#justice for my man when he starts things he absolutely cannot finish | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

rileythelonelyalien · 2 years ago

Note

Hellouu

I come by to share some soft Dottore thoughts, if u don't mind. I have no idea why I feel so soft for this man (even though he is chaotic) I love him sm.

Imagine that after a long and tiresome week you decide to organize a little something for him. You would make a full dinner just for him, and prepare the glass observatory in the palace so the two of you could come to watch stars after dinner. So, you get the menu ready, for an entrance you could maybe make something with veggies? Perhaps a selva salad? Oh, and in honor of his Sumeru origins you consider making him a dish that you've heard he greatly misses from his homeland, some spicy butter chicken. As for dessert, maybe leave the Sumeru theme behind a make something simple but tasty, a strawberry Panna Cotta! Ohhh you were exited you wanted to make this dinner as perfect as possible. You had ordered the ingredients needed much before that night so everything was all set.

You start cooking and you're in middle of finishing the butter chicken but- you hear footsteps. Annnddddd you are busted!! Dottore gets pleasantly surprised with your gift and decides to join you in the kitchen. With two more hands everything is done quickly and the two of you soon enjoy your dinner together. After the dinner you confessed to him you had another surprise. You take the desserts and other utensils and put them in a picnic basket to take them to observatory.

You had prepared the place with candles, pillows and several blankets (bc snezhnayan nights are cold!!) The two of you sit down and enjoy the desserts as you share your knowledge about stars and different astros. Even though he know this sky is fake, he greatly enjoys the views the two of you enjoy together. Eventually you both feel sleepy and slowly descend into slumber as you cuddle to a wonderful view. "Ahh yes. This is what I call a perfect date~" you hear him whisper. "Thanks for all your efforts my love, I can finally rest well with you by my side."

(Ahhhh sorry for all the specific dishes! I enjoy cooking so I though a little date would be nice!)

Also, if you wish to write this, go on! But don't rush it, take your time and also rest a lot!! Have a great day/night!!! Tysm for all your works, they are so lovely!! (*＾-＾*）

Dottore x GN! Reader (underneath the stars)

A/N: oh my goodness annon this was such a cute thought honestly!! I can say that I agree with you : I cannot help but have a soft spot for this maniac of a man. I did decide to write this wonderful idea up so I do hope that I have done this justice and that you enjoy it I had so much fun writing this up :)) Also I very much appreciate the kind words about my other works it bring me so much joy to know that others are enjoying them !!!

Over the course of the week, you had noticed how both your and your lover's workload had become increasingly more intense. On your half the paperwork of fatui affairs began piling up on your desk as you tried to keep up with all these documents. Luckily for you the documents seemed to slow down after a few days or so leaving you time to catch up with the mountain of paper that resided on your desk. However, Dottore was running between his different labs within the palace, attending many more harbinger meetings , having to host speeches for the new fatui recruits in his unit and so much more the poor man was absolutely exhausted. Despite this however he managed to maintain his cool and intimidating front , honestly you were impressed but you got to see him behind closed doors when he would come back to your shared bedroom and collapse onto the bed lying next to you as he would turn over onto his back and lazily pull you into his arms and nestle his face into your hair mumbling all sorts of thing to himself as he fell asleep. Even his segments seemed to reflect just how exhausted he was , however this may be due to them having to deal with more tasks than usual as prime had to set more things aside to get to other more pressing matters. Some segments even came to your office where you work looking for you, often asking to hear some words of encouragement from you to help them keep motivated and even a lil kiss if they asked nicely. This only really worked with the older clones , the much younger ones would only splutter out a throwaway comment on the fact that they weren't ‘desperate’ or something along those lines before leaving your office in haste trying to conceal their flushed faces.

Having this happen a few times it began to make you think , your lover has been working tirelessly he certainly deserved to be spoiled for it , this lead to you grabbing a document that was useless to the fatui turning it over to the blank side as you began to make notes , brainstorming different ways to pleasantly surprise him. After meticulously setting each idea you had come to make your decision circling the one that you would go through with. To put this plan to action however you must begin immediately and so in one swift movement you had thrown your winter cloak onto your shoulder and headed out , grabbing a basket to carry things with you on the way out. But why did you need to go out? To go to the market of course as you needed to have fresh ingredients to prepare what you had in mind for your lover. The atmosphere in the market was joyous as always. The Shneznayan spirit never failed to create a close knit community with such a welcoming atmosphere. Although you had no time to revel in such a wonderful place you hurriedly ushered from stall to stall collecting only the best quality ingredients , you were glad you had made sure to bring some extra mora with you as you had accidentally went over your initial budget but it was okay because you had foreseen this and took a few more pieces.

Soon enough you had returned back to the palace , without a second to spare you quickly began to make your way to the kitchen. On your way to the kitchen you manage to bump into someone familiar. It was one of Dottore's' segments! Before he was able to greet you , you in a haste blurted out ‘Oh! This is perfect , I need you to keep prime busy okay? Don't let him go anywhere near the kitchen!’ Yet again before he could, he is able to open his mouth to respond to you, flash him a smile and begin to resume your speed walk to the kitchen letting out a loud ‘Thank you !’ before you disappeared around the corner. He stood there dumbfounded for a moment but then once he’d processed what had just happened. He straightened himself up and took this task assigned by you to heart. He was going to fulfil this task to the best of his ability , he may have to get some others to help him with this though. He set off , his original task unknowingly being overridden by your request as he set off to keep his creator's attention kept away from the kitchen or you for as long as possible.

Alas you had finally made it to the kitchen without having your cover being blown , a sigh of relief escaped your lips as you set down the hefty basket of ingredients. It collides with the counter top making a soft thud. You waste no time in removing your cloak and setting it aside and grabbing an apron and fastening it to your waist , you pull out the paper full of your notes out of your pocket and set it down. You remind yourself of what you had planned as you wash your hands and set out all the necessary utensils. Gently you lift each ingredient out of the basket inspecting each one just to double check that everything was up to standard you wouldn’t want to provide anything subpar quality. Once you were happy with each ingredient the cooking began. The first dish that you had planned was selva salad . something light before the main dish , cutting up various vegetables however to make it more exciting you managed to cut some of them in some fun shapes you smile at the thought of your lover reacting to this. Once you had assembled the salad you set it aside in a cool compartment in the kitchen so that the vegetables would stay fresher for longer. Once again you turn back to your notes as your finger runs across the paper you stop and poke a specific note you had made ‘aha!’ is all that left your lips as the smile on your face widens. You had overheard your lover talk about going to eat some Sumeru cuisine , when he was mumbling into your hair during the nights that he would come back absolutely drained of all energy. You had taken this into account in your planning and so you did some research a while back and found a very popular recipe in Sumeru : spicy butter chicken (you had also heard this dish also be mentioned by him on certain occasions in passing). Now this was going to be the main dish and although you were more proficient in baking you were going to give this dish your all , and it will serve as practice for expanding your culinary skills beyond baking. You take in a deep breath as you feel the determination fill you , this is going to be the most carefully crafted dish you will ever make. Everything must be perfect down to a T.

Meanwhile whilst you were making the main dish the clone you had tasked to keep Dottore away from the kitchen was beginning to struggle. Dottore was getting agitated with one of his experiments going awry and as a way to soothe himself he was going to get something sweet from the kitchen, having something delightful tasty seems to take his mind off his woes. He exits the lab without saying a word. The clone you had made the request to follow his creator out of the lab and noticed that he was heading in the direction to the kitchen. His eyes widened as he rushed over to his creator and stood in front of him blocking him from turning the corner which led to the kitchen without much time to spare he desperately blurted out ‘There has been an accident in the lab we require your assistance immediately!’. The desperation was almost enough to convince him … almost underneath his mask his eyes squinted at his younger self sending a piercing look that transcended his mask ‘Im sure you can handle it #347 you are in my likeness so you’ll be able to resolve the issue at hand’ With that he made his way past him and then as he was in the hallway of the kitchen he was hit with the exquisite smell of abundant spices , all of which were reminiscent of his homeland. He began to hasten his pace making his way to the kitchen to see who was in the kitchen. The clone followed close behind him as he tried to think of another excuse to get him to leave the vicinity but alas it was too late his curiosity has been piqued and there is no going back once that happens.

You were in the midst of finishing off the dish when you heard quickly paced footsteps approach the kitchen. You quietly listen to them as you hope that they pass the kitchen , you back faced toward the door as you stood by the stove. The silence filled the room apart from the bubbling of the sauce. The footsteps stop abruptly, your eyebrows furrow as you try to decipher whether they had gone past the kitchen or stopped by the kitchen , you slowly turn around and to your shock you are met with a familiar figure. That of your lover standing in the doorway staring at you , his mask covering his eyes so you are unable to deduce what he was feeling. You notice the clone in the back looking at you like a kicked puppy trying to signal to you that he tried to keep him away but failed. You feel your lips pressed together as you quietly say to yourself underneath your breath ‘busted…’ Despite this being said underneath your breath Dottore manages to pick up on it ‘Busted?’ he repeated back to you whilst making his way over to you. Before you say anything else you take the dish you were making off the heat and onto another part of the stove to prevent it from being forgotten about and potentially burning which would be even worse than being found out. You let out a sigh before coming clean to your lover , well almost … ‘Well I've noticed how you have been working recently and so I thought it would only be fair to treat you to some of your favourites’. You had purposely left out a key detail of your plan which was to take him to the glass observatory and observe the stars together. If you couldn't keep everything under wraps you might as well keep the most exciting part of it secret to preserve some of the surprise meant for him. As you had explained yourself to him, he had pulled the mask away from his face to be able to look at you directly , his crimson eyes stared at you , soft and exposing his amusement. Gently he brought his gloved hand up to your face, softly grasping your chin so that you are making direct eye contact with him. He hadn't said a word in response yet and the increasing suspense was starting to make you nervous. His signature pointed teeth showing themselves as his face began to turn into one of glee , a smile now gracing his lips before he leant down letting his lips come into contact with yours. He pulled away and pulled you into a firm hug his scent enveloping you feel his chest vibrate as he speaks ‘ My love, you truly are precious, too good for this for this world even’ This sudden praise from him catches you by surprise you chuckle at his antics ‘Well I'm almost done all I have left to make dessert , would you like to help?’ In these small moments you are able to see just how much he craves to spend quality time with you as soon as you propose this idea to him with no hesitation he agrees to it.

He pulls away from the hold he had you in and proceeds to take off his gloves and sets them down with his mask and prepares himself to be able to help you out in the kitchen. Whilst he was busy doing this you quickly went over to the entrance of the kitchen where the clone was still waiting patiently there ready to receive some sort of scalding from you , as you approach him you give him a soft patient smile to signal to him that you were not upset with him ‘ Hey , even if things didn't go as planned i still appreciate the help , no need to beat yourself up about it okay ?’ you raise yourself to the tip of your toes to signal you wanted access to his face , he promptly lowers himself so that you have easier access you give him a quick peck on the cheek and send him on his way before prime would have anything to say about it. Off the segment went holding the cheek that your lips had so kindly graced all giddy at this small show of affection he promptly disappeared around the corner presumably making his way back to the lab.

Once you turn back you see Dottore with spoon in hand trying the spicy butter chicken that was being kept warm by the stove. You smile to yourself when you notice how his face lights up once he tries it, even licking the spoon clean before going to get another spoonful yet this is interrupted when you clear your throat loudly to signify that you were watching. He turns to face you a mischievous smile etched onto his features, ‘I'm glad you like it my love but let's make sure there is some left when it comes to the actual meal hm?’ you tease him as you make your way to the counter and begin to gather the remaining ingredients you had procured earlier. You feel your lover snake his hands around your waist as he pushes his body up against yours behind you as he then speaks into his ear ‘ So my dear what were you planning for dessert?’ he asks as he proceeds to rest his head on your shoulder , you smile at the affection as you reply to him ‘ Oh I was thinking of making some strawberry panna cotta !’ he lets out an approving hum although really anything you would've said he would have agreed to in his eyes your cooking was beyond anything the most proficient chefs of teyvat could muster. You had set Dottore to be in charge of the panna cotta itself whilst you focused on the strawberry sauce that would go with said panna cotta. He stood by the stove patiently observing the mixture of milk cream and sugar in the pan making sure to take the right steps and add the right ingredients at each stage. Cooking was similar to science experiments however the product was always edible and in most cases absolutely delectable. You were at the counter carefully cutting each strawberry and discarding any that would not be of use , the both of you even if not saying anything completely absorbed in the task that they were doing it was still pleasant to know that the other was there with them in the same room. It was comforting.

The two of you combined what you had created separately to form the most delicious looking dessert you've seen. A proud look now over taking your features as you look at your lover to signify that you appreciated his help with this. In return you received a soft smile of his.

Now that each dish was prepared you had plated each one of them and moved it to the dining room which resided just opposite the kitchen. However there was something you needed to take care of before you were able to enjoy this meal with Dottore. There Dottore sat patiently waiting for you to return the smell of all the food enticing him to begin to eat and yet he waited for you he wouldn't dare begin without you. You returned back to the dining room promptly looking quite flushed almost as if you had been frantically running up and down a set of stairs. As he observes your features he raises his eyebrow at you , but decides not to comment on it. Trying not bring attention to the fact that you were out of breath you sit down in the seat that resided next to him before the two of you enjoy the fruits of your hard work , Dottore savouring each bite as he is reminded of his homeland and what better yet it was made by the hand of someone he truly and deeply cared for. It was truly a moment of bliss for him. You had managed to time this perfectly as Dottore and as you were finishing off the last few bites of your dishes you noticed that it was starting to get dark outside , you couldn't help but get excited as you wondered at what his reaction to the other surprise you had in store for him.

Your train of thought is cut off as Dottore speaks ‘Dearest did we leave the dessert in the kitchen?’ he inquires. All you could do was smile at him and respond ‘ No, my love it's right here although I must confess this is not the entirety of what I had planned come with me’ The dessert was securely stored away into a basket that you had next to you and with that you stood up from your seat basket in on hand and your other outstretched for Dottore to take. Gently he grasped your hand as he stood up to follow you wondering just where you were going to take him , to be truthful he was feeling excited , although he would never say it aloud. The both of you make it up to the glass observatory at the perfect time, the sun had just set and the night sky was decorated with the wondrous twinkle of far away stars. You set the basket down as Dottore's attention is brought to the soft glow of the candles illuminating your face setting a soft glow that accentuated all your features. He chuckles to himself as he sits down next to you falling onto the pillows that were strewn out for comfort embracing the warmth the candles provided. ‘I know it can get a bit cold so here take this!’ you brought out a few thick blankets which he took and proceeded to drape over the lower half of his body as you proceeded to do the same with another blanket. He for some reason couldn't take his loving gaze off of you , not even when the clinking of the glass jars filled with dessert rang through the quiet observatory and the utensils clanged against each other as you handed him his share of the desert. The smile on his face warmed his body much more efficiently than all the candles and blankets could.

It was perfect even if you were busted early on into your plan everything still went amazingly. The panna cotta turned out to be wonderful and so sweet , once the both had finished off the dessert you placed all the jars and utensils back into the basket to be washed later on. You both made yourselves comfortable grabbing all the pillows that were all about laying your head against it and wrapping up warm in the blankets as you looked up to watch the mesmerising twinkle of each dot in the sky. Dottore followed suit laying down next to you, bringing your figure into his arms resting his head on top of yours every now and then leaving a few kisses there too. He found your infatuation with the stars to be so adorable and even if he knew that the sky was face he was still willing to keep lying about it in order to keep that smile on your face. At some points he would point out to you certain clusters of stars or even constellations and tell all the interesting facts and information he had on them. Hearing your inquisitive questions and gasps of disbelief over some information he truly relished your presence he really would rather be nowhere else but here. This continues for some time until you begin to feel the drowsiness to settle in as your speech gets more slurred as you are slowly descending into a slumber. Just as you are about to completely fall asleep something catches your attention ‘Ahh yes. This is what I call a perfect date~’ you hear him whisper quietly to himself. ‘Thanks for all your efforts my love, I can finally rest well with you by my side.’

#fatui dottore #dottore #genshin fanfic #genshin fandom #genshin dottore #genshin x reader #genshin impact #dottore fluff #dottore x reader #fatui x reader #fatui harbingers

217 notes · View notes

aftqrglow · 3 years ago

Text

A Blessing, Beautiful And True

pairing: bucky x fem!reader

word count: 3.2k

warnings: use of she/her pronouns; swearing if you squint; mentions of death; mentions of food

a/n: this is a rewrite of one of my old fics that i absolutely hated with my entire being. i hate this a little bit less djaksjsjs also pls ignore how i literally cannot write a good ending to save my life.

dedicated to @xsamsharons for lending me her name. i hope i did it justice mi amor ily <3

Bucky learnt to value things.

Not the great, terribly material things people around him seemed to rush after. Not money, not even when he was barely getting by.

No, for Bucky, it was the small, seemingly insignificant things.

The tiny toy WWII soldier figurine he found at a yard sale one Tuesday afternoon, the one with the missing arm. The near-exact model of the car his father used to drive—rusted around the tiny steel axel, the rubber wheels worn from use. That yellow screwdriver set that sat at the very back of the tool cabinet in the garage, unusable because of the cracked plastic handles and rusted steel, that looked exactly like the kit he had once used to fix up the plumbing in his first apartment.

Bucky was used to valuing the broken little things.

He never truly understood what loving something whole, something complete felt like—not until he met you.

You, in your white sweater and blue jeans, hair tossed up in a braid. You, your eyes that dancing with unbroken light, like the rays of the sun on the ocean on a bright summer’s day. You, with the sort of kindness he never truly thought he would ever be worthy of, not until you showed him that he was.

You, the girl he fell in love with before he could ever truly know what love was.

Steve might’ve been the first to notice. He was with him that day, the day he first saw you. They had been hunting for a Christmas present for Tony, and even though Bucky wasn’t exactly thrilled to have to attend, he wasn’t about to show up empty handed.

Steve didn’t even realize that the sly-footed assassin wasn’t by his side until he had walked the two blocks from the mall to his car. Hands ghosting over the gun tucked into the holster hooked into his waistband, Steve retraced his steps, his heart thundering in his throat.

Until he heard Bucky’s laugh.

Not the obviously fake chuckles he used to placate those around him. No, this was the laugh he remembered, the laugh he thought Bucky had lost.

This was Bucky’s laugh—his Bucky’s laugh, before the world stole him away. Pure and innocent.

Happy—so undeniably, inexplicably happy.

The tension eased from his shoulders when he saw you. Steve knew who you were, of course. Everyone did—or at least, everyone who had been around after the Battle of New York. Everyone who had seen you walk among the rubble, bleeding through your jeans, helping dig survivors out of the rubble, guiding them to shelters. Everyone who had seen you do everything you could help those who needed it more than you did, until your legs finally gave way and the only reason you didn’t collapse to the floor was because Steve caught you.

But Steve also happened to know why you’d done it. Because you were kind. Because you were selfless. Because you knew what it was like to lose everyone you loved, and to garner the strength to build yourself up anyway.

You’d lost people too—everyone you loved, killed during the Battle. Your family. Your friends. It might’ve seemed cruel to be spared. Might’ve seemed like a cold, dark twist of fate—and for a time, it did.

Steve had never known anyone to be resilient the way you were.

And maybe, just maybe, he thought to himself, as he watched his friend from through the glass, maybe you would teach him to hold on to the tiniest sliver of hope too.

—

Bucky didn’t even like books.

The only book he’d read—aside from the coursework assigned to him in his school days—was The Hobbit. And even that had taken him an ungodly amount of time to finish.

So yeah, Bucky didn’t exactly like books.

But he still visited the tiny bookstore on the corner every day.

He didn’t even buy anything. He just looked around, running his fingertips over the spines of the books that jutted out of the wooden shelves, the sunlight turning his eyes into uncharted waters of the oceans, swimming with undiscovered secrets and untold lies.

You would talk to him. All the time, and with no trace of the usual pity or sympathy that he heard when he spoke to people. You talked to him in a way that made him feel like himself, in a way that made him feel like he just might rediscover the man he used to be.

That first time he’d seen you was burned into the back of his brain, the image of you standing there with a hip braced against a bookshelf, dressed in a white sweater and jeans, your hair pulled into a braid over your shoulder. He had watched as a strand escaped, falling into your face.

And him—he'd stood there, watching you talk to another woman he couldn't recall because really, how could he look at anything else but you? Bucky was certain he looked like a gaping idiot, both wanting your attention to turn to him, and dreading the fact that he would surely make a fool of himself if you so much as looked at him.

Back in the 40s, things would've been so much easier. He would already have said something witty to make you laugh, he would already have been telling you about the carnival down at the beach and asking if you wanted to go with him.

But when your friend left, and you asked him if there was anything you could help him with, his voice sounded strange to his own ears as he croaked, "Books?"

You had laughed—and he found himself laughing along. A true laugh—for the first time in a long time, the sound didn’t sound fake to his own ears. For the first time in a long time, he felt like himself.

Bucky had taught himself to value that which wasn’t whole—because he wasn’t, either. Love was give and take. Love was equal.

If he was to deserve your love, he would have to be whole again. If he was to deserve your love, he would make himself whole again.

—

There was a sudden shift in the way Bucky viewed the world.

It had been three days since he last saw you, but he walked in through those doors anyway. He had no cause, no reason—he just couldn’t go any longer without seeing you.

You were sitting by the bay window at the very back, reading a book. He took a second just to take you in, to get used to the fact that you weren’t just a figment of his imagination.

The second you looked up, your face split into a grin, like you were truly, genuinely happy to see him. He couldn’t remember the last time someone had smiled at him that way. “Hey, you’re back! It’s Bucky, right?”

He nodded. He couldn't trust himself to speak, not when he was sure he would stumble over his words, not when he couldn't bring himself to string together a coherent sentence in your presence.

"What can I help you with today?" you asked, snapping your book shut and placing it on the table.

"Uh... What're you reading?"

You glanced down at your book before looking up to meet his eyes again. Blue, you thought, supressing a smile. Icy blue, but warm nonetheless—familiar in the way most things aren’t. "Wuthering Heights. You've never read it?"

He shook his head no. "Never been much of a reader, no. Is it any good?"

"It's one of my favourites," was your answer, watching as he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. The light caught the steel of the chain around his neck—the chain of one of those military-issue dog tags.

And maybe that was how it started—on that dreary cold Wednesday, when you'd stood next to the bookshelf by the window, telling him about your favourite book, but really all he could focus on was the late afternoon sun rendering the hue of your eyes several shades lighter, the soft slope of your nose, the fullness of your mouth. Every little detail about you was etched permanently into his mind—and he wanted to learn more.

He wanted to know everything there was to know about you.

It was about closing time when he decided he had to go. Not because he wanted to, but because he had promised he would have dinner with Sam and Steve. And as much as Bucky wanted to stay, he was a man of his word.

Which is why when he promised you he would come see you as soon as he finished reading the book, you knew he meant it.

—

And you were right.

Two days later, he was back.

It was raining that day, early in the morning when you were just about to open up. And there, standing under the awning in the freezing rain, was Bucky, the collar of his coat turned up against the wind, drenched to the bone.

"What're you doing here?" you asked, eyes wide.

"I just... I don't know," he said. Because he didn't. Bucky didn't even like books—but he did like being around you. There was a strange sort of calm about you, a sense of peace he'd only known in Wakanda. Around you, he was just Bucky—not Sargent Barnes, not the Winter Soldier—just Bucky.

He liked being just Bucky.

You shook your head, but he could've sworn he saw the corner of your mouth tilt upwards as you fished your keys out of your pocket and unlocked the door. "Well, come on inside. I'll turn up the heat and get you something warm to drink. Christ, Buck, you could get pneumonia or something.”

He only nodded once. It didn't matter that he wouldn't get sick—not when the serum in his veins healed his body faster than normal. It didn’t matter that even if he could sick, he wouldn’t have cared, not when you were looking at him like that, with concern in your eyes for something other than your own safety.

You had a coffee machine in the back room, you told him. He followed you, lingering in the doorway as you bustled about, humming a tune under your breath. He recognized it as a song from that one Marvin Gaye album Sam couldn’t stop talking about. He recognized it as a song he wanted to listen to for the rest of his life, if only you were the one singing it.

He recognized that, for better or for worse, you would be his undoing.

—

After that, he came to see you every day.

When the weather got colder still, he brought you steaming cups of hot chocolate from your friend Bella’s café down the street. And on the days when he didn’t, he would head into the back room and make you coffee. You’d never had to tell him how you took it—after that in the rain, he’d somehow remembered what you liked.

You weren’t about to tell him, but you remembered what he liked too.

It started out simple—plum cider that you found on your weekly trip to the farmer’s market. An old vintage copy of The Hobbit from the forties. Rubber silencers for his dog tags that he never used but carried around in his pocket anyway—until eventually, you had something new for him every week, some insignificant thing that he looked at with the kind of childlike awe that made your heart twist into knots in your chest.

He walked you home too. Every evening, with his hands stuffed in his pockets, slowing his stride so that he could walk alongside you. He would stand outside, across the street, hands in his pockets, waiting for you to walk into the apartment you shared with Bella. Only leaving when the lights came on and he knew you were safe.

Bucky wasn’t much of a talker—you learnt that about him. He would spend all day sitting quietly in a corner of your store, reading one of the books he found on the shelf of used copies you kept in the back of the room.

He seemed to love those used books more than the new ones—books someone had already read, books that had already been loved.

He felt a little that way sometimes, too. A little too used for love, not loved enough for use.

But never when he was with you.

And you—you were falling for Bucky Barnes. A little by little, day by day, without even realizing it—not until it all came rushing to you one afternoon, like a dam breaking, like the ocean of his eyes pulling you under, especially when you felt his gaze on you from time to time, watching you as you worked.

That afternoon, a new shipment of books came in. You didn’t even have to ask him for help—he was already on his feet, snapping his copy of Anna Karenina shut, mumbling a soft, “I’ve got it,” as you signed for the order. Hefted the two cartons of books like they weighed nothing at all, and carried them inside.

There was a strange tightness in your stomach as you watched him, standing in the middle of your store—the only thing the Battle of New York hadn’t taken away from you—and you wondered just how it took so damn long to realize that the feeling of familiarity didn’t lie among these books, but rather, in Bucky himself.

—

It was a slow day, so the two of you spent the rest of the afternoon restocking the shelves. He asked you about each of the books, watching your eyes light up as you talked about your favourite ones, until conversation lapsed into a comfortable silence, the two of you basking in each other’s company as you worked.

You didn't even realize how much time had passed until you heard the door open and your friend Bella breezed in. She'd been here the first day Bucky had walked in, had noticed the way your eyes shifted to him mid-conversation like you couldn’t focus on much else when he was around. “Ready for lunch, y/n?”

You looked at Bucky, opening your mouth to ask if he wanted to come along. Not because you didn’t trust him to be alone at the store, but because you wanted his company. Because being around him felt like coming home.

He only waved you off. "Go ahead. I've got plans with Stevie. I'll be here when you're back though."

You believed him. You believed that he would always be around, for as long as you wanted. And you wanted forever.

"Was that the guy from before?" Bella asked, looping an arm through yours as you left the store, walking down the street. She brushed her fiery hair out of her eyes, turning her head slightly to look at you, yellow-green eyes filled with curiosity. “What’s his name?”

"Bucky. He... He's a friend," you said.

"Well," Bella said. "He sure doesn't feel the same way."

"What do you mean?" you asked, confused.

"Y/n, he looks at you like you put the stars in his sky. Are you sure he's just a friend?"

"I... I don't know, Bella."

Because you didn't know what else to call him. Because you and him weren't friends in the way people usually are—you had always been more.

Bucky was always more.

—

"I've barely seen you," Steve said, picking up his can of Diet Pepsi and taking a sip. "Where have you been?"

"Around," Bucky mumbled. Because how could he explain why he was spending so much time at the bookstore with someone he'd only just met? How could he explain the magnetic pull he felt toward you, the inexplicable desire to just be around you?

How could he explain the way you made him feel like himself again?

But Steve knew. Steve always knew. He saw the growing stack of novels on his friend's bedside table, saw him reading at the kitchen table, book propped up against the jug of milk.

He also knew that all this was because of y/n. Because Bucky mumbled that name when he was too exhausted to even know what he was saying. Because Bucky talked in his sleep—and Steve could hear him calling that name through the thin walls that separated their rooms. "You've been at the bookstore?"

Bucky set his drink down. There was so use denying it—his friend would see right through him. Steve had known him for too damn long to believe in his lies. "She's so... I can't even put it into words. She makes me believe that there's good in this world. That all the things I did wrong don't even matter—not when I'm with her. It’s the way she looks at things, the way she’s capable of finding a little bit of good in everything. Like she found something good in me, Steve."

Steve knew it was true. Because he hadn’t seen Bucky this way for a very long time. Because he hadn’t seen that light in his friend’s eyes in a very long time, and ever since he met you, it hadn’t gone away.

—

Bucky had to leave for a couple of days.

He didn't tell you why—just that it was a work thing. How long would he be gone? He didn't know.

"I'll be back soon," he said. "I promise."

And he was. Five days later.

But Bucky was quiet—quieter than usual.

It was a Sunday, and you’d somehow managed to drag him along to the farmer’s market with you. He walked alongside you, hands in his pockets, like he was aching to reach out and touch you but desperately holding himself back.

He’d almost gotten himself killed on that mission.

You took up too many thoughts in his head, too much space in his heart. And when the bullet narrowly missed him, grazing his ribs, his only thought was whether or not you’d miss him if he was gone.

You deserved better than someone who’s life was tied to the death of others. Someone who didn’t have so much blood on his hands.

A few paces ahead of you, Bella walked hand-in-hand with Bucky’s friend Sam. You were glad that Bucky had introduced them, glad that Sam made Bella happy in ways you’d never really known or understood before.

“Look at them,” you said, watching with a smile on your face as Sam quietly slipped a couple of oranges into Bella’s bag. “They look real happy.”

Then, turning to look at him, you smiled, and he couldn’t hold himself back anymore. Because you might deserve better, but he was selfish and stubborn, and the only thing he had wanted in so goddamn long was you you you.

“Go out with me,” he blurted, every thread of self-control he had so carefully cultivated to keep his head in your presence snapping. He felt like he was taken back to that December evening he saw you for the first time, when the words refused to leave his mouth, when you’d rendered him tongue-tied and helpless. Only this time, he couldn’t stop the words from coming out, not as he said, “One date, y/n. One date, and if you don’t have a good time, we can just forget it ever happened and move on.”

His heart shuttered when he saw the small frown creasing your brow, your voice soft as you asked, “Are you sure?”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything. I want to do this for the rest of my life with you, y/n,” he said quietly. “But for now, I’ll take that date.”

“Okay,” you said, nodding slowly. “Okay, Bucky, I’ll go out with you.”

He couldn’t help it. Bucky wrapped his arms around your waist, drawing you to him, lifting you off your feet and spinning you around until you were both laughing, childlike and breathless, blissfully unconscious of the knowing look on Sam and Bella’s faces.

Because really, how could he see anything but you? You had been it from the first day he saw, and you were it now—a blessing, beautiful and true.

tags:

@goldengoddess @wherearethesantreys @ughlantsov @for-bebbanburg @mriddlemethis @xleiaorgana @xsamsharons

if you would like to be added to or removed from my taglist, just send me a message or an ask off anon!

#bucky x reader #bucky x y/n #bucky x you #bucky barnes fluff #bucky fanfic #bucky barnes x female reader #bucky barnes #marvel mcu

159 notes · View notes

iliveiloveiwrite · 4 years ago

Text

When He Sees Me // Benedict Bridgerton

Request: Hey! I've just finished reading all of your Benedict fanfics and it's like, "let me have more!!!" *-* Could you maybe write something where the reader and Ben meet at Mr Granville's house? Where the reader is lower class and mocks him for with his lord manners, and eventually they get along well and all that? And he falls in love with her but she's just a seamstress and is scared he fetishizing her poverty and the "starving artist" lifestyle... Thanks in advance, love your writing xxx - anon.

A/N: Thank you so so much! This is such a sweet message. Thank you for requesting something from me; I can only hope I have done it justice. This is a really long fic, I know that - it really did get away from me. Nevertheless, I hope you enjoy and I hope you are all well!

Title: Waitress - When He Sees Me

Pairing: Benedict Bridgerton x Fem!Reader

Warnings: mentions of alcohol and nudity, making out, amorous activities, light voyeurism (very light), class divides, pining, mutual pining, fluff, light angst, humour, Bridgerton family feels. HAPPY ENDING.

Word count: 6.8k (this is so long, I am so sorry)

“Bridgerton!” Henry Granville calls, a large smile spreading across his face as he spies Benedict by the front door. “I was hoping you’d make it.”

“Here I am,” Benedict laughs, spreading his arms wide in evidence.

Granville chuckles, grabbing a glass from a nearby tray and handing it to Benedict who takes a healthy sip immediately. “Come,” Granville gestures, “Let me show you around.”

Benedict follows the man he already classes as a friend. He hums at the appropriate time, eyes dancing around every room he is taken into, taking in the numerous pieces of art and the growing number of people.

Finally, Granville leads him to a room bathed in studious silence. Five people stand in the room; four stand behind easels – the picture of concentration as brushes scratching on canvas is the only sound in the room. The fifth person stands proudly before the back wall; posing elegantly, a lady stands completely naked save for an apple held delicately in the palm of her hand.

“This is Ariadne, our life model for tonight,” Granville introduces, smiling at the model without an ounce of care that she stands naked in his living room.

“Ariadne,” Benedict nods, doing his best to look anywhere but her naked body. He wasn’t usually this awkward around women, but the last thing he expected tonight was a life model. His usual influences for art came from clothed members of the public.

Granville takes a seat at an easel, studying Ariadne with great care before picking up a thin brush. As he runs it through the nearby oil paint, he calls to Benedict, “Join us!”

Benedict shakes his head, heading towards the door. Granville nods understandingly; it was a lot for a person’s first time at a soiree such as this. “Another time perhaps,” Granville says as Benedict leaves the room.

Closing the door, Benedict leaves the artists to their muse. His fingers twitch for his sketchpad, thinking of the images he could create; he had seen the empty seat in front of a spare easel, but he couldn’t bring himself to sit down and create the art he saw in his mind. Another time, he thinks to himself.

He turns away from the door where his attention is immediately tethered to a couple across the hallway.

The couple are in the middle of an embrace; connected at the mouth with hands beginning to wander clothing. The stays to the lady’s dress are loosened, the relieved gasp quickly swallowed by her partner’s mouth. Hands continue to wander; moans swallowed by joint mouths. It’s a sight to behold even as the position is changed; the woman straddling her partner, beginning to move her hips to the rhythm of music only they must be able to hear.

Unable to tear his stare away from the couple, Benedict feels his mouth drop open at the impropriety before him.

“Come now, Mr. Bridgerton,” A feminine voice teases, “Surely you’ve seen worse.”

Benedict bristles; unhappy with the tone of her voice and the accusation lightly punctuating the air. “Not that it is any of your business, but I have seen worse.”

Her eyebrows fly into her hair, clearly not expecting the rebuff. Benedict represses a smile at the expression on her face; his eyes dance around the hallway, not knowing where to look without fear of landing on the amorous couple. Benedict had never been one to shy away from love and lust and where it can lead you, but he had never been witness to such an event. The last thing he needed for himself (and his family) was to be classed as a voyeur.

“Follow me,” She announces, crooking a finger at Benedict before walking away.

Helpless and out of his comfort zone, Benedict follows the nameless lady. His eyes pour over her figure as he walks behind her like a lost puppy; her dress is finely made, the fabric clearly new. Benedict keeps his eyes fixed head, refusing to let his gaze drop any lower as she opens a door, standing to one side to let him enter first.

The room is adequately sized; enough room for a fireplace already blazing, a couch big enough for two and a small table and chairs. It’s comfortable; the room is well lit from the candles around the room and the large fire.

The well-dressed lady follows Benedict into the room, leaving him standing in the centre as she heads towards a drinks cabinet. She grabs two glasses and a decanter of liquid that Benedict cannot decipher. Scotch, whisky, brandy – all three would fare him well at this point.

Wordlessly, she hands Benedict a drink. A knuckle’s length of amber liquid swirls in the glass, lit up by the roaring fire. “You have me at a disadvantage,” Benedict starts, “You know my name, but I do not know yours.”

She smiles; eyes crinkling from the force of it. “You can spy a Bridgerton by the colour of their eyes,” She snorts, shaking her head at the ridiculousness of it, “I’m (Y/N).”

Benedict bows his head; the very picture of gentlemanly politeness. “It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

If possible, (Y/N)’s smile grows larger, trying her hardest to repress the laughter bubbling inside of her. “This isn’t your usual scene, Mr. Bridgerton.”

Benedict shakes his head. “I’m a friend of Henry’s and call me Benedict please. After being witness to the couple outside, I think we can forgo formalities.”

Laughter escapes her mouth, powerless to help herself. Benedict frowns at her reaction, but (Y/N) waves a hand in apology. “I remembered your face,” She offers in explanation, “You mentioned that you had seen worse, but you still looked so scandalised.”

Benedict huffs, crossing his legs, sipping at his drink before answering. “I didn’t know what to expect from tonight. Henry is an artist! I just never expected that.”

“We’re all artists, Benedict, in one form or another. We’re practically bohemian.”

“Does that happen often?” He asks, nodding towards the door where Benedict holds no doubt that more clothing will have been lost between the enamoured couple.

(Y/N) lifts a single shoulder in a shrug. “More often than not. The intimacy that is required with art combined with the amount of alcohol consumed tends to lead to such things.”

“Have you ever taken part in such things?” Benedict asks before realising the extent and implication of his words. “Forgive me,” He coughs, “I’m not usually so forward. You don’t need to answer.”

“No, I don’t think I do,” (Y/N) answers honestly, amused at the lack of filter from the Bridgerton. “Why don’t I ask the next question?”

“Please do,” Benedict responds, loosening the cravat at his neck, deciding to take it off altogether.

“Tell me,” She begins, eyes on the skin now bare to the room, “Do you prefer paints or pastels?”

“Neither,” Benedict answers, “I prefer graphite or charcoal.”

“Interesting…”

“Is it?”

“It is! But I cannot think of a reason why.”

Benedict snorts, draining the last few amber drops in his glass. Silent for a moment, Benedict hums before asking, “Do you draw?”

“Heavens no,” (Y/N) responds, “I’m a talented seamstress, but landscapes and watercolours are not for me.”

“Then why are you here?” Benedict asks; the words unintentionally sharp. He cringes before offering (Y/N) an apologetic smile.

“My friend invited me,” (Y/N) defends, “You met her earlier.”

“I did?”

(Y/N) nods. “You did. She was the life model you were trying your hardest not to ogle.”

Benedict flushes; heat spreading from his neck to his cheeks – partly fuelled by the alcohol in his system, partly fuelled by the knowledge of being caught out. Benedict clears his throat, unable to hide his embarrassment. “I didn’t think anyone had noticed.”

(Y/N) smiles widely. “They didn’t, but you don’t make it habit to frequent such parties. It was clearly a shock to your system.”

Benedict exhales with a laugh; all the while wishing he had another drink in his hand. “I’m not new to art,” He confesses, “But I am new to this… environment.”

(Y/N) leans forward in her chair; her eyes sparkling in the dim candlelight. A coy smile crosses her lips and Benedict idly wonders what she would taste like as she asks, “And what do you think of this new environment?”

Benedict drags his gaze away from (Y/N)’s mouth to look her in the eyes. Evenings like this are something he could quickly get used to so long as he had her company in the early hours of the morn. A wicked grin spreads across his face as he answers, “With your company, I’m fairly certain that I could come to enjoy this new environment.”

“Only fairly?” (Y/N) murmurs, sipping at her drink before continuing, “I think we’re going to have to turn ‘fairly’ into an absolute.”

Benedict tips his head to one side, wondering whether it would go against societal customs to offer his hand in marriage after only knowing someone for an evening. The thought lingers at the back of Benedict’s mind as he replies, “I have complete and utter faith in your ability to do such a thing.”

(Y/N)’s answering smile has Benedict wondering about marriage for a second time in less than two minutes. What would be the appropriate time to ask someone for their hand? He thinks. A powerful enough thought that Benedict has to look away from her; desperate not to ruin a newly budding friendship.

The clock strikes one; the chimes making (Y/N) jump as they ring through the tension-filled room. A sad sigh leaves her lips as she stands, placing her glass on a nearby table.

“I’m afraid I must go,” She declares, biting her bottom lip, lingering in front of the Bridgerton.

Benedict rises from his seat, his voice close to wobbling as he murmurs, “Must you?”

(Y/N) smiles wistfully. “Not all of us have family money, Benedict. I have two dresses to finish for tomorrow evening and I need to sleep.”

“Will I see you again?” He asks, unable to keep the hope from his voice as his mind spins all sorts of fantasies of their next meeting.

(Y/N) nods; Benedict’s heart soars.

“Thank you for a lovely evening, Benedict Bridgerton. I’m sure I’ll see you soon.”

“The pleasure was all mine,” Benedict replies a second too late. She’s gone and Benedict is left to wondering how many seamstresses there are in London.

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

If Benedict was thinking logically, he knew that there wasn’t thousands of modistes and seamstresses across London. He knew that the number was much closer to hundreds, but to him that was still too many. He thinks back over the interactions from that night, examining the conversations, trying to find a hint of whether (Y/N) had given him the address of her shop. The more he cross examines, the less evidence he finds.

At this point in his investigation to her whereabouts, Benedict was no longer thinking logically. He was thinking with his heart – desperate to see her again so soon. He didn’t want to have to wait until another party where she just might show up. No, he wanted to see her in her own environment where Benedict had no doubt she would flourish.

He makes himself wait three days before beginning the task of tracking her down. His first port of call was to Henry Granville, asking whether he knew anything of the lady accompanying the life model. Henry knew of her by face, but not much bar her first name. He leaves Benedict with a word of encouragement and a promise of another party soon; Benedict thanks the man heartily, knowing that Henry had tried his best.

However, it left Benedict in a predicament that meant he had to bring in reinforcements.

“I need your help,” Benedict pleads of his dear sister, Eloise Bridgerton a day after starting his hunt for her.

“Whatever for?”

“I need to find someone… a friend.”

“A friend?” Eloise asks sounding very much as if she didn’t believe a word leaving her elder brother’s mouth.

“Am I not allowed to have friends?” Benedict asks of his sister, exasperated at her curiosity. Eloise raises a single eyebrow, and it isn’t a minute later that Benedict begs of his sister, “Please do not tell mother.”

The laughter that leaves Eloise lasts for the next three streets, her chuckles grating on Benedict’s nerves. “Where did you meet her?” Eloise eventually asks, much calmer now that she had gotten the laughter out of her system.

“At Mr. Granville’s if you must know.”

Eloise doesn’t answer; she casts her gaze across her brother’s face, reading eh expression there and the hopeful look in his eyes. Whoever she was, she had done a number on her brother for him to be this desperate to find her.

“Why not wait for the next party?”

Benedict huffs, “She may not go to the next party, then I would be back at the beginning.”

Eloise falls silent again. She watches her older brother, watches how he fiddles with his fingers – a nervous tic he’s hand since he was a boy apparently, it happened more when he was itching to reach for his sketchpad in an attempt to keep his mind quiet.

“She’s really made an impression on you, hasn’t she?”

Benedict sighs, peering up at his sister as he calms his hands. “Please?” He asks quietly, not daring to voice the beg any louder than it needs to be.

Eloise reaches across the gap between them, covering Benedict’s hands with hers. For a moment, he isn’t the elder brother but a man in need of help. “I’ll help you, Benedict.”

“Thank you,” He replies; the relief in his voice evident as his whole body relaxes.

-----------

The tightness in his chest that has plagued him for the last week lifts as soon as his eyes land on her. She hasn’t seen him yet; too busy with another client gushing about their latest dress. (Y/N) looks flattered as she takes in compliment after compliment and Benedict can see why; she is clearly a talented modiste. If it didn’t raise suspicion on his end, he would suggest his mother come here instead of the seamstress just off Grosvenor Square.

The customer soon departs leaving Benedict and Eloise the sole clients in the shop. (Y/N) brushes down her dress, collecting herself before greeting her newest customers.

She freezes when she finds the tall stature of Benedict Bridgerton in and amongst the countless mannequins of her shop. Plastering on a polite smile, she steps forward, “How may I help you today?”

Benedict remains frozen; his stare solely focused on (Y/N). Eloise steps forward, nudging her brother in the side with her elbow. Eloise smiles at (Y/N). “From my brother’s reaction, we have found who we were looking for.”

“Pardon?”

“I’m in the market for a new dress,” Eloise states, elbowing her brother once more.

“Yes!” Benedict coughs, brought out of his stupor, “Eloise needs a new dress.”

(Y/N) glances between the siblings; the awed expression on Benedict’s face combined with the knowing smile on Eloise’s doesn’t settle her nerves. Instead, it heightens them. (Y/N) turns to Eloise, flashing her a friendly smile. “If you wouldn’t mind, could I borrow your brother?”

Eloise snorts. “You may keep him if that helps.”

(Y/N) laughs, covering her mouth before grabbing Benedict’s hand, leading him to the back of the shop. “What are you doing here?” (Y/N) questions; her eyes wide as she closes the door behind them. This was a conversation to have in private; not one to be had in front of Benedict’s sister.

“Accompanying my sister to buy a new dress for an upcoming ball,” Benedict replies smartly, his tone innocent as he applauds himself for asking Eloise to join him on his mission.

(Y/N) fixes him with a flat look, not believing a single word leaving his lips. Benedict flounders for a second before smiling bashfully at the seamstress. It wasn’t often that Benedict was left speechless, but (Y/N) reduced him to such manners.

After a moment, Benedict sighs, deciding honesty to be the best policy. “I wanted to see you again.”

(Y/N)’s face softens at Benedict’s confession, unable to fend off the growing fondness for the Bridgerton. If she was being honest with herself, (Y/N) hadn’t stopped thinking of the man since leaving Mr. Granville’s party.

Just as quick as the fondness set in, so does the worry on Benedict’s behalf. Gesturing between them both, (Y/N) offers Benedict a sad smile. “Nothing can come of this, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“What do you mean? Call me Benedict, you did the other night.”

“There were no class lines the other night,” She all but cries, “Outside of Mr. Granville’s home, we cannot be friends, Mr. Bridgerton.”

“Benedict,” He emphasises, “To you, I am Benedict. Not ‘Mr. Bridgerton’.”

“Benedict,” She whispers, giving in to the pleading look in those blue eyes of his.

“Why can’t we be friends?” He asks quietly as if scared to voice such a question louder out of fear of the response.

“You’re the son of a Viscount. I am a seamstress. Outside of my making dresses for your female relatives, where do our paths cross socially?”

“I want them to cross,” Benedict protests almost childishly, crossing his arms as if they were the personification of the budding relationship blooming between (Y/N) and himself.

(Y/N) laughs without humour. “Think of the fallout, Benedict. You would lose friends and contacts. I would be reduced to the rumour of a mistress and lose clients.”

Benedict purses his lips; trying to find fault in her argument but he comes up empty. Class lines were so rigidly drawn in current society and Benedict knew that (Y/N) was more than deserving to be thrown to the vicious rumour mill of London ton.

“What about Granville’s parties?” Benedict offers as a solution. “You say we cannot socialise so openly so let’s meet there with every party.”

“You would go to that extent to win my friendship?”

He nods. “I had the most fun the other night than I had in a long time and I have a very strong feeling it was down to you. You say we cannot be friends so openly, so this is the next best thing. Do I feel go about keeping you a secret? Not particularly, but London society can be unforgivably cruel, and I’ll be damned if I see you suffer at the hands of it.”

(Y/N) blinks rapidly, ridding herself of the tears that grew throughout Benedict’s impassioned speech. “Mr. Granville’s it is, then.”

Benedict smiles; relief flooding his system at your words of agreement. Impulsively, he takes your hand, squeezing it once before letting it drop. The very action sets his veins alight with emotions he has not felt in a very long time, but he doesn’t not let them distract him as he whispers, “I’ll send a messenger with the date and time of the next soiree. Will I see you there?”

“You will,” (Y/N) murmurs, “I promise you.”

Benedict flashes her a handsome smile before returning to the front of the shop, knowing full well he has been too long to be acceptable.

Eloise greets him with a superior smile. Crossing her arms, she asks, “Did you find what you were looking for?”

Turning back to face the back of the shop, Benedict smiles to himself. “Yes, I think I have,” He answers, offering Eloise an arm, departing the shop once and for all.

-----------

28th April, 9pm. Mr. Granville’s home. I hope to see you there.

The missive arrives not four days later. (Y/N) reads and rereads the small piece of paper, memorising Benedict’s elegant handwriting. Anticipation curls in her gut making it hard for her to focus on the task at hand; she had three dresses to finish all for next week. If she didn’t focus now, nothing would get done. She would end up wasting the evening by daydreaming of a Bridgerton and their handsome smile.

She hadn’t expected him. He had entered her life so suddenly. After their initial meeting, she hadn’t expected to see him again; had accepted that it was a one-off meeting that Benedict would soon forget, soon taken with the newest fascination in his life if he wasn’t married off by the end of the season.

That didn’t happen. Instead, he had shown up in her shop with his sister in tow. He had begged for a friendship, to see her again. He kept surprising her at every turn, kept startling her when she least expected it.

Yet, she knew she had to be careful. Not only of her heart, but of her reputation. If the two were caught and things misunderstood, it would not be Benedict to suffer. It would be her; she would be reduced to rumours of impropriety, labelled a ‘fallen woman’ whilst Benedict would most likely suffer a harsh word from his mother and a clap on the back from his brothers.

Society, in general, was cruel. London society, however, was punishing when it wanted to be.

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

The 28th April rolls around quickly. (Y/N) losing herself in her work, sewing until the late hours of the night and the early hours of the morning to ensure that the gowns are ready and that she is free enough to attend the party.

Stepping out of the carriage, (Y/N) steadies herself for a moment, taking a deep breath to settle the butterflies exciting her. She felt ridiculous, letting herself be this affected by the man after only one meeting. Yet, he had shown up at her shop, after searching for her for however long.

(Y/N) felt in two minds. On one hand, she wanted the friendship of Benedict Bridgerton for the simple fact that he was entertaining. On the other hand, she despised the idea that she may be a project for the man – their opposite places in society becoming a barrier between them.

The atmosphere in Mr. Granville’s house is heady as (Y/N) enters the premises; the party very much in full swing as she sheds her shawl and leaves it on a side table. She smiles at those she recognises, waving quickly at Ariadne who she finds modelling for many artists once more. Ariadne smiles back but doesn’t move; her eye on a particular artist, a female she knew she would be going home with that night.

(Y/N) shakes her head fondly at the antics of her friend; having known Ariadne for years and loved her proclivity for men and women. (Y/N) admired Ariadne’s lack of shame for who she is, who she wants to be. She doesn’t let the law stop of her from loving who she wants to.

Arriving at the door she entered through last time, (Y/N) hesitates, feeling unsure of herself. A small flash of doubt lances through her mind as she reaches for the doorknob; how long was this going to last before Benedict got bored? How long did she have with the man that was no doubt going to change her world?

The very thought haunts her as she enters the room, finding Benedict in the same spot as last time. He stands when he sees (Y/N) standing the doorway; his suit elegantly rumpled as if he had been sat there for some time. His blue eyes sparkle in the dimly lit room; the only light coming from the fire in the grate. His smile brightens as he takes in her appearance.

“You came,” Benedict breathes, his voice relieved as if he was worried that she may not attend the party after all.

“I promised you I would,” (Y/N) replies, taking the offered glass from Benedict. Their fingers brush and (Y/N) tries exceptionally hard to ignore the jolt of electricity that passes between them. Friendship, she snipes to herself, nothing more.

“I know,” He whispers, “But I’m glad all the same.”

Something in (Y/N) melts at the stark honesty of his words; she found herself being knocked off her axis and it was only their third meeting.

“I have to know,” (Y/N) starts, her voice amused as she takes a seat across from the brunette, “How many shops did you go into before finding mine?”

Benedict averts his gaze, distracting himself from answering by taking a long sip of his drink. “Too many,” He eventually answers.

“You don’t know the number?”

“I know the exact number, I could even tell you their names, but I hesitate to tell you.”

“You have to tell me now,” (Y/N) prompts, leaning forward in her chair, resting her elbows on the table. “Please?”

Benedict sighs a war-weary sigh; acting as if (Y/N) had worn him down to his very last nerve. With a light blush dusting his cheeks, Benedict admits, “I visited close to fifteen shops with Eloise before finding yours.”

“Fifteen?!” (Y/N) all but shouts, laughter soon falling from her lips as rain would fall from the sky. The very sound sets Benedict’s heart racing within his chest making him wonder whether it was going to run right out of his chest any moment.

“Eloise was very grateful when we found you. She despises dress shopping.”

“Yet she went to fifteen dress shops with you in order to find me.”

“She’s my favourite sibling, but don’t tell the others.”

“How many do you have? I’ve heard of the famous Bridgerton brood but never focused long enough to find out how many children there were.”

“Eight of us in total,” Benedict laughs at (Y/N)’s gasp, “We’re named alphabetically too. My father used to joke it was so he could keep track of us easier.”

“A wise idea,” (Y/N) murmurs.

“He was a wise man,” Benedict states, thinking of his departed father with a keen sting of grief. It didn’t matter how long his father had been gone, the wound would never heal. He would miss his father until his very last day on this earth; Benedict would spend the rest of his life trying to emulate Edmund Bridgerton’s life lessons.

A pensive silence descends only for a moment before (Y/N) asks, “Why did you look for me?”

The blush returns to Benedict’s cheeks. “Would you believe me if I said I wanted to see you again?” He asks sheepishly. He had prepared himself for such a conversation but having it in real life was no comparison to the fantasy in his head.

“Why did you want to see me again? Why not wait for the next party?”

“I wasn’t sure you would attend the next party,” Benedict reasons, “And I really did want to see you again.”

(Y/N) smiles bashfully, ducking her head as his words wash over her. She fiddles with the stem of the glass in her hand before taking a long sip; the worries from earlier had returned with the conviction behind his words. She had to know; if she didn’t ask him, she would never know and she would never be prepared for the day he would inevitably grow bored and move onto the next project. “Can we be honest with each other for a moment, Benedict?”

“I thought we have been so far.”

(Y/N) smiles despite herself. Schooling her face into a mask of polite interest, she tries to cover the concern and worry steadily rising in her gut. “This isn’t a saviour moment for you is it? Befriending a poorer seamstress, getting to know her before eventually getting bored?”

“I haven’t thought of it as that for one moment.”

“You haven’t?”

“I haven’t, but the fact that you have says more about my character than I care to admit.”

“I didn’t mean to insult you,” She hurries to say, worried about losing the friendship that had only just begun and scared of hurting Benedict’s feelings.

“You haven’t insulted me,” Benedict promises with a small smile.

“I can’t help but worry,” She admits in a small voice.

“I would socialise with you in public, but you made such a sound argument the other week that I couldn’t find fault. You’re right, it could lead to all sorts of trouble, but I want you to know that I do not have a saviour complex. I just enjoy your company.”

(Y/N) relaxes, sagging further into the chair as she lets herself breathe freely since the worrisome thought entered her mind. Now that it was out in the open, she could smile more without worry. “I enjoy your company too,” She confesses, “You’re quite refreshing.”

“Refreshing?” Benedict asks, sounding close to laughter.

(Y/N) rolls her eyes at the older gentleman. “Yes, refreshing. I deal with meddlesome mothers and droll daughters all day. You make me laugh… it’s refreshing.”

“I’m glad I can provide refreshment,” Benedict laughs, his smile wide with his happiness.

Happy smiles are exchanged as the worries leave (Y/N)’s mind. She was wanted here by the man sat across from her; he had no plans to leave any time soon. For now, her mind is settled and as she raises her glass to the Bridgerton across from her, she briefly wonders whether her heart would soon be settled too.

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

The friendship continues for weeks; neither of them the wiser to their growing feelings for the other. If they are, they remain silent, not wanting to disturb the status quo but rather, pine from a distance.

They continue to meet at Mr. Granville’s, sneaking away to their room where they talk for hours about anything and everything.

At one point, (Y/N) manages to convince Benedict to bring his sketchpad with him where he fills pages with drawings of her. She doesn’t realise it; she doesn’t know that the small sketch of hands holding a champagne flute is Benedict’s study of her.

Time passes and they become attached to the other; saving pieces of information and stories of friends and family for when they finally get to see each other. The time they have together filled with laughter; the class lines that separate them outside Mr. Granville’s home practically invisible as Benedict chokes on his drink at the scandalous nature of (Y/N)’s story, unaware such language could leave such a woman.

It’s easy, it’s natural. It’s all Benedict has to fill his time between the mind-numbing balls and luncheons set up by his mother in order to find him a wife. Little does Violet Bridgerton know that Benedict has found someone he would devote the rest of his life to but whether she would be willing, whether she loves him as wholly as he loves her is another matter entirely.

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

He starts to haunt her dreams from their very first meeting. The colour of his eyes combined with the brightness of his smile chased her from sleep much faster than she would have liked.

Sitting up in bed, she rests her chin on her knees, feeling the helplessness that often accompanies the swift descent into love.

In the short time she had spent in Benedict’s company, (Y/N) had to admit that she had fallen head over heels for the brunette. Sighing heavily, she tries to pinpoint the exact moment her feelings turned from platonic to romantic but finds herself unable to do so. At this point, she cannot help but wonder whether she had fallen for him the first instance she saw him. He looked so out of depth in his perfectly pressed clothes; it was adorable.

(Y/N) runs a hand across her face in an attempt to dispel the lingering tiredness but to also ride herself of thoughts of the man who had so readily captured her heart without knowing he had done so.

How could she explain this feeling? Her heart refused to calm in his presence, beating away in her chest as if ready to take flight. Benedict smiled in her direction and her mind ceased to form coherent thought. She didn’t tell anyone how in the darkest hours of the night, she stretched a hand across the empty blankets of her bed, imagining what it would be like to have Benedict lie next to her. Would he snore? Was he an early riser or did he prefer to sleep in?

Such questions would travel the expanse of her mind until the birds began to announce the arrival of a new day. Her mind creating daydreams that left her heart aching in her chest when she came back to earth, reminded harshly of the barriers that divided them.

What scent did he prefer? Did he favour scotch or brandy?

Endlessly she tortured herself with such questions. Spinning fantasies in which she woke up every morning with Benedict by her side. She would wake to find him already watching her, as if in disbelief that she would choose to love a man such as him.

A single tear escapes (Y/N)’s eye as she forces herself back to the present. Eyeing her small rooms, (Y/N) thought that she should be fortunate that a man such as Benedict Bridgerton would give her the honour of his much requested time. It would do her no good to fall in love with him now.

Straightening up and running a hand through her sleep plait, (Y/N) vows to rid herself of her feelings for the second eldest Bridgerton.

However, as the vow is sealed, a small voice in the back of (Y/N)’d mind casts doubt on her ability to do such a thing.

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

“Eloise has been asking after you,” Benedict comments; choosing the line of conversation for this section of the evening. At this point, they’ve been at Granville’s home for hours, covering all topics of conversation conceivable. (Y/N) had updated Benedict on Ariadne’s clandestine love affair with a daughter of a prominent member of His Majesty’s Navy to which Benedict spent over an hour trying to guess which officer and which daughter. (Y/N) delighted in announcing his incorrect guesses.

“How is she?” She asks, feeling a distant fondness for the woman who had shown up in her shop so many weeks ago.

“Distracted if I’m being truthful,” Benedict murmurs, “Her hands are always covered in ink. I think she has an admirer.”

“And why shouldn’t she?” (Y/N) demands, crossing her arms. “Eloise is a beautiful young woman. Any man would be lucky to have her.”

“She’s turned down the last three marriage proposals so I’m curious to see what type of man has captured her attention.”

“Siblings and their nosiness,” (Y/N) admonishes though there is no heat behind it.

“I want what’s best for her,” Benedict defends.

“I know you do,” She whispers, fondness for the man sitting across from her surging through her. It leaves her quiet; it leaves her breathless as she fends off the heart racing, stomach turning affection she feels for the second eldest Bridgerton.

Benedict closes his eyes, kicking up his heels and resting them on the table. A happy, content smile crosses his lips as he lets himself enjoy the moment they find themselves in.

I could do this for the rest of myself, (Y/N) thinks to herself, I could sit with him for the rest of my life.

It’s with that thought that (Y/N) knows she has broken the vow she made only a few days ago.

“You’re different tonight… quieter. Is something the matter?” Benedict asks, a note of concern in his voice.

(Y/N) shakes her head, refusing to look the man in the eye. Instead, she focuses her gaze on her glass, swirling the liquid around as if it were the most fascinating thing in the whole world.

Benedict sighs, reaching across the table, taking her glass from her hand and placing it on the table in front of them. He stops himself from covering her hand with his; that is a luxury for couples. As much as Benedict wanted more, he would settle for being her friend.

“You can tell me anything, (Y/N),” Benedict murmurs quietly, breaking her resolve clean in half.

“I broke my vow,” She whispers, voice close to breaking.

“What vow?” Benedict asks, panic beginning to rise internally. “Are you promised to another?”

“Nothing like that,” (Y/N) reassures, “I broke a vow that I made to myself which somehow makes me feel worse. I would rather I broke a promise of marriage.”

“I don’t understand what you mean.”

(Y/N) sniffles, wiping a hand under her eyes before laughing humourlessly. “A few nights ago, I made myself a promise and it seems that I am unable to keep such a vow.”

“Would you tell me that vow?”

(Y/N) sighs, seeing no point in lying to him. “I vowed that I would rid myself of my feelings for you.”

“And have you?” Benedict asks warily; he needs to know whether he has a chance to love her the way he wants to. He wants to be her everything; he wants to kiss her goodnight and then kiss her good morning hours later.

She shakes her head; wisps of hair flying loose from her updo. “I don’t think I ever really tried. I don’t think I want to lose my feelings for you.”

“I don’t often make grand declarations, I don’t believe in over the top displays of affection,” Benedict begins; his eyes fixed on her face, on every movement of her lips, “But I love you, (Y/N). I love you and if I need to, I will make a grand declaration, I will shout it from the rooftop of Buckingham Palace.”

“Please don’t do that!” (Y/N) gasps, an amused smile on her face. “I love you too, I love you with everything I am, but aren’t you worried?”

“Worried?”

“Of the fallout? It could never work, Benedict. See sense, please,” She pleads; eyes wide.

“Why wouldn’t it work? We love each other, surely that should be enough.”

“It is enough for me, Benedict,” She reassures quickly, “But it isn’t enough for the rest of society.”

“Why do you care what they think?”

“My entire business relies on such things, Benedict! Whether I earn an income over the season is down to what the ton think.”

“It is so easy to get lost in the wealth, the titles and the balls,” Benedict whispers, “You bring me back down to earth; remind me that I could happily live without the grandeur because I would have the love of the woman I have come to adore.”

The words have her argument crumbling into ash before her. There was no arguing with that; he was prepared to live a simpler life with her.

“You would do that for me? Live a simpler life?” She asks because she has to know; she has to know that she isn’t something he would come to regret in the weeks, months, years that pass. She couldn’t live with herself if he harboured any resentment towards her for his loss of societal ties; the very thought terrified her.

“Darling,” Benedict states, “I would give it all up for you. As long as I have you, I do not need the life in London and everything else that comes with it. We can live in the country; I have a cottage there that I am sure you’re going to love.”

“What about your family?”

“They’ll love your almost as much as I love you.”

“They won’t hate me?” She asks, voice timid as she thinks of the matriarch of the Bridgerton family, knowing she was not a woman to cross.

“They could never.”

(Y/N) begins to nod; slow at first before growing more rapidly with a smile breaking out across her face. “Okay,” She breathes, “I love you, Benedict Bridgerton. I’m not scared anymore.”

Benedict gathers her in his arms, finally getting to hold her after dreaming of such an action for so long. Better than his dreams, he thinks to himself as he glances between her stare and her lips. Silently, she nods, smiling softly as Benedict takes that final leap, pressing their lips together.

(Y/N) sighs against his mouth; a noise he could happily hear for the rest of his life. Her hands grasp the lapels of his jacket, pulling him even closer. She feels like heaven against him as Benedict continues to taste the remnants of her drink on her lips.

Her hands leave his jacket, reaching up to card through his hair. (Y/N) tugs lightly at the dark brown locks, smiling into the kiss at the sound of the low groan in the back of Benedict’s throat. (Y/N) loses herself in the feel of the man against her; all hard lines and muscles, he feels like a Greek god and she a mere mortal getting to experience the heady passion written about in epic poems and plays.

Desperate for air, but not desperate to leave the arms of the man she loves so wholly, (Y/N) breaks the kiss. Panting, Benedict kisses her lightly once, twice, three times before pressing his forehead to hers. A moment of peace before the rush of the future began.

Boundaries, divides, lines really meant little when you had found the one who truly saw you.

****

Bridgerton Taglist: @heloisedaphnebrightmore @dreaming-about-fanfictions @janelongxox @now-its-time-for-a-breakdown @aspiringsloth20 @wallwriterstuff @magicalxdaydream @darkestbeforethedawn16 @gryffindors-weasley @spideysz

#benedict bridgerton #benedict bridgerton x reader #benedict x reader #bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton fanfiction #benedict bridgerton imagines #Bridgerton #bridgerton imagines

272 notes · View notes

mrsgojosatoru · 2 years ago

Note

i need to hear your thoughts on requiem of the rose king

You got it!

I am almost finished with this one. I just finished volume 12.

Okay lets start, the art is fantastic, like let's get that out of the way from the start. Like absolutely stunning. I haven't watched the anime because I've seen stills and it does not even come close to doing it justice. (Typical for shoujo fans. If we GET an anime, the budget is 2$. Like I love Spy x Family but part of me is bitter that it's clear they got such a massive budget where as the ROTRK did not.)

Anyways this is another series where game of thrones wishes it had the emotional impact of a shoujo manga. Especially since the book series drew inspiration from the War of the Roses. But game of thrones will never be as good as ROTRK.

So it's based on the War of the Roses, and Shakespeare's historical plays about King Henry the VI and Richard the III. Richard is our protagonist and we see him go from third brother to the throne while dealing with the various political machinations of the throne. (Like seriously if you did love the political infighting in ASOIAF / Game of thrones, you'll love this manga.)

Now this is one where you don't need to like infer a queer reading of the text, like you do with Price Freya, this one -- like Utena -- is just queer. Our main character is a man who almost exclusively has relationships with men. (Though he's definitely bisexual, as he does love at least one woman.) Further more our main character is intersex!

He faces a lot of discrimination for being intersex, like is literally outright abused by his mother because of it. The fact that he is intersex is kept from almost everyone, as he's worried of the further discrimination he'll face for it. And the important relationships for Richard are when he feels accepted for who he is completely. And that most of his relationships, even with good and sympathetic people fall apart because he cannot be completely honest about himself.

It's so good, the political intrigue is so fun. Richard isn't a good person and you still root for him at the end of it all. The way Aya Kanno draws out your sympathy for her main character is so good. That even when he's not a perfect person, he's still someone you empathize for and root for. And that you want him to find love and peace above all things.

It's an excellent manga all around, but it's also one of my top queer shoujo recs.

#requiem of the rose king #rachel's shoujo corner

10 notes · View notes

vodkassassin · 4 years ago

Note

Hey hun! Reminding you about that Moshang list like you asked!

Sorry this took so long, I ran out of energy and didn’t get any more until like, yesterday. Okay, so! Moshang fic recs!!

AN IDIOT’S GUIDE TO A HAPPY MARRIAGE by tagteamme. Chapters: 8/8, words: 156,680

Summary: In order to pay off a debt that's not his, Shang Qinghua agrees to marry a man that's as cold and unyielding as he is stupidly rich.

Vod Notes: I’m not normally one for modern AU’s, but there’s just something about aspiring CEO MBJ and flat out broke SQH somehow wiggling his way into his heart that gets to me. The characterizations in this story are flawless, and the customary Moshang miscommunication/misunderstanding had me tearing out my hair at several points, yelling at these two dumbasses; and that’s how you know it’s a good one. 9/10 because I experienced lots of stress while reading this, which actually is a sign of a fantastic story, I’m just really weak and pathetic and immerse myself in reading way too much, so actually 11/10! Depends on how you look at it I suppose lol

a rose by any other name by sarahyyy. Chapters 1/1, words: 6,795

Summary: The one where Shang Qinghua suddenly becomes Prime Demon Marriage Material™ (bc of the LBH/SQQ marriage).

Vod Notes: somft. MBJ just loves SQH so very much, and SQH is pining ad dense as fuck. The perfect Moshang fic recipe. They are warm, soft, clueless idiots in this while still somehow being entirely competent, and we love to see that. SQH is a man made of contingency plans <3 I love it when authors do my son justice. 10/10

How to Panic Your Demon King by StarlightLion. Chapters: 1/1, words: 7,816

Summary: Mu Qingfang is starting to wonder if this is a requirement to be a demon lord. At least this one isn't kidnapping him.

Vod Notes: A delicious one shot about MBj worrying about the love of his life, who is a strong, dedicated, talented man who has an unfortunate training mishaps and then tries to cover it up bc he’s also dumb and doesn’t want to worry anyone. Stupid man. SQH we love you pls take care of yourself. You’re giving your husband grey hairs. A special treat toward the end with a MQF POV! My sexy doctor man is exasperated and done with everything. 10/10

it must follow, as the night the day by Tossawary. Chapters: 7/7, words: 26,342

Summary: Airplane Bro transmigrates into his own web-novel only to find out that the System messed up his world! Shang Qinghua is a demon in this world! All the characters supposed to be humans are demons in this world! And all the characters supposed to be demons are...?

Vod Notes: You simply cannot go wrong with Tossawary. They have the most scrumptious servings of Moshang in all the land. For this specific one, we’re gifted with a lovely Role Reversal AU! It’s got everything! Demon!SQH who is a absolute mess of a man? Serious cultivator MBJ who is stoic and cold but has the heart of a hero (or just a heart hardwired for SQH specifically)? Espionage? Feed it to me slowly like grapes. 11/10

You Will Never Step Lightly in the Dark by Janusoverlord. Chapters: 11/11, words 57,218

Summary: Shang Qinghua wakes up in the aftermath of Tianlang-Jun's rampage on Cang Qiong Mountain and has to navigate the delicate political situation he now finds himself in. Luo Binghe is building a harem with Shen Qingqiu as his first, and honestly most terrifying, husband. Yet, Luo Binghe seems to be turning his eyes to Shang Qinghua as a possibility as well. Excuse you? What is this? He didn't sign up for this!

Vod Notes: holy fuuuuuuuuuuuuuck this one blew my entire mind! Not only do we have SQH looking out for number one (which is himself, bless you my son) when shit turns strictly bad, but we have a absolutely, one of a kind, PHENOMENAL badass SQQ who is supporting his bro and fucking shit up left and right and everywhere for Airplane’s sake. God. This was like drinking fine wine. Breathtaking, spectacular. My life has been changed. MBJ spends most of this being a big, sulky, upset mess but don’t worry, cucumberplane fixes that up themselves. LBH get’s put in time out by both his husbands (because this is LBH/SQQ/LQG), because he fucks up in this majorly and SQQ isn’t fucking happy and doesn’t let him get away with it just because he gives him the puppy eyes and I AM LIVINGGGGGGGGG!! TLDR: simply superb badass cucumberplane, sad boy MBJ hours, and LQG gets stuck with babysit the naughty demon king duty. VERDICT: umm?! 7000/10

A Queen’s Trials (And How to Speedrun Them) by daddykeehl. Chapters: 1/8(as of 4/17/21), words: 25,000.

Summary: Shang Qinghua is now well on his way to the same happily-ever-after that every protagonist gets, but two things stand in his way. The Queen's Trials, and a council that just won't give up. Too bad for them, they really don't know who they're dealing with.

Vod Notes: Sorry I can’t hear any of your questions over the loud, shrill screams of my absolute LOVE for this story. it’s not finished, no, but it’s set up in arcs per chapter, so I’m fine with waiting for the next one to come along, and so will you if you read this. Because, lemme tell you. Fucking amazing. An SQH who knows everything about the North? He’s God, dammit, why wouldn’t he? Using that to his advantage? Not just to prolong his life, but to legally win the right to marry MBJ. God, this story is just absolutely breathtaking. I was speechless when I got to the end of chapter one. The sheer level of worldbuilding! Catch me with actual hearts in my eyes. The small DETAILS! The magnificently built OCs! The culture, the writing! The character interactions! SQH goes around accidentally winning the lifelong loyalty of every badass, OP demon in the Northern realm. I am still screeching. daddykeehl you’re my number one. fucking 200k/10 heart eyes emoji, heart eyes emoji (also, it’s part of a series! The story before this one, Quick, Easy Steps To Realizing You’re The Queen Consort, is also VERY good.)

#moshing fic recs #vodka answers #ask box love twt #shang Qinghua #mobei jun #svsss #fic rec list #magikarp karpykarp

142 notes · View notes

mcytnoodles · 2 years ago

Note

sorry to send another ask so soon but i’m rereading the first few chapters again because i just. man this fic is so good. hope you don’t mind the super long ask lol :p

chapter 1:

i love the detail of it being in death order when everyone joins the game. cleo dying first, then with a dialogue line separating her line from everyone else’s, bc she was the only hermit to permadie in ep 7. very clever i love it

the writing of ren’s internal panic/fear!! man!! i love the line “The fear in his body explodes, cold but not freezing him in place, and he readies himself to face a devil.” it’s so perfect for ren’s character and it makes me really anticipate what happens next, even though i’ve already read this!

i absolutely LOVE your characterization. usually in a fic like this, there’s always obvious favourites yk? (i’m guilty of this myself lol) but with this it seems like you’ve done everyone justice and everyone is written so so well

with the first descriptions of everyone, i am really really curious to see the effects of the new hybrid traits and how each character deals with it y’know

(i am also curious on where ren is getting all the blood he keeps dripping LOL

the switch to false’s pov is so great, i absolutely love seeing other hermit’s outside perspectives and suspicions of what could have possibly happens to the 8

just read the ending note and the fact that english isn’t your first language is absolutely astonishing!! all of the grammar and everything is so so well written!! congrats to you genuinely because that’s super impressive that’s so cool

chapter 2:

GOD starting with grian struggling to stay in touch with reality is just. chefs kiss

SCAR WITH THE FORCED SMILE. I LOVE THAT DETAIL. HES READY TO CHARM WHOEVER COMES IN

“Scar is still gripping his arm, blood dripping into his palms and it looks like it's supposed to be there.” oh MAN. banger line. i love it

(i’m sleepy so my commentary is gonna be a little less put-together now lol)

scar acting like everything is fine. i love denial

i love mumbo’s pov it’s so fun

the fact that they agree to sleep in shifts but fail anyways. i mean i don’t blame them they seem really tired

(got too tired to finish but i hope you don’t mind the commentary LMAO)

OH THIS IS SO FUN TO READ THANK YOU. feel free to do this again if you want to, I didn't know if I should answer this because I wanted to keep it in my ask box to look at-

Congrats on being the first reader to pick up on the death order thing as far as I know! I'm actually really proud of that detail :0) in the same chapter, the order X describes everyone was supposed to be the same order, but so many people ended up being described in pairs that it didn't really come through.

honestly, I've been hyperfixated on this series for so long I think everyone's my favorite now. they are all like blorbos to me. I am in severe emotional distress.

I just have feelings about 3rd life Ren with blood imagery okay?? sue me\lh

about my engilsh, autocorrect is saving me as we speak, I cannot spell to save my life I would be dead without @furrysmp's beta-ing and correcting all my errors every chapter, but I'm glad it's hard to tell!

scar and grian are. yeah. they are. very much are.

also, small personal headcanon as to why everyone is so tired that doesn't really come up in the fic, the time between servers didn't pass exactly the same, so the last day of 3rd life was a Friday, and everyone respawned back on a Tuesday, leaving their bodies to deal with a couple days long "empty" period. does that make sense? fuck if I know but it sounds like it does in my head.

GO TO SLEEP.

#3rd life smp #hermitcraft #morph au #fic #answerd

6 notes · View notes

firelxdykatara · 3 years ago

Note

You’re doing a LoK rewrite, correct? Would be really interested in hearing how you plan on fixing Suyin’s character and the Lin-Suyin conflict because……. oh boy. Man there’s a lot to unpack there. This is what happens when we don’t let Toph just raise her fucking kids for the sake of pushing a stupid as hell narrative about working women and single motherhood.

I am indeed!

In... you know, the way I'm doing most of my big potential projects, in that I have a folder with some documents that have plot notes and... some day I may actually get full, finished fics out of them (h2o AU is in there, as is my voltron!atla fusion AU, and uhhhh my book 3 atla rewrite, and a few other things), so... but I will say that the docs I have for my LoK rewrite so far amount to roughly 4.2k words of just Plot and Character Notes, which may some day turn into words of Story, hopefully.

ANYWAY, POINT IS: yes, this exists, and I have Many Many Thoughts.

Including how the Gaang kids would shake out! Cause I know I'm doing Zutara, and maybe Tokka???? Although I don't wanna just leave Suki out either... maybe a throuple??? Or Sukka having an amicable breakup before Sokka and Toph get together--maybe she already has Lin by then, and Sokka helps support her through the grief of losing Kanto???? Idk honestly, I haven't actually figured any of that out definitively yet except that Aang was perfectly happy to settle down with an Air Acolyte from one of the rebuilt temples because he grew up and out of his crush on Katara pretty easily once he hit puberty and matured a bit.

UHHH none of which is actually an answer to your question, because it's a valid one! Which is why I've been sitting on this a while (10 days I'm so sorry) bc I haven't made any solid decisions but I've been letting it percolate around my head a bit. And the more I think about it, the more I really like the Sukka -> Tokka idea (and I don't want to kill off Suki since the kids all deserve their awesome Kyoshi warrior auntie in their lives, and also I want a Sukka kid to be besties with Iara [zuko and katara's youngest] so maybe she gets with someone else after she and Sokka split? I could be talked into Ty Lee/Suki actually, the more I think about it....), but obviously having a stable father figure and a Toph who is... not what LoK made her out to be will dramatically change the Beifong family dynamic.

That said, I think I actually have a solution. (I'm so sorry for what I'm about to do.) Toph has Lin with Kanto--and he passes away when Lin is two or three, which is why she has very few memories of her father. (Although none of this 'she doesn't even know his name until she's 50+ cause Toph didn't tell her daughters about their fathers' bullshit.) Sokka is there for her through it all (all of the gaang is, of course, but you know that it sometimes just hits different when it's someone you're also starting to fall in love with, especially when there are older and much more deeply buried feelings there that are now resurfacing, because at least in my version Toph was deeply in love with Sokka when they were teenagers, but he was in love with Suki and she also loved Suki so she didn't want to mess up anything about their family or the group dynamics by making her feelings anyone else's problem), they fall in love, get married and have Suyin.

(Sokka may jokingly refer to it as a shotgun wedding, but the truth is he wanted to propose well before he found out she was pregnant, his attempts just kept getting messed up in increasingly comedic fashion.)

Throughout all of this, Republic City has been established, Sokka is Chancellor, Toph is something of a defacto police chief--mostly because, at the time, no one else was willing to volunteer, and she jokingly offered to whip the law enforcement, but unfortunately everyone else at the meeting took her seriously. However, she is also the founder of the probending league, and basically her feelings about law enforcement are complicated and she actively discouraged her kids from joining the force which is part of why Lin did. How else do you have a teen rebel phase with a parent like Toph? (Which, in this instance, means tough and firm but fair, with a 'you break it, it's up to you to fix it' attitude and very little desire to actually control her daughters and their behavior.)

Ah, but here's the rub.

Suyin is ten years old when Sokka dies, and Lin is sixteen. I'm not sure how he's killed--maybe by Yakone, to tie it into my plans for Amon and book 1. (Note that I'm not sure when the Yakone bloodbending trial happened in canon, but it doesn't matter. The timeline I'm gonna build will be completely different post-comet, and I'll eventually write it all down so that I can keep things straight.) Which would incidentally provide excellent means of having Katara have a very personal stake in the Amon conflict, and perhaps color the fight between him and Iara, but I'm getting off track. And I think Sokka being killed by Yakone, and Toph being unable to protect or save him, or deliver her own brand of justice to avenge him (because Aang is there to stop her and.... shit probably got ugly, I suspect she didn't talk to Aang for at least twenty years after Sokka's death--and this isn't to say I think Toph is particularly violent or murderous, but in that moment, she absolutely wanted to kill the man with her bare hands, and however much she may have regretted it afterwards, she took a very long time to forgive Aang for stopping her in the first place), is what results in Toph stepping down as police chief.

She didn't withdraw from her daughters or fuck off into the swamp or anything (words cannot express how much I hate that part of her canon history), but she did grieve for a very long time. Lin, meanwhile, felt like it was up to her to keep her family together, while also feeling a desperate need to... prove herself, I think. And because her mother was so adamant that she not join the police force, that's exactly what she does. I think Lin completely misread Toph's intentions, too, and believed that the discouragement was because her mother didn't think she had what it takes, when in reality I think Toph was scared of Lin losing herself in the job like she herself had begun to, and eventually coming up on something she couldn't change or fix and making the same mistakes she had.

(I think Toph and Lin have communication issues largely because they are both headstrong and willful, but where Toph thought she was giving her daughters the room they would need to make their own way, what Lin desperately craved was direction and she felt like that was something her mother simply couldn't understand.)

Suyin, on the other hand, fell in with a bad crowd like in canon. I think that what she desperately needed was attention, similar to Lin craving direction, and Toph was trying so hard not to be her own parents that she went a little too far in the other direction and Suyin began to feel like it didn't matter what she did, her mom wouldn't care, or get angry, or discipline her, or anything. Lin and Suyin butted heads a lot growing up, too, especially after Sokka's death, because Lin tried to rein in her sister's behavior and this was met with resistance and derision because Suyin felt like Lin was trying to be both mom and dad and she was neither but her big sister would never admit to being just as lost as she was and it made her furious.

So when Suyin is sixteen, and Lin is twenty-two and new to the force, The Big Rift happens. Lin catches Suyin and her gang, tries to apprehend her, gets a scar on her face in the ensuing conflict. But instead of abusing her power and sending her problem child off to her mother before fucking off to the swamp to avoid the consequences of her actions, Toph tries to actually fix things. Suyin cools her heels in prison for a while, because she was paralyzed by guilt at the time when she hurt her sister (a few inches lower and she could have slit her throat), and was still there when Lin's backup arrived.

Uhhhhhhhhhhh..... I'm so sorry I rambled for so long, BUT THE UPSHOT IS: I think Suyin learned a bit about culpability and taking responsibility for her own actions, Toph realized that her daughters had different needs than she did at their age (and I think a lot of the problem was that grief clouded her own ability to connect with her daughters, and in trying to not be her own parents she lost sight of how to be the parent her own daughters needed), and Lin, I think, had to realize that she had never fully processed the loss of not one but two fathers and had turned to her job in order to avoid actually confronting the grief that had overshadowed her childhood.

However, she did not forgive Suyin, at least not right away--and she wasn't forced or expected to. Suyin understood that she crossed a serious line, she took her lumps and did her time, and no one shamed Lin for her anger. I think, as a result, she had less reason to hold onto that bitterness, and perhaps by the time the story actually begins, she and Suyin are on much better terms, though I haven't worked it out exactly yet.

UHHH yeah I went on for days lmao. All of this is subject to change, too, depending on the needs of the story whenever I get around to actually writing it all down, BUT these are my initial thoughts, at least.

#atla #lin beifong #toph beifong #suyin beifong #tokka #lok rewrite #lok rewrite notes #precious-metal-girl #asked

31 notes · View notes

systlinsideblog · 3 years ago

Text

Part 4

I still lived.

I was, I thought, greatly in the minority. The woman Systlin had judged warrior after warrior, and warrior after warrior had met his end at a quiva's blade.

A great many of the sentences were carried out by the hands of the freed slave girls of the warriors. The number of these astounded me, as did the ferocity with which many of the girls fell upon their masters.

It is a Gorean saying that a woman cannot be free until she has been a slave. It is said that a woman wishes to be conquered, that she cannot respect any man save for the man who can reduce her to nothing.

The girls fell upon their masters with a fury I have rarely seen, and blood flowed until the grass was slick and red with it.

A few girls did not take up the quiva. These men, once sentence of death was passed, the she-sleen on the Ubar's robe killed herself. Her face was untroubled by this, unworried, and there was even a hint of vicious pleasure in those cold eyes as she swung the sword to remove their heads.

Those warriors who had taken Free Companions and who had children, the she-sleen ordered all material goods be split equally between the Free Companions, the children, and the freed slave girls. There were many sour faces among the Tuchuk women at that, but to my shock many more who accepted it without question.

When night neared, scarce three dozen warriors of the Tuchuk still lived, myself included. It was us and only us who had not admitted to owning slaves, and who had no slaves to call out our names.

A very few men..two or three, in all...had been spared by the request of their slave girls. These men were whipped, and the she-sleen commanded ash be rubbed into the whip wounds.

"I would have them remember." She had said, eyes cold and face passionless, even as the warriors held back cries of pain. "I want them to remember their crimes, and to remember me."

Those of us who had survived the slaughter had been unchained and taken to wagons, and allowed to eat and rest.

"So." Kamchak had survived the culling, and his face was set and cold. "We are free, then?"

"You are not slaves." Systlin had smiled a little, a cold smile that did not reach her eyes. "But if you seek to flee, or to move against me...well."

Behind her, I could see women chaining hunting sleen outside the wagons. Each was given clothing to smell; I noticed with a start a discarded tunic of my own among the items. The sleen began to pull and hiss, eyes bright.

"Say, rather, that you are prisoners for the time." Systlin continued. "I've much to do, and I've no time to be worrying about one of you burying a knife in my back in my sleep." Another humorless smile. "I'm not fool enough to think that all...or any...of you are paragons of virtue. I'll get the truth in time."

Kamchak spat. "You," he informed her, "Are the most disagreeable and wrenched wench I've ever had the misfortune to meet. There will come a day, where you meet a man to bring you to heel." A smile. "I wish to be there to see it."

I felt my heart sink; they were unwise words, but then Kamchak was Tuchuk.

To my surprise, the woman Systlin threw back her head and laughed, as if at a wonderful joke.

"Ahhh!" She wiped tears from her eyes at last, as I stared, stunned. "When I find my way home, I will tell Foicatch that." Another laugh. "A woman isn't brought to heel. We can choose to be a partner, or to bide our time and pretend until the time is right, but brought to heel? HA! You saw that, I think, today." Another terrible grin. "I saw your faces, when the women turned on your warriors. You did not expect that, did you?"

"Foicatch?" Kamchak, ever keen, inquired.

"My husband." Systlin said this lightly, easily. "Father of my daughter."

"Good god, you are married?" The words were out of me before I could think better of them. I tried to imagine what bedding such a woman would be like, and thought to myself that it would be much like the risk taken by the male of the praying mantis of Earth; what sort of man would marry such a creature?

"Yes. Goodnight." She shut the wagon behind her.

There was a moment of silence. Then, Kamchak spoke.

"It is probably a bad time, Tarl Cabot," he said. "To mention that Kutaituchuk was not the Ubar of the Tuchuks."

"What?"

It was surprising, Systlin thought, how many of the Tuchuk women had been willing...eager, even...to take up weapons and stand guard at her wagon.

Not to her. No. On Ellinon, the children of the Lady would have found the ideas of the men of this 'Gor' incomprehensible, unlawful, hearsay, and downright suicidal. But to many of the women of Gor themselves, Systlin thought, the sheer thrill that came when picking up a blade or spear was new.

She tried to picture what would have happened had Stellead found herself in this shithole of a world. Death, absolutely; her aunt had little talent in any form of Power, but she had won her place as Arms Master of Stellas Keep and as a Commander of the Bloodguard through sweat and skill.

Even now, Systlin could only best her aunt blade to blade perhaps two matches out of three.

If anyone...man, woman, even the gods themselves...had tried to bring Stellead to heel, she'd spit in their eye and disembowel them.

Systlin smiled to herself. It was a stubbornness and force of will that she herself shared, and that her aunt, mother, and father had always fostered.

The women did not know quite how to hold a spear, of course. Systlin had tried to gently insist that she didn't need an armed guard, more because she knew full well that they'd not yet be up to a fight than because she believed that. But they had insisted, and in the end she had simply advised them to stick to knives for the time being.

The rugs and cushions and furs in the wagon were quite comfortable, and she was quite tired, but sleep was elusive.

All of this...the rugs and furs, the sound of animals outside, the sound of low voices from the camp, the smell of dried dung fires...it was too similar to her time with the Rabi, with Sura, before Sura had become Queen of the Sands, when she'd simply been the leader of her clan.

Sura's laugh, bright as a bell, and the taste of pomegranate wine. The light of the brazier catching glints of copper and red off of Sura's black hair, which gleamed almost blue in sunlight.

The rugs beside her were cold, and she suddenly felt very alone.

Her throne would be empty. She'd held the North together through sheer grit, guile, charisma, and the edge of a sword, and beaten it back into working shape after the War of the Crown had nearly destroyed it.

Her daughter was only a girl. Foicatch, dear Foicatch, would do his best, she knew, but he was at heart a soldier, not a monarch.

Her sister would step in, at least. 'Sina was capable. But she didn't have the fear and respect of the lords of the realm and the love of the common folk the way Systlin did.

"Why am I here?" She whispered this in the dark, at the roof of the wagon.

No one answered.

"I have my own place. People who will miss me." She scowled at the dark, and anger rose hot and furious. "Responsibilities! I've not got time for...this!" She waved a hand randomly, indicating everything about this strange place.

No one answered. But Systlin had met gods in her time, and she knew that if they cared to, they could hear.

"Send me back!" She hissed this at the darkness, not sure who she was angry with. "Have I not done enough? Send me home! I do not want this!"

Nothing.

Exhaustion, at last, won out, and she slept.

She was, in her dreams, not surprised at her visitor.

The Lady's face could never be seen. The most that could be gathered was an impression of poise, of stately calm. It was impossible even to place what color Her hair was, or her skin, though the hair floated around her like a cloud and she was nude.

"You?" In her dream Systlin could still feel her anger, though it was a hollow ghost of what she'd felt while awake.

Me. It wasn't a spoken word; it was felt.

"I should have known at once." Systlin growled. "Have I not done enough? Can I have no peace?"

A laugh, chiming and musical, but which shook the very bones. You were never made for peace.

And that was true. Systlin knew it, felt the truth of it in her soul. It was impossible to deny it, not before the Lady.

She felt an answering whisper in her soul, as the slumbering power of what had once been the Lord of Night and Void, the God of Endings, the Fallen One, God of Conflict, Lord of Justice and retribution, stirred within her.

Sister. The word was pointed, and almost mocking. Who denies still that you are.

"I saved my world. It needs me; you know that damned well. I don't want to be a god."

Want. This word was definitely mocking. There is no want, sister. There is 'must'. My brother failed his duty, and corrupted it. You hold it now. In time, you will realize. Goddess of War, Goddess of Justice, Goddess of Protection, Goddess of Night, Goddess of Death, Goddess of Endings and rebirth. I do your duties for now, sister...but not forever.

Systlin clenched her fists, and pointedly ignored this. "My people need me, damn you."

They are safe.

Systlin closed her eyes. "You'll not send me back until I finish here." It wasn't a question.

You could send yourself back whenever you wished, if you accepted your new place.

Systlin glared.

Another smile. So stubborn. No, I will not. Good luck, sister.

She woke.

Within her, the power of the god she'd killed stirred again, and was once more silent.

It was morning. She could see the sunlight under the door, and could hear the cheerful bustle of camp outside.

"Gods damn it all to the pits." She muttered.

The hardest thing about training the women of the Tuchuk in combat, Systlin soon found, was ingrained survival habits.

Her aunt, in the long-ago days when Systlin had been a lanky youth still growing into her arms and legs and new to a training sword, had always said that the hardest thing about training older students was fixing ingrained and detrimental habits.

Stellead had been referring to habits picked up from lesser arms masters...letting your shield drop, footwork that was less than flawless. Systlin wondered how her aunt would have dealt with this, as she interrupted a woman to correct her form and the former slave cringed and dropped at her feet, begging forgiveness.

"I am sorry!" The woman was almost tearful. Systlin had been angry since she came to this cursed place, and she felt that knot of red rage flare. "I am sorry, I forgot..."

"It's all right." Systlin squatted, propping her elbows on her thighs. "Hush. It's all right. Here now." She offered her hand, and the girl hesitantly took it. Systlin stood, drawing the girl back to her feet, and then bent, picked up the dropped wooden sword, and offered it back hilt first. The girl took it.

"Do you know," Systlin said, keeping her voice light and conversational, "how long it took me to become good with a sword?"

The woman blinked. "I...no, Ubara."

"I started training at thirteen." Systlin smiled fondly in memory. "I first killed a wraithen at nineteen. I first killed men in battle at twenty five. that was two and a half decades and three wars ago." She tossed her own wooden sword in the air; it spun precisely one turn before she caught it again by the hilt. "Training takes time, and practice. You will make mistakes. I will never fault you for them; you simply correct them and keep training."

The girl nodded slowly. Systlin had given the same speech to many girls over the last three weeks, but the habits learned to survive the men of this Pit of a planet went deep. It would be slow going yet; she knew that.

"Fifty?" The question was unexpected.

"Hm?"

"You are fifty?"

"Close enough, yes."

"Your world then has brews of youth as well?" The girl seemed curious.

Systlin blinked. "I...no. But we're descended from the Lady, the goddess and mother of all. We live long." She considered the woman before her; she appeared to be perhaps in her late twenties. "How old are you?"

"Oh. Sixty, I think? My masters have given me the brews of youth three times."

The yawning pit of cold fury in Systlin's soul howled.

"How many years of that," Systlin kept her voice carefully level. "Were you kept as property?"

"Since I was...oh, sixteen?"

The world went abruptly white before her eyes. The yawning spectre of the power she'd pulled from the soul of a slain god roared; goddess of justice, goddess of protection....

Fury, she was furious, and for a moment she knew, knew that it would be so, so easy, to rise on the wind and come down on the people who had done this. To become a storm, a furious reckoning, to scour this world clean in a night...

...No. No no NO. I will not. I have to teach them. They must take it themselves, for all I might lead them. Or it will all be for nothing...

By the time she fought it down and came back to herself she was on her knees, clutching the trampled grass with white knuckles. Sweat was soaking her, as it never did even if she fought all day. Her breath was coming short and sharp.

"Ubara!" The voices were panicked, and she realized dimly that there were at least a dozen women around her, patting at her cheeks, offering water.

She looked up, and saw worry, and fear, and as the god-soul inside her stirred, she saw more. She saw desperation, and so, so much pain, oceans of pain, seas of injustice, rivers of innocent blood spilled.

And as the women of the Tuchuk looked at her, worried, she saw deep in their eyes hope.

"Ubara?" It was Sabra , the brave girl, who'd taken quite well to a spear. "Ubara?"

"I'm all right." She wasn't, not quite; her voice sounded rough to her own ears. "I'm all right. Keep practicing."

The hovered until she got to her feet, but once it was determined that the Ubara was not about to die, they slowly went back to their drills.

Systlin moved a bit away, absently climbed the nearest wagon, and sat cross legged, looking out over the makeshift training grounds without really seeing.

She'd always been a protector. Since they'd been children, and her sister's dreams had driven little 'Sina to cry and scream in her sleep. Since her father had nurtured that, and taught her that a Queen's people were her children, that her sacred duty was to protect and serve them.

Since she'd torn the North back from the hands of the greedy and the corrupt, who'd sought to carve it apart for power and profit.

Since she'd faced a god, putting her own body and soul between her people and the Fallen Lord himself.

Since she'd faced a second goddess, and demanded the Lady return her daughter from beyond death.

It was who she was, in the end. She knew it in her bones, even as she looked down at these strange people in this strange world, and felt it, that what she must do.

"Pitting hells." She muttered this softly, and somewhere felt the Lady smile.

For some weeks now, the routine had been much the same; Kamchak and I, and the other men, were kept chained and carefully watched. Some men, after a measure of time should they demonstrate a contrite enough demeanor, had their chains removed and were allowed to move about the camp; they did so, casting their eyes aside from those of us who were still chained.

I watched one man brush a bosk one evening, and oil its hooves. A slave girl should do such work, and he was clumsy at it. A girl was watching, wearing the leather trousers that had become fashionable among the women. Her hair, which was very long, was braided up and pinned in a coil on the top of her head; it was unflattering, I thought. She corrected him, and showed him how it was done properly, and he meekly listened. She smiled at him, and I thought that in silks and with hair loose she must have been quite a beauty. He smiled back, a bit tentatively.

I snorted in disdain. There are always men that are so, those that are more akin to women than true men.

She heard, and turned on me. There was a fierceness in her eyes.

"See." She pointed at me, mocking. "He thinks himself better than you, Sarthak. He thinks himself too good for work about the camp, thinks it should be done only by women in chains." She laughed, and spit in my direction. "And yet he is still a prisoner in chains, while you are a free man. So who, then, is the better man?"

Sarthak grinned at me. He wore no scars, and scant weeks ago he had likely been unregarded utterly by the Tuchuk.

"You speak true words, Lena." He agreed, and turned his back on me. She gave another laugh, and she turned back to their task. I realized with some surprise that the looks Lena was favoring the unscarred young man with were warm.

"Disgraceful." Kamchak was chained to the other axle of the wagon, and he too was regarding the young man with distaste. "Have they made a slave of you already, boy?"

"He's a free man." Lena didn't look around. "All free men and women of able body must do their share of work. You shall too, should you ever be trusted and set free."

Kamchak spat again, and leaned his head back against the wagon wheel.

"It was a sad day," said the Ubar of the Tuchuk, "That that she-sleen came to the Tuchuk, Tarl Cabot."

"Yes." I agreed. I wondered still how many she had slain in that night, through sorcery. The pyres had burned for two days and nights.

We watched the girl teach the young man to grease the axles of the wagon. We had little else to do.

As the evening meal was brought, we were finally given some surprise to rouse us from the deadly tedium that had marked the weeks.

The she-sleen had a cloak now, made of red larl-hide. She wore it pinned at a jaunty angle, thrown back over one shoulder. She was wearing a leather vest over her strange scale armor today. She regarded us for a moment, her hand resting on the hilt of her sword. I'd examined that weapon many times now, and I still could not place the make of it; it was no Gorean style I knew of, and the silver-blue of the blade was unlike any alloy I knew on Earth. It was somewhat shorter than most blades I had seen, perhaps thirty-six inches in all in total length. A great polished amethyst was set into the pommel, the most darkly violet stone I'd ever seen.

It was viciously sharp. I knew this.

"You." She said to me. The word was said in Gorean; she was learning quickly, it seemed, for all her strange magic did seem to translate for her. "You'll come with me." She nodded at the girl following her...I recognized her, I realized, it was the girl Dina I had seen around camp before, the slave reputed to be the best at the running game...and Dina brought out a ring of keys.

Dina's hair was braided, as was Systlin's. Dina wore leather trousers, as did Systlin. Dina wore a quiva, as Systlin wore her long dagger, and had stood and rested her hand on the hilt of the quiva in conscious imitation of the strange woman.

It seemed to be a fashion, I noted, that many of the freed slave girls and even many of the Tuchuk women had taken up.

I said nothing. It had not been a request, of course, and I had little choice. My leg was healing, but I was far from my top form.

My chains were let loose. I stood, with some difficulty, and Dina's help. She was, I noticed with some surprise, quite strong. There were muscles through her shoulders that I'd never before seen so developed on any Gorean woman, and her hands were tough.

I knew that well; my own hands were callused thus from the hilt of sword and the haft of lance. It was surprising that a slave girl had developed such in such a short time.

I was led to the great wagon that Systlin had claimed as her own; the wagon that I knew, now, was not the true wagon of the Ubar of the Tuchuks.

Inside, a meal of roast bosk had been laid ready for us. Systlin sat cross legged on the cushions; the maleness of the gesture still grated at my sensibilities. Seeing it preformed by one who might look quite well kneeling in silks was wrong, quite wrong. Dina helped me, somewhat ungracefully and with some pain, to sit.

Systlin did not touch the food at once. She was watching me, and the gaze was keen and direct. I said nothing, but examined her in return.

I am an observant man. It is one of my strengths. But I could gather little from her, save that which I had already deduced; she was strongly built, for a woman, all solid wiry muscle. Her hands were tough, those of a swordsman. Her gaze was intelligent, and I could not place her origin; the bone structure and shape of her eyes was subtly foreign, but not of any place I knew. She could have been beautiful, perhaps, were she arrayed instead in silk. She never, I noted, let her weapons stray far from her hand.

She was used, I thought, to fighting. Used even to being attacked in the most secure of surroundings. She had said before that many men had tried to kill her; what sort of creature was this that sat before me?

"You're wondering why I brought you here." She broke the silence. Her tone was crisp, and it was not a question.

I said nothing.

"The answer is because you are not of these people. I know that the Wagon Peoples usually slay outsiders. That means you are unusual, and I'm wagering it means you're quite skilled at arms." She examined me again, much as I'd examined her, and I saw her noting the callus of my hands. "Your accent is not like that of these people, as well. They say you are Koroban, wherever the fuck that is. I've heard that you have, apparently, traveled."

I said nothing.

"That makes you potentially useful." She informed me of this without a hint of emotion. "I know very little of this world, and while I'm learning, I suspect that you know more than most."

I had heard her say such things before. I am quite well acquainted with such matters, of course, being once of Earth. "Of this world?" I said at last.

"Of this world." A horrible humorless smile. "You know full well I'm not from here. This whole place is a nightmare and a travesty. You're lucky my aunt Stellead is not here; she’s less merciful than I. She'd have castrated the lot of your slavers and rapists, slow roasted the genitals, and fed them back to you a bite at a time. And to be honest, I did consider that."

I could not help but cringe at the thought.

"From what I have gathered," she continued, "No part of this world is not at the mercy of monsters who hold humans as livestock and use them as they please. It's that, I think, that I've been brought here to end. And you, Tarl Cabot, are going to give me information as I do it."

The shock of her words was immediate. "Sent? The priest-kings...."

The wave of a hand, dismissive. "I've heard of them. No. Gods, no. I don't care a whit for them. If they interfere I'll deal with them. No, it's a power higher than them that's sent me."

I blinked at her in shock. The priest-kings are feared and worshiped as gods on Gor, with reason. They are advanced beyond any human designs, and are exceptionally powerful. Yet I saw not a trace of fear in her.

"They are very powerful," I said. "And your powers may bring their wrath yet." I hoped it, of course. They can burn a man to ashes on a whim.

A laugh. Another cold, humorless laugh. "Maybe." She said. "But I've slain gods before. What are a few more? No. You are going to give me information, Tarl Cabot, on this world. And then I am going to conquer it. Every last damned corner of it."

I stared at her in horror, and she simply smiled in return.

44 notes · View notes

chaos-of-the-abyss · 4 years ago

Text

anonymous: Am I the only one who really doesn’t like that Meatbun chose to make a member of a brutalized race the villain? I feel like it feeds into that message of revolutionaries who want justice being doomed to be corrupted by the power getting to their heads and turn into evil tyrants.

This is an interesting question anon! Thank you for this ask.

First of all, I understand completely where you’re coming from. I’m always iffy when a main antagonist is a member of a brutalized, discriminated race whose ultimate goal is to get his/her people to safety. I don’t, as a general rule, sit very comfortably with the antagonist being someone who wants to end discrimination based on race against his/her people, or any people. Like, nope. I’m also extremely leery of that message of “revolutionaries who want social justice go bad”, and my wariness toward seeing a main antagonist with the motivation of ending some kind of oppression is an extension of that. 2ha, to a certain degree, does press those buttons, because just the fact of a member of an oppressed people being in an antagonistic position is... meh. I wish we’d at least seen the perspective of a non-villainous Butterfly-Boned Beauty Feast. (Of course, this is just personal taste - others might not feel the same way.)

However! There’s a reason why that doesn’t turn me off from the story. I would really dislike it if Meatbun made out Shi Mei’s desire to save his people as a bad thing, or if she had that desire gradually be warped into something less sympathetic - say, an appetite for destruction and vengeance. But she didn’t do either of those things, not at all. Although she rightfully condemns the damage he did to innocent people because of that desire, the desire itself is painted in a very sympathetic light. I would go as far as to say that the fact that Hua Binan’s resolve to end the oppression of his people was truly a good thing is why Meatbun gives him such a peaceful send-off despite the many terrible things he’s done. I mean, it’s not peaceful in-universe, since he’s literally squashed, but it’s a dignified death. He’s not crying, or screaming, or having a Villainous Breakdown over the fact that he has to die. Instead he’s... unhesitant in literally defying cosmic laws so that his people can get to safety, and the text is comparing his actions to that of his mother, who sacrificed her life to give him time to escape. (Off on a tangent, but I cannot help but laugh disbelievingly every time I reread Hua Binan’s death. Like, this man said, “Hey guys, I’m going to fight the demon guardian upholding a law of the universe, hold on a minute.” No consideration, no weighing of options, no nothing. Just “That’s what I’m gonna do then!” I mentioned in another post that despite his villainy I cannot help but respect the sheer audacity that Shi Mei has, and... yeah, I’m going to have to admit that the actions Hua Binan took leading up to his death display that same audacity.)

If I was choosing something to contrast the narrative tone of Hua Binan’s death with, I’d bring up Yagami Light, from Death Note. (I’m sticking to manga canon here, not anime.) He’s absolutely losing his composure, unable to face the fact that he’s been defeated and he has to die, and is crawling all over the ground desperately for a way to save himself. He then proceeds to start begging Ryuk to help him, and goes completely ballistic when Ryuk instead writes his name in his Death Note.

Hua Binan goes in almost the exact opposite fashion; he is not losing his composure, he’s unflinching at the knowledge that these actions mean his own death, and he’s not trying to save himself - he’s giving his life to save the other Butterfly-Boned Beauty Feasts. I mean, he literally keeps holding on despite being in enormous pain to make sure everyone gets through! At no point during his death does the text say or imply that he regrets sacrificing himself for the other Butterfly-Boned Beauty Feasts. I also really like how there is no thought in his mind as he’s being crushed that isn’t related to his people - most notably there’s nothing about Chu Wanning, whom he is supposedly in love with. I think it’s driving in that Hua Binan’s ultimate priority, despite what kind of feelings he might have towards anyone else, has always been his people. Nothing else will ever matter to him as much as his goal to get the Butterfly-Boned Beauty Feasts to safety. (Although, mind you, that’s not necessarily a good thing - just look at all the devastation and death he caused in pursuit of that goal.) And like I said, I think that by giving him a heroic death, Meatbun was respecting that, if nothing else, his determination to stop the suffering of his brutalized people was truly genuine, and truly commendable.

That’s what sets this apart, for me, from the message, “Revolutionaries who want to overturn deep-rooted social injustices will go bad because they are corrupted by the power they have.” Hua Binan is not corrupted by power! His desire to save his people never changes, it’s never gradually distorted into something megalomaniacal the way that “cautionary tales” warn us will happen to revolutionaries. It is not the warping of his goal to end an injustice that makes him a villain - because that remains pure and unchanging, from start to finish. Rather, it’s the amount of innocent people he hurt and killed to achieve that goal. The fact that he perpetuates a cycle of abuse - dehumanization and brutalization is what he and his people suffer, and he responds in kind, by creating and executing a master plan hinged on dehumanizing and brutalizing others. That’s what Meatbun is condemning him for, and that’s why he’s the villain. And I really appreciate that she, in my opinion, makes it very clear that his goal itself was and remains a good thing. As mentioned above, the way I see it, the relative dignity of Hua Binan’s death was an acknowledgement the fact that there was nothing inherently wrong with his desire to save his people, that it was in fact a heroic desire. Because of that nuance, I’m not as put off as I usually am at the idea of the main villain being the member of an oppressed race, and I think Meatbun avoided the “cautionary tale” trope of having a revolutionary seeking justice becoming warped with power.

#2ha #2ha meta #2ha spoilers #shi mei #hua binan #asks

56 notes · View notes

lavender-lotion · 3 years ago

Text

Fanfic Writer Asks

I was tagged by @asarcasticwitch - thank you so much!

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

737, which is an ugly number :(

2) What’s your total AO3 word count?

1,890,054 words, which ... AH I might actually get to 2mil by the end of the year!

3) How many fandoms have you written for, and what are they?

thank you, ao3 dashboard for this handy list:

Teen Wolf (TV) (377)

X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies) (187)

Marvel Cinematic Universe (93)

Glee (29)

Young Justice (Cartoon) (11)

Kingsman (Movies) (9)

Original Work (9)

The Avengers (Marvel Movies) (8)

Criminal Minds (US TV) (7)

Thor (Movies) (6)

Deadpool (Movieverse) (5)

Weird City (TV) (5)

X-Men (Original Timeline Movies) (4)

Yu-Gi-Oh! Duel Monsters (Anime & Manga) (4)

Ragnarok (TV 2020) (4)

Spider-Man (Tom Holland Movies) (3)

Teen Wolf (TV) RPF (3)

Iron Man (Movies) (3)

The House in the Cerulean Sea - T. J. Klune (2)

Venom (Marvel Movies) (1)

Stranger Things (TV 2016) (1)

Captain America (Movies) (1)

Fate: The Winx Saga (TV) (1)

Power Rangers Ninja Storm (1)

X-Men - All Media Types (1)

Percy Jackson and the Olympians - Rick Riordan (1)

Riverdale (TV 2017) (1)

X-Men Evolution (1)

Push (2009) (1)

4) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

With You, I Belong

Mates and Marriage Proposals

The Perceptions of You and I

(baby) maybe that matters more

Breathing You In

5) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

ughh so, fair warning, I have a lot of works. I definitely do not remember all of them, however I do have four works tagged as Unhappy Ending and then another nine works tagged Ambiguous/Open Ending, which is way more than I’d thought I had!

however, there is one fic that stands out in mind when I think about which of my works has the angstiest ending! Heed the tags :)

And Now?

Stiles Stilinski finds out who his soul mates are by setting one on fire.

6) What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

ughhhhhhhh I truly do not know???

7) Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you’ve written?

I don’t write many crossovers at all! I have some mcu/teen wolf cross overs, I have a teen wolf/glee cross over plotted (that i’ll probably never write), but my strangest is probably this teen wolf/x-men cross over!

what-ifs (don’t fuckin’ matter to no one)

Teen And Up Audiences | No Archive Warnings Apply | M/M | X-Men (Alternate Timeline Movies)Teen Wolf (TV) | Logan (X-Men)/Sheriff Stilinski | Logan (X-Men), Sheriff Stilinski, Stiles Stilinski | Memory Loss, Telepathy, Mentions of War, Implied/Referenced Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Child Neglect, Grief/Mourning, Telepath Stiles Stilinski, Telekinetic Stiles Stilinski, Nightmares, Cuddling & Snuggling

There’s somethin’ there. Somethin’ that has him sleeping curled up on his side with a pillow tucked to his chest, somethin’ that has him splittin’ up his food ‘fore he eats ‘cause he don’t need as much as a baseline. Has him turnin’ to tell someone shit that ain’t there. There’s just...there’s just somethin’ there that’s missin’ and it shouldn’t be missin’.

8) Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

sometimes! I don’t write a lot of smut because I actively dislike writing it, but the smut I do write is super super soft and sappy and full of emotions lol

9) Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

I respond to almost all of my comments! comments i won’t respond to: negative comments, unsolicited criticism, comments that aren’t relevant to the fic itself, comments simply asking for more

I love love love responding to comments! I love every single comment that I get and I want to show how much I appreciate getting them, and personally I think responding to comments is the only way to do that! everyone has different comment philosophies, but for me, if someone is taking the time to comment on my fic like I so badly want them to, I think it’s important to respond to show my appreciation!

10) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

aha YEAH I DO. this past weekend I actually got a number of shitty comments and had to file two ao3 abuse reports for harrasment (: I love it

I am no stranger to hate comments. I write copious amounts of age difference fic. I write copious amounts of incest. I am not going to apologize nor am I going to feel bad for enjoying either.

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

ughhh I sure as heck hope not!

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?

Yes! I have a number of them :) I always always do my best to make sure it’s linked to the original fic, AND that I add a tag noting that there’s a translation!

13) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

I have made a few attempts! the only successful attempt is there's nothing i wouldn't do to make you feel my love which is a collaboration with @flightinflame, not quite a co-write!

14) What’s your all-time favorite ship?

I am unable to answer this lol I don’t have an all-time favourite. mutli-shipping forever.

15) What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

god okay this is such a good question! imma ramble about a few so bear with me here! (i may have 700 posted works but I also have a few hundreds wips & ideas floating around in my gdrive, too)

gone & past - this is a starrish wip i’d started in 2017. I ended up deleting it from ao3 to rewrite it and never got there, but I have about 20k of content! I built my home, inside of you - thorki human au with college jock thor and high school dancer loki. i’ve got a start and nothing else Sheriff Stilinski Gets Some Sweet Sweet Lovin’ - massive wip where... well, the sheriff fucks his way through the entire pack. I want to write it but. trans allison au - this is an au where allison is trans and that changes the entire season 1 canon. it features stallison, petopher, and a looooooong ass outline that will never exist beyond my wips You Fill My Heart (With Such a Gentle Love) - this is a stetopher a/b/o au with pregnant omega stiles and alpha pair petopher falling in love. it started as a labour of love to someone I no longer have in my life. I have about 30k, a full outline, but idk. makes me sad to think about it they slipped briskly into an intimacy from which they never recovered - this is my big x-men first class rewrite that I honestly don’t think i’ll ever finish. I have a few thousand words, a full outline, but no love lost for cherik so. doubtful Physiotherapy (I'll Be Your Baby) - this was a fic I was SO excited about, and then it kinda flopped and stayed a wip because I didn’t have a plan or the motivation to finish it. it’s a winterspider human au with amputee bucky and science twink peter that I adore the premise of but who knows breathing you in chapter 2 - I have a massive second chapter planned for this fic but the first did so good so fast I am way too intimidated to write more in case everyone hates it lmao

there are more arjgoirjeg there are so many more but these are the bigger ones I can think of right now!

16) What are your writing strengths?

ughhhhh I hate answering this because I have, like, seriously bad imposter syndrome around my writing BUT I do think i’m able to weave poignant backstory into narration & i write strong, distinctive narrative voices!

17) What are your writing weaknesses?

literally I can’t write settings at all. I don’t know how people vividly describe settings but I absolutely cannot do that and it’s one of the reasons I haven’t delved into original fiction. I need to write the town my characters live in?? fuck that imma just use a location we’ve seen on screen & let readers fill in the blanks lmao

I am also shit at long fic. I don’t have the mind for long and interesting plots, and I don’t have the focus to write long fic (which is why every long fic i’ve ever posted has taken me literal years to complete smh).

18) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

I like it! both as a reader and as a writer. as a writer, I generally only use a few words, or small sentences that can be understood by context, and I generally don’t

19) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

the last thing I wrote and posted was this one:

Languish

It was a really, really hot Saturday, and most of the school was outback, enjoying the sun, not caring about the heat, and having the time of their life.

Everyone but Bobby, of course, who was melting away.

“I just want to remind everyone that I make ice. I am the Ice Man. I am not built for the heat and soon enough I’m going to melt away into nothing.”

20) What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

this is another impossible question! I have a few I really enjoy, but I really don’t think I have a favourite that stands out above the rest!

i’m tagging: @4magicandmayhem @insertmeaningfulusername @midrashic @wynnefic @ikeracity @stronglyobsessed @elledelajoie @wolfnprey & anyone else who sees it and wants to do it! seriously! go ahead :)

blank questions below the read more!

1) How many works do you have on AO3?

2) What’s your total AO3 word count?

3) How many fandoms have you written for, and what are they?

4) What are your top 5 fics by kudos?

5) What’s the fic you’ve written with the angstiest ending?

6) What’s the fic you’ve written with the happiest ending?

7) Do you write crossovers? If so, what is the craziest one you’ve written?

8) Do you write smut? If so, what kind?

9) Do you respond to comments? Why or why not?

10) Have you ever received hate on a fic?

11) Have you ever had a fic stolen?

12) Have you ever had a fic translated?

13) Have you ever co-written a fic before?

14) What’s your all-time favorite ship?

15) What’s a WIP that you want to finish but don’t think you ever will?

16) What are your writing strengths?

17) What are your writing weaknesses?

18) What are your thoughts on writing dialogue in other languages in a fic?

19) What was the first fandom you wrote for?

20) What’s your favourite fic you’ve written?

#lavenderlotion #my writing #writing tag #writing meme

24 notes · View notes

tearblossom · 4 years ago

Text

Orbital Station Scene Analysis: Part 3

Lmao here we go again. Ready to fall even deeper down the rabbit hole that is this scene with me!? This one scene functions simultaneously as my source of joy and depression and I watch it more than I would care to admit. So, naturally, I have even more to say about it! It’s going to be long. Sorry.

Part 1- https://tearblossom.tumblr.com/post/645095661644251136/scene-analysis-this-is-just-what-i-personally-feel

Part 2- https://tearblossom.tumblr.com/post/645776311115186176/i-was-thinking-some-more-about-the-final-scene

In this one, I’ll be going into more detail explaining the emotional mask that I believe Takemura is trying so desperately to keep on during this scene (and undeniably fails at several times, with it coming off entirely upon the scene reaching a certain pivotal moment) and also pointing out the instances that I feel the mask slips occur. Honestly, it’s pretty easy to tell for reasons that I will explain. I’m going to reiterate the fact that I am not a facial expression/body language expert. This is just one human being looking at another human being and trying to figure them out. This is just my personal interpretation of this scene. Prepare yourself for many, many screenshots and gifs. Also, I will be using the same video sources as the other two posts because I don’t have my own footage.

https://youtu.be/ra-Ij1KU8r4

https://youtu.be/PUmQqVOq5oY

I failed to mention before the reason that Takemura even had to put up the cruel facade in the first place because I didn’t want to state the obvious and insult everyone’s intelligence. We all know the reason but I’ll just say it here anyway: Arasaka.

Arasaka is listening to Takemura’s every word so he literally cannot say shit to V that would hint at any sort of affection for him/her and absolutely nothing that would indicate any growing uncertainty in said corporation. Words mean nothing here. He has to speak through his eyes and expressions because that is all he has to offer, the only cards he has to play. That is why the meaning of this scene can be so easily missed and flies over so many people’s heads. I do not fault anyone that may have missed this on a first playthrough or even those that are still unaware of it whatsoever because Takemura is very, very convincing at first (his face becomes an open book once the contract gets brought out but we’ll get into that later) and besides, to truly understand something that involves emotions as complex as these caused by equally as complex reasons or anything involving subtext really, takes multiple viewings to truly appreciate.

In summary, what I believe is happening here is that during the entire scene up until the contract gets brought out, his mental state is constantly teetering on the edge of a cliff so to speak. He is trying so hard to fight his sentimentality and control his emotional responses not only to V’s misery and pain but also his own wavering faith in Arasaka because they are watching, listening, and monitoring. And he succeeds extremely well at first but it gets harder and harder for him to maintain the mask. The closer he physically gets to V, the harder it is to pretend, to hide. His eyes alone betray him on several occasions but eventually the whole facade just crumbles and he falls. And when the contract comes into play is when he truly, honestly looks at V and the communication through his eyes really begins.

Here is the key thing- it is the most important visual clue to understanding when things happen: When Takemura is feeling any doubt or his emotions begin to overwhelm him or he fears that they might, he promptly averts his eyes to get himself under control and readjusts the mask that has slipped.

He looks away from V during these moments!

(Just to clarify, I don’t think that every single moment in the scene that he looks away from V has this deeper meaning behind it. When people talk it’s completely natural for them to turn their heads, avert their eyes to look at other things, etc. These are just some moments that particularly stood out to me as signs pointing to my little theory.)

Okay...let’s start deciphering this conflicted, broken mess of a man.

Scene starts. Takemura is fiddling with the Rubik’s Cube. He puts it down. Expression cold as ice.

mask on full display in all of it’s glory

They talk about Saburo being back in the body of his son and have this exchange of words:

V: “Saw Saburo Arasaka’s back. In Yorinobu’s body.”

Goro: “Yes. Justice has been done.”

And then it happens for the first time...

(Could this be...doubt perhaps? Has justice really been done?)

Moving on- he walks over to stand behind the chair across from V, telling them of their imminent death.

Goro: “I will be blunt - the surgery did not help. You will be dead before winter.”

And then he proceeds to make this face immediately after...

(Lovely, isn’t it? Just full of sympathy. His mask game is strong. But don’t worry though because V wins in the end BIG TIME.)

Understandably, V gets very upset upon hearing this news.

V: “How... how’s that possible? Arasaka’s got the best and the brightest.”

And then something happens again. Whatever could it be, I wonder!

But wait, there’s more!

(He couldn’t even wait until he finished talking before looking away! It’s getting more difficult for him to look at V with a straight face every second! Also, his expression here is the most broken looking yet.) :(

He must not reveal what is hidden behind this emotional wall that he’s worked so hard to build up specifically for this meeting because the room they are speaking in may just as well be made of glass with Arasaka’s unrelenting gaze, an ever-present entity, on the other side of it. He will do so soon though, when he offers V salvation. The contract raises the stakes. The rules change. He feels the wall breaking and there isn’t anything he can do about it and he knows it.

IT’S CHAIR TIME, CHOOMS!

He looks away another 6 TIMES! Leaning more and more over that edge. Feast your eyes...

IT’S CONTRACT TIME, BABY!

Oh, shit!

It’s happening!!

He does look away here but there’s no mask on when he looks back...only despair.

It’s gone.

TO SIGN OR NOT TO SIGN

The disguise is off now. From this point onward, Takemura looks at V with his true feelings on display. This is where the ability to read the emotion portrayed solely through one’s eyes really comes into play because even though he’s not trying to hide anything anymore, he still can’t say what he really wants to say. We have to feel it through his expressions. His thoughts are so loud during these final moments of the scene that we don’t even need words to know what he’s saying.

REFUSE TO SIGN

SIGN

HOLY GRAIL MOMENT!

(I’m literally going to copy and paste what I have in my part 2 analysis about this section because I explained my thoughts on it about as well as I am able to there and have nothing else to add. My apologies for repeating myself but I feel the exact same way about it so it still applies here.)

These reactions make perfect sense because we’ve always known that he cares deeply for V and never stopped. He just couldn’t hide it! But even with this treasure trove of emotional mask slips and unintentional displays of affection, I still wasn’t sure exactly how deeply he cared for V. In other words- if he was actually in love with V or not.

Is he already in love or is he still in the process of falling in love? Is it just a friendly love? (hell no! I knew that was definitely not the case but I still had to ask just so I could cross it off the list!)

And then the two of them walked to the door and said their parting words.

V: “Gonna see each other again?”

Goro: “I believe we will.”

V: “So… see you.”

Goro: “Visit me in Kagawa - I will show you what is real food.”

And then…

he proceeded to make these faces…

HOLY

SHIT!

(The mask isn’t just gone now- it’s burned, splintered, shattered, exploded in a million pieces, disintegrated!)

This man just had the biggest revelation of his entire life: the realization that he is in love with V. These are looks of love and I will not be convinced otherwise. I’m not a facial expression expert or anything, only stating my humble opinions here, but are you seeing this!?

He realizes the truth and it catches him so off guard that he has to look away. He contemplates these newfound feelings and tries to sort them out in the few seconds that he has left with V. And he does. He accepts them. He welcomes them. The gentle, knowing look he gives V when he looks back at them is saying just this.

He also knows that he is now fucked because his love for V is going to complicate things so much more than they already were. Now that he is fully aware that he is in love, these feelings are going to directly conflict with his duties to Arasaka later if a situation arises that places V and Arasaka on opposing sides and I think we all know that is most definitely going to happen at some point.

And now he has to see the love of his life die and just leave this place and go on with his day. Damn. This is turning into one of the saddest love stories I’ve ever seen. Something major is going to happen in the dlc that is going to force his hand one way or another: V or Arasaka? I hope that Arasaka somehow fucks up so bad that it makes his choice easier but my heart breaks imagining the amount of conflict and torment that await him.

The Beginning and The End

#cyberpunk 2077 #goro takemura #takemura #takemura romance

74 notes · View notes

wreckofawriter · 4 years ago

Text

Strawberries

Restaurant AU!

Pairing: James Potter x Reader

Word Count: 3k

Warnings: Lewd language, swearing, a small mention of sexual harassment. tooth-rotting fluff.

Summary: You hate being a waitress for rich assholes, but maybe the new line cook will make it a little better

A/n: this is for week three of my Cliche Month. Sorry for being inactive. I suck at time management and have no motivation.

You never aspired to be a waitress. You didn’t sit down in primary school on a ridiculously colorful rug and tell your underpaid depressed teacher that you wanted to wait on prestigious assholes and rich men who thought a 20 dollar tip bought them an ass grab. You never wanted to wait on entitled white women and spoiled brats. But shit happens.

“Yes ma’am I understand but that was last week’s special, we don’t serve it anymore.”

The woman rolled her eyes, “I don’t think you do understand. I said I want the sea bass, just have them make the sea bass.”

You bit back cusses, “I am very sorry ma’am but we don’t have the ingredients in the kitchen to make a sea bass. I can recommend our halibut it’s severed with a delicious mango chutney and-”

“Shut up about the mango crap. She said she wants a seabass, give her a seabass.” The man who sat on the opposite side of the table spoke.

Your smile almost faltered, “Sir, we don’t have sea bass.”

“Then get some.” The man huffed, “There are plenty of stores around.”

You had already taken the fork beside him and jabbed him in the eye in your mind four times, “I am terribly sorry sir, we cannot do that.”

The look on his face could only be described as disgust, “I would like to speak to your supervisor.”

You took in a deep breath, “Sir, he will not say any different.”

“Now girl.” He snapped, his wife’s smirk making you want to smash her champagne glass over her head.

“I will be right back.” You forced a smile, notebook flipping shut as you turned, the click of your heels disappearing into the chatter of diners. You almost rubbed your tired eyes only to remember the makeup which coated them and dropped your hands back to your side. You walked towards the pass of the kitchen, the smell of fish and meats becoming stronger as waiters weaved around you.

“Denzel.” You called, the man in question turning towards you.

He raised his eyebrows in a silent question.

“Can you pretend to be my supervisor?” You asked, “Some idiots still want to order the sea bass.”

“I’m assuming you told them that was last week's special.” He spoke as you began to lead him back to the couple.

“Multiple times.” you sighed.

He nodded smiles finding both of your faces as you stood in front of the table.

“How can I help you both tonight?” He spoke, his voice dramatically shifting tones.

The woman went on to explain your complete incompetence just to hear your friend restate everything you had. She eventually ordered the halibut.

Denzel left thanking them for their cooperation as you went on to take the man's order and pretending not to hear his wife calling you a bitch as you walked away.

You wanted to be a journalist, a warrior of justice. You wanted to expose the one percent, shattering their ivory towers with a mallet of words.

Instead, you served them halibut and ribeyes with a smile as fake as their trophy wives tits.

James had fallen in love with many things in his life but cooking had been the most prevalent. Most hobbies were tossed out windows, they became phases, leaving nothing but footprints in his life. But cooking had been different. Since he was five years old and would hop onto a stepping stool to peer into the cast-iron pan his mother would be sauteing in he had been hooked. By age 10 he was making things like meatballs and stroganoff. At fourteen he began to engage in more complicated dishes and by the time he hit culinary school he was easily the best in class.

Now as he washed his hundredth dish of the night he wondered if all of that love had been for absolutely nothing. When applying for a line cook position at one of the most prestigious restaurants in London he definitely didn’t expect to be stuck as a dishwasher.

James’ hands felt raw from scrubbing, his apron soaked with warm water and unscented soap. His feet were aching in his shoes, his jealousy for those putting together the night’s last desserts burning hot.

He ignored his anger and pushed on, washing plate after plate just to place them into an industrial-sized dishwasher which was supposed to thoroughly clean the dishes which he already spent hours scrubbing. Dessert plates and wine glasses seemed to replace every dinner plate he had washed, his work seeming endless as his coworkers said goodnight and walked out the back door.

It took James another hour to finish. He felt like he could pass out on the kitchen floor. His glasses were a greasy steamed mess as he pushed them back up his nose for the nth time that evening. He sighed out in a mix of exhaustion and relief untying his apron and preparing to leave.

“So you’re the newbie?”

James jumped letting out a small yelp as his heart leapt in his chest.

You let out a snort hand coming to cover your mouth, a poor attempt of hiding your giggles.

“You scared the shit out of me.” James huffed his glare only holding for a moment as you came into focus. Your hair was up in a reckless bun, your waitress uniform slightly crumpled, heels held in your left hand. Yet your cheeks seemed to be painted, the smirk your visage held tantalizing.

“I saw.” You snickered padding past him and dropping your shoes onto a counter with a small clink. You headed for the refrigerator, opening it and scorning over its contents. You finally settled on a container of cut strawberries, which were to be used as a garnish the next day, “You won’t tell will you?” You muttered peeling open the top and snatching a fork from the dishwasher.

James nodded, what for he wasn’t quite sure.

You jumped onto the counter spinning to face him, “Sooo, what’s your name?”

“Uhh, James, James Potter.” He said leaning back onto the sink.

“It’s very nice to meet you, James.” You grinned, “I’m y/n y/l/n.”

An awkward silence followed as you plopped a berry into your mouth, its flavor bursting as you side-eyed the man.

“You’re a line cook right?” You asked, legs swinging in front of you.

James pouted a bit, his cheeks puffing for a brief moment, “Well I’m supposed to be but so far all I’ve done is wash dishes and take out the trash.”

You hummed in understanding, swallowing fruit before speaking again, “They do that to every newbie. They want to make sure you can do the dirty work before they let you burn on the line.”

James started at you, “Really?”

You shrugged, “That’s how it’s always worked.”

“That’s a relief I thought I was going to be stuck doing this shit.” James relished in his found happiness feeling a bit more energized, “Hey what are you doing back here anyway, didn’t most of the waitresses leave like an hour ago?”

“I just had to see if the new cook was as attractive as all the girls said he was.” You grinned.

James felt his cheeks flame, eyes going wide, “Are you serious?”

“No,” You snickered, “I got hungry and didn’t feel like cooking.”

The heat of his cheeks only worsened, “That’s rude.”

You cooed, “Ooh poor baby I’m so sorry I hurt your feelings, are you going to be okay?”

“I don’t know.” James huffed, “I don’t think I can take this harassment.”

The laughter that echoed around him caused a smile to break onto his face.

You suddenly realized he was as attractive as the other waitresses were saying. Even if his hair was a mess and his glasses were smudged.

You hadn’t been lying. By his third week, James was helping with both garnish and desserts. His thirst for cooking finally being fulfilled even by the small tasks he had been given. He was still forced to do dishes at the end of service but usually, someone would help him or even trade-off with him so he could take part in prep.

Most nights when he was left alone in the kitchen you would appear, always claiming to be hungry and that cooking was for “the weak.” so you would raid the fridge instead. You stated many times that veggies and leftover slices of cake were a fine dinner much to James’ distaste.

“That's it.” The newbie announced, hands in the air in mock surrender as you opened a container of cauliflower. “This has to stop.”

Your heart sped in your chest, was he going to turn you in?

“You can’t keep eating shit, I’m going to cook something for you.” James huffed, moving you aside and beginning to pull stuff from the refrigerator.

You lifted your brows, “Are you sure?”

James nodded, “You need to taste actual food.”

You rolled your eyes, “Couldn’t you get in, like, a lot of trouble.”

“You aren’t going to tell me, are you?” He smirked pulling out salmon and bok choy.

“Obviously not.” You huffed taking your usual seat in the counter as James began to work, “What are you making anyway?”

“Asian inspired salmon.” He mumbled, lighting the stove and grabbing a frying pan.

You sat in comfortable silence, watching as he cut the vegetable in half placing it into a pan and the salmon into another. James’ hands moved quickly, not hesitating with the large knives he handled and weaving through the meal as he grabbed seasonings and sauces.

By the time he was pulling the fish from the heat, the kitchen had filled with the scent of soy sauce and warmth.

Grabbing a plate James placed on the salmon followed by the bok choy and the lemon sesame sauce. He wiped the rim with a damp rag and presented it before you with enough dramatics to earn a giggle.

“You’re ridiculous.” You spoke through a smile taking the fork from his offering hand and digging in.

You placed the tender meat into your mouth and was greeted by an explosion of flavors that danced on your tongue like pixie dust. You hummed, a facade of deliberation on your face, “It's overcooked.” You started plainly watching as James’ face dropped. “I’m just kidding it's delicious.” You laughed as James rolled his eyes.

“You are such a dick,” he mumbled, beginning to clean the slight mess he had made.

“What are you doing?” You asked. James gave you a strange look, “Get a fork dumbass, you can’t make rich people food like this and then not eat it.”

The smile that crept onto his face caused wings to erupt in your stomach.

You had always hated teenagers. They were spoiled and greedy and gross. So when an older woman walked in with four 17-year-old boys you had fled the scene. Unfortunately, the waitress head placed you at the table anyway. The second you reached the table all four adolescence had fallen silent and you were positive it wasn’t them being polite. One of them started at your boobs the entire they ordered and you could feel their eyes on your ass as you walked away.

You were used to the gross stares, every waitress was. It didn’t matter how expensive the food was there always seemed to be creeps asking for it. What you had not been prepared for was the boy closest to you to reach out and grab you.

You didn’t hesitate, hand snatching his wrist before he had a chance to fully pull away. The woman the boys were with gasped. You squeezed his arm tight hoping he could feel your nails biting his skin.

“Touch me again and I will cut your hand off. Am I clear?” You hissed, a whimper left the teen’s mouth and you released him. You placed his plate in front of him with a clatter and didn’t waste time walking away.

Your anger didn’t diminish the rest of the night and by the time your shift was over you considered going straight home, a shower and an extra hour of sleep would serve you well.

You glanced into the kitchen, there were three chefs left, James stood in front of the sink smiling at nothing as he always seemed to do. A sigh left your lips, who needs sleep anyway?

“I’ll close up.” You called to the head waitress who shot you a skeptical look.

“You used to hate closing.” She mused, “What’s with the sudden change of heart?”

You shrugged, “Nothing in particular.”

She smirked, “So it has absolutely nothing to do with the new dishwasher?”

Pink bloomed on your cheeks, “He’s a line cook and no it doesn’t.”

“Uh-huh, sure it doesn’t.” She mocked, “If you’re gonna fuck just don’t do it in the kitchen.”

Your face twisted in disgust and you almost dropped the napkins you held, “That is so gross.”

She laughed, dropping the keys on the bar, “If I find any bodily fluids in my office you’re fired.”

“You are disgusting.” You hissed, face hot and she only laughed harder.

You finished cleaning off the remainder of the tables, peeking into the kitchen occasionally as the last two cooks left for the night.

The weight of your exertion hit hard as you entered the kitchen, legs seeming to give out as you bent down to remove your heels.

James noticed your discomfort and let out a chuckle, “Let me.”

You stood up a bit too quickly, head spinning for a second as you were lifted onto the counter, James crouching to slip off your shoes. You sighed leaning back onto your palms.

“Tough day?” he asked, turning back to open the fridge.

You nodded, “Kids are assholes.”

James laughed, “And why's that?”

You yawned eyes watering from its force as you answered, “Well one little highschool shit grabbed my ass.”

James froze, he hand hovering midair as he processed what you had just told him, “What?”

“Oh yeah, entitled rich kids always think they can touch whatever they want. It's why I hate serving teenagers.” You complained not noticing the distress you had put James under.

“This happens regularly?” He was appalled.

“Well not really regularly more like once a month, it’s not always teenagers though,” You explained, “Oo what’s that?”

James set the container of chocolate-covered strawberries in front of you. His mouth still agape “Once a month isn’t regular?”

You huffed, “Can we stop talking about it? It happens to every waitress.”

“Yeah, sorry,” James mumbled watching as you bit into a strawberry, lipstick smearing.

“You going to have one of these?” You asked, holding one between your thumb and pointer finger.

“Sure.” James went to grab the strawberry only for you to pull it away with a grin.

“No, no, I get to feed it to you.” Your smile was sweetly arranged.

Heat tingled on his neck like tv static, “Don’t be ridiculous y/n.”

“Oh come on James, don’t be a pussy.” You taunted waving the fruit in front of him as color painted his cheeks.

He glared at you in mock annoyance as his heartbeat began to run, “Fine.”

You giggled as he took the berry into his mouth, lips barely grazing your fingertips as he pulled away.

James had never been more embarrassed in his life, he chewed the sweet fruit refusing to meet your eyes as you continued to laugh.

“You’re cute ya’ know.” You giggled.

James scoffed, a mix of bittersweet coming from your words, “Whatever.” He walked away from you hiding his flushed face.

You whined, “I’m not joking. You are really cute.”

“Seriously y/n stop,” James spoke, his voice laced with disappointment and melancholy.

You rolled your eyes, “You’re such an idiot James.”

He leaned against the refrigerator as you plopped another berry into your mouth. His arms crossed as a pout you had found yourself obsessed with took his lips.

“A few girls actually did want your number.” You hummed watching as he seemed to perk up, reminding you of a puppy given a toy. “I was supposed to get it for them, but I didn’t really want to.”

James scrunched his brows, “Why not?”

“Cause I wanted your number dumbass.” You scoffed, “I wasn’t about to give it to someone else.” `

This only confused him more, “Why would you want my number?”

A groan lifted from your lips, “Your skull is so thick James. I want your number because you’re cute and funny and all that shit.” your voice fell to a mumble and your eyes became glued to your swinging feet.

“Why didn’t you ask for my number?” James challenged and you felt your already warm face grow hot.

“I was nervous.” You muttered bitterly not liking the vulnerable position you had been put into.

James was suddenly stepping towards you “What was that?” he grinned hand to his ear mockingly.

“You’re enjoying this too much.” You grumbled, “Look I like you, I think you’re cute and sweet and funny now are you going to continue being a dick or give me a proper response?”

James continued to beam, stepping closer to you as you glared up at him with pink cheeks.

“Well, you’re really cute too.” James said, “And I think you were being the dick for making me try to impress you for three weeks only to say you liked me the entire time.”

You were tempted to bury your head in your hands but considering that would mean you breaking his gaze you stopped yourself, “Oh fuck off.” you muttered heart thudding so loud you wondered if James could hear it.

“Is that really what you want?” He questioned already knowing the answer. He leaned over you cupping your cheek.

“Just kiss me already asshole.” You murmured.

James tilted your head up to meet his lips. They were soft and plush, a thousand times better than you imagined them to be nights before. Your thighs parted as his own pressed against the counter between them in desperation to be closer to you. Closed kisses turned to open-mouthed ones, leaving the pleasant taste of strawberries on your tongue.

Taglist:

@accio-rogers @roslea @k3nz-doodl3 @theseuscmander @sleepingalaska @chloe-geoghegan1 @obsessedwithrandomthings @coldlilheart

Masterlist

767 notes · View notes