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#I sincerely hope the writers do the right thing

shunnedmorlock · 1 day

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Hi! What are your opinions on each of the greens ?

Have a good day/night!

Otto: I think he gets a bad rap, not in absolute terms but relatively to the people like Viserys and Daemon. If you hate Otto for pushing Alicent to marry Viserys, you should hate Viserys much, much more. Otto is "merely" complicit in what happened. There was no one Vissy could've said no to more effectively than Otto. It just goes to a double standard you see a lot with these farcical black-green debates where people change their opinions on whether it's ok to judge people by in-universe standards depending on what "team" they're a part of. He has a habit of telling unfortunate truths that get him in trouble, but most of the things he says are just, like, objectively true, but people don't want to hear it. Daemon is actually a danger to the realm and his brother, Rhaenyra does actually have to give the scions of great houses a hearing, Daemon did actually groom Rhaenyra to claim the throne, Alicent's children do pose an inherent threat to Rhaenyra by their mere existence.

From a Doylist perspective, like many other things, I think episode 9 really butchered Otto's character. All of a sudden the guy who has been working hand in hand with his daughter for the past few episodes didn't tell her about the plot to seat her son on the throne??? And now the guy who got fired by Aegon for being too slow and measured in his war planning is pushing to kill Rhaenyra immediately? And he wants to send the Kingsguard to do clandestine assassin work? And he's reluctant to ban child fighting pits for like no reason? I'm sorry, you don't have to be a feminist to not like that!

Alicent: I have talked about her at length. Nixonian Queen. I kneel. The war will make her worse, and I enjoy it. One of the characters I think on-balance the show improved.

Criston: Not a good guy by any means, but dismissing him as just a resentful incel is just boring. It's very clear he was, at best, conflicted about his tryst with Rhaenyra to begin with - he liked her, they had a lot of chemistry, but he does genuinely believe in his vows. The marriage thing is obviously silly and naive, but from his perspective it's him trying to do right by her (and also preserve himself and his soul), which puts him a step above many other Westerosi men who canonically often feel no obligations to the women they sleep with outside of marriage or the children created. There is a real difference in values between him and Rhaenyra that goes beyond him hating women, even if his values aren't strictly speaking good. I'm sorry, but the fact that a Westerosi man is as sexually repressed as an average Westerosi woman is genuinely a point in his favor! I sincerely hope he and Alicent make each other worse. Substantially improved by the show.

Aegon: This is going to be controversial, but baffling/over-the-top/ill-thought-out decisions like Dyana and the child fighting pits aside, I much prefer this version of Aegon to F&B. I don't care that he's kind of pathetic, that's fun, that's drama, that gives room for character development and growth into the king he ends up becoming. It's clear the writers do want Aegon to be kind of sympathetic, but it seems they didn't consider what stuff like Dyana would do to that, which to me indicates they meant the focus of that scene to be Alicent and her behavior, not Aegon. Which is stupid. One of the worse victims of inconsistent characterization, switching between vaguely sympathetic drunken frat bro to outright sex criminal every episode, or even in the same episode.

Helaena: I like what they've done with her. It's more interesting for her to be a doomed neurodivergent prophetess than just a little dumb, even though she hasn't done a ton so far. Similarly, in an RP I was a part of, Jaehaera was depicted as not simple, just autistic and it was much more interesting.

Aemond: BORING! Don't care about this guy, sorry. Maybe I'll like him more when he is pathetically down-bad for Alys Rivers, but right now he's just like budget Daemon to me, who I also find boring. He was more interesting as a bullied teen.

Larys: He's a tough guy to adapt because his motivations are kind of nonsensical behind a vague idea of getting back at Rhaenyra (?) for dishonoring his brother (??) by putting his children in line for the throne (???). The foot thing is kind of gross and I do wish they'd have given him an actual motivation but whatever. The actor's good and I do like him and Alicent on balance. Improved by the adaptation.

Tyland: We love our little bureaucrat don't we folks? Hope he gets more screen time later on.

Jasper Wylde: FUCK YOU SHOWRUNNERS WHY IS THE GUY WHO HAS HAD ONE LINE THIS ENTIRE SEASON PART OF THE COUP BUT NOT ALICENT FUCKING HIGHTOWER??????

#hotd #asoiaf #alicent hightower #otto hightower #aegon ii targaryen

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luveline · 6 months

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Hello! I just want to start off by saying you're an absolutely amazing writer! I've been reading your blog for two years now, I believe, or something very close to it, and I still find myself awestruck by your talent when I check your blog, which is pretty much daily!

If you're up for the prompt and if you're not too swamped with requests, could I ask for a blurb with bombshell reader x Spencer? Maybe reader makes him something really sincere and handmade? Maybe a baked good or a knitted sweater? No special occasion needed, just because he deserves it 😋

Thank you for sharing your works with us! Be well and remember to take breaks! Love you Jade!!

Thank you my love, that is so kind! Love you♡

You feel sleek walking into the office that morning. Fitted clothes steamed and pressed, hair freshly upkept at the salon the previous weekend, nails manicured, smile primly painted, you look perfect.

But that's not what you're excited about.

Spencer lounges cross-legged at his desk, a book in his lap, surprisingly broad shoulders hunched as he reads at a more natural pace than usual. His desk is cluttered in organised chaos, books lining the partition that separate his desk from Derek's and Emily's, strange knickknacks scattered. There's a bunch of bright squishy things from Penelope, an upside down umbrella statue lined with hair elastics, and, cutest of all, his two photo frames. One of him holding baby Henry, and one of you. You and him, of course, but mostly you in the frame, closer, smiling like you love him as you angle the camera back in a well meaning and misaligned self portrait.

You do love him. He hasn't caught on yet, is all.

"Spencer," you greet, hoping he won't jump. He flinches minutely and lifts his head to yours, closing the book against his hand. "Sorry, I was trying to make it so you didn't jump."

"My fault." He rubs his eyes. "Just been reading this book for so long it's messing with me."

The book, of which he's told you about in detail, is about a documentary, which is in turn about a bunch of dark, ever-changing rooms, hallways and tunnels from within a house. The line between what's fiction within fiction blurs, and it's actually pretty scary if he's to be believed. "I've never seen you take so long reading one book, even if it is eight hundred pages," you say teasingly, letting the handle of your handbag slip down your shoulder.

"The point is suspense," he says, eyes following your fingers where they dive into your bag. "Which needs time to build. What are they?"

"These are for you, handsome."

"You already gave me a present," he says quizzically.

His birthday was a few days ago, and he's right. "These aren't for your birthday, Spence."

He cracks the lid off of the tupperware on side at a time like he's scared he'll ruin the sweet treats within. You've made him fresh baked shortbread biscuits dipped in dark-chocolate and topped with sparse coconut shavings.

"What are these?" he asks.

You both know that he knows they're cookies, so you answer the unasked question instead. "I wanted to make them for you. I think you'll like them, they're a little rich but the coconut helps even it out. You don't have to try them now or anything–"

"Can I?" he asks, lips quirked into a gentle pout.

"Sure." You hide your nerves as he bites into one, the cookie itself breaking softly, crumbs falling into his waiting hand. "They're messy. Should've warned you."

He puts the uneaten half back in the tupperware and places it atop his closed book on the desk. He's nodding as he stands, arms quick over your shoulders. You can hear him swallow, his voice mildly hoarse as he says, "They're so nice," he praises, clearing his throat, "I think I swallowed too fast." His laugh warms your ear. "I can't believe you made those. How long did it take you?"

"Not that long," you say, beaming as he pulls away. "I knew you'd like them."

"It helps that you made them." He holds your elbow. "I don't know how to say thanks."

You raise your cheek. "Only if you want."

He kisses your cheek. You smile like a fool and giggle much the same, reaching around his arms to nab a cookie for yourself. They'd tasted nice last night when you tried them, but they're perfect after Spencer's praise.

"No one's ever baked something for me before," he admits, the two of you standing much too close considering the setting. "I mean, there really wasn't a reason?"

"No, Spence. I was watching some TV last night when I started thinking about you, and I recently got that cookbook, you remember? That was one of the dessert recipes. I had to make two batches because I put too much butter in the first try and they spread flat as a nickel."

He smiles at your misfortune. "What?" you ask. "What's funny about that?"

"It's not funny. You made me cookies and when they went wrong you made me more. I don't know what I–" His hand flirts with your elbow, index finger moving with a mind of its own, tickling you through your thin blouse. "You're amazing."

"You make me really happy." You look down at his hand where it draws a line. "It makes me happy to be able to do something for you."

Spencer can evidently see you turning shy, and he's a sweetheart, so he rescues you from your timidity with a life jacket. "Is there anything you can't do?"

"Not that I've found so far, handsome. Why, did you have something in mind?"

He makes a big and genuine laugh, grabbing two cookies and forcing one into your hand. "You have to eat your share before Emily gets here." He nudges your hand up with his. "Go on. I'm not in the mood to share with anyone but you."

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #spencer reid x you #spencer reid x y/n #spencer reid x fem!reader #spencer reid imagine #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid oneshot #spencer reid scenario #spencer reid drabble #spencer reid fic #spencer reid fanfiction #criminal minds fanfiction #criminal minds #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader

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wonysugar · 6 months

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skilled | kim minjeong

synopsis : you always, always did her homework. what changed today?

pairing : bully!winter x nerd!femreader

genre : smut, nothing else, they just fuck very roughly, the end

tags : exhibitionism, they’re seniors, they also fuck in the lockers, before p.e, so they end up skipping oops, lots of manhandling, heavy degradation, fingering, nipple play, cunnilingus

warnings : !!read these before reading!! heavy blackmail, dubcon, recording, minjeong uses the word ‘lesbian’ as an insult, so homophobia? implied studentxteacher relationships

word count : 1.9k

a/n : disclaimer, all of this is fiction and is written for entertainment purposes!! i do not romanticize any of this. if anything similar is happening to you please please PLEASE speak up about it and also DON’T DO THIS TO ANYONE?? PLEASE?? THIS IS HORRIBLE

but on another note, happy belated birthday present @wintersera!! i meant to post this yesterday but uhm! writer’s block was on my ass. anyways i sincerely hope you enjoy it!

also this is not proofread uhm. SORRY,,

“where’s my homework?”

you looked away from minjeong, stupidly blinking at the numerous lockers behind her, trying to distract yourself from the fact that you were probably going to die today. to which, she groaned, annoyed.

her smooth hand grabbed your jaw in a swift motion and made you look at her properly, “i don’t have all fucking day y/n, it’s due next period. so, where is it?”

you felt your breathing get heavier by the second, your palms getting sweatier, your mouth suddenly producing more saliva, you knew how bad she got when things didn’t go her way, being a menace to everybody in school definitely got to her head. her poisonous stare piercing right through you as her grip on your jaw got tighter, you gathered up the courage to speak.

“i-i.. i don’t have it.”

..a scoff escapes her mouth, you always had the homework done and ready for her, what suddenly changed today?

“what do you mean you don’t have it? i told you to bring it today, didn’t i?” she responds, a mocking pout plastered on her face as you slightly shook under her touch.

“i didn’t do it, minjeong.” you confessed almost immediately. her eyes widened slightly as her eyebrows were upturned with condescension, surprised by your sudden boldness as she let go of you.

“it’s fine i’ll just- i’ll do it and give it to you after class. it’s about to be pe anyways—“ you added, stuttering and quickly closing your locker, convinced and hopeful that you could take the opportunity to walk away from the whole situation and get to the gym before she could do anything else.

boy, were you wrong.

in what felt like an incredibly short amount of seconds, she violently grabbed your collar and pinned you to the locker with full force, earning a yelp from you.

“who said i was done with you, bitch?” she leaned into you, staring at your visage like you were nothing but mere garbage to her, like laying her precious eyes on you was a chore. she giggled upon seeing your worried expression,

“i think you’re forgetting something, sweetheart. do i need to remind you that this whole arrangement started because i saw you, i watched you getting fingered by our teacher. i mean fuck, i always knew you were a weird desperate fucking lesbian, but our teacher?”

you clenched your jaw,

“i’m not a lesbian.” you snapped, to which she immediately started laughing.

“oh but you seem to be enjoying yourself soo much in that little video i recorded, don’t you think? how she was gripping your hair, how your eyes rolled back like a slut while she pumped her fingers in and out of you. be honest, you were loving it, y/n.” she hummed, then carried on,

“but then again, i might be totally blowing this out of proportion, so i could always show others and ask what they think–“

“goddamnit minjeong pleasepleaseplease don’t do that i’ll do anything i’m serious just– please.” you pleaded, tears threatening to spill out of your eyes now, like they always do when she’s pulling shit like this. if anyone were to find out that you gave your virginity up to your teacher for some grade, you’d be the talk of the entire school.

there you were, the y/n she knew and loved, the y/n who looked like a prey being hunted by its predator, the y/n who would sob so abundantly when she’d hurt you that it almost made her feel bad about it. the y/n that she got off on seeing.

thoroughly enjoying the sight of you shaking like a lost puppy under her, “so, why isn’t the homework done, baby?” she asked you in a mocking concerned voice, wearing a pout, being fully aware and amused by the fact that calling you by that cute and innocent pet name would make you quiver in even more fear.

she usually called you nicknames whenever she was planning to do something really bad.

upon seeing you avoid her gaze in shame, she gripped you tightly and pressed you harder into the locker. she was growing impatient, you knew it.

“i d-didn’t want to do it.” was the only thing you somehow managed to let out.

she stared at you some more, a smirk slowly cracking into place, progressively turning into a full-blown laugh as her grip on your collar loosened, before she let go of it completely once again. it took her a while to compose herself again, because it was just genuinely that hilarious to her.

“take off your clothes.”

what.

“w-what?” you immediately tensed up. thoughts filled with the possibilities of what she could do to you, your mind wandering in the dirtiest of places. you didn’t want to acknowledge it, but you felt insanely, extremely, very weirdly attracted to her.

“god, are you braindead or something? just shut the fuck up and take off your clothes, it’s not that hard. you’re better at being a fuckdoll than doing homework, anyway.” she groaned, snapping you back into reality.

“minjeong, the bell is about to rin-“

before you could even think about finishing your sentence, you felt a pair of lips roughly pressing against yours. letting out a surprised whimper, minjeong forcefully inserted her tongue into your mouth as she took it upon herself to get you out of your clothing, gliding her hands under the graphic tee you wore for your class, reaching for your tits and groping one of them before taking it off.

you quickly pulled away from the kiss, barely processing that it even happened in the first place. you suddenly remembered where you were at that moment, then proceeded to push her hands away.

“fuck - mmh - n-not here?? anybody could walk in and- and-“ you stuttered, completely ignoring the question reoccurring in your mind; why the fuck is she even wanting to do you in the first place?

obviously, as to be expected, she didn’t let you finish. instead, she just settled on grabbing both of your shoulders and turned you around, once again pushing you on the locker so your back would be facing her. you immediately felt your throbbing headache come back from the impact there was something else that was also throbbing, you just didn’t want to think about it.

you were getting ready to say something as you felt her stick her hand into your gym shorts, but she quickly used her other hand to shove two fingers inside your mouth.

“you’re way prettier when you stop talking.” she chuckled, whispering into your ear as she rubbed your embarrassingly wet cunt through the fabric of your underwear, making you whine against her fingers as you’re trying your hardest to be quiet and sucking on them to do so.

“my god baby you’re so wet for me.. and here i was, harassing you everyday, trying to annoy the shit out of you.. turns out you get off from this shit, hm? you probably play with your clit thinking about how mean i am to you all the time.” she sneered, “fucking lesbian.”

how the fuck did she expect you to stay quiet in this situation? the door was very much open, literally anyone could walk in at any moment, you were skipping class whether you liked it or not, and the way she was talking to you was not making it any better for you.

it’s not even like you could cover it up if someone did come in, due to the fact that you were, you know, slightly bent over in front of minjeong, her hands now inside of your shorts and on your clothed boobs as she manipulated your body to her liking.

it didn’t take long before her hands dug under your panties, sliding her middle and ring finger across your slit, feeling your slick immediately coat her digits. once again using her other hand to unhook your bra. your breathing hitched upon feeling her immediately grab ahold of your tit.

minjeong was quick to play with the bud, harshly twisting and pulling while attentively looking at your every move; her piercing gaze on you, observing and watching how your expression twists in one of euphoric pain, a wince whenever she dug her nails into your skin, mixed with a whine as she finally ended up inserting two digits inside you, slowly and gently curling them.

it was a sight to see.

“does my stupid little whore like that?” she asked you, taking in all of your reactions, one by one.

“f-fuck you.” was all you could let out in response, because while she was doing her thing, probably amused seeing you this powerless. you, on the other hand, were paranoid, throwing occasional glances at the door to make sure no one was near.

she chuckled when you threw your head back onto her shoulder, relieved from both nobody being near and the knot that was progressively tying in your stomach. you were getting close, she could feel it from the way your walls clenched around her, or the way your breathing got heavier and profanities started coming out of your mouth as you gripped her skirt tight. it was a myriad of things, really.

and that’s exactly why she completely stopped.

she knew it’d frustrate you to not finish, so she just completely ceased what she was doing. smirking while taking her fingers out of you and letting go of your chest.

“what the fuck??” is what you were gonna say if she wouldn’t have shoved the fingers she used to fuck you into your mouth, fake pout as she watched you. you made sure to glare at her before sucking on them thoroughly, also making sure that you licked them all clean.

“see how good you taste, baby?” she chuckled, taking her fingers out.

“i was close to finishing i was- i was about to cum.” you coldly told her.

she raised a mocking eyebrow, “first you don’t do my homework, now you wanna talk back? and here i was, trying to cut you some slack, fulfilling your weird disgusting fantasies and this how you thank me?”

she kicked on your leg, pushing you down to your knees and raised up her skirt to reveal her black lacy underwear, all in one swift motion.

she let out a theatrical sigh, “you know, you got me really worked up. so here’s what’s gonna happen,” she grabs your hair violently, making you look up at her. she laughed at the scene, at how ridiculous you looked, then continued.

“you’re gonna eat me out until i’m satisfied, got it? you wouldn’t want me to spread that video now, would you, y/n?” she tilted her head slightly, and.. here goes that fake motherfucking pout. oh how you hated seeing her treat you like an inferior.

is what you so desperately wish you could say.

but no, you actually obeyed. you proved her point, you showed her how obedient you can be, and ate her out like it was your last meal on earth.

her quiet moans, her grip on your hair, the grinding of her wet pussy onto your face, the way she was holding her phone and recording you, saying things like “you’re pretty - shit - skilled for someone who supposedly doesn’t like girls.” and “i know you’ve been wanting this, doll. it’s written all over your dumb fucking face when you glare at me.” while stroking your hair, before pulling on it right afterwards.

it was so dehumanizing, and for all you knew, she could use that as new material to blackmail you with next time, but you still did it. it was an indescribable feeling in the pit of your stomach.

you took a mental note that day,

and reminded yourself to never do her homework again.

#kim minjeong #winter aespa #winter aespa smut #aespa winter smut #winter smut #smut #kpop gg #aespa smut #female reader #kim minjeong smut #kim minjeong aespa #aespa minjeong #aespa minjeong smut #wlw #winter x female reader #kim minjeong x female reader

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i-hate-accidents · 9 days

Text

i hate accidents: the beginning

femme!reader x benedict bridgerton, femme!reader & the bridgerton family, femme!reader & penelope featherington

summary: the adventures of a working class femme who befriends a fellow writer, a boisterous family, and a bewitching second eldest son

sections: I. the beginning / II. the between / III. the ball

y/n: bipoc, she/her, afab, nonbinary femme, queer, working class, of immigrant parents

content warnings: classism, mentions of financial survival, microaggressive sexism, microaggressive gender assumption, positive/supportive families, allusions to alcohol abuse in [I.viii]

word count: 13.9k (of 38.8k)

story context: everything in s1 and s2 of the tv series is canon for this story except for the s2 epilogue with the bridgertons. this story takes place leading up to and into the 1815 season.

additional notes: this story is incomplete. scenes that are not written are described in chevrons <> with third person pov or are delineated by isolated ellipses. additionally, the author has only watched s2! she has not watched any of s1 aside from clips, and they have not read the books aside from quotes used in edits. they have not yet watched queen charlotte. the author kinda knows the gist of an offer from a gentleman; they are familiar with sophie beckett (and are excited to meet her/them in the tv series!).

author’s note: this is the first time the author has written fanfic in 13-15 years. :) it is her hope that they have made some progress since her pre/teens. additionally, this fanfic has been written, on and off, over the course of two years. the author sincerely hopes you find some sort of joy in it, especially the readers who maybe hope to see themself a little more specifically in the world we so love.

reading tip: whilst the author is proud of it, she understands the intro to the first section is long. if you wish to get more straight to y/n and benedict's story, the author suggests jumping to [I.ii]. they won't be offended that you did heh.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.i ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you do not know how you got here.

well, that is not true; you quite literally walked from the markets and followed the directions that penelope had given you, but you did not think those directions would lead you here.

this is a mistake. i must have taken a wrong turn, gone up instead of down, made a left when i should’ve taken a right.

or perhaps this is a dream? yes! that has to be it! a dream! i must have lulled off and dreamt myself here, for whatever reason. once i close my eyes and open them again, surely i will be at home, or the markets, or the workshop even. surely!

so, you close your eyes shut.

you had been walking about the markets on your non-work day, some weeks ago, browsing the wares you wouldn’t (and couldn’t) buy, eavesdropping on any conversation of intrigue, observing the bustle of the crowd going about their day, mindlessly thinking of the next thing to write, daydreaming—when you had collided with someone. they had let out a squeak, their materials flying out of their hands, as you had fallen on your back, thankfully not hitting your head. in your periphery, you had seen how the person had crawled to your side and looked at you with urgency and concern.

“i am so sorry!” their voice was pretty. sweet and lovely. you lifted yourself up a bit to see the person you had collided with. they were also pretty— beautiful, red-haired, and hooded in blue.

their eyes widened.

“er, i meant,” they spoke again, but this time with an— irish accent? their voice was still sweet and lovely but very distinctly irish and distinctly different from their voice mere moments before. “are you hurt?”

“i am all right, thank you.”

“very well,” they said, still in their irish accent, “then i must be going—” and they shot themself up and turned, you assumed, to run away.

“wait! you’re a writer, yes?”

as you had hoped, the person in blue froze. they slowly turned to you again, apprehension and intrigue in their eyes.

“how do you know?” their voice was mangled between their two accents.

“unless you pluck birds for fun,” you stated as you collected the scattered materials they had dropped in the collision, “these are quills.”

you stood up, approached them, and held out their quills to take, offering a smile. the stranger took the quills and put them in their bag. they returned their eyes to you and returned your smile.

“thank you,” they responded in their english accent.

“i know how precious those are, so i am very glad to see they won’t go to waste. well, they wouldn’t have gone to waste either way; i would’ve taken them if you hadn’t turned around.”

that caused the person in blue to laugh.

“i assume you are a writer?” they inquired.

you don’t know what had overcome you; you don’t know why you had been so trusting of this stranger, especially with something such as your writing, but you had been. you reached for your then most recent, folded up quarto, kept between your bosom and your blouse, and offered it to the stranger to read. they took it, shifted their eyes from line to line, turned it to read the crossed lines, and then looked up at you, beaming.

“this is brilliant!— oh, forgive me; i did not even ask for your name.”

“y/n,” you extended your hand. “and you?”

the stranger seemed to stiffen but quickly relaxed themself, taking your hand in theirs and shaking them. they beamed still, but something of their smile had grown quietly mischievous.

“can you keep a secret?”

when you open your eyes, you huff out a breath in a poor attempt to assuage yourself from the reality of your situation: you are not dreaming. here you are—you—at grosvenor square.

you knew of your friend’s circumstances as she had shared it: she is a noble lady, a third sister of the featherington family, who has been writing scandal sheets of high society’s romps and happenings since her ‘debut,’ as she had put it (you hadn’t understood how she had used that word and became further confused upon her explanation of it), under a pseudonym called lady whistledown. penelope has been kind enough to let you read her sheets, and you find it ridiculous what these high society persons do for their lives and utterly brilliant with what wit, snark, and compassion even penelope commentates on that world.

but you did not ever, ever think that she would bring you to it, let alone into it. when penelope had said that you were to meet her most beloved friend, you had thought it would be in an obscure alley or a room hidden behind a bookcase in an unassuming shop—not the literal neighborhood in which she, and presumably her friend, lives! by your posture, by your clothes, by your very existence, it is blatant how much you do not belong here.

i should run. i am going to run.

and so you turn and start—

“y/n!”

—when you hear the sweet voice of your friend. you scrunch your eyes closed, inhaling and exhaling through your nose, and turn around and see penelope in a picturesque green dress, lifting up her skirt with gloved hands, scurrying down the pavement of her neighborhood towards you, beaming. despite the anxiety that rages within you at this very moment, your heart swells upon seeing your friend in such enthusiastic spirits, and you smile despite yourself.

“good day, pen.”

she takes hold of your bare hands in her gloved ones and gives them a squeeze. perhaps she can discern your nerves because you start to feel yourself calm ever so slightly by her gesture.

“i am so glad you are here,” she says.

“i am—— glad to see you,” you then lower your voice. you do not know why; it is not as if your lowered voice will help conceal your existence in this place. “are you certain i am permitted to be here?”

letting go of your hands, penelope swats at the question.

“the bridgertons and i care not about such things.”

“the— bridgertons?”

“yes!” she turns and gestures to the grand brick house with wisterias. “it is at their home, after all, in which we will be spending our time together.”

your jaw drops.

“we are staying inside the house? not simply meeting outside the house?”

this is not a dream. this is a nightmare.

penelope returns her eyes to yours, and it startles you with what tenderness she gazes at you.

“i understand that you are fearful, y/n. i had presumed you would not have come if you had known we would be here. but i would not have led you to bridgerton house if i did not think you would be safe here. the bridgertons are the most inviting, kindly family of the ton— of high society,” she amends upon seeing your confusion at the word ‘ton.’ their name for their world, it seems. “eloise has assured me that we shall be in her bedchamber for the entirety of our time together. and if you wish to leave, for any reason, at any point, i shall accompany you, and we shall leave together.”

with closed eyes you heave a sigh through your nose. you flutter your eyes open and offer penelope a weak, but sincere, smile.

“very well.”

penelope squeaks in excitement, taking hold of your hand once more, giving it another squeeze of encouragement, and leads you towards this bridgerton house as she so called it. she raps at the stately door thrice with great eagerness, seeming to knock in perfect tandem with your beating-too-quickly heart.

an elderly man opens the door, about to greet penelope and her guest, when a young femme shoves herself through the opening.

“thank you, giles!” she calls out as if the man is across the road and then looks at you, ferocity in her eyes. it ought to unnerve you, the whirlwind force of this stranger, but it doesn’t. you just return her gaze with a large, albeit a bit bemused, smile.

“penelope has shared so much about you,” the stranger states and takes hold of your hand. “let us get inside!” and yanks you into the house. she turns, looking straight ahead, and barrels forward, pulling you with her.

as the fiery femme seems to soliloquize excitedly to herself, you look back at penelope who merely wears an amused smile at her friend’s antics as she follows behind.

“oh!” the femme exclaims suddenly. she halts you both and sharply turns to you, still gripping your hand, grinning. “my name is eloise. eloise bridgerton.”

“y/n y/l/n.”

“excellent. now! with introductions all sorted—”

and she turns and barrels you both right, rather than heading straight ahead to the grand staircase as you had presumed she would.

“eloise—” eloise’s fervency had provided a reprieve to your anxiety, but the confusion in penelope’s voice puts you back ill at ease, “where are you—”

“it’ll take just a moment, worry not, pen!”

eloise leads you down a hall, noises and voices of all sorts coming from an entrance to a room, growing louder and louder as you approach until they reach the peaks of their volume as eloise halts you both once more, to your mortification, at the entrance of that very room.

“family, penelope, y/n, and i shall be in my bedchamber. we have much to discuss. please do not bother us,” eloise proudly announces to the entirety of the room.

silence falls. all eyes—and there are many eyes—are on you.

oh, my god.

you turn to penelope. her overall manner is calm and composed, but you can see the disquiet in her eyes. she peers into you, the apologetic look conveying, i did not know this would happen.

you turn back to the family.

a lady. a lady of older age. two gentlemen with a difference in age. a boy. a girl, the youngest amongst them.

how is it with a house this massive in the middle of the city that the entire family is present in this one room? well, the room is the size of the two floors of your home combined, if not larger, so in that sense it is sound—but your question still stands.

this has to be the entire family. surely. there are so many of them. this has to be the entire family. yes?

“no talking, no music playing, no fighting?” inquires a droll voice walking into the room, “has someone—”

you turn your head to follow the source of the voice and make contact with dumbfounded ocean eyes.

butterflies flutter in your stomach.

oh.

shit.

“y/n, this is my second eldest brother, benedict bridgerton,” eloise states. “benedict, this is my friend, y/n y/l/n. do not bother us once we are in my bedchamber.”

he stares and blinks at you but then assumes a gentlemanly posture and bows his head.

“it is a pleasure to make your acquaintance, miss y/l/n.”

without any forethought you start to extend a hand to benedict until you hear penelope give a slight cough only you, she, eloise, and he can hear. receiving the hint, you retract your hand and pretend to swat at your skirt.

“err— yes. likewise.”

another cough.

“mis, ter?— brid… ger?—ton,” you articulate with complete and utter uncertainty of how this world’s introductions function.

he cocks his head and furrows his eyebrows at you, something like amusement playing at his features. he wears a lopsided smile that he is barely attempting to conceal. his expression should be infuriating. and it is. but, it is... charming, too. and welcomed.

you have never felt more embarrassed or more pleased in your life.

shit.

“before the three of you retreat to eloise’s bedchamber,” declares an authoritative voice, breaking your reverie. you turn away from ocean eyes and see the lady of the room approaching you. much to your surprise, she smiles. to an even greater surprise, her smile seems sincere. “i must insist that i introduce myself and the rest of the family to our guest.

“i am viscountess kathani sharma bridgerton, the lady of this house,” she curtsies with perfect elegance. “it is a delight to welcome you to our home, miss y/l/n.”

“thank you for having me— lady bridgerton. and you may call me ‘y/n.’ you need not use such, uh, formalities with me.”

“very well; then you may call me ‘kate.’”

you furrow your eyebrows. she had introduced herself as ‘kathani’ but now asks you to call her ‘kate.’ it makes you think of mama and papa; they shared with you once how they had chosen to go by different names upon emigrating to england. when you had asked why, they simply replied that it would be easier for others in this country to address them.

“may i call you ‘kathani’ instead?”

surprise flashes over the dignified demeanor of the viscountess. she regards you with softness in her eyes.

“yes. yes, you may.”

resuming her full composure, kathani guides you to the eldest of the gentlemen and introduces him as her husband, viscount anthony bridgerton, the lord of the house. he offers you a small smile with a bow of his head and greets you ‘good day.’ you try not to wince at his decorous use of ‘miss’ with your first name, but you suppose it is merely in these people’s natures.

kathani continues and leads you to the lady of older age, introducing her as dowager viscountess violet bridgerton. she dips into a lovely curtsy and, on her rise, gazes upon you with a gentle smile. you feel compelled to respond in kind, but it would certainly not be as graceful as hers, and worse, she may interpret your slovenly attempt as a lark. so, you refrain.

the viscountess next introduces you to mister colin bridgerton (you summon all your self-restraint to keep your countenance neutral—this is the boy who hurt penelope); then to mister gregory bridgerton (he bows so ceremoniously towards you, you cannot help but be endeared by his resolve); and lastly to miss hyacinth bridgerton.

“why are you dressed like that?” she inquires.

“hyacinth!” the dowager viscountess reprimands. she must be her mother. she sounds like a mother. it reminds you of how your mama reprimanded you and your siblings as little ones; the memory and the exchange make you hold back a laugh.

“what! what did i say wrong?”

you ought to feel self-conscious, your lower standing brought into further display to everyone in the room, but you detect neither malice nor judgment in the young girl’s voice. just genuine curiosity. so, you smile.

“my family and i have different means to clothes, amongst other things. i wear these when i work or go about my day. though,” you regard your attire and then— hyacinth?, feeling the glimmer in your eye, “it makes for running around and playing make-believe quite easy.”

“make-believe! gregory, do you hear that! miss!— miss—“ she turns to you with a cocked head.

“y/n.”

her eyes shine once again.

“miss y/n plays make-believe! we must play!” hyacinth latches onto your hand and, with remarkable strength for a child who cannot be older than two and ten, pulls and drags you towards the entrance of the room. “come along, gregory! wouldn’t want to be the last one there!”

“no fair! you cheated!” the second youngest shouts back, dropping all previous ceremonies, and scrambles towards the entrance.

“hyacinth! y/n is not your playmate! she is here with me and penelope!”

“plans do change, dear sister,” hyacinth retorts. eloise’s jaw drops, and the rest of the family bursts into laughter. the entire exchange warms your heart. in so many ways, they are so proper, so wealthy, and yet they are not all so different from your own family. they seem to really care for one another.

“when did you get so smug!” eloise shoots back.

“small wonder where she could’ve learned that from,” you hear colin, the traitor, murmur. turning your head, you see him give amused, pointed looks to eloise and kathani. the latter grins wickedly, and her husband beams at her with pride.

“there are only so many hours in a day!” hyacinth complains. you face her once more, still holding her hand.

“what about this? i will play with you and your brother for an hour, and then i will be with your sister and penelope for my remaining time here. i want to honor the wishes of each of my new friends.”

hyacinth considers this with much theatricality to her expression. she then grins.

“that is an excellent plan,” she remarks, looking to eloise for her thoughts. you follow her line of sight. eloise rolls her eyes and sighs, but a smile rests on her lips.

“very well, then.”

feeling peace restored, you smile in return and, in doing so, in your periphery, catch the ocean eyes of the second eldest brother. benedict. he is looking at you. why is that? you feel your cheeks flush and the tips of your ears heat. his gaze is somehow gentle and intense and indecipherable all at once, and the flutterings in the pit of your stomach grow, and intensify, and start to overwhelm you—

when you are tugged back to reality with a tug forward.

–

< hyacinth leads y/n through the house to the gardens with gregory by her side. y/n is both uneasy and in awe of the things she sees. eventually, they arrive in the gardens. y/n notices two swings hanging off of a large branch of an old tree and is utterly endeared by the sight; it confirms what she has been thinking: though the bridgertons are wealthy, they are warm and welcoming.

< just as hyacinth declares that she has found a suitable spot for make-believe, two male voices ask if they may join. hyacinth, gregory, and y/n turn and see benedict and colin approaching. colin shares that though y/n seems lovely, it would be unwise of the family to leave the two youngest with a stranger; though y/n agrees with his family’s caution, she refrains from wanting to strangle the person who hurt her friend.

< gregory whines and asks if they can begin before eloise complains. hyacinth agrees and says that they need to assign characters. y/n suggests that hyacinth should be a sorceress and gregory should be a knight; these proposals delight the youngest bridgertons. y/n volunteers herself as the villain and decides to be a banshee; she turns to the elder bridgertons and asks what they wish to be.

< before they have a chance to respond, hyacinth proposes that benedict should be the princess who has been captured. benedict indignantly asks why, and hyacinth simply states because he is the most sensitive of the family. sensing how the sibling argument is about to evolve, y/n intervenes and suggests that, like a sensitive princess, perhaps benedict is merely in tuned with his emotions, even amidst adversity; it is, in its own way, a compliment. benedict’s eyes become indecipherable upon the comment, but he wears a small sincere smile. gregory then proposes that colin is y/n’s changeling henchman.

< make-believe ensues, and it is very sweet and very silly. eventually, gregory is called in for latin tutoring and thanks y/n for the fun with a deep bow; hyacinth is called in for pianoforte lessons. >

hyacinth launches herself at you with a hug. pulling back from the embrace, she beams.

“we must continue when you return next!”

before you can even start to reply, she turns and skips off towards the house. you hear how gregory makes a comment about coming in first, and suddenly the youngest bridgertons are in a race against one another, shouting taunts and insults. you can’t help but smile.

“they seem to quite like you.”

your smile falls. you turn and face towards the two elder bridgertons, the traitor being the one to have spoken.

“colin bridgerton,” you begin, “yes?”

he smiles and nods. you surge forward and shove your finger into his face, his smile now wiped.

“if you ever hurt penelope again, i shall make certain that it is the last time you ever do. do i make myself clear?”

when he does not respond, you repeat yourself, and he slowly then quickly nods. satisfied, you turn towards ocean eyes and point your finger at him.

“and you look after him.”

“what did i do?”

“be a proper elder brother and serve as an example for your misguided sibling. understood?”

“i— yes. of course. understood.”

you smile again.

“wonderful. i am glad we three are in agreement. it was good speaking with you, gentlemen. good day.”

you turn away and start to walk towards the house.

“i quite like her too,” and you hear the restored smile in the third bridgerton’s voice. “what about you, brother?”

you hasten your steps towards the house. though mere moments before you had felt emboldened and brave, you fear hearing benedict’s response. you do not why.

–

< eloise, penelope, and y/n extensively discuss literature and writing; upon talking about women writers, y/n shares how she does not fully see herself as just a woman. >

“so, what are you?”

you wince. you have kept good on your promise and joined eloise and penelope in the former’s bedchamber, but you are swiftly wishing you had been able to stay with hyacinth, gregory, colin even, and benedict. you had attempted to explain an aspect of yourself to eloise but not to very much fruit, it seems. you want to hide and escape and run from this place—

“eloise.”

—when penelope comes to your defense.

“what? what is it?”

“perhaps you could have phrased your question with more tact and thoughtfulness.”

eloise looks between the two of you, concern flooding her eyes.

“did i— did i not?”

penelope turns to you.

“are you comfortable to answer?”

“i would prefer that i didn’t.”

you hope that your eyes are sufficient enough to convey the immensity of gratitude that you feel towards penelope in this very moment.

“y/n,” begins eloise, “i did not realize—”

“and what are you three gossiping about?”

you jump, penelope squeaks, and eloise growls a noise of exasperation. turning towards the voice in the doorway, you are visited, once again, by the third and second bridgerton siblings.

“and what makes you think we are gossiping?” demands eloise, “because we are w— people?”

you feel the corners of your mouth tug upward. at least she is trying. wanting to keep the attention on benedict and colin rather than yourself, however, and with genuine curiosity, you cock your head at the two gentlemen.

“do you two always come in a pair?”

“not always,” replies benedict. and he smiles at you, “today is merely a special occasion.”

stupid butterflies.

“speaking of such,” colin proceeds. “kate has requested that the three of you join the family in the drawing room.”

< the five of them make their way to the drawing room. kate shares that, on behalf of the family, she would like to invite both y/n and penelope to dinner. though at first honored to have been invited, upon hearing “dinner,” y/n realizes how late it has become and looks out the window: the sun is halfway set. she apologizes and says that she cannot stay because she resumes work the next day. her latter statement renders some of the people in the room confused, but kathani states how she understands and that y/n is welcomed to join dinner whenever she visits.

< seeing how confused y/n is, anthony shares that y/n is welcomed to visit their home whenever she is able and whenever she would like, and the rest of the family pipes in with how delighted they would be if she does. not knowing how she deserved such kindness from people who were mere strangers at the start of the day, y/n thanks the bridgertons and says that she would love to. penelope chooses to stay for dinner and says that she will see y/n next week. y/n affirms that she, and the bridgertons, will.

< kathani and benedict offer to escort y/n to the entrance. y/n walks down the steps and passes the gate but, before she goes, takes one last look at number five until next week and sees benedict still in the doorway. y/n notices, but reprimands herself for perhaps imagining it, that his smile grows when his eyes lock with hers. with flutterings in her stomach, y/n offers a wave. he gives a small wave back. she turns and goes, smiling all the way home. >

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.ii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“benedict has been making more appearances as of late,” penelope remarks.

the three of you all look up—you and pen from your writing, eloise from her reading—to see benedict entering through the doors and heading towards the other side of the drawing room. he looks over at you— at you all and offers a smile before he plops himself down onto a chaise and begins to draw.

“yes, it is strange,” eloise considers to the two of you. “for so long he had been moping about, locked away in his bedchamber aside from mealtime or the occasional visit to the drawing room. he’s even picked up his charcoal again.”

“again?” you inquire, averting your gaze from the artist to your friend. “had he stopped prior?”

“he had entirely put it down after—” eloise sighs. whatever memory she has recounted, it does not seem to be a pleasant one. you look to penelope; you sense that she shares a similar sentiment by the sad look in her eyes. you are curious but you choose not to press.

“it has been quite some time since he’s last drawn. but now, whenever i see him, whether in his bedchamber or the billiards room or some other room in the house, he’s drawing. he frequently arrives to mealtime with charcoal stained fingers—much to the chagrin of mama and anthony.”

you all laugh. benedict looks up at you three, and from here you can tell he wears a curious expression, no doubt wondering what you are laughing about. when he exaggeratedly arches an eyebrow, eloise just makes a face at him. benedict rolls his eyes, smiling, and for the briefest moment, you feel as though he is looking at you. but you’ve always had an active imagination. when you blink, he has returned to his drawing, a smile still on his lips.

“i wonder what has changed?” eloise softly says, still looking at benedict. for all her fire and spirit, you see how deeply she cares for her second eldest brother.

“perhaps he has found a muse,” penelope poses rather than queries. you shift your gaze from eloise to penelope, and you’re curious about her expression. she seems... delighted? benedict finding his passion for art again does sound delightful; you know firsthand how difficult it is to pick yourself up from a slump. but that’s not what she seems delighted by. she just looks at you. with a soft smile. why? what does benedict have anything to do with you?

you feel your cheeks and the tips of your ears flood with warmth. you don’t know why, but penelope’s expression unnerves you, in a pleasant sensational way.

you clear your throat.

“i am happy for him,” you say, returning to your quill and folded quarto, haphazardly writing down whatever words come to your mind.

ocean. charcoal. smile. flutters.

shit.

it is not until what feels like an uncharacteristically long moment later that you hear penelope resume her writing and eloise resume her reading. you try not to imagine what they could have silently exchanged with your gaze averted.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.iii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you suck in a sharp breath and shoot out of your seat.

“you do not!” you shriek, hastening towards kathani, eloise, and the stack of books they have just settled onto the table. you had arrived early to the bridgertons’ home, at the invitation of kathani, so early that the rest of the family seems not yet to be awake.

(which is strange, you find, as it is nearing 8 o’clock. most mornings, at this time, you are already well into the bustle of work.)

kathani had prefaced, rather enigmatically, that she and eloise had a surprise they wished to share with you. you had your suspicions as to what it could be related to, and with each passing moment, you are suspecting, very excitingly!, that you are very correct.

“indeed, we do,” kathani grins and gestures to the stacks.

taking no hesitation to the offer, you grab from the top of a stack and open to the title page.

the dramatic works of william shakespeare. vol. 2: a midsummer night’s dream / the merry wives of windsor / much ado about nothing.

you shriek again, this time accompanied with hops of excitement, flipping to the final third of the book.

“much ado! this is the one i’ve read!”

dorothea, a fruit seller, had offered a copy of it to you (at a lowered price, she had emphasized) when she had learned of your liking to stories. she grandly stated that she had started to write down the dialogue during low-attendance performances at the theater and then brought her handiwork to be typed and printed at a not-to-be-named press. but if the pages’ handwritten annotations alluded to anything, you suspected that she had managed to purloin a performer’s copy of the script. you felt a bit of pity for the poor performer who misplaced it, but you respected, and still respect!, dorothea’s moonlighting.

you shoot your head up from the book and are greeted by the grins of your two friends. “which one has romeo and juliet?”

this past autumn you had overheard several candlemakers at the markets animatedly discussing the ‘incandescent’ portrayal of the titular character by an actress from ireland. a performance, described as ‘incandescent’ by candlemakers! embodied by a storyteller who has emigrated here! hearing all those wondrous things made you insatiably curious to one day read the text that made such wondrous things happen.

“i believe,” eloise says, pulling the second from the bottom of a stack, “it is this one.”

you twitch your fingers; you have to refrain yourself from snatching the book from your friend’s hand. when it is in yours, you open to the title page and feel your eyes, along with your smile, widen.

“it is, it is! oh, this is extraordinary!” you flip furiously to your desired page and, once you find it, start to read,

prologue. two households—

—when you hear kathani say, “we had thought of starting with that one.”

that makes you rip your eyes away from the words and look up at the two ladies.

“‘starting with’?”

“when eloise, penelope, and i learned of your eagerness to read shakespeare,” elaborates kathani. her saying that makes you flush; you had not realized with what apparent enthusiasm you had spoken of the poet. “the three of us had discussed that the four of us could read his plays together. if you would like, of course.”

your jaw drops. you cannot help the squeal that emits from your mouth. hopping once again in your excitement, you throw yourself at your friends and wrap your arms around them both.

“if i would like! i would be delighted!”

you pull back from your hug with the two ladies and are greeted by gleaming eyes and wide grins. you feel how your expression matches theirs. it has only been a little over a month of your friendship with eloise and kathani, and the rest of the bridgertons at number five, but they each have somehow found a way to carve themselves out in your heart. and if this most recent kindness by eloise and kathani indicates anything, perhaps you have found a way to carve yourself out in each of theirs.

(and you promptly ignore the thought of what that could possibly mean for ocean eyes and charcoal-stained hands, flutterings within you be damned.)

“how shall we allocate the book?” you say aloud out of genuine inquiry and a deep desire to revert your heart, mind elsewhere. “shall we read passages aloud and then pass it on to the next reader?”

< eloise makes a remark that indicates her confusion at y/n’s question. kathani, who is more privy to the situation, shares how she has her own copy as do eloise and penelope. the stack that they’ve brought is an extra set that the bridgerton house has that y/n can use. this perplexes y/n. she cannot understand how a household can have multiple copies of a book, let alone copies of a whole anthology of many books. before y/n can doom-spiral into thinking, penelope arrives at the entrance of the drawing room. reading of romeo and juliet commences.

< just as y/n finishes reading the scene in which romeo and juliet meet for the first time at the capulet ball and then kiss, y/n notices in her periphery benedict approaching the four. kathani remarks how unusually early he is to be awake and ready for the day; y/n notes to herself how there seems to be some sort of mischief in the viscountess’s smile. >

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.iv ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“i shall be y/n’s teacher,” the viscount declares.

“you were adamant on her not fencing, and now you are insistent on being her teacher?”

“it would be hardly appropriate, colin, for two young unmarried men to be in such close proximity to a young unmarried lady, as proximity of teacher and student in fencing would require.”

“are you always this— antiquated?” you inquire.

that earns a snort from kathani. anthony, looking betrayed, turns to his wife; she merely shrugs in reply, mirth shining in her eyes. he turns back to you, eyebrows deeply furrowed and mouth fully frowning.

“and what do you insinuate by that!”

“are you so distrustful of your own brothers, the ones for whom you have served, and still serve, as a model, that you think they would take advantage of me in such a situation—”

you sense how the eldest bridgerton is about to retaliate and arch a severe eyebrow at him in response; you refuse to be interrupted.

“or are you so unbelieving in persons of feminine dispositions that you think i shall be compromised by the mere closeness of a body different from my own sex?”

there is a silence, and though you cannot see them as you stare down the viscount, you can feel how the others exchange delighted glances with one another and hold back their laughter.

“you have two choices, my lord,” you offer.

“neither of them are suitable! and do not call me ‘my lord’!”

“is that not the proper way to address you?”

“it is, but you—!” he huffs out air through his nostrils, like an indignant dragon in a fairytale; it is a very silly, very amusing sight. “we have not even begun the lesson and you are already the most exasperating student i’ve ever had!”

you turn to colin and benedict, grinning.

“you two must have been saints then.”

“would you expect any less?” colin grins back.

your wide smile remains intact until your eyes fall on the expression of benedict. you are entirely uncertain of what emotion he could be possibly feeling until he seems to realize where he is, and how you are looking at him, and breaks out into a brilliant smile with matching brilliant ocean eyes. you quickly snap your head away from him, ignoring the fluttering of butterflies summoned within you upon the shift in benedict’s expression, and turn to anthony.

“shall we begin, then?”

–

it turns out that you are quite the quick learner when it comes to fencing. after putting on a fencing vest that had previously belonged to benedict—

“because you are the shortest of the three of us, brother,” remarked colin after the second son inquired why it had to be his former vest that you were to wear. benedict scrunched his nose and eyebrows in displeasure. (perhaps you should have taken offense to his opposition, but it was truly of no personal consequence to you and the reaction it created in him was truly adorable.)

“i am not!”

“you are, indeed,” anthony deadpanned.

“prove it!”

and the three eldest sons of the esteemed bridgerton family stood next to one another, comparing their heights. you turned to kathani, eloise, and penelope.

“are they always like this?”

“idiotic?” eloise deadpanned, sounding remarkably like her eldest brother.

“indeed, they are,” grinned kathani.

—over your blouse, you are immediately put to lessons. anthony explains the basic concepts of fencing and then demonstrates elementary strikes and parries, occasionally adjusting your stances to the proper forms. noting how quickly you took to the lessons, he calls for a match between the two of you to observe how you would apply your skills in combat.

“you are retaining information exceptionally well, as well as executing the techniques rather impressively,” states your teacher as you deflect his strike. you try to hide your gladness in his praise as you smirk and push his blade away with the terzo of yours.

“ah, so my sex is not a detriment to my abilities; that is good to know.”

you hear snickers and snorts from around you.

“i said nothing of the sort!”

“did you think it?”

your opponent frowns further, slightly turning his head away from you to steal a glance at his wife. he turns back to you.

“i did,” he admits defeatedly.

“it takes a true man of honor to rise up to his folly,” you remark honestly, as you strike anthony’s arm with the tip of your sabre. loud cheers burst from the onlookers and an aghast but proud look emerges on the countenance of your teacher; you grin, “and a fool to leave his defenses so easily open.”

impressed by your display of sport, and seemingly overcoming his antiquation, at least for the moment, anthony decides that you will match against colin and then benedict.

“how are you to improve if you are to face the same opponent?” claims your teacher with his usual air of annoyance, but you detect his pride in your accomplishment.

it is also decided that the matches will end when one scores a point.

and so, you face colin. it is easy to keep pace with him, not due to lack of skill on his part but complete and utter determination on yours. you tried to convince yourself, in the beginning of your match, that the remnants of your anger towards the third bridgerton brother, and how he treated your friend, did not fuel your determination to score the point— but it did and does. and successfully so, as you strike colin in his left shoulder. perhaps you do it with too much force as the strike reels him off balance (and perhaps you are delighted that it has done so), but he quickly resumes composure and flashes you a grin.

“i see more and more everyday why you and pen are friends.”

that softens your heart. you should be dubious of his charming remark, but you aren’t; it is too sincere, as is he, and you begin to see, even if minutely, why penelope cares for him.

“she has good taste in the company she keeps, i’m learning.”

that makes him laugh, as it does the others, and you look over and see how pen’s countenance shines with joy. that is enough to put your anger towards colin at ease, and turning towards your defeated foe once more, you return his smile and bow your head. bowing his head in kind, colin leaves, and in his place arrives your next and final opponent; he is smiling like a boy.

“best for last?” he remarks as he prepares his starting position. you roll your eyes, ignoring the warmth that starts to fill the center of your chest.

“this shall determine that,” and settled in your starting position, you and benedict begin your duel.

you have observed something of the eldest bridgerton brothers in your matches against them. anthony struck like fire, bombastic and ferocious. colin stood his ground like earth, his guards resolute. and benedict—

benedict moves like water. free. fluid.

as if he is dancing while dueling.

both you and he have reached a stalemate. you have managed to parry every one of his strikes, and he has managed to deflect every one of yours. you can feel how those watching are holding their breaths, waiting for someone to land the point.

you try not to startle when you hear benedict’s voice as you guard against his strike.

“it takes quite an astonishing person to earn the praise of anthony bridgerton.”

“are you so surprised that i am such a person?”

“quite the opposite, y/n,” he catches one of your strikes and grins at you. “i think you are entirely perfect in that regard.”

you roll your eyes once again but cannot help the blush that you feel spread across your cheeks as you push back his sabre with yours.

“do you honestly think charm will win you the point?”

“do you find me charming?” you ignore the heat that creeps up your neck and the voice in your head that has already answered his question far too quickly for your liking. “no, i do not think so lowly of such a formidable foe.”

and he winks at you.

and somehow, without you realizing how you got there, benedict strikes the center of your chest.

“but a little distraction does help.”

his point earns a round of groans and bleats from the crowd. instead of looking offended, benedict just laughs and approaches you, gloved hand outstretched, a boyish smile once again on his face. despite your loss, you cannot help but smile too. you place your gloved hand in his.

“it was a pleasure to duel with you.”

“yes. likewise.”

perhaps you imagine it, but you feel his thumb swipe against the side of your hand. it is featherlight, hardly felt with both your and his hands gloved, but felt nevertheless. before you can process the sensation any further, he lets go of your hand. with another smile, he bows his head at you as the crowd of people approach you both, penelope raving about your matches, eloise expressing her wish to fence now, anthony already commenting on what you could do better in your next match.

and without you realizing it, you gently swipe against the side of your gloved hand.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.v ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

"mama? papa?"

it is a rare occasion when you, mama, papa, and your sibling eat together, and an even rarer occasion to do so for a second meal, but this night was such a night. the three of them halt their conversation and look over to you.

"how did you know you were in love with one another?"

there is a small silence, but then, without looking at one another, they smile in tandem.

"it was at first sight, really, for me,” your papa says as he offers his hand to mama. “as trite as that sounds."

mama takes his hand into hers.

"i as well."

"when i looked into your mama’s eyes, i knew that something was different. that my life had changed."

"for the better, dearest?"

papa laughs heartily.

"no, actually. it has been misery ever since."

you and your family laugh as mama playfully slaps at papa’s hand. it warms your soul every time they do this, when they tease one another and are light because of the other. it makes you believe in love each time.

mama and papa lace their fingers together again, smiling, still gazing at one another. as if it is just the two of them in their own world. mama, turning her smile from papa to you, speaks again.

"the flutterings in my stomach wouldn’t quiet, and they only intensified as we approached closer to one another that day and grew closer to one another with time."

she looks nostalgic until something mischievous quickly overcedes her countenance.

"why do you ask, my dear? has someone captured your eye?"

"or, better yet, your heart?" papa tags along.

ocean eyes and charcoal-stained hands flash by in your mind.

"no!" you say too hastily. "no, of course not. it’s— for one of my writings, is all."

you repeatedly poke at your bit of boiled chicken to avoid any further inquisition from your parents’ gazes.

–

sat by your window, you stare up at the night sky when the voice of your sibling infiltrates your dreaming.

“it’s one of the brothers, isn’t it?”

you whip your head over to them. they don’t even look at you; they are preparing for bed.

“pardon me?”

“is it the artist brother?”

“what!”

fluffing their pillow, they smile.

“so i am correct.”

“i didn’t even say anything!”

“that is not true. you said ‘what.’”

“that reveals nothing!”

pleased with the setting of their bed, they ruin their work by plopping their bottom onto it as they finally face you in what you realize now is a confrontation.

“of course it doesn’t, the word on its own. your reaction, however? could not be more transparent of your feelings.”

“i have no feelings!”

“is that why you asked mama and papa about being in love? because you have no feelings and you need to be told what they are?”

“i!—— i am going to bed!” you lift yourself up from your seat at the window sill, turning away from the peace of the night sky, and crash onto your bed. you lay on your side, faced towards the wall, refusing to make eye contact with your sibling. you lift up your sheet with too much force and lay it over your body and head. “good! night!”

after some silence, you hear the creak of your sibling’s bed and, a moment later, feel a featherlight touch on your upper arm. you give it a thought, and perhaps against your better judgment, you lift off your sheet, turn, and are greeted by the gentlest of expressions from your sibling.

“i think it is wonderful, y/n. whoever it is, they are very blessed to have your affections.”

your heart swells. you love your sibling.

“how did you know it was the artist brother?”

“so i am correct!” they smile with a shrug. “i deduced based on how much you’ve been writing about paint and charcoal as of late.”

you almost shoot upright from your bed.

“you’ve been reading my writing?”

“well, if they weren’t to be read, why do you leave them spread out on the table?”

“because there is no other place to store them!”

“and how good that is, or else i wouldn’t be able to read your fantastical stories or have been able to discover who your beloved is.”

“you are impossible!”

they kneel next to your bed and place their head on your shoulder.

“i love you too.”

you exhale the last of your frustrations, adjusting yourself a bit so that your sibling can rest their head more comfortably. without realizing, you stroke their hair, just as you always have.

“i quite like the story about the mushroom family,” they state after some time. “i’m happy that the middle mushroom child befriends the peony and then the hyacinths. i am happy they are happy.”

you feel your eyes start to drift.

“his name is benedict, by the way.”

you hear your sibling’s need for sleep in their reply.

“that’s a lovely name.”

“he is,” you murmur as the peace of the night falls over you.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.vi ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

“good day!— robert?”

“good day, y/n!” and robert holds the door of bridgerton house open for you to pass.

“pardon the confusion in my greetings—”

“no offense taken on my part!” the late adolescence beams. you grin back. with how utterly enthusiastic robert is all the time, one would think it is part of some ruse. but it is not; he is just that genuinely delighted by life, you’ve observed.

“i am grateful. i had expected to be greeted by giles, is all.”

robert frowns. you feel the corners of your mouth tug downward in response, concern starting to swell your heart.

“he is ill at the moment.”

“ill! with what?”

“i know not. i had admitted the doctor perhaps not even a quarter of an hour ago. but worry not too much, y/n! from what the viscountess has shared with the servants earlier this day, giles shall make a quick recovery. and lady bridgerton has yet to be wrong in anything!”

relief floods your body. giles is of elderly age, so it calms you to hear that his ailment seems not to be too severe. and you can’t help but smile not only by robert’s sunny temperament but also by his rightful faith in kathani.

“that is all good to hear.”

“shall i announce you to the drawing room?”

“oh god no. i am quite all right, but thank you.”

“understood! then i must pardon myself; i must retrieve miss bridgerton and miss featherington.”

“‘retrieve’? are they not in the drawing room?”

“i was informed by dowager lady bridgerton, who was accompanied by miss bridgerton and miss featherington themselves at the time, that they would be in the gardens until your arrival and to retrieve the young misses upon your arrival.”

“i see. well, i shall be in the drawing room then. thank you again, robert.”

“it is my pleasure, y/n!” he beams once more and takes off to complete his task.

how odd, you think to yourself. this day seems rather unusual to the ones you’ve had thus far at bridgerton home. and it is hardly even noon! you become lost in your thoughts as you approach the entrance to the drawing room—

when you are greeted by benedict, and benedict alone, lounging with his legs thrown over the arm of a chair, staring sternly at the page he draws on.

“oh,” is all you say.

benedict snaps his focus from his book to you, his countenance transforming from deep concentration to frustration to genuine surprise in a mere moment. he scrambles up from his seat, book in one hand and charcoal in the other, posture now proper, and he bows his head.

“miss y/l/n.”

never before have you been alone in a room with a man. a gentleman. a gentleman with a handsome face, charcoal-stained hands, and beautiful ocean eyes.

you roll your eyes.

“blimey, it is just me. there is no need to bow. and why are you calling me miss y/l/n?”

benedict smiles.

“all right. y/n.”

shit.

perhaps that was a mistake.

“where has your family gone?” you inquire as you go to sit in the chair parallel to his, ignoring the flutterings within your stomach. “it is uncommon to enter the drawing room of bridgerton house and not be greeted by talking, or music playing, or fighting.”

smiling, benedict falls back into his seat and resumes his drawing.

“hyacinth is with her reading tutor; gregory is with his fencing instructor; colin is eating some sort of pastry, i am certain, in town; anthony and kate are likely— preoccupied—”

you snort; benedict’s smile grows broader as he smudges charcoal with his thumb, a small furrow in his eyebrows now forming.

“and mother has managed to rope eloise into learning about the flowers of the gardens, and eloise, being eloise, has roped penelope into doing the same.”

“and what of you?”

“and what of me?”

“why have you chosen the drawing room as your whereabouts?”

benedict cocks his head towards his drawing.

“it’s in the name of the room, is it not?”

“ah, a man of wit, i see.”

“i am a man of many attributes, y/n.”

ignore the butterflies.

“such as?”

“what attributes would win your favor?”

“so that you may lie to me and say you possess them?”

“of course not; the list is merely too long and i shan’t bore you with a soliloquy.”

“so, a man of thoughtfulness.”

“oh yes, a myriad of thoughts.”

“name one.”

“how much i am enjoying our conversation.”

and benedict shifts his ocean eyes from his drawing to you, a smile on his lips. he is being playful, but you detect no deceit in his expression. it infuriates you, really. how charming he is. how endearing. how sincere.

you return his smile.

“as am i, benedict.”

you sit in comfortable silence a moment more until benedict breaks the gaze, returning his oceans eyes and smile back to his drawing. his smile, however, does not last for very long.

“this sketch, on the contrary—”

and he rips out the paper from his book, crumples it in his hand, and throws it onto the carpet of the floor, giving his deed not another moment’s notice. he puts his charcoal to a new page in the moment next.

your smile falls.

“do you know how much paper costs?” you demand.

benedict looks back up at you with scrunched eyebrows and a smile having returned to his lips. he tilts his head.

“why? should i?” he inquires. nonchalantly. delight in his ocean eyes.

as if you are making a jest.

as if this is amusing. as if this is nothing.

it reminds you of a recent memory.

eloise had generously given you sheets of paper. hitting a stride in your writing and wanting to continue, you had asked, after much internal deliberation, if you could have a ripped half of a quarto upon running out of all negative space on your current one.

“have a foolscap. have a whole lot of them, actually,” she said easily, taking a good chunk of her stack and handing it off to you.

“eloise, are you certain?”

“of course. it is just paper, after all.”

“right. yes— of course. thank you.”

eloise hummed affirmatively in response, returning to her passage, as you stared at the small stack of foolscap in your hand. that amount of paper would have been eight months’ wage, perhaps even more.

a gentle touch of a hand on yours brought you out of your clouding thoughts. you looked over and saw penelope looking at you softly. understanding her unspoken thoughts, you held her hand and gave it a squeeze.

thank you, you mouthed.

"i must be going,” you say aloud. “goodbye, mr. bridgerton.”

you stand, turn, and quickly exit the drawing room.

“y/n. y/n!”

you hear him scuffling up from his lounge and start to follow you. you hasten your steps towards the entrance.

moments before you can open the doors of bridgerton house to the respite of the outside world, you feel benedict take hold of your wrist, stopping you in your steps, and it infuriates you how gently he does it. how you can pull away from his touch if you want to, how you can just go if you choose to. but you do not.

it infuriates you how much you want him to hold you.

you turn to face him.

“please— wait,” he breathes. “what did i do wrong? what have i done to upset you?”

you look at him incredulously. then it dawns on you.

“please. tell me,” benedict practically begs. with such softness in his voice.

it infuriates you.

“i know money is of no concern to you, or your family, or fair ladies and pretty gentlemen. but it is for the rest of us. for the rest of us who have to work to keep the ones we love fed, clothed, warmed, sheltered. that is a fact with which i have been concerned since the very moment i could think for myself. and for you—of the male sex, of pale skin, of inherited riches—it is something to discard onto the carpet of one of your family’s many houses. the paper you threw to the ground would have paid for a month’s worth of warmth for the entirety of my family’s home. and you ask me what you have done to upset me?”

he says nothing. he just looks at you, damned ocean eyes and all. gentle. attentive. like he could care; like he does care.

you feel your nostrils flaring, your blood pounding in every vein of your body. you finally rip your wrist away from his loose hold, already missing his touch.

“i shall take my leave. please give my regards as well as my apologies to eloise and penelope. goodbye, benedict.”

you turn away from him, yank the door open by its handle, and step outside, walking composedly at first, then quickly, then sprinting, then running. to be as far away from number five of grosvenor square as you possibly can be. to be far away from crumpled up paper, charcoal-stained hands, gentle touches, and ocean eyes.

you rub your wrists against your eyes.

stupid bloody tears.

stupid fucking heart.

why am i so afflicted by this? why am i crying? why do i hurt?

because i love—

no.

you cannot fall for him. he is someone you cannot have, cannot want, cannot— cannot…

it cannot happen, the two of you.

and most likely of all, you are not someone he wants. not someone who he would love. not the way you—

you are a fool for getting this far. but these feelings, they will pass. somehow. you will forget them. you will forget him. this is not the fairytales you read, not the fairytales you write. daydreams, hopes, love for a gentleman— there is a reason you are a writer.

you write the things you can never have, the things that will never happen.

you and benedict will never happen.

this is the prayer you tell yourself that evening before sleep takes you. you pretend not to be affected by the tears that afflict you as you do so.

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.vii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

< y/n does not go to number five the next week on her non-work day as she had grown accustomed to. she had tried to write at her table in her home to preoccupy herself, but her teardrops were ruining what she had already written. she considers going to work to distract herself, but y/n knows her unexpected presence would be a detriment to her fellow workers’ established flow of day. she decides to go to the markets to try and get fresh air and a change of scenery and to do anything to interrupt her spiral of thoughts and emotions.

< while at the markets, y/n hears her name called and turns to see penelope in her blue cloak. y/n asks what penelope is doing here, and penelope gently replies that she can ask y/n the same thing. she shares with y/n how, the week prior, after she received news that y/n had left bridgerton house, she left to find y/n in the markets and at her workplace but to no avail.

< their conversation continues. penelope shares how y/n was missed last week; by her, by the family, by benedict. y/n tries to dismiss her words and how the past few months have been a mistake and that she shouldn’t be there with pen or the bridgertons, that she’s not meant to be in their world.

< with patience and empathy and grace, penelope gently encourages y/n to return to bridgerton house next week, and y/n, though her heart aching and reluctant, agrees because she misses them. >

𝄆 ⚘ ✸ I.viii ✸ ⚘ 𝄇

you sigh deeply.

have courage, y/n.

and you rap your knuckles twice against the stately door of number five. a moment later, the door opens, and you are greeted by a beloved grin.

“miss y/n! i have not seen you in weeks!”

you cannot help but smile back.

“good day, giles.”

“oh, where are my manners!” and the elderly doorman bows at you. you huff out a laugh, feeling how your face contorts with distaste.

“blimey, please don’t. i am not a lady, giles.”

“you could’ve fooled me, miss y/n.”

you shoot him a severe look; he merely continues to grin.

“you know of my feelings towards being called ‘miss.’”

“i am getting older; my memory frequently fails me, miss y/n.”

“and yet you’ve recalled how we haven’t seen each other in two weeks.”

“three.”

you grin.

“precisely.”

“well, it was quite the surprise when I fell ill the following week!” then giles frowns. “and it was an even greater surprise to have not seen you when i had returned the week following that.”

you look at the ground, unable to face the inquisition in his sad, kindly look, but when you bring your head back up, you manage a smile.

“it is no matter. i am here now. that is most important, yes?”

the elderly man smiles.

“yes, i suppose you are right, y/n,” and he holds the door open for you to pass.

“aside from bouts with ailment, how have you been, giles?”

“still standing upright, still opening and closing doors,” he beams without a bit of sarcasm. “and what of you? how have you been?”

“i’ve been—— well. and the family?” you say quickly, wanting to move the conversation away from you and your feelings.

“the same as is to be expected. though—”

concern starts to swell in your heart. what has happened in the fortnight you have not been present?

“mister benedict has been absolutely despondent.”

“oh,” is all you say. giles’ gentle joviality transforms into solemnity, and it makes your heart ache even further.

“on the rare occasions i do see him now, he is leaving for the gentleman’s club in the bright light of day and coming home at an ungodly hour, drunk as a wheelbarrow, wreaking of what smells like every available spirit in london. he had stopped dipping rather deep sometime ago, much to my relief, so it was an utter shock to return to my station and to see him back on the cut, and deeply at that,” the elderly man sighs. “i wonder what has happened for him to be so…” he unexpectedly turns to you, his countenance sanguine, “do you happen to know?”

you swallow as you ignore the sensation pooling in the pit of your stomach.

“no, i— i do not.”

“i see. well, whatever it might be, it is clear how much it deeply afflicts him,” and giles offers you a small, sad smile. “you know mister benedict; he has always been the most sensitive of the family.”

i do.

i do know benedict.

you clear your throat.

“do you happen to know where eloise and penelope are at this moment?”

giles cocks his head at you but is kind enough (you thank the heavens) not to press your change of topic.

“the last i had seen them, they had spoken of viewing the art gallery. do you know the way?”

“i am unfamiliar.”

he smiles again, and it makes you smile in return.

“then i am most glad to escort you there.”

–

giles opens the doors to the gallery, and ahead, in front of a portrait, you see the turnings of penelope, eloise, and—

“y/n,” he utters.

“benedict,” you breathe.

and he looks just as surprised as you are.

you look to giles, his eyes wide and mouth agape, and then to eloise and penelope. upon seeing their expressions, you feel your eyes narrow.

“ah, penelope!” shouts eloise. everyone else turns to stare at her. “with y/n’s arrival, i must change out of my, my art gallery viewing dress! and— and, into my... drawing room! sitting— dress...”

eloise scrunches her entire face in displeasure, confused by her own poorly concocted excuse. that does nothing to deter her, however, from clamping onto penelope’s wrist and barreling forward towards the doors of the gallery.

“come along, pen!” she calls out to the friend she is pulling right behind her. as they pass you, eloise gives you a strange and strained smile bearing all teeth, and penelope offers apologetic eyes and an encouraging smile.

giles looks to you, to benedict, and to the two escaping ladies. mouth still agape, all he manages is,

“i suppose— i shall see to that— miss bridgerton and miss featherington arrive to miss bridgerton’s bedchamber... safe—ly…?”

he mouths, i’m sorry!, at you before quickly bowing his head at benedict, fleeing the scene with remarkable speed for an elderly man who has recently recovered from illness, and leaving you at the entrance of the art gallery.

closing your eyes, you deeply inhale through your nostrils as you place your hand to the space between your eye and your temple. on your exhale, you wipe your hand hard against the side of your face and open your eyes, whipping your head to look at the second eldest bridgerton brother. it seems that he has been staring at you this entire time, stupid (stunning) ocean eyes and all.

“would you like to paint a picture?” you snark. “you are the artist in the room, and it would certainly last longer. or perhaps you have run out of paper?”

he does not respond, indecipherable expression unchanging, and it unnerves you how guilty you feel at goading him, at taunting him, and he merely takes it. you sigh again and cross the gallery to where he stands. resisting the urge to look at him again, as you feel his gaze still on you, you instead look at the painting ahead of you.

it is a portrait of a gentleman. with dark chestnut hair and mutton chops. he wears a blue jacket, a darker blue vest, a cream cravat, green breeches, and brown boots. a watch on a ribbon hangs from his vest; it looks familiar. he looks familiar. a benevolent smile rests on his lips.

you look at the plaque at the bottom of the gilded frame.

edmund bridgerton, the 8th viscount bridgerton.

you look back up at the painting, captured by a particular feature.

“you have his eyes.”

“his are gray; mine are blue.”

you roll your eyes but smile despite yourself. (you try to ignore the flutterings that bloom upon hearing his voice again.)

“yes, but that’s not what i was referring to. they peer into you— not with scrutiny, nor judgment, but with kindness, curiosity, compassion. an eagerness to learn about you. pools of welcoming. cool tones that radiate warmth.”

you cough, ripping your eyes away from the portrait to inspect the scuffs of your boots. you feel embarrassment spread throughout your entire body as heat creeps up your neck.

“the painter is excellent at their craft. it is as if i know him, your father.”

silence falls in the expansive gallery, the calm and kind eyes of viscount bridgerton looking down upon you and his second eldest.

“i’ve missed you.”

you snap your head up to look at benedict, your eyes making contact with his ocean ones. welcoming and warm. honest and... hopeful?

i’ve missed you, too.

“benedict, it has only been a fortnight since we saw each other last,” you respond aloud, your voice coming out so much softer than you had intended. you offer him a small smile, an olive branch of sorts. something of relief starts to fill his ocean eyes, but his demeanor does not change.

“i behaved arrogantly, and you did not deserve to be the recipient of such behavior. no one does, and i am so— i am so sorry, y/n.”

and you know he is. you resist the urge to touch his cheek, to comfort him with your caress, to selfishly have your skin touch his. instead, you look on at him.

“i do not ask you to grant me your forgiveness; i know i am unworthy of it. i just— i just wanted you to know how i felt, and feel still. and how i shall work on myself to be better, to do better.”

the butterflies in your stomach flutter maddeningly. you emit an exhale from your nostrils. the urge to touch him intensifies, and you feel yourself flex your hand to let go of the sensation. you huff out another breath, and smile brightly, sincerely, at benedict.

“well,” you begin, “with our friendship renewed, care to show me what other paintings you love in this gallery?”

benedict’s ocean eyes beam with relief and joy, a brilliant smile lighting up his face, and it takes all your self-control not to drop all discretion and wrap your arms around him in a crushing embrace.

“i would love nothing more, y/n,” he declares.

you try not to flutter your eyes closed at the words ‘i,’ ‘love,’ and your name in the same breath from benedict’s lips. at the pleasantness and home you feel in them. you smile on.

“where shall we begin, then?”

you and benedict walk together as he approaches a miniature in a wooden frame ornately carved with floral motifs. he admits that he has not the slightest clue which bridgerton ancestor this is, and that makes you snort. grinning, he points out how adeptly the artist portrayed the translucency and fluidity of the lady’s veil and how particularly impressive it must have been to accomplish such effects in paints during the early 1600s, if the remnant dating of the artist’s signature is correct. you remark how particularly impressive it is that a painting has endured two hundred years of existence, details still intact, and benedict responds simply that rich people have a way. that makes you snort again, and that makes benedict grin again.

he then leads you to a portrait of kathani and anthony, the viscountess sat in a chair with the viscount stood behind. you marvel at the painting—how much it looks like them, how much it captures kathani’s confidence, how much it captures anthony’s conviction, how much it captures their love. excitement coloring his voice, benedict imparts to you how he was given the opportunity to observe and assist the painter on the days the latter was commissioned to portray the viscountess and the viscount. he also shares with you how impossibly difficult they were as models, always giggling and kissing and looking away from the painter and talking to one another, being overall sickeningly saccharine. you chortle and share with him how that does not surprise you in the least bit. despite his annoyance upon recalling the memory, an incredibly fond smile rests on benedict’s lips. turning from his lips back to the painting, you remark how in love they are, and he remarks that, indeed, they very much are—and turns his fond smile from the painting to you.

coughing, you walk over and ask about the landscape of an enormous building. benedict names it as aubrey hall, the ancestral home of the bridgertons. you recall how you had heard of it early on in your friendship with the bridgertons; you had been unable to see them one week as they were preparing for kathani’s first ball as viscountess at the home. you also recall how the usually collected and confident kathani was anxious and uncertain during that time. benedict, beaming with pride, says how, of course, she absolutely excelled and how all of the ton—he rolls his eyes then and you guffaw—enjoyed themselves at the event. while kathani had done an unsurprisingly resplendent job, the ball was not very entertaining to benedict. he much more enjoyed the annual bridgerton game of pall mall leading up to the event. after announcing how kathani had won—much to the contradictory disappointment and delight of her husband—and answering your questions about what sounds, to you, like a very silly, very fun game, benedict suggests that you join them next year. you laugh, finding it impossible to imagine yourself at a home such as aubrey hall, particularly for the entirety of three days, but your heart swells at the invitation and the sincerity in his voice, and you say aloud how you would love nothing more.

your spontaneous tour eventually comes to an end, and the two of you make your way towards the entrance, still discussing the various art you had seen. as you and benedict walk out of the gallery, a thought crosses your mind.

“none of your work is on display.”

you notice how benedict stiffens. you feel your smile tug into a frown.

“ah, yes. i do not think my work is— up to snuff— with the work on display here.”

“horse shit.”

benedict’s jaw drops, his face aghast and regaled in reaction to what you assume is your choice of language. you merely shrug.

“you have not even seen my work!”

“i do not need to see your work when i can already see how harsh you are being.”

he scoffs, and it aggravates you.

“fine— i will show you, then, and prove to you my point.”

“fine, then! show me, and i will prove to you my point!”

–

“you are full of horse shit!”

you and benedict are in his bedchamber, where all his works are hidden away. he has shown you canvas after canvas, sketch after sketch, charcoal drawing after charcoal drawing, his palette of color ideas— and he still has the audacity to say that his work is not “up to snuff” for the bridgerton gallery.

benedict looks aghast again, perhaps by your language, perhaps by what you are (very rightly, very correctly) insisting. he shakes the canvas that he holds in his hand in your face.

“look at the proportions, y/n! they are entirely off!”

you roll your eyes, swatting his arm away, and begin to rummage through his other work. you pull a sheet and hold it up to benedict’s face.

“look at this sketch, then look at the canvas. there is a very clear, marked improvement, and with only a—” you look at the dates at the bottom right corners for confirmation, “—a difference of two days!”

“what does ‘improvement’ mean if the improvement is not even good!”

“it is good! and! improvement is everything, benedict! it is progress!”

“what—”

you and benedict jump back from one another by the sudden new voice. you had not realized how close the two of you were as you were shouting at one another, how close your faces were to one another, how close your lips were to—

a blazing heat creeps up your neck, at the tip of your ears, and across your cheeks as you turn from benedict’s flustered face to the scowl of the eldest bridgerton sibling in the doorway.

“—are the two of you doing?”

“brother! i— i was merely showing y/n my work.”

you vigorously nod your head. anthony’s glare remains unaffected.

“alone? together? in your bedchamber?”

your heart almost leaps out of your chest, your eyes about to bulge out of their sockets as you look around the room, suddenly aware of where you are. you are in benedict’s bedchamber. alone. together.

“i—” you start, very pathetically. “i—— we—”

anthony curtly bows his head at you.

“y/n, i would like to have a word with my brother. in private. please.”

“of— of course, right— of course!”

you hastily put the sketch on a nearby table and walk towards the door, pass anthony as he steps in, and are about to run down the hall and away from the scene when—

you turn and steal a glance at benedict, mustering up all the apologies you can convey through your eyes. despite the peril of his current predicament, his ocean eyes soften immediately, and a thousand butterflies erupt in your stomach and flutter around viciously. he offers you a slight smile, one that is sincere and unregretful. you offer one back, just as sincere, just as unregretful, before anthony gives you another bow of his head and closes the door.

–

“are you pleased by the results of your consorted trickery?” you state blandly upon seeing the young ladies that you thought were your friends sitting in the drawing room.

eloise looks up from her pamphlet, beaming at you, as penelope wears a wide and proud smile. well, at least they have answered your question.

“trickery?” eloise feigns. you roll your eyes; their expressions answer honestly, but their words continue their game. “i have no idea what you are referring to. pen and i were merely keen on viewing the art gallery today, and i thought, my blue-deviled of an elder brother ought to stop moping about; what better to get him to leave his bedchamber than by way of his favorite topic?”

“and his other favorite topic,” penelope adds. eloise chortles, and you feel the tips of your ears heat.

“what is that supposed to mean!”

eloise waves a dismissive hand at you.

“benedict knew nothing of your arrival, as i am sure you deduced by his surprise,” but the second eldest daughter grins wickedly. “though, from the sheer amount of time you have spent together thus far today, i am also sure the surprise was very welcomed, indeed.”

“by both parties, it seems.”

you promptly ignore the flush you feel on the apples of your cheeks. your friends are lucifer incarnate split into two.

“well, then you must be delighted to know that your shared plot has led to punitive action against him.”

that surprises them. (good. you are relieved to finally have some sort of an upperhand in this conversation.)

“‘punitive action’? by whom? for what?”

“by—”

the three of you hear a set of footsteps. you look to where the sounds are heard and see the two eldest bridgerton siblings enter the drawing room, the elder approaching you with conviction and the younger trailing behind him like a pet that has just been reprimanded. the sight would make you laugh, if you weren’t the one to have instigated the current conflict between the two brothers.

anthony stands before you, posture perfect and chin held up high.

“y/n, thank you for your patience. please allow me to apologize most ardently on behalf of my brother for his complete and utter lack of propriety. it will not happen again as i shall be more vigilant in tracking his every deed. i do hope this incident of my brother’s disrespect does not taint the beloved friendship between you and our family.”

and he deeply bows his head at you.

your jaw drops. benedict shuts his eyes tight and scrunches his face. penelope bops her gaze amongst the three of you. and eloise just howls, causing anthony to break the gravitas of his decorum and shoot a glare at her.

“it is no laughing matter, eloise!”

“it is harmless fun, brother! a pursuit of intellect exchanged between two creatives, who also happened to be by themselves. i have never heard of a baby being conceived from sharing some art.”

“ELOISE BRIDGERTON!”

you have now entirely hidden your face behind your hands; no one needs to witness the deep crimson that you are certain is spreading very rapidly across your countenance. an absurd hope also blooms in you that if you cannot see the others, then the others cannot see you.

“what ever is the matter in here?”

your eyes shoot open upon hearing the much needed voice of reason. removing your hands from your face, you see kathani enter the drawing room, a confused expression worn on her face.

“my dearest,” anthony begins, “i have offered my deepest apologies to y/n for benedict’s disgrace.”

“disgrace,” scoffs eloise, crossing her arms.

“disgrace!” reiterates anthony with increased fervor. kathani’s confusion does not lighten. she looks to benedict, whose eyes are scrunched closed again (his nose looks adorable this way), and then to you.

“are you all right, y/n?” she inquires gently.

“i—” you had intended to say, am well, but that would be a lie. you are utterly mortified. so, instead, you state the truth.

“benedict has been a gentleman. he has treated me with the utmost respect, and when he has done wrong by me— which! which has nothing to do with our being in his bedchamber!— he—” you steady your voice, determined to say this right, as you know and feel it with and in your heart, “he has corrected himself and bettered his words and thoughts and deeds.”

“you hear that, brother? no harm has been done.”

“eloise, you were not even there!”

“i believe what eloise means, anbe, is that you are being dramatic.”

“dramat— they were in his bedchamber, kathani! together! alone!”

kathani rolls her eyes, her attempt at diplomacy entirely gone.

“speak louder, anthony; just a bit more and the entire country shall hear you.”

the viscount pouts grumpily at his beloved, emitting a huff of air through his nostrils.

“you must trust y/n by her word,” the viscountess states.

“or do you not trust someone of feminine disposition to speak for herself?” eloise inquires.

“pen!”

you all snap your gazes to the entrance of the drawing room and see colin making his way to your friend in blue, followed by—

“y/n!” shouts gregory and hyacinth as they run towards you.

“y/n, penelope!” remarks violet and approaches you both. “how delightful it is to see you! you—” she says, reaching out for your hand, gently taking it in hers, and smiling kindly at you, “—in particular. it has been a moment, y/n.”

it melts your heart, really. the sincerity of affection that flows so easily from violet bridgerton. you recall the kind eyes and benevolent smile of her late husband. it is no wonder you so easily fell in love with this family; true, real love is woven into the very fabrics of each of their beings.

you look at them. hyacinth and gregory cling onto your slides, holding you tight. kathani and anthony are engrossed in debate, affection in their eyes despite the heat in their words. colin and penelope speak with and blush around one another as eloise, unknowingly (and, in your opinion, frustratingly, endearingly), butts into their conversation. and benedict. who, with the gaze of the entire room no longer on his so-called indiscretion, is looking at you. softly. with those damned, wondrous, bewitching ocean eyes. a smile on his lips that makes the flutterings in your stomach unbearingly, wonderfully unyielding.

you truly, really love this family.

you love the bridgertons.

“though,” the dowager viscountess starts.

shaking yourself out of your thoughts, you see how violet looks at the others in the room as half of them now pointedly avoid eye contact with the matriarch and the other half share a similar sentiment to her.

“is everything all right?” she turns to you, peering curiously into your eyes. “has something happened?”

you cannot help the laugh that bubbles out of you. violet seems taken aback by your reaction, as are the others in your periphery, but her eyes, as well as theirs, shine on.

“i think,” you say, smiling, “it is just another day with the bridgertons.”

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explodo-smash · 4 months

Note

Are you one of the people expecting bkdk to be canon? I just learned that there are people that sincerely believe Hori would have Deku and Bkg have an explicit confession of love. That he's going to be the first popular mangaka to have a endgame gay ship. I am in so many mlm ships of shounen but I've never had the delusion that the author would make them canon despite the evidences otherwise. Like I thought it's fine to ship mlm as long as we stayed in our lane and never harassed the author.

After speaking together, we do believe based on the evidence in the series that BakuDeku being canon is not an even vaguely unreasonable conclusion to reach. We think the story is written in a way you can reach that conclusion easily, so much that even casual viewers who aren’t shippers are questioning the nature/potential conclusion of their relationship.

One of the most consistent and convincing lines of evidence for us has been Katsuki taking on roles/positions traditionally reserved for female heroines/love interests (if you’ve seen anyone call him “narratively androgynous,” this is what they’re referring to). In the context of Jump magazine, we have a number of shonen heroines and love interests to compare Katsuki to. The similarities are so striking that many notable people (including the VAs for the anime) have taken to calling him the heroine of the series.

However, we do think things like homophobia (whether it’s the writer or the audience/consumerbase at large– in this case we’re primarily referring to the audience), the safety of everyone involved, and timing are all unpredictable factors people have to take into consideration when writing/reading a story of this magnitude. Needless to say, if Horikoshi is indeed planning an endgame for bakudeku, he’d also have to take these factors into consideration.

Horikoshi has a record of being pretty in-tune with his fanbase. He definitely keeps some eye on bnha’s reception–for example, he mentioned a while back that both the people who love Katsuki and the people who hate him will have something to look forward to in this finale (we can now see what he meant lol). He’s very likely aware of the people who love bakudeku and the people who loathe it.

Taking into account that he tends to be very intentional with his writing choices, he’s written this story in a way that not only centered bakudeku’s relationship over others (notably Izuku + Ochako’s, the character he’d presumably end up with if things were going predictably?), but also went the extra mile to distinguish their relationship as unique, closer than all their other relationships, the “biggest pillar of the story” (x, x). He didn’t have to do all of this. This extra push is what’s giving bakudeku that undeniable chance at an endgame right now, because it’s come to a point where no one can ignore the implications of scenes like this:

On the flip side, we don’t think people’s hesitation is unreasonable. It’s scary! If bakudeku were to fall flat of all this buildup/our expectations, it wouldn’t be the first time the romantic implications between a pair of boys in a story like this was ignored. Hell it wouldn’t be the first time a popular pair in general, (gay or not) got ignored in favor of what the author just felt like doing, regardless of what any previous developments in the story or interviews or official artwork would have us believe. There’s enough written evidence that canon bakudeku wouldn’t be surprising, but there’s also (at the time of writing this response) still room for things to go another direction, for all of this to be recontextualized and passed as something else.

As per social norms/patterns of behavior, this would be disappointing as hell but not surprising. Especially for people who have been let down before, we completely understand the need/impulse to distance oneself from the idea/hope that bakudeku may become canon.

In all honesty, if it turns out bakudeku isn’t canon or left open-ended (say, an ending where they’re partners of some kind/the closest to one another without that explicit romantic confirmation), we would be frustrated/heartbroken. Not because we feel like Horikoshi shouldn’t do what he wants, he should. But because there’s been a clear effort to bring LGBTQ+ readers into the fold, and tell and portray our experiences in MHA. Horikoshi has done a beautiful, incredible job of writing various LGBTQ+ and marginalized experiences as a metaphor in his stories. Toga is a prime example. This is something that readers around the world have noticed, and it’s something MHA is special for (see this data x, and the further context/commentary on it given here x).

We think it’s intentional. This story and the relationships in it have invoked experiences close and personal to many of us. Things are in a state right now where we wouldn’t just feel baited, we feel like readers would have a right to feel unsatisfied.

That being said, feeling unsatisfied doesn’t equate to feeling empowered to harass or bother others. Especially not Horikoshi himself, and also including other readers who had differing expectations. This is really the case across the board. We should all be able to control our anticipation/expectations without becoming assholes.

It’s not just the shippers, by the way. People who work on the series or work closely with Horikoshi have rooted for bakudeku to go beyond. Izuku and Katsuki have already done what a good chunk of the readerbase thought impossible and became friends. People see their writing, their potential, and they want more. The voice actors (x, x sorry for the crunchy pic it's all i've got atm), academics (x), musicians (x, x) , editors (x) and more have all kind of rallied around Bakugou and Deku’s bond, with a particular sensitivity towards the deeply and uniquely intimate nature of it + how it evokes romance.

We’d like to see MHA exist free of the burdens previous popular shounen series have had placed on them. But that’s a conversation for the ending. As far as the fanbase goes, I think it’s super important people practice humility and caution when speaking to others. We have NO way of knowing what will happen. People who have been traumatized by situations like this in the past have a right to be anxious, people in general are allowed to withhold judgment until we have all the information we need. However, we don’t think having hope or confidence that this narrative might lead us to a canon bakudeku is unwarranted or delusional.

At the end of the day one thing is true, and this was something we had to fight to “prove” much longer than we had to prove Bakudeku had romantic potential - it’s that Kacchan and Izuku’s lives are going to be forever intertwined in this new era of their world that births from the finale.

They’re forever intertwined in a way that’s not replicable for any other character in the series, and that’s amazing all on its own. We’ll just have to wait and see how far they take it! Thanks for reading if you got this far, and Happy Holidays!

#Anonymous #ask #bakudeku #dekubaku #katsudeku

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builtbybrokenbells · 2 months

Text

LEX TALIONIS - the law of retaliation, whereby a punishment resembles the offense committed in kind and degree.

The one in which the player, who is fantastically gifted in her ability to play, finally gets a taste of her own medicine.

PAIRING: Jake Kiszka x f!reader, Josh Kiszka x f!reader

WORD COUNT: TBD

WARNINGS: SMUT 18+ (lots because everyone is a whore in this one) (list of full warnings within each chapter), drinking, smoking, swearing, angst, sorry if i miss any!

I. ORSUS | TEASER

II. MALUS

III. VENEFICA

IV. FRATRES SEMPER

V. LEX TALIONIS

STORY DISCLAIMER: to ensure there is no confusion, this is not a love story 😉 all my love x

DISCLAIMER: I do not know Greta Van Fleet or any of the members personally. This is all fiction and I will never claim otherwise. I attempt to keep all of my work 100% original, so please do not steal or take credit for my writing. As of right now, I aim to get chapters out on weekends, but it is not guaranteed as I do have a full time job and other responsibilities to attend to. Please be patient and kind to me. Do not mind any grammatical errors or spelling mistakes, as I am the sole writer/editor for my blog and do miss things sometimes.

TAGLIST: if you would like to be added to the Lex Talionis taglist, fill out this form. i promise i will see it, and if i happen to miss you, don’t be scared to ask again!

ACKNOWLEDGEMENT: I am incredibly grateful for all of the support, likes, reblogs and kind comments I receive from all of you. I would be nothing without your support, and I do take the time to read and appreciate every reply and message, even if I don’t respond. Thank you so much for all you do, and I sincerely hope that you enjoy this story as much as I do 🫶🏻

all things lex talionis:

playlist: apple music | spotify

moodboard:

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the-modern-typewriter · 4 months

Note

Hello! I've been reading through your blog for the past few days and everything you write is so amazing. I was wondering if maybe you would consider writing something about an aro high schooler who gets asked out by this person they've convinced themselves that they like, but when they're actually asked about it, it just feels wrong? (Bonus points if they think kissing is gross because imo it is) - sincerely, an aroace teen writer who is very inspired by you

"River kissed you!?" Their best friend shrieked, with all of the excitement that the protagonist had expected to feel.

They managed a weak smile. Their stomach squirmed.

It was supposed to be great, wasn't it? A first kiss. People wrote novels about them. It was the epic climax of the episode. It was fireworks and a fluttering stomach, it was the whole world narrowing down to a single moment, it was heart pounding love.

It was gross.

"...was it bad?" their friend asked, catching their expression. Their face fell. A smashed plate of disappointment.

The protagonist swallowed. "It was...wet."

"I mean, it takes a bit of practice to get good at it. Even with the right person. Did they stick their tongue down your throat?"

"No. I don't think so? I mean - it was fine." It would be fine. It would definitely be fine. Maybe their first kiss hadn't exactly been what they were hoping for, but it would get better. Wouldn't it? Their throat suddenly felt horribly tight. They pressed their lips together to keep their voice from wobbling and took a breath. "You're probably right. I mean, I don't know if they've ever kissed anyone before either. Maybe I was really bad at it."

"No!"

"It's okay." At least, if they were bad at kissing, that was something they could improve upon. At least it wouldn't always feel so...

It wasn't like it was all some elaborate ruse the whole population was in on, anyway. That would be ridiculous!

It had been a nice night otherwise. The movie had been good, and their hands had touched over the popcorn, and they'd got into a great discussion about the plot after.

It would get better.

...it did not get better, though.

They started to find excuses not to kiss River; "Let's take it slow."

A kiss on the head or the cheek wasn't so bad, or like a one second peck on the mouth. It was all the other kisses.

When it didn't feel wrong, they felt nothing. They counted the awkward seconds for it to be over, then vowed to do much better next time when they caught a glimpse of the confused sort of hurt in River's eyes.

"I know you're shy," River said, one day, in a trying-to-be-casual voice. "But you like...never kiss me. It's always me kissing you. Did I..." Their voice dropped, agonised, "am I really bad at it or something?"

"No, no!"

"Oh, good."

"I just - I don't now." Their stomach squeezed. "I'm not sure I really like kissing," they confessed. "It's - I don't know." It felt rude to say ew.

"Oh," River said, in a tone of less good, but trying to be chill and non-judgy. "Okay."

"Sorry."

"It's okay." River took their hand, squeezed. "Kissing isn't everything, I guess. There are other things."

For a second, just a second, they were sure they'd never loved anyone more.

They liked River. Didn't they? They certainly thought they had. They had those cheekbones, and those pretty eyes, and they were always nice to everyone. They made the protagonist laugh, at least when there wasn't kissing involved.

It should have all been perfect.

They'd always wanted to fall in love.

In the end, they broke up after about three months.

The protagonist didn't ask what they'd done wrong, because it felt obvious, even if River wasn't cruel enough to say it. Maybe they should have ended it themselves, instead of forcing River to do it. Probably.

But what could they possibly say? It's not you, it's me. Nobody would believe that even if it was true. Oh, I know I said yes to dating you, but I'm just not that into you. That felt far too mean. It wasn't like River had done anything bad.

Their best friend held them while they cried, wracking things that choked up in their chest.

"What if I die alone?"

"Don't be stupid." Their best friend hugged them hard. "Of course you're not going to lie alone. River wasn't that great anyway! There's clearly something wrong with you if they don't want you."

The protagonist didn't quite dare say that wasn't exactly how it happened.

They kissed a few other people over the years, normally around the time when everyone else did. New Year, at the strike of twelve. If there wasn't any fireworks in the kiss, at least they were popping and fizzing outside and a new year was a new slate. They tried once after a few too many cocktails, with a friend, because maybe it would feel a little better when they were tipsy. With someone who definitely knew what they were doing.

It wasn't, though.

"You'll find the right person," their best friend said. "It's different when it's the right person, you know? Like me and Willow. I didn't think, but then..." They were happily in love; exuberant on it, nonstop on it.

The protagonist didn't want to resent it. They didn't want to be that person, spitting bitter like the villain in a fairytale.

"Romance novels are very exaggerated," their best friend said. "It's not always butterflies. It doesn't have to be butterflies to be real, you know? It's just someone you really want to spend time with."

But, the more the protagonist thought about it, the more they weren't sure that was quite true. There were plenty of people that they liked being around. It still didn't make them want to kiss them.

They weren't even sure they wanted to fall in love anymore. It wasn't like they spent most of their life miserable or anything. It was just...sometimes, when everyone else in the room had someone, or their parents asked them yet again if there was anyone they'd been seeing. Even in the height of drama, it all seemed so much easier for them.

They were twenty when they first came across the words.

Aromantic Asexual.

It was the second time they'd cried over the whole kissing thing.

That time it was relief.

"Oh my god," they left their best friend a message, vindicated. "It is an elaborate ruse!!! I'm going to bite something!!"

It got better, after that.

#aro #aroace #aromantic #bit different to my normal style hope it's okay #ficlet #story

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moonstruckme · 7 months

Note

Okay hey me again 😞 was hoping to send a request for more TASM!Peter x reader but one where he is comforting the reader bc they were stood up by their friends(cough cough me😬) like they were supposed to go out and she got all dolled up but they ditched her

This might be an oddly specific ask but I thought. Why not 😝 feel free to take the concept and RUN! I am all for writers doing whatever the hell they want

-🍁

Hi honey!! I'm so sorry that happened to you, I sincerely hope it wasn't anything like the scenario I chose for this story but if your friends did intentionally abandon you, that speaks far more poorly of them than you. I had that happen to me when I was younger, and now that I have more perspective it's easy to see how those girls were using that as an immature way to deal with their own insecurity. So once again, I hope you weren't in this sort of situation, but if you were please know that it's likely got nothing to do with you and you're amazing and lovely!! <3

Peter Parker x fem!reader ♡ 586 words

Peter’s hand is warm on your back, rubbing big circles with a steadying pressure. It’s comforting and undoing at the same time, because you’re stubbornly sure you wouldn’t have become so discomposed without his tender sympathy. Another tear slips down your cheek, splattering mascara-black on your thigh.

“They’re idiots,” Peter says, not for the first time. His voice is weighed down by helpless distress. “They don’t know what they’re missing, sweetheart.”

You inhale wetly. “I just don’t get how they thought I wouldn’t find out.”

“My point exactly. They’re idiots.”

You sniffle again, your tear ducts finally emptied, and you want to lean your head on Peter’s shoulder, but that feels too pathetic and needy right now. Come to think of it, it was probably your pathetic neediness that got you ditched tonight.

It isn’t the first time this has happened. At least, not the first time you’ve made plans with your friends only for them to all become suddenly busy right before. It is the first time, though, that you’ve received a text meant for someone else, saying that your friend is on their way to dinner and will meet everyone else there. The natural conclusion is that this was just the first slip up; that every time you’ve gotten dressed up only to have your plans canceled, the rest of your friends are carrying out the night without you.

Like he can feel the want, Peter stops rubbing your back to wrap his arm around your shoulders, encouraging you downwards until you’re leaning on him. He pets your hair, mindless of your makeup and snot getting on his shirt.

“Can I say something about them that you might not like?”

Trepidation creeps into your throat, but you nod. Peter would never say anything to make you feel worse than you do right now.

“I’ve never thought they were very nice people,” he confesses quietly. “The way they talk about each other when some of them aren’t around, not to mention the way they talk about other people…I mean, you’re not like that.” His hand comes to rest on your shoulder, thumb stroking soothingly just above your collarbone. “I think that’s why they don’t always want to hang out with you, honey. You just don’t engage with that stuff. And I don’t mean that as a bad thing.”

You’re silent but for your quiet sniffling, unwilling to condemn your friends but not really finding fault in Peter’s assessment either.

“They don’t deserve you,” he says softly. “I’m not just saying that because I love you, okay? I mean it. You’re nicer than them, and I think they know it. They don’t want to have to measure up.” A pause. “You hearing me, sweetheart?”

“I’m hearing you,” you reply croakily. “Thanks, Pete.”

He squeezes your shoulder. “Nothing to thank me for. Listen, I’m sure you’re not feeling it tonight, but if you still want to wear this outfit somewhere, I’d love to take you out tomorrow. You look so pretty, it’d be a shame if no one but me got to see you all dolled up.”

You raise your head from his shoulder to give him a look, knowing there’s mascara tracked down your face and snot glossy under your nose. “You think? Should we go out right now?”

Peter knows what you’re about, but his smile is teeming with sweetness anyway. “Absolutely, if you wanna.”

“You gonna show me off? Just like this?”

“Grab your bag, sweet thing. Let’s show ‘em who runs this town.”

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cordeliawhohung · 4 months

Note

same anon as before, I'm picturing reader looking over their shoulder like "are they talking to us" as their co-worker tries to flag them down from the other side of the street and Simon just says "no I can't possibly fathom why they would ever do that" and reader just looks at him like wtf why are you suddenly speaking in that manner because I'm imagining he says is without a hint of sarcasm and borderline sincerity (for the bit of course) but whoopsies they're at his parking spot already I'm sure it's fine and totally nothing not like he on purpose added another 0 to his 20 percent tip or anything anyways time to go home.

also glad you like my silly little ramblings I'm bedridden and my brain is fried so I did not have the nerve to send that ask to a writer I really admire off anon but I hope you'll accept my addition to the ask because I will die on the hill that ghost would do small things like this for the bit knowing it would benifit other people in small but impactful ways

previous post here <3

LMAO not him suddenly talking like he's in a different century he so would do that for the bit! and he rushes you off home and everything and the next time you go to work your coworkers are CROWDING you. they're like, did he mean to do this? you realize how big of a tip this is right? does he want some of it back there's no way someone would give us that much! and you're just standing there like *surprised pikachu face* he did what?

oh god and imagine confronting him about it later. you're asking him why he left so much, he's got the entire waitstaff freaking out and he's like ???? i don't see the problem?

"Simon, you realize how much money this is, right?"

"What about it?"

"It's just that, I don't know, people don't usually leave tips twice as big as what they paid in food for."

"Do you not think they deserved it?"

you're fucking stunned. and he's just looking at you with that innocent look in his eyes, the one that screams that he knew exactly what he did and you find yourself speechless for a moment before you choke out, "well, of course they deserved it, it's just-"

"Then there's no issue, yeah?"

keep it up sweetheart, he's gonna make it 300% next time <3

and awe, hun ): sorry to hear you aren't feeling great! but i will always accept cute additions like these!! thank you so much for adding to it, i love reading what other people think about this <3

#core responds #mafia!simon #mafia!ghost #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader

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archiveikemen · 2 months

Text

Victor 1st Birthday Campaign: Story (2024)

His POV

This is a fan-made translation solely for entertainment purposes with no guaranteed perfection. I do not own any of the original content. Please support CYBIRD by buying their stories and playing their games. Reblogs appreciated.

Warnings and FAQ

The darkness of the night was my friend, and death was myself.

Today too, I walked, and walked, and walked in the darkness.

Then, I suddenly turned around.

Look, over there – a bloodied, blissful look of death.

…

Kate: Victor, Harrison lent me a book recently, so…

I did my own work, while Kate did the work she had as the fairytale writer.

Working in the same office together and listening to her stories gradually became a part of my everyday life.

(... She looks happy. She’s become a true member of Crown now.)

Kate: Right, about the matter regarding the maid Marianne that I discussed with you a few days back—

Victor: Ah, give her a few days off work. Meeting up with a long-distance lover is a very important occasion.

When I told her that I had already settled the matter we were in the midst of discussing, she blinked in surprise.

Kate: Victor… at approximately what time do you usually go to sleep?

Victor: Usually?

Kate: I understand that you have a heavy workload, and that’s something I can never deal with.

Kate: But whenever I approach you for something I want to discuss, you immediately resolve the matter on your own…

Victor: Ehh~~ are you perhaps praising me? Goodness, I’m overjoyed!

Victor: But unfortunately, I need to sleep as well. I’m a human being, after all. I only have so much time in a day.

Victor: Which means, the matters you bring up to me are of extremely high priority compared to the other things I have on hand.

Kate: … Thank you, Victor.

Victor: I thank you too, for caring about the other staff working here.*

*Victor actually referred to them as “kids”

Kate: Also… you can forget that I said anything if it turns out to be a misunderstanding, but…

Victor: … Hm?

Kate: Do you have something that’s been bothering you lately, Victor?

Kate: Things that make you unhappy…

(This girl is very observant and sharp.)

Those sincere eyes of hers deserve a sincere reply.

Victor: I have a mission with William tonight, and it’s not one that puts me in a good mood.

I was made aware of the existence of an organisation hat made Her Majesty the symbol of their beliefs — in other words, they worship her like a god.

(People are entitled to their religious beliefs, and Crown has no rights to interfere on that, however…)

There was word that the organisation abducted women and imprisoned them to be worshipped, and those who held no physical resemblance to Her Majesty were killed.

Victor: Tonight, we will investigate the organisation and punish them if found guilty.

Kate: … To think they’d kill people over their religious beliefs.

Victor: Kate, because this mission might make you uncomfortable—

Not giving me a chance to finish my sentence, she responded with a stern look.

Kate: Victor, can you allow me to accompany you on this mission as the fairytale writer?

Out of respect for her wish, I accepted her request and we headed to the organisation’s base that night.

…

William: We found the belongings of the missing women, blood stains, and bodies. They have no way to defend themselves now.

Kate: Means to say… they’re guilty?

Tommy Yeager, aristocrat. Leah Rodríguez, congresswoman. Kevin Nicholson…

(This is a lot of important people.)

Out of greed for greater power, they worshipped the Queen and hoped that she would fulfil their wishes.

William: There are two possible venues for tonight’s ritual; one is the top floor of this mansion, and the other is the basement.

Victor: Kate and I will go down to the basement. We shall proceed immediately, in order to prevent any more sacrifices.

Kate: Okay…

William: Victor, how much “mercy” do you want to show tonight?

Victor: — No need for any. Their wrongdoings are deserving of condemnation. Give into your wickedness, Will.

Not wanting Kate to witness anything horrifying, I prayed that we weren’t headed for where our “prize” was.

…

(Ahh, turns out the basement is indeed where our “prize” is at.)

In the basement was what appeared to be an altar, candlelight flickering.

A group of people in masquerade surrounded the altar, laying at the centre was a young girl who looked of tender years.

(Is that the “substitute” for Her Majesty? … Utterly heinous.)

I noticed that one of the men was about to lower the candle in his hand onto the girl’s arm, and I reflexively took a step forward.

— But Kate beat me to it.

Kate: … STOP!

Masked Red-Haired Man: Wha– what’s with this woman!? Let go, get your hands off me…

Kate: Please let that girl go! Ahh…!

In that split second, Kate was shoved into the altar and instantly collapsed onto the ground.

Victor: Kate…? Kate…

(She’s alright, she’s still breathing. She only lost consciousness…)

— There was something on the ground next to her, it seemed that it fell out during her fall.

(Oh, this is…)

– Flashback Start –

Victor: Kate, you’ll be following Elbert and Roger on their mission tonight.

Kate: Okay. I’m still not used to this, I hope I won't get in their way.

Victor: I see. In that case, take this with you.

Kate: … A Cameo hair ornament?

Victor: May it keep you out of harm’s way.

Kate: Fufu, I feel safe knowing that you’re always on a lookout for me.

Kate: Thank you very much, Victor! I’ll be on my way.

– Flashback End –

(... This is the hair ornament I gifted you back when you first joined Crown.)

(You’ve been keeping it by your side like a protective charm…)

Kate lying unconscious on the ground, the girl on the altar, all the innocent women who died there—

Tonight, I had more than enough reason to show absolutely no mercy.

Masked Red-Haired Man: Pfft, haha. This is all because she disrupted our ritual!

Masked Black-Haired Man: … H-Hey. Hold on… this man is…

Masked Black-Haired Man: Isn’t this Sir Victor?

Masked Man with Freckles: I-It really is! How could the Queen’s right hand man show up in such a place!?

I took a good look at all of them, and my gaze focused on one person.

Victor: Was it you who pushed that girl?

Masked Red-Haired Man: Y-Yes… it was me, Sir Victor.

Staring at the man who scrambled up to me, I commanded.

(... It's time for death to come to you.)

Victor: In the name of … I command you. — Now, succumb to my wickedness.

In a trance, the man stared into space.

Masked Red-Haired Man: Ahh… somehow… I feel so happy… I… I…

The man wrapped his hands around his neck, immediately taking his own life.

Masked Black-Haired Man: Is he… dead? Why did he kill himself…?

I turned my gaze towards the alarmed and bewildered men.

Victor: … From right to left, say your names.

Masked Black-Haired Man: Tommy Yeager. … Ugh, gguhh…

I gave another death order.

Masked Man with Freckles: Leah Rodríguez. I- I… ahh!

And another.

All that was left was dead silence.

As though they had a blissful dream, the men died with peaceful expressions on their faces.

William: Is it over? Looks like there’s no chance for me to step into the spotlight.

Victor: Oh, Will. This is where the “prize” was.

William: They died with such peaceful faces, it’s almost as if they were possessed by a god.

(A god, huh.)

It was like saying that “Her Majesty The Queen” was no god.

Victor: … Humans can never become god.

William: Based on what you said, that will surely be the case.

With a calm smile, William picked up the girl on the altar.

William: You can entrust this girl to me. I’ll leave you to look after Kate.

William: Because it seems to me that your rage is heavily correlated to her.

…

Roger examined Kate upon our return to the castle, and he said that she would regain consciousness very soon.

I gently laid the unconscious Kate on her bed.

(Kate. … I’m so glad you’re safe.)

Looking at her face, I was reminded of the night we first met.

When I suggested that she become our fairytale writer, it was partially because I came up with that on the spot.

The other reason being… I anticipated the change she would bring to Crown.

Despite their differences, every member of Crown was a person of strong character.

It was precisely because of that, I believed that “change brought upon by others” was crucial.

Humans could only grow stronger in the presence of others.

(This change will guide those guys towards a more beautiful evil.)

And I would watch her from a distance — that was the original plan, at least.

(Unknowingly, you brought upon a change in me too.)

As William said earlier on, it was clear that seeing her hurt made me fly into a rage.

I felt alive, that was… a “human” emotion.

(Your presence has turned me from a spectator to a player.)

(However—)

I gently placed the Cameo hair ornament back into Kate’s hair.

(Regardless of how lovely you are, I will always remain by your side as “Victor, Aide to The Queen”.)

(No more, no less.)

Or else, my darkness, and death — would swallow her whole.

I gave her hair a gentlemanly kiss.

Victor: Consider this a bad dream and forget everything. Be it nightmares or death, I will never let them reach you.

Victor: … Good night, Kate.

…

The next day, Kate regained her consciousness and came to me at the speed of light to apologise.

Kate: I’m truly sorry, Victor. I was to blame for rushing out without thinking it through…

(You’d still blame yourself even if I tell you I didn't mind, won't you?)

(Ah, that's right. In that case…)

Victor: Would you like to have lunch with me, Kate?

…

Victor: I was about to have a lonely lunchtime today, I’m so glad you’re here.

Kate: Can I make it up to you for last night with this?

Victor: Of course. I find joy in having a delicious meal with another person’s company.

Kate: Fufu, that’s good to hear.

(That captivating smile of yours is finally back.)

— Suddenly, it started drizzling.

Victor: It’s a passing shower. Come here, Kate. Let’s take shelter at the gazebo over there.

Kate: A-Alright…

…

(... That was surprising. The rainfall in London can be so unpredictable.)

Victor: Kate, are you alright—

Before I could ask, Kate wiped my cheeks with her hands.

Kate: I’m alright. You, on the other hand…

Victor: … (surprised)

Despite being drenched herself, she was still more concerned about me. The hands touching me felt so warm, almost like a gentle shower falling from the clear sky.

There it was “again” — the change in my heart.

Kate: Ah, I almost forgot. Liam told me that he has something for you.

Kate: I’m very curious about why he said in a frustrated tone that he was “supposed to give it to you yesterday”.

(Ahh…)

Victor: It was my birthday yesterday.

Kate: … Wait.

Kate: WHAT!?

That was likely the most shocked I had ever seen her from the day we met, I couldn't contain my laughter.

(I never intended to tell you myself, because I know you’ll get unnecessarily worked up over it.)

Kate: I-I’m so sorry I didn’t prepare a present for you, I didn’t know it was your birthday…

Victor: Haha, it’s okay. I already received one from you.

Kate: …?

Victor: You spent the whole day with me yesterday.

Victor: Although I genuinely only wanted to respect your freedom of choice, perhaps I also had the childish wish for you to stay by my side on my birthday.

Victor: … Thank you, Kate.

She looked up at the clear sky with a smile.

Kate: … Hey, Victor. I want to become stronger.

Victor: Why so?

Kate: I know that you’ll always protect me from harm, but… being the weakling I am…

She mumbled “I know there are many things in this world that are better off being left unbeknownst to me” under her breath.

Then, she continued, saying “but if it's things related to you, I want to know all about them”. And—

Kate: When you’re having a hard time, I don't want to just laugh it off and pretend I don’t know.

I was captivated by the way she said those words with a smile.

Not only did she change Crown and I, even she went through beautiful changes with every blink of an eye.

(... This girl is like a storm in springtime.)

Would I someday be caught up in that storm — and tell her the truth?

(But now is not the time.)

Victor: Don’t move too fast towards becoming stronger, I’ll feel lonely being left behind.

(Stay like this just for a little bit longer.)

#ikemen villains #ikemen series #cybird ikemen #otome #cybird otome #ikevil birthday #victor

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oxittocin · 2 months

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Oxittocin I have a request ,

If you could write robin thinking lewd and naughty stuff about Male reader while she is reading a book in the library or aquarium, the he enters the room out nowhere and she is flustered, please...

lust (nico robin x reader)

nico robin masterlist

a very big salute to all the smut writers out there because shit's hard to write. here you go, anon - writing anything mildly suggestive already makes me blush, so i hope this is all right.

cw: male!reader, nsfw (mdni!)

It wasn’t that the book was boring.

No, in fact, it’s one of the better journals she’d picked up in the last few weeks, which made this a million times more infuriating. That, even in the haven that was her library, she continues to be distracted. Her mind constantly wanders off to another daydream mid-sentence, struggling to form a single coherent thought for the past 15 pages that she’d skimmed through.

Resigning to the fact that she wasn’t in an ideal state to catch up on her readings, she gingerly shut the book and pushed it aside. Pinching the bridge of her nose, a frustrated sigh left her lips. As much as she hated to admit it, Nico Robin was in quite the predicament. How she wished that anything - anything at all - could offer some semblance of reprieve from the stupid, stupid thoughts that had been plaguing her mind.

It started as a mere observation. A simple, harmless one, really.

You were always so, so shy around her. Fidgeting. Averting her gaze. Faint blush that coloured your cheeks. The soft, gentle tone you used with her and only her.

Initially, she’d attributed your reactions to the hesitancy from meeting someone new on the crew. But, it seemed that the longer she’s known you, the shyer you got around her.

A shyness so polite and kind that she found it cute. Adorable, even. A tiny smile graced her lips as she found the right word. Endearing. You were endearing. In your clumsiness that exuded sincerity, in your quiet shyness that ultimately rendered her powerless to do anything but to give you her attention.

It might embarrass her a little to admit it, but there were days where she’d watch you from the upper deck, lowering the book just barely, just enough to watch you busy yourself around the ship. Bantering with Nami and Sanji, being up to your usual troublemaking antics with Luffy, working out with Zoro, or pranking Chopper with Usopp. Watching you started out as a form of entertainment for Robin. Over time, it started to intrigue her how unassumingly charming you could be. Infectious smile that elicited similar grins from the rest of the crew and your hopeful optimism that remains a steady anchor amidst the most relentless storms. It drew her to you.

What started out as an observation has escalated to a point of eliciting visceral reactions from Robin. Didn’t matter whether you were around or not. Just thinking of you made her feel…

She shook her head. No, not now, not tonight. The only thing she could do to cope with these dumb, pressing thoughts was her nightly ritual of indulging in her fantasies to finally get you off her mind. Though the sky had already turned considerably dark, she could still hear muffled chattering from outside the library. There’s no way that she could do it now. Squeezing her thighs together, she willed herself to think about anything else - anything other than you and the things she wanted to do to you.

Her mind has plans of its own, though, because every effort to redirect her thoughts elsewhere seemed to lead her right back to you.

To how handsome you would look, wearing your typical shy expression as you begged to be between her thighs. She wondered how your shyness would translate in the bedroom, and if you’d still look so bashful when railing her from behind or pulling her hair. You’d probably be so soft, so gentle. She imagine you’d kneel before her, head hanging low as you forced yourself to croak out a “please, Robin” while avoiding her eye contact. It wouldn’t be enough for her. She wants to hear you whimper. She needs the neediness and desperation dripping from your voice as you begged her for just one chance to taste her. She’d say “no” and tell you that you have to earn the right to touch her. You’d turn into a whiny mess. Pre-cum glistening on your twitching cock, gazing upon her with an expression of pure lust and adoration. She’d enjoy turning you into a whiny mess with the things she would do to tease you.

She had a few ideas. Stripping you down. Having you stroke your own cock as you sunk to your knees in front of her, fully aware of how much more pleasurable it would be to have her and her hands jerking you off instead. She'd watch on amused, cocky smile on her face as she sees how pink your ears are from the embarrassment that her gaze elicits. You’d bite your tongue to stop yourself from moaning so wantonly in front of her, but you both know that you’d fail. You’d moan anyway.

Or perhaps, she would tie you down to the sofa and make you watch as she touches herself, spreading her legs further apart to give you a better view of her pretty cunt. You would watch her thrust her fingers in and out of her pussy while summoning another hand to rub at her clit. Coating her fingers with her own slick, she’d shove them between your lips as your tongue sucks on and laps at her fingers, melting at the taste of her sweetness. She’d see how you involuntarily buckle your hips and she’d giggle, teasing you in soft whispers. She'd tell you how obviously you were showing how much you wanted her. She’d tell you to have more decorum as she pushes you against the sofa and sinks down onto your cock. She'd feel her body trembling as she moves up and down your cock, watching your cock disappear completely, enveloped into her body and filling her up as she grinds against your hips.

This wasn’t even half of what she wanted to do to you, but it was difficult to even indulge in her fantasies when her pussy was throbbing. Aching to be touched and begging to be filled.

Screw it, she thought, no one would come into the library this late anyway.

Reaching to pull the gusset of her panties to the side, she gently ran a finger over her own slit, feeling the extent of her arousal. Sliding two fingers inside herself, she let out an audible moan - one that was a little too loud for her liking. Still, the build-up had since taken precedence over everything else. Her other hand sliding under her clothes to gently knead at her breasts as she continued to pump her fingers in and out of her cunt.

Perhaps it was the haze of the moment, the momentary folly of not locking the library’s door, coupled with the sounds of her own moans overshadowing everything else that had led to this moment. Completely lost in her own pleasure, Robin had missed the warning that came in the creaking of the opening door as you entered the library.

It was only until you said, “Robin?” had she snapped herself out of her current preoccupation as her gaze met yours.

She was in a compromising position. Yet, any hint of surprise and shock on her end was masterfully hidden within seconds, save for the rosy flush that remains on her cheeks.

With a wave of her hand, you felt a push on your back as you stumbled closer towards Robin. Reaching out a hand to cup your cheeks tenderly, she pulled you closer, gaze meeting yours in a confident, cheeky grin. Her sultry voice had a hint of breathlessness as she teased you, “Ah, it seems that you have found me. Would you care to join me tonight?”

#nico robin x reader #nico robin smut #one piece smut #male reader #nico robin #nico robin x y/n #nico robin x you #one piece x reader #x reader #x male reader #talking shit

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thedecadenceofwar · 9 months

Text

i've just watched the ep. 7 conversation with ben for the second time (spoilers)

it's a lot, and it's really fucking heavy, and this time just like the last i had to pause and walk away, especially because of the moment after charlie leaves.

ben hope in this season, somehow more than last, is extremely punchable. he smirked a lot, notably. but in this moment you want him –

to just take a step forward.

the thing about ben in that apology was that he really believed that he was being so sincere, that he had figured something out, and that once he apologized, it was all gonna be okay. but he still wasn't able to comprehend that what he did wasn't just bad, it was wrong, and it severely affected charlie (see the charlie spring spectacular for more). and he was so pitiful! "I just wanted something good. You were something good."

he says to charlie: "If I just had more time." he tells nick: "charlie didn't even give me a chance to figure myself out." his whole argument hinges on the idea that he WOULD have been better, that he COULD have been better, if only they understood that none of it was his fault, never his fault – charlie was the one who didn't give him enough time, or nick was the one who stole charlie. he's dead set on being the victim. the victim of his parent's disapproval, of charlie's impatience, of nick "messing up [his] life." he refuses, even in the apology, to acknowledge what was actually wrong, acknowledge his actions. he says, "I was a dick back then." "I'm a messed-up person, Charlie." why, ben? why? what did you do, exactly, that makes you such a messed-up person? he doesn't know. he knows what he wanted: "something good," and he knows that he fucked it up, because he doesn't have it anymore, so he must be a bad person.

and it's – in a moment, for a second, you feel really bad for him, because he's smiling a little, and he's so sorry, and he really liked you, charlie, you know that, don't you. but then charlie speaks, and you watch his face fall, and fall, and fall. because he wasn't expecting charlie to call him on his actions. you can call yourself a bad person and get away with it until you face your actions head-on, and charlie is a collision.

here's the thing: ben says, "I want to be like you two, but my parents would never accept who I really am." but then when he's alone, with no one to see him but himself, faced with a safe space, one that is literally, narratively, welcoming him, he walks away from it. the waves lap at his feet. he could take the first step towards being better right there. redemption, right there. and goddammit, you're supposed to WANT HIM TO! because without knowing it he's hit on the theme of the season: be who you are on your own terms. being honest with yourself, by yourself, is the first step. and ben can't.

if ben wanted to apologize, he would have taken charlie's explanation, and he would have walked into those waves, and taken a chance on being honest with himself. but he just wanted liberation. he just wanted forgiveness. he just wanted to stop feeling bad about himself for long enough to feel good about being the victim.

ben hope is a tragedy. alice oseman and the writers know that most of heartstopper's audience is queer, that most of heartstopper's audience knows exactly what it's like to take one step forward into a queer space for the first time, and the terror and bravery that accompany that. you've been there, faced with a choice, walk forward into freedom and light – or walk backwards into secrecy and darkness.

And Ben makes his choice.

I think sometimes that becoming a better person means walking forward even when you know you don't deserve it.

#heartstopper #heartstopper season 2 #heartstopper spoilers #heartstopper meta #heartstopper analysis #ben hope #my stuff #i think that's all i can think of to say at the moment

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staryuee · 2 years

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“you’re such a cute couple!” — genshin hcs ⸝⸝

— [warnings]. not proofread but is that a surprise ehe, also some are pretty short bc i had writers block :((

— synopsis . . . you and [char.] get mistaken for a couple — but it seems this comment fluttered the heart of your ‘friend’ a little too sincerely.

— characters . . . heizou, tartaglia, jean, shenhe, kazuha, xinyan

— notes . . . GAAAA IM SO SORRY FOR NOT POSTING :(( i haven’t been feeling the greatest :’p im sort of getting back into the swing of things tho ^^ expect some more gushy fluff on the way

general backstory :

a banal monday afternoon, with you and [char.] linking arms and just slowly strolling the town, enjoying the soft breeze and the warmth of the sun. you two looked so at peace together, it was difficult for outsiders to not sneak a second glance at your puppy love.

during your little wander you stumbled across a generous elderly lady who flashed you two a gentle smile. as you were about to return the gesture, she says, “you’re such a cute couple! we rarely see such pure love in youngsters nowadays.”

S. HEIZOU

what exactly were you meant to say to that? you couldn’t break it to the poor lady..and plus you didn’t want to offend heizou by making it seem as if you’re completely disinterested in him. you side-eye him in hopes his sharp thinking skills will come out to guide the situation. instead, however, you feel his body tense up and a rosy tint appear on his ears.

he coughs into his hand for a brief second, he glances over at you before responding to the lady; “thank you, i think so as well.” he winked at you. you both said your farewells to the lady, and as you walked once again with linked arms you remembered the words heizou said.

“what did you mean when you said, “i think so as well?” your gazes met each other and for a second it seemed like time froze.

“well, what i more so want to say is that i like you, and being seen as yours is something precious to me.” heizou really had a way with words the sly bastard !!! the heated embarrassment rushed up to your cheeks as you let your face be hidden by your hands.

“now, i don’t have to be a detective to infer that that reactions means you’re interested as well, am i right or am i right ?” he chuckles, pulling you into his chest to let you hide and gather your thoughts for a while…

TARTAGLIA

he is a family man and he absolutely respects his elders so he literally cannot lie to this poor grandma and shatter her fantasy. so, instead, he whispers you a prior apology before taking your hand in his with that bright grin of his and responding, “haha! we appreciate your compliment, we really do love each other a lot im glad it shows.”

seriously for being a literal fatui harbinger you’d think he’d be much more reserved and secretive.. but no, here he was going on and on about his ‘supposed’ love for you and your idyllic relationship to this random grandma that mistook you two for a couple. although, childe truly does have a peculiar way with words as you became rather flustered with each lie that he made up.

eventually, the conversation was dropped and you both continued your stroll, not before you noticed that tartaglia was very insistent on still holding your hand even though the situation has been sort of dealt with. “hey uh, ch- tartaglia, you’re holding my hand..” all he does is send you a look that sends you butterflies in your stomach.

he grins at you, “i know, i’m just hoping that more people mistake us a couple so i can prove a point.”

“prove what point?”

“prove that we belong together.”

G. JEAN

you can feel jean tense up as her head is clearly thinking of a million of excuses she could give the poor woman, but perhaps she malfunctioned since the reply that she gave was not one you were expecting, “uhum..tha-thank you! it’s an honour to have someone as [name] by my side, i’ve really been blessed.”

you know better than anyone else that jean would not be the type to lie so frivolously about her feelings and opinions, especially when it comes to you therefore you couldn’t stop yourself from looking away in slight embarrassment at the thought that jean truly thinks of you like this.

“haha, no worries, take care of yourself ma’am.” was the first thing you heard as you snapped out of your little daydream. jean looked composed to an extent, she still radiated that same knightly and trustworthy exterior but you could feel that she was rather anxious after that interaction.

“[name], um.. sorry for rambling about you for so long, i guess when thinking or talking about you like that i really can’t hold back.” you’re not sure if jean had realised the impact that could have on your heart because she said that so nonchalantly as if it were rehearsed.

“hey jean, did you mean those things you said? like uhm, everything about how you’re happy with me?” you asked, your eyes failed to look at her you were afraid your heart might jump at the pure glance at her. a mild silence erupted, the breeze fanned your skins delicately while the dandelions glided in the air. jean mustered up the courage and took your hands together, “everything i said was completely true, forgive me for being so brazen ..but it’s really hard to keep my feelings hidden from you.“

SHENHE

shenhe knows she loves you, whether she understands what type of love it is; platonic, romantic, familial etc - she doesn’t know however it’s clear to her , her admiration for you is not the same one she holds for people like yunjin, cloud retainer or lumine. the lady’s words come as a real surprise to shenhe, she doesn’t even fully understand how friends are supposed to interact let alone couples.

you don’t want to make her more confused than she already is, or to make her uncomfortable so you deny it, “sorry, we’re not together but we are really good friends!”

“oh dear, my apologies! such a shame, you two would look quite nice together.” she smiles up at you both, taking a minute or two to bid her goodbyes before she leaves.

after walking for a while you noticed that shenhe hasn’t been responding for some time now and instead has been lost in her own thoughts, “heyyy, earth to my lady shenhe~” you poke her cheek in a way to break her out from her own thought.

“sorry, i was just thinking,” you pause and stare at her with a gentle smile, she gazes back at you, “it would be quite nice to be a couple.”

K. KAZUHA

his eyes shift to you to sense any discomfort in the topic, kazuha doesn’t enjoy lying and he doesn’t really know how you feel about you two being ‘together’ as of yet, “apologies, it seems this is a misunderstanding. [name] and i are simply good friends.”

while his words did sting slightly, the ache in your heart was numbed by the fact kazuha’s cheeks and ears were blooming a pretty rosey colour. you two walked off with this newfound tension in between you, kazuha internally cursed himself for allowing a simple misunderstanding to linger in his thoughts so vividly. “so, would my lovely kazuha care to explain why he was so flustered?” you seemingly popped his thinking bubble as he flinches and stares at you for a good minute with this puzzled expression.

his gaze softens and he sighs, looking away from you to stare at the distant greenery ahead. “kazuuuhaa~ answer me already!” you huff out, your patience was running very low at this point.

“sorry, somethings on my mind right now.” he at last responds, although his response isn’t at all satisfactory and almost seems like a coverup. you give him the look of, ‘i know you’re chatting shit but just tell me what’s the matter’. he laughs in amusement, patting your head as he does so. “to be honest, i never realised just how happy i’d feel if people saw us as a couple.”

XINYAN

“haha! thank you, unfortunately, [name] and i are just great friends. but they are absolutely adorable aren’t they?” she squishes your cheek to amuse herself. the grandma beams at you two, “such a shame, you’d be quite lovely together don’t you think?“ perhaps xinyan’s conscious was much more focused on teasing you because she absentmindedly replied, “hehe, absolutely!”

obviously during the moment, you were attempting to come up with excuses as to why she agreed, ‘maybe she was caught in the moment’ or ‘she just didn’t hear the question!’ yet despite your own self esteem, your cheeks were quick to heat up as the other side of you was hoping the words she said were true.

“alright, goodbye nana! be safe!” she yelled, waving to the lady while walking. she kept her hands on her cheeks the entirety of your journey, her expression was unclear but she look pretty dazed. “hey xinyan, you alright? you’ve been spacing out.” you poke at her.

“eh? oh so sorry [name]!! it’s just that..well aha..after being mistaken for a couple i cant help but feel a little happy.” as soon as the words escaped her lips, she smacked her own mouth closed as a fiercely red colour bloomed on the tips of her ears. you yourself weren’t doing so great as her sudden confession (does it even count as one?!) leaves you flustered and speechless.

you’re gonna have to talk more about this after xinyan stops hiding her face from you..

#this took forEVERRR im so sorry :’((#i’m on my break now so hopefully i’ll be able to write more +_+#genshin x reader #genshin x gnreader #kazuha x reader #heizou x reader #tartaglia x reader #jean x reader #shenhe x reader #xinyan x reader #genshin #genshin x gn!reader #genshin x you #genshin fluff

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tzilatza · 2 months

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NATLA Review - spoilers

Woke up today still feeling annoyed after finished the Netflix ATLA remake last night, and I think I've figured out the core reason.

It's the fact that: If they had held truer to the original source material, we could have had a truly great show. I disagree with those calling it a complete disaster. The acting was good, great in some cases. The effects were very well done, the bending looked about as good as it can in a live action media. The scenery was lovely.

But what happened in the writer's room?! The way they just reveal all the back stories up front EVERY TIME is honestly insulting to the audience. It's like they're so terrified that smartphone culture has made the public so accustomed to instant gratification that they have no faith we will stick around and keep watching if they make us wait for anything.

They're also clearly terrified of complexity. One of my biggest gripes with this remake is Jet's story. They completely took out his plans to murder a whole town of innocents in order to get a few enemy soldiers. Now, Jet isn't my favorite character, but his story is so important. Because it is real. The world is full of people who have been so brought down by injustice that they lose their sense of right and wrong, and we need to see that on screen. If Jet is too complex for them, how will they handle Ba Sing Se in the second season.

This goes along the same lines as removing Sokka's sexist moments. They felt they had to do it to make him more 'likable.' Yet the writers themselves went full sexist on Katara's character. They've taken out so much of her spark, her righteous and justified anger, and they've done it because even in 2024, people expect women to be more passive to be palatable. Enough people have already commented on them removing Aang's choice to run away. Heaven forbid the main character not be an absolute paragon. Did y'all notice that they even made Hahn likable? Hahn?! What reason do you have for making Hahn likable Netflix?! His role in the narrative is to be an example of toxic masculinity that is clearly the bad choice compared to Sokka who has learned and grown out of his own.

Don't even get me started with what they're doing with the fire nation family, I'm not ready to tackle that. In general, I have no problem with Azula getting a little more backstory and humanizing, but why season 1? Throwing in all these extra scenes just sacrifices screen-time where they could've actually fleshed out the real season one plots instead of rushing through things at breakneck pace. (ex: Aang escaping Zuko's ship in about 2 minutes flat)

At the end of the day, the scenes I most enjoyed were those that held true to the original like the Blue Spirit sequences. They could've easily done more of this, held onto the important plot points and even more important character complexity, while maturing it for an adult audience. I'm not disagreeing with every change they made. Go ahead and take out the silly Nickelodeon gags, add cussing and more realistic violence to get your mainstream viewers. Go ahead. They could've easily made a darker more mature version of the show and still held onto all the old fans in my opinion. But claiming that you're making a 'more mature' version and then removing the complexity and subtlety because they didn't think viewers could handle it...

What makes me most sad is that there are a lot of people who will experience ATLA for the first time through this show. There are a lot of adults who are not willing to watch original ATLA because they refuse to acknowledge an animated series can be anything other than a kid's show. Those people will watch this and think it's the real deal, and that just makes me sad.

If you've read this far, a very sincere thank you for listening to my rant. If you're an OG fan who enjoyed it, I have no problem with you. It was a fun watch, I was just hoping for more. If you are a new viewer who has never seen ATLA before, I sincerely want to hear your opinions. Is it a great show to someone who isn't holding it against the context of the original? And do you plan to watch the original now?

#natla #natla spoilers #live action atla #live action avatar #netflix avatar #netflix avatar review #avatar the last airbender #atla

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01zfan · 2 months

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wow you guys…i hit 1000 followers sometime this week! im sorry for not noticing earlier but wow im so grateful!

i seriously didn’t expect this account to even break 100. i was just writing as a little escape from my normal life. i got into riize pretty recently after losing interest in kpop as a whole for a really long time. i was a carat and nctzen (a fan of many groups, ive been into kpop since 2014 ish) but lost interest and just kinda focused on myself for a long time. i finished school, made friends, started working, started going to school AGAIN, picked up hobbies, moved away from my hometown to pursue my passion, etc.

i kinda thought that part of my life was over but riize literally stole my heart from the moment i got into them. i havent felt this way about a group for a long time and one day it just got a little too much so i wrote about separate fics for my top two (eunseok and sungchan). and you guys liked it! and you guys wanted more! and you guys commented on it and sent me asks hyping up my writing! and you guys followed me! and reblogged my stuff! and now we are here!

seriously would’ve never thought i’d have so many receptive, sweet, and sincere interactions on the stuff i write. i was seriously expecting to speak into the void like i’ve seen happen with alot of writers for fandoms. i write screenplays and sometimes its hard to remember why i like writing so much. you guys reminded me why i want to write for the rest of my life. we fangirl and talk about it together and have built a community over shared love and words. isn’t that so wonderful? i want to repay it back with good alot of good writing ^^

if you’ve been here since third and/or bad idea, right i want to say i love you so much seriously. i remember the accounts of the first people to ever follow me and comment on my stuff. i recognize the users of people who silently support me and i love you guys too heh.

if you’ve ever sent me a request thank you for giving me inspiration! i’m a big believer that on this earth one of the few things that belong to us and us alone are our ideas. it’s something no one can take from you—so thank you for giving me something so precious and trusting me to do it justice. i hope to continue making you guys happy! and if you just followed me, welcome!! i have alot of stuff to read and i plan on releasing more!

i’m working on argue with you pt three (planning on that dropping on wednesday!) and other stuff, like requests and sacrilegious so i have alot of stuff coming! thank you for your patience and thank you again so much for following me and supporting this account. you are all so special and dear to meeeeee :3. lets continue to love riize and fangirl togetherrrrr.

#sorry for the long post im such a sap #love you guys dearly #milestonez

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