#his dialogue is so difficult to write

[spirits-art-blog]

More Detective Conan art, this time its a bunch of sketches! Still trying to figure out how to draw most of the characters (the change in artstyle and designs does not help), but I'm getting there!

For those who don't know, I'm watching this show completely blind so please keep spoilers out of this post; as of posting this, I have just finished ep 514.

[quirinah]

oomf was talking about this combi and I remembered the season 25 episode where they interact for like 30 seconds. and then i got progressively more invested

[seiwas]

writing shouto's dialogue is toughhhh

[tennessoui]

Glad you're back and relieved you're okay! How're you feeling about time and tide these days?

Here’s a little bit of the next chapter of time&tide that I wrote in the airport a few days ago!

(Anakin is not doing gr8 rn)

The room is untouched, and Anakin is ruined. It’s so—it’s so unfair. Anakin is shattered in a way time will never fix, in a way time has only made worse, and the fucking room looks pristine, like Anakin had never—like nothing had—like it was all—

It takes hours to struggle to his feet, and he isn’t sure he’ll be able to hold his own weight until he’s already vertical.

It’s not fair that the room is spotless, everything in its space, everything neat and where it belongs and Anakin has lost the only place he’s ever belonged.

Lifting the holocron nearest to him is hard. It takes minutes to convince his fingers to unwrap from the fist they’ve formed and then to grip the edges of the disc and raise it off its rest.

Anakin, don’t, a voice that sounds somehow as weary as his master and as scandalized as his lover murmurs in his ear, but both men are dead. Both men are gone.

The shattering of the holocron against the floor is louder than the whisper of a ghost.

It’s easier to lift the second; it feels right to throw it as hard as he can and watch it break as well.

It feels good to destroy, and it feels even better to look at the wreckage and know he caused it. The next person who steps into this room will be able to tell with just one look that something has happened, that something terrible has happened.

[hersweetrevenge]

i love the way corey talks and idc i'm making a whole ass post about it. disclaimer: i am in no way a language expert, so i can't say anything super poignant, but that's not going to stop me. all thoughts discussed to death with @slutforstabbings, who also coined the term "coreyism" which i now use with reckless abandon lol

corey has a pretty distinct speech pattern (which i am fighting for my life at all times to replicate while writing) and unusual ways of wording things.

corey's most frequent coreyism (in both movie and novel canon) is his really consistent habit of either repeating what he's saying multiple times, or repeating what other people say to him.

repeating himself

when he repeats himself, it kind of feels like he's trying to fill dead air (which makes sense because when he does this it's usually in a situation where he's nervous). he asks allyson about the halloween party like three times in one breath, "how many people you think will be there? think there will be many people there or not that many people there?"

but there are times when it almost feels like he's workshopping as he talks, trying different phrases until he settles on "the right one". when joan asks about his hand, corey says "He said it's gonna be fine, Momma. He said that you don't need to worry, and he said it would be terrific is what he said." corey basically expresses the same sentiment three times but worded different, until he settles on the best, most affirmative version -- "it would be terrific". he also adds the phrase "he said", or a variation of it, four different times. this feeds into his tendency to quote others too, it's like a reassurance to not only joan but to himself that those aren't his words (even though i have a strong feeling he is partly making it up in this instance, just to placate joan's questioning).

repeating others

now we come to his other habit of repeating things from other people. he either quotes verbatim or parrots phrases he's heard recently. in pretty much all of these examples, it mostly just seems like he has good recall and conversational memory, so "pre-made" phrases are easier to use to make his point than trying to word it himself.

in the novel, laurie tells him to "watch out for assholes... they're contagious", then he repeats the that sentiment twice later on -- once to allyson about dr. mathis (in the novel), and once to terry (both in the novel and the movie, even though the movie misses the setup line), "you just act like an asshole 'cause your father treats you like one, it's contagious, right?" it sounds more like a direct quote when he says it to allyson, and laurie had more recently said it to him, but with terry i doubt corey considers it a true quote, more that he's sort of adopted it as a convenient phrase for his lexicon.

at the allen house, he argues with laurie, "And he said to me, 'I hope you find love'. And I found it... you're the one to blame. 'Cause you go, 'you wanna do it, or you want me to?'" he repeats ronald and laurie here, recalling past conversations (verbatim) to make his point for him. i see him as someone who will remember conversations he had months ago and can bring it up easily when he either needs to remind someone of something or when he needs to "prove" something. [he does this in chapter eleven of @/slutforstabbings' fic, clean again, where he recalls a pretty specific conversation from weeks prior.]

[ticklykitty216]

Hey, been a while since I sent anything, huh? Not sure If you plan on writing anything, but when you do, I wanna see something with any of the robotic brawlers!

(What’s this? Me? Finally getting to the asks in my inbox? ABSURD!!)

(I’m so sorry I haven’t done these, I lost my motivation for fics after Belle’s update, but now I’m back >:3c)

(Also you guys get to enjoy some fluff besides the actual tickling so you guys are getting FED tonight)

***

Stu didn’t know how he’d become a guardian, but he wasn’t going to complain. 

It was common for brawlers in the same trio to live together but when it came to Stu ‘home’ was a tricky situation. Yes, he did have a house but he very rarely used his house, let alone was in it enough for it to be considered lived in. When you lived your life as a stunt dummy most of your days were spent in the robot maintenance section of Starr Parks getting put back together after a failed stunt.

So to be living in his house again for over at least 2 months now, and with other people now sharing the space with you is jarring to say the least. When Stu had heard about his new trio mates he hadn’t been too interested, during this point in his life a lot of stuff had lost interest in the stunt robot. He was just focused on his stunts and keeping the park goers entertained, but when he had actually met them and seen just how young and impressionable they were was a slap to the face, especially the youngest sister Bonnie.

Stu sobered up quickly and then began to panic from the state he’d let himself get into when Janet and Bonnie had shown up with basically no place to live (they had arrived at the park with little warning but had shown such prowess that the higher up had let them in). After many days of working and cleaning the neglected house (and keeping the robot out of maintenance long enough) the house had finally been in a livable state (for a human at least) to stay at. And after more months of decorating and bonding the house had become so much more lively.

Stu was knocked out of his thoughts when his sensors picked up the very familiar smell of something burning, he looked back to the stove top and cursed as he watched one of the pancakes he’d been making get burned and moved quickly to put out the piece of food. Once the fire hazard had been dealt with he cursed again as he threw it in the trash, he’d been about to get another one going when- “UNCLE STU!!” Bonnie yelled as she ran through the kitchen’s doorway, not having yet put on her boots, she stopped and slid a few feet before finally landing in front of Stu and wrapping her tiny arms around his middle in a hug. Stu laughed and patted her head “H-H-hey kiddo! Looks like someONES in a gOoD mood!” Stu said and Bonnie let go of him and started to stomp her feet in excitement “Today’s the first day I get to battle ALL BY MYSELF!!” Bonnie shouted and threw out her arms for emphasis. Stu laughed, “Good for you ki-kiddo!” Stu looked up to see a much more tired and less enthusiastic Janet walk in, she had her usual outfit minus the helmet and boots, her hair was a mess and she was moving much slower compared to her sister.

“Janet! Did you hear? Did you hear?!” Bonnie ran over to her sister and grabbed her hand with her sleeved hands and tugged on her towards the dinner table “Yes BonnieI heard, you wouldn’t stop talking about it since last night…” Janet said groggily as she allowed herself to be dragged by her younger sister, “Hey Stu…” Janet lazily waved to him. “Hel-lo Janet.” Stu said as he placed the remaining pancakes on a large plate and brought them over to the table as both sisters sat down. “Hey, there’s not a whole lot of pancakes here!” Bonnie said as she started to load pancakes onto her plate, “Yeah, and something smells burnt, Stu, did you burn the pancakes again?” Janet asked, seeming much more alert now.

Stu laughed nervously as he moved over to a cupboard “N-Noo-o-o-oo…” Stu said as he pulled out a can of oil and wheeled back over to the table and sat down. Janet looked at her plate of pancake and put 2 more onto Bonnie's plate, which she cheered to and Stu chuckled. They sat in silence for a couple of moments eating, Stu and Janet eating slowly while Bonnie was scarfing down her food, “Bonnie slow down! You’ll give yourself a tummy ache!” Janet said. “I can’t help it! I’m too excited to wait!” Bonnie said as she shoveled more pancakes into her mouth, Stu chuckled again “Yeah, l-liSTen to your sister.” Stu said as he placed the metal straw of the oil can to a small hole in his face where a mouth would be. Bonnie pouted but did as she was told.

Peace was restored, but Bonnie looked at Stu with a strange fascination. This had been the first time that they actually ate together in the same room as one another, and Janet and Bonnie had never seen Stu eat. Bonnie tilted her head “Uncle Stu?” “Yes?” “How come you don’t eat like the other robots?” Bonnie asked and Stu set the oil can on the table “I-I’m an older. Model. Of the roBOTS you s-see aro-ound the. Parks.” Stu said. “Yeah, but Barley’s an older bot and he eats people food!” Bonnie said putting another piece of pancake in her mouth, “Barley was uPGRADED to have a ‘b-b-better sto-o-mach’, iT CAN process human. Food.” said Stu. “And how come you don’t have the upgrade?” Janet asked this time and Stu put one of his arms around the back of the dinner chair, “To-o-o-oo expeNSIVE, e-especially when y-o-o-ou get as B-B-BUSted up as I dO.” Stu said and waved his opposite hand, as if to wave the thought away. “Is that why you still haven’t fixed your voice box?” Bonnie asked leaning over the table towards Stu, he, caught off guard by the question, coughed awkwardly and looked away “M-mAYBe..” Stu said and put the metal straw back to his ‘mouth’ and slurped at the rest of the oil. “Well I like your voice! It’s funny!” Bonnie said and put the rest of the pancakes in her mouth, “A-Ahaha.. Th-a-anks kid..” Stu said, but seemed upset. Stu wasn’t a bot to easily be upset about things, but his voice was a sore spot to discuss. He had a normal voice before, when he took an extreme fall and managed to knock his own head off from the force of him hitting the edge of a ramp and had lost bits of his voice box in the process, Pam had offered to replace the part but Stu didn’t have the means to repay her (he was already in debt to her for all the repairs she did on him, he didn’t need this as well).

Janet had picked up on Stu’s sudden mood shift but Bonnie had already jumped out of her chair and was pointing towards the front door, “Come on slowpokes! Let’s gooooo!!” she said as Janet got up and grabbed her helmet from the shelf next to the door “Calm down Bonnie! The events aren’t going anywhere, besides you still don’t have your boots on!” Janet said as Stu ‘stood’ up and watched Bonnie run over to the door and put her boots on “Come on, come on, come ooooon!!” Bonnie wailed impatiently as Janet took her sweet time to put her boots on. Stu laughed, “E-E-Easy the-r-re spitFIRE!” Stu said, putting the plates in the sink and tossed Janet her microphone. Bonnie huffed ran over and behind Stu and grabbed him by the hips to push him towards the door, “Let’s GOOOOO!!” Bonnie yelled and Stu, startled, put his breaks on and shrieked.

Janet jumped and Bonnie let go of Stu and looked up with fear and concern “Are you ok Uncle Stu? Did I hurt you..?” Bonnie asked and Stu could feel his internal fans kick on. Bonnie hadn’t hurt the stunt robot, but had rather tickled him, something he didn’t know he still was. “I-I-I-I Um, I yOU di-i-in’t hUrt- NO, I’m oKAAAAY?” Stu said, his voice glitching and fluctuating more than it normally did. Bonnie, confused, grabbed his hips again and this time Stu dashed forward and squealed, Janet laughed, “Was that you or your tire?” she asked and Bonnie grinned. “HEy! Do-o-o-on’t yOu have A MATCh t-to gEEeEt tO-OHOHO?!” Stu suddenly laughed as Bonnie placed her hands around his hips again and started to furiously squeeze the metal there.

“AAAHAH-AHAHA kiHIhIHIHIDdO NO-O-OHOHAHA!!” Stu laughed and hunched over as her tiny hands assaulted his metallic hips “I never knew you were ticklish Uncle Stu!” Bonnie squealed as she circled around to his front. “Me neither…” Janet said as she stepped closer to watch, “NEHE-heheHEE-ITheR DIHIHID I-I-I-IHIHI!!” Stu cackled and tried to wheel backwards but Bonnie followed his movements and her attack continued against the surprisingly sensitive area. Stu felt his sensors flare and his internal fan kick up a few notches to keep him from overheating but it did little to reduce the heat he felt in his face. Only Pam had known about his ticklishness, something he was embarrassed about, and he’d pray to whoever was listening to keep that a secret between the two of them, but now here he was having a child turn the battle hardened robot into a bunch of giggling bolts. “B-BOHOHONNI-EEEE NO-O-OHOHO!!” Stu laughed as he tried to pry her tiny hands off of him “KnOOHAHACK I-I-IT OoOOHOFF!!” Stu cackled trying to wiggle out of her grasp. “No way! This is the most amazing discovery ever!!” Bonnie cheered and moved her hands upward towards the bot's stomach.

Stu squeaked at the sudden shift and his laughter picked back up, “NOHOHO n-NOHOT T-T-THEHEHE-HAHA-HERE!!” Stu screeched, and he tilted too far back on his tire and fell backwards onto the ground “Stu! Bonnie!” Janet yelped in alarm and moved over to the two of them, Bonnie took this opportunity to pounce onto Stu to get better leverage and started to wiggle her fingers all over him “Where else are you ticklish Stu?!” Bonnie asked and Stu made a choked squeal at the feeling.

Stu was an absolute mess and was struggling to keep his hardware from combusting from the pressure (and embarrassment) from the situation “Tickle tickle tickle!! Who knew a robot could be so ticklish!!” Bonnie giggled and raked her little fingers over the middle of his stomach “AAAAAIEEEE-HEHEHE!!! B-B-BoOoOoHOHOHONNI-E-E! AHAHA-HAAA-HaHAhA!! NOHOHOoHoHoo M-MoOHOH-O-OHORE!!” Stu howled and (gently) pushed against Bonnie’s face in an attempt to get her off, he didn’t want to accidentally hurt her after all. “NEVER!!” Bonnie squealed out and laughed along with Stu “Janet! Help me out here!” Bonnie yelled and Stu frantically shook his head “N-NOHOHO-AIEEE!!” Stu screeched and tossed his head back “JAHAH-A-A-AHANET DOohOHoHOn’T Y-Y-OU DAHAhAhahA-DAHAHARe!!!” Stu cackled and twisted side to side to try and shake Bonnie off.

Janet hummed and looked down at the two before she smirked “Sure, I’ll help…” Janet said and reached forward, “J-JAhahaAN-E-ET NAHA-” “-EEEEHEHEHEK?!” Stu opened his eye at the sudden noise and looked up to see Janet pulling Bonnie off of him and squeezing her younger sister’s sides rapidly. “JAHAHANET YOHOHOU TRAHAHAITOR!!” Bonnie squealed and kicked her legs in the air while Janet laughed “What? You said to help!” Janet giggled and swung Bonnie around and walked away with her flailing sister in her arms. Stu took the moment to catch his breath, despite not technically needing it.

Stu slowly got back up, and clutched the kitchen counter for support as he heard Bonnie shrieking and Janet laughing along with her. Stu followed the sound out into the living room as Janet now assaulted her smaller sister's belly. “JAHAHANET NOOOOOHOHO!! IHIHIHI’M GONNA BEHEHE LAHAHATE!!” Bonnie howled as she now tried to wriggle out of her sister’s grip, “Should’a thought of that when you were taking a crack at Stu!” Janet laughed and Stu (had he had a visible mouth) smirked and reached for Bonnie's ribs “P-P-Payback’s nOt so-o-o-o sWEEt is it?” Stu asked and Bonnie howled “NO-NO-NO-NOHOHO AHAHAHAHA NOHOHO MOHOHORE!!” she laughed and kicked her feet in protest.

Janet and Stu tickled Bonnie for a few more seconds before they let her go, Bonnie held her sides and giggled for a minute before she pouted “Yohohou guhuys are mehehean..” Stu reared back with a dramatic gasp, “M-MEAN?! YoU young M-M-Missy sta-a-arted this!” Stu said and waggled his finger at her “You’re not supposed to team up on me!” Bonnie yelled and flailed her long sleeves at the stunt dummy robot. “Hey! Shouldn’t we be going? Don’t want you to be late to your match right?” Janet said and walked towards the front door, Bonnie jumped up and quickly ran over to her sister “YES! Finally! Let’s go!!!” Bonnie said and opened the front door and looked up to Stu. “You coming Uncle Stu?” Bonnie asked and bounced on her heels “YoOoU two g-go ahead. I-I’ll ca-a-tch up.” Stu said and gently waved his hand in a ‘shoo’ motion.

“Ok, but you better show up!” Bonnie said and ran out the door to go find her canon, Clyde. Janet looked at Stu and put a hand on her hip “You ok?” she asked “Y-Yeah, why?” Stu asked and tilted his head slightly “I dunno, you seemed upset earlier and your voice was glitching like crazy!” Janet said with concern “O-Oh. Ye-eah, I’m fine, do-o-on’t worRY ABOut me.” Stu said and gave her a thumbs up. Janet opened her mouth to say something when Bonnie shouted something and Janet looked out to her “COMING!” Janet said and closed the front door behind her.

Stu stood in the middle of the living room and let out a sigh, “H-H-How did I-I mANAGE tO Get stu-u-ck with THose crA-A-A-Azy kidz?” Stu laughed and grabbed his cape and headed out the door after his trio mates.

***

(UNGA BUNGA I'M BACK FROM THE DEAD)

[despairforme]

The way you write nnoi makes him sound like he has an american southern accent lmao

❝ Yeah? 'Daz a first. ❞

[vilevampire]

I'm going to start sobbing

[prettyiwa]

ix!! i hope august has been treating you well 🥺 it’s been a while since i last dropped by, but i thought i’d pop in to ask how you are 🥺💗 and to of course, ask a curious sel question 🤓

going off the whole ‘beauty marks are spots where your soulmate liked to kiss on past lives’ saying, where do you hc your current fave’s beauty marks to be?

(and i have a bonus question too!! something writing related because i’m curious—who comes easiest to write for you? why?)

sending you all my love and fresh flowers for the month 💗🌷

Sel!! Hi, I hope you know that I adore you so much! 💜💜 August is August! It's the last of my time off before work starts up again so I have been lazing about like no other 😌 How has your August been?

On his hands! (Remembering the absolutely normal way I hunted for the scenes where he wasn't wearing gloves like a totally sane person). Specifically on the heel of his palm and/or the inside of his wrist. I could easily see people pressing kisses there for him, both as royalty and as a healer.

I'm deep in writing burnout so the thought of me writing anyone easiest seems... out of reach to me at the moment? But I will say that usually what comes easiest for me when writing characters is both understanding their inner monologue/motives and having a solid grasp on their voice. For the first part, I'd say I have Iwa, Joshua, and Kazuya in the bag, but with the latter two, I struggle with capturing their voice (this could be that I'm too in my head for it and have since intimidated myself out of doing it). But I found it easier in the past to write for Kenny Ackerman and Kuramochi Youichi, both because they're a bit louder and so it's almost like I can hear them as I write/plot.

Thank you for the message & I hope the rest of this month is good to you! 😘💜

[simpingland]

Req: Can you write something with Ewan Mitchell and his co-star (pronounced feminine) where they are on the set of season 2 and how he is surprised by every performances that fem gives (Fem's character is bad and perverse), since since the recordings of season one he was already staring at her surprised by her actings and now with Season 2 he wants to spend more time with her, plus he likes her.

The Rehearsal// Ewan Mitchell x Fem!actress

Summary: Ewan is a method actor and it has been working fine for him. But he regrets this decision when season 2 of HOTD starts with a love scene, being partner with a lovely talented actress who propaply hates him and his mathods. But nothing is better than asking for help when one needs it, right?

|~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~|

Ewan watched from the monitor, patch removed but wig still on, your close-up was impressive. One look at you and you could see all the ambitions that were going through your character's mind, and he himself regretted not having told you yet. The good news was that filming for season two had just begun, and in this new season, Ewan had the opportunity to do scenes only with you.

They shouted cut, and you immediately broke into a smile, laughing after such an intense scene. You received compliments as you were photographed to keep the raccord straight.

"Congratulations, that's a good start," the director said to you. "Remember you have a special sequence tomorrow, get a good rest."

Yes, you remembered. And Tom (who played your brother Aegon) smiled mischievously at you. It was a kissing scene with Ewan, with whom you had barely exchanged a word since the moment you were confirmed as part of the cast, a year and a half ago. You only spoke a little at the audition, which was a chemistry test, and he was a sweet, unassuming guy. When he was announced as the official actor of Aemond... it was something different. You didn't interact in the scenes in the first season, his scenes were shared more with Fabien and Tom, while you had shared scenes with Olivia and Phia (Alicent and Helaena). The chemistry your characters were supposed to have was only hinted by the placement of you both in the scene or montages of shots that you only saw once the series was released. And in the meantime, Ewan had stayed away from all those with whom he didn't share any dialogue, with the excuse of staying focused on his character. Tom had already told you numerous times that Ewan thought you were a fantastic actress, but you always responded the same way.

"If he does, let him tell me so. Then I'll be flattered.”

When the script for the second season came, both of you, in your respective homes, had your hearts skipped a beat. Your character would approach Aemond in the throne room in the middle of the night. And there they not only talk, but share a kiss that promises to go further in the following seasons. Aemond confessed his love for your character, and being that it was a story taken from the world of Game of Thrones, it was sure to end in much more intimate scenes. Normal for actors and comfortable for a cast that was so friendly and close. But with Ewan being so distant and serious? It was difficult. You didn't even dare to call him. Nor did he call you. What you did do was call Tom.

"She hasn't spoken to me once since we started filming. I've seen her look at me sometimes, like she's trying to talk to me but then, before I could say a word, she's gone quiet again. Tom...I don't think I should take being a method actor so seriously," he said to the other actor.

"It amuses me immensely to be the connecting point for both of you. Don't worry, Ewan, she's a sweetheart, and very understanding. She knows that everyone has their own procedure. So if she has respected your method, you should respect hers."

"And what is her procedure?"

"According to Phia, she loves to walk back and forth repeating her lines in a thousand ways."

Right, Ewan saw the video Phia sent around the group so everyone could see how lunatic you looked. And even there, after discovering you were being filmed, you smiled tenderly at Phia asking her to stop. What else would he have missed since you weren't talking?

You had already taken off your wig, your hair was loose and your dress had been off for quite a while. You were waiting to take off your make-up when your trailer was called. You were expecting anyone, happy to have any interaction with the wonderful team around you, but when you saw Ewan, the smile must have dropped a little.

"Sorry if I'm intruding. Is it late?" Ewan asked you as he saw your friendly greeting getting lost in the air.

It wasn't dark yet, and the next day's filming was starting early, so you genuinely didn't know what to say to him.

"Well... I have to finish off some of the lines for tomorrow.’

The lines you had to say with him, and he knew that. But since that wasn't an invitation, Ewan understood instantly and nodded.

"Well, I just wanted to tell you...it's been an awesome first day of shooting for you. It's no wonder you're a fan favorite."

That made you blush.

"Well, that means a lot coming from you."

He smiled sheepishly at you, you were taller than he was, standing on the trailer and he was on the grass a few stairs down. And yet he seemed way too big.

"I promise I'll be on time tomorrow so we'll have plenty of time to rehearse," he said, trying to get out of the strange conversation he had started.

You nodded and watched as he walked away, the patch in his hand and taking off his seatbelts. Did he come with the intention of chatting? My God, you'd had a chance to talk at length with your fellow cast member and you'd wasted it? You needed to go over the scene as much as possible!

"Ewan!" You called out to him, hanging almost on your doorstep, he turned with that agility that is so engaging on screen (and in person). "Are you done for the day?"

"I've got to get out of my costume. But...yes, I'm done."

"Would you mind..." you mumbled in an exaggeratedly loud voice for him to hear. How embarrassing. "Would you mind dropping by again to rehearse?"

Ewan stood still for a second. He watched you from afar, so affectionate and shy, totally contrary to your character, and felt a deep tenderness.

"I'll be back in half an hour," he promised you.

You looked forward to it, and you'd be lying if you didn't say that you'd put your make-up back on a bit. Ewan, on the other hand, was hurrying more than usual to remove his own clothes, forgetting to remove his fake scars in the rush that followed him. He was punctual, and in thirty and a half minutes, he was knocking on your door again.

"I really appreciate you doing this, Ewan," you said as he climbed into your trailer.

"Don't worry, it's going to be fun."

You looked at each other for a second, smiling, kind of gawking, which was nothing like the scene you had to recreate.

"How do you prepare for a scene?" You ask.

"I listen to some music. But I want to try what you do. "

He looked at you expectantly, and you suddenly felt embarrassed. Like the girls at the school function.

"So... I close my eyes, and I create a map where everything looks a little bit like the set."

"And what do we choose to be the throne?" Ewan smiled, which made you blush even more.

"Well... "There was a fully finished teacup, with the inelegantly squeezed bag next to it, dripping. You'd forgotten to clean it up completely. "That cup itself."

Ewan frowned slightly, teasingly, and nodded. The next step for you was harder to explain.

"Now, Ewan, I need some space."

He sat down on your couch, script to one side, the bastard having already memorized it all. And from there he watched live what he'd been craving for months, watching you pace back and forth. You read the annotations and your lines.

"They will never forgive our family for what I did," Ewan replied, intoning in the silky voice he gave Aemond.

"If it's any consolation, I doubt they would be willing to let us live even if we had given them the throne willingly, Aemond..." though you paced, your hands and gestures maintained theatricality, and you repeated the phrase three more times, all with trapped deliberation. "This pantomime of repentance can only convince Mother...but not me."

"What pantomime do you mean?" replied Aemond.

Then your character stopped looking at Aemond to stare at the Throne. In this case you stopped to stare at the ugly teacup. You had to hold back a smile. Ewan looked at it too.

"It's impossible to fool you, it always has been." Ewan got up from the sofa and approached you, as Aemond does with your character. "It is a crude, chaotic and ugly object, but always that which I have desired."

Then the laughter you'd been holding back escaped, unable to think of the mug as anything else. And Ewan laughed with you, all the tension disappearing instantly. Now he could understand the affection with which everyone spoke of you.

"I'm sorry, really," you said, getting serious again. "I'm sorry."

"Don't apologise, this is fun. I'm going to try your method. Shall we close our eyes?"

"That's right."

You closed them at the same time, thinking about the huge room, illuminated by a silver light that simulated the moon. And after a few seconds, Ewan opened his eyes to look at you. Although you didn't have your white hair, or the elegant dress, your eyes were the same, as beautiful and bright as they were behind the cameras. And he had the privilege of being the focus of your attention and having them in the foreground.

"Though I think I was always more subtle with another of my longings..." he whispered close to your lips.

"That you tried at least" you whispered back.

"When I get the throne I'll need someone as sharp as you to accompany me. There is no woman in the seven kingdoms who compares to you."

Then came the kiss. You looked into Ewan's eyes, up his nose and down to his lips. What was there left to throw yourself? Not much, but with him being so reclusive, with that being one of the few times you spoke to each other, it felt strange to pounce on him without consent. So you walked away, leaving the scene there.

"We can work this out with the director and the intimacy coordinator, if you like," Ewan suggested, a little flushed and extremely sweet.

You poured him a cup of tea while you discussed the romance that your characters might have developed over the years that the series skips. You imagined romantic scenes that might have led up to that kiss and concluded that they were a toxic couple, but possibly better than Rhaenyra and Daemon.

"You know, I love the way you act and I love that I discovered your process," he confessed. "I think the admiration part is not going to be too hard to act out."

"Oh...my process is really ridiculous, everyone laughs at me. I'm glad it at least works. But it gives me a hard time at auditions," you laughed nervously.

"Well, it's true that it's fun to watch. But it's certainly worth it. I don't think you have anything to envy the others, you're...magnetic." He said it with a seriousness that moved you, adding to his intense gaze. "I'm sorry I wasn't smart enough to tell you sooner, because I've been thinking about it since the day they put me in the same room you were in, back at the audition.”

You froze a little, so you just said what you felt in the simplest way and with the most honest smile.

"Thank you."

Ewan took the last sip of his tea and before he left you remembered one of the thousand questions you had for him.

"Is there a reason you haven't removed the scar? Something to do with method acting?"

"Scar?"

You touched his cheek, where the scar began, and Ewan understood instantly.

"Ah, gee, I completely forgot to go through makeup. I'll get a telling off tomorrow."

"Not if you sleep on it until tomorrow" you joked. "Let me help you, I love fake wounds."

You stood next to him, towering over him a little, and lifted the thin layer of silicone with the delicacy you had seen in make-up artists. You were envious of the woman who was in charge of characterising a person as curiously attractive as Ewan. He also smelled exaggeratedly good.

When you took it off, you threw it into the creepy teacup from earlier.

"I've almost run out from, the costume department before," he justified himself. You took the opportunity to wipe that part of her face with a makeup remover wipe. "I usually do this part myself..."

"I know, but I like it..."

And while you were stroking his face with the excuse of cleaning it, Ewan was watching your lips, and didn't notice that you had noticed. You pushed the wipe away, stroking his chin, and at the same time, you both pressed your lips together. A strange kiss, something special, sweet and soft. You stretched it out, standing almost still, afraid of what would happen if you broke apart. When you finally did, you looked at each other with a look of confusion, though neither you nor Ewan pulled away.

It was a dangerous idea, he was your partner, and you had been unprofessional. You broke away.

"I think you should rest. I've distracted you too much." Your tone came out agitated and Ewan rose slowly.

"No, it's all right. I liked it. I liked everything. Didn't you?" He had emphasised the word 'everything' and was looking at you with lambent eyes.

"Yes...I loved being with you."

He said goodbye with a smile of his, and you bowed at your door like a little girl. Most of the team had already gone to rest and you barely noticed.

You had to put on more concealer than usual the next day because of the lack of sleep you'd had from that strange kiss. Ewan had kept his promise and had arrived a good while earlier to re-rehearse the scene. You did it without the kiss or the lights, just with the director's instructions and with your cheeks flushed as you exchanged glances.

"Did you practice with the kiss?" the intimacy coordinator asked you.

You were completely silent. Ewan answered for you.

"Not really, maybe it's better to give a first kiss at the moment of the shot. More realism."

"Well, then I guess you've worked out the sexual tension and dynamics of your characters."

Ewan nodded and smiled, which made you smile. Had he put hours of sleep into your little meeting yesterday? Yes, he had, and he told the woman who was putting on his scar who asked him who had removed it the day before. When you returned to the set, lights on, costumes on, cameras rolling, Ewan looked at you in the distance, asking you with his eyes if you were ready. You nodded with a shy smile, and began to act when they shouted action.

Aemond, still dressed and coming from the castle library, walked into the empty throne room to watch you. You walked behind him, in a smart dressing gown, your hair loose and trying uselessly not to make a sound. Aemond then spoke aloud.

"They will never forgive our family for what I did."

You approached Ewan, who still wouldn't look at you.

"If it's any consolation, I doubt they would be willing to let us live even if we had given them the throne willingly, Aemond..." You leaned into him a little, as the director had recommended. He was so tall and so tense that you felt as safe as if you were leaning against a stone pillar. "This pantomime of repentance can only convince Mother...but not me." Then Aemond would look down to see you out of the corner of his eye, which made your character - and you - nervous.

"What pantomime do you mean?"

Then you looked at the throne, now there was no laughter to disturb you, only the terrible seat of swords before you. And Aemond was looking at it too.

"It's impossible to fool you, it always has been. It is a brutish, chaotic, ugly object, but always that which I have desired."

After a pause, he turned fully around to look at you, his height becoming primordial in that short distance. In that low light, Ewan's visible eye looked into your eyes, dropping to your lips subtly.

"Though I think I was always more subtle with another of my longings..." he whispered in his velvety tone.

"That you tried at least" you replied trying to keep your composure. If they knew how hard you were struggling not to fall to your knees at that moment they would have nominated you for an Emmy by now.

"When I get the throne I'll need someone as clever as you to accompany me. There is no woman in the seven kingdoms who compares to you."

He stroked your face gently, something that coming from Ewan was tender and expected, immensely pleasing, but then you remembered that Aemond could never be so gentle in the face of his urges, and you let your own out. You pressed yourself against him, pressing your lips together with all the assurance you had longed for the night before. You could feel Ewan intensify your kiss even more, placing his hand on your neck. All the possible kisses that had been going on in your head during the night were now dwarfed by the kiss that was happening right there. As fierce as your characters, with the longing you had just discovered that you and Ewan had shared for a year and a half.

It was only when they shouted 'cut' that you broke apart, catching your breath and barely breaking away. Some applause, chatter and comments from the team, you could hear little of what they were saying. You pulled away flushed, laughing at the sudden intensity. You looked at the director as Ewan smoothed his jacket.

"Let's look at the shot, I think it was simply perfect, congratulations."

Another round of applause, and you felt Ewan brush your unruly hair out of your face, stroking it as he ruffled your hair.

"What a pity not to have to repeat this scene..." He confessed.

"That's the thing about being so talented," you joked.

"Obviously..." he removed his patch and turned back to you to ask in a quieter voice, "although I'd love to have more private acting classes with you..."

You smiled at the hint.

"I'll give them to you if in exchange you let me remove your fake scars again."

"Deal."

[retrorats]

This scene is probably one of my favorites in danganronpa 2, even if it's generally overlooked by people, there's something that I find so compelling about the way it's written that I cannot help but love with all my heart.

I find that this scene captures in such an accurate way not only Hinata’s complex and singular feelings in regards to Komaeda but also the difficult feeling of grief and mourning towards someone you had such a complicated relationship. Hinata grieves Komaeda, the person that he felt made everything more complicated, the person he felt betrayed by, a person he didn't really know but he once wrongly felt like he did. Even with all of that, Hinata still felt depressed about him being gone, to the point that he feels melancholy about not only the good aspects of him but also everything that was bad and terrible, everything that once made him feel annoyance and anger became the center of his melancholy and yearning.

I find so accurate how Hinata only starts saying positive things about him after Komaeda is dead, on a way that reminds a lot of how when people lose someone they start to remind the other person in a very idealized way, just that in this case Hinata still talks about him with certain resentment, something that's only natural considering the kind of relationship they had.

I'm also fascinated about the little details of it's writing. I love the "But..." at the start and how it accentuates how Hinata feels a lot of pain regarding the things he's gonna talk about, the ellipsis at the end of the second sentence having the same purpose. The dialogue has such poetic sense about it, it's pain and angst so beautifully crafted. My only complaint is that the translation made the scene sound less strong and poetic compared to the original version that sounds way better.

I feel like we should give this scene way more recognition than we do, specially considering how relevant it is for understanding Hinata's feelings regarding Komaeda's death and to understand better Hinata's grief process.

[eevees-hobbies]

An Accidental 'I Love You'

Synopsis: Saying ‘I love you’ is difficult for some of the Wind Breaker boys (some more than others), but sometimes intimacy is all one needs to be inspired to say those sweet three words. Characters are aged up.

Based on prompt #16 from @prompt-heaven. Dividers by saradika. Story banner by me.

CW: Female Reader. Smut & Fluff below. MDNI

Word Count: 1.6K

Authors Note: I genuinely love the Wind Breaker characters, so I’m excited to write for them for the first time. Remember, my requests are open if you'd like something written! As usual, I always appreciate a like, comment, or reblog.

Haruka Sakura has his issues. If you asked his closest enemies—and some friends—to list his flaws, they’d rattle off: impatient, hot-headed, kind of clueless. But you know Sakura, and, sure, he can be some of those things, but the flaw that makes your heart ache the most is what he exhibits in his most vulnerable moments: insurmountable insecurity. 

When you start to date Sakura, you know that he needs gentle praise and reassurance to build him up to combat the years of abuse he’s experienced—and it’s a delicate balance of the right amount of praise without sounding insincere.

So when you finally reach the next level of intimacy in your relationship, which admittedly felt like a slow crawl, you start to see another side of Haruka Sakura.

You’re his first everything—-date, hand-hold, kiss, and sexual experience. One thing about Sakura is that he’s eager to make up for lost time, gingerly touching you in places that make your bottom lip quiver, licking you in a way that makes your pupils dilate and your mouth open in a breathless moan. Sakura buries himself in you because while he’s never outwardly expressed it, he feels safe, accepted, and loved when he’s with you.

And maybe you’re a bit surprised when his face is buried in the crook of your neck, his hot breath tickling the hickey-covered expanse of your flesh as he whispers a quiet, “I love you.”

You both pause what you’re doing—your gentle scratching of his toned shoulder blades and his deep rolling of his hips. Suddenly, Sakura pulls back, beet-red and a horrified expression on his face. And you know him and his proclivity to shut down and run away when embarrassed, so you wrap your legs around his waist in an attempt to keep him from leaping out of the room and bolting down the street.

You can see the cogs turning in his head, the internal dialogue you’re almost always attempting to fend off, contributing to a new narrative that you may reject him.

“H-hey! Look at me.” You reach a hand up and stroke his face, the heat of his cheeks permeating against your palm. 

“Haruka, I love you, too. I hope that you know that.” You look down between you both, your bodies still connected, which you hope clearly indicates the feelings you share for one another.

He bites his lip, following your eyes, taking in your naked form splayed out underneath him, fleshy thighs wrapped around his waist, the insides of those thighs coated in your slick and him still throbbing inside of you. 

You can see him doing something that he doesn’t do often—fighting back the harmful dialogue in his head that says he isn’t enough. 

Sakura leans down so he’s back to hovering in your orbit, his strong arms on the sides of your head and caging you in. His voice remains slightly above a whisper, but at least he’s now gazing into your eyes with his luminescent ones. “I got in my head…again.” 

You rake the tips of your fingernails across his spine, earning a shiver and a low whimper from him—he doesn’t need much more of an invitation to recapture your lips in his own and continue to roll his hips into yours.

Hayato Suo is as calculated as they come; everything he says is said with reason—whether the other party knows that reason is another story. With that knowledge, I can’t imagine Suo accidentally saying those three special words. 

In fact, he’d never say those words if he didn’t mean it. So when Suo informs you that he loves you in a way that feels akin to asking you what you wanted for dinner on a random Tuesday, despite you both laying in bed, fully unclothed after a heated lovemaking session, you’re a loss for words. He doesn’t miss a beat as he places soft kisses against each of your knuckles, but you stare at him to make sure he’s not—excuse the language—fucking with you.

His eyes are closed, but he can feel you staring into his soul. A corner of his lips tilts upward in amusement. 

“Say it again.”  

And so he does. Every chance he gets, he tells you that he loves you, that he adores you, and that breathing you in sustains his very being. He not only whispers the sentiment during mundane moments like walking down the aisle of your favorite tea shop but also when you’re in the throes of experiencing his passion for you. 

Gentle caresses of your stomach as he delivers gentle suckles to your clit, devouring your essence one swallow at a time. And while what he says is muffled because his mouth is full of your sex, it’s clear to you that he’s showering you with praise among the sanctum between your thighs.

“I love you,” “you’re simply everything,” and “my pretty girl” consume the spaces you share, and no one can blame you if you develop a bit of a praise kink because no one has the unshakeable swagger that Suo does. 

Jo Togame has a feeling that there’s something about you when harmless flirting in the hangout turns into letting you wear his Shishitoren jacket to send a message that if anyone fucks with you, they’re going to have a massive problem on their hands. 

Among the stolen kisses, frenzied quickies in the cover of alleyways, and lazy weekends spent in bed with your legs wrapped around each other, it finally hits Togame as he’s drawing large circles on your skin with the tip of his finger. And it isn’t until one of the aforementioned lazy Sundays that he’s willing to share the revelation. 

You’re laying in bed with one another—-he, the big spoon to your little one, his cock buried deep inside of you as he rolls his hips in a manner that only Togame can—-in no particular rush to bring on his orgasm but having a preference to prioritize yours.

You’ve gotten used to the sensual lovemaking, the slow build of your orgasm bubbling deep within you as you tremble from the overstimulation.

Togame presses his lips against your neck, slowly trailing kisses near the edge of your hairline and upward until you can feel his tongue sucking gently at your lobe, and a deep, slow rumble emits from his chest, “God, I love you.” 

Togame says it with the conviction of someone who has resolved themselves to one person, his person, you, you, you. There is no room for doubt because once Togame commits to you, he’s simply committing to the destiny of your love story, which was always inevitable. 

Hajime Umemiya is also someone who would never proclaim his love for someone unless he meant it, but unlike Suo, his reasoning has little to do with a preference for remaining aloof and more to do with the fact that once he says, ‘I love you,’ he’s marrying that person.

In a perfect world, Umemiya would plan a romantic date somewhere where you’d be surrounded by blooming flowers, the rays of the sun beaming down on you, and creating a golden halo around the crown of your hair. You’d never looked as beautiful as you do now, and he was ready to express to you what you meant to him. Umemiya would be visibly nervous, and because you know him so well, perhaps this would indicate that something was amiss. 

Unfortunately, sometimes things don’t always go according to plan because one thing about Umemiya is that he can be caught in the heat of the moment. 

Umemiya has your hands pinned above your head, his fingers intertwined with yours because there’s not a world in which he doesn’t crave that connection with you. And as he slides into you—an unashamed moan escaping his lips, he takes in your smell, the way you murmur and sigh his name as he fills you up; he can’t help but sputter out a shakey, “I…i love you.”

Instead of being embarrassed that this wasn’t what he planned, he chuckles because this is as good a moment as any and says it again, and again, and again, while placing tender kisses against your lips, “I love you. I love you. I love you.” 

Ren Kaji has had quite the stressful day—even by Makochi’s standards. After throwing fists with thugs terrorizing the town's shop owners, he seeks you out, his anchor, the one person who can keep him from losing control and beating people within an inch of their lives. 

And you’re more than happy to take on that role, not only because you adore the sweet-toothed man but also because it results in some rough romps in the bedroom, which you could never complain about. 

Hard smacks to your bare ass, angry, dark hickeys littered across every inch of you, and a soreness radiating between your legs later warrants intensive aftercare, according to Kaji. So after he’s done massaging your scalp, helping you into your cute pajamas, and grabbing you a glass of water, he holds you. 

With your ear pressed against his chest, you listen to the soft, rhythmic repetition of his beating heart as he drifts in and out of sleep. 

And in between soft snores and a relaxed dream state, Kaji utters a simple “I love you.”

You laugh softly so as not to wake him because, of course, he does, and this isn’t the first time he’s spoken those words in his sleep. But every morning, neither of you mention the confession. 

His actions are more than enough proof to show that he loves you, and you aren’t sure that he remembers, anyway. Regardless, you have no doubt that the day in which Kaji speaks those words to you will come.

[maximoff-pan]

the ultimate deception | benedict bridgerton (part one)

summary: you are a well known artist who paints under a pseudonym. What happens when Lady Whistledown comes to know of your identity? How will your relationship with Benedict evolve?

pairing: benedict bridgerton x fem!(artist)reader

word count: 4k

warning(s): poor writing and dialogue (sue me, I'm rusty lol), very unedited so if there are mistakes, I apologize, misogyny, penelope aka Lady Whistledown's biggest defender

a/n: this is definitely going to be more than one part, but I wanted to post something after so many months. Let me know how you like it (or don't like it haha)...comments and feedback are much appreciated <3

• • • • • •

“I wish I possessed merely an ounce of your talent.” 

Benedict’s gaze seems to be wholly absorbing your latest painting, a depiction of the botanical wonders of London’s Royal Kew Gardens. 

You puff out a breath, blowing on the feathery end of one of your writing quills. In your haste, it had gotten loose, tickling your face irritatingly. Tucking it back behind your ear, you wave him off. “You have much more talent than you give yourself credit for.” You admit through squinted eyes, scanning your work. “You simply lack conviction. And you worry far too much about what others think of you.”

Benedict smiles, receiving your words as the highest of praise. He reaches out to take a better look at the piece of art before him. “You flatter me.” He mumbles in awe. “But I suppose there’s a chance you could be right.”

Chuckling at his words, you grin knowingly. You’re right. It’s more than a chance…you just are. He knows it too. 

You both continue to steadily eye the painting, you out of critical evaluation of your work, and him in sheer admiration of it. 

Benedict’s favourite part remains the beautifully bloomed magnolias that are scattered across the canvas. He’d been sure to tell you numerous times of their elegance while you’d been working on it, eagerly awaiting the finished product. As you’ve come to realize, Benedict loves watching you work. It’s one of the prices you’ve had to pay for his allowance of your workstation being at Bridgerton House, if you could even call it that.  

You are grateful, truly. You wouldn’t be able to make your own living without his kindness. And you certainly wouldn’t be able to keep to yourself in the way you prefer to. 

“When will Augustus Leighton be displaying his latest work of perfection?” Benedict’s question reminds you of your fate as an artist. 

Augustus Leighton is the pseudonym you paint under. Using his name, you have become a well known artist among the ton, even going so far as to have a painting hung at Buckingham Palace. It’s difficult, you must admit, pretending to be someone else. But it’s a necessary evil.

Painting as a woman would get you nowhere. Especially as a woman with no money (particularly at the time you began), no status, and no husband. 

Your mother is a seamstress with little to her name and your father was a servant to Violet and Edmund Bridgerton, before his heart became too weak. He passed away when you were thirteen, only a few years after the Bridgerton children had lost their own father. You’d grown up with little money, but Violet had been kind to both you and your mother, seeing how close you’d become with her children. 

You were raised alongside them, Benedict and Eloise becoming your closest of friends. At three and twenty, there are five years between you and the two siblings in either direction, with Eloise being freshly eighteen, and Benedict having turned twenty eight. To this day, they remain two of only three people who know of your true identity, outside of Penelope Featherington. 

You hadn’t exactly meant for Eloise or Penelope to find out about it, but once they had, it became comforting to have more than just Benedict to speak to about your predicament. Especially considering, although Benedict has been wonderfully supportive, he could never understand the struggle a woman must endure in a male dominated world.  

“Likely never. This one is a gift for Lady Danbury.” You answer Benedict’s inquiry after a bout of silence. “She’s spoken about her love of these gardens quite regularly, so I thought, why not have Mr. Leighton recreate it for her?” 

“How will you get it to her?” He questions. 

A smile pulls at the corners of your lips. “I have my ways, lest you worry about it.”

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

The next few days are interesting to say the least. You’d somehow managed to get the painting delivered to Lady Danbury, and as far as Violet had been willing to speak of her latest visit with the formidable aforementioned woman, you have been made aware that she adores it. 

You’d also heard more about it from Benedict, who’d mentioned something about her being at a loss for words, an ultimate shock to both him and his mother. They’d never seen her look so bewildered. 

According to Eloise, Lady Danbury had been surprised to receive such a gift, especially of something so near and dear to her heart. She’d said it reminded her of her time with the Queen, telling the young Bridgerton woman about the months just after her husband had passed, when a new independent lifestyle began to bloom for her. 

The painting itself reminded her that women like her could be free, and one day, they would be. That sort of metaphorical mindset had definitely appealed to Eloise’s sense of social justice. She’d been more than excited to tell you about the older woman’s reaction to your art, claiming it to be a wonderful revelation. 

Today though, as you sit in the Bridgerton’s common living room, the opposite representation of said female autonomy rests in your hands. The paper feels rough against your skin as you pass it to Eloise who’s propped excitedly to the left of you. You’ve never been a fan of Lady Whistledown’s gossip column, although you can admire her unabashed confidence. But despite her strong will as an author, which could be seen as an inherently empowering trait, you are of the impression that she goes about it in an entirely backward way. 

Women don’t need to put each other down to build themselves up. It accomplishes nothing, consequently acting as a source of nourishment for the patriarchy you find yourself trapped in. 

“You’re not going to read it?” Eloise asks as she takes the pamphlet from you. 

“I never do.” Is your instant reply. 

Penelope perks up at the mention of the column, eyes trained curiously on you. If you had known better, you’d say she was a little too interested. 

But at this moment you shrug it off, listening with no suspicion as she asks a simple, “Why?”

You don’t have the hindsight to understand why your stomach turns at her question, but you respond anyway. “I tend to think of Lady Whistledown as a poison.” It’s the first time you’ve voiced such an opinion. 

Penelope and Eloise turn to you in surprise. “Come again?” Penelope’s soft voice cuts through. 

“She is a poison.” You repeat before explaining yourself. “Do not get me wrong, I hold admiration for her bravado, but her words, the things she writes, they cause nothing but pain and conflict for those she chooses to sink her teeth into.”

“But she’s an independent woman.” Eloise interjects. “One who is doing more than any of us could dream of. She is making a name for herself!”

You try to think about your next words carefully, but your mouth makes quick work of a reply. “A name which she hides behind, casting stones through the guise and safety of anonymity.” 

Penelope lets out a scoff from beside you. She’s always been one to defend the infamous gossip columnist. “At least she does not hide herself behind the mask of a man.” That feels like a shot. “The people know full well of her gender, despite her true identity remaining a secret.”

You hear the implication on her tongue. The same cannot be said for you. 

And she’s not wrong. You do hide yourself behind the mask of a man. You’d never once denied that.

You sigh. “I know you must think of me as a hypocrite.” 

Eloise agrees hesitantly. “Only a little.” She admits. “It’s just that you do the same as Mr. Leighton.”

You soften at her honesty. Truthfully, you understand where she’s coming from, but you can’t help the urge you feel to defend yourself.

“I disguise myself as Augutus because I know that no artist or art critic alike will take me seriously as I am. I want to share my work with the world, that is simply all I want. It’s all I have ever wanted.”

“Does that not make you a coward?” Penelope inquires, although it feels less like a question and more like an opinion. This is what she believes. And she's entitled to that. 

“Perhaps.” You nod in acknowledgment. “But it has also made me uniquely successful. And I take great pride knowing that my work is highly regarded, in spite of the fact that I have to be someone else to succeed.” 

“Does that ever bother you?” Eloise persists. “Knowing that no one will know you for the work you have done?”

Before you can respond, Penelope chimes in with a query of her own. “Does it ever make you feel guilty, lying as you do?” This feels like a challenge. 

You turn to Eloise, answering her first. “No, I feel quite unbothered. I like the privacy it provides me.” Your gaze flicks between the two girls, a fire in your eyes as you speak. 

You answer Penelope’s question next. “Guilt is one of the last feelings to cross my mind.” You feel content with it. “Because of Augustus, I have my own money, my own independence. I do not need a man to survive or to be happy. I have choices. And that's a facet of my life I never dreamed could have existed. If there is anything more empowering for a woman than that, I cannot think of it.”

Eloise listens to your words carefully, absorbing them, reveling in them. She hadn’t thought of it like that, but you’re right. Independence is a sign of true equality. And you have that. Not because of the name you hide behind, but because you’d used the insecurities of men to your advantage. You’d played the game and won. 

“I suppose I have been quite short sighted.” There’s much less arrogance in her tone. Eloise sounds humbled. “You’ve given me a new perspective to think about.”

Penelope does not enjoy the direction this conversation has headed. “Surely you cannot think yourself above someone such as Lady Whistledown.”

Your face scrunches in thought. “Above?” You stipulate. “I do not think myself above anyone, gender aside. But I do think I have a much higher sense of self respect than she does.”

“And how could that possibly be?” Penelope has to bite her tongue. She wants to say more, defend herself more. But she cannot. 

Eloise cuts in. “Lady Whistledown has the utmost confidence in herself. I dare say more than all the women in London combined. As much as I have come to see your side, I cannot agree with that.”

“One’s high level of confidence is of little concern here.” You deliver. “Often, in matters regarding the human condition, such as these, it can act as a detriment.” Your eyes narrow as you speak. “Self respect and self confidence can coincide, but they are not the same.”

Eloise laughs out of confusion. She’s not used to being this clueless. “I don’t understand.” She says.

“Ah,” you decide to stop tiptoeing around the subject. “I merely think that no self-respecting woman would use the pain and suffering of other women, or any other person for that matter, for their own profit and entertainment.” 

Eloise’s smile drops. “Oh.” Again, she hadn’t thought of it that way. But what resonates with her most is that you’re not wrong. 

“Is that what you truly think of Lady Whistledown?” Penelope’s voice is calm and collected for the first time this afternoon. It almost scares you. 

“Yes.” You say, before voicing, “However, I mean no offense to either of you. I know how much you girls adore her column. I just want more for you than what she does. A life of gossip is dangerous, and you deserve so much more.”

If you had known you’d been talking to Lady Whistledown herself, maybe you would have kept those opinions to yourself. But little did you know how much your life was about to change, how dangerously you’d walked the line, and how much vengeance rests in Penelope Featherington’s soul.

Future note to self, do not play with fire if one does not wish to get burnt.  

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

“(Y/n), I think you need to see this.” Benedict holds up the newest edition of London’s famous gossip column. 

Your heart sinks at the look in his eyes. I’m sorry they seem to say. 

You haven’t even read it and you already know it’s bad. Handing it to you, Benedict looks hesitant, almost in preparation of what's to come. As you take it from him, you glance down at the ink on the paper, her handwriting etched in your brain. 

You swallow the lump in your throat as you begin to read:

Dearest Gentle Reader,

It has come to this author’s attention that a certain individual is playing an unforgivable game of deception within the world of classical art that this ton so highly regards. This artisan has gone to great lengths to keep their true identity from you, painting under a well recognized pseudonym. 

By now you may have guessed, this artist is a woman. One who has tricked you and lied to you by passing her work off as that of a man’s. What a horrid crime it is to keep such a secret from you, and a desperate one, I must admit. A woman so foul as to seek such attention for her art, far too greedy to be content with the life so many of the wonderful women of the ton lead. Instead, she parades around disguising herself so she can live a life she feels entitled to. 

This author asks you to consider the arrogance of it all. But the question remains, as I am sure you are desperate to uncover: who is the serpent who remains among us?

And so it is with great sorrow that I announce the once beloved Augustus Leighton is a fraud. A man never seen in the public setting, has given us a reason why. He is a woman.

And her name, ladies and gentleman of London, is (Y/n) (L/n). 

As I am sure you, gentle reader, are shocked at this revelation, I will take a moment to address the woman this particular entry concerns.

May I remind you Miss (L/n), I have ears and eyes everywhere. Or did you forget? It would do you a world of good to remember that the next time you think about besmirching me. And, as I write this, I must say, this warning goes for all. Heed it, live by it, breathe by it. I am not a woman you want to cross. 

Yours truly,

Lady Whistledown

Panic crawls through your body. You want to cry, scream, maybe even simply die from the anxiety you’re feeling. 

“What am I going to do?” 

Your voice cracks, it sounds like glass breaking. Shattered, ragged, and tired, and Benedict can do nothing but hold you. 

Again, as your body shakes and caves into the pressure you think, what am I going to do?

• ж • ж • ж • ж •

The moment Eloise enters the room with Anthony at her side, your mind is sent ablaze. Only three people had known about Augustus. Only three people could have possibly let it slip, and you know for a fact it wasn’t Benedict.

As much as you want to believe Eloise would never do something like that to you, you can’t help but feel like she might have offhandedly mentioned it to someone. Her mouth had always worked much faster than her brain.  

Benedict’s gaze meets yours in understanding. He hopes his sister hasn’t done this; he’ll be furious if she has. 

You’re about to say something when a certain eldest Bridgerton catches you off guard. Anthony smiles when he sees you, eyes twinkling uncharacteristically so. 

“I had no idea you could paint like that.” He says. “I must admit, I’m quite proud of you.”

You blink rapidly in confusion. Proud? In all the years you’ve known Anthony, he’s never told you he’s proud of you. 

“So you’ve read the column then?” Your head hangs in shame. Everyone in London has probably read it by now. 

“Everyone has.” Eloise pipes in timidly, confirming your suspicions. 

She’s nervous, understandably so, fingers fiddling with the hem of her dress. You assume when you finally catch her gaze that she’ll avert it quickly, but instead, she holds it well. 

We need to talk. 

Benedict, reading the room perfectly, coughs in apprehension. “Brother, how about we let these ladies be for a moment? I’m certain they have some things to discuss.”

“Of course.” Anthony nods with a smile, not before reminding you how proud he is of you.

If anything good can come of this, it might just be that. 

Once alone, Eloise is eager to assure you of her innocence. “I spoke to no one.” She promises. “Blood be forgotten, you’re my sister (Y/n). I would never betray you like that.”

The look on her face is one of pure panic; she needs you to believe her. And despite everything, you do. It almost makes you feel guilty that you questioned her. 

“It’s alright.” You assure her. “I know you wouldn’t.”

But that only leaves one person…

“I think Penelope is Lady Whistledown.” You're taken aback by Eloise’s words, like a stab to the chest. Twisting the knife in further, she corrects, “I know she is.”

Moments of silence pass before you can collect your thoughts. “How long have you known?”

This is where Eloise loses her composure. Pure shame is etched upon her features. “I caught her a few weeks ago.”

A few weeks. A few weeks… A FEW WEEKS?

“Oh.” Your murmur is dejected and weak.

Eloise had known you’d been slandering Lady Whistledown in front of Lady Whistledown, and she’d done nothing to stop you, except defend her best friend’s honour. No wonder she’d been so reluctant to agree with you. 

“I wanted to say something.” Eloise stammers. “But I couldn’t. Penelope doesn’t know that I know.”

You inhale a staggered breath of air, face falling to your palms. “I’ve been such a fool. How could I have been so stupid?”

“You have not.” The girl beside you opposes before continuing, “Trust me, I am furious with Penelope. The things she’s done and said about me, about the people I care about, I’m not sure I can forgive her for it.”

You scoff lightly. Trust her? How are you supposed to do that?

Sure, Eloise has certainly been burned by Lady Whistledown before, but she’s always had her name to fall back on. “You have no idea what it’s like, Eloise.”

“I’m sorry.” She slumps in apology, shrinking in on herself. Eloise likes to think she can understand where you’re coming from. She’s a woman, same as you, one who has the same struggles against the patriarchy, and yet, hers are much different.  

“Don’t.” You dismiss her apology in frustration. It feels harsh but necessary. “You always speak about feminism and the difficulties of being a woman. How it is impossible for you to hold title and rank, or to be recognized for your accomplishments. But you are a Bridgerton Eloise, and that comes with more privilege, more title, more rank, and more acknowledgment in society than you seem to understand.”

Eloise’s brow furrows. “More often than not, that name is a burden, something you could not possibly grasp.”

“And I should not have to.” Your lips pull into a thin line. This isn’t a competition, but you feel it necessary to defend your point wholly. “I am the daughter of a servant and a seamstress. I have no money, no control, and no future if I am not to marry. Since the day I was born, I belonged to someone else. You talk of struggle, but you have no idea what it truly means.”

Eloise doesn’t like what you’re implying. “You think I live a life of luxury? That I am a stranger to the adversities life has to offer? I can assure you, I know much more about the struggles of which you speak. My mother has prepared me for the purpose of my future; finding a husband is imperative.”

“You plan to remain unmarried, correct?” You ask her seriously.

“With every fiber in my being.” Is her scathing reply. And it only serves to prove your point. But you can see her side of things too. 

“El, you defy your mother with your distaste for society. And while I applaud your determination to fight for equality, your fault remains in your failure to recognize the entitlement that has been bestowed upon you simply by having that choice. Unlike so many women, you can choose to live your life as a spinster. For you, those options exist. For me, I have not one choice besides finding a well suited, at best, middle class husband, because that is all I am suited for.”

In this moment, her heart shatters for you. Is that really what you think of yourself? “You cannot possibly mean that.” 

“It’s how it has to be.” You affirm. 

“It’s not.” She disagrees. “There’s so much more for you than a husband.”

Both your defenses are down, walls have collapsed, and you’re starting to get through to each other. She’s starting to grasp the gravity of what this means for you. Your career is more than likely over, as is the steady source of income you’d managed to build. Except where before you’d had less than no money to your name, you now had a healthy dowry (that you’d earned no less) to find a more comfortable suitor. 

Eloise sees it now. What Penelope has done is monumentally life changing. 

However, as emotional as this circumstance is, you still feel the need to reach out. She’s your sister after all. 

“Eloise,” your eyes search hers. They tread in a sea of empathy. “I never meant to imply you have lived a life without misfortunes. I’m not trying to diminish your hurt. But I thought if you heard my side, you might come to understand mine.”

She softens at your admission, having gotten carried away in defending herself. Nodding, she smiles gently. “I do.” She says. “And while you may not bear the Bridgerton surname, you do have us. Every Bridgerton will stand behind you, always.”

Against every fibre in your being, you believe her. Somehow you’ll always have this little family of yours, somehow you hope you’ll be okay…

[seiwas]

thank you to everyone who’s read my simon fic so far 🥺 i see some tags mentioning that they don’t follow cod and aren’t familiar with him at all besides maybe gifsets and edits—and i am so touched!!! that you’ve chosen to continue reading despite that 🥺 thank you so much 🥺

[valsdelulucorner]

Imagine the brothers broke out of their code and became self aware

It was difficult to accept at first that their whole existence was just code in a game, nothing more then ones and zeros put into a computer. They still had to act like everything was fine when you logged in though, hearts aching knowing that all your interactions were just the ones the game provided for you.

Leviathan managed to hack the camera to your phone/webcam when he was out of the scene, managing to see your face for the proper first time again, he was blown away. Seeing how you reacted to the brothers with genuine emotion, how you actually looked beside the sheep emoticon in the game. You were breathtaking, he could not breath for a good few minutes after hearing your laugh.

He kept this to himself for a while until Mammon and asmo walked in on him admiring you through your webcam/phone. Lets just say all of the brothers were surrounding his monitor in less then 5 Minutes after the walk in. By some type of magic and with the help of Levi (cough he didn't have a choice cough), they managed to change the sheep emoticon to your face so they could see your face when you talked to them, like you were actually there. It made them fall harder, seeing your face turn when you couldn't differ from some options you didn't like, it made you seem real and genuine.

You started to notice something was wrong with the game when their faces seemed to change alot more, their bodies moving more often in-between dialogue. Did they add new sprites to the game? When you showed your game to one of your friends, they acted completely normal like nothing had ever happened. Maybe you were just imagining it? Nope, you could hear a faint whisper in the background of your phone "that was close, we need to be more careful".

It started to freak you out so you didn't play the game for a few months, it was horrible for the brothers. They missed seeing your face, going on adventures with you. They knew they were in a game so all the thrills of their old life just didn't feel right anymore, it wasn't real. They eventually got fed up and tried to leave the game, actually managing to succeed in this. You can imagine the shock you feel when they were no longer showing up in the game

You got freaked out so you uninstalled the game, thinking it was the end of it. Oh darling, you can be so naive. This is just the beginning

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First time doing a yandere concept type thing, not the proudest but i enjoyed writing it!

What should I do next? Requests are open<3

[medusaspeach]

*Notes: I love making comics but find the writing process difficult, this is something I need to work on, as I have so many ideas but struggle to write them out. I stumbled upon Lucian's Dialogues on Tumblr and thought his charming, tongue-in-cheek style would be a good way for me to practice my comic-making. :')

"Lucian of Samosata was a Greek satirist who flourished in the region of Commagene near Syria in the C2nd A.D. He was the author of numerous works, which include: The Dialogues of the Gods, Dialogues of the Sea Gods, and Dialogues of the Dead."

I opted for a simple color scheme because as much as I love full-color comics, it would take me so much longer to get this done.

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