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Second Son
Free Spirit
"Should I not have a friend?
I'm not bound by
the rules of society.
Please do not tell mother."
Personal Text
Nobleman
Rank
Aspiring Artist
Occupation
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euphoria
Offline
Tag me @benedict
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Post by Benedict Bridgerton on Apr 12, 2021 2:28:17 GMT
I'm not bound by Benedict knew he had started the sarcastic comment about him not realizing the feeling was mutual . . . but the moment she said she must be doing something wrong, he knew he couldn't agree; even in jest. His smile still remained, as did the escape of another sound of amusement. Even in teasing and sarcasm, he never wanted her to think that she had done anything wrong. "Never," he told her genuinely. "I do not think it is possible for you do any of this wrong," he continued to tell her, silent praise in his voice, lips soon silenced when she pulled him into a kiss. He immediately responded, closing his eyes and breathing into the deep embrace, continuing to quench his never ending thirst for her. When she eased out of it, she told him she was flattered and well, she deserved to be flattered at the very least. He wanted to flatter her especially where it was so easily earned and warranted. He chuckled when she stated it was nice to hear that she was able to distract him.
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"You do it so effortlessly," he told her between kisses. Her mere presence was distraction enough; it had after all, pulled him from the artist's room on the night of his first party. And despite her telling him to go home, he had been far too inclined to keep her company. How wonderful that had all turned out to be. "I doubt you even have to try," he told her teasingly, implying his thought words which were that she merely had to stand there, and he would gladly come to her. Hearing her name fueled each touch, positioning himself a little more on top of her as she granted further access to her neck, to which he took advantage of. Caressing the soft skin with his lips and teeth, soothing it with his tongue in between. He moved where she directed him, kissing her before she spoke against his lips, telling her to inspire him. Benedict moved to close the distance between them again, kissing her more deeply and feeling his body start to come alive once more.
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How was it, that she always seemed to stir desire and passion within him? His hand moved along her thigh, moaning into the kiss, her words belatedly processing in his mind, lips curling into a smile as he kissed her. Then, in one swift movement, he flipped them so that he was the one lying on his back and she was on top of him, his arms wrapped around her, and his lips never leaving hers during the shift. He eventually redirected the touch of his lips to her cheek, towards her ear, pressing his mouth against it, practically breathing the next words. "Then inspire me," he encouraged, a challenge in his words as one hand slid up her back, fingers weaving into her hair and as always, enjoying the feel of her soft ringlets as his lips gently nipped at ear earlobe.
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the rules of society.
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Second Son
Free Spirit
"Should I not have a friend?
I'm not bound by
the rules of society.
Please do not tell mother."
Personal Text
Nobleman
Rank
Aspiring Artist
Occupation
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euphoria
Offline
Tag me @benedict
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|
Post by Benedict Bridgerton on Apr 12, 2021 1:56:11 GMT
I'm not bound by Benedict finally did as he said he would -- twice -- and sent for help. He did not want to leave Genevieve in the house alone, but he waited downstairs . . . needing to regain himself before he went back up there. And with any luck, by the time that happened, he would not be alone. Benedict took the time to quickly clean things up downstairs, not out of necessity but more to busy himself and distract his mind. He dumped the now coloured water from the bowl into a bucket, and tossed the stained cloth that he had used to clean her. He left the contents of the bowl where he had dumped them.
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Time passed incredibly slowly it would seem, though Benedict lost track of it entirely at the same time. Fortunately, a knock at the door could not have come sooner, and he hurried towards it, opening it to reveal the very man that he had sent for. "Thank you for coming." At this late hour and with haste. The unspoken but hopefully understood words. Benedict stepped to the side so Lewis could enter, closing the door behind him. He knew Lewis was good in his role, but more so, he felt as if he could trust him to be discreet. Benedict did not wish to waste any time but also needed to give Lewis quick insight into what happened. "My friend--" The word now seemed so odd to say when before, it had come with ease -- even if they did things that seemed to exceed the label of friends.
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"She um . . . " Benedict's gaze dropped a little, looking past Lewis as his mind went to her circumstance. Haunting images of what the others had done to her to create such markings upon her body and cause her such pain. Trying to regain himself, for the sake of time, he met Lewis' gaze. "She is a victim of a mugging." That was all he could bring himself to say, unable to gather the strength to describe her injuries. Lewis would see it for himself. Benedict's voice quiet, his demeanor more somber than any previous meeting he had with Lewis. So with that brief description, Benedict continued to say "Please, follow me," before leading Lewis upstairs to where Genevieve was.
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the rules of society.
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Second Son
Free Spirit
"Should I not have a friend?
I'm not bound by
the rules of society.
Please do not tell mother."
Personal Text
Nobleman
Rank
Aspiring Artist
Occupation
|
euphoria
Offline
Tag me @benedict
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Post by Benedict Bridgerton on Apr 12, 2021 0:29:50 GMT
Benedict's Headcanons These are just some headcanons I have for Benedict based on the book [An Offer From A Gentleman] and of course from the show! If anything happens in the show to conflict with these headcanons, I will edit them! I will also keep adding on to this list!
- Benedict is the tallest Bridgerton, putting him at 6"2!
- Benedict's favourite colour is blue!
[/font][li] Benedict has a country home called My Cottage which is taken care of by Mr and Mrs. Crabtree![/li]
[li] Benedict hates being called Number Two![/li]
[li] Benedict has a rock collection; each rock was picked at a special time and symbolizes something important/sentimental! I.e. one rock he picked up on a hike, the day after his father died![/li]
[li] Benedict very rarely cries and even when he does, it is usually in private![/li]
[li] Benedict is often encouraged to dance with Wallflowers at balls and various events, due to his mother's encouragement for him to do so![/li] [li] Benedict has moments of incredibly strong intuition where he feels as if something is about to happen -- good or bad! This happened in very few moments of his life, one of which was when he felt his father die, despite having gone horse riding with his brother![/li] [/ul][/blockquote] |
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Second Son
Free Spirit
"Should I not have a friend?
I'm not bound by
the rules of society.
Please do not tell mother."
Personal Text
Nobleman
Rank
Aspiring Artist
Occupation
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euphoria
Offline
Tag me @benedict
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Post by Benedict Bridgerton on Apr 11, 2021 17:59:58 GMT
I'm not bound by He smiled at that, hearing her speak of how she too was enjoying their, mutual exploration. "Really?" He asked with clearly feigned surprise. "I would not have thought the enjoyment to be mutual." His words were teasingly sarcastic, unable to resist as his lips broke into a wide smile, a slight chuckle to add to the humor of even doubting that it was mutual. She spoke of how Lucy had invited her after buying a few dresses. Ah yes. It made perfect sense. With Genevieve as a modiste -- the most reputable one -- she most certainly had several connections to notable families in the ton and beyond. At least, with the women.
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"Then it seems she detected your taste for things other than dresses," he said a bit flirtatiously. For his mind would not soon forget the first night he arrived at the party between not only him and Genevieve, but Lucy too. Since then however, he found himself rather pleased that . . . despite whomever Genevieve was with prior to his attendance at these events, she was with him when he was there. And he felt rather, flattered and pleased by that. Though now knowing that their, relations had extended beyond that setting. Something that only further fueled that flattery and pleasure. When she then apologized for distracting him, Benedict couldn't help but smirk a little, torn between playing into the 'inconvenience' she had posed -- which was not true at all of course, and of telling her honestly how much this had helped him. His uptight nature when it came to his art had been a hindrance.
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Drink had not even fully helped ease him and loosen him up. No. It wasn't until he had found the comfort of her, that he was able to truly let go of himself. That his Bridgerton status meant little and that he could just . . . release all that tension and stifling façade. He gave a sound of contemplation, as if thinking over what he could tell her she could do to make it up to him. "Yes. You have proved to be quite a distraction," he told her with playful accusation. "And yet at the same time, have inspired me to become better." More teasing words, though only partially. The truthful ones that she inspired him; the not so certain ones that he was any better as an artist.
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He turned his body a little, propping his elbow with his hand on his head so he could properly look at her and he was not lying on his back. His eyes lingered over her, a playful gleam in them as his smile remained. "Perhaps I will allow you the means to be creative, in how you see fit to compensate for your . . . distracting nature," he told her, words full of jest as he leaned forward, placing a few kisses down the front of her neck, continuing to speak between each one, his tongue tasting her when he was silent. "So long as you continue to inspire me." And she did. Perhaps more than she knew. And he doubted, that she could do anything to change that.
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the rules of society.
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Second Son
Free Spirit
"Should I not have a friend?
I'm not bound by
the rules of society.
Please do not tell mother."
Personal Text
Nobleman
Rank
Aspiring Artist
Occupation
|
euphoria
Offline
Tag me @benedict
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|
Post by Benedict Bridgerton on Apr 11, 2021 17:30:18 GMT
I'm not bound by Benedict hated that she felt she had to thank him and yet . . . knew it was necessary. There needed to be some sort of formality between them, even though it certainly did not feel like it. Yet, as he had previously acknowledged . . . in all that they shared, it was impossible for it to suddenly disappear in an instant. It was why there had needed to be distance between them. But now, seeing her here with him . . . it was getting increasingly difficult to remember that he was not allowed to touch her. And if the thought hadn't been a struggle enough then, she slid off the bed and . . . proceeded to remove her dress. Benedict was unsure how he thought she was going to get changed. Would he have offered her assistance? Should he have just left the room? An odd thing, for she could reveal nothing that he had not seen -- nor touched -- before and yet, he knew he'd lost the right to look at her.
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He turned his head to the side, trying to keep his breathing steady and his heart from racing. The gentlemanly thing to do would be to leave; to grant her her privacy. Yet, he stayed, in case she needed help. In case there was anything he could do to assist her. She had not asked him to leave, so he also took that as a sign that she did not mind him staying while she dressed in fresh clothing. But, he would not betray that by watching her longingly or worse, emotionally. Though, whether it was temptation or curiosity that prompted him . . . he lacked the strength to slightly avert her eyes to glance at her, and what he saw was enough to keep his gaze in place. The bruising on her skin. He felt that familiar ache intensify, that returning anger coursing through him. Having to fight the urge to hunt down whoever did this and make them pay. Once the skin was covered with the fabric of his shirt, he turned his gaze to the side again, his head never having shifted from his turned position, while his body remained facing her and her back, to him.
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Once she was properly dressed, she turned to face him once more . . . his eyes belatedly meeting hers as if he silently wanted her to know that he was not looking. That he was not taking advantage of her in her current state. Even if he had in fact, peeked. But it did nothing to help, seeing her dressed in his shirt, standing before him in this state. He could have been standing nude in front of her, and he still would not feel as vulnerable nor exposed as he did now. He longed for nothing more than to touch her. But not in a way that would lead to more, physical relations. No. He wanted to soothe her, and comfort her. He wanted to ease the clenching of her fists, by moving his hands from her shoulders, down her arms to ease that strain. He wanted to gently pull her towards him and carefully wrap his arms around her to hold her. He wanted to whisper in her ear that he was so sorry this had happened to her and for all the pain she was enduring.
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But . . . he could do nothing. He could not betray her decision nor trust in coming here. No matter how much it pained him -- physically, emotionally, mentally -- pained him to stand so idly and do nothing. Offer nothing. Other than a damn shirt. "I um--" He knew he had to say something. It would only take a step and a half to close the distance between them. He slightly clenched his jaw, biting back any words from escaping him that would compromise them further. At the end, he just repeated himself. "I will send for the physician." He must have sounded rather foolish, having already said that exact same thing yet made no action to do so. This time, he had to add action to it. And not the kind that would draw him closer to her.
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So instead, he bent down, and picked up her dress and chemise, setting it on the back of his chair. The gesture all too familiar for it had often prompted a tease of when they undressed each other, and the playful care they put into their attire as it was divested from their bodies. He paused at the chair, trying not to let such thoughts linger as he went to the door, and once more paused at the threshold. He turned his head to somewhat look at her, though could not fully turn his body. He was weakening and there was only so much self control that any man could exercise in such a situation.
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"I shall return momentarily," he told her, before fully walking out of the room, and immediately going down the stairs. He had to pause once at the bottom, really only having even made it down that far so that she would hear him descend. But he leaned against the wall, as if trying to catch his breath, or perhaps allowing him to breathe. He didn't know. He just needed a moment to regain his composure, to let his emotions settle though it seemed impossible. And once they did, sent word to a physician that he knew he could trust to take care of his Genevieve.
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the rules of society.
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Second Son
Free Spirit
"Should I not have a friend?
I'm not bound by
the rules of society.
Please do not tell mother."
Personal Text
Nobleman
Rank
Aspiring Artist
Occupation
|
euphoria
Offline
Tag me @benedict
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|
Post by Benedict Bridgerton on Apr 11, 2021 16:50:04 GMT
I'm not bound by 5. With A Stab Wound
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Benedict was returning home late from a party. Shockingly it was not one of Henry's parties, but rather, another friend's. One where he still had to maintain the image of a nobleman; of a Bridgerton. It made him miss the more . . . informal ones, where he need not concern himself with maintaining appearances but rather, could just relax. Let loose. Paint. Converse. And leave all the societal pressures at the door. Having been in attendance of such events made him far too aware of how . . . stifling these sort could be. At least they were not as bad as the extravagant balls and the like. Besides, even Benedict had to admit to himself, it was nice to catch up with friends.
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The hour was late as he was walking home; fortunately the host's home was not far from Benedict's family estate. However, the distance became unexpectedly longer when the sound of quick footsteps could be heard behind him. And, there was more than one pair. Benedict attempted to ignore it but it was not long until one of those figures, hastened their pace so that they now stood directly in front of the second son, blocking him. Benedict looked at him and glanced around him, realizing there were a few men who now surrounded him. About five. But once he fully turned his body, his curiosity was somewhat satisfied. He could not help but cast a smug look, ignoring the heavy pounding in his heart. Cavender. Benedict's words matched his outward expression of smugness, making a remark about whether he thought he now increased the odds, though it would do no good. A reference to their last conversation.
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Of course Benedict was no fool and hoped to avoid this entire circumstance keeping it void of violence . . . but he would not give Cavender the satisfaction of feeling powerful. He remarked something along the lines of how Benedict had taken something from him, now standing directly in front of Benedict, their bodies far too close to each other. A clear invasion of personal space and a position of tension and perhaps animosity. Benedict of course replied in kind . . . that she was never his. The last time he had seen the man, he was a vile man attempting to assault a maid. But now . . . things had changed. Now, Benedict saw him as a villainous monster who had dared lay a hand on Sophie. His Sophie. And while the Bridgerton son knew he had no claim to her, his feelings and love for her were far too strong to think otherwise. It made this intense anger surge through him, a rage that he had not known at the time. And one now that made him want to truly make Cavender pay for his crimes. Despite, Cavender having been the one at the time to threaten Bridgerton.
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Perhaps it was Bridgerton's smugness, his apparent lack of fear, the anger in his eyes, the confident stance, the elevated moral high ground, or the continued few words . . . he would never know. But it had been something, enough for the other male to swiftly pull out a dagger, and lodge it into Benedict's stomach. The unexpected action caused Benedict to let out a small choked sound at the sharp, painful impact of the blade, locking eyes with the assailant. Cavender's rage had clearly clouded his thought, for once the seemingly long seconds passed between them, the man's expression slowly changed from the boiling anger . . . to widened eyes and fearful realization. He withdrew the blade, causing Benedict to stagger back a few steps, refusing to give the man the satisfaction of falling helplessly to the ground. Everything seemed to stand still in this moment, and the voices in the background sounded far more distant than they actually were. What have you done?! We must get help! We will be hung for this! In the end of the quick deliberation, the men had all fled, leaving Benedict.
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He stretched out his arm, using whatever outer wall he could reach to keep him on his feet, his upper body hunched over as he could now see the colour of his vest darkening from the blood seeping through. Closing his eyes for a brief moment, he took a slow breath, and focused only on moving one foot in front of the other. He was almost home. Surely, he could get home. It felt as if he was moving underwater but soon enough, he had arrived at the safety of his house. It was late, so it came as no surprise that everyone was asleep. Even their butler. Benedict pushed the doors open, letting them close behind him and staggering inside. He looked around, needing a place to sit and properly assess the wound. Surely, it would not kill him. But the pain and blood loss was making him feel light headed.
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He glanced at the door of the drawing room, deciding against it. Irrational thought and an odd focus on the fact that his mother would be angry if he stained the sofa with blood, and if the rug had drops of it from his trail. It would be difficult if not impossible to remove. Why, Benedict thought of such things, he was unsure. He would blame his light headed state indeed. But it was enough to leave him where he was, in the main hall, as he leaned against the wall and allowed his body to slowly slide down until he was sitting on the floor. His legs stretched out in front of him, seated in an upright position with his back against the wall. His arms were limp by his side and he knew that he should start removing his coat and taking off his vest to see how deep the wound was. Or, to at least stop the bleeding.
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Perhaps it was indeed the blood loss from his movements here, but he felt slightly delirious. And in this moment, all he wanted was Sophie. Her presence a constant comfort, granting him instant serenity. Even if they were just in the same room . . . it was enough. Well, perhaps not really but he knew that it was as much as he could get these days. He moaned her name, as if mentally willing her to come. He should not want her to see him like this, especially after she had seen him so vulnerable when he was sick. And still, he selfishly wanted her comfort. So until he could gather the strength to stand up, get proper help, or . . . do anything productive to help his situation, his mind and heart just longed to see the woman that he loved.
Tag ali Note: . . . Ben is always getting injured in these memes HAHAH! Random Number Generators are not his friend SO, I do apologize for this rather dramatic post!!
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the rules of society.
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Second Son
Free Spirit
"Should I not have a friend?
I'm not bound by
the rules of society.
Please do not tell mother."
Personal Text
Nobleman
Rank
Aspiring Artist
Occupation
|
euphoria
Offline
Tag me @benedict
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|
Post by Benedict Bridgerton on Apr 10, 2021 15:40:08 GMT
Benedict Bridgerton's Achievements Post Count Achievements Thread Achievements Posting Achievements Muse Activity Achievements Member Achievements |
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Second Son
Free Spirit
"Should I not have a friend?
I'm not bound by
the rules of society.
Please do not tell mother."
Personal Text
Nobleman
Rank
Aspiring Artist
Occupation
|
euphoria
Offline
Tag me @benedict
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|
Post by Benedict Bridgerton on Apr 10, 2021 2:32:45 GMT
I'm not bound by Today was a very special day for the Bridgerton family. For today . . . was Eloise's wedding day. Benedict truly had not known when this day would come and now that it had arrived . . . well, he wasn't sure he was ready to see his sister off to her new life. He would miss her terribly; her especially. To come to their family estate with Sophie now and not see Eloise among the crowd . . . it would be a lacking presence, very deeply felt. But alas, this was the inevitable fate of the Bridgertons. The main thing was that she was happy. That was what mattered above all else.
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With her company still missing, Benedict offered to go get her. All had assumed she was nervous, for it was a common thing -- especially for a woman -- to feel anxious on her wedding day. But Benedict, was the one who wished to speak to her. Perhaps one might think that a sister or mother would be better suited, but Benedict knew that he and Eloise were quite similar in that they desired something more from these expectations. So yes. He understood her, and how she was feeling -- to a certain extent of course.
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Making his way to her room, he pushed open the door to see her pacing, before she quickly came towards him, at which point he closed the door behind him. Yes. He could see it so clearly on her faces. In her body language. He knew his sister well enough to recognize the anxiousness. She went on to say that neither of them could have guessed that this was happening and, that much was also true . . . after the long journey -- and several rejections -- the day was finally here. Benedict knew that this very second, perhaps nothing he could say would help. So instead, he took Eloise's arms and led her to the other side of the room where there was a large window which was open and a small couch next to it. Benedict's hand on her arm pulled her down onto the couch as he sat next to her, turned so that he was facing her properly.
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Looking at the door to make sure no one was coming, he reached into his pocket for a smoke, and match to light it. Fortunately, he also had mints and they could easily ensure she was well perfumed before leaving this room. Not to mention the open window to get rid of any smoke or it lingering upon her dress. He lit the smoke, waving the match to put out the fire. "Do not stain your fingers," he told her, holding one end to her mouth so that she could put it between her lips to inhale.
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He had learned from witnessing her -- and joining her -- that this was something that could perhaps calm her down. And well, the frequency in which they were able to do it had already gone down drastically since Benedict got married. Now with Eloise getting married . . . he feared the chances of these stolen moments between them would decrease even more. "I kept some, in the event that you may require it this morning." Before she walked down the aisle to marry her intended.
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the rules of society.
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Second Son
Free Spirit
"Should I not have a friend?
I'm not bound by
the rules of society.
Please do not tell mother."
Personal Text
Nobleman
Rank
Aspiring Artist
Occupation
|
euphoria
Offline
Tag me @benedict
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|
Post by Benedict Bridgerton on Apr 10, 2021 0:52:30 GMT
I'm not bound by The intensity was beginning to wane from the air however, the pain was still there. For despite all that was said, any attempt that was made . . . Henry would still be leaving, and the two of them would still be ending their relationship. As Henry corrected himself, Benedict still could not agree to such a thing. To simply write it off and devalue something that he cherished so dearly. Henry assured him that he never doubted how he felt . . . how they both felt about each other. The words he was saying causing Benedict's heart to swell with bittersweet emotions. Sweet because it was truly such beautiful words but the sting of them felt . . . because of the nature of this very conversation. The subject that had caused them to be said.
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Benedict knew that these were the words he wished to remember from Henry, not the ones that had caused such pain in his heart. "You do," Benedict told him, firmly believing that Henry still had strength. "For I derived my own from you." The confidence to embrace his desires and feelings despite how society deemed it as. He told him that they were compromised and perhaps that was true, but Benedict also knew there was more to this, more that he needed to get out in the open should -- as he feared -- this be the last conversation they had about such a matter. "I am not asking you to trust my brother," Benedict began to tell him.
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"I am asking you to trust me. And have faith in me that I would not let anything happen to you." Benedict would have made sure of that. "I . . . " He paused for a moment, taking a slow breath before continuing. "I would not have been able to keep this from my family forever." His family was far too close. And the love they all had, gave him the confidence to believe that he would not have had to keep it from them. "This is not how I wished for any of them to find out . . . but they would have eventually." And the words were not meant to cause alarm, but rather, an inevitable fate. "And I knew I had to be prepared for that. I had been prepared for that since the moment we made our commitment to one another." He never would have breathed a word without discussing it with Henry first . . . but he knew that his family was already suspicious of his actions, passing it off as him having a mistress. They would have found out, eventually.
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Hearing Henry call himself a coward brought back the pain for he did not wish him to speak so low of himself. "You are no coward," he told him, his voice confident in this matter. Henry spoke of not wanting to leave him, and yet it sounded that the mind was made up. Both he and Anthony had made this decision without Benedict's involvement and the irony of it, was that they seemed to have made it with Benedict in mind. Considering what was 'best' for him.
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"I fear I cannot change your mind on what you have decided." Trying to keep his voice steady, but the emotions that all this brought forth were indeed strong. Ones of sadness, and pain primarily. "But you should not give up on your own happiness. With or without me. That is no way to live Henry." Perhaps it was Benedict who'd failed in this entire relationship . . . perhaps Henry would find someone better suited for him. The younger male did not know. He just wished Henry would not close himself off at the idea of finding happiness. He did not want Henry to simply . . . give up.
Tag bunny Note: Better layout coming soon!
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the rules of society.
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Second Son
Free Spirit
"Should I not have a friend?
I'm not bound by
the rules of society.
Please do not tell mother."
Personal Text
Nobleman
Rank
Aspiring Artist
Occupation
|
euphoria
Offline
Tag me @benedict
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|
Post by Benedict Bridgerton on Apr 10, 2021 0:32:35 GMT
I'm not bound by Benedict's smile grew, would that be possible, upon the man having recognized him by name and now, clearly by face. "There is no need for apology," he reassured the older male. "I would find myself concerned if I looked to exactly the same as I had the last you saw me." Benedict had obviously been much younger then and obviously shorter as Hippolyte accurately pointed out.
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"You on the other hand, look as I remember." The words meant as a compliment, that age indeed suited the man. Colin's words prompted Benedict to turn towards the man, now realizing the surprise on his face so of course Benedict knew it only polite to explain how they knew each other.
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"He is a dear friend of my family's," Benedict began to explain. "One that I hold many fond memories with from my younger years." Most of of them had of course, included Edmund. The hikes they all went on, horseback riding, outdoor adventures . . . yes. Those were truly wonderful childhood memories that Benedict would always hold on to dearly.
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the rules of society.
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Second Son
Free Spirit
"Should I not have a friend?
I'm not bound by
the rules of society.
Please do not tell mother."
Personal Text
Nobleman
Rank
Aspiring Artist
Occupation
|
euphoria
Offline
Tag me @benedict
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|
Post by Benedict Bridgerton on Apr 10, 2021 0:21:43 GMT
I'm not bound by Benedict felt the instant comfort of Henry's hand upon his shoulder, as if to reassure him but the feeling was fleeting as the accomplished artist moved his hand away and started eyeing Benedict's work. If only the Bridgerton son had something he produced that he was actually proud of. Despite Henry's success as an artist, he never harshly judged or criticized Benedict's work. It left him feeling both . . . nervous and keen at the same time, to hear what he thought when analyzing his sketches and offering feedback.
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He listened to him as if hanging on every single word; taking all of it to heart, concentration upon his features when Henry explained the areas that needed work. That Benedict's own dissatisfaction was with truth . . . but Henry did not criticize him as much as he criticized himself. Perhaps the younger male knew he deserved much harsher words, but selfishly, he was relieved that Henry was gentle in his approach. Very gentle indeed. It was incredible really, how the man was able to fix such a lingering problem with a simple, effortless stroke . . . having been able to quickly assess both the problem and solution. The mark of a great artist indeed. "Incredible how you do that," Benedict praised, allowing his thoughts to come to voice. For, Henry was indeed deserving of such praise.
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"Thank you for your notes," Benedict told him with the utmost sincerity, his voice evident that he had taken them to heart. Taken them rather seriously. "It allows me to understand which areas are in dire need of improvement, if not the entire thing," he said with a bit of a smile. A joke at his own expense. He was about to continue when Henry then offered him something that caused Benedict to pause in surprise, locking eyes with him. He was offering him to officially become his apprentice. To learn under the tutelage as someone as talented as Henry Granville was truly an honor -- which only constantly reminded Benedict of his humilation when critiquing the man's work.
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"You would do that for me?" Benedict paused, realizing how the words may have sounded and how . . . in awe he was of them. Of the entire idea of being able to learn from Henry and have more sessions. "I mean . . . " He paused, knowing he couldn't exactly fix the words he said for they were not untrue and the tone was not something he could now fix. "It would be an incredible honor Granville, truly. To learn under you." He paused again. "As your apprentice." Benedict was unsure why he was suddenly rambling. "I am truyl grateful that you would take the time to teach me." His lips curved into a smile, one that held the excitement that he felt over working with Henry and the learning opportunities that would come with it.
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the rules of society.
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Second Son
Free Spirit
"Should I not have a friend?
I'm not bound by
the rules of society.
Please do not tell mother."
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Nobleman
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Aspiring Artist
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Post by Benedict Bridgerton on Apr 9, 2021 2:08:44 GMT
I'm not bound by Lewis now spoke of dissection which . . . Benedict should have presumed as a natural transition from flayed corpses. But it was indeed still, somehow, an unexpected subject to bring up. Never the less, Benedict smiled, the unexpectedness of it not reflected outwardly and instead, he continued to listen attentively to the surgeon. "And do you have a lot of working relationships with artists? From what you say, it does sound like they would indeed benefit from what you offer."
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Benedict not even thinking of the possibility to explore that. He did not even consider himself as such, an artist. He was merely curious to know if there were others that also held this, understanding of the connection that Lewis was explaining. "I must admit, I am not familiar in detail with these laws." He had never thought to . . . determine what was and was not acceptable in the ways of dissection.
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the rules of society.
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Second Son
Free Spirit
"Should I not have a friend?
I'm not bound by
the rules of society.
Please do not tell mother."
Personal Text
Nobleman
Rank
Aspiring Artist
Occupation
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euphoria
Offline
Tag me @benedict
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Post by Benedict Bridgerton on Apr 9, 2021 1:57:44 GMT
I'm not bound by He truly adored the sound of her laughter, a pride in being the one to draw the reaction continuing to be felt any time she expressed her amusement. He met it with equal amusement in his expression as she spoke of her hope that the physical would continue to be involved. "Undoubtedly," he assured her. "But those likes are ones I enjoy exploring through, non verbal means," he said with a tone of suggestiveness in his voice. He liked learning her body. Learning what she enjoyed, where she liked to be touched, where she liked to be kissed. Strongly aware of her reactions, voluntarily and involuntarily, whenever he was able to explore her and make love to her.
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Taking it all in so that he could continue to pleasure her; though the intimacy now went beyond mere touch. But rather, through words. He closed his eyes when she leaned in for a kiss, soaking in the feeling, the softness of her lips. Her words lingering . . . and just as he enjoyed her laughter, he quite enjoyed hearing her use words of her native language. It was after all, a part of her too. When she eased out of the kiss, he slowly opened his eyes, glad for the close proximity between them and took advantage of it by placing a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth.
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Her question deterring him from kissing her too much, but with the way her fingers moved across his jaw, the sigh she released, Benedict could not resist placing another kiss on her chin. "I met Henry Granville," he answered, as if that would be reason enough, and perhaps it was. But he knew there was a need to elaborate . . . just as she had given him answer to his questions.
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"He extended an invitation to me, initially as a place to practice my sketches." Considering she may have seen him at the parties in the artist room, he knew it was no secret. "That night of the party, I went merely to draw. Instead, I found pleasure beyond my expectation." Her.
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Well, technically her and Lucy but considering his company with only one of them remained consistent and frequent . . . it was clear that Genevieve was the one he was referring to. He brushed his lips against her jaw in a lingering, drawn out kiss as he continued to speak. "What brought you to such events?" He asked, returning the question, and realizing he did not know much about what brought her to them nor how long she had been attending them for.
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the rules of society.
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Second Son
Free Spirit
"Should I not have a friend?
I'm not bound by
the rules of society.
Please do not tell mother."
Personal Text
Nobleman
Rank
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euphoria
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Tag me @benedict
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Post by Benedict Bridgerton on Apr 9, 2021 1:44:05 GMT
I'm not bound by Benedict could feel his heart ache, the loss of her in his life not even remotely healed and yet . . . here she was. Here they were. In moments that could have been so different. In a situation that could have been so different. Where he could hold her, and let himself express the pain and fear over what had happened to her. Where he could kiss her to let her know that she was safe, and cared for. There was so much he wished he could do in this moment . . . yet, he could do nothing. Suppressing his emotions was not a strong suit of Benedict's; withholding himself from how he felt was a struggle. And now, he felt it as a weight hold him down.
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But he had to remind himself that the most important thing, above all else . . . was her. She came here out of trust, knowing that he would not betray that nor her decision. And he would not. He could never. But that made it no easier to bare as he just looked at her, as her fingers touched his skin and as he longed for nothing more than to kiss her softly. "None at all," he assured her when she said if it was not too much trouble, her words breaking him out of this trance. Which, was certainly for the best. When she began to move, Benedict quickly rose to his feet in preparation to support her, his hand instinctively going around her so that she could lean into him. The pain she felt was agonizing to him, once again wishing he could rid her of it all. Wishing he could do more for her.
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She spoke of needing assistance to go upstairs and . . . once again, Benedict had to think for a moment, knowing that what he wished to do had been so effortless before. So casual. So, easy. Yet now, there was an entirely different tone to it. But still. "If you would permit me to . . . " He began to say, and with that, gently scooped her in his arms and lifted her up. His words though presumed, also allowed her the chance to reject this action . . . and he would immediately put her down. So he bore that in mind as he carried her, moving up the stairs carefully and hoping that he was not putting her in a painful position. He tried not to look at her as he carried her, trying to avert his gaze to anywhere else, using the logic of looking forward so that he could be mindful of his steps . . . when it really was just an excuse.
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As he had previously decided, he knew the most comfortable bed in his house was his own. As he stepped through the threshold of his room, felt relief that the bed had remained made and untouched, considering he had dozed off in his chair. Slightly pushing the crumpled papers in his path with his feet, he made to to his bed, carefully setting her down on it. He knew that this should feel odd, but it did not. Even in their current situation where their relationship had been severed . . . it still remained. There was still that comfort that he knew just didn't go away all of a sudden. He moved to his closet, searching through his clothing until he found a suitable shirt that he hoped would be comfortable for her to change into whenever she was ready. He set it on the side table, setting his gaze back on her. He reached for the pitcher of water, pouring it into a glass and offering it to her. "I will send for the physician," he told her, and yet . . . did not want to leave her alone for a moment.
Tag lennie3 Note: Better layout coming soon!
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the rules of society.
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Second Son
Free Spirit
"Should I not have a friend?
I'm not bound by
the rules of society.
Please do not tell mother."
Personal Text
Nobleman
Rank
Aspiring Artist
Occupation
|
euphoria
Offline
Tag me @benedict
|
|
Post by Benedict Bridgerton on Apr 9, 2021 1:26:24 GMT
I'm not bound by Benedict presumed this conversation would take a rather . . . devastating turn. Perhaps he should have just left instead of kissing Henry. But then, such things would not have been known. And would this be their last conversation . . . then Benedict would like all to be said, and not suppress anything . . . no matter how difficult it was to hear. Benedict reached for his own shirt, pulling it over him as he suddenly felt exposed and vulnerable.
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Henry's words processing in his mind, the hurt the younger male felt in his heart only intensifying with each passing remark that fell from the man's lips. He remained silent, not interrupting the other so that he could say all he needed to, the emotion strong and a mix of . . . well, perhaps everything that Benedict was feeling too. Though there was a tone of anger there, a tone of pain.
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Benedict could not speak for his brother, but he knew him and knew that surely, he would not let Henry suffer such a fate should something be exposed. That Benedict would do all that he could to also protect the man. But . . . was that what this was really about? Benedict clenched his jaw, hearing that his brother had called them dishonorable. It came as no surprise for there was a reason Benedict had withheld this from Anthony and his family in general.
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They would not understand. And he wanted to wait for the right time where perhaps, they would. But his state of silence seemed impossible when Henry told him that true happiness always ends in heartbreak . . . and that he was new to this. That he did not understand. That he did not comprehend the realities of this life. "You truly think me so naïve and oblivious," he both questioned and, stated. He assumed it before but hearing him say it . . . hurt all the more.
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"I am not a fool," he told him. Benedict knew that he was surely many things, but he was not ignorant of the risks involved. "I risked myself as well. I . . . accepted myself to be this way, to embrace these . . . feelings, knowing the dangers that it entailed." Because of Henry. Because of Henry, Benedict had learned more about his identity than he ever thought possible. "Knowing that I could not lie to myself about how I feel. Unashamed and willing to sacrifice it all, to be with you." Accepting himself, accepting what he knew deviated from social norms. He did it . . . because he had fallen for Henry. "This ends in heartbreak because you are giving up." Benedict paused, fighting back the sting of tears in his eyes. Just as Alfred had once given up on Henry; the unspoken words but perhaps ones understood.
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"For I would not have. I would have stayed true to you, and fought for us every moment of every day, because I knew, it was worth it. Because the love felt was stronger than any fear." He knew that perhaps he could not convince Henry otherwise, that he would not be able to change his mind . . . but Benedict needed to express his position. Needed Henry to know that it was not so easy for him, to simply walk away because his brother found out. "When did it stop being enough for you?" When did love stop being enough? When did he stop being enough? Both a rhetorical question, and yet one that begged an answer. Henry had felt the pain of heartbreak when his former lover left him . . . but this time, Benedict wished him to know that he would not have done such a thing.
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As if Benedict had not thought it possibly to be any more hurt . . . Henry continued, saying that he could pass this off as a one time jaunt. Benedict knew that these were the words that caused a tear to fall from his eyes, not even bothering to hide the hurt from his expression. "Is that . . . what you think this is to me?" A dalliance? Some societal rebellion?
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"Do you doubt my feelings so much that you believe this was simply just a dalliance?" Benedict had embraced a part of him that gave him a sense of belonging and understanding in himself. A preference for men, as well as women. And now Henry doubted that. Doubted his path that he helped guide him on. "That what I learned of myself and of love was simply . . . a one time jaunt?" No. These feelings, this understanding did not just go away. Benedict could not look at Henry in this moment, his gaze falling to the significant space between them.
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"I am sorry for many things," he told him, trying to keep his voice steady. "For the pain you feel. The tiredness. The belief that your happiness is always doomed." Of course it hurt him to see Henry hurt. He never wished for the other male to be pained in any way. But it seemed to be an inevitable result of their current circumstance, where both were indeed hurt so much.
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"And I am sorry . . . " He began to say, unsure how he found the strength to meet Henry's gaze. "That I did not make you believe in my love for you well enough." It seemed to be a failure on Benedict's part. That he had failed so miserably in convincing Henry how much he truly loved him if he thought that Benedict embraced this relationship without knowing the risks. And if he thought he could just stow it away as a one one jaunt.
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Another tear fell from his eyes, as he quietly sniffed, trying to regain some compsure though it seemed impossible. "You can run from society. Run from the ton. Run from me." The thought of it heartbreaking but alas, it was clear Henry's mind was made up. "But you cannot run from yourself." What would he do now? Deprive himself of any happiness? Of any joys? No. The risks that involved what made him happy was a part of who he was . . . as was the case with Benedict. And, it could not be changed, no matter how easily Henry believed it could be for Benedict to do so.
Tag bunny Note: Better layout coming soon!
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the rules of society.
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