#i personally think this is interesting though and am happy to read other thoughts about this! hope this isn't too surface level btw

[verstappenverse]

oh i think i have a request 🤭 maybe max starts to date reader cause of a bet but he ends up actually falling in love with her…kinda angst but maybe fluffy and happy ending as well?

The Bet and The Fall

Pairing: Max Verstappen x Reader

Summary: Max starts dating you on a bet never expecting to fall for you, but as your relationship grows he must confront the fallout of his careless gamble.

4k words / Masterlist

You never thought the end of your year would involve Max Verstappen.

The first time you saw him, he’d been exactly what you expected. Quick wit, easy smirk, and just enough arrogance to carry the weight of his success. He’d walked into the bar with a confidence that commanded attention, his laughter spilling into the room like it belonged there. And maybe it did.

You didn’t think much of him then. He was just another face, another fleeting encounter on a night out. But fate or something cruelly ironic had other plans.

It started with an accident, a spill of your drink when you turned too quickly, bumping straight into him. His reflexes were sharp, of course, the glass never hit the ground.

"Smooth," he’d said, voice tinged with amusement as he set the glass down.

You’d laughed it off, brushing away your embarrassment. "Thanks for the save. You’re faster off track than I thought."

That had earned a raised brow and a crooked grin. "You know who I am?"

"I’m not living under a rock."

Max shrugged, a small smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. “You don’t look like the type who goes to parties like this.”

Your laugh was genuine, surprising even yourself. “And what does that mean exactly?”

"Nothing bad." he said, watching you closely. "But I’m good at reading people."

"And what do you read from me?"

He chuckled, rubbing the back of his neck. “Just… you seem like you’re trying to figure out how you ended up here.”

“You’re not wrong,” you admitted, glancing around the room. “I’m here because my friend insisted. Apparently I need to ‘live a little.’”

Max’s smile widened, and there was something disarming about it, “And are you? Living a little?”

You shrugged, feeling oddly at ease despite the absurdity of the situation. “I guess I am now.”

He’d offered to replace your drink, and you’d let him, thinking it was nothing more than a kind gesture. He shifted slightly closer, the noise of the party fading into the background as the two of you talked.

The conversation flowed more easily than you expected. Max was charming in a way that felt unpolished, his humour dry and his smile boyish despite the confidence he carried. He asked questions about you, what you did, where you were from, and he actually seemed interested in your answers.

At some point, you forgot who he was. You forgot that you were talking to someone whose life was splashed across headlines and social media. And when your best friend eventually came to drag you away, Max had looked genuinely disappointed.

When he asked for your number as you were standing up to leave, you hesitated.

"I don’t usually do this," you admitted, handing him your phone anyway.

"I don’t either," he replied, though the glint in his eyes made you doubt that.

Still, he’d texted you the next day and slowly things started to unfold.

What you didn’t know at the time was that across the room someone had been watching the entire interaction with a smirk plastered on their face.

Max had been sitting at a table with his friends earlier that night, a drink in his hand and an argument brewing. It wasn’t unusual competitive personalities clashed even off the track. But tonight Daniel had been relentless, poking at Max’s habits, his so-called inability to "settle down."

"You don’t even know how to date properly," Daniel joked. "I bet you wouldn’t last two weeks with a normal girl."

Max rolled his eyes. "And what does that even mean?"

"It means," Daniel said, grin widening, "you’re all about control. You don’t let anyone in unless you’ve already decided it’s worth your time. Where’s the fun in that? Where’s the spontaneity?"

Max scoffed. "You’re talking like I don’t know how to have a real relationship."

"Because you don’t," Daniel shot back, laughing. "Prove me wrong. Bet you wouldn’t last a month with someone who isn’t already part of your world. No models, no influencers, no one born into racing. A normal person. You’d combust."

Max leaned back, unimpressed. "I could date anyone I wanted."

Daniel’s eyes gleamed with mischief. "Alright, Verstappen. Prove it." He gestured toward the bar, where you stood unaware of their gaze. "Her. One month. Bet you can’t do it."

Max followed Daniel’s line of sight, lips twitching as he took you in. You were laughing at something a friend had said, head tossed back, easy and unguarded. There was no designer handbag, no polished effort to impress.

Max smirked, arrogance slipping easily into his voice. "Easy."

"Oh, is it?" Daniel teased. "She doesn’t look like the type to fall for your usual tricks mate."

"She’ll fall," Max said, confidence unwavering. "They always do."

Daniel arched an eyebrow. "Alright then." He held out his hand. "If you pull it off drinks are on me for the rest of the year."

Max clasped Daniel’s hand without hesitation. "Deal."

What he didn’t anticipate was how easy it would be to approach you or how different you would be from what he expected. When he wandered over to the bar, leaning casually against the counter, he didn’t have to try hard to strike up a conversation. You were warm, quick-witted, and entirely uninterested in the weight of his name.

You didn’t look at him like he was Max Verstappen, Formula 1 World Champion. You looked at him like he was just a guy who spilled your drink and owed you a new one. It caught him off guard, that refreshing lack of pre-tense.

Max had meant for it to be a game, a challenge to prove his point. What he didn’t realise then was that he’d just placed a bet against his own heart. And for the first time in his life, he was about to lose.

Looking back, you’d wonder if you should have noticed the cracks sooner.

Everything felt perfect. Max was attentive, charming, and surprisingly easy to talk to. He wasn’t just the Max Verstappen the world saw he was softer with you, more thoughtful. He’d remember small details, how you liked your coffee, the book you were reading, the song stuck in your head.

He made you laugh too, really laugh, the kind that bubbled up unexpectedly, catching you off guard, leaving your cheeks aching and your stomach fluttering. And when he kissed you for the first time his hands cradled your face, careful and deliberate, like he was afraid you might slip through his fingers if he wasn’t gentle enough. There was something almost reverent about the way he touched you, like he was holding something fragile, something precious, something he wasn’t sure he deserved but wasn’t willing to let go of either, and when he finally pulled back, his forehead resting lightly against yours, his thumb tracing the edge of your jaw, you realised something terrifying.

You had fallen fast, and you had fallen hard.

What you didn’t know was that Max hadn’t expected to fall at all.

A month came and went, but by then Max wasn’t counting anymore. The bet was long forgotten, buried under the weight of late-night conversations, stolen glances, and the way your laugh seemed to echo in his mind long after you were gone.

At first, it was easier to ignore the way something shifted in his chest whenever you were around, the way his mind drifted to you even in moments when he should have been focused. He told himself it was just intrigue, a fleeting distraction that would fade once the bet was over. But then, moment by moment, the reality became impossible to ignore.

It was the way you laughed, unrestrained, unselfconscious. The kind of laugh that made people turn their heads, infectious and full of life. The way you talked with your hands, so animated and expressive that he found so captivating. The way you challenged him, never intimidated by his sharp edges or his reputation, meeting him head-on with quick wit, making him feel like he didn’t have to be Verstappen, the calculated driver, the public figure, with you he could just be Max.

He fell without realising it, like slipping into a warm bath, slow, comforting, inevitable.

The tipping point came on what should have been a regular, quiet evening at your place. You’d insisted on cooking dinner for him brushing off his protests about how he could just order something instead. The kitchen was chaos, vegetables half-chopped, sauce simmering too quickly, flour dusting your shirt, but you didn’t seem to care. You were too busy laughing at yourself, muttering about how you were definitely not cut out for MasterChef.

“Come on Verstappen,” you teased, tossing him an apron. “You can’t be a world champion and not know how to chop an onion.”

Max caught the apron midair, a mock look of horror on his face. “I don’t think that’s in the championship requirements.”

“Well it’s in mine,” you quipped, tying your own apron behind your back. “Get chopping.”

Max leaned against the counter, watching you with an expression that would have given him away in an instant if you’d turned to look at him.

“You’re staring,” you teased after a while.

He smirked. “Maybe I like what I’m seeing.”

You rolled your eyes, but the blush on your cheeks betrayed you.

It was a simple moment, but it lodged itself in Max’s chest like a permanent fixture. He knew then it wasn’t just intrigue or infatuation, he loved you. And that terrified him.

The closer you got, the harder it became for him to bury the truth. He tried telling himself it didn’t matter, the bet had been stupid, something meaningless that had quickly been replaced by something real. But every time he saw the trust in your eyes, every time you looked at him like he was the best thing to ever happen to you, the guilt churned in his stomach.

There were nights he barely slept, lying awake in bed with the weight of it pressing down on him. What if you found out? What if you looked at him with disgust, walked away without giving him the chance to explain? He couldn’t risk it. He couldn’t lose you.

Every moment with you, big or small, was another thread tying him closer to you. He didn’t know how it happened so fast, but he couldn’t imagine his life without you in it. You were his home, his safe place, and he was hopelessly, irrevocably in love with you.

One evening, the two of you sat curled up on the couch in his Monaco apartment, a movie playing in the background that neither of you was paying much attention to. You rested your head on his chest, and he pressed a kiss to your hair, his heart aching with how perfect it felt.

But then you spoke. “You’re quiet tonight. Everything okay?”

The words made his chest tighten. You always noticed. Even the smallest shifts in his mood never escaped your attention.

“I’m fine,” he said quickly, forcing a smile. “Just tired.”

You tilted your head to look at him, your eyes searching his face. “Are you sure? You’d tell me if something was wrong, right?”

The guilt surged, and for a fleeting moment, he considered telling you. The words hovered on the tip of his tongue, but then he imagined the way your expression would change, the way you’d pull away from him, he couldn’t bear it.

Instead he leaned down to kiss you hoping it would be enough to distract you. You sighed into the kiss, your hands finding their way into his hair, and for a moment he let himself believe it was enough.

“I love you,” you murmured against his lips, your voice soft and certain.

He pulled back slightly, his forehead resting against yours. “I love you too,” he said, his voice trembling with the weight of everything he couldn’t say.

He adjusted the blanket over you and pressed another kiss to the top of your head. “Get some sleep liefje.”

Max buried the secret deeper after that night, convincing himself that it was better this way. You wouldn’t forgive him, he was sure of it, and he couldn’t risk losing you.

But the guilt didn’t go away. It lingered like a shadow, growing heavier with every passing day. He started overcompensating, showering you with affection, he’d buy you flowers every day, plan spontaneous dates, and do anything he could to keep you happy.

And it worked. You were happy. You loved him. And Max loved you so much it hurt.

The fear of losing you consumed him. It drove him to be better, to be the man you deserved, but it also ate away at him. He avoided certain conversations, terrified that you’d somehow stumble upon the truth. He cut Daniel off sharply whenever he brought up the bet, even if you were nowhere near, his tone cold and final.

“Don’t,” he snapped when Daniel jokingly mentioned it in passing. “It’s not funny.”

Daniel raised his hands in surrender, the mere mention of the bet made Max’s chest tighten, the fear creeping back in. He couldn’t let you find out because Max knew one thing with absolute certainty, if you ever did he’d lose you.

No matter how hard he tried the fallout was inevitable.

The night had started out like any other, one of those glitzy, over-the-top events Max had to attend where champagne flowed like water and conversations were laced with artificial charm. You had never particularly liked these parties, but for Max you endured them.

Maybe that’s why you had stepped outside. The ballroom was too loud, too stifling, too full of people who smiled too widely and spoke in half-truths. You had wanted air, a moment to breathe away from it all, and then you heard it.

Max’s voice, unmistakable even in the distance, low and edged with something uncharacteristically uneasy. You followed it instinctively, your heels clicking against the marble floors as you rounded the corner toward the balcony. You weren’t eavesdropping, at least that wasn’t the intention but something in his tone made you pause just before stepping into view.

"I didn’t think it’d go this far," Max said, his voice quiet with exasperation. "It was a stupid bet Daniel. A fucking drunk, meaningless bet. And now I—now she—”

His words cut off abruptly like he couldn't even bring himself to say it out loud, but the damage was already done.

Your heart stopped.

The world seemed to tilt under your feet, the music and laughter from the party fading into white noise. Bet. The word hit you like a punch to the stomach, knocking the air from your lungs.

You didn’t hear the rest. You didn’t need to.

A choked breath escaped your lips before you could stop it, and that tiny sound was enough to break whatever bubble of secrecy Max had been operating in. His head snapped toward you, his eyes widening in alarm as he registered your presence.

"Shit," he muttered, his entire body tensing.

You didn’t wait for an explanation. Your feet were already moving, the panic clawing at your throat as you turned on your heel and pushed past the doors leading inside. You needed to get out.

"Wait—"

Max was already chasing after you, shoving past Daniel, who muttered a quiet curse calling out for Max as he realised what had just happened, but Max didn’t hear him, or maybe he didn’t care. His focus was on you weaving through the crowd as you dodged between people your vision blurred with tears.

When Max found you, you were already halfway out the entrance.

"Wait," he called, his voice raw with panic. "Please just listen it's not what you think—"

"Don’t," you bit out, whirling to face him. "Don’t insult me by pretending this wasn’t exactly what it looks like."

His face crumpled, "It wasn’t supposed to be like this."

"Then what was it supposed to be Max?" Your voice shook, the weight of betrayal pressing down on your chest. "A joke? Something to laugh about with your friends? A game to pass the time until you got bored?"

"No," he said stepping forward, hands reaching for you like he could fix this if he just got close enough. "At first-when we first met I…it doesn’t matter, but not anymore. Not for a long time. I swear, I didn’t mean for this to happen-"

"But it did," you cut him off, voice breaking under the weight of it all. "And you let it happen. You let me believe in this, in you, while you knew—"

"I fell for you too," he rasped, his desperation tangible. "I swear to god, I did. And now I can't—" His breath hitched, words failing him. "I can’t imagine my life without you."

"Stop," you whispered, tears slipping down your cheeks. "You don’t get to say that. Not now. Not when this," you gestured between you, "was built on a lie."

His wiped away his own tear that had fallen. "But we were happy, that was real." he pleaded, voice breaking. "I tried so fucking hard to make you happy everyday, to make everything perfect. Doesn’t that count for something?"

You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head as fresh pain sliced through you. "No, Max. It doesn’t. Because it was never real. You don’t get to build something on a lie and then act like the good parts outweigh the truth."

He reached for you again, but you stepped back, the distance between you feeling impossibly vast.

"I can't do this, Max. I can't be with someone who—" Your voice faltered. "Someone who made me love them knowing it was never real."

"It is real, I swear I lov-" he pleaded, but you just turned away.

And this time, when you walked away, you didn't look back.

Max tried everything to win you back. Texts, calls, presents, even showing up at your door unannounced. But you ignored him, too hurt to entertain the idea of forgiveness. It wasn’t until over a month later that he finally got through to you.

A knock at your door interrupted the quiet of your evening. You weren’t expecting anyone. And when you peeked through the peephole, your stomach twisted. Max, again.

You hesitated, fingers hovering over the lock, but before you could turn away his voice came through the door, muffled but unmistakably determined.

"I’m not leaving until you talk to me."

You sighed, pressing your forehead against the wood. A couple of weeks ago you would have let him sit there all night. Now, all you felt was confused. But… you unlocked it, pulling it open just enough that you could stand in the door.

"Max—"

"Wait," he cut in gently, his eyes desperate. "Please. Just let me say this."

"I messed up," he admitted, his voice raw with regret. "I know I did. And part of me wishes I could go back and never agree to the stupid bet, to stop it before it ever started." He swallowed hard, his eyes searching yours. "But I can’t. And the truth is… I don’t know if I’d want to."

You reached for the door, but he pressed on.

"Because the bet led me to you. And I don’t regret that. I regret lying. I regret hurting you. But I could never regret you." His voice broke slightly. "I love you. Not because of some stupid decision, but because of who you are."

He took a step closer to the door careful, like he knew he was balancing on a knife’s edge.

"Because of the way you ramble when you're excited. The way you always text me when you see something that reminds you of me, no matter how small. The way you—" He let out a shaky breath. "The way you make me feel like I've finally found something that matters more than everything I ever thought I wanted”

"I know I don’t deserve another chance," he continued, voice softer now. "But if you’ll let me, I’ll spend the rest of my life proving that I’m not the guy who made that bet. I’m the guy who loves you. And I swear, I will never stop trying to be better for you."

Silence wrapped around you both. You swallowed hard, fighting against the warmth creeping into the cracks he had just reopened. "You had months Max. Months to tell me the truth. And you didn’t. You let me find out like that…why?”

His fingers twitched at his sides, and for a long moment he just stared at the ground, his breath coming uneven.

"Because I was scared," he admitted, "scared that if I told you, I’d lose you. That you’d look at me like you did that night, like I was just a mistake you regretted. I kept telling myself I’d find the right time, that I’d make it up to you before you ever had to know, and I fell for you, really fell, and suddenly telling you felt like handing you a reason to walk away."

For all the ways you wanted to stay angry, to hold onto the betrayal, there was something devastating about the way he said it.

"So you lied instead," you murmured.

His lips pressed together, his head bowing slightly. "I did. And it was the worst decision I’ve ever made." His eyes lifted back to yours, full of something desperate. "But I swear to you, losing you showed me exactly what kind of man I never want to be again."

"I don’t know if I can trust you again," you whispered.

Max nodded, no trace of frustration, just quiet determination. "I’ll earn it," he vowed. "No matter how long it takes."

Your gaze flickered to the flowers in his hands. Slowly, hesitantly, you reached out, fingertips brushing against his as you took them.

It wasn’t a yes. Not yet.

But it wasn’t a no, either.

And the way his lips parted slightly, the hope in his eyes you knew he’d wait for as long as you needed. A beat passed before you sighed and pushed the door open wider.

"Come in, just for a bit."

He paused, like he was afraid to move too fast, but the second you stepped back he followed slipping inside. You set the flowers down on the counter, fingers brushing over the petals as you tried to steady yourself.

"You’ve been eating right?" he asked a flicker of that familiar concern in his expression.

You huffed a small, reluctant laugh. "Seriously? That’s your first question after all that?"

Max shrugged, tentative in his smile. "I’ve been worried."

You rolled your eyes, but your chest ached in a way you hadn’t let yourself acknowledge in weeks. You had missed him, his presence, his quiet care, the way he always paid attention to the little things.

"Yes, I’ve been eating," you said, shifting your weight awkwardly.

"Good." He nodded, then hesitated. "Can I—sit?"

You hesitated to, then gave him a small nod. "Yeah. Just… don’t push your luck."

Max smiled at that, he walked over to the couch sitting at the far end, after a moment you sat down to, tucking your legs beneath you. Neither of you spoke at first. The air still felt heavy, but not unbearable. Max rubbed his palms over his thighs, glancing at you before looking away again.

"This is weird," you admitted.

"Yeah," he agreed, a ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. "But not bad, right?"

You exhaled, staring down at your hands. "Not bad."

His grin widened, "Let’s order something, whatever you want.” his voice dropped, teasing. "Just don’t steal my fries."

"Who says I’d want your fries?" you murmured.

Max smirked. "You always want my fries."

You huffed dramatically, turning your attention back to your phone. "Fine. I’ll order my own. Happy?"

"Not yet," he murmured, the teasing edge in his voice softening into something else. "But I’m getting there."

You chuckled, rolling your eyes, but the warmth creeping into your chest was impossible to ignore. No, it wasn’t forgiveness. Not yet. But later when Max stole a fry from your box, grinning at you like he hadn’t just started a war you realised it was a start, a real one.

[tvboaerosmith]

I thought it'd be good fun if I did a list like this for Smith and Neo, so I took one that looked interesting and this happened. Happy reading.

1. When did you start shipping them?

I first watched The Matrix somewhere around May or April of 2023. I didn't ship them on my initial watch through of the Matrix... It was just more of a gradual like for them as a pairing. I think I started concretely liking them around August 2023? In fact, the first ever ship related art I drew for the Matrix was Morpheus and Neo, and my first ship fic was quite literally *Merovingian* and Neo!

2. What do you like about them as individuals?

I'm surprised to say that what I love most about Neo isn't even actually his looks or his personality (even though I like these parts of him too) but rather what he represents. He's a second chance, freedom personified.

Though he was indeed a puppet in the end, I loved what he built for himself even as he was stuck to his role, how calm and collected he can be. He really is elegant, svelte, but that doesn't mean he's blank or wooden — It makes me smile that sometimes classic "90s badass hero" speech leaks through, like "Hiya fellas".

As for Smith, I initially only found his writing interesting. I cannot say I am attracted to Hugo Weaving. Gradually I understood his character more and more and found that I really can relate to him. Actually, people often call the Matrix movies a trans metaphor, and I feel like this metaphor for self discovery and struggle with the world can actually be found most in Smith?

Of course I'm not saying I think his character is trans, just that his problems really felt like mine. I like that he's such a lonely character in perfect parallel to how popular Neo is, I like that he is the perfect personification of bigotry because people hate what they do not understand because they are crucially scared of it just the way Smith is terrified.

He reminds me of a child grappling tearfully at things he just can't understand, because he simply has a mental blockade to these things because he was made and bred and raised in a totally different purpose and world than that of Neo's.

3. What about their dynamic appeals to you?

Actually, I often see others say their appeal is in Smith and Neo as the classic enemies to lovers troupe. I admit a lot of my favourite ships fall under this too, but I've always viewed Smith and Neo's story as one of redemption and one of a second chance.

Smith represents somebody who doesn't fit into society, suddenly finding himself ripped away from the comfort of conformity, even when he was made specifically for that. He hates everything that he perceives, because to him they are mentally and physically vile. He craves the comfort of belonging.

And when he is totally thrown and discarded from the system, instead of changing himself the way Neo does for his own freedom and peace of mind, he foolishly deigns to change his cage, to hijack The Matrix.

He struggles, and in this struggle I find sympathy with his character. Neo on the other hand is Smith's saviour, as is his entire character as the saviour of the human race, but I like to think he can save other races too, even when Smith is to me the most human of the two.

This is important: Neo is the ONLY one in the whole world who can possibly understand Smith's anguish. Inexorably they are linked not just through fate but also by choice. They need each other, they love each other, they hate each other, and all these things surmount to such importance it cannot not be mentioned in tandem with the names of Smith and Neo.

They are together in life and in death. Neo is the only one who can soothe Smith's fears, and it is Smith's own refusal to accept that Neo understands that dooms him. They matter more to each other than anybody else. The Matrix is a love story—but not between the characters of Neo and Trinity.

4. What are their favourite things about one another?

This is a hard question to answer, considering Smith and Neo aren't just some regular pairing.

I can't decide if Neo's favourite thing about Smith would be his machine side or his humanity. Would he enjoy that Smith is a program, because it shows him the whole new world he didn't know of, of programs who love just like Rama Kandra told him, or would he enjoy that Smith is so human in his emotions and his inner conflict and find it beautiful in a creature meant to be incapable of them?

Would he love that Smith can access these emotions, that Smith chose to access these emotions, that it means he can love and hate Neo so deeply and so subconsciously and so truthfully?

Either way, Neo's favourite thing about Smith would definitely be his character. I think speaking on terms of by the end of Revolutions, he'd like to watch Smith struggle, because it shows Smith is trying, Smith is alive. But he would not like Smith's pain, or his fear.

And how about Smith's favourite thing about Neo.... Hmm, I don't know! I thought maybe "his capacity to understand Smith" would be a good answer, but Smith's just scared of that as proven by his reaction at the end of Rev.

I think I'll still have to keep that as my answer though, but with some notes, that Smith would come to love this part of Neo, that he is the ONLY ONE for Smith, but only with time and only by learning this very very slowly. In the end, what he likes (or maybe more accurately, what part of Neo successfully attracts the most of Smith's attention whether positive or negative) most about Neo is that he *is* Neo.

He's human in all the worst ways, he's relentless, he's able to learn his own mistakes, he's able to rise above conflict, he's able to accept Smith as his death, that Neo believes in love so fiercely that he'd throw the world away for said love.

5. How do you envision them getting together?

I don't think there's such a thing as "dating" or "talking phases" for these two. It's more of a natural, unspoken thing. From the start they've "gotten together" after all, they're stuck to each other from beginning to end!

Technically they've been "dating" since conception, even. To be honest, I have never once agreed with any portrayal of Smith or Neo confessing to each other, because they understand each other so innately that none of it even has to be said. It comes to them like breathing, their love for each other.

Maybe if I had to picture it, Smith would be the first to explicitly say something like "I love you" years into the future after Revolutions (this is following the theory that Smith and Neo become tutelary saints after Rev), but only just to say what they've already known, and what they've frankly already said a thousand times with their eyes or their actions, just to set it all into concrete, to acknowledge this in a healthy way because Smith would definitely become a changed man after everything.

By then, Neo wouldn't have any reaction to it, he'd probably just reply "I know", and they'd continue on as normal.

6. What would their dream home look like?

7. How do they split up the housework and chores?

Going to skip both these questions because by the way they operate, neither Smith nor Neo would require anything like a house. But whenever I imagine them in any kind of living quarters I surprisingly imagine either the mail building where Mouse was killed and Morpheus got captured, or in The Merovingian's chateau (thanks to this old RPG on LJ). Though I do think Room 303 would be a place of significance to them both.

About question 7, I don't even need to elaborate on why I can't even answer this one.

8. What are their love languages, and how do they show their affection?

If we're talking about affection the way a regular couple would show it like buying flowers or a peck on the cheek or holding hands—thats just a big fat MAYBE for this pairing, and probably only YEARS after Revolutions with a lot of character development for Smith.

Otherwise? I think the way Smith would show affection in a very unhealthy way would be by possession. He must own Neo. He will chase him (the exact way he did in Reloaded through Revolutions, even chased him all the way into the real world!) until he gets him. He'd be overly territorial to the point it'd be overbearing.

If we're talking about how he would show affection while the timeline is still set in the movies, he simply would not be able to understand his own intense feelings for neo adequately enough to be able to interpret and act them out in a way that wouldn't be completely destructive. In order for his manner of "affection" to win Neo over, Neo has to be a god that understands and forgives and sympathises, and thankfully, Neo really is this kind of "god". Smith would break the moment Neo sees through him.

Neo on the other hand, if I'm going to go off what I can parse out from the movies.... To be honest it'd probably be sex. We can see that he never ever once gets his hands off of Trinity in Reloaded. For fucks sake he jumps on her the MOMENT Link walks out. He'd probably crave sexual contact with Smith.

In the draft script of Reloaded though there isn't any such thing as an explicit Neotrin sex scene, there's still a scene where Dujour and Chong tell them about how important it is that they should have sex, etc etc. Plus the existence of the rave orgy scene implies that apparently this is what is considered the highest form of affection and intimacy for Zionites, so it'd be the same for Neo.

Otherwise and on a far less sexual note, his way of showing affection is probably just *being there* for Smith as he struggles through his messy existence. Quality time together, you know.

9. Do you see them getting married, and if yes what does their wedding look like?

No, they wouldn't get married. Marriage is only a piece of worthless paper made from only human customs to signify a relationship. It doesn't have to be the end point of any relationship to "perfect" or "complete" it. Neo and Smith have a deeper connection than this, but I still think there is potential for fun in an OOC type marriage scenario.

10. Can you imagine them having any kids or pets?

I actually have this weird running thing that keeps popping up in my head where Neo and Smith adopt a white cat called Jamais Vu, a parody of Deja Vu.

Of course the word "adopt" doesn't quite fit here, it'd be more like the cat shows up often from time to time til the point Neo can name it and they recognise each other.

And a little bit of OOC guilty pleasure: I like to think they might unofficially adopt Sati, though she'd definitely think of Smith as the bad parent and Neo as the good parent and get grumpy when she sees Smith. You best believe Seraph would be "fighting for custody", though.

11. How do they comfort each other?

With presence, with existence, with words and feelings and their connection. With deep, unrivalled understanding of each other and therefore who they are, what they're here to do, how they feel.

12. Is there anything you don't like about this ship?

Nothing. Not even the fact it isn't canon, actually, in fact I think that makes it even better. "The fact Smith died!" Could have been a potential answer, but even then, that was such masterful writing on the Wachowski's part, that I can't say anything.

13. What would be their least favourite thing about each other?

LMAO.

Smith hates Neo's ability to understand, ability to believe in love or even in something no matter what it is, hates Neo's ability to be unbothered by the stench and smell and abhorrence of his own human kind, he pretty much hates Neo himself, even, even if I like to interpret that hate as more of a messed up byproduct or outcome of his own hard to understand, burning love for Neo that he interprets as obsession, and because he is wired the way he is and made for that one purpose and that purpose only: To Kill Neo, his love comes out as hate.

Neo probably hated Smith too in the beginning, but as a personification of the system. After all Smith is an enforcer of it, this fake digital prison that has so many of his fellow men in it. And also Smith literally kidnapped Morpheus, a man Neo already had held in high regard. But frankly, that hate turned into understanding into a little bit of pity or sympathy.

14. What sorts of things might they argue about?

Everything they already do argue about in the trilogy (take special note of their final conversation in Revolutions). I have nothing to add onto this.

15. Do they face any pushback from friends, families, or society over their relationship?

Now THIS is an interesting question! I read once in this really cool RPG a scenario where nearly all the programs and rebels disapproved of Smith and Neo's public relationship because they were "different races", and they even had a made up slur for a human that dates a program (little questionable, but keep in mind this RPG was made in 2005)

Meanwhile, Neo's "parents" who are still alive in this AU are deeply shocked that he's dating a man, but if we are to be precise, Smith is not a man, he's genderless lines of ageless code meant to look behave and talk like society's portrayal of a man and to inhabit a man's shell. We don't even know for sure if Smith has a dick, I don't even think he's ever taken his clothes off before frankly!

So basically I mentioned this AU because it got me thinking: holy shit, Smith and Neo would be the ONE and ONLY program/human mixed relationship in their world. That'd be cool. I like to imagine they'd be more of a beacon of the humanity in programs and the ultimate symbolism of humanity and machinekind's ability to love each other and work together more than a point of disdain for all three factions (machine, programs, humans) though.

So no, no pushback, though I imagine it would definitely be shocking to learn that the adored One is in a relationship with what is considered the "enemy", but that's nice too, because it shows the ultimate acceptance, and isn't that exactly what progressives(the rebels) strive for?

16. Who has more experience with relationships?

Definitely Neo lol. Neo would be the first ever person Smith would have ever had something going on with. I think Neo may have had relationships with others before Trinity, too.

17. What physical traits do they find most attractive about each other?

Hmm, this is tricky.

I can't exactly see Smith outwardly liking anything physical about Neo to be honest? I know that sounds absurd, but if following canon we all know Smith finds humans repulsive to smell touch and even see, I think. It'd be hard for him to overcome this problem even when together with Neo.

But then again, that's the thing about being in love. When you love them, you will love the body that holds the mind and the person that you love. The more you speak to them, the more you are enamoured by them, the more attractive they appear to you, the more you are able to romanticise their body. That's the case for me as well.

So maybe.... Smith's favourite thing about Neo's body is... His elegance??? The way he moves with totally unconscious grace. He'd love everything about Neo's body, there wouldn't be a favourite part, all parts are equally liked.

And Neo's favourite thing about Smith's is his expressive face that shows his humanity, particularly his eyes, the window to the soul.

Sorry, I can't answer these questions sexually as originally intended. I realise that I've never even put in thought to that question before answering this, which is a bit shocking.

18. Do they ever engage in PDA, and if so, to what extent?

Neo seems to be more private. Everybody knows what goes down behind doors, but he still has the decency to wait until they'd be alone to go ham on Smith. If in public, I don't think I've ever seen him even ONCE touch or hold trinity's hand or kiss her in the audience of several people.

If however let's say they haven't seen each other in a long time etc or something serious is going down, Neo would probably abandon all pretense and kiss him and throw his arms around him at his first chance, just the way he did for Trinity in Mobil Ave and after she revived.

Smith on the other hand.... Oh boy. He'd PDA all OVER the damn place. In the first place he wouldn't hold any regard for what is considered acceptable in human society or etiquette in the first place, he's a rogue program.

That's ironic, since he is supposed to be the personification of those societal expectations. Plus because of his tendency for possessiveness that I mentioned earlier, he'd probably feel a need to signal to everybody and anybody that THIS IS MINE, HISS, DO NOT COME CLOSE.

Besides, Smith is childish in the sense that he is just now figuring out his own humanity, so like a child he'd probably want to completely own the one constant and one thing in his life, Neo, and cling onto him.

19. What are the most sensitive parts of each others body?

Neo: Waist, stomach, back. He probably doesn't have a ticklish neck if he can wear that long mandarin collar all day every day. Maybe his inner thighs if I let myself be a little idealistic?

Smith: Does Smith even feel sensations???? Or does he just mechanically register them in code or some shit? Maybe he only is able to start registering them after he goes rogue? Either way I don't think Smith would be sensitive literally anywhere. That or the complete opposite, where he is sensitive everywhere because he is unused to the new sensation of pain or pleasure or touch etc, and hates it.

20. What is their dynamic like in the bedroom?

As for the question of top or bottom, I honestly am only interested in Neo as a bottom and Smith as a top, but realistically speaking they would switch. Although here's my take on that: I think the very first time they do it, Neo would definitely have to be the receiver, because of Smith's desire to consume and own, and because Smith who has always craved a position of power/security would probably rather shoot himself in the head than ever bottom.

For Smith to bottom would have to take time and would only happen later into their relationship once Smith fully trusts Neo, and once he's developed enough. Besides, Neo would probably like to try something different from what he's used to with Trinity.

And no, I don't believe Trinity would have ever pegged Neo at all, because that's a common projection from the queer fandom onto two characters who are a typical cisgender heterosexual couple. So yes, Neo would have something different in bed with Smith. I think that's a cool parallel with the two people most important to Neo's story.

Okay, seems like that's it. Thanks for reading through this whole thing, if you did! Feel free to make your own SmiNeo or TriNeo or etc etc versions of this, I'd love to read that.

20 Shippy Questions for your OTP’s, OT3’s, and Polycules

The basics

1. When did you start shipping them?

2. What do you like about them as individuals?

3. What about their dynamic appeals to you?

4. What are their favorite things about one another?

5. How do you envision them getting together?

The fluff

6. What would their dream home look like?

7. How do they split up housework and other chores?

8. What are their love languages, and how do they show each other affection?

9. Do you see them getting married, and if your answer is yes, what would their wedding look like?

10. Can you imagine them having any kids and/or pets?

The angst

11. How do they comfort each other?

12. Is there anything you don’t like about this ship?

13. What would be their least favorite things about one another?

14. What sorts of things might they argue about?

15. Do they face any pushback from friends, families, or society over their relationship?

Bonus ~saucy~ questions

16. Who has more experience with relationships?

17. What physical traits do they find most attractive about one another?

18. Do they ever engage in PDA, and if so, to what extent?

19. What are the most sensitive parts of each individual’s body?

20. What is their dynamic like in the bedroom?

[crimsoncold]

Jonsa Fairytale AU (True Love's Kiss) by @crimsoncold

If you must mourn, my love Mourn with the moon and the stars up above If you must mourn Don't do it alone

...

If you must die, sweetheart Die knowing your life was my life's best part If you must die Remember your life

-Keaton Henson, You

For a while l've been considering doing a Fairytale inspired jonsa AU but was never able to make up my mind in terms of which specific fairytale I wanted to base my art piece around (i could of course just do multiple ones but with already so many WIPs i didn't want to plan to add several more into my art rotation) so unable to make a decision I set the idea aside to work on other more concrete art ideas.

Then of course I saw the prompts for the Jonsa Valentine 2025 event, and it really did seem like the world itself was encouraging me to make a fairytale jonsa art piece.

This time I chose to avoid basing it on one specific fairytale and instead considered more general fairytale tropes that are found across many tales when I was brainstorming ideas on what I would make for this prompt.

In the end I decided to use the trope of True Love's Kiss (i.e. A kiss imbued with it's own sort of magic, able to break a curse, or even bring someone back from literal death) both because I thought it would be visually interesting and because I felt it would incorporate several elements of asoiaf/got canon.

(i.e. both the inherent romanticism of Jon and Sansa's personalities and storylines as well as specific events like Jon's tragic "death" and his later resurrection as well as the likely possibility of Sansa being the girl in grey fleeing north to be reunited with her "brother")

As for the related quote, I had been struggling to pick one as most of my possible choices, while admittedly poignant and romantic, felt very specific to either Jon or to Sansa in this art piece rather than being about the two of them together, so I'm actually really pleased with my final choice (lyrics from Keaton Henson's song You) as it feels like it had segments that represent the differing perspectives/wishes of both Jon and Sansa in this scenario.

I was pushing hard to have this finished in time (with the event being about a month a way when I first started this) and even though it ended up taking me a lot more time than I had hoped, I am happy with my decision to make two versions of this artwork as i feel the most satisfying element and impactful part of this fairytale trope is in the profound transformation it can create, and to do this justice I really felt I needed a before and after version of Sansa's Kiss being what brings Jon back from the dead.

Anyway thats about all the background info I'd like to dump on you about this piece so l'll end this on a thank you; specifically thank you to anyone who found, liked, or shared this piece and/or bothered to read my rambling thoughts about making this, as well as a thank you to everyone in this fandom who arranged and/or participated in this event!

Being part of a small but so dedicated fandom is just the sort of thing that makes me happy when everything else around me starts to feel harsh and distressing. I hope you all have a wonderful day and that everyone feels inspired to keep making and sharing all sorts of art and creative pieces for this fandom- it seems a very small thing in the scope of everything happening in the world and our lives but its still something that brings some much needed joy that I think many (especially myself) greatly value while also forgetting or struggling to actually find a way to adequately express our appreciation... so this is just my attempt to say thank you all for making this little slice of fandom so wonderful!

-Crimson Cold

[affluent-havoc]

One thing I've noticed about Makoto is that like, he never really mentions having any other friends. For instance, in the killing game in the first trial, his motive video has his family which makes sense. However, this would also imply that he never really had a bigger connection with anyone else or as much as his family. Hence, did he have any friends before Hopes Peak or were they just not close enough to even remotely mention? Also, doesn't this, in a way, contradict his "average" status and how he sees himself? Not saying that it's wrong for him to not have any friends, just that it's one of those things that's a typical thing to occur. Plus, the fact that he claims how "average" he is only to have several traits that don't fit into that makes him more interesting such as his boundless hope or the fact that he was wetting the bed until 5th grade. (will never get over that cus like, was he okay?? hope he was okay u_u) Back to the friend thing though, literally the only person he mentions knowing in school is Sayaka. It's the fact that he has no other connections with others kids his age in the past aside from her and it's not like they were very close besties then, anyway just that he knew her then. It kinda gives him a level of connection with some of the more loner characters in the first game honestly. Cus he's got no close friends that are close enough to be abducted! Reminds me of how Byakuya had his butler, Celeste had her cat, Toko had her little stink bug, and how honestly none of the class (or hell, any danganronpa character tbh) have both family AND friends held captive. It's just one or the other or someone/something miscellaneous like a pet or butler or just one parent being in their motive like Yasuhiro and his mom, Chihiro and his dad, or Taka with his dad. I also feel this adds a bit more to the tragedy of the first game with Hopes Peak, the more that I think about it. Like, some of them had their very first friends they ever got, probably the first ever real connection with someone their age who also wasn't connected with their talent specifically. Think Mondo and his gang or Sayaka and her girl group. Not saying those don't mean anything but still. So, it's interesting to think that they all have that level of connection with them, even "average Makoto". Just a thought though! Edit: Is Sakura the only one btw? Cus she has a boyfriend I think and it also mentioned that like, her whole dojo was being threatened by the mastermind? Which like, includes her family in there. So is Sakura the only one who doesn't have some trauma or baggage with a parent? Though crap. Nevermind. She got called ogre a lot so yeah. These bastards are fucked hahaha!!

[icecoldbeauty]

Ah... makes me remember waaay back before I even finished the gym challenge. Used to think I'd never amount to anything- how could I have? I lived on the smallest of all the Sevii islands- never been more than 20 residents there!, I was frail, lonely standoffish, never really achieved anything before, and had nothing special about me. But I could battle, and I liked to battle. Still remember the day I sat up and said to myself, you know what? I'm done sitting and waiting for purpose to come to me, I'm going to go to it! - and set off for mainland Kanto... I'm still so glad I did. I myself never had any rivals myself- or well, I don't think I did! I'd certainly improved by then but I was... still rather socially inept to put it lightly when I set off... I'd not be surprised if I accidentally made some of my peers think I wanted that with them and I never even noticed! I imagine having a proper rival'd be quite fun, though! I really would have done so many things to be able to comfortably been out in my youth like that. But you know what? I'm proud and damn happy that so many more people today can be, even if I couldn't. Less people will have to feel the way I did about it, which was awful and not something I'd wish on anyone. I'm happy for Sonia and Nessa- and I don't oft use this kind of language, but the tabloids can fuck right off with this erasure shit- and I'm happy for you too, and I hope that everyone that wants people like you and me silenced and stifled in any way lives the rest of their life even more miserable than they want us to feel. Assholes need a taste of their own medicine more often. (Also, people seriously read their own wikipedia articles? I've never looked at mine once!) I'd say that's still considerable progress from how it was in my heyday, but there really is still so incredibly much left to make. Really, I'd be happy if I can see even just a little more substantial amounts get made before my times up- I want to be able to leave the world knowing it was better than when I started. I don't get to have long and thoughtful conversations too much anymore, really I'm honored you're finding some joy in talking this much with me of all people! Still a little strange to hear people like talking to me really, but makes me happy nonetheless. But I really don't know if I could do that anymore... Arc, I still feel so awful that I didn't tell her when I first had the chance- and every time I receive a letter back from her, I read it thinking about how much I wish I had... Sometimes I wonder if I still could, but then I ask myself, 'is it really worth it after all this time, especially in your age and condition?', and I just... can't do it. I mean, like I said, my time is even more limited than the average person- frail and easily prone to sickness I am, and once I get a few more years up there, well, I don't know how well I'll be able to fight off illnesses by then. She's healthier than me, she'll almost definitely have longer to live. I don't wanna drag her down in that way. I don't want to leave her alone in that way, she doesn't deserve to have that happen to her really. I don't know anymore though... I've been thinking about her more than usual lately. If there's any chance it could still be worth it... Oh my Arc- apologies, this is hitting me a tad harder than I'd expected... agh, being emotional and sentimental sucks sometimes...! Ah... Well, the idea of having endorsements for the league is pretty interesting. I presume it's difficult to get one? Wonder how I'd have faired with something like that in place back when I set off, like I've said I wasn't precisely the most pleasant at that age! Don't know if anyone'd have wanted to give me one, haha! And I'll admit, some of the crazy league stories I've both experienced in my own and heard from others are incredibly amusing. I still remember when I heard about one of the champions battle in Unova being stopped by... I think they said it was a an entire castle busting the place down of all the things, nothing will beat that in sheer hilarity.

Oh yeah wait you're too old to know what inkay games is my bad

Oh, please, I’m only twenty-three.

[ he’s not old. don’t make that mistake again. ]

—💎

[k0mmari]

SYSTEM! SHEN YUAN AU (Pt.2)

Pt.1

Im not done with this, so to the people that wanted more, here it is! I, fortunately or not, have thought way too much again, so once more this is going to be a very, very, VERY long post. If you guys have any ideas about this btw, please do share them! I really am just letting my mind wander a bit more than usual, so maybe someone else can have more structured thoughts than me lol. (Fair warning, there probably will be plot holes, so sorry in advance!)

Please read Pt.1 if you haven't, or this won't make any sense!

After SY warped away from his impromptu meeting with Binghe, the last place he would like to end up would be even deeper into the Endless Abyss, but according to his System, the next piece of the virus was here. While not happy, since his Personal System was (mostly) working as intended, SY managed to activate Ghost Mode and walk towards the next part without having to deal with any of the creatures down there. (He had to try very hard not to get distracted by the monsters, lest his supervisor thinks he also went missing.)

It takes considerably more time to find the virus this time, so much in fact, SY starts to recognize his surroundings from SQH's ramblings (not that he was interested or anything), and he feels a cold sense of dread running down his spine. There was no way he was that unlucky that the object that got corrupted this time was-

He was that unlocky. Lo and behold, after entering a run down ruin, SY is faced with the legendary Xin Mo, power so overwhelming it manifested as dark fire covering the blade. The only reason why SY wasn't immediately writhing on the ground from the sword's power was Ghost Mode, which he could not rely for too long, as his Personal System was displaying warning after warning about Possibility of Corruption and God Like Plot Point. It all meant that SY was on a timer, and if he took too long, the sword would start corrupting his System, which in turn could corrupt him.

Now, since this was a VERY important Plot Point, Luo Binghe had to find Xin Mo or else the plot would derail to an unfixable degree, SY couldn't just snip at it, which was a problem, since manual debugging took a considerably longer time! Still, he summons his Scissors and positions it so he can start at least trimming off the virus.

His plan immediately backfires however, as an ominous crack sounds through the air and he's suddenly pushed away from the sword by a gust of energy. A bit disoriented, he shakes his head and acesses the sit-

Xin Mo, the horrible sword it was, was apparently so OP that it seemed to detect the Scissors at the last second, and the thing attacked back! The metal of the Scissors was dark and broken where it came close to the sword, almost broken in half! Which, not good! It any other time, a pair of broken Debugging Sheers would be more or less fine, if not a major inconvinience (and pay deduction) for SY, but since he'd been warping all over the time for a while now, his Personal System's energy reserves were carefully rationed, and if he were to use a chunk to send the Scissors back for some emergency repair, he'd only have one chance to go back to HQ. Alone.

He couldn't delay it any longer, he desperately needed to find SQH and pray he still had some energy reserves left.

Setting his Personal System's next warp location to SQH's last known location, SY wouldn't have guessed in a million years that he would go back to Cang Qiong Mountain, but whatever; maybe SQH had wanted to start with fixing the bug on Binghe's pendant? Not that this was the right time since it was after Binghe fell into the Abyss, but SQH had never been good at warping. It takes a bit of wandering and going inside different buildings, but eventually his Personal System managed to get a dirrect ping on SQH's System, which sent a massive wave of relief rushing through SY, since it meant that SQH was still slive.

Though as to why he was at An Ding Peak, SY could only guess.

After a bit more wandering, SY enters on what seems to be a (very messy) office space, SY feels all the pieces coming together in his mind. Half sprawled across the table with piles of paper covering the entire table's surface lay the An Ding Peak Lord, which- was already weird, since wasn't this guy supposed to be an enemy of the Peak now? After the whole betrayal thing or whatever? But that would've been something to look into later, were it not for said Peak Lord casually scrolling through a Personal System screen. A Personal System that could only be used by the System's Maintanence Staff.

SY wastes no time in deactivating Ghost Mode, and when SQH's eyes snap to his, the man jumps so high from his chair he almost falls back. It's not a happy reunion by a longshot, since SY immediately jumped his friend co-worker and demanded an explaination, almost screaming about it was all his fault for doing shitty maintenence, and creating this shitty world if it's shitty OP sword which broke his Sheers? Do you know how expensive these are?? I know you do, cause the supervisor never lets you touch the good ones cause you keep cracking all the other pairs-

It takes a more or less one whole hour to calm down SY, but eventually the younger settled and lets SQH say his bit of the story: Apparently, in his messing around with the System's world creation program when he was trying to find the bug in his world, he'd accidentaly managed to get himself actually transmigrated to PIDW, though still with (limited) acess to his Personal System, which let him still send messages to their supervisor and pretend that everything was ok. He'd gotten so unlucky too! Out of all the people to accidentaly select, did it have to be the An Ding Peak Lord? Couldn't it have been Binghe? Or MBJ- (SQH cuts his lamenting when he notices SY's absolutely viscious death glare being stared right through his soul.)

Long story short, he'd initially did try to fix his blunder, but as more time passed and SQH's access to Maintenance priviledges went out one by one on his System, he eventually just... Started actually living there. In fact, he was living so well there that he dared say his life as Peak Lord was even better then when he was with the System! Of course, since he had been integrated as a 'character' now, he had his limitations, he actually managed to get to know his fellow peak lords! He knew the name of his character's family members and his disciples! He'd managed to build a life he never even thought he could have inside the System.

Sure, did he betray the Peak? Yes, yes he did. Were they all going to die in a few years time when Binghe came back from hell? Yeah, yeah they were, and he was immensely guilty and terrified, but! The plot could be changed! He already assumed someone from the System had popped up in the Conference, as when Binghe had recently made his alliance with MBJ, and had mentioned in passing this weird thing that had happened to him just before he fell into the Abyss.

Anyways, eventually SY begrudgingly accepts SQH's decision to stay in PIDW, but he still had to help SY; and so they form a plan: SY was going to transfer some energy to SQH so he could temporarily get his acess to the full version of his Personal System and use his energy reserves to send SY's Sheers and get them fixed. SQH was also going to properly apologize to their supervisor for suddenly quitting without notice AND order some more energy stacks to be sent to SY's System. SY on the other hand had devises a plan to get closer to XIn Mo without the sword exploding his face off:

Infiltrate Demon Emperor Luo Binghe's palace as a lowly staff member and slowly debug the sword from the inside.

A perfect plan! What could go wrong?

SY selects to warp to a time where Binghe had Xin Mo mostly in control, so it is to no surprise he warps to a place were the Demonic Emperor's Palace is absolutely filled with women. Not the best situation, since a lot of people could and probably would be able to see him, but with that many harem members, it wasn't too much of a stretch to assume there was also a considerable number of staff, which, to SY's luck, there was! In fact, after he managed to activate a disguise for his clothes so they matched the rest of the servants, no one bat an eye on his presence; at most someone would inquire about his short hair, but other than that he was as noteable as a fly.

The first phase of his plan was already a success, so now he had to move on to reconnaissance which was mostly easy and the worst thing in his life. He was mostly looking for Binghe's quarters could be as he probably kept the sword close to him at all times, though with how big the palace was, his objective had gradually shifted to mapping out the labyrinth of halls as much as possible (SY was very glad that the System allowed him to create a map in real time or he might have gotten lost in the first five minutes). He walks so much he even manages to catch a few pieces of gossip, though the most interesting one by far being one about Binghe:

Apparently, a year ago, the Emperor had a qi deviation where, for a day, he seemed to have completely shifted his personality; he refused to touch any of his wives and kept screaming for his long dead Shizun. SY doesn't really remember that plot point, though his wondering is cut short when he hears people walking towards his direction. instinctively he his behind a dark corner, momentarily forgetting that he 'worked' at the palace now.

At list his bad luck was finally turning over as the Golden Protagonist himself walked past him with one of his wives hanging off his arm, looking just as cool as SY had always imagined. He had to snap himself out of his stuppor though, as two things caught his attention: First, Xin Mo was, predictably, strapped to his waist, still glitched but at least the virus seemed more or less contained, which gave SY a bit more time to work, though the other thing he noticed...

Hanging onto an old-looking braid laid SY's missing tassle that Binghe had found for him all the way back at the Conference.

What the hell was Luo Binghe doing wearing that old tassle at this day and age??

A few days passed and the Tassle Incident (as he called it) had to be set aside, as it seemed that passing as a servant also meant that other servants and even some wives expected SY to actually work. Not great, he sucked at cleaning and the other servants spared no words to make it clear to him, but it at least gave him something to do while he waited for his Scissors to arrive. SQH had sent him a few messages saying he'd gotten his part of the deal done, so now all SY could do was monitor Xin Mo's condition (from very far away), and occasionally manually debug some small virus pieces that had fallen from the sword, which luckily were easy enough to deal with that he didn't need to cut them off.

The only thing that was worrying him now is how... odd Luo Binghe seemed. Of course, he was supposed to be the pinnacle of the Cool Guy trope, so some edginess was to be expected, but Binghe didn't look just Edgy, he looked straight up depressed. There were bags under his eyes, and he barely seemed to tolerate the presence of 99% of his wives, and that damned braid with the damned tassle was still there-

Point is, Binghe acting so weird really threw SY through a loop, and he may have gotten a bit careless. At a random day when SY was carrying some dirty laundry another servant had just shoved at him, he had no prior warning before a voice sounded from behind him: "You seem to have dropped something."

He barely managed to shake off the violent sense of deja-vu that had sucker punched him in the face before he realized what was happening; Luo Binghe was talking to him. Directly to him. Shit- shit! Did he notice? Was Binghe doing a clever call back, spider-man style?? Was SY going to die????

SY shakily turns to Binghe, keeping his eyes locked onto the floor, bowing as much as possible that he still seemed respectful but the bag of clothes he had didn't all just fall to the floor. Thankfully Binghe didn't seem to mind, and simply put the fallen piece of clothing on top of the others and walked away. Though, just as SY was regaining his breath, Luo Binghe's voice stops him again. "You... Have we met before?"

SY trembles something about only being hired recently and not having the opportunity to formaly meet Junshang, and it seems to be a decent enough that Binghe just stares at him for a while longer before walking away. He really should grow out his hair if even the Emperor got weirded out like that...

Binghe started eyeing SY way more after that day. The protagonist would rarely speak directly to him, but SY could feel his gaze as if it were burning; though, since Binghe never said anything, SY just assumed that whatever Binghe's problem with him was, it was likely nothing to worry about.

In fact, it probably was because one of Binghe's wives had used SY is an impromptu act to try to get Binghe jealous (he just frowned, separated the two and walked away) and after that she had gotten infatuated with him, so she'd turned SY into her personal servant. Because of that SY saw Binghe at most two times a week instead of the 50% chnace of seeing his shadow once a week. Wow.

Because of this, as much as Binghe noticed SY, SY noticed Binghe as well, the protagonist seeming to get even more down as the days went. The tassle was still braided in his hair (SY worried it was just going to become a lock at this point), his eyebags never seemed to leave his eyes, and he was always muttering about... something. (SY managed to overhear something about 'fairness' and what Binghe actually wanted...?)

It all culminated at a seemingly random night. Most of the wives and servants had gone to sleep, only the more in-human women still hanging around, and SY, of course, but mostly it was because he wanted to see how close he could get to Binghe's quarters (aka Xin Mo) at night. Not that it was necessary, as when he was walking his attention was adruptly caught by the strangest sight: Luo binghe, sitting on one of the stone stair that lead to one of the many courtyards, being absolutely drenched in rain. The weirdest part was that a few servants and wives had also passed this place, and they all seemed like they didn't see Binghe, or didn't care.

Hating to see such an usually proud man (not that he'd seen much of that either) just soaking outside as if he'd just caught the love of his life cheating with another man, SY decided that at least he'd do a good job as a servant and take care of 'his Lord'. He grabs an umbrella from one of the adjacent rooms and slowly walks outside, covering Luo Binghe's form, not really caring if he was also getting soaked.

They stayed silent for who knows how long, but eventually, Binghe's eyes that had been laser focused on the horizon slowly blink once, as if coming out of a trance, and slowly move to SY's face, up to his hand holding the umbrella. "My Lord should get back inside. He'll get sick that way." SY half murmurs.

Binghe doesn't respond, though after a few seconds, his eyes seem to widen a bit and his breath comes out a little shaky. SY doesn't dare comment on it.

"Have we met before?" Luo Binghe asks again.

"...Yes." Shen Yuan says.

Binghe closes his eyes, and they stay like that for another hour.

Pt.3

[trafficblrpositivityproject]

some people on here don't need positivity asks. popular artists and writers for example. they get enough love, show love to smaller creators instead

Hello anon! You seem confused about how this blog works. Since it seems you are not aware, this is a submission-based blog! (✨0✨) Any person can submit anyone else, regardless of how "popular" that person is. The submission button is in fact the same button you hit to send me this unfortunate and rude ask!

I assume you are not aware of this, as this ask is the only ask you sent me. No other asks, on or off anon, came in alongside this ask. Especially not any asks sending in positivity for small creators, who you claim to be concerned about. But that cannot be right, because if that were true, I would have to conclude you do not actually care about small creators at all, and only want to complain about popular creators getting positivity, which would be not very nice!

Oh, and another thing. One of this blog's only rules is to not put down one member of this fandom in order to uplift another. I assume you did not read the rules in my description, since you did not know I am submission based, so I thought I would let you know!

Ah, but actually though.

"Popular" writers and artists are in fact also people who work hard and provide the fandom with amazing works. There are a lot of popular artists and writers whose work I genuinely admire, and I am happy to use this space to express this admiration. They deserve appreciation for what they do, and as long as people are willing to submit them, I am going to post them.

(Additionally, on an entirely practical level, who am I to decide when someone is "too popular" to be posted? I cannot see anyone's follower counts. This is in fact a main feature of tumblr. Would I just be going by guess? This seems an inefficient system.) (Not that I think you care about this. I assume you have a specific list of users in your head that you, personally, subjectively, do not like, and you want me to adhere to it for your petty grudge.)

One of the many, many reasons I started this blog was in response to how certain people use confessions blogs, where I saw space for people to post anons about how they disliked popular artists and writers, such as how they hated a certain person's art or writing style, often specifying those people by name on anon to a blog with many many followers, where that person will unfortunately see it.

Another of the many, many reasons I started this blog is for my friends who are on the more popular end of the fandom, and how people treat them directly. What they have shown me of their inboxes is nightmarish, with people being rude, entitled, or cruel, simply because they assume that people's humanity does not count after a certain amount of followers. And, in the interest of full disclosure, though I am not extraordinarily popular on my main account, I have gotten my own share of nightmare anons as well.

A third of the many, many reasons I started this blog is because I have seen tumblr users post about other tumblr users by name and how they do not like their art/writing/creations, do not think they deserve their success or support, or simply do not like them without ever even meeting them. They will then post those uncaring words in those user's tumblr tags, again where those people will see them.

All of this made me very sad, because it seemed like somewhere along the way, people seemed to forget those artists and writers are people. Being popular (or perceived as popular) in fandom comes with many benefits, this is true, but it also emboldens the absolute worst members of fandom to be cruel to people they think are an acceptable target.

None of this sort of attitude makes fandom a fun place to be. Fandom is meant to be a community, based in mutual love for the same story. It is meant for making art, or writing, or cosplay, or songs, or other creations. It is made for sharing those creations with strangers who love the same thing you do, and sharing excitement and passion with other fans. It is meant for making friends. It is made out of, and meant for, love. Fandom is not only made worthwhile, but kept alive, through our support for one another.

You may think me a popular artist/writer dick-rider for acknowledging the humanity and fandom contributions of popular creators. I do not mind. I am sorry for you that simply believing people should be kind to one another, or that artists and writers should be recognized for their hard work, is so skewed in your head. I will not apologize for being kind to people, or for providing a space for kindness.

Do not mistake my existence as a positivity blog for me being a pushover. I will absolutely not tolerate any of this sort of attitude on this blog. This is a blog based in kindness, and I will shut down any asks which aim to sow any sort of rudeness.

If you actually care about small creators, be the change you want to see. Submit small creators. I am literally constantly begging for submissions, and I would love for people to submit any and all creators, big or small. I myself have submitted plenty of anons about small creators to my own blog. One of the best parts of this blog is learning about lots of creators I would not have known about before because you all submit small folks. Our support for each other is not just fandom at its best. It is what fandom is for.

All this said. Do not be hateful slime in my inbox again. I do not want to block you, because I think you, too, deserve positivity, if you receive it. But I will block you if you persist. Thank you.

[am-i-the-asshole-official]

I (26, NB) dropped a long-term friend (23, not disclosing gender, I'll call them X) for being a proshipper, and now they're trying to get in the way of my other friendships.

A little more than a month ago, an old friend from when I was an itty bitty teen on the internet (we met when they were 12 and I was 15 or so) messaged me on twitter asking if we could share discord since they're more active on that platform, and they missed hanging out. Ok, no prob!! I missed talking to X and life was going kinda icky for me at the time. We exchanged discords and started talking more frequently, before we would talk through twitter dms maybe one day every few months, and we went from almost no contact to talking every single day. It was like being a teenager again; we still shared similar interests and we really fast clicked over old and new fandoms we were in. We talked about college and how they're starting to get the hang of their new job but needed support, talked about our family lives, etc., and in general I felt really comfortable and happy to be chatting again with someone I've known for so long. We were inseparable for weeks.

However... of course, as adults, and having known each other for YEARS, we started talking about fandom ships and fics we enjoyed. We didn't have the same taste in pairings, but that was okay. Until it wasn't anymore.

I shared my NSFW twitter with them, and they followed me. A few minutes later X told me, "I see you have "proship DNI in your bio, I just want to let you know that I am a pro-ship and enjoy some things in fandom that you might think is gross. I hope that's okay."

I was kind of weirded out, and told them that as long as they didn't like anything that would be criminal in real life, that's fine. They told me they *did* enjoy things in fiction that they "wouldn't condone in reality" and even though they "don't talk about it publicly" they still wanted me to know. For some reason. ?? Even though they KNOW that I have an irl history of abuse as a kid, they still told me this.

I was so fucking uncomfortable and really, really sad, and honestly I felt betrayed? I stepped away from my account for like, an hour before messaging them back and saying I didn't want to continue talking to them anymore. That I didn't know they were that kind of person and I'm not comfortable being their friend. I didn't read their response to me because I soft-blocked them.

While I was getting over that and trying to move on, a few days later I was talking to another mutual friend of ours when they asked if I was still friends with X. I got chills remembering how I broke off with them, and said no, we weren't talking anymore. That they were the kind of person that made me really uneasy and uncomfortable to be around. The mutual friend, I'll call R, said that X was "feeling kind of down about losing a friend recently" and talked about it in a discord server they share. X didn't mention my name but R wondered if it was me who dropped them since I was really touchy about boundaries online. I freaked out a little thinking about them talking about me, and asked what else they said, and R told me "not much, just that they felt sad but it was your choice in the end because you two were different" and I don't know why but it left a bad taste in my mouth. Were they trying to make people seem like I was the bad guy or something?? Idk.

I told R the reason why I stopped talking to X, and that X is a proshipper who likes things like inc*st and rape, and R wasn't as supportive as I thought he would be, saying that he understood how I felt but if X was being honest and open about their interests, it probably meant they trusted me and didn't want to "lie" to me. I don't understand how that's even relevant if X is a fucking proshipper. I don't want their trust in the first place if that's who they really are, and I felt betrayed that someone I knew for so long was hiding that for me until we were bonding again. R basically dropped it there and said "idk then" and I told him I was going to shut off my notifs for a bit. I really don't want to talk with him again right now especially since he didn't seem THAT bothered by X being a proshipper who's into really criminal shit.

Since then, friends of mine who are also friends with R (because he's a friend of X still, for some reason), haven't been replying to me as much anymore and I'm super sensitive to noticing these things, at first I told myself it was nothing, but there's an obvious decrease in our interactions. I can't help but think that X actually said bad stuff about me, and R didn't want me to know, or maybe X convinced R that I was a terrible person or something. I still haven't read X's reply to me because I genuinely do not want to interact with them ever again, but for the past few days I've been so angry and hurt by my other friend's actions that I can't help but want to blame them, since this all started when I left them.

AITA for dropping a friend because their interests made me SEVERELY uncomfortable? I don't know what to do.

What are these acronyms?

[skyenish]

You’ve got the same eyes as your mother | Riddle Rosehearts animatic 🌹|

———

I’m not really happy with how this turned out but I’m gonna be honest, I’m just doing anything possible to avoid having to work on stuff I should he working on and drawing is suddenly difficult again, but we keep fighting! Fuck it we ball‼️

(Did you notice I didn’t want to draw the Heartslabyul boys? I love them dearly but they’re my least favorites to draw by FAR, because Ace ily but that hair makes my hands want to explode)

Anyways, here is my little Riddle analisys! Its so tragic to see how much like his mom he’s become. Riddle really isn’t mean or evil, he’s trying to help his dorm in basically the only way he knows how. Perhaps it also shows how abuse victims can become abusers themselves, but on a smaller scale? I am not well read on this topic though, so I hope that’s not insensitive to say. It’s just cool to see how most of the Overblotters become like the people that played a big part in their lives. Azul becomes a “bully”, Jamil becomes a “master” who uses others like servants, Leona becomes dismissive of others, and Riddle becomes like his mom. There are parallels there I think!

You know, Riddle is a very interesting character. Out of all the Overblotters, I’d say he’s the least “evil” person (that’s not to say that the others are evil), in the way that he’s the least selfish, and he’s also the only one who properly apologized. Though, the others also apologized in their own way of course.

Riddle really convinced himself that was he was doing was good, that he was in the right and that he was only protecting the dorm and teaching them the proper way. One of my favorite moments from book 1 was when Riddle cried and apologized, and said that he really wanted to eat that chestnut cake, and he doesn’t like most of the rules! Also of course the line “what rule do I have to follow to make my heart stop hurting”, it truly is devastating.

Sometimes I wonder how Riddle feels when he looks in the mirror, and he sees someone so similar to his mother. He probably feels conflicted, right? He loves her and knows she’s highly succesful, but why does he feel sick at the thought of him being similar to her? I find it interesting how dual and contradictory the overblotters are, and Riddle is no different. I have this headcanon that his housewarden uniform is modeled slightly after his mom, and after his Overblot he changes his uniform, and it resembles her less. I really like Riddle’s character, but I don’t think about him that much. Maybe I should do that more often?

I hope you guys like my interpretation of him and my rambling, and if you didn’t I’d love to hear your interpretation! And if I got something wrong, please correct me in the comments!!

[flowerandblood]

hiatus

I thought I might be able to write something now, but my priorities have changed so much that I feel like I need to focus on my new book publication now, my husband's PhD, and the fact that we're going to be parents in June. I haven't felt this good in a long time: my inspiration has left me when it comes to writing stories, but it's come back in my professional life, which is very important to me. My husband and I are closer than ever, so I want to focus on my real life to the fullest: I already regret that when I had a difficult time I waited so long to tell him what was going on inside me, instead sitting in front of the computer and writing, pushing him away so as not to burden him with my sadness.

Writing has given me two things: wonderful, devoted readers and the feeling that I can write an interesting story, and I will always be eternally grateful for that. I'm not going to delete this blog and I'm not saying that I'm disappearing forever or that I'll never write anything again: I just don't know when or if I will. I know you will understand this, as always, because I have managed to surround myself with very warm and kind people.

Tumblr also has a dark side for me though, and there is something in it that currently repels me every time I log in here. Some time ago I came to the conclusion that what I read here (I am not talking about stories, but text posts) makes me uncomfortable and often does not even stand close to "openness, equality and all other human values" as some people think.

I think that at some point in my time here I was a bad person, especially when I was involved in various dramas or when I got angry about things that, from my current perspective, were absurd: I allowed myself to be manipulated, but I also willingly distracted myself from the fact that I felt useless to my husband, myself and the whole world.

I found my happiness (a real one) only when I told my husband about everything that was going on inside me, and he offered me the support and understanding I needed. It happened before our vacation in Romania and, what a surprise, when all the stress went away and I finally rested by his side, after a month I was already pregnant with the child I had so longed for.

Every once in a while I'll probably let you know what's up and how I'm doing: I probably won't be in private messages anymore, but that doesn't mean that if you write to me, I'll never write back. Thank you for letting me go through the hardest period of my life with you.

See you soon!

[madthetruemad]

Hi I don't know if request are open but can I request a capitano x male reader where the reader gets mistaken for a girl a lot and even capitano thinks he's a girl until like he was getting patched up and had his shirt off (idk what I'm talking about lol sorry it's written so bad)

I love this so much!!! <3 (also, requests are always open <33 I'm just a person who gets busy ^-^" so I write slow sometimes) with that being said, sorry for the wait!

"Ow, ow, ow, ow!"

You clenched your teeth as you dabbed at your wound with a soaking wet cloth. The white if the fabric turning into a dark red as you tried to clean it as best as you could.

Sadly, there were no healers insight. They were all tending to other matters which, of course, left you in the infirmary alone. And your first aid skills were definitely being put to the test.

Though, his sense of danger was quick to snap forward when he heard the door open with heavy footsteps following.

"C- Capitano- sir!"

You were quick to stand, the cloth dropping from your hold as your feet and legs wobbled.

Crap, getting dizzy. Am I... about to fall forward? Did I lose more blood than I thought?

Before your face could greet the stone floor below you, a hard arm easily caught your fall.

"A man?"

You being injured and in the infirmary was of no surprise to Capitano. He was there when you for injured after all.

But, you being a man was what definitely caught his attention. Especially considering how your comrades referred to you as.

You laughed sheepishly as he stood you back up and practically got you to sit back down. His knees bending slightly as he picked up the cloth and replied it to your wound. The actions startled and surprised you, but you decided to answer him first.

"Yeah... about that. I wasn't trying to deceive you or anyone for that matter. You all just keep mistaking me for a woman."

The silence hung the air for a bit, "...even if you are not a woman, I still would have protected you all the same."

Right. Capitano saved you after you for injured. And .. it did make you happy to hear that. Though, you wondered if he saved you because you're part of the Fatui, or if there was something more.

You wanted to ask, but Capitano was an opposing man. Besides, he wouldn't be interested, right?

"Thank you, sir. That means a lot to me. More than you will ever know."

Great, just great. Am I making it awkward now?!

"Knowing that you're alive and soon to be well, also means more to me than you'll ever know."

You felt your face grow hot from his words, but you tried your hardest not to read anything into it. The last thing you need is a great, big misunderstanding.

Like saying "I love you."

"As I to you."

Huh?

Capitano saw your confusion immediately, "you said it out loud."

"Ah. I see."

Maybe getting hurt wasn't so bad after all. Though you did wish your confession didn't quite happen like this...

[satellite-evans]

The Artist

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x reader

Summary: sometimes, an artist is far more interesting than the art itself.

Word count: 5.4k

Warnings: fluff, angst? Anthony not being able to mind his own business, briefly mention of parents passing away

A/N:

English is not my first language, so I apologize if I made any (grammar) mistakes. Feedback, requests, recommendations, vents or questions are always welcome. I love talking to you guys about anything <3

Happy reading xxx

I do NOT give permission for my work to be translated or reposted on here or any other site.

Lady Danbury’s soirées were the heart of the social season—part chessboard, part battlefield, where every glance and whisper held strategic importance. Benedict Bridgerton, however, approached such gatherings as an observer rather than a player. He found the art on the walls more captivating than the posturing of the ton.

Wandering through Lady Danbury’s grand halls, Benedict stopped before a painting of a turbulent sea, his thoughts briefly drifting to his own half-finished sketches. A voice interrupted him, sharp and vibrant.

“It’s ambitious, but overworked. The sea churns, but the emotion feels... manufactured.”

He turned to see her: a young woman standing a few steps away, her posture poised yet unguarded. She wore her beauty with an effortless confidence, her eyes a vivid storm of intellect and intrigue. She wasn’t like the other women at the ball, fluttering fans and batting lashes. She observed the world with precision, as though she’d already decided it was hers to command.

“An intriguing critique,” Benedict replied, his interest piqued. “Though perhaps the chaos was intentional. Sometimes life demands a lack of restraint.”

Her gaze flicked to him, assessing. “Chaos is compelling, but it must be tempered with truth. This, Mr. Bridgerton, is a performance.”

“You know my name,” he noted, smiling. “You have the advantage over me, Miss...?”

“Y/N,” she said, a hint of amusement in her tone. “And I find that knowing one’s audience is the first rule of any conversation.”

He inclined his head. “A lesson I’ll remember. Tell me, Miss Y/N, are you always this direct?”

Her lips curved into a subtle smile, but she didn’t answer. Instead, she turned back to the painting. “Do you sketch? You look at this piece as though you’re searching for something beyond the surface.”

Benedict blinked, surprised by her insight. “I do, though I’ve yet to create anything worth showing. You?”

“I paint,” she admitted, her voice softening. “But my work isn’t for the ton’s galleries. Some things are too personal to display.”

“Now you’ve made me curious,” he said, stepping closer. “What would it take to see one of your pieces?”

She tilted her head, her gaze teasing. “Persistence. But I should warn you—I am not easily impressed.”

Benedict smiled, already intrigued by the challenge. “Good. I prefer earning my victories.”

Before she could respond, Lady Danbury’s voice carried through the hall. “Ah, Benedict, I see you’ve met Miss Y/N. And what do you think of her opinions? Sharp as a rapier, aren’t they?”

Benedict glanced at Y/N, his expression warm. “Quite sharp, indeed. But rapier wit is vastly preferable to dull pleasantries.”

Lady Danbury chuckled. “I agree. Well, don’t let me interrupt. Though, Y/N, your brother Charles is looking for you. Something about the carriage.”

At the mention of her brother, Y/N’s composure shifted slightly. “Thank you, Lady Danbury. I’ll find him shortly.”

As Lady Danbury swept away, Benedict offered Y/N a small bow. “Will you grant me the honor of a dance before you leave?”

“Perhaps,” she replied, her eyes glinting with amusement. “If you’re persistent enough.”

Before Benedict could craft a suitably clever reply, a deep voice broke through the moment. “Y/N, it’s getting late.”

Both turned to see a tall man striding toward them, his posture commanding yet measured. He was dressed impeccably, the weight of responsibility apparent in his expression. His resemblance to Y/N—sharp features and the same striking eyes—was unmistakable.

Charles stopped beside them and inclined his head politely toward Benedict before addressing his sister. “The hour grows late, and I believe Lady Danbury is beginning to hint that the soirée is winding down.”

Y/N offered her brother a cool yet affectionate look. “You always did have an impeccable sense of timing, Charles.”

Benedict, recovering quickly, stepped forward with a polite bow. “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced. Benedict Bridgerton.”

Charles’s gaze sharpened slightly at the name before he returned the bow with measured precision. “Charles Y/L/N, Earl of Whitestone.”

Benedict’s eyebrows lifted in recognition, a warm smile spreading across his face. “Whitestone? I believe my brother, Anthony, has spoken of you. He mentioned you were recently elevated to the title.”

Charles gave a brief nod, his tone guarded but civil. “Anthony and I have known each other for some years. He’s a good man, and an excellent Viscount.”

“As I’m certain you’re an excellent Earl,” Benedict replied smoothly, sensing the protective edge to Charles’s demeanor.

The corner of Charles’s mouth twitched upward, though he remained composed. “I do what I can, though the title comes with its share of burdens. And you, Mr. Bridgerton, seem to have a knack for engaging my sister in conversation.”

Benedict chuckled lightly, inclining his head toward Y/N. “Your sister is an extraordinary conversationalist, my lord. I find myself quite fortunate to have made her acquaintance tonight.”

Charles’s gaze flicked to Y/N, who appeared unruffled by the exchange but wore a faint smile of amusement. “Fortunate, indeed,” Charles said evenly. “Now, if you’ll excuse us, I believe it’s time to depart. Y/N?”

Y/N turned back to Benedict, her expression unreadable but her tone cordial. “Thank you for the discussion, Mr. Bridgerton. Perhaps we’ll meet again, should the occasion allow.”

Benedict bowed, his tone warm. “I certainly hope so, Miss Y/N.”

As Charles and Y/N walked toward their waiting carriage, Benedict watched them leave, his thoughts lingering on the sharp wit and quiet allure of Y/N.

Charles, walking slightly ahead of his sister, cast a glance back toward Benedict, then murmured to her, “He seems taken with you.”

Y/N’s lips curved faintly as she replied, “Let him be. I’m hardly an easy conquest.”

Charles smirked faintly, his tone fond but serious. “Good. Just remember, Y/N, you’re worth far more than simple flattery and fleeting interest.”

Y/N nodded, her gaze forward but her thoughts clearly elsewhere.

The clatter of carriage wheels echoed faintly as Charles and Y/N made their way back to their townhouse. The dim glow of gas lamps illuminated the streets, casting fleeting shadows across Charles’s pensive expression.

“You like him,” Charles remarked, breaking the companionable silence. His voice was even, but his words were laced with a quiet observation.

Y/N glanced at her brother, her expression unreadable. “He’s intriguing. Sharp-witted. But liking someone, Charles, is a luxury I can ill afford.”

Charles leaned back in his seat, watching her carefully. “Luxury or not, you seemed more yourself tonight than I’ve seen in months. There’s no harm in entertaining the idea—provided you remain cautious.”

Y/N’s gaze softened at her brother’s concern. “I appreciate your vigilance, my dear Earl of Whitestone. But let’s not rush to paint him as either hero or villain. Men of his world are not often held to the same scrutiny as women of ours.”

“True,” Charles admitted, tilting his head slightly. “But Anthony Bridgerton isn’t one to speak highly of a man without reason. If his brother is half as principled, I’d consider him worth the risk.”

Y/N’s lips twitched at his words. “Risk, indeed. But enough about Mr. Bridgerton. We’ve our own affairs to manage, and I’m certain our tenants won’t care for my musings about art or charm.”

Charles nodded, though he noted the faint pink flush that crept up her neck as she turned toward the window.

As the Whitestone carriage disappeared into the darkness, Benedict stood at the edge of the Danbury estate, his gaze lingering on the path where Y/N had vanished. The warmth of the evening had cooled, but he hardly noticed the chill. His mind replayed their conversation—the sharp wit in her words, the spark in her eyes when she spoke of art, and the measured grace with which she had danced around his charm.

“Y/N,” he murmured softly, as if testing the sound of her name. It felt as striking as the woman herself, an enigma he couldn’t easily solve.

Lady Danbury’s sharp voice startled him from his reverie. “Well, Mr. Bridgerton, if you plan to stand out there all night, you might as well help me escort the remaining stragglers to their carriages.”

Benedict turned, an easy smile masking his contemplative mood. “I was merely enjoying the view, Lady Danbury. Your soiree is, as always, a triumph.”

Her keen eyes narrowed with amusement. “And yet your gaze was fixed on the road, not my ballroom. That young lady certainly left an impression.”

Benedict didn’t deny it. “She’s remarkable,” he admitted, more to himself than to Lady Danbury.

“Be careful with that one,” the older woman warned, though her tone was fond. “She has depth. And depth demands substance in return.”

Benedict inclined his head, her words sinking in. As much as he relished the challenge, he realized he wanted more than a fleeting encounter.

The ride home was a quiet one. Benedict sat in the carriage, the sounds of horses’ hooves a steady rhythm that gave his thoughts space to wander.

He’d encountered many women in his time—clever debutantes, bold widows, and those who wore charm like armor. But Y/N was different. There was a quiet power in her deflections, a vulnerability hidden behind her sharp observations.

His mind lingered on her smile, fleeting yet warm, and the way her brother, Charles, had watched over her like a hawk. Benedict respected that protectiveness—it spoke of loyalty, of family bonds he deeply valued.

When he finally reached the familiar halls of his family home, the house was quiet, save for the occasional creak of old wood and the soft rustle of wind through the trees outside. He retired to his room, but sleep eluded him.

Instead, he sketched—rough outlines of Y/N’s features, her poised stance, the energy in her eyes as she critiqued the painting at Lady Danbury’s. Each stroke of charcoal carried with it an urgency, an attempt to capture the essence of someone who refused to be defined.

By the time dawn’s light began to filter through his window, Benedict set the sketch aside, his resolve clear.

“I’ll see her again,” he murmured, more determined than he’d been in years.

The following morning, the Bridgerton family gathered around the long dining table, sunlight streaming through the tall windows. Despite the sumptuous spread of fruit, fresh-baked pastries, and piping hot tea, all eyes were on Benedict.

“Who was she?” Eloise asked bluntly, buttering her toast with unnecessary vigor. “Lady Whistledown was positively tantalized.”

Benedict sighed, taking a deliberate sip of tea. “Good morning to you too, Eloise.”

“Don’t dodge the question,” Daphne chimed in with a knowing smile. “It’s not every day Lady Whistledown dedicates an entire paragraph to your exploits.”

Anthony leaned back in his chair, an eyebrow raised. “Y/N Y/L/N, wasn’t it? I believe her brother, Charles, is the new Earl of Whitestone. Solid reputation, though he keeps to himself since inheriting the title.”

Benedict nodded, setting down his cup. “The very same. I had the pleasure of speaking with her—she’s sharp, insightful, and refreshingly candid.”

“And beautiful?” Colin teased, his grin wide.

“Extremely,” Benedict replied without hesitation, earning a round of laughter.

Anthony’s amusement faded slightly as he regarded his brother with a calculating look. “Charles is an old acquaintance of mine. We crossed paths during the early years of our titles. A good man, but fiercely protective of his family. Tread carefully, Benedict.”

“Always,” Benedict said, though his eyes betrayed a flicker of determination.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the grass of Whitestone’s modest garden, a sketchpad balanced on her lap. The cool breeze carried with it the faint scent of lavender from the nearby hedgerows, mingling with the crisp aroma of her graphite pencils. The gardens were her sanctuary—a reprieve from society’s endless noise and expectations. Today, her focus was on a half-finished drawing of a willow tree bending gracefully over the garden pond. Yet, as much as she tried to focus, her thoughts drifted back to Benedict Bridgerton.

She had replayed their exchanges from Lady Danbury’s soiree countless times in her mind. His words had been genuine, his curiosity sincere. Yet it was his gaze that lingered in her memory—the way his eyes softened when he listened to her critiques of the art, as though he truly saw her and not just another face in the crowd. Y/N frowned slightly, annoyed at her own vulnerability. He’s intriguing, certainly, but so are countless men who wander into my path. Why should this one matter more?

Her pencil faltered as the sharp rap of a knock echoed from the front of the house. She stilled, curiosity piqued. Guests were rare at Whitestone, and Charles had already mentioned he expected no visitors today. She heard the muffled creak of the door opening and the low rumble of her brother’s voice, but the words were indistinct. Setting her sketchpad aside, Y/N rose and dusted her hands off on her skirts, wandering closer to the house with light steps.

Inside the parlor, Charles extended a firm handshake to Anthony Bridgerton. The Earl of Whitestone and the Viscount Bridgerton cut striking figures in the modest room, both exuding a commanding presence, though Anthony’s was tempered by a composed air of diplomacy.

“Viscount Bridgerton,” Charles greeted, stepping back to motion him inside. “This is an unexpected visit.”

“I thought it past time we caught up,” Anthony replied with a faint smile, his eyes sweeping the room briefly before settling back on Charles. “Though I must confess, my errand isn’t entirely social.”

Charles raised an eyebrow as he led Anthony toward the parlor’s armchairs. “I assume this has something to do with your family’s estates bordering mine?”

“In part.” Anthony seated himself with practiced ease, but there was a guardedness to his tone that Charles didn’t miss. “The other part involves my brother, Benedict.”

Charles stilled briefly, his expression giving nothing away. “Ah, your brother,” he said smoothly, taking his own seat. “I must admit, he did make an impression at Lady Danbury’s soiree.”

Anthony’s lips quirked in a wry smile. “So I’ve heard. I trust my brother behaved himself?”

Charles smirked faintly, folding his hands over his knee. “Mr. Bridgerton was... eager to engage my sister in conversation. Though I’m not sure she was as willing to reciprocate.”

Anthony chuckled, but his tone shifted, his words laced with sincerity. “Benedict speaks highly of your sister. It’s rare for him to show such genuine interest, Charles. He’s not one to court frivolities.”

Charles leaned back, his gaze sharpening. “You understand, Anthony, that Y/N has had her fair share of shallow suitors. She’s cautious, and rightly so. My priority is ensuring her happiness and protecting her from anyone who sees her as a fleeting amusement.”

“Benedict doesn’t play such games,” Anthony replied, meeting Charles’s gaze head-on. “In truth, I’ve never seen him take such an interest in anyone. Your sister seems to have stirred something in him—though, knowing Y/N from your stories, I suspect she hasn’t made it easy for him.”

Charles allowed himself a faint chuckle. “No, she certainly hasn’t. Y/N is not one to be charmed easily. But it’s clear your brother is determined, which could either work in his favor or cause him considerable frustration.”

Anthony inclined his head, his expression softening. “Benedict values substance, as I’m sure Y/N does. They may both surprise you.”

Charles studied him in silence for a moment before offering a measured nod. “We’ll see. For now, I’ll judge him by his actions, not his words.”

Y/N lingered just beyond the doorway, her heart racing at the snippets of conversation she managed to overhear. Charles’s voice, steady and firm, carried faintly through the air. He’s defending me, she realized, a pang of gratitude swelling in her chest. Her brother’s protectiveness had always been her shield against the pressures of society. Yet, there was another voice—smooth and commanding.

The Viscount Bridgerton.

She had never met Anthony before, but his reputation preceded him. To hear him speak so highly of his brother was... surprising. Benedict’s charm had seemed effortless, but perhaps it ran deeper than she had assumed.

Careful not to draw attention, Y/N eased closer to the edge of the doorway, curiosity getting the better of her.

Anthony’s final remark, “They may both surprise you,” was met with a soft clearing of a throat. Both men turned to see Y/N stepping into the room, her expression poised but her gaze quietly assessing.

“Forgive me for interrupting,” she said with a faint smile, addressing Anthony. “You must be Viscount Bridgerton. I apologize for not greeting you sooner.”

Anthony rose immediately, his movements fluid and respectful. “Miss Y/N,” he greeted, his tone warm. “The pleasure is mine. I was just remarking to your brother on your keen sense of discernment. It seems Benedict wasn’t exaggerating.”

Y/N tilted her head slightly, her smile deepening. “He spoke of me?”

Anthony’s smile mirrored hers, though he chose his words carefully. “Indeed. Rarely have I seen my brother so animated in recounting a conversation.”

Her gaze flicked briefly to Charles, whose stern expression had softened, before settling back on Anthony. “That’s high praise coming from you, my lord,” she said lightly, though her eyes gleamed with amusement. “Perhaps I should be flattered—or cautious.”

Anthony chuckled, gesturing toward the chair opposite. “Flattery or caution—either is warranted. But if I may, Miss Y/N, Benedict is many things, but insincere is not one of them.”

Y/N seated herself gracefully, her expression thoughtful. “Then it would seem your brother and I have much in common,” she replied smoothly, though her mind raced. What exactly has Benedict told him?

As Anthony and Y/N exchanged polite conversation, Charles observed his sister closely. Her tone was cordial, her posture poised, but he knew her well enough to detect the subtle sharpness in her gaze—a warning to anyone attempting to pry too deeply. She wasn’t rattled by Anthony’s words, but she was undoubtedly calculating her next move.

Anthony, for his part, seemed at ease. His diplomacy was well-honed, his remarks layered with subtle reassurances. Yet Charles couldn’t help but feel the quiet tension in the room. Anthony was here not simply to visit a friend, but to ensure Benedict’s intentions were made clear—or perhaps to defend them.

“I find it intriguing,” Y/N said, interrupting Charles’s thoughts, “that you’ve taken the trouble to visit us, my lord, when your brother has already made his interest known. Surely, you trust his judgment?”

Anthony’s brow arched slightly, a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I do, Miss Y/N, though it would be remiss of me not to learn more about the woman who has managed to hold my brother’s attention.”

“And have you drawn your conclusions already?” she asked, tilting her head.

Anthony leaned forward slightly, his gaze steady but not intrusive. “Not entirely. But I do know this: my brother is a man of passions—art, creation, and the search for something meaningful. He finds those qualities rare. I suspect he believes he’s found them in you.”

Y/N’s composure didn’t falter, though her chest tightened slightly at his words. Her response was deliberate, each word measured. “An interesting theory, my lord. I wonder what he might say if he were here to speak for himself.”

As the conversation unfolded at Whitestone, Benedict Bridgerton was oblivious to his brother’s bold intervention. He sat alone in the Bridgerton family’s drawing room, a half-finished sketch resting on the desk before him. It was an abstract piece—a hazy rendition of the way the light had played across Y/N’s face as she’d described the painting at Lady Danbury’s soiree.

Frustrated, he set the pencil down and ran a hand through his hair. He hadn’t seen her since the garden farewell days ago, and the memory of her enigmatic smile lingered like a half-finished melody. Every word she had spoken felt deliberate, each glance calculated. Yet, for all her guardedness, he had glimpsed something more—an intensity that matched his own.

He leaned back in his chair, staring at the sketch with a mix of irritation and admiration. What is it about her that has me so utterly undone?

The door creaked open, and Colin poked his head inside, his ever-mischievous grin firmly in place. “Still brooding over Lady Y/N?”

Benedict scowled, though there was no real malice behind it. “I’m not brooding.”

Colin stepped inside, uninvited, and plucked the sketch off the desk. “Is that so? Because this,” he said, waving the paper, “tells a rather different story. Don’t tell me you’re losing sleep over one of Anthony’s sermons.”

Benedict frowned. “What are you talking about?”

Colin flopped onto the settee, clearly enjoying himself. “Anthony’s gone to Whitestone, hasn’t he? To visit Y/N and her brother. He practically ordered Newton to saddle the horse this morning.”

Benedict shot to his feet, his voice incredulous. “Anthony went to Whitestone?”

Colin’s smile widened. “Oh, yes. Didn’t he tell you? I’d wager he’s there now, making some long-winded speech about Bridgerton honor and the seriousness of your intentions.”

Benedict’s fists clenched, though it was more out of frustration than anger. “Of course he would meddle,” he muttered, pacing the room. “I don’t need him playing matchmaker.”

“Perhaps not,” Colin replied, his tone light. “But I suspect you’ll thank him in the end. Anthony may be insufferable, but he has a way of clearing obstacles—even those you’re too stubborn to see.”

Benedict ignored him, walking around in the room furiously waiting for his brother to come home. He did not need Anthony meddling with his business when even he didn't have the chance to visit you or buy you flowers. He prayed that his brother didn't scare or intimidate Y/N in any shape or form.

Back at Whitestone, Y/N’s mind churned as Anthony’s words settled. The sincerity behind them was disarming, but it also raised questions she wasn’t ready to answer.

She glanced at Charles, who was watching the exchange with his usual stoicism. Her brother was protective, and she valued his judgment, but she also resented feeling like a piece on a chessboard. Why should my life’s direction hinge on the machinations of two Bridgertons?

Y/N straightened, her voice breaking the charged silence. “You speak highly of your brother, my lord. But I can’t help but wonder if his interest is shared equally by the rest of your family. Surely a marriage, that you keep mentioning I might add, between a Bridgerton and an earl’s sister comes with certain expectations.”

Anthony’s expression didn’t falter, though his gaze turned contemplative. “You’re right, Miss Y/N. Family expectations can be... formidable. But we Bridgertons tend to weigh them against the matters of the heart. My brother is pursuing you not for duty, but for something far greater. That is why I came—to assure you that his pursuit is no fleeting fancy.”

Her breath caught for the briefest moment before she composed herself. “And yet you speak for him instead of letting him speak for himself. Tell me, viscount Bridgerton, is it a tradition of your family that the elder brother visit first before the man himself came here to court me or are you just more excited than Benedict?"

Anthony’s smile turned faintly amused. “Perhaps. But as the head of the family, it is not a tradition, but my duty to do so."

The late afternoon sun cast long shadows through the Bridgerton drawing room, where Violet sipped her tea, listening to Eloise debate some pamphlet on societal reform. Colin, seated nearby, was making a show of writing letters while sneakily trying to eavesdrop.

Suddenly, the front door opened with a sharp creak, followed by the heavy sound of deliberate footfalls. The atmosphere in the house shifted.

“Anthony,” Violet remarked, looking up from her teacup as her eldest son entered. His expression was stony, his movements clipped.

“Anthony, you look—”

Anthony!" Benedict’s voice roared through the house, heavy with fury.

"Benedict," Anthony greeted cautiously, straightening. "What’s the meaning of this outburst?"

"The meaning?" Benedict spat, his voice echoing through the room. "You went to the Whitestone estate without even telling me. You had no right!"

Violet, startled by the commotion, stood. "What’s going on here?"

"Ask your eldest son," Benedict said bitterly. "Apparently, he’s taken it upon himself to play matchmaker or, worse, guardian of my personal affairs."

Anthony’s jaw tightened, though he remained outwardly calm. "Benedict, I was only acting in your best—"

"No!" Benedict interrupted, his voice rising. "You were acting in your best interest, Anthony. Or, at the very least, what you think is best. You didn’t consult me, didn’t even think to ask what I wanted!"

By now, the household was gathering in the hallway, drawn by the shouting. Eloise whispered to Colin, "This is far better than the last novel I read."

Anthony’s patience began to fray as he stood taller, his tone hardening. "I went because I thought you might care for her, Benedict! And if you do, it’s only natural to ensure the family is suitable."

"How dare you presume to know what I care for!" Benedict snapped. "And what of her? Did you think she’d appreciate you barging in, uninvited, to assess her worth like livestock? I don’t even know if I care for her, but now I may never have the chance to decide for myself because of you!"

Anthony’s face fell briefly into guilt before he rallied. "I wasn’t trying to ruin anything. I was trying to protect you—"

"Protect me from what, Anthony? From a young woman with a talent for art and a brother navigating his new title? Or perhaps from the whispers you always seem so terrified of?"

"You don’t understand," Anthony said sharply. "These things matter. Reputation matters. If you pursue her—"

"Stop!" Benedict’s voice was loud enough to make the rest of the family wince. "You don’t get to make this about reputation or family honor. You didn’t even think to come to me first, and for that alone, you’ve overstepped!"

Violet interjected, her voice firm. "Both of you, enough. This shouting is unbecoming."

"Unbecoming?" Benedict scoffed, his anger undiminished. "What’s truly unbecoming is my brother meddling in affairs that are none of his business!"

Anthony took a deep breath, his voice dropping but still heated. "I went because I thought it was for the best, Benedict. If I was wrong, then I apologize. But don’t act as if I’ve committed some great crime for trying to protect my family."

Benedict shook his head, his jaw tightening. "If you wanted to protect me, Anthony, you should have come to me first. You should have trusted me to handle my own life."

Without waiting for a response, Benedict turned and stormed out of the room, the sound of the door slamming behind him reverberating through the house.

Benedict rode hard, the crisp autumn air stinging his face as he left Mayfair behind. The rhythmic pounding of his horse's hooves against the packed dirt offered little solace, the anger from his fight with Anthony still churning in his chest. The thought of his brother making decisions about his life—his relationships—without so much as a conversation left him fuming.

The horse slowed as they approached Hyde Park. Benedict hadn’t meant to end up here, but the vastness of the greenery and the relative quiet of the park seemed preferable to the confinement of Bridgerton House. He dismounted near a cluster of trees, tying his horse to a low branch.

Wandering through the park, Benedict eventually spotted a familiar figure seated beneath a sprawling oak tree. Y/N sat cross-legged on the grass, a sketchbook balanced on her knee, her brow furrowed in concentration as her hand moved deftly across the page. She was so absorbed in her work that she didn’t notice his approach.

For a moment, Benedict simply observed her. The sunlight filtered through the leaves, casting dappled patterns on her face. There was a peacefulness about her that pulled at something deep within him, a stark contrast to the chaos of the morning.

He cleared his throat softly.

Y/N jumped, her pencil jerking across the page. Her head snapped up, her eyes wide before recognition dawned. “Mr. Bridgerton!” she exclaimed, a hand flying to her chest. “You startled me.”

“I apologize,” Benedict said quickly, stepping closer. “Startling you was not my intention. I... Well, I didn’t expect to find anyone here, let alone you.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him, though there was a trace of humor in her gaze. “Hyde Park isn’t precisely secluded, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Touché,” Benedict conceded with a small smile. “Still, I seem to have a habit of interrupting you.” He gestured to the sketchbook in her lap. “May I?”

Y/N hesitated, her fingers tightening around the edges of the paper. Then, with a resigned sigh, she handed it over. “It’s not finished,” she said quickly.

Benedict took the sketchbook, his eyes scanning the page. It was a study of a fountain in the park, the water captured mid-flow, the surrounding trees sketched with delicate precision. “This is remarkable,” he said sincerely. “The way you’ve captured the movement of the water—it feels alive.”

Y/N flushed at the compliment, though she tried to mask it with a nonchalant shrug. “It’s nothing special. Just practice.”

“Your modesty does you no justice,” Benedict said, handing the sketchbook back to her. “This is more than practice. It’s art.”

Her lips quirked into a small smile, but she said nothing, her eyes dropping to the sketch.

They sat in silence for a moment before Benedict spoke again. “I owe you an apology, Miss Y/N.”

“For startling me?” she teased, though her tone was light.

“For that and...for my brother’s intrusion at your home earlier today,” he said, his voice more serious now.

Y/N looked up sharply, her expression unreadable. “You knew?”

“I only found out after the fact,” Benedict admitted, frustration seeping into his tone. “Believe me, if I had known what Anthony was planning, I would have stopped him.”

Y/N studied him for a moment, then nodded. “I won’t pretend it wasn’t unsettling to have the Viscount Bridgerton show up unannounced, but your brother was respectful.”

“That doesn’t excuse him,” Benedict said firmly. “He had no right to involve himself. Whatever this is,” he gestured between them, “it’s our business, not his.”

A flicker of something passed through Y/N’s eyes—surprise, perhaps, or even approval—but it was gone before Benedict could decipher it.

“Your brother’s actions are understandable, though,” she said finally. “Family often feels entitled to protect us, even when we don’t need their protection.”

“‘Entitled’ is the word,” Benedict muttered, raking a hand through his hair.

Y/N tilted her head, a trace of amusement creeping into her expression. “You sound angry.”

“I am angry,” Benedict admitted, though his voice softened as he continued. “Not just because Anthony went behind my back, but because I... I don’t want anyone to think I need someone else to make my decisions for me. Least of all you.”

Her brows lifted at his candor, and a small smile played on her lips. “I think I can decide what to think of you, Mr. Bridgerton, regardless of your brother’s interference.”

Their eyes met, and for a moment, the world seemed to shrink around them. There was an openness in Y/N’s gaze that felt like an invitation, though to what, Benedict wasn’t entirely sure.

“May I sit?” he asked, breaking the silence.

Y/N gestured to the patch of grass beside her. “Be my guest.”

Benedict settled himself beside her, leaning back against the tree trunk. The tension that had coiled in his chest all day seemed to ease in her presence.

“Do you often come here to draw?” he asked after a moment.

“Whenever I can,” Y/N said, glancing at the fountain in the distance. “It’s one of the few places in London that feels...free.”

“I can see the appeal,” Benedict said. “There’s a tranquility here. A sense of space.”

“And yet you seem restless,” Y/N observed, her eyes studying him intently.

Benedict chuckled, though there was little humor in it. “I suppose I am. My family has a way of...complicating things.”

“Families tend to do that,” Y/N said lightly.

He turned to look at her, a question forming on his lips, but he hesitated. “Do you...” he began, then stopped.

“Do I what?” she prompted.

“Do you find it hard?” he asked finally. “Being the person others look to? Shouldering the weight of their expectations?”

Y/N’s gaze grew distant, her fingers idly tracing the edge of her sketchbook. “I think we all bear expectations, whether we like it or not. The trick is deciding which ones matter and which ones don’t.”

Benedict nodded, her words striking a chord. “And have you decided?”

Her lips curved into a small, enigmatic smile. “I’m still working on it.”

They fell into a companionable silence, the only sounds the rustling of leaves and the faint splash of the fountain. For the first time that day, Benedict felt a sense of calm.

Perhaps, he thought, this wasn’t such a terrible day after all.

( part 2 anyone?)

[madlori]

Sometimes the delulu IS the solulu.

After some thought, and reading a lot of really insightful thoughts here and on Discord, I think I've reached a conclusion.

I'm going full tinhat. Not in an unhinged way, though.

I don't think this is the end.

I'm not going to count on it. I'm barely going to hope for it. But I am going to...keep an eye out for it.

The one common refrain we've heard from each other is that this did not feel like a permanent breakup. It felt so obviously and blatantly like a setup for Buck to fight for the relationship. It was that "one partner freaks out a bit and the other has to show their commitment" relationship hurdle which is so common it's a trope. In fact, most of us assumed that's just what it was...until those interviews

Now, I do not put Tim Minear up on some kind of pedestal of writerly greatness - far from it. And he did not write this episode, but the plotlines all go through him.

BUT.

He has always been very attached to Tommy as a character and to this relationship. He loves it. He loved red string theory so much that he wrote it into this episode. And I'm about halfway convinced he's in love with Lou but that's beside the point. (I mean, we get it, Tim.)

Tommy's what he always said he wanted to get for Buck. Firefighter, integrated into the 118, yadda yadda, we've been over this a lot. Someone he chooses, someone he works to build something with. Someone who shows up for him. He had Buck SAY in this episode that he'd never felt like this since Abby.

The thread of Tommy wanting a found family like Buck's. The intense settled/caregiving vibe of 8x05. It all felt so...purposeful. And yes, I agree that this could have been done just to punch up the angst for Buck when it ends. But that's not the only explanation.

The many, many comments of wanting to move Buck along in his personal life. Oliver wanting to do settled, domestic storylines with him. Giving Tommy the big hero romcom entrance in that hospital.

And what now? Cycle Buck through another love interest? It's hard to imagine recapturing what he had with Tommy with anybody else, or for the GA to embrace it as much as they did. What little we can see of the GA reaction (because the official socials are weirdly quiet and have not posted) is that they're not happy about this. Tim knows this.

I can buy Tim making some dumb writing decisions but he's not stupid. I find it very hard to swallow that he'd voluntarily toss away all this, and this potential, and what they'd already established, and a pairing/character/actor he loves, for what? For nothing.

So I think that it's not for nothing.

I think the plan IS to reunite them...

...they just don't know when, or how.

For some reason he wants to give it a break for awhile. I don't know why. There could be off-camera reasons. But I think it happened recently. Two weeks ago we got interviews talking about hurdles being overcome, relationships deepening, etc etc. It's a great episode for them, came out of Oliver's mouth. Not important, not consequential - great. And hey, what happened to that very important Bobby conversation where he gave Buck important advice? It wasn't there.

I think a change was made in the last two weeks. And yes, I know the loft stills were dated 9/17.

Two weeks is plenty of time to reshoot one scene, between when those interviews came out and last night. The stills could be from the first time it was shot, in September. Put the guys in the same wardrobe, we'd never know the difference, or that those stills weren't from the scene we actually saw.

OR

The scene was always the one we saw, but was always meant to be temporary, and the change was in how they talked about it in the interviews from last night. That is a simpler explanation, as it doesn't involve reshoots, but it doesn't explain those very incongruous interviews we got two weeks ago that do not match the scene we saw. Now, they have always vagued it up, and talked around things in interviews, but this was an entirely new level of misdirection and outright lying that isn't typical.

I'm really tinhatting it up now, but hey, what have I got to lose? I'm not investing anything in this. It's just...a thought.

If you think the network interfered (I don't, at least not for plot-related reasons, see below) or Oliver demanded the relationship be cut (I don't - I know lots of you are mad at him but I'm not), whatever it was...I just get a vibe. It could be as simple as money. It could be a ratings thing. Honestly? It could be that they've found out they're getting cancelled, and were ordered to cut bait on guest stars. They could be kicking the can down the road to goose ratings for spring when they do bring it back. There are lots of reasons I can think of and probably more that I can't.

I read a thoughtful and reasonable post about how it was more or less a mercy killing to post those interviews - most showrunners like to keep viewers guessing and coming back, so for them to say definitely BT was dead meant it's really, really dead (although how definitive they actually were is another question).

They might be right about that. I don't know.

Or they just might not know themselves. Even if the plan IS to reunite them eventually - if they don't have a plan for how or when, the safest course is to shut it down. No guarantees they can make it work, so play it safe. Oliver and Lou might not be looped in on this.

It's pretty thin. They probably would be, although we have ample evidence of actors not knowing stuff until the last minute. The other option is that they are looped in and are intentionally lying but I think that's very unlikely - although Lou has demonstrated a keen skill in keeping his mouth shut when necessary.

I'm not going to get nuts about this and neither should anybody else. I'm not going to be scouring socials or the internet looking for support or clues. I'm not going to be holding my breath waiting for a sign.

The only thing I'll keep an eye on is how they handle any flirtation or dating Buck does in the near future. How they handle it might be telling.

This is ALL very unlikely, let's be real.

I'm still tinhatting, though. Why not? What have we got to lose?

But if I'm right, I expect that red dodgeball in my inbox toot sweet.

(And Buddie still isn't going canon, btw.)

[dualityvn]

I'm sorry

After everything i have put out and now this, it’s so sudden i know but clearing myself and having nice people who can change my mind and made me realize that what I’m doing is really really bad, I’m sorry, I’m sorry for everything i have said to you and each single word that i have spoken to you and thrown at wasn’t right at all and i regret each one, I should have known what it could have lead to despite being together for the years already, i betrayed you and use everything i shouldn’t have done that a healthy person doesn’t do to their love ones, I thought i could try and make you be rude to me, that was my goal and i know it’s so ridiculous to even say that now but that’s the truth and i have no excuse to even tell you differently, maybe if i said the right thing or push you hard enough you would stand up and show me, give me that side of you but at this point you never did and i regret it even my last word going as far to downgrade you with hurtful names i don’t even want to repeat anymore isn’t right of me at all and I’m sorry for that as well. You hurting yourself is also hurting us, hurting me as well so i don’t want you to do that at all my whole time doing that and you asking to do that wasn’t my intention at all during my stupid actions, is there anything i can do? For you instead i won’t ask for your forgiveness and i can’t know what is going through your head or what to expect for you to tell me but i am ready for anything you say or throw at me, if anything i just hope i can make you happy again no matter how long it takes i would like to earn your trust again, i would like to earn your heart all over again, tell me, don’t tell me, regardless i love you and I’m so so sorry again, you’re perfect to your golden gorgeous hair that reminds me of sunflowers being ready to shine within the day down to your beautiful smile that sparks out whenever you adore the things you love, reading, gardening, there’s so many interesting facts you know that i have never seen any other man know about in that big brain of yours and your kind honest heart that still even tried to fight for me into changing, i don’t even deserve any of your soft heart that can still possible show for me and even now, i love you and i don’t know again if you forgive me or not and i doubt it i really do doubt it, I’ll stay though unless you tell me to go but I’m sorry and i love you forever, I promise with the times after this that we will share together again if you will even give me the honor of, i would never ever do something like this again to you, no matter what I’m thinking i will put my actions aside and set to mind of what i could do instead so this won’t ever happen again, and again it is my fault all the way, you did nothing to make this happen everything is on me and I’m sorry for everything that i have said or tried to make you do, i will never do it again, i will change myself into being less intense or work on myself when i want something instead of expecting you to know like you can read my mind.

"So all of this... was for nothing? It wasn't even what you wanted?" - Keith

[hexesandroses]

A semi-long rant about Dottore's implied self-hatred, loneliness and inner struggles

I am, like many others, endlessly fascinated by Dottore, which means that I've been sucking the game dry for any Dottore content I can find; I've watched the dialogue between him and Nahida numerous times, read the "Zandik's Legacy" notes over and over and even the description of the "Wise Doctor's Pinion" from the Pale Flame artifact set. So much has already been said about him, but I'd like to offer my own two cents about an aspect of his character that is often ignored in favor of his villainy: Dottore's inner struggles.

I'll recount everything that I've gathered and tell you of my interpretation of Dottore's character.

To start, one thing that I never see people mention is a line from Nahida's retelling of the Tatarasuna incident. In the very beginning of the cutscene, we see a monster covered in light blue fur (obviously Dottore) who Nahida describes in a very interesting way. She says:

"Once in a while, the monster would take off its fox fur at night, and lament to itself as it gazed at its reflection in the water: "I am a monstrosity, yet they are too foolish to see it. I pity them."

Of course, it's easy to say that this is just a fairy tale Nahida created to preserve Scaramouche's memories and that this could've been made up - which is only half true! We must remember that Nahida has seen Dottore's consciousness. She already knew of the arguments between his Segments when Dottore confronted her to take the Electro and Dendro gnoses. Why do I bring this specific line up, though?

Because this line outright tells us that: 1) Dottore spent sleepless nights in Tatarasuna reflecting on himself; 2) That he, perhaps sincerely, pitied the people of Tatarasuna for not seeing past his facade.

I also think that the use of the word 'lament' is very interesting. To lament means to express sorrow and regret for something. I would think that this implies Dottore feeling remorseful for not just who he was, but what he would do to Tatarasuna. To provide further proof, I think it is important to look at the expression on the furry monster's face (as Nahida portrays it) when it laments to itself:

(What a cute little thing.)

It looks a bit... upset, doesn't it? Like it is mad at itself as it gazes into the water. This expression, combined with his thoughts and the use of the word 'lament' gives us a clear sign that many ignored: Dottore isn't as shallow of a villain as we thought.

Later in the cutscene, Nahida says:

"But the monster soon found solace when another came to live among the foxes who was not their kin: a kitten, carved from the wood of a white tree, who had been abandoned by the humans."

And in that moment, we see a wide-eyed little monster gazing at the kitten:

(Feels really silly to use this as an example but you've gotta trust the process)

Here, Dottore found someone like himself. An outcast, a creature that did not quite fit in with the ordinary humans - someone who could understand Dottore's loneliness and ostracization. After getting chased out of his hometown for his blasphemous ideas, after getting expelled from the Akademiya and possibly exiled to Aaru Village for his heretical views - Dottore had finally found someone to whom he could say: "See? They will never accept us. It is you and I against them, for they will never understand us."

What person wouldn't seek companionship, after all?

But things didn't turn out the way Dottore expected them to. Unlike Dottore, Scaramouche didn't need to hide his true identity in order to be accepted by the people of Tatarasuna. Thus, the following happened:

"Furious at this happy resolution, the monster lit a fire on the mountain. The terrified animals panicked as the fire spread..."

... and we know the rest. What matters is this: Dottore was angry and jealous of Scaramouche. Exiled from his hometown, rejected by his peers, insulted and looked down upon just for wanting to destroy the imbalance between Man and God - and along comes a puppet, a creation of the Raiden Shogun, who receives acceptance and guidance from the people of Tatarasuna. Not just that, but the only creature who could share Dottore's loneliness is whisked away from him, proving once again that Dottore will never know what it means to have a true companion.

Thus he tricked Scaramouche into believing that Niwa had betrayed them, had him join the Fatui and later used him as the blueprint for the creation of his Segments. Dottore basically ruined Scaramouche's life out of bitter jealousy.

That should be it about Tatarasuna for now. What I'd like to focus on next is the conversation between Dottore and Nahida in the 3.2 Archon Quest.

There are a few lines that interest me, so I'll go over them one by one.

Dottore uses a lot of big words to sound like he's saying something profound when in reality he's saying nothing at all (a nice callback to his Commedia Dell'arte counterpart), but there is one thing that both he and Nahida place great emphasis on: the fact that Dottore, smart as he is, cannot make peace with himself.

First to say it is Dottore. After asking Nahida for her opinion on his Segments, he says:

"Indeed. It's difficult for humans... to make peace with themselves, not to mention oneself from a different period."

The line still feels out of place. It sounds as if he is musing to himself.

Again, we get a line about his Segments, after Nahida asked him to erase them:

"You were observing me, and that's how you know I've long grown tired of their doubts and endless arguments."

I think it's safe to assume that the arguing is a metaphor for his struggle of self-acceptance. It seems every Segment has something to say to the others, but more on that later.

Nahida uses Dottore's own words against him:

"Like you said, it's difficult to make peace with yourself. Being as smart as you are, have you managed to do that?"

It's important to note that Dottore doesn't answer that question, but even without that, it's obvious to us, the players - of course Dottore hasn't managed to do that.

Whenever Nahida questions the relationship between his Segments, Dottore easily changes the subject. For example:

"Is the relationship between all the versions of you really that bad?"

"I don't think there's any need to dwell on that. The surplus versions of me can be exchanged for a Gnosis. Do you think anyone can offer themselves at a higher price?"

His Segments all argue constantly. When considered that they are replicas of Dottore at different stages of his life, this takes on an entirely new meaning - beyond his facade, Dottore is a man who can barely make out who he is.

Consider this also: in "A Winter Night's Lazzo", Columbina tells him, "You're looking very young today, Doctor."

To which Dottore replies, "You know very well that I do not take that as a compliment."

A piece of dialogue that had been brushed off by many, myself included - until I realized what this might imply. Dottore finds Columbina's comment insulting because he hates who he is. He hates the younger versions of himself because they represent a Dottore who didn't have the knowledge he has at this current stage of his life. They weren't as smart, as knowledgeable. But that's not really the full extent of it, of course.

Dottore was never fully accepted by anyone, this we have established. In the Akademiya, the students called him a 'madman', a 'monster' (as said in the Wise Doctor's Pinion). When we meet him in the 3.1 Archon Quest, he is referred to as 'The Outcast'. He is always being alienated, but could we assume that he just accepted this rejection and decided to embrace the titles people had thrown at him? This is just... very bold speculation, of course. It is impossible to deny that Dottore didn't always naturally stand out due to his heretical views, but I think it's worth considering that he could have just chosen to be the monster people thought of him as. After all, in the confrontation between him and Niwa, Dottore tells Niwa to think of him as a monster and a demon (for a reason that was... meant to be comforting? Not very important right now).

Consider also how different all the Segments sounded when they found out that they were being erased. All of the voices, along with their manner of speech, varied greatly; I interpreted this as proof of the many masks Dottore has worn over the course of his life. Dottore abandoned whatever humanity he had and decided to embrace the mask of a monster, constantly reinventing himself because he isn't secure in his identity - perhaps he doesn't have one at all. He is a scholar, a Harbinger, a researcher - but without those titles, what is left? What is he left with when he sheds those facades? The constant dodging of Nahida's questions about his Segments, the arguments and the worries of said Segments, the introspection in the cutscene about the Tatarasuna incident - indeed, Dottore is a man filled with self-hatred. A lonely outcast who has never known the comfort of kinship. A monster who swallowed his loneliness and dedicated his life to research.

That should be it, I suppose. My brain is fried and if I remember anything that I might have missed, I'll add that info later.

I want to mention one thing: this doesn't mean Dottore is a misunderstood good guy - doesn't take a genius to know that that is not true. Dottore has no regard for human life (which is ironic, considering how he believes humans have great potential and he wants them to be equal with the Gods). He has hurt so many and I'm sure he will continue to do so. He is evil, but it should be noted that he was once just an ordinary human, too. There must be an explanation for why he is the way he is. It's easy to paint him as just a monster because damn he's good at what he does; but I like to think that there is a layer to him that we just haven't fully seen yet. I'm excited to find out more about him when Snezhnaya gets released in like 2 years... ha. If you've read this far, thank you a lot! Curious to know what you guys think. I love Dottore

[animeyanderelover]

Confession

Hey, everyone. I have something to tell you which has been on my mind since over 4 years now and which I feel like I have to get out of my chest now. I don't want to write for character x male reader anymore. There are lots of reasons and thoughts behind this decision that have accumulated over many years and now I have finally made the decision to stop writing for the x male reader entirely.

The first reason for me is that I was born a woman and that I 100% identify as one. I started this blog mainly because I wanted to write my own fanfics about characters that I love and that is why I started in November 2020 my own blog on this side. However, I wanted to be inclusive which is why I decided to add the option to ask for an x male reader as well. However, I have figured out over the years that I experience less joy writing for requests asking for a male character because deep down this never was what I wanted to write for but I denied those thoughts because I was afraid that people would think that I hate people who identify as men in fanfiction. Part of me also always thought that maybe I would be a hypocrite. I feared to open a pandora box.

After all if I write about a character who is in a happy relationship, married and has a child in canon does that make me a homewrecker? I write about characters who are still teenagers and find myself writing Nsfw about them too so does that make me a pedophile? If I write about a female character x female reader despite the character never having been indicated to have any romantic interest in another woman am I just making everything lesbian to satisfy my own desires? There are women who write about male characters who are gay in canon with a female reader and I admit to having read some of those works too so does that make me homophobic? If I were to write about something like that too because I feel attracted to those characters does that make me a terrible person? Such doubts and worries constantly held me back from getting rid of that option but now I do not have those doubts anymore.

I had a bad start in the anime community by getting involved with some weird fujoshis and their fanart. That has already led me to the decision that I won't write any Nsfw posts with a male character x male reader and with my own consciousness I could never accept to write anything Nsfw related with a female character x male reader. The truth is because I’m an afab writer I could have never inserted myself in a reader with a dick.

Fujoshis and my own preferences are only two reasons though. The last reason for me is because I have had experiences with actual men on this side who pestered me via chat that they wanted me to write for an x male reader and even though I was not comfortable with it they continued anyways. Those experiences are rare but they added to my overall conflict nevertheless. A while ago I had the "pleasure" of being graced with such a person who really wanted me to write about the women of Arcane with a male reader, a phenomenon that I know has been not uncommon in the x reader community of the series on this app. He was awfully entitled and kept whining about the fact that no one seems to be willing to write about the x male reader for characters like Jinx or Vi and that he considers my writing to be good and that I was his last hope. I have blocked him together with the few others who asked the same of him before in that arrogant and pushy way.

None of those three reasons that I have named are the sole reason for that decision, it is more the accumulation of all of those reasons over the last years that have finally led to this post. So here is my final decision:

I won't write for the x male reader anymore.

I am sorry for all those who do not belong to the entitled male reader community and still felt included in my blog but I cannot write about something I do not feel motivated about and feel no joy in writing either. To all those arrogant male readers who my read this and feel insulted, here is my own opinion. Fanfiction is fanfiction. I do not have the right to call you out for writing about male readers with female characters who are gay because I have found myself guilty on the other side by thirsting about male characters who are gay and I might one day find myself writing about them with a female reader as well.

I don't mind shippers either as long as everything is kept within a legal range because if you come up to me and confess to shipping some brainrot vomit like Sebastian x Ciel (Black Butler), Toji x Megumi (Jjk) or All Might x Deku (My Hero Academia) I will not let you anywhere close to me. And yes, those are ships that people actually support and write about!! I personally just don't care about a ship unless the series is a romance but if you just keep it normal with the gay ships I don't care if you ship something like Gojo x Geto or Jayce x Viktor. Just don't be weird and then get all offended and mad when others, including the author of the work (!!!) doesn't ship them.

However, if male readers want fanfics then you just have to build your own fandom community and do it yourself. The fujoshis have done it, the whole x female reader community has done it. You have to do the same. No one of the writers on this app has started in here with any previous experience. I for example didn't write any world-changing book series before I started my blog and I guarantee you, none of the other writers have done that either. Just don't be a fucking whiny bitch about it and get all offended about it with writers who only write x female reader.

Listen, all of us have some weird fantasies here. I myself take even the most sunshine characters and turn them into obsessive freaks who abduct the reader and kill for them. I write for dub-con and non-con which is ultimately just a euphemism for fantasising about a fictional character r*ping me. I fantasise about male characters baby-trapping me sometimes but if any man in real life were to say something to me like I have written fictional characters say to the reader I will scream, bite and get a restraining order. Does that mean that I support everything that I see online? Fuck, no. Let's be real, who does? There are people who are weird and then there are people who are just gross and I usually stay away from those communities because arguing with them will only cost you your sanity because they clearly have none. On Tumblr I usually resort to swiftly blocking such people the moment I read their content and you are free to do the same to me if you don't support my writing.

Heck, I’ve even blocked people who ranted in the tags about Yandere or dub-con/non-con content and claimed that everyone who writes and reads such posts sick in the head because I believe I did them the favor of sparing them to come across my works. Speaking from experience, such people usually don’t avoid but feel the need to insult and lecture so I probably did them a favor by doing what they don’t want to do because they thrive on being on what they view as the morally high ground. The block button is there for a reason and not just for fancy decoration after all.

It's been more than 4 years on this app for me and I have grown as a person in real life and strive to do so as I continue each year which is why I have decided to not be a pure people pleaser anymore and only write what I can accept within my own consciousness and what I want to write about. It's my blog, it's my rules and if I can be proud with what I write and accomplish on here then this is how I should continue. To anyone who has requested something with a male reader and is still waiting for it to be answered, I cannot promise you that I will still answer it so you should be prepared that it's going to be most likely deleted. I am unfortunately not the right blog to write what you want but I hope that you can find one who will fill the role that I can't anymore.