake, when his mother swans in, reeling off a set of instructions for her lady's maid.

“Oh, and lastly, do not forget, we should secure an appointment with the modiste, in case Miss y/l/n should know her answer today…” Violet concludes breezily as she takes a seat.

“Yet another ball we must suffer, mother?” Benedict drawls drily, folding down his paper and taking a hearty bite of zesty lemon drizzle.

She shoots her son an exasperated look before neatly smoothing a serviette into her lap as she is served her usual afternoon Earl Grey by the butler. “Miss y/l/n will be in need of a wedding dress, Benedict, dear.”

He spits an array of crumbs onto his newspaper, coughing in shock. “She will need what?!?” he wheezes, barely recovering.

“Lord Glassborough proposed to Miss y/l/n last night, my dear, at the ball. She has yet to give her answer, but I am certain she will. They are a fine match,” Violet declares, taking a sip of tea.

“Why did she not mention it to me?” he mutters, more to himself than anyone, his forehead creasing heavily in a frown as he swallows the rest of his mouthful.

“Why would she have?”  

“We talked last night…” letting slip perhaps too much in his perplexed state, lost in his own tumbling thoughts.

“When last night? We returned from the ball very late,” a suspicious tone in his mother’s voice, belatedly releasing he should know better than to think aloud; she is sharp as a tack.

“I-I found Miss y/l/n baking last night… in the kitchen when I went for cocoa… she told me she had a dilemma she was wrestling with…” he admits, looking down at the paper, the words now a jumble before his eyes. “Mother do you think it is possible she will say yes??” Benedict's head snaps up, his heart suddenly pounding in his ears.

“She would be a fool not to,” Violet points out, raising a perfectly arched eyebrow at him. “Unless there was another, perhaps more wanted, proposal she could consider. Do you possibly know of one? Son?” 

Even he can read between those lines. 

“I-I am late,” he abruptly changes tack. “I promised to meet Anthony today to discuss the soil at Aubrey,” he bustles rapidly, standing and fleeing the room before he can allow his mother to see how much of a complete lie that is.

—

Benedict spends the afternoon at White’s, downing perhaps one too many whiskeys as he grills his fellow patrons upon the Glassborough family. Looking for any reason he can find to object to the betrothal while steadfastly refusing to examine why he feels so passionately about the subject. He also spends time checking the hefty tomes of Debrett’s the club holds.

He returns to Bridgerton House just as dusk settles in, the sky streaking red and pink as he enters.

“Where have you been, dear?” Violet asks as he rounds into the parlour.

“Researching,” he gruffs economically.

“What? Or rather whom?” Violet inquires, revealing she already has a firm idea of what she asks.

“I can find nothing wrong with him!”

Benedict paces, an energy emanating from his being as if he is rattled by that very fact.

“That is a good thing, is it not, son?” Violet reminds pointedly. “We want y/n married to a good gentleman…”

Benedict shoots her an exasperated look but relents. “I suppose…”

“Is not your reluctance perhaps for another reason, my dear?” Her question is gentle, if not particularly subtle.

He slumps into a wingback chair with a defeated sigh. “Go ahead. Say your piece, mother.”

“I have watched you, darling,” she begins gently, watching him tip his head back and screw his eyes shut. “I do not know exactly when, but your regard of Miss y/l/n has altered, and I am not the only one to observe it.”

Benedict's eyes fly open, and he tips his head down with a frown as his mother continues.

“Even Colin has marked a change in you. If you feel anything, my dear, then Miss y/l/n has the right to know. Before it is too late. The right to make an informed choice if you are bold enough to give her one. Son, I have only ever wanted my children’s happiness. And if your happiness lies somewhere that perhaps even you have not realised until now…. well then I encourage you to follow it. Follow your heart.”

Her impassioned speech suddenly makes the pieces of a jumbled jigsaw before his eyes arrange into a pattern, a way forward that is suddenly clear and sharply in focus.

It makes him leap to his feet, an urgency thronging in his being.

“Where is Miss y/l/n?” he almost barks. 

“I do not know,” Violet confesses, “but I do know she has not yet seen or written to Lord Glassborough,” she adds.

“Good…” he rasps, headed determined out of the room to find you.

—

The verdant lush grass is cool between your toes as you curl them over, sighing heavily, the night now dark, a twinkle of silver among the navy sky, soon to be black. The swing under the big oak, a refuge you have sought many times since staying at Bridgerton House, feels a particularly poignant place to be tonight as an internal war rages within you, your decision swaying back and forth as much as the wooden seat you are perched upon, the rope digging into your cheekbone as you slump against it, flummoxed.

You know what your answer to Glassborough should be. Indeed, what it should have been from the moment he asked. 

A resounding yes.

In every practical measure, this is the best possible outcome of your London season. A proposal from a thoroughly decent, acceptable gentleman, way above the station you were expecting, given your less than prestigious certainty of lineage.

And yet.

And yet.

There is a large part of you, your heart, that wants to turn down the proposal, foolhardy as that may be. Wanting to feel akin to what you felt as you danced with Benedict last night. You are not so foolish as to believe he would ever propose, but perhaps there is someone else out there for you that may evoke something similar for you? Even if only half, it would be enough. Enough for you to build a future around and feel contentment in your heart, to not just settle for what your head knows to be a sensible choice. 

—

Having searched the house, he rounds into the garden and stops short, heart leaping into his throat as he spies you, swaying gently upon the swing, looking thoroughly lost in thought. It makes his chest ache that you are so melancholic about a decision that should indeed be joyous. The selfish part of him celebrating, hoping that perhaps you are not. His memory recalls with perfect clarity how you have looked as lost as he now feels every time you have been close. The unbearable lightness of hope seizes his legs and draws him inexorably closer.

—

You whip around as you sense company and have to take a deep breath as your eyes fall upon Benedict. His face pinched with a restless intensity.

“I was hoping I would find you,” he exhales.

“You have,” you shrug, still confused by his crackling energy, him seeming in a rush to say something.

“Skylark, you deserve the very best of everything. Sincerely. And part of that includes that you should know the truth in the hearts of those lucky enough to know you…” a slight quake in his voice as he takes a step closer.

“Alright…” you respond cautiously, your brow creasing as you sense the nerves emanating from him.

You gasp as he rapidly drops to one knee before you, a hand clutched to his chest. 

“I have been a fool to not see it before now. My own ardent admiration for you, for your talents, for your beauty. I realise now, perhaps too late, that you are truly the most wondrous, precious being in this world. You may not always see it, but it would be my greatest honour to show you, every day, if you will permit me, what I see when I look upon you. What I have always seen if I am honest with myself. A light that shines brighter than any other, a bird that soars higher and sings more sweetly than any other. A soul that it would be a privilege to be bound to. I know it is perhaps the worst possible timing, seeing as you already have a proposal from a perfectly acceptable gentleman. Still, I could not let you get married without letting you know the contents of my heart.”

You are stunned. Speechless. 

Your heart pounds in your ribcage as you sit there stupified for what must be an age, Benedict looking upon you expectantly, breath slightly ragged from his long speech. Somehow, convincing yourself this could only be a dream. That the man you have adored since before you can remember has just made the most beautiful poetic confession of love you have ever heard. And it’s to you.

So, you do the only logical thing that comes to mind. Pinch your own leg. Hard.

—

Benedict is momentarily confounded at your actions.

“Owwww!” you yelp. “Not dreaming then…” is your muttered follow-up, rubbing your own knee as his face morphs into the most enormous grin, a lightning bolt of joy tearing through him as he realises what you are doing, that you can scarcely believe this is happening any more than he can.

“It is really me, Skylark,” he chuckles softly, seeing the way your eyes dilate rapidly as he can't help the lopsided grin that claims his face, a warmth behind his ribs that is just for you.

“I realise that now,” you sass back, and there is a stirring in his trousers at the tone you employ.

“I love you.” 

It's a reflex; he doesn't even realise he says it. But as soon as it's out of his mouth, it's like an invisible burden has been lifted from his entire being. The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

—

You know your face is aflame as you snap back at him, entirely without meaning to, but then he says three little words that tilt your whole world even more. 

“I-I-I love you too.”

You are bewildered when you say it aloud. 

 The truth. Plain. Simple. Honest.

“Marry me? Please. My darling, wonderful friend,” he implores, his bare hands grabbing yours, tingles shooting over you as your skin touches his.

“Yes!! I will!!!” you answer breathlessly, not even a second of hesitation. 

He leans in and captures your lips with his. They are warm and soft as they move gently with yours. And when he opens your mouth with his and his tongue rolls delicately over yours, it feels as if all the fireworks you have seen in the sky live now inside you, popping and exploding in a riot of colour. A whole new world of sensual pleasure is promised in that one move.

“Are you certain?” you murmur as you break apart for air, a flash of insecurity that this is happening so fast, even as there is a strong pull inside, a want to keep kissing him over and over.

He smiles, tilting his forehead to yours, a wistful look in his blue eyes.

“To know you, truly know you, is to love you, Skylark,” he sighs, his words a blanket settling over your quaking heart.  “And I do. I truly do.”

Benedict taglist: @makaylan @foreverlonginguniverse @notanotheruniverse @iboopedyournose @aintnuthinbutahounddog @severewobblerlightdragon @writergirl-2001 @heeyyyou @enichole445 @enchantedbytomandhenry @ambitionspassionscoffee @chaoticcalzoneranchsports @nikaprincessofkattegat @baebee35 @crowleysqueenofhell @fiction-is-life @lilacbeesworld @broooookiecrisp @queen-of-the-misfit-toys @eleanor-bradstreet @divaanya @musicismyoxygen84 @miindfucked @sorryallonsy @cayt0123 @hottytoddyhistory @fictionalmenloversblog @zinzysstuff @malpalgalz @kinokomoonshine @causeimissu @delehosies @m-rae23 @last-sheep @panhoeofmanyfandoms @kmc1989 @desert-fern @corpseoftrees-queen @magical-spit @bunnyweasley23 @how-many-stars-in-the-sky @sya-skies

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[mysterycitrus]

id love to hear your thoughts on jason and damian's relationship bc i feel like despite the popularity of the idea of jason and damian bonding in the league (despite that timeline probably not working), in-canon, they do NOT like each other (for pretty understandable reasons on damian's part) but i feel like they never get their relationship meaningfully explored outside of the watered-down idea of "they are both Violent (just ignore their different reasoning and histories wrt violence)"

not to sound mean but i don’t like jason and damian having a close relationship either. partially because i think jason being affiliated with the league at all is mostly derived from the film (and possibly yjtv?) in ways that don’t make sense in comic canon, but also because like u said it’s watering down both their characters to be “the violent one.”

there are many characters damian has interesting narrative parallels to — being born and shaped for one purpose and then choosing ur own destiny — like cass cain, or chris and conner kent. i feel cass fulfills the actual sibling role that people want to slot jason into. like with cass, jason’s development happens invertly to damians. in robin son of batman, damian embarks on a quest of redemption for those he killed while in the league, an arc that iirc jason has never been shown to have on page. damian learns to be real, while jason is unmade. damian’s development as a character puts him in opposition to jason’s world view.

it’s also worth mentioning that the way their respective violence is treated is not with the same degree of compassion in fanworks. jason’s war on drugs is treated as a sincere attempt to protect the vulnerable despite the comics showing the contrary. damian is frequently depicted as an uncontrollable animal, especially in his early appearances. i wonder why that would be. their circumstances simply aren’t comparable. one of them was a child raised in an exoterrorist cult, and the other is an adult who chooses to kill. po-tay-to po-ta-to.

there could be some connection through talia ig, but again that’s still often grossly inflated or ignored entirely when people write them together. would she let jason (who she objectively knows is unstable) around her kid? eh, probably not. would jason be chill at all around bruce’s biological child? unlikely. jason has been sincerely, lethally violent to damian in the past, and damian wouldn’t forget that. it’s also worth noting that damian, when written well, is not a person who’s quick to resort to violence without it being a reaction to perceived disrespect.

however the short answer to ur q is that damians primary encounter with jason early on is when he looked like this

and i do not believe damian wayne would ever associate himself with that

#they fought the flamingo and Jason still looked more ridiculous so. interpret that how u like #damian wayne #dc comics #batfam #robin #the ask and the answer

[missbluesunflowersstuff]

Why doesn't Batfam age? Because they're vampires, all of them except Damian Wayne

Let me explain:

Everything starts years ago when Dick moved to Blüdhaven, he found the Vampire court there and - in one failed mission - he becomes one

Dick starts living as a vampire and adapts himself very well to his new life, Bruce dislikes it and both argue a lot

Dick tries to convince Bruce that becoming a vampire is a good choice, being Batman is not enough, Bruce is still a human, one day he will become old and the city will still need Batman. Bruce needs to do more. Be more. But Bruce rejected this idea and did not become a vampire.

Tiny Jason then shows up, canon stuff happens and then Jason died

This destroys Bruce, "if I listen Dick, Jason could be alive now" he blames himself, guilt eating him inside, Jason could be alive if Bruce was not a coward, if Bruce was a vampire he could save Jason. Jason died because he was weak

And Bruce doesn't want to be weak anymore

Dick then turns Bruce into a vampire days after Jason's funeral

Alfred also becomes a vampire that night, both by Dick

When Tim shows up Bruce is already a vampire, he rejected Tim in the start but afraid to lose Tim in the same way he loses Jason, he asked if Tim wants to become a vampire as well

Tim, desperate for acceptance and to be part of something important, accept

Bruce bites Tim and turns him into a vampire

When Stephanie appears, she automatically refuses the invitation, "you're not my dad, Batman"

Unfortunately, after her incident with Black Mask, Bruce bites her against her will

Bruce finds her covered in blood, pale and breathing weakly. Almost dying. He's losing a child again. Something he promised would never happen again. But then Stephanie is dying. Desperate to save that child and redeem himself, Bruce bites her

Stephanie was very hurt by this and moved away from vigilantism for a while to adapt to her new life. This cursed.

Surprising Cassandra accepts without hesitation, no one really understands her reasons for accepting this

Cass has a slight adjustment problem at first, but she tries to live as much as possible as if nothing has changed

And then Jason Todd returns

He is really hurt (emotionally) for all this shit and hates Bruce for what he did and what he didn't

Jason also hates Tim in the start for having accepted this shit so easily

No Bruce or Alfred can't convince Jason to become a vampire (they don't want to lose Jason again)

Then who bites him? Dick

They fight a lot, but Dick Grayson is charismatic, he always gets what he wants and this time there's no difference, Dick bites Jason

Years past and then there is Damian

The blood son, the heir of the Demon

Everyone is sure that Dick will bite Damian, they're close to each other, and in true Dick almost did it, but then Damian rejected

They fought really bad that night, Dick lost and Damian doesn't talk with him for a month after that accident

No one knows what happened

Why did Damain reject this?

They all thought Damian wanted to become part of the family, then why Damian rejected this?

After a while Duke Thomas joined the family, he hesitated to become a vampire in the start, but in the end he accepted it

This becomes the most funny joke of all time because his powers

And Damian is still the only human

Once again Bruce tried to lure Damian to become a vampire and once again there was a bloody fight, and in the end Damian is still a human and he stopped talking with Bruce for two months after that

All important members of Justice league know about the vampire family and accept it very well (it was a mess in the start but Batman is there for so long, they don't see him and his family as dangerous anymore)

Damian dies and comes back and he is still a human

Jon then becomes his friend, and all Kent house is chocked when they see Damian eat his vegetarian food

"Aren't you a vampire?" "No"

They assume that Bruce doesn't want to turn a kid into a vampire and let Damian grow a little. They're wrong about that

Time passes and Damian is now a teenager, life is own life doing his own stuff, not as Batman, not as Robin either Demon, just he own hero path

Jon is unsure when Damian will become a vampire, then he decided to ask his best friend about this

"tt" Damian is tired of this vampire shit, he knows how his family looks for him, every single one already tried to talk about this stuff with him and this always ends in a mess. Actually he is not surprised with the ask, but who is asking. Jon, his best friend. The stupid half alien and Damian are just tired

then Damian decides to talk the truth, the same truth he talks at Dick, Bruce and Alfred years ago after they stop fighting against each other. The same truth who is always together with the silence treatment

"My mother... She is not perfect, she made a lot of mistakes as well my father too, she turned me who I am and she also told me about this vampire thing, and she said she wouldn't be mad if I became like him, and in the past I also wanted to become like him but now..."

"but now?" Jon started Damian, the half alien is always curious about this fact and he doesn't understand why Damian is talking about his mom

"when I choose to live with my father and give up the league I thought it would be different, but then here we go Damian, there's a vampire cult with people who fear the dead and, even when they deny it, they also seek for power. The truth is I'm tired of cults, Ra's or Wayne's, they're not so different, this is still a cult"

"I... I don't want to live like them, Jon, I want to die as a human, Batman becomes an immortal and the demon head is also immortal. I don't fear the dead, I want to die as a human"

I just like to think about the potential angst with Damian and his family, how betrayed he will feel when he realizes that Dick and Bruce are not so different from Ra's, people afraid of death

In the worst case scenario Damian becomes a vampire against his will, who did it? Tim Drake

It was an extreme a desperate situation, Tim Drake just wants to save his baby brother lives and ignore Damain pleading to let him die

That was the first time that the house saw Damian crying. He understands why Tim did it, but still he feels betrayed and sobs with this curse

Damian is inconsolable for days and isolates himself, becoming exactly what he always feared, an immortal who steals people's lives to gain power exactly what his grandfather always said he would become

#dc comics #batfamily #damian wayne #jason todd #dick grayson #tim drake #batfam #alfred pennyworth #bruce wayne #cassandra cain #stephanie brown #duke thomas #jonathan samuel kent #just me thinking about super angst vampire damian wayne now #do is he happy with this life? #i have so many thoughts

[suzukiblu]

For Wip Wednesday is it possible to request one of each? Or would you prefer individual asks for different wipes?

the Gotham Kid

Trauma can do a lot to a person, though, and it’s not like the Alley isn’t spoiled for it. Kid’s only been here a few months, and he’s seen way worse than something a cheap dye job could cover up. 

Way, way worse. 

“Should it be, pretty boy?” Trish asks the guy, her smile pleasantly poisonous and familiarly shit-starting. Kid might have to rough up a couple guys before they're done here, he notes in mild resignation. Not that he blames her for wanting to make it clear that this isn't the time or place for outsiders to be fucking with anybody, but these guys haven't actually done any fucking with anybody yet. 

Though he does know better than to give anybody in Gotham too much benefit of the doubt, especially in Crime Alley. 

Superman would, but Superman would do a lot of things Kid can't afford to.

Could never afford to.

the one where Kon isn't the father

Tim cries all over himself and also Kon for way, way too long, but it’s–fine. It’s fine. He can explain looking like he cried to the Kents, because crying over his dead boyfriend coming back to life is a perfectly normal emotional response. 

And Kon is, technically, his dead boyfriend now. Or–not the dead part anymore, obviously, but–

“The cover’s good as-is,” Kon murmurs quietly as they’re sitting together in the far corner of the nursery. She’s still asleep. Tim couldn’t bring himself to leave her and go upstairs, though. “Like–what everybody assumed, I mean. They already all think it anyway, right? Like, they’re all already convinced. So coming up with a different lie might just make ‘em reexamine shit and maybe notice something, and that’d be a problem.” 

“It would,” Tim agrees in relief, glad that Kon understands that. But also . . . “But you want to tell them–you want to pretend about us, too?” 

“I don’t want anybody to have a single reason to doubt who Kyra’s other dad is,” Kon says. “Ever.” 

“You don’t have to do this,” Tim says, although if Kon doesn’t it's going to ruin his life. 

Ruin Kyra’s life, more importantly. 

“Fuck off, Rob, don’t tell me what to do,” Kon snorts the exact same way he used to in their Young Justice days, and Tim chokes on a sob of a laugh. Fuck, he’s missed him. 

He’s missed him so, so much.

Match technically is also a Luthor

Match finds that response . . . strange. Strange in several ways, in fact, because it almost sounded like Luthor was actually listening to what he said. 

Almost. 

“I take it there isn’t something less idiotic than ‘Subject Match’ to be calling you, then?” Luthor says. 

“No,” Match says. He doesn’t particularly care what anyone thinks of his designation–it’s perfectly serviceable–but he doesn’t know what he thinks of the way Luthor’s commenting on it. Like he thinks the Agenda should’ve . . . tried harder or something. 

That can’t be right, Match thinks. 

“Of course there’s not,” Luthor snorts dubiously. “Fine, I’ll come up with something bearable in the car. Now come along, I wasn’t actually joking about that meeting I have to terrorize. The board members have been getting ideas again, suicidal little optimists that they are.” 

“In the . . . car?” Match asks incredibly. What, did he just drive here? 

“That is what I said, yes,” Luthor says, then snaps his fingers impatiently beore turning back towards the door. “Keep up.” 

And Match doesn’t understand what the hell is happening here or even why it’s happening at all, but he doesn’t have orders and Luthor definitely does have kryptonite, or at least an Amazon or two, so Match just . . . 

Follows him.

weird Kryptonian bonding rituals

“Huh?” Clark startles, and they all look over at Lois. She looks triumphant, waving her phone. 

“Conner,” she repeats matter-of-factly. “It’s easy to pronounce, common enough he won’t constantly be having to spell it, but still uncommon enough there won’t be twelve other ones everywhere he goes. Also it means ‘lover of hounds’, so we have to get him a dog now. Do you want a dog, Conner? And, uh, also the name. Also do you want the name.” 

“. . . maybe?” Superboy looks curious, floating over to peer at the phone screen. “What’s having a dog like?” 

“It's nice, if you get one who's right for you and take good care of them,” Clark says, immediately resolving to find an apartment that allows pets. He’ll pay the pet fee. He’ll pay a monthly pet fee if he has to. Superboy can have all the dogs he wants. “It's rewarding. And, well–nice, again. Dogs are great, and they love people. Man’s best friend and all that, you know? Not that we necessarily count as that kind of ‘man’ because of the whole alien definitely-not-biological-weapons issue but–look, it’s fine, dogs are great! They don’t even get weird about us being the wrong species! Um. Not the wrong species, just . . .”

“A dog would love me?” Superboy tilts his head, then . . . blinks, very slowly. “Like–how much?” 

“Almost as much as we're going to,” Clark says, his chest clenching tightly.

the last son of Krypton meets Hypertime Kon

“We’ll help you however we can,” Clark promises again, slightly rephrased, and Kon looks surprised. 

“Um–you sure it's not a problem?” he hedges awkwardly. “I can, like, go bother somebody who’s less busy . . .” 

Clark cannot imagine ever being busy enough to ignore this kid, much less pawn him off on someone else. That is not a thing that he is ever going to do, no matter how long it takes to get Kon home. He’s another Kryptonian, and one who’s proudly wearing the El crest and carrying both genes and a name from a version of him. How could he do anything less than his best for him? 

“It’s not a problem at all,” he says firmly, giving Kon’s shoulder another squeeze before dropping his hand away. 

“Certainly not,” Diana agrees. 

“It’s definitely a problem,” Bruce mutters under his breath, like he’s never picked up a random stray kid who he doesn’t know anything about except how much they needed his help. Hypocrite, Clark thinks both wryly and fondly.

#anonymous #wip: the gotham kid #wip: the one where kon isn't the father #wip: match is technically also a luthor #wip: weird kryptonian bonding rituals #wip: the last son of krypton meets hypertime kon #long post

[gatorbites-imagines]

can I request a conner kent x male reader, in which reader works with the team under batman, and is kinda of stoic and cold, but with conner is different? and they work on a mission alone? could kinda some smug maybe? (please include your headcanons! i love them sm!)

Conner Kent x Male reader

Headcanons

Fun fact, Reign of the supermen is one of my favourite movies.

When someone asks for my kryptonian headcanons I get excited.

All bats were special in some way, and they all had the ability to be quite stoic and serious to the point it would immediately make everyone else focus more and work harder. It just came with the fact that Bats tended to take the role as leader of whatever group they were in.

You were no different, you were actually more stoic than most of the other bats, only rivalled by the big bat himself. This made it hard for others to get close to you in the beginning when you joined the team at the same time as Tim, since you came across as unapproachable.

But over time they learned that was simply the way you were, and your teammates got quite good at reading you. Plus your bluntness and stoicism did help out at times when things got too emotional or chaotic, as you were able to keep your head on straight.

When you met Conner for the first time it was when your team rescued him from CADMUS. The first moment he laid his eyes on you he felt a pull in his heart towards you, something so deep and instinctual he didn’t understand, but he also assumed it was something everyone had to feel.

Conner became good friends with all of the team of course, and Tim was one of his best friends, but his connection to you was something completely different. He wanted to be around you at all times, he wanted to hug you and touch you and just be near you.

When he started purring around you for the first time he almost jumped out of his skin because he had no idea he could make that noise. But when no one else could hear the noise he made, he was able to convince himself it was something he made up.

In the end Clark had to explain to him that these were all parts of being kryptonian. So, after getting some education on his kryptonian heritage Conner understood himself a little more.

He still stuck around you, though you guys mostly spent time together as a team, so he only got to see your stoic and cold self. But he could smell and hear that you enjoyed being around your friends as much as everyone else, so he never doubted you liked being part of the team.

When you split off from the team as you got older to build a career on your own, Conner was saddened but you guys kept up contact and you’d join the team on the regular. This lead to you and Conner finally hanging out on your own, since you were doing missions alone nowadays.

That’s when you started flirting with him a lot more openly, he honestly didn’t know how to react when you got smug and cocky around you, winking at him and even blowing him a kiss one time.

He’s half convinced you are possessed or have been replaced by a body double, but the pull in his chest is still there and your heartbeat is the same. So, its gotta be you, your just a lot more open when you are alone.

You go back to your stoic cold self when other people are around, so at times Conner thinks maybe this is all something he’s making up in his head.

Then you kiss him for the first time, during a mission when it’s just the two of you. You were about to grapple away like the bat you were, when you turned around and kissed him lightning quick. Conner was completely gob smacked as you just smirked and left.

He ends up chasing after you when he can think clearly again and has to hunt you down, as you lead him on a chase around the town your mission is in. When he finally catches you the pull in his chest is almost unbearable, holding you in his arms as his eyes almost flare red.

When he finally demands an answer as to why you are acting like that to him, because he doesn’t understand, you explain you are just feeling more comfortable around him and feel safer with him because you’ve like him for a long time.

When its clear you return his feelings Conner kisses you again, grasping onto you as the feeling in his chest feels like it folds open as you wrap your arms around him to pull him closer.

He’s purring so loudly that you’re able to feel the vibrations from the tiny muscle in his throat, even though you cant hear any of it. Conner ends up burying his face in your neck and rubbing his face all over it as you laugh and pet his hair, calling him a big cuddly cat.

After you two start dating you keep being your stoic self around everyone else, though you keep flirting with Conner and acting all smug when its just the two of you. It becomes something Conner enjoys since you only act that way around him.

#male reader #dc #conner kent #kon el #superboy #justice league #young justice #dc imagine #dc headcanon #dc x male reader #dc x reader #conner kent x male reader #conner kent imagine #conner kent x reader #conner kent headcanon #kon el x male reader #kon el headcanon #kon el x reader #kon el imagine #superboy x male reader #superboy x reader #superboy headcanon #superboy imagine #justice league x reader #justice league headcanon #justice league imagine #justice league x male reader #young justice x male reader #young justice imagine #young justice x reader

[supersaiyanjedi14]

Just got done watching the new episode, and can I just say that I freaking LOVE Sally's conversation with Poseidon? This scene not only demonstrates just how much Sally loves her son in spite of the various struggles, it also touches on just WHY Percy is the hero he is.

As an urban fantasy, PJO is one of a long line of stories that involve the mundane intermingling with the fantastical, specifically in the context of someone from our world entering into this wildly different one. Superman, Narnia, Harry Potter, just off the top of my head. What makes these stories stand out is that, even when the protagonist gets adjusted to a world of magic and monsters, it is the fact that they come from good old normal Earth that keeps them and their worldviews grounded. No matter how many wizards and aliens they bump into, they are still coming from the position of a human being. Superman may be an alien who bumps shoulders with god-like beings, but behind it all is Clark Kent, a guy from Kansas raised to be a kind and decent person by two people who were shining examples of humanity themselves.

That right there is a big part of who Percy is. Percy's spent most of his life surrounded by gods and monsters with a view of the world that is so wildly different from our own we cannot begin to understand that. But Percy doesn't come from that world, he comes from OUR world. He's not a Greek god intermingling with the puny mortals, he's a kid from New York who understands the people around him. If Percy had been brought up at camp and raised as a demigod, he would have gone hand-in-hand with the Olympian way of doing things, no questions asked. But Sally didn't do that. She brought him up to be a boy first, demigod second. It's what allows him to look at how the gods act and say "No, this is wrong." He refuses to go along with the BS, because any decent person can see that this manipulation and ego flexing is no way to treat people. And this feeds right into his motives for opposing Kronos and Luke. He's not fighting for the gods, he's fighting for the world he actually came from, a world where opposing evil is right and just, not an opportunity for glory.

And Sally and Poseidon both know this. They wanted Percy to grow up separated from all this toxic crap, because they knew he would emerge all the stronger, and more importantly, better, for it.

"I'm Sally Jackson's son" indeed.

#percy jackon and the olympians #pjo #pjo show spoilers #percy jackson #pjo meta #to use another superman reference #poseidon makes him super but sally makes him a hero

[mamawasatesttube]

hi do you have any kon comics recs?

oh boy do i!!!!! ♥

for his origins, you'll want to read "reign of the supermen" (probably easiest to read it as a tpb, because the individual issues are all over the place). this details his creation and escape from cadmus, his relationships with clark and john henry irons, and his early attitudes!

after that, of course. well. superboy (1994). i love this comic. it is deeply flawed. it's 100 issues long, so it's a bit of an undertaking, but in my opinion it's essential reading to actually understand kon as a character. he gets groomed and exploited in many ways in this book, and it is not handled well because it's treated as acceptable as the fantasy of any teenage boy (the grooming and sexual abuse), or played for comedic effect (the financial exploitation). but understanding those facets of kon's backstory are vital to get a read on him as a character. sb94 also does a really great job of establishing him as someone kind, creative, and incredibly lonely and depressed. he's passively suicidal for pretty much the entire run. he's a really good boy. and some of his relationships with his supporting cast (roxy, serling, dubbilex, guardian) are just sooo <333

next up: young justice (1998)! this is the fun one with a lot of shenanigans. the depth here is mostly understated for characters like kon, tim, and bart (who have their own solos outside of it) and i'd say the kon experience here is enhanced by having read sb94 first, because there are certain arcs that follow up on things going on at cadmus and stuff. after yj98 is teen titans/young justice: graduation day, which basically shows how yj disbands after donna troy's death.

after that is the unfortunate mess that is teen titans (2003). this comic is not good, but it is important. this is where the lex retcon happens, the mind control arc happens, and the tie-ins to infinite crisis all happen. kon dies in infinite crisis, returns in final crisis, and rejoins the team towards the end of tt03.

next up is adventure comics (2009), the first six issues of which get into what kon does in the wake of his resurrection. superboy (2011) (i) (not to be confused with the n52 superboy solo) follows up on some of these themes and shows his adventures in smallville! both are pretty solid.

if you Really wanna dig into everything going on towards the end of postcrisis continuity, i'd rec getting into a tpb of the new krypton arcs! kon isn't around for everything there (he's dead for the first parts), but by last stand of new krypton, he's back and running around with the legion (this includes the last few issues of adventure comics '09, too).

in n52 kon is just. not there. the "kon-el" in n52 is just straight up an entirely different guy. (incidentally, this guy is where the edgy "kon means abomination" thing comes from. this is a retcon. kon's name originally is the name of a dead cousin of clark's that clark says he would be honored if superboy would accept.)

if you want to read anything post flashpoint, he gets reintroduced to continuity in young justice (2019). then the house of kent arc in action comics sort of explains his situation in prime earth continuity. stuff like yjdc (which i have not and will not be reading, so i certainly can't recommend it) takes place after this, and kon appears some in various other action comics arcs going on lately, but none of those are major appearances really. he did have his recent mini solo superboy: man of tomorrow, which was... fine. nothing spectacular imo, but the covers are cute and i have all six issues sitting on my desk because kon <3!

i know this is kind of long. my bad i love to ramble about kon kjsdhf but!! if you have any questions or anything i'm happy to elaborate or clarify further!! but in the meantime. go forth, and happy kon reading ❤️🧡💛💚🩵💙💜🩷💖

#answers #towtafwita #kon #this is not a comprehensive list of every single one of his appearances but it is all major runs #shoutout also to superboy and the ravers which takes place early in sb94 era #i LOVE the ravers but its def not what i'd rec as an entry level kon comic skdjhfkds #the basic kon arc is just. rots -> sb94 -> yj98 -> tt03 -> ac09 + sb11

[wintervalewritersecond]

siren song vi - xavier thorpe

masterlist

requested: yes! requests: open!

a/n: this might be the last part of siren song! i am still debating if i will make one last one, just to see what the new 'normal' is (also because im pretty sure xavier and reader never shared a kiss before and they deserve it by now). thank you so much for the love on this fic and my other works, i appreciate it so much! i hope you enjoy this part and i will see you in the next one!

wordcount: 3.289 warnings: she/her reader, angst, injuries, act like wednesday isn't in the gif, cursing

You had gotten Xavier out of jail and got your memories back. But, at what cost?

You had a restless night. How could you sleep in a comfortable and warm bed, knowing that Xavier was stuck in a cold prison cell? People think he is some horrible monster, yet you know better. There is no possible way that he is the monster.

It is early in the morning when you walk down the stairs and toward the Quad. You are already dressed in the uniform, not wanting to go back upstairs after breakfast only to change out of your clothes. You just want this day to go by as fast as it possibly could - you have to get back to the Sherriff's office.

There is no one at breakfast when you get there. After grabbing a tray filled with some food, you sit down at the picnic tables. Though you have food in front of you, your stomach isn't grumbling and you have absolutely no appetite whatsoever.

Slowly, the Quad fills up as your entire friend group comes walking to you with trays in their hands. With a sigh, Bianca sits down, taking a big sip of her orange juice.

No one really talks as everyone is sulking about everything going on. It is quite understandable, really.

The day flies by - literally. Because of your jumbled thoughts and extreme emotions, you accidentally flung different items off your desk or against the wall. It was all fine until you threw a glass past someone's head. The teacher excused you, insisting you take the rest of the class off. It was your last one anyway. Just as you enter your dorm, you get a text message.

bianca ★

wanna hang? a lot of stuff happened yesterday

You quickly text her back, saying that you will be there in a few minutes. No use to change clothes. Within a few minutes, you stand in front of your friends door. As you knock, the door opens, revealing Bianca behind it. She is dressed in other clothes already.

"Gosh, so much happened," she lets out a sigh, letting herself fall on the bed.

"What did? I wasn't away from Nevermore for that long."

"Where were you, anyway?"

"The Sherrif's department," you slide her desk chair backwards, sitting down on it as you look at her. "Why?"

"Wednesday has gotten expelled," Bianca leans on her elbows, looking back at you. "She tried to abuse the shit out of Tyler. We all agreed to talk to him because she thinks he is the Hyde, but then she pulled out a hammer and shit."

You scoff.

"She thought that Xavier was the monster, right? He is stuck in jail because of her."

"Yeah, she says that Tyler admitted everything to her."

"I'm going to sound rude, but she deserved to get sent away. In the time that she was at school, we have seen Sheriff Galpin more than in all previous years combined."

Bianca opens her mouth to say something, but her phone rings. On the screen is Enid's name. She lets out a sigh, picking up the phone.

"Hey, Enid. No, I'm in my room with Y/N. No, not really? Enid- Enid, you have to talk a bit slower," you let out a laugh as you watch your friend. "Yes, I know what the Nightshades are. Thornhill, a psycho? See you in a sec."

She hangs up, jumping up from her bed before looking down at you.

"There's a problem."

-

You run down the stairs together with Bianca, Davina, and Kent. In the library stand Ajax and Enid who is holding Thing. Was Thing not going with Wednesday?

"Bianca, Davina, Y/N and Kent? Seriously?" The blonde turns to Ajax. "Even Kent is here! How exclusive is this club?"

Davina snorts, looking over at Kent as you just hide your smile behind your hand. Kent looks from the two of you back to Enid, rolling his eyes.

"So what's the deal with Thornhill being a psycho?"

"She murdered Weems and then kidnapped Wednesday. They're in Crasckstone's Crypt."

Your eyes grow big as your smile quickly drops. Principal Weems is dead? Murdered by the normie teacher? But- how? Where is she now?

"We have to get everyone in the school to safety before it's too late" Enid lets out a sigh, fiddling with her hands.

Ajax unfolds the piece of paper in his hands, showing it to everyone. On it is a picture of what seems to be Crackstone, some sort of wand or stick in his hands as he stands in the Quad, fire surrounding him and the building.

"This is what's coming. They want the Outcasts gone."

"So, do we pull the fire alarms?"

You shake your head, tearing your eyes away from the drawing.

"No," you look at him. "We don't want to cause a big panic amongst everyone. It will alert Thornhill."

"How do we get everyone out then?"

"We will use our Siren Song to convince them. No one will bat an eye."

Your Siren friends pull off their amulets, hiding them in their pockets before nodding. Thing taps his way over to Enid as she picks him up.

"We will go look for Wednesday," she looks at everyone.

"I will stay in the Quad," you mumble. "My Telekinesis might be able to keep everything safe for as long as possible."

Bianca looks at you for a second. She doesn't want you to get hurt. It's not like she doesn't trust you, or that she doesn't think you can handle yourself - she is more worried about Crackstone showing up.

"I will hide on the second level, keep my eye out for anything crazy. Just get the others out of there."

"Okay," Bianca finally nods. "Nightshades, forever."

Everyone except for Enid snaps twice, which makes her glare at Ajax again.

"Seriously? A secret snap?"

-

You follow the Sirens upstairs, standing in the hallway that leads to the dorms and to the second level of the Quad. From here, you will get a perfect view of the place. If anyone opens any door, you will be able to see it. Worst case scenario, you will have to let yourself fall into the Quad. You can soften the fall though, by being able to let yourself float just for a second.

People start running past you, still pulling their jackets over their shoulders. Even Coach Vlad walks past you, not even acknowledging you as you are hidden in the dark corner. Good.

Bianca, Davina, and Kent then walk out of the dorms, giving you a glance.

"You sure you're going to be safe out here?"

"Of course," you grin. "I can handle myself."

"You better be careful, Y/N!"

Bianca has a grin on her face as she walks off to go to the next dorm, making sure everyone leaves the building. Hopefully, Enid and Thing are doing alright. A shaky breath leaves your lips. There is still hope. Hope that Weems is still alive and that Crackstone will not show up. He has been dead for over four hundred years already.

You check your phone - nothing. That must mean that no one found anything yet. Slowly, more and more people are running through the Quad. Your phone then makes a sound as you see that Ajax sent a message.

ajaxxx

heard from xavier. crackstone and thornhill are on their wya

b careful

They found Xavier? Or at least, heard of him. Has he been released from prison then? Just as you start typing back, a door in the Quad flies open, revealing screaming students and two other figures. Crackstone and Thornhill. You quickly shove your phone in your pocket, leaning down a bit to try and stay out of their line of sight.

The tall guy, probably Crackstone, says something to Thornhill which makes her walk off, talking to herself. Bianca and Ajax run up to you, out of breath. The sudden steps make the figure in the Quad look up, the staff in his hands glowing brightly.

"I will expunge you abominations from this Earth!"

One tap of his staff makes fire spread out, catching onto everything it can. Ajax quickly pulls you and Bianca down as the hot fire flashes over you.

More people are running through the Quad, almost not noticing Crackstone. They just want to get out.

"I'm going down there."

You quickly hurry down the stairs and to the Quad. You can not let this stupid, dead, old man ruin everything that Nevermore stands for. If he died once, then surely he can die again.

You run through the door, opening it harshly with your telekinesis.

"Hey, you asshole!"

The figure turns around. He looks even more disgusting up close. His skin looks like it is ready to peel off, and his hair also doesn't quite help the case.

"I will make sure that thy heart will not beat," he grits his teeth. "All Outcasts shall be destroyed."

You lift your hand, slinging the broken picnic table to his head as you focus on another item to throw to the man. Maybe you should have brought a weapon. Crackstone holds up the staff, blocking all the objects you throw at him. Stones, broken tables, pieces of rubble - nothing hits him.

With a simple flick of the staff, you fly against a pillar, hitting your head against the stone. For someone that wants to kill all Outcasts, he surely does use a lot of magic. You wince, your hand going up against your forehead. You can't let him win.

You take hold of the big piece of wood next to you, tightly gripping it in your hands as you slowly stand up, your legs barely able to keep you up. Crackstone only has a grin on his face - he is not against a fight. The door behind you opens again.

"Stay away from her!"

You immediately turn around when you hear the voice. Xavier. A faint smile is on your face as your eyebrows crease. He got out. You knew that he wasn't the monster. The boy fires an arrow pointing straight at Crackstone's heart.

For just a second, you believe that it's finally over. You can just be with Xavier and your friends again, no Crackstone and no monsters.

That is, until the arrow stops in the air, the point slowly turning back straight to Xavier. You can't let it hit him. The arrow gets fired off again.

So, you did the logical thing.

You jumped in front of the arrow.

You yelp as the arrow sticks itself in your shoulder, falling back against the remains of a picnic table.

"No! Y/N!"

Xavier runs down the stairs and towards your body. You gasp for air, your eyebrows creased and tears staining your cheeks. Your head hurts and every light and sound is just a bit too bright and loud.

His hand reaches for your head as he holds it up. Your eyes slowly move from Crackstone to Xavier. You feel like you are getting high - in a bad way. Your head feels like it's floating and your movements feel slow. It is like you are watching everything happen in slow motion.

"Xavier?"

He nods quickly, taking hold of your hand with his other hand.

"Can you take the arrow out?"

Tears pool in his eyes as he softly shakes his head.

"I can't," he whispers. "It's going to hurt more."

"Xavier!"

Wednesday walks through the doors, a sharp blade in her hands. Her face is covered in blood and her shirt is ripped. First, she wanted to ask him to fight with her, but then she sees his expression and you on the ground, an arrow in your shoulder.

"Get her out of here. I'll finish this."

He looks at her for a second, shock still evident on his face.

"Now!"

He picks you up with a swift motion, making sure to not put too much unnecessary touch or pressure on your shoulder. He has to get you to safety. It's his only priority.

With you in his arms, he runs down the halls and out of the Nevermore gate. It is cold outside, though he feels like he is burning. He can see the crowd of students already. Enid is also covered in mud and what seems like blood. The rest looks scared.

Kent immediately rushes up to Xavier as he sees that he is carrying you. He is one of your best friends.

Xavier slowly places you on the soft ground as you do nothing but blink. The Siren quickly shrugs off his jacket, rolling it up to act as a pillow that he carefully places underneath your head. Xavier also takes off his coat, placing it on top of you to try his best to keep you warm. The arrow still sticks out of your shoulder - he doesn't dare to touch it. Your hands are shaking when he takes hold of them.

"Am I dying?"

Xavier his heart breaks once you ask that. You have lost a bit of blood and you are quite out of it. He would stay in that jail cell for the rest of his life if that meant that this would have never happened to you. All he wants is to have you safe.

"No, sweetheart," he sniffles. "You're going to be fine. I promise."

"I'm scared," a whisper leaves your lips.

Xavier only scoots a bit closer to you, the rest of the Nevermore students not being able to do anything else than watch.

"I'll stay here, okay? Right by your side."

A nod is the only reaction he receives. Your entire body is trembling, though he isn't sure if it's from the cold or the shock that you are in. Kent places his hand on Xavier's shoulder, offering him a small smile.

"Is that-"

Enid storms off to the Nevermore gates, engulfing Wednesday in a big hug. That's the last thing you saw.

--

Xavier picked you up again. You were drifting between consciousness and unconsciousness, your eyes droopy as you did not react to any noise or movement. Both you and Enid needed care in the Nevermore infirmary. As Wednesday patched Enid up, Xavier could do nothing except watch as another nurse made sure that your wounds were tended to.

If only he had not shot the arrow.

If the arrow had never left his bow, then you wouldn't have to get it removed. He never even wants to touch a bow and arrow again. Not if this is what happens. The nurse finally finishes the stitches as she cleans the last drop of blood. Your eyes have been closed this entire time - the anesthesia making sure you don't feel anything. All the past events had made you so tired, that you were knocked out immediately. Being thrown against a pillar did not really help you.

Luckily, nothing was broken and you weren't in a coma. Your ankle is fractured though - you must have fallen on it.

"Xavier," the nurse softly says, a smile on her face. "I think it is time that everyone retires to their rooms. It has been a long day."

He doesn't want to move. He wants to stay. What if you wake up, scared and alone in a dark room?

"Yeah," he mumbles, standing up. "Can that light stay on?"

He points to the small lamp on the bedside table. As long as it's on, it's going to be fine.

"Of course."

The nurse walks out of the room, making sure the lamp is on as she looks at Xavier. Her arm is holding the door open. He doesn't want to leave. He glances at you once more, breathing in shakily before walking out the door.

Not even the hot water from his shower makes him feel good. He feels itchy and he can't sleep. He doesn't know what tomorrow will bring. All that he knows is that he wants to be there for you.

Xavier pulls a white hoodie out of his closet, throwing it on before finding a pair of sweatpants and shoes. No matter what the nurse said, he has to go to the infirmary again. His hair is still wet by the time he makes it downstairs again.

After making sure that there are no nurses anymore, he sneaks in, closing the door behind him softly. You are in the exact same position, your eyes still closed and your hands by your sides. He takes a chair from behind the curtain, placing it close to your bed. It is the most uncomfortable thing that he ever sat on, but he doesn't care.

He pulls the hood onto his head, slumping in his chair while fiddling with his hands. He wished that none of this had ever happened.

--

Exhaustion had knocked out Xavier, making him sit in the chair uncomfortably. His elbow is leaning on his knee and his head is on his hand. His neck is going to hurt like crazy.

You wince as you open your eyes. The light next to you is extremely bright, especially considering the rest of the room is dark. Your head is pounding like crazy - it feels like someone is trying to claw its way out of it.

Your fingers are tingling, making you look down at them. They feel sore, just like the rest of your body. The blue blanket is thin, though you were convinced yours was a mixture of pink and red. Your neck feels frozen as you turn to look around the room.

Xavier.

Xavier is sitting on the chair, his eyes closed and his mouth open with just a bit of drool on his cheek. You almost giggle.

He is wearing a hoodie that you have never seen before - a white hoodie with a small print just on his chest. The boy stirs a bit, rubbing his eyes softly before sighing. He should not have slept in this stupid chair. His eyes slowly open as he blinks a few times.

He checks his phone - 9:03am. Xavier has been here for ages. He stretches his arms, looking around the room until his eyes fall on you. You are awake, your eyes open, and a small grin on your face.

"Y/N!" He exclaims, a big smile on his face. "You- You're awake!"

A giggle leaves your lips. You can't believe it took him this long to notice you.

"Awake and only in a small amount of pain. If a banging headache and a burning shoulder are considered a small amount."

It's like you see him in a different light. Not that he changed anything or that the small table lamp really changed his appearance, but he just seems different. In a good way. You just feel different about him - but better. Even better than before.

"I can see if there's some medicine," he stands up, walking through the small room to find something that might help. "Don't think this is considered a small bit."

Your eyes only follow him, a smile still on your face. You are lucky that there is no heart monitor connected to you. It would have been going crazy right about now. Xavier looks more beautiful than ever.

"I don't think I have ever seen you wear something plain white," you speak up. "Not since the Rave'n. Hey, you should wear white more. The suit fits you really well and-"

Xavier whips his head around so fast that he sees black spots for a second.

"What did you just say?"

"Since the Rave'n," you whisper.

Is it true? Is everything finally falling right back into place? Is everything how it used to be again?

"You remember."

--------------

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#xavier thorpe imagine #xavier thorpe x reader #xavier thorpe oneshot #wednesday imagine #wednesday oneshot #xavier thorpe #siren song

[pseudo-hero]

Conner Kent basically is a child from (medical) rape. Not calling him Clark's child is basically the mentally healthiest way to cope with this for everyone involved.

Note #1: I first want to apologize for taking this long to respond, though it's not the only time that's happened and probably won't be the last. I'm still surprised that this particular blog even got an "ask", to be honest! That being said:

WARNING: This post is about—among other things—sexual assault, properly defining/utilizing the terms and has a few violent descriptions within it. Some possibly unpopular and controversial opinions are below. Absolutely no harm or insult to any person or group was intended while I typed this out (including to the "asker"). I hope any possible readers will make it to the end before judging. I've typed this up for anybody, with no one in particular in mind, so 'you' therefore, refers to anyone as well as what's said in the "ask". This gets into and brings up a lot different subjects and ideas in regards to the Kal-Kon family relationship (both in-universe ones and meta ones), so apologies to the above anonymous user if it ever seems like I'm going off on a tangent; although I like to think all of this was relevant to the "ask" in some way.

As always, I'll try to be open-minded to differing opinions/information and I hope any possible errors made can be forgiven. This is also going to be really, REALLY L--O--N--G because I have a hard time giving short, straight-to-the-point responses for anything, I guess. Especially topics that have wide-reaching implications. I switch between character names a lot (and other quirks), may get a little repetitive (but I will try to make new points each time) and I also may at times be harsh on Clark here (but it's arguably DC Comics and their partners that are truly at fault, not him).

Note #2: I've always wanted to make a post about why Clark's treatment of Conner throughout the years has been questionable writing at best and detrimental to Clark's character at worst [as part of a not-yet-completed series on what's destroying Superman's character and legacy these days, in fact] but maybe this will end up being that post [or they'll just share many points/arguments in common].

-----------------------------------------------------------------------

Sorry, but I'm not playing that game. Only rape is rape. You comparing (and perhaps twisting) Conner Kent's/Kon-El's creation to being that of a "child from (medical) rape"—which, mind you, I can't help but be reminded of "rape baby" (one of the names unfortunately often used on such victims-by-proxy for the wrong reasons) when I read it—is not only, to me, an insult to any version of the character's backstory and the hardship they've gone through, but to those who have actually experienced the trauma of rape or other forms of sexual assault (or being conceived from any such act).

While I understand why some interpret Kon's creation that way/where the belief comes from, I feel that's only one possible interpretation and one that unfortunately—on top of promoting offensive and less-than-rational conclusions—might actually be missing the point about the real reason(s) Kon got and still gets treated the way he does.

First off, let's get down to how every version of Kon was created before getting into the details of the origin of one or another, and proving how none of them sprouted from rape: Kon is, put simply, a genetically engineered progeny; a form of "test tube baby" (not meant to be disparaging). He was made in an undoubtedly sterile (purposefully loaded word) lab from the ideas, research-based input and experimentation of dozens of scientists and geniuses, his human parent typically included. (Note how I didn't name a human parent? I'll get to that.) After many failed attempts, there was a success, first dubbed Experiment 13.

There was no warmth or genuine intimacy involved in E13's creation, just as is the case with 95% to 100% of sexual assaults (I'm trying not to assume how it went for all victims). However, there was also no physical contact, beyond perhaps the extraction/finding and adding together of DNA-type substances. (You know, what with every version of Kon being treated solely as science experiments in their early days and all.) Without physical contact, specifically/particularly/especially of the sexual variety, already the case for Superman being "raped" begins to fall apart and we can get closer to what fandom/societal problem is really behind this idea being pushed and what truth is continually missed/hidden due to said problem acting as a cover.

Continuing from before: So, as we all know, almost every version of Kon-El/Conner Kent get's his DNA from a male kryptonian progenitor (always Kal-El/Clark Kent unless stated otherwise) together with the also-male human progenitor's, and rarely anywhere else. These days most versions of Conner seem to be the half-human genetic child of Lex Luthor and Superman, and it's been like that for a while. In the beginning however, he was solely a clone of Superman before it was later decided that he was actually an altered clone of some now-forgotten man named Paul Westfield and that he only mimicked Superman's powers. They later changed it up again ("retconned" it) to the Lex Luthor/Superman combination origin(s) for the 2000's version of him, but in doing so, made it clear in BIG, bright letters that Kon is not a "clone" anymore.

Unless—we're calling him a binary clone (what we all are).

That's right, a binary clone is one of many words for child. It's just a specific type of child/progeny. Here's another definition example, with the same description. I would hope no one needs to see the definition for child, too, but you never know. So, notice how so many of the definitions for child match up with what Kon is? What are the people that argue that Superboy is not Superman's—or that he's neither Clark's nor Lex's child—really trying to say or inadvertently saying, I wonder? That Kon is no one's child? That he isn't even a child (unless someone wants him)?? Good luck using that logic with real life "test tube children" (in-vitro children, if we want to be clinical), foster children and adoptees. Bet they'll really appreciate the insensitivity.

As for his age? Why does that matter? At his oldest, he's an upper teen, so still an impressionable minor. And who ever said you needed to pop up in someone's life as a perfect, little chubby cherub to be their child? Who said your parents needed to accept you/get the chance to raise you, for you to be directly descended from them? If a parent dies before a child is born (and stays dead), is the child not their child anymore? Even if someone meets their kid—that may appear to others, to have been created when the parent was a teenager—when the youngling is already a teenager him/herself now, that's still their child, isn't it? Look at all the questions that we are forced to ask when certain fans try and come up with arbitrary definitions, explanations and excuses (or ignore preexisting ones) for what makes a child a child.

As far as I can see, Superman is not delusional nor prone to denialism and isn't known for letting his emotions (or what some believe his emotions are or should be) get the best of him. At least, he's not supposed to be. Some writers in the past have had different ideas on that. In my opinion, they often ruin things for a large amount of us though, seeing as engaging in poor, contradictory behavior will never automatically = a character being more complex. It's more likely that the character will just come across as very petty, selfish, obnoxious or callous, things Superman generally should not be; maybe even should never be.

All that is to say that the need to pretend Kon is anything but Clark's (and Lex's) child in-universe and based on real-life standards, has nothing to do with authentic science or logic and at times doesn't even involve an agreed on continuity. You (the "asker") may already realize this (since you mentioned mental health and coping in your "ask") but many others don't seem to yet. In fact, the exact science isn't what matters, considering how the situation is fictional and therefore mostly pseudoscience anyway.

And even if it wasn't fictional, consider that animal reproduction is technically considered sexual whether two organisms had sex/copulated or not because of the act of the male and female gametes (sex cells) coming together. Based on that, can or can't Kon be considered just another typical mammal (mammal-alien hybrid?) made through a form of sexual reproduction, even if he wasn't made from the combining of male cells and female cells (typically not used in his case) nor (most likely) any sexual cells at all? Does it even make a difference in regards to his parentage? In reality, it actually doesn't and that question is only a pedantic-semantics one. All such questions are.

What actually matters here is the basics. Cells/DNA from these two beings were melded together to make another being. No intercourse was needed or involved. A large amount of people would still consider that as a child being made, with or without the added story context. (Many mythologies have had similar events happen in them, fwiw.) So why shouldn't our honest, selfless and compassionate Superman view it that way? Where is the extensive evidence that this is solely about Clark and his family's feelings anyway, especially in the present day? I'm sure that may be the excuse some writers hide behind, but let's be real here.

Clark, in multiple continuities, has had no problem giving Kon a name (twice, if you count Conner Kent too), encouraging him to have a secret identity like Clark, so he also gets to live his life outside of being a hero, has occasionally been seen spending time with Kon by choice, mentoring him, fighting alongside him, sending Kon to the boy's grandparents for raising in the calm, warm town of Smallville (where Clark himself was raised), enrolling him in school in that same town, literally considering him family...but he won't dare go as far as to call him son??

Now, don't get me wrong. Do I believe Superman knew what was going on just before and during Superboy's artificial development? No. He never knows until after Superboy is already out in the world flying around. Does that make it non-consensual and somewhat or very violative to him? Of course. But besides these adjectives/descriptors and (if you want to count it) the springing of a child from the experiments, the situation actually—again, I say—has little in common with rape.

(POSSIBLY VERY TRIGGERING LANGUAGE FOUND BELOW. If you can, pay special attention to what words I put emphasis on.)

Rape can be and is many awful things. The severity of the act can range from little to no bodily injury but major emotional/psychological harm from awareness of the unwanted/forced sexual contact you were put through, to very extreme bodily and mental harm. It can cause tearing, often-heavy bleeding and infection in any targeted orifice (vagina, anus, mouth and/or throat) that can take months to heal from or that the person never fully recovers from. It can make it painful to move and do certain positions with the body. For specifically the female reproductive system, it can lead to damage that's so horrible that a woman can no longer reproduce and so is left infertile. Or she can be left with a pregnancy that's taken root in her own body that she of course was not planning—since it was forced into her—and one she often won't feel like she can handle birthing. There's also always a chance that she could die during the months before the labor begins, if not during the birth itself.

In the case of one form of medical rape (which again, I don't believe Clark was put through, unless you're talking about a different definition for it), it's rape because the victim gets impregnated by semen that they did not agree to have used on them. So it's rape by deception, if not also due to the disturbingly forceful nature that 'fertility treatment' often comes with.

Can someone tell me what about any of that, purposefully emphasized words and all, is the same as how Kon was created? Am I really supposed to believe that Superboy's surprise creation through indirect means, is equivalent to the above in any way for any person involved? In the early years of the character's creation, it was implied or outright stated that Superboy got his Superman DNA from scientists—I believe CADMUS—stealing Clark's presumed-dead body and taking a bit from it (Kon was originally supposed to replace Clark, but not destroy him). What did they get? Maybe a hair? A skin cell from one of his arms? I'm not sure.

However, this was in the early years and the most violative it ever got. (Actually, I don't recall that version of Superman being all that shaken up over the matter compared to how some seem to think every version has been regarding Kon's creation, even though that one probably had some of the biggest reasons to be; he even reached out to Superboy first, in fact. Only to be rejected by him.) It also wasn't, and is still, not rape. It's overall more comparable to someone stealing his/her ex's or one night stand's condom off their body or from the trash to cause a pregnancy. A horrendous deed—but not rape.

I'm stating all this because your claim is built on a false premise. One that likely comes from an over-reliance on and desire for extreme comparisons/equivalencies. One that appears to be a very common opinion in the fandom, but which is still misguided. It's imperative that we try not use the word rape (or related words) to seriously describe any other different action just because we disapprove of it. It's superbly harmful and frankly, disingenuous.

Are you calling the situation rape because you truly feel that this is what happened or because it's the worst word you could think of to try to make people feel even more horrified than they may already feel about the situation, and to shut down conversation on Clark's strange behavior toward and relationship with, Conner? Is it that you do realize that sexual assault is a severe issue and definitely no laughing matter, so you use mention of it so flippantly to emphasize your point, not realizing that this is only contributing to the problem?

I often wonder if a huge reason for this is because many nowadays are, thankfully, far more knowledgable of the importance of consent, but to the unfortunate extent that they separate it from the actual acts that make sexual assault, well, sexual assault. Again, lack of consent by itself is not what makes something rape. There has to at the least be forced penetration involved, too and arguably blatant sexual intention.

Likewise: Stealing someone's wallet or squeezing all the money out of their bank account without their knowing, is not "financial rape". Beating someone to a pulp and leaving them there injured is not "punching rape". Wiping someone's mind of memories is not, technically, "mind rape" (despite how popular that term is now). Leaving a baby or puppy on someone's doorstep and hoping/expecting that the owner of the home will sacrifice their time to raise them, is not "nurture rape" (or "nurture coercion" for that matter). You know why all the previous is true? Because, again, only rape is rape!

Languages are always changing, adapting, sometimes shrinking but also expanding. We often add definitions to words that may not have been implied before and use metaphors and other figurative speak to make points. However, words have those original definitions for a reason and especially in the case of crime and morality, it is not wise to dilute the meanings of words for your personal opinions/arguments/headcanons. That is not only hurtful but possibly dangerous.

If you feel that this or that version of Clark is right to be weirded out by Conner for being created 'unnaturally' (based on average, modern human POV), just say so. If you feel some version(s) of Clark is right to be disgusted by Conner for being made without his knowledge or ability to stop it (presumed dead or alive), just say so. If you feel modern versions of Clark are in the right to reject Kon solely because of who the human parent typically is, i.e. Lex Luthor (since we all know that connection and Lex's intentions when creating Kon must somewhat play an enormous factor in some people's view of Kon's existence), just say so.

If you, for similar reasons, despise every version of Lex Luthor and believe he's an irredeemable monster (which I find understandable, even though I personally do like the character) and therefore that everything connected to him is tainted too, just say so. If you are so preoccupied with comparing Damian Wayne's (usual/modern/recent/current?) conception origin to Kon's own, to the point of only noticing possible similarities and wanting to claim the situations are exactly the same, despite the obvious differences (and despite how that makes Superman/Clark negatively appear but in comparison to Batman/Bruce this time who accepts his child, regardless of the actual sexual assault that took place to create him), just say so.

If you just have a certain set of characteristics in mind for Superman or think it should be anything goes if it entertains you, as the rule of thumb for Superman writing, then please, just say so. That way people with a different opinion than you will know what worldview they're really arguing with when you debate. You do not need to use a word (rape) with an already established definition that's important enough to be referenced in laws the world over, to emphasize your point. Your argument should be able to stand on its own without doing so.

It wouldn't surprise me if one of the biggest contributors to modern people's current view of Clark and Conner's relationship is due to largely popular, dramatic media like the animated series Young Justice. The show had a take on them that was based on certain older-but-still-modern comic interactions with the more modern look/personality for Kon and it was considered by many to be realistic/relatable in regards to Superman's viscerally perturbed reactions toward and avoidance of Kon. However, some others saw it for what it also was: An excuse to seep out as much angst as possible to make us feel for Kon, but at the expense of Superman's characterization.

Compare their relationship here to the one they had in the DC Animated Movie Universe film, Reign of the Supermen (a sequel to The Death of Superman movie from the same universe; both are based on the 90's Bronze Age comic(s) that I've mentioned already). It was Lex in that movie that was being unquestionably vile toward Kon. As you might expect! And it was Clark who, only after knowing Kon for a short period—probably 20 minutes at most in-movie and a few days in their world—showed the poor mentally-abused child compassion and immediately took him under his bright red cape of hope and, as often happens these days, got help from Kon's grandparents in raising Kon. As you'd definitely expect! Although it wasn't exactly explicitly said in the movie whether he considers Conner his son or not, their relationship there was still handled infinitely better from the jump than was the case with alternate versions of their relationship. The reactions from these two men from different media that are supposed to be the same character, are like night and day! It's almost like they're not the same character (hint, hint)!

There was no unnecessary drama or hypocrisy on Clark's part in ROTSM (remember they'd both be seen as dangerous in the eyes of regular earthlings). Beyond a moment of eyebrow raising, and some possible annoyance or hesitance, Clark seems to grow accustomed to Kon's existence very quickly (after Lois already had, without his realizing!) and starts acting sensibly about it afterward (while still coming across as a warm but stern and outraged father; again, as you'd expect!) which I think was a good thing and arguably just as realistic as the reverse, with the added benefit of not making Clark look douchey, un-empathetic and unreasonably judgmental. We should be way past acts of actual!superdickery in this day and age, imho. Considering the universe he exists in, Clark should be ready to take on whatever is thrown his way, even a hormonal teenage "clone" of himself, no matter if they have a human parent or not, and even if Clark doesn't get along with that parent. Seriously, more writers need to remember that. The DC world is insane and anything could happen; so the characters ought to be mindful of that at all times.

Which leads me to ask: Why should Clark be extremely upset almost every single time Kon pops up anyway? Why does he have to be extremely upset at all? He didn't get a choice to thumb up or thumb down Kon's creation but beyond that, what was forced on him? As I noted earlier, he didn't get forcefully impregnated or even deceived. No one made him let Kon into his life either and Kon is a good kid anyway who wants to be the best superhero he can be and who's typically no worse than cocky. (Though some versions of Superman surprisingly need to be convinced/reminded of Kon's innocence.) Less honest people will try and dance around the elephant in the room, which is that they wouldn't think what was done with Clark's DNA was a big deal if Kon hadn't come from it. "Well, duh!" you might say. Duh indeed, because without Kon's existence, literally no argument can reasonably be made that Kal was harmed in anyway. (Unlike with physical attacks, which are obvious. The harm done to him would then, at most, be emotional/psychological but only if Clark acknowledges on some level what/who Conner is (his son!) but struggles to accept him/rejects him despite/because of it. Superman (and the fans that do the directly-above), should focus their ire on the true wrong-doers, not a victim. I mean really, Conner has only done wrong to Clark and his family/friends once, while brainwashed by somebody else!! (It was Lex Luthor, of course.)

This means that they know Kon is his own person with endless potential, who is vulnerable and always at risk of manipulation, who deserves sympathy regardless of how he was made and who just needs an outstretched hand from someone who cares and wants him to stay on the right path, despite where he came from. Which means they also know what it says about Superman for him to neglect Conner, but just accept it as "a blind spot" as opposed to calling it out as the horrible writing decision that it always is. Kon in the ROTSM movie is the biggest victim in that scenario and it's made clear there. In that movie, Superman didn't turn his back on or avoid Superboy at any point and dived right into a father-son relationship with him. Thank goodness.

I repeat: The parent in the movie that actively created him without the other parent's knowledge, treated him like fresh garbage, like a toy that doubled as a tool/weapon, like an object. The other parent on the other hand refused to do the same and instead did right by him and took him in. Kon's feelings and needs were acknowledged as they deserved to be. Clark was called dad by the boy and he more or less stood in his role that wasn't gonna change whether he wanted it to or not, nor whether he accepted it or not. A parent is a parent the moment they have a kid, even if they choose not to be there for them. Adoption is one way of becoming a parent that I admire (as long as no cruelty was committed for it to happen) and I'm happy for those happy to be adopted. However, mind you, Clark or The Kents raising Kon who is one of Clark's own bio kids, would be regular parenting/grand-parenting; not adoption or fostering.

He also did have a choice btw, when it came to that movie, as he always does and like everyone else has/would. He could have chosen to ignore/avoid Kon and left him to teach himself how to swim, but this is Superman we're talking about here and he, more than anyone, would ideally never behave that way to someone in need (least of all a child/his own child!). Even if other people in his place would unfortunately be unable to (which I understand and can sympathize with). Superboy did appear to be physically younger (if not emotionally) in ROTSM than he was in YJ, but my point still stands for both stories and related.

In fact, if memory serves right, (as briefly referenced earlier) the 90's version of Superman which the TDOSM and ROTSM movies are loosely based on somehow wasn't near as avoidant around or upset by the 90's Kon-El Superboy (Kon sure was annoyed by him though) as the character was in some later writers' stories, despite supposedly being of the same continuity and despite the fact that Superboy became a better person and hero as years passed. Which actually kinda adds to my point about how ridiculous this behavior/flaw from modern versions of Clark is. Funny. It also sort of reeks of higher-up interference to me... Almost like they needed an excuse to keep the two apart; very separated and in their own books with rarely any overlap, before eventually deciding to recurringly erase one of the characters from "canon" and/or their connection/closeness to the other more prominent character...

Which, finally, is what the reasoning for constantly excluding and distancing Kal-El from Kon-El really all comes down to. Seven things actually, which are all often/always connected: 1. Keeping tradition going which often causes 2. Plain old homophobia to win when it comes to writing decisions, but also usually leads to 3. Clois favoritism, both of which are due in part to 4. Fear of trying anything new and 5. Peeving off the fanbases within the fanbase, whose members all have their own version of Superman in mind (think about the YJ vs ROTSM example), which brings about 6. Laziness and simplicity for simplicity's sake and we can't forget 7. That probably more than anything else (and where the other seven stem from) there's the issue of THE FOCUS ON $$$ [profit, with as little effort and change put forward to gain it as possible, or in some cases too much effort used on the wrong thing(s)].

The need to always hold on, in some way, shape or form, to tradition is a tale as old as time and an obvious reason for Kon's constant alienation from Kal and the larger Superfamily.

I mean really, think about it. Although I focus a lot on how Conner is treated by DC and specifically Clark, he's not the only child from his life that Clark's failed to raise or be there for to the best of his ability. It's just the most glaringly obvious with him.

Every reappears-in-"canon" minor (so not imaginary story character) that pops up at Clark's doorstep gets the short end of the stick, often multiple times at different points. In fact, it's happened so many times now that it's becoming a fandom "joke" and is even—for me at least—starting to become an expected outcome on Clark's part. And guess who it began with?

That's right; Kara Zor-El aka Supergirl: Cousin of Kal-El/Superman.

In the earlier Silver Age comics, Superman got up to some very weird or borderline abusive acts that he often involved Supergirl in. From refusing to take her in and keeping others from adopting this innocent teenage orphan, to forcing her to play pretend as his love-interest (likely as a not-so-veiled excuse to kiss her on the lips), to admitting he actually wanted her in that way, but couldn't, solely because of Krypton's cousin marriage laws?? Supergirl admittedly came across at times like she had an unnatural attachment of her own to her cousin but all the same, she was far younger—even underaged by many standards—traumatized and in need of guidance, yet that version of Superman didn't notice or care and even took advantage of this fact.

The tradition has been, for a while, to have Superman treat/neglect the children in his care so horribly that any chance of them having something of a father figure-child type relationship or mentor-student relationship is nullified. In one of the most recent issues of this current run of Action Comics (2016), Superman has once again come across a child, no, two children in fact, and actually took them both in. This isn't the first time he's done that (Lor-Zod/Chris Kent ring a bell?) but knowing how every other attempt at parenting by main universe Clark has ended, I'm hoping and praying that his sweet, impressionable, ill-raised, adopted twins named Otho-Ra and Osul-Ra (girl and boy) aren't destined for tragedy. Or outside involvement that cuts their childhood short. Or somehow still getting rejected in the end after the fact because it's not convenient enough for Superman/Clark and Status Quo. Considering how cluttered the current Action Comics's Super-Family is starting to seem...it wouldn't surprise me one bit if any of these options happened to them in due time.

Now, the homophobia. Do I really need to explain this one? The closest we've ever gotten to a gay/bi main-universe (not alternate) Superman...WASN'T EVEN SUPERMAN. Not really. It was his son who I bet you the editors at DC wanted people to confuse for the other when it came to the news article titles. Perhaps as a sort of "test" to see how much they could get away with doing with the real deal. I don't say this to shade Jon, only to tell is as it appears. Clearly a large amount of the fanbase failed the test. So although we do get to have a bi-Jon now (And possibly a basically-bi-Kon? Bicon?) whether or not some people hate it, the backlash over that Superman's coming out (and maybe even the anger over his secret identity being revealed) is proof enough for DC that Clark literally cannot come out, even if he wants to. Decades of subtext be damned.

Clois is and always will be the favored partner for Superman by writers. There's nothing wrong with that imho. It truly is the quintessential superhero comic romance. The issue is that any deviation from this (even if just for a short amount of time) is often met with outrage from a huge (or just loud) portion of the fanbase, causing writers to have to find a way to backtrack, cutting back on creativity. Now it often seems they're scared to try anything genuinely new and fresh with Superman. Who could blame them? They have previous examples that prove what will happen if they do.

It should also be noted again that keeping characters as separated/distant as possible (in this case, Superfamily characters) allows for DC to have each of those characters to have a series of their own so more comics can be made and sold!!

I understand we all have a version of Superman in our heads that's "the correct one" but that's exactly why arguments about what's "right" or what could "work" for the character often go nowhere. It leads to the quality of stories being affected and the companies putting in less effort into creating, knowing that simple and typical is what's wanted anyway. It's like: Why even bother?

So to reiterate one more time: The #1 concern will always be about making as big a buck as possible through as little a means as necessary. If editors and co believe lack of change is the way to achieve that, then that's what they'll do. Them continuing into the present day to stop just short of acknowledging what Kon actually is to the Superfamily likely has very little to do with the usual excuses, and a whole lot to do with the aforementioned, with everything else leading back to it.

#Superman #Superboy #Lex Luthor #Clark Kent #Kal-El #Conner Kent #Kon-El #DC Comics #Superman Comics #Action Comics #Clex #For the ones who care. #mentioned Superman characters #meta analysis #exposing bias #exposing corporate greed #correcting misconceptions #studying fandom #fandom psychology #100 YEARS LATE POST #loooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooooong post #Hope the length somehow makes up for the lateness haha. #Might add more tags later. #Maybe images too. #No promises. #pseudo-hero's tags

[thetarttfuldickhead]

I felt *so* bad for Jamie in that locker room scene. Like, it’s established that he’s the one with the most Total Football knowledge, because he trained under the guy who learned from the inventor, and everyone was yelling at *him* for not scoring goals.

It didn’t occur to anyone to say “Hey Jamie, you learned from Pep, any ideas for us?”. And he thought he would get in trouble if he spoke up 🥺

(I’ve been thinking about this all week and it still makes no sense)

Hello there!

Totally see where you’re coming from here: it’s certainly hard not to feel for Jamie when he’s doing his best to sort out the clusterfuck on the pitch only to get scolded for it.

For what it’s worth, though, I don’t think there’s any malice or slight intended from the other players. While the message about Jamie being the natural heir to total football might have been clearly communicated to us television audiences, I’m not so sure it was equally unequivocal to our boys in the locker room. Who knows what Coach Beard, bless his cunning and weird little heart, intends or doesn’t intend, but the bit about Jamie-coached-by-Pep was immediately overshadows by Jamie-the-beautiful-dum-dum, so I’m inclined to cut my himbos some slack for failing to consider that our boy of the godkissed right foot might have some privilieged knowledge. Besides, between Beard’s presentation and the game there are several days of Roy Kent’s School of Senseless String Sadism, so is there any wonder they’re a little fuzzy on most everything?

Also, I can’t help but think that it’s kind of a good thing that they other players feel comfortable standing up to Jamie when they feel that it’s warranted? In a way, their whole problem here is that they to some extent treat him like Zava’s successor – ie expect him to do all the work – but there’s also an important difference: for all their expectations, they still see him as part of the team and one of them, rather than some semi-deified soccer* superstar. That’s hugely important, I feel, for a team who once tended to bow down the the careless tyranny of Jamie Tartt in his prick era – and hugely important for Jamie too, who has worked so hard to go from one man show to teamplayer.

But yes: while Colin and Bumber was offering reasonable opinions in a reasonable way, given their understanding of the situation, Isaac was out of line. That’s in keeping with what we’ve seen of his character so far, though: he is given to outbursts. I’d like to think that after the match (and after Ted’s given one no. 9 his due in the post-game speech), Isaac offers some small apology. Nothing elaborate, just a clap on the shoulder and sorry I yelled at you, bruv, great playing out there and that’s that. Tempers run high on adrenaline, and I think Jamie gets that. Professional footballer and all.

I have argued that Jamie is concerned about the team turning on him if they perceive him as slipping back into bad habits and I stand by that – but I don’t really think it’s a crippling fear of Jamie’s. It’s a concern; he check the waters; he is brave; it works out and his confidence in his bond with the team and their faith in him is strenghtened. Admittedly, given Amsterdam and The Strings that Bind Us, I am getting slightly concerned that Jamie is so busy making sure he holds himself accountable that he forgets to others should hold themselves accountable to him too. We’ll have to wait and see how that develops before making any final calls on his state of mind in this scene, I think. (Ah, the dangers of metaing a text that’s still unfolding!)

Does any of this make sense to you at all? I fully get that this might not be the answer that you’re looking for; it’s intended to offer an alternative and slightly happier reading of the scene, but I fully respect that it might utterly fail to convince you. Sorry abou that, in that case, and thank you for the ask, anyhow: I had fun thinking about this!

Oh, and glorious username, btw. Fully support that.

*Obviously football is the proper and correct term but never let it be said I won’t engage in American terminology for the sake of alliteration.

#jamie tartt #3x07 #asks #eh might change my mind and all of this tomorrow #fluid readings baby #i'm all about that #my stuff

[cryingalexanders]

thoughts about pre-crisis Lex Luthor

now that I've read all of earth-one/pre-crisis lex's main canon appearances, I thought I'd list some things I noticed or found interesting.

It was consistent that pre-crisis Lex didn't care about money. Some stories went as far as to emphasise he could've been rich if he'd wanted to but he would actively scorn it!

By the time we get to the early 80s he's living a comfortable lifestyle, and had his own secret island base. But he still frets when Superman smashes millions of dollars worth of equipment

In the silver age he would buy abandoned places to use as bases under false names and keep them at the ready, presumably using money from bank robberies. They were usually on-theme too like museums, observatories, etc. I definitely think this is an element that should come back

The way he dresses. the coloured pants! his little ascots! they were such a thing for pre-crisis Lex

He also has this escape-artist thing going on, where he "enjoys the challenge" and there's a scene which hints at him being bored at having been out of prison for a while

I don't really mind this change and I think either way makes sense, but before Cary Bates and Marv Wolfman brought in elements influenced by the 78 movie in the early 80s... there was no indication that Lex ever mistreated his goons/lackeys. he would at least pay lip service to their wellbeing. it was his interactions with other villains that were much more hostile and laden with betrayal. (as well as cellmates when he had them)

Cary Bates had a great take on Lex, don’t get me wrong, he wrote some of his best pre-crisis stories, but he seemed to be taking a lot of cues from Donner/Hackman Lex going into the 80s, and I feel that kind of synergy lessened what was special about the comic counterpart.

There were writers, especially in the late silver age/early bronze age, who wrote Lex as more cold and overtly misanthropic. That's what I see in Waid's take on him. So it is drawing on the silver age, it's just specific stories rather than the general trends. e.g. Action Comics #363-365 is a very Waid-esque version of pre-crisis Lex.

Silver age Brainiac was actually pretty loyal to Lex and wouldn't leave him behind (Lex wasn't the same way back unfortunately). there was definitely subterfuge but they had a weirdly sweet relationship. it's sure different from modern stuff where they're always 2 seconds away from murdering each other whenever they interact (hell even the bronze age was like that because Brainiac became a darker character)

there's this one Superboy comic where it's established that Jonathan Kent and Lex hate each other because Jonathan denied him parole as a member of the reform school board. most of the time Jonathan seemed more indifferent to him though

on the other hand, silver age Martha felt sorry for Lex (and lowkey wanted to adopt him), even when he was trying to kill her son (if you don't know, pre-crisis Lex started trying to kill Superboy when they were teenagers in Smallville, but regardless of that goal he was generally considered a more lighthearted "menace")

I know that technically he had an older sister who was Nastalthia's mother but the actual flashbacks to his childhood treated him as the oldest sibling and it just being him and Lena, and that's the dynamic I prefer.

Lex as an uncle though. he’s so cute with Val (well, for the most part. it was complicated). his relationship with Nasty was bland though.

His relationship with Lena and by extension, Supergirl, was so interesting. Lex was usually so chill whenever he showed up in Supergirl, the way they had an understanding that he could be counted on to protect Lena, and I wish he and Kara would’ve interacted more during those times he had truces with Superman, considering she saw his protective/selfless side before Superman did.

#lex luthor

[byghostface]

Look I dunno what this Daminika shipping drama is all about. (I followed you because I like your Rayllum art).

but it's not a cool thing to do to share stuff calling Jon Kent/ Damian Wayne ship "pedophilic yaoi". sounds homophobic.

We should only call the actual crime of pedophilia that and not use the word like a petty insult. Also all this rage gave me the impression that Jon/Damian was like a super twisted ship or something but I googled it and they are 17 and 13 y.o. which would be weird irl yes but that's still literally not pedophilia. they are both teens and people draw them looking the same age in fan art anyway.

If you are not in the dc fandom then maybe don't speak on something you think you know.

But it's not a cool thing to do to share stuff calling Jon Kent/ Damian Wayne ship "pedophilic yaoi". sounds homophobic.

Damian and Jon always have 3 years age gap, even before dc age up Jon, they are like 13 and 10, And after age up(Jon is stuck in space had lived through years and is back on earth) they are now 14 and 17. In most of the fan art, you see people who draw them looking the same age pre-age up, because Damian is really short at 13. And people started to ship them when Jon is 10 year old child. You don't date a child when you're a teen, or date a 14 year old teen and being a college student, that is weird.

In the current comic Jon Kent has a boyfriend-Jay Nakamura(Gossamer) whom he met in college and still happily dating.( then there are racist thing ppl would said about Jay on twitter just bc he is a Japanese character and the other shipper use that to attack him too bc they doesn't like Jayjon as a ship )

-[Action Comics v1 1059 (2024)]-Artist: Marguerite Sauvage-

As an asexual, I mostly headcanon Nika and Damian as nonbinary and asexual. And a lot of the ppl who like Daminika see them as trans for trans too.

You said you followed me for my rayllum art. So you don’t know what the characters I’m talking about, have been drawing about in dc fandom. In my previous vent post is referring to the weird age gap ship, and the maturity of different ages and mentalities when characters are being ship together. And that ship's shippers + incest proshippers are being misogyny towards Nika relentlessly. It's not about against mlm ship, or being homophobic like you claimed.

Maybe you are young and see the fanart and can't think clearly what the issue is. That I can understand, because a few years ago(when I was young and dumb!! and didn't/unable to use my brain to think clearly!!!) I used to think the weird age gap was nothing but now I'm looking back and regret the weird ship I used to ship and draw (Toph and Sokka), I don't ship them anymore + Suki x Sokka superior!!

I have deleted some of Toph and Sokka art and the remaining ones have changed titles and tags to platonic sense. I didn't delete them all because they are still part of my (dumb and reckless!!!) art journey and the things that I'm now getting over and will not ever draw as a ship again.

Which would be weird irl yes but that's still literally not pedophilia.

You admit that would be weird irl and yet tired to dismiss me when I express my uncomfortableness and wanting those ppl to leave the characters(Nika & Respawn) I care about alone. If you are the type of proshipper that says fictional doesn't affect reality… then stop talking to me + invalid opinions‼️ (don't affect reality?? Of course it is! You are a person in reality who argues with me about fiction and conception/representation that affect all of us)

Like I said in my vent post, I never want to interact with them and I don't go into their page or cross ship tags and comments on things or anything related to their ships before. And this is the first time I have spoken up and tried to defend Nika here on Tumblr. Because I'm the only one constantly making contents about her and love her as a character and the only person here on Tumblr who wants to talk about/express my love for her through my art for nearly three years.

And I can't speak up when they want to tools Nika and Respawn for their own ships and set them up as toxic made up characters in their head?!? And I should let that kind of blunt lies disguise as "playful! fun even!!" fanon and let it slip and damage Nika and Respawn's character!?!?? And let that MISOGYNY energy towards Nika fly into fanfic further misconception both of their character and personalities?!??? Similar things that had happened to Talia being constantly demonized through racism and misogyny by fanon?!?!?? A reappear theme by shipper/yaoi incest proshipper tools her as a bad Asian mom to make a sad and twisted background for Damian to need to be protected by the characters they ship him with?!??

Not all of the shippers/fic writers do this but still, I'm meant by the misconception fanons that spin out of control… then SOMETIMES THE ACTUAL COMICS WRITES(different ones/weird ones) WOULD MAKE IT CANON AND DAMAGE THE CHARACTERS‼️IT HAS HAPPENED BEFORE‼️‼️

I know the shippers and the fandom will always be there because of the internet. And I can't control it, so I set up boundaries now by speaking up and defend my favorite characters while I still can.

You can comment under this post if you still disagree with me(unless you're a proshipper then stop interacting with me‼️), and don't hide behind anonymity before you understand what I'm talking about and don't twist my words for your own comfort.

(Again, sorry if you are not in the dc fandom and catching strays of my discomfort and anger. But I love Nika too much so I had to speak in my page)

#flatline #nika #flatline dc #nika dc #respawn #respawn dc #robin 2021 #dc comics #sorry about another one vent post #sorry for not being a happy person and not posting art #how dare I speak right? #how dare I express my discomfort and set boundaries #about my favorite characters #and female characters #ask #vent post

[awhitehead17]

Perfectly Imperfect

TimKon, Sports AU, Skater Boi Tim, Hockey Player Kon, Injuries, Hurt, Comfort, Soft Boyfriends, Established Relationship.

Summary: The whole situation is ridiculous. If getting a tooth knocked out this early in their relationship is the start, then Tim has no idea what is instore for his future as he continues to date a professional hockey player. Undoubtedly it’ll include a lot of TLC, it’s a good thing he’s willing to provide that particular service for his boyfriend then isn’t it.

A/N: This is for my 'Tooth Knocked Out' square on my Bad Things Happen Bingo Card. This is also a sort of sequel to Hey Gorgeous. You don't need to read that to understand this!

Enjoy! :D

Tim wasn’t there when it happened. Which is probably for the best however that doesn’t mean finding out over a phone call hours later is any better.

His phone rings as he’s taking a breather. He’s currently at practice, surrounded by his team and coaches, working on new routines and new tricks in preparation for the next competition. Going to answer the call Tim frowns at the caller and ID and worry hits him like a truck. This person only ever calls if it’s bad.

“What’s happened?�� Tim demands immediately. He walks away from his coach with his skateboard in his free hand and stands to the side for the idea of privacy.

A nervous laugh sounds through the speaker and Tim grits his teeth. “Hey Tim, how’s it going dude?”

He isn’t amused. “Sparks, you better tell me right now what’s happened or else-” he doesn’t get to finish his threat as Sparks wisely interrupts him.

“Okay! Okay, so don’t panic.” Tim sighs, nothing good ever follows those words. “He’s fine – well as fine as can be, but on the most part he’s okay.”

“That tells me fuck all Sparks. What’s happened to Kon?”

There's a pause and Tim blinks when a scuffling noise comes over the speaker followed by a new voice. “Tim, I swear he’s fine, although he may have lost a tooth. There was a lot blood. But he’s genuinely fine.”

Tim’s brain short circuits. He didn’t hear that right did he? Did Pads just tell him his boyfriend has lost a tooth during the game that night?

“Come again?” He speaks into the phone.

“Yeah Kent’s lost a tooth and has a wicked bruise all along his jaw but he’s awake and conscious, we’re on our way to his apartment now. Are you there?”

Tim has to take a moment to breathe. Then he takes another to stop himself from freaking out. His heart is going wild in his chest and he can only imagine what Kon has gone through and what he currently looks like.

“Tim?”

Shaking his head Tim puts his attention back on the phone his hand. “Yeah, I’ll head there now. I’m at practice so I’m not far.”

“Alright see you soon then.”

The call disconnects and Tim just stares at it. Of all of the things….

He knew what he was getting into when he started dating Kon. Injuries and other mishaps were just part of the sport Kon plays, hell even his own sport comes with similar risks, however he was not prepared enough for what really could happen to his boyfriend when playing hockey.

This is on a completely different level. Kon’s lost a tooth. Oh, now he’s mourning Kon’s perfect teeth, he should have guessed it wasn't going to be a thing that’ll last. He does appreciate the heads up though, while Sparks failed terribly at telling him what happened at least Pads took over and actually told him what occurred.

Realising he needs to get moving he pockets his phone, collects his stuff and has a quick word with his coach before making his way to Kon’s apartment. It’s several blocks away but on the skateboard Tim reaches it in no time.

Using his own key, Tim rushes into the apartment and finds his boyfriend and teammates already there. Kon is settled on the couch with his head tilted back and an ice pack resting on his face. Sparks and Pads are sat on the couch and the arm chair next to him and Tim finds a third team member, Totzy, preparing something in the kitchen.

Tim ignores them and goes straight to Kon’s side. “Oh Kon… what’s happened now huh?” Tim runs a gentle hand through his hair as he takes in the damage. His boyfriend blinks at him, he clearly goes to smile and before he could he’s instantly grimacing and staring at Tim with a defeated look.

Slowly Tim peels off the ice pack to get a look at the damage and immediately hisses upon seeing the black and blue across the lower half of his face, his jawline is swollen which makes him lose any of the usual sharpness he has there. There’s dry blood dotted over his skin from where it hasn’t been cleaned off and there’s even fresh blood on Kon’s lips. Thankfully the rest of his face seems to be okay, even with the dazed faraway look Kon is currently supporting. Tim turns over the ice pack and lays it across Kon’s jaw once again.

He sighs and sits back, reaching for Kon’s hand and runs a thumb across his knuckles. Turning to Kon’s teammates Tim raises an eyebrow at them. “What’s the damage? How long will he be out for? What can I do to help him recover?”

While Tim is used to dealing with bruises or even broken bones, and on occasion concussions, a knocked out tooth and swollen jaw is unknown territory.

Pads, a man in his late twenties with short dark hair and stubble, rolls his eyes at Tim’s barrage of questions. “Tim. Relax. Kent will be out for about two weeks, three at most. The swelling needs to go down and he needs to be able to move his jaw without pain before he plays competitively again, there’s nothing broken so it shouldn’t take too long. He’s dazed now because of the shock. A liquid diet is highly advised until he can move his jaw without flinching any time he opens his mouth. Like any other time, make sure he takes his meds, ice and treat the injury.”

Tim narrows his eyes at the man. He gets this is probably common for the guy to deal with and he's probably chill about the situation now Kon has been confirmed okay by their medical staff, but his indifference of the situation doesn’t stop Tim from worrying.

Not helping his nerves is Sparks on the other side of the couch. The other man who is the same age as him snorts and looks at them with amusement.

“Kent will be fine, as Pads said, although unfortunately for you it does mean no blow jobs in the near future.”

Tim sends him a dry look and Kon makes a noise of protest. Before Tim could come up with a retort Totzy comes strolling into the living room carrying a water bottle in his hands. He places the bottle down on the coffee table in front of the couch and follows it up by removing the lid and puts a large straw inside of it.

“Bon appetite,” he says before moving to sit on the arm of the love seat. “Relax Tim, our boy here is made of strong stuff. He’ll bounce back in no time.”

Tim eyes the man before glancing at the bottle on the table. “None of you are helping,” he mutters forlornly.

He picks up the bottle and examines the contents, a sweet and sharp smell hits him and recognises it as one of Kon’s strawberry smoothies. He turns to his boyfriend and finds Kon glaring at him, and without saying anything Tim knows what he’s thinking. Rolling his eyes he places the smoothie back on the table and stops himself from huffing, undoubtably Kon wants to wait for his teammates to disappear before trying to drink anything. Heaven forbid he gets help with something so basic in front of the other men. Tim gets it, but this isn’t the time to have that particular discussion.

After that it wasn't long until the men leave Kon's apartment with their wishes for his speedy recovery. It was only then Kon allowed Tim to help him with the drink, not that he needed much help as it’s only his jaw causing the pain and not anywhere else thankfully.

Later on when Tim entered the kitchen for the first time since arriving in the apartment he blinks in surprise at what had been left on the island. He picks it up and examines it closely before pulling a face in disgust and goes back to the living room to confront Kon with it.

He holds up the little see through bag and shakes it. “Seriously? How the fuck did you loose a tooth? Don’t you wear a mouth guard to avoid this exact thing from happening?”

In the bag was a single, white, and bloody tooth. Kon’s tooth. The one which should be in his mouth but isn’t. It would be funny if it wasn't concerning.

On the couch Kon raises his eyebrows in the fashion of ‘are you done?’ before reaching over and grabbing the notepad they found so Kon can write on it as it currently hurts to speak.

‘It broke before the game.’ Kon wrote looking unimpressed.

Tim’s still perplexed. “How?”

‘Dropped it, then accidently stood on it. Thought one game without it would be okay – clearly not. Fucking typical.’

Tim sighs and runs a hand over his face. “Of all the things Kon.” He looks at the bag still in his hand and shakes his head. “Right well, you’re a rich hockey, you can afford a replacement – if you want one – so once your mouth is healed we’re getting you to a dentist asap.”

Kon shrugs at his demands and Tim can’t tell whether he agrees with what he’s saying or doesn’t care either way. Tim glares at him, he’s not letting Kon ruin his perfect smile because of this! He’ll probably look fine with a tooth gap, there’s never a time when Kon doesn't look attractive, but his perfect smile is one of the things that drew Tim from the beginning. Of course if Kon isn’t really bothered about it he’s not going to force him to have a new tooth but Tim can be pretty persuasive when he puts his mind to it.

A moment later Kon blinks at him and writes something down on the pad when he turns it for Tim to read, Tim's heart skips a beat.

‘Love you, thank you for caring.’

Tim sighs, feeling both exasperated and like he’s about to combust from the overwhelming feeling of emotions he just got struck by. While it’s not the first time they’ve shared those words, they don’t  mean anything less now than what they did the first time. Tim moves to the couch and cups Kon’s cheeks gently in order to not hurt him and presses a tender kiss to his forehead before leaning forward and pressing their foreheads together.

“I love you too. And all the questionable injuries you receive.”

Kon huffs and pulls away from him in order to write something down. Tim reads his words once he’s finished and snickers.

‘Are you forgetting how we met? I’m not the only one who gets questionable injuries.’

Tim couldn’t really argue against that. He’s just as injury prone as Kon. After all, they met in hospital when Tim had been there due to a concussion he gave himself when trying a new trick on his skateboard, Kon had been there because his brother had broken his arm.

“Touché.” Tim laughs. He sits down next to Kon and leans his head on his boyfriends shoulder and grasps his hand in his. “Fancy watching something? We have a couple hours before you can take your meds, we can watch a film, shower then go to bed?”

Kon nods and Tim gets up to get the TV remote before resuming his place next to Kon. He grabs the blanket from the back of the couch and together they snuggle up and get comfortable. Tim even lets Kon choose the film they watch because he feels marginally bad for what’s happened to his boyfriend.

======

It takes nearly two weeks for the injury to fully heal. Kon is talking normally and able to eat solid foods without an issue and regarding hockey, he’ll be cleared to play on the roster at the weekend. As soon as Tim found this out, he immediately took Kon to go and get a new mouth guard made for him, the tooth replacement is currently being made, but Tim isn’t letting his boyfriend play a game of hockey without some form of protection in his mouth.

“You’re being over dramatic, I hope you know that.” Kon huffs as they leave the appointment for the guard. It’ll be ready for the next day, one day before Kon’s first game back.

“Maybe, maybe not. I don’t care.”

Kon comes up beside him and throws an arm over his shoulder, tugging him in close. Tim rolls with it he always likes having Kon close, even when he’s being dismissive about his own health.

“Kon you complained for an hour the other day about having food stuck in the gap between your teeth, having a new guard will stop any other teeth from falling out and having a new tooth will close said gap.”

Kon chooses to not respond to that and together in silence they reach the car and begin the journey back to Kon’s apartment. Tim couldn’t help but laugh to himself at the ridiculousness of the situation, this is just the start, god knows what else he’ll have to deal with in the future when it comes to Kon and his injuries while playing professional hockey. Then again Tim could easily give Kon a run for his money in the injury department, it looks like they’ll just have to look after each other when it’s necessary.

#timkon #tim drake #conner kent #sports au #fluff #established relationship #hurt #comfort #skater boi tim #hockey player Kon #injuries #tooth knocked out #bad things happen bingo #fanfiction #dc comics #young justice #soft boyfriends

[protags-fic-blog]

hi!! omg I love how you write for the amnesia boys, fan content is so scarce. I was wondering if you had any hcs on what each of their “ideal type” or “ideal s/o” would be? aside from mc

this is such a brain rot topic for me, and I’m so happy I’ve got a request!! i've got a bit of second/third person switching but we are rolling with it bc I’m too sick to think hard about it

———

Amnesia Memories - Ideal S/O

Shin

such a sucker for childhood friends. chance raises by a lot if you're friends already

definitely likes people who don't judge, especially because of what happened with his dad and such

could go for either sensitive or rebellious people

enjoys being able to protect you every so often, but also wants someone who can hold their ground

probably in to ride or die type people, but he doesn't want them to change their entire philosophy based on what he wants

Toma

level headed people are people he naturally gravitates to because of his irrational side

loves being a protector, even for the smallest things. it's not that he would want someone weak, just that he wants someone who understands that he wants to keep you safe

likes people who take academics decently serious, or someone who likes to learn

the person he loves is his best friend. you guys do everything together, even if it's not an official date.

Kent

he's a little dogmatic, so he would probably like pragmatic people like ikki who see the world in a lens different than him.

he thinks book smarts are very cool but street smarts ultimately win him over (think taking the shortest route on a map vs taking all the hidden side roads to avoid traffic)

likes independent people. he can take care of himself, but when someone he likes can take care of themselves *well*, that makes a big difference

for him, opposites attract is actually true!! probably had a big mental crisis because it is shown that similarities are part of the basis of attraction, and you respond that the world works in mysterious ways

Ikki

'my hot witch wife' 'me doing whatever she wants'

loves people who set him straight. he wants someone who isn't a doormat

all of the guys love people who don't change to get them to like them, but ikki in particular loves it. he's not against change, but after seeing so many women change entire personalities to date him, he thinks that being stalwart and having a concrete identity is so hot of you

probably likes introverts too. to me, ikki seems like an introvert, so someone who enjoys a night in would be really nice. (i can explain more if y'all don't see ikki as an introvert)

Ukyo

loves quiet people. not people who don't speak, or can't speak their mind, but people who can enjoy silence

probably is drawn to other artists (writers, sketchers, painters, sculptors, etc) or people who can appreciate beauty

already a very worldly person, so he wants someone with similar life experience. doesn't mean they need to be world travelers, but people who have experienced and enjoyed other cultures, or someone who won't shy away from trying new things

if you're a fan of his and aren't shy about talking about his photography, he's head over heels. especially if you know what you're talking about

#amnesia memories #protag-writes #toma amnesia #ikki amnesia #shin amnesia #ukyo amnesia #kent amnesia #headcanons #ask

[vitaliskravtsov]

For Spotify wrapped - #88 and nurseydex or patater! :)

okay ngl this is a bit of a toughie bc this one is instrumental but i did my best!!!!!!!

88) the thrombey estate - knives out soundtrack

patater!!

Alexei is kind of absolutely bone-tired from the drive and he’s even more tired from camp, and more than anything, he wants to just pass out on his sofa. 

Unfortunately, it’s like 3pm and any passing out will just mean that he’ll wake up at about 2am, starving and unable to go back to sleep, so he has to tough it out.

That’s what he uses to explain why he’s seeing another person in his house, his brand-new house (okay, it’s an apartment), and doesn’t question it. 

The realtor had told him the house had history in the community, whatever that meant, but the plumbing was good and there was no water damage, so he’d taken it without interrogating that statement too deeply.

Now, though, he’s staring down a five-foot-seven blonde kid who looks like he’s straight out of an eighties sports mag.

“Mmh,” he grunts, and throws his stuff at the floor. 

The boy stares at him.

“That’ll dent,” he says, vowels lilting just a little. Weird accent.

“Mmh,” Alexei says again.

“Eat,” the boy says, and then stalks off.

Eventually, Alexei does get up and get a protein shake going. He pours it over a bowl of pasta, immediately regrets the decision, and eats the whole thing anyway.

He’s not as concerned as he should be, but by the time he goes to bed, the boy is gone, so it’s probably fine.

Over the next couple of weeks, he keeps appearing in Alexei’s house, staring at Alexei’s Russian books or petting Alexei’s sticks or leaving little notes about the decor (or the dishes, or the cooking situation, which is maybe a little more abysmal than it should be after two and a half years on his own).

He’s pretty, in an ethereal, incomprehensible, untouchable way.

He’s kind of horribly, awfully, exactly, Alexei’s type.

As the season progresses, he starts leaving hockey-related notes, but also commentary on Alexei’s music selection and on Alexei’s nutrition -- notably different from the cooking-based notes in that these have to do with macronutrients and vitamins and some things Alexei’s not entirely sure how to pronounce, at least in English -- and Alexei discovers that the boy likes Ziggy Stardust and Metallica and Aretha Franklin and Queen, and he stars putting that on more when he knows they’re both around the house.

The hockey notes are good, too, if focused on kind of old-school stuff, but Alexei doesn’t mind; he’s always down to try new stuff in his play, and he does start producing more, so. It’s a win in his book.

He learns, eventually, that the boy is called Kent and that he’s from the hellhole of a city that Alexei cannot begin to imagine why anyone would choose to live in if they weren’t here for hockey.

He starts watching movies with Alexei, too, and in that, their tastes are more similar. Kent is kind of game for anything, including Disney movies, and Alexei’s desire for Russian subtitles or dubs at the end of a long day is very on board with that.

It’s -- it’s nice, to cohabitate with someone who never generates any dishes (or if he does, meticulously puts them away totally clean) and never makes a mess, and who seems to instinctively understand when Alexei needs to be alone.

It’s really fucking nice.

Alexei blames that on the wire-crossing that happens one night when he gets home from a game and sees Kent on the couch, sprawled out all warm and inviting, and his brain, the little part of his brain that still misses the piece of shit who dumped him when he realised Alexei would never be a millionaire, says kiss your boyfriend, and Alexei does, no hesitation.

Or, well, he tries to, because his lips go straight through Kent’s forehead and he lands face first in the arm of the couch, confused and hurt, lips and nose smarting.

When he lifts his head, Kent is gone.

#patater #kent parson #alexei mashkov #*mine #ask #ask answered #stardew-allie #omgcp #ghostfic kinda