#perspective is a cruel mistress

[rustic-space-fiddle]

Passing the time~

[pruneunfair]

Rashta and every other manhwa mistress/OI protagonist represents us in some ways.

In celebration of season 4 of TRE being released (dear God I'm not ready for it wish me luck) I wanted to talk about Rashta (I know, how many times have I made Rashta the center of my posts now at this point) But this time it isn't to critique the series or just unhinged ranting about things that annoy me.

Ive been reading a lot of remarried empress fanfics and of course there's are a few where a woman gets isekaied as Rashta, and usually, the isekaied woman gets on her knees and starts apologizing to Navier or showing horror everytime they get reminded that they were Sovieshus mistress, I also see a lot of comments on various videos saying "if I were Rashta, I would never steal Naviers man and become her loyal maid!" Or something along those lines. In general there's a lot of people saying that they would never be horrible and Navier would accept them as a result, but if we are being realistic.. Navier would not accept Rashta as her bestie no matter who was controlling her body, and even in an Au where she does, Rashta is her maid.. so even if Rashta hated Navier from day 1, what's she gonna do as a maid? Throw water on her cause that won't go well.

Now this isn't me saying "Oh Navier is so mean! She'd never look at a slave with compassion cause she's so classist!" It's what's realistic now that we aren't looking at it through the lense of a wish fufilment. Navier is an empress, an empress who was currently in a toxic relationship at the time, trying to warm up to her and shit talk Sovieshu to her is more then likely gonna make her feel just as uncomfortable when Rashta called her sister, because if you did do that, she'd probably respond with "why are you here then?" Or just a "alright.. please leave me alone now." Because your still her husband's mistress who she'd rather just not be around, and if we aren't considering that, she's still an empress who was raised with the kind of values youd expect: an exceptional leader and child bearer, considering that Navier too doesn't seem concerned with the slaves or even straight up poverty she wouldnt think it needs fixing because those were never values her teachers thought were necessary worries, only volunteery ones, and as empress Navier would be a little cautious and selective about her companions and ladies in waiting, this isnt just a fictional thing either, most empresses and queens in history didn't become friends with every fangirl she had. But there's tons of people today who believe otherwise.

Thats the thing, it's exactly what Rashta did, she put Navier on a pedestal and expected her to welcome her in with open arms and when Navier didn't do that, she immediately went to the conclusion that she hated her. Because a lot of readers only think of the main character as the best person, you get hit with a wave of betrayal when they do realistic human things which is another point in the AU where Rashta is sent to Navier and she somehow had the idea that Navier didn't need to go to the bathroom because she was so perfect.

And it's not just being her husbands mistress that will put her off, if you were just some stranger or even a noble who in the perspective of other nobles should know etiquette, you'd be looked at with contempt by many and yes while Navier would never do anything outright cruel to a stranger and maybe even have a conversation with one, there's a good chance she's not gonna wanna be best friends forever. So as a result, there'd be a good chunk of people who act like those super fans when their favorite celebrity won't give them an autograph: disappointment at best and down right hatred at worse. This is even a point I see in other OI when the ogfl isn't so perfect and the protagonist starts to dislike them for not being the picture perfect badass they thought.

While we all like say that we would never make the decisions of Rashta if we got isekaied as her, would we really? If you can then good for you cause you got some strong mental health there but for most of us, we'd probably be upset now that we are in another woman's perspective, a lot of people would feel angry that Navier isn't the mega goddess who would understand Rashtas situation if she spoke up, they'd be sad that Navier and Heinrey do have flaws that make them into actual people and not archetypes, and most of all, a lot of us would probably still end up on the path Rashta went on or anything similar since we would likely not know any etiquette beyond what we saw in bridgerton, there's a good chance too that the language in remarried empress isn't like any language in the world, and while you could just avoid characters like Duke Ergi (which i don't count on a lot of fans doing since hes a hot pretty boy) it'd be hard to find a happy ending as the villainess that doesn't result in your getting killed, kicked back out in the streets, or at best being kept as a breeding Mare. That's what Rashta is, she's a perfect example of what we think we would do Vs the likelihood of something more realistic and grim. Something that can bring the worst out of us if we felt wronged

Remember, this isn't me shit talking Navier or even the remarried empress in general, I just felt like I reached some sort of epiphany I wanted to share.

[rosenongrata]

Immortalize

⋯☆ Summary: When Zhongli seemingly doesn't reciprocate your romantic feelings, you know that push has come to shove.

⋯☆ A/N: hey this fic almost made me cry lol. i hope you guys enjoy it as much as i enjoyed writing it!

⋯☆ AO3 Link.

⋯☆ W.C: 2.1k

⋯☆ CW: Angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort. (tell me if I should add anything else!)

“I love you, Zhongli.”

You two have long since been friends—for years. He couldn't ask for a better mortal as a friend, he's known this for quite some time now. He's confided in you about many of his struggles, although most only scratched the surface of his iceberg of memories.

His own insecurity and fears keep him locked away from confessing his true identity to you. He figures you don't need to know and never will need to. The last thing he'd ever want to place upon your shoulders is the burden of his long-winded history.

But…

You're already acutely aware of his former identity, aren't you? You have been for a while. Although you'd hate to call him out like that—it's a touchy subject, isn't it? That's what you concluded, at least. So, you never brought it up, for his sake. He has his reasons, you have yours.

And today wasn't much different from his perspective. That is up until you quite suddenly confessed to him over lunch at Wanmin Restaurant. His heart flutters before leaving behind an obtuse desire to shatter. But his eyes betray his feelings—he remains perfectly composed, or so he thinks.

In reality, he has the most distant expression on his face, his mouth agape by a sliver while his molten gold eyes turn into a thousand-yard stare. And that's his pure, unadulterated shock mixed with heartbreak written all over his face.

Even you can see through that calm and composed gaze—only to witness a single, tiny tear welling up in his left eye. You're not sure if he heard you or not—while you're somewhat positive that he did, you decide to check.

"I love you, Zhongli…" You echo softly as your smile threatens to snap into a broken frown.

And now all you can wonder is if he hates you for this.

"A-Ah, yes." He sputters out awkwardly, finally finding himself again and readjusting his facial posture. "I…" He trails off, that tear rising to the very precipice of his eye once again.

"Are you…alright? Should I leave?" You whisper, already backtracking.

"Y-Yes, I am quite well." He nods, clearing his throat, and he tells you what he convinces himself is the truth, "I…cannot reciprocate your feelings. I am sorry."

"It's okay… Are we still friends?" You inquire, a broken smile on your lips.

You half-expected that response, given his hidden identity. But, what came next is something you didn't think twice about, let alone once.

"Let me…think about it." He stands up sharply, his shoulders and back tense. And without another word, he leaves in a rush—to hide his oncoming tears and sniffles.

He didn't want to say it, but one can't have everything they want. Life is an unfair, cruel mistress.

…Just how long has it been since he last cried, he wonders when he gets home—rushing to sit on the cushioned sofa.

At some point, his memories harass him so harshly that he dozes off in an attempt to escape—slipping into an uncomfortable midday slumber. His brows furrow even in his sleep, his expression looking like he's about to cry a bit more.

He's never quite cried over a mortal before, especially one that is still alive. And he's never quite been in love, either. Yet this love in his heart screams and aches for you to stay with him as long as he allows it. He thought he could bury these feelings six feet deep, but they have their ways of crawling out to bite him where it hurts most.

He's sick of losing people, really. He's much more tired of it than he lets on. That much you've realized ever since piecing together his hidden distant past.

You figure it hurts him a lot to lose so much and still has to remember it all. And more often than not, you wonder how he manages to keep a cool head through all of it.

As you walk to his home to check up on him, you can only hope he's safe and sound. He's not the type to make rash decisions, but the moment he ran off back home has you more than a bit concerned.

When you arrive, you're thankful he didn't even take another moment to think about taking the spare key to his home back from you. Or else you'd be in a more than precarious position right now.

After tiptoeing into his abode, you immediately notice how he hastily threw his jacket to the floor. Even his loafers aren't neatly placed away in their shoe cubby like they usually are. You sigh a little, your heart heavy with worry. You must've really upset the poor man if he didn't even bother to stay peculiar about his habits.

Doing him a small favor, you dust off his coat and hang it on the rack next to his other similar outerwear. You even put his shoes away in their cubby underneath the coat rack. He needs less stress, you figure, you would hate for him to feel exasperated later because he made a mess.

Once out of your own shoes, you sneak throughout the house. It's not hard to find him, he's sprawled out on the sofa with his long limbs in every which way they can reach.

How long has he been asleep, exactly? Well, you shelve that thought away for now. You'd smile at his sleeping form if it weren't for the fact that his expression is so deeply furrowed and tight that he looks like he's going to sob at any moment. What could he be dreaming about, you wonder.

Glancing around, you find a spare blanket and pull it over him. His features and body immediately relax from the gentle, loving action. You never once think about holding back the tiny smile that paints your lips, a sigh of relief leaving you.

…You want to make him as happy as you can, after all. And what's a better way than to have him cozy, make him some silk flower tea, and then…leave for Celestia-knows-how -long?

Love can make someone do crazy things, you know.

—

It's been months since anyone last saw you.

Even if your family knew anything about your disappearance, they certainly didn't say anything about it. In Zhongli's eyes, it looks like a cover-up for something darker than he initially suspects.

He ends up imagining the worst.

Which does no good for his historic heart at all.

He's helpless to his own self-blame that riddles his mind and body. His body aches—his muscles taut. He even gets frequent headaches, with seemingly no end in sight to them. His appetite is much smaller than before, barely interested in his favorite dishes. Even his other friends notice how he's not as peculiar about everything as he was before. And he buries himself in his work at Wangsheng, taking up more jobs than Hu Tao thinks he should.

But there's no convincing him otherwise until he comes to terms with himself. He's always been like this—steady, but also stubborn as stone.

And today is no different—even with dark clouds pouring rain onto the harbor. He can feel his heart sink heavier than ever, the storm outside being no help to his poor state of mind. He yearns for your warm touch, something to bring him a semblance of comfort to his aching bones.

Yet he presses on with his paperwork. Hu Tao has hidden many pieces of his work from him without his knowledge, forcing him to give himself a break. That doesn’t stop him from finding something tasking to do, though.

…Such as taking the paperwork off of his coworker's hands (with their permission) and working on those instead. But, at some point, he becomes sluggish with a foggy mind—the fog is thick as mud. Even he starts feeling rather sleepy…

And the moment he begins to doze off, he feels the papers beneath his arms pulled out from under him. His head jerks up to see the culprit—only to see Hu Tao, his boss. He reaches out to the papers, only to have her move them away at the last second. She teases him by waving the stack of parchment in front of him.

"Ah-ah~, I think it's bedtime for a certain overworked consultant!" She coos, but he can see the worry in her slightly pinched eyes and tiny smile.

"B-Bedtime? It's the middle of the day, Director…" He retorts, attempting to regain his composure as if he hadn't been dozing off moments before.

"Then, I order thee to take a small nap!" She uses her spare hand to point at him. "I'll lock the office door behind me. Now, please rest. Give it a break, you old fart." She sighs softly, "I'll check on you in an hour~." She promises with a wink before leaving, paperwork in hand.

"Director—" He says, but it's already too late for him to get his case in.

After a few solid moments of listening to the clock on the wall tick-tock away and his instincts scream at him about staying productive, he moves away from his desk. A one-hour nap couldn't hurt, right? He can only hope.

With that smidge of reassurance in his mind, he lays down on the spare sofa in the corner of the lavish office. Sleep comes difficult—like usual—but it does happen after shifting around on the sofa and listening to his own silly worries for about 30 minutes.

He must love you a lot, you know that, right?

—

Later that evening, Zhongli trudges home even as the monsoon storm pushes past him, surely soaking him and his layered clothes. His mind is as cloudy as the sky; his body remains firm and steady as stone—as it always has.

Yet when he hears a familiar call of a loved one's voice, he snaps out of his daze and whips his head around to see the culprit. When he sees nothing out of the ordinary, he grumbles bitter nonsense under his breath. His bitterness only grows when he realizes he forgot his wallet at work (which also had his keys).

"Need a key?"

There's that familiar voice again. But when he turns around this time, it doesn't take a blind man to realize who it is. He feels his heart jump into his throat in response, cutting off his ability to breathe and speak.

It's you.

He can't believe his eyes—the other day he was almost certain you had died. Yet…here you are once again. So close to him and so real, along with the spare key that you hold up—its silver coat glittering amidst the heavy rain.

"Oh, Zhongli." You laugh, shaking your head—you find his dumbfounded expression beyond adorable, yet you decide to not tease him about it just yet.

You gently shift him to the side of the doorway so you can unlock it. Once opened, you push him inside before you two get any more soaked through. You kick the door shut behind you, releasing a loud sigh of relief.

"I…" He finally starts to say something, much to your joy, "Y-You're back." He sputters out as if everything has just fallen into place, "W-Where were you?!" He bemoans—he's never shouted before now, but you don't blame him in this instance. This one's on you.

"I… Let's get dry first, okay? I'll tell you later—"

"No, right now. Tell me now." He grabs your shoulders firmly, desperation clear in golden eyes as a cloudless day.

Your eyes pop wide open out of surprise, and then you smile and giggle a little, "I…went looking about how to become immortal."

"You what?" He growls. "Why would you—"

"Because…we love each other," You now rest your wet hands over his own, your grasp soft as a baby's skin, "Neither of us wants to leave the other. So, I'll make sure that happens." You sigh a little, "Zhongli… I know who you are—or were—so let me…let me love you fully and truly."

He whispers your name, head drooping as tears threaten to spill over. No mortal has ever promised to dedicate themselves to him with so much earnestness before. Especially not one that loves him for him and not his status.

"Zhongli—?"

"I love you, I love you." He pulls you into a soaked, shivering hug, "I love you so… I will never betray you. Please, stay with me. Don't disappear like that again, my darling."

"…Of course, Zhongli. I'll stay. Forever and always."

And into his arms, you will stay. Forever and always.

[blueinkedfrost]

Can you talk about the misogyny and sexism in Remarried Empress I'm interested in your perspective.

Sure!

Remarried Empress is a story that pits Good Girl (Empress) against Bad Girl (Rashta). Why is Rashta bad? She's hated before she does any of her most evil deeds because of sexuality - she seduces the Empress' husband (even though he is the one betraying his wife and exploiting his mistress). Rashta is shown as two-faced and manipulative, presenting herself as childlike and cute in front of the Emperor but in reality trying to secure her own power, which is also condemned by the narrative.

I think woman-as-sexual-manipulator is a toxic sexist trope that falls apart when you think about why the woman is doing sexual manipulation to get her way: because she's not powerful enough to get what she wants any other way.

Why hate a woman for using the only way that society leaves open to her?

There's more nuance than that (although nuance is not what Remarried Empress has at all re: Rashta). Real life example - Lola Montez' relationship with a king lost him his throne and I don't think she was a particularly nice person. I don't think it's inherently bad/sexist to write this character archetype, but it's a lot better if you capture some of the nuance and end up with a more complicated/interesting character.

Also there's the slavery.

A counter example - the manhwa I Shall Master This Family also has a Bad Girl who's pretty one dimensional, the Empress. At least where I'm up to in the story, she's just evil and wants power for herself and her son. But, unlike Rashta, she's not a misogynistic stereotype of a villainess - her power comes from being a talented, ruthless businesswoman. She's pitted against heroine Florentia because both characters are capable but the Empress is more cruel, willing to hurt and abuse her husband's second son for her own benefit. And along the way the story gives Florentia a few female friends, not just writing a man's world where women are always pitted against women. So, even though this character is like Rashta in that she's evil without a lot of nuance, she's a great example of a female villain who isn't a misogynistic stereotype and contributes to a good story.

[acapelladitty]

Scriddler fic - Bolt The Door

Summary - Edward decides to play the role of stalker as he follows Jonathan around the city while he conducts some business. (nsfw)

Also posted to AO3

Arousal was a fickle mistress but as Edward danced through the shadows of the rapidly darkening Gotham streets in pursuit of his unaware partner, he found it impossible to deny the thrill of the unaware chase and the growing hardness which pressed uncomfortably against his bottle green slacks.

At the other end of the street, his collar tucked high as a deep plum scarf covered most of his identity, Jonathan Crane wove his way through the quiet streets, unaware of the stalking presence which had been following him for some time now. Not for any nefarious purpose, but Edward had found himself afflicted with a terrible boredom that sparked a mischievous desire to play a game with his unassuming partner.

Thus far, things had been simple enough. Jonathan had visited a local pharmacy to pick up a prescription under a name which did not belong to him and he had returned to walking the streets with purpose. Which purpose, Edward was unsure, but the thrill of the uncertain made his steps light as he maintained a steady distance.

The sun disappearing rapidly over the far horizon, Jonathan appeared to take advantage of the declining light to turn on his heel and cut down a darkened alleyway.

Edward followed, tactfully using the shadows to remain hidden as he too rounded the sharp corner.

Jonathan was no longer alone.

A man, his clothing cheap and ragged at the thin edges, stood opposite him and from this perspective, Edward could only just make out the sickly features which broke free of the man's face. An addict. One of Jonathan's contacts perhaps? A hench? An informant? Most likely a dealer, given his threadbare presentation.

Edward, unable to hear their dialogue, instead focused on his observations. Jonathan towered over the unknown dealer, his impressive height allowing him an easy intimidation as he stood with confidence.

Squeezing his thighs together, Edward could not ignore how hard he had grown. How his fingers trembled with arousal as he watched from the shadows, unseen.

A sick, voyeuristic pleasure danced along his skin with every passing moment and he basked in it like a cat in the early morning sun.

A soft noise emerged from Edward's throat in surprise as negotiations clearly turned sour and Jonathan struck out with his fist, catching the dealer in the nose as an audible crack preceded the howl of outrage which the man made as he fell backwards on his ass. It was unexpected; violent and cruel but utterly delightful

Curled around the wall for extra protection, Edward's groin pressed against the cool stone roughly, almost rutting against it as he watched Jonathan approach the now-fallen man.

A glint of steel as a knife appeared in the fray and concern lanced through the arousal which heated Edward's core but it quickly proved to be for nothing as Jonathan dipped to snatch the shaky knife from the man's fingers. In one fell swoop, Jonathan dropped to his haunches and drove the blade deep into the chest of the writhing figure.

Merciless.

Brutal.

Mesmerising.

Palming his cock through his slacks, Edward allowed the adrenaline sweeping through his veins to guide his messy actions as the heel of his hand ground against his throbbing cock, the friction wonderful against his hard, confined length.

A clenched fist blocked the sweet sounds which threatened to slip free his lips as his orgasm struck him with urgency. It was wet and uncomfortable and so utterly wrong that he felt almost light-headed as his free hand clutched at the wall for support.

A screech of approaching sirens caught Edward's attention and he pulled himself flat against the wooden doorframe to his back as his body tensed. All too soon, an ambulance flew past; its blue flashing lights screaming an emergency as the sirens and lights quickly grew less intrusive with each passing moment.

Pushing off the door, Edward turned once more to see if Jonathan were still crouched over his victim but his eyes widened in surprise as he was greeted with an empty space. The body lay perfectly still, sightless eyes still staring up at the unbroken moon, but the murderer was nowhere to be found. Glancing around, he crept closer to the corpse, assuming that Jonathan had continued his path out of the alleyway onto the opposing street.

A gasp tore free of Edward's throat as he approached the corner, only to find his body slammed into the alleyway wall, the damp stone there making him see stars for a moment as his face found itself pressed against the hard surface by an unseen force.

"Unhand me at once you phili-"

"Did you enjoy the show, little voyeur?"

The question wrapped around his ears like a lovers kiss, forcing a renewed warmth through his frame as Edward recognised the honeyed, yet mocking, tones.

"Jonathan." Edward muttered, confirming his suspicions as he tilted his head free of the wall for a moment before finding it slammed back there by a rough hand. "Let me go."

"Why? You've been watching me, since I left the apartment I suspect, so why would I let you go now when you've been so desperate for my attention?"

Unable to deny the accusation even as his cock stirred within his boxers once more, Edward instead settled on open indignation.

"Desperate? For your attention? Don't flatter yourself, Cra-"

His words dissolved into a moan as Jonathan's thin hand pushed roughly against his overly-sensitive cock, snaking its way up to fiddle with his zip as he made quick work of the button holding Edward's slacks together.

A flush broke across Edward's skin. He wanted this. Wanted Jonathan to discover his little secret. His hidden shame.

"Well, well, well." Jonathan deadpanned, his stoic words coated with an undeniable heat as his fingers dipped within Edward's boxers. In less than a moment, he had discovered Edward's little mess, two of his willow digits pulling free with what little remained of Edward's spend coating the tips of them. "What a filthy beast you are. Did you come before or after I killed him?"

Shame and embarrassment roiling within his frame, Edward kept his mouth shut as a fresh flush spread across his cheeks. It was not the answer Jonathan wanted and Edward found himself flipped in place, his back now pressing against the filthy alleyway as Jonathan caged his body neatly.

"Before or after? Let's leave no secrets between lovers, even if one of those lovers is a indecent boy with no shame."

"After." Edward muttered, pinned by Jonathan's sharp gaze as his head tilted messily against the stone wall for support. "Just after you killed him."

Nodding his understanding, Jonathan pressed his groin against Edward's hip and Edward bit back a soft groan at the noticeable hardness there. His head felt light, arousal and shame swirling in such a way that his breath shuddered its way free of his chest.

"I provided a show for you," Jonathan smirked, his lips pulling into a sadistic smirk, "and now I think I'm owed my own little performance."

Thin fingers pushed against Edward's lips and he opened them obediently, the familiar taste of Jonathan's fingers mixed with the slight salted tang of his own release quick to coat his tongue. His teeth nipped at the edge of the long digits and Edward found himself rewarded with a stunted growl for his efforts.

"On your knees, Edward. The night is still young and the Scarecrow demands his due."

Regarldess how aroused he were, the pompous words still elicited a roll of Edward's eyes even as he crouched down to his haunches. A performance, sure, but like hell he was kneeling on his $800 suit in this piss-stained alleyway.

[loniface]

As Fate Would Have It

Series: Team Fortress 2

Pairing: Sniper x Scout

Rating: G (for now)

Summary: Chance encounters can happen anywhere, at any time. However, Fate can be a cruel mistress. From the Scout's perspective.

Author's Note: It's been years since I've written anything, but this idea and theme popped into my head recently, demanding to be written into existence. Will be multiple chapters, probably. Be gentle with me.

Chapter 1: I Saw Him Standing There

I will never forget that fleeting moment, as if Fate herself was smiling upon me.  It’s really cliche when you think about it–and think about it, I have!  In fact, I have pictured the scene in my head over and over again for the past week, and it’s driving me absolutely mental.

I suppose I should elaborate.

Picture this: I’m in the subway station on a chilly evening in October.  There’s a few people walking about, so there’s a slight display of activity–a typical fussy child, a man loudly snoring on a bench, some no-name musician strumming a guitar for pocket change, a couple arguing over some mundane issue…  It all blends into a loud hum in my ears, and I’m glad to have worn headphones on my excursion to soften the blow of sound.

One hand is firmly holding a suitcase, the other stuffed in my jacket pocket, and my chin is resting against my scarf as I wait for my scheduled train to arrive.  I’m early today–Ma said it would look better if I arrived in a timely manner.  I told her it wouldn’t make the train arrive or depart any faster, but she insisted, so here I am, standing in the cold breeze with very few possessions tucked away in my luggage.

I got a job offer, you see.  Details are very scarce, but so are the jobs around here, and I can’t expect to live off Ma forever.  So, the best thing I could do was head West–some place called the Badlands, working for a man by the name of Redmond Mann.

I know; it sounds sketchy, but the job promises good pay.  I can figure out the fine print later.  Worst-case scenario, I’m stuck in an office job for a little while.  It’s nothing I can’t handle.

But, back to the important part of the story–I’m huddled against the cold, and I hear the train approaching through the tunnel, so I make a quick, mental checklist of everything.  Toothbrush, check.  Socks, check.  Underwear, ch–wait, did I forget that?  Oh, nevermind, the train’s almost here, so I shake my head and step up to the platform.  Other passengers begin to fill the space around me as our ride begins grinding to a halt.

The doors slide open, and that’s when I saw him standing aboard the train.

He was a tall man–like, really tall.  Ridiculously tall.  Granted, I can easily hover over most people, but this guy made me look average.  He had a face full of scruff, and a frown that would have made the aforementioned infant start wailing in terror.  Curiously enough, he wore yellow-tinted sunglasses and a hat I’ve only seen on television.  He stuck out like a very tall and very sore thumb, but, with my mouth agape, I probably did as well.

And, just like that, our eyes met. And, my heart skipped.  Or, did it jump into my throat?  Either way, it began pummeling the inner wall of my chest something fierce.

The other passengers began filing into the cabin, brushing past the two of us, but it was in a weird, slow-motion kind of way.  At least, it seemed that way to me.  Just like the movies–minus the chorus of angels singing from on high.  Let’s not get too weird about it.

But, what felt like a century was mere moments, and I found myself stumbling for words, as well as the ability to read the strange man’s expression.  Was it confusion?  Aggression?  Annoyance?  Or was he entirely oblivious to my gawking?  Those eyes of his–they bore into my very soul and shook me to the core.

Why did I suddenly want to forget about getting on that train?  But, what was I going to do–run up to a complete stranger and start a conversation about how I could see eternity in his eyes?  Is that what it was?  Was that what I was thinking?

He made a grunting sound and moved a hand to the back of his head, giving a slight scratch to his scalp.  And, then, he shifted to the side and moved past me.  Something about that snapped me back to reality and I grabbed the suitcase I had apparently dropped, quickly moving into the cabin just as the door slid shut.

I whip around, pressing my free hand to the window.  He was still there, still frowning, and still staring at me.  A shift indicated the train was beginning to move, and within seconds, all I could see was the blur of the subway walls.

But, for the duration of that ride, the man’s face would be all I could fixate on.

I readjust my headphones, give a slight sigh, and move to one of the empty seats.  It was going to be a very long night.  And, an even longer trip to New Mexico.  I close my eyes and lean against a very unforgivingly cold rail, but that scowling expression is practically burned into my eyelids.

Why?  Why him?  Why me?  Questions plague my brain, and suddenly, I’m daydreaming about a cozy little cabin somewhere far away from the hustle and bustle of the city.  It’s just the two of us–the strange man and myself–and we’re laying it thick on the domesticated stuff.  We’re sitting at a little table with a checkered tablecloth, finishing a meal of wine and–is it spaghetti?  We’ll go with that.  Either way, our eyes meet once more, but a very peculiar thing happens.

He smiles.

It’s the most beautiful smile I’ve ever seen, one that could have ended world hunger or at least brought forth world peace.  Look, it’s absolutely stunning, alright?  But, then, his mouth opens wide and he lets out a deafening howl, something akin to a train horn.  My eyes fly open and I’m back on the subway train as it signals its next stop.  I look around; people are filing in and out at a rapid pace.  But, my mind is once again going back to that one last image of the strange man’s smile, and I’m suddenly filled with the regret of not being able to see it beyond my imagination.

I sigh again, hiding my now-blushing face in my scarf.  Fate was playing a cruel joke on me today.  She blessed me with a moment and dangled it right above my reach only to yank it away with a vicious smirk.  But, it was dumb of me to think there was anything more to the shared gaze with a complete stranger in the subway on a cold day in the middle of October.  Just coincidence, two people happened to look at one another at the same exact moment…  Time standing still…  How I long to see his smile…  

Goddamnit.  

There was no way around it.  It was love at first sight.

It was a shame I would never see this man again.

[saints-who-never-existed]

you had quite a compelling thought going in your tags of that bridglar gifset about loving something that cannot love you back... it would be a pleasure to hear the rest of what you had to say about it

I don't know that my thoughts on this are fully formed quite yet, but I'll tell you what I'm thinking so far and I'll start on a personal note.

-

I've always been fascinated with mythology and folklore - that fascination informed my artistic practice back when I was properly practising and is a huge part of the reason that I then progressed into the field of history and heritage.

As fascinated as I was, though, I found that I didn't actually believe in any of it which got me thinking - what does inspire that kind of feeling in me? That belief? That sort of religious-level ecstasy?

The simple answer was the great outdoors, the landscape itself.

I ascribed my own personal mythology to the landscape around me and ended up pursuing a literal artistic pilgrimage through key locations in the Highlands near my home back in Scotland which culminated in climbing my own personal 'Holy Mountain'.

(That was literally a decade ago and, let me tell you, my toes still haven't fully recovered from all that hiking!)

-

Which is all to say that when it comes to the idea of loving an entity that cannot love you back, I wonder, now that I've thought more on it, if perhaps it's a matter of perspective and expectation?

Yes, it's sad to think of how much those men would've loved the sea itself and how the sea did not, could not love them back. How it was the sea itself that doomed them, at least in part.

I think a lot about how they possibly could have reconciled that but then I remember my own experiences in the landscape, the love I feel for it and the joy it continues to bring me. And I think perhaps that you just don't and shouldn't love something of that magnitude in the first place for anything else but what it is or with any expectation that it'll love you back.

As I touched on in the tags of that earlier post, most of those men would have been at sea since their childhood/youth and built their entire lives around it, would've known it intimately.

So yes, while the sea is a cruel mistress who could not love them back, I think that there's perhaps a more positive spin to be found here.

That there's perhaps something quite beautiful and profound and, dare I say, holy, in the notion that they would've known full well the unloving, cruel, and capricious nature of the sea and that they would've carried on loving her regardless.

-

I've waffled on long enough now so I'll end on a more historical/Terror-specific note and say that I think there's also a really interesting conversation to be had about colonialism/empire vs the sea/landscape.

Though the men don't love the empire itself per se, their lives have been defined by it and everything they've done within their careers has served it in some way. Yet at the end of the day, it is just another entity that, for lack of a better phrase, doesn't love them back, doesn't care for them at all.

The key distinction to be made here, I think, is one of 'can't' vs 'won't'.

It's sad that the sea doesn't love or care for you, yes, but that's only because the sea is a natural entity that cannot love or care for anything. Think of how, despite it all, the love still endures for Peglar and there is at least something approaching closure for him as result. Even as he's dying he still loves Bridgens and he still loves the sea, even after all it's put him through.

To live your life, however willingly, in service of an entity like colonialism/empire is another thing entirely though. That's a man-made entity that doesn't care for you not because it can't but because, quite frankly, it doesn't fucking want to. An entity that had the choice and the power to care for you and chose not to. Think of James Clark Ross, for example, and the way his face drops when he realises that, despite everything that's happened and everything they've given in service of it, the Admiralty and the Empire still care more about finding the Passage than finding the men lost to it.

Now that's a tragedy!

[podcastenthusiast]

My fiancee keeps teasing that while playing as Astarion I've unintentionally started a enemies-to-lovers type romance with Shadowheart. And I'm not gonna deny there's chemistry there, I mean she read him like a book and then he secretly drank her blood to feel a sense of power and control again. They're both pretty jaded and cagey. It's like pulling teeth to get either of them to be honest right now.

She's also been talking a lot about how the pain she endures is a meaningful test from her dark goddess Shar, her unquestioned devotion to a cruel mistress. And for Astarion, who's had so much pain and loss he didn't choose, and is so desperate for the light and warmth denied to him for centuries, that is a really unappealing idea.

I'm saying I definitely see the potential there. This perspective has already made me more interested in Shadowheart as a character. But I think, a little like his siblings still bound to serve their master, Astarion mostly feels pity for her.

[hopepaigeturner]

An Offer from an Avid Reader: Benedict S4: From chillin' to conflictin'

I've finally done it. This is my main ideas for Benedict;s character arc this season. A summary of previous points, then an episode by episode look at how this arc plays out...alongside some BB GIFS ofcourse...

Shall we go?

Summary of my previous points:

Benedict Bridgerton is an emotionally astute caretaker for his family. This could stem from Benedict having to step up as emotional support for his siblings after his father’s death. Consequently, Benedict prioritises others before himself, and has not had the space to work out who he is outside of his family. (full post here)

Benedict enjoys and is not intimidated by strong-willed woman, whether in conversation or in his bed.

Benedict’s previous relationships show that he does not tie ones worth to their class, but treats women as equals. (full post here)

However, while Benedict has all these wonderful personality traits, he has one slightly problematic one—his passivity. He does not actively seek out new things, they happen to him, whether that be relationships or new ideas—like the idea of lavender marriages in S1. In the words of Daphne Bridgerton during Pall Mall...

Benedict is a solid shot but avoids conflict.

(Above GIF a perfect example)

­­­­­­

While Benedict makes plenty of jokes at his siblings’ expense, they are never cruel and always accompanied by a jovial tone.

Even his constant jokes through a stressful situation, (like his moo at the Danbury Ball in S2) reflect how Benedict wishes to set everyone at ease.

Benedict enjoys women speaking their mind, like Eloise or Kate, but only supports and listens—not necessarily encouraging them.

And Benedict does challenge Anthony, but ultimately Anthony steam-rolls Benedict who then relents.

The fencing scene, the poetry scene—especially this scene. Benedict literally lets Anthony take his poem for his own purposes after explicitly telling Anthony that poetry is not deceitful.

As seen through the art academy arc in S2, Benedict is nervous and constantly seeking the approval of others. AKA he is trying to appease expectations rather than challenge them.

So…Benedict is a solid shot but avoids conflict, therefore he must overcome this to gain his happy ending.  We have been shown that he has the interest and the capacity, he just needs the catalyst.

Enter Sophie Beckett, stage Left.

Asking Sophie to become his mistress is easy—he does not even need to let anyone know she is his mistress, not the ton nor his family. Marrying Sophie would be in direct conflict with his family and the ton.

There a couple of other mini-arcs that Benedict ill need to go on, but all that link with this main one.

Drinking to painting. I think we can all see thar the writers seem to be using alcohol to sho Benedict's deterioration—a coping mechanism. In season 4, ith the arrival of Spohie we need to see this behaviour gradually cease (correlated with his love for Sophie), and his art replacing it as a coping mechanism. (see my little delineation of scenes below).

We also have a secondary storyline concerning Benedict—not necessarily a character arc. AKA his family becoming aware of his emotional support role.

His friendship with Will Mondrich.

I want these guys to be besties. You can see more ideas here.

Now, I am going to go sequentially through the series to show the broad trajectory of Benedict’s arc. Below each episode will also be a list of key scenes that are primarily about Benedict and not necc. overlapping with other storylines. (the episode titles are jokes apart from ep6).

Episode 1:

First scene: Masquerade ball from Benophie's perspective.

Second scene: Benedict waking up in a bed from that dream, alone and murmuring “I do not belong here.”

Here we see Benedict lost. Maybe he is waking up after a party, maybe he is just in his bachelor lodgings, but we see a lack of co-ordination, a lack of care in his motions. We see Benedict throughout the episode putting on a face for his family, insisting he’s ‘fine’ and that ‘second sons don’t have problems’ when the viewer sees how much he yearns for family and love. (Inc. a scene with cute domestic Kanthony family).

Violet Bridgerton, bless her heart, is trying the only way she knows how—match-making. It gets to the point that Benedict feels suffocated and decides to take a break from the city and go back to the country at the first opportunity—Cavendar’s party.

Once more we see that hedonism is not fulfilling Benedict and as in the book he wishes to leave and stumbles into Sophie et co. (See written scene here.).

Then we have him on the road home with Sophie. And after laughing (in relief) at escaping Cavendar, Sophie breaks down into tears—a miutre of frustration, relief and terror at that night and the last two years of her life. Benedict pauses—propriety dictates that she shouldn’t embrace her, but his heart says he should. He breaks propriety and embraces her—a little glimpse of what is to come.

Episode 2: My, my, my Cottage…

Read up on my posts about My cottage for more details about specifics. Jus picture Benedict looking at Sophie like above... (Part 1, 2, 3)

Essentially Sophie and Benedict acting unselfconsciously around each other. Benedict finally being able to be himself and not Bridgerton no.2.

Episode 3: The Bridgerton Logic is present—back in London.

We have the lake scene (written here), which leaves Benedict frustrated and confused. At this point, (using the ever-reliable Bridgerton logic) he doesn’t know whether this thing with Sophie is more than a mistress…but ofcourse there is the Lady in Silver. He goes to Grandma Alexandra to talk, and she gives him wise words of wisdom.

Flashback during this: Viewer understands that Benedict never fights/gets into conflict because he spent his time ensuring the peace within family post-Edmund’s death. This scene includes how Grandma Alexandra was the only one who saw his turmoil and helped him cope through art. (This shows that Art—not alcohol—should be his coping mechanism. It reinforces that art is intrinsically part of him—not just a talent).

After this, instead of asking Sophie to be his mistress, he persuades her to return to London and Aubrey Hall—if he can’t have her then he will atleast keep her safe.  Travel back to London where Benedict tries to ease an anxiety-ridden Sophie but everything is wrong, slightly off-kilter with the couple leaving him frustrated.

Primary Scenes:

Scene: Lake.

Scene: Grandma Alexandra tete-a-tete->establish their obvious closeness

Scene: Flashback into Benedict’s role post-Edmund’s death.

Carriage scene: Benophie on their way back to London, tries to comfort a ‘panicky’/anxious ridden Sophie. (inc. “plotting your demise” dialogue). Drops off Sophie at Madame Delacroix’s for the night—which does not help his case. Introduces him to his mother etc. (as in book).

Episode 4: Toeing the line.

Benedict shifts from previous wooing experiences, to start solely caring about Sophie’s wellbeing. And he does numerous things to aid this.

Family sees a shift in Benedict’s mental health—he is not drinking that much (if at all), he is back to joking/teasing and smiling more easily. Most attribute this to country air. Well, almost everyone—mothers are far more perceptive after all.

 (Concurrently we have Sophie being isolated by maids, insights into Sophie’s backstory and Sophie& Eloise relationship)

Primary Scenes:

Scene: 1st tea with Bridgertons-> heavy Sophie flirting.

 Scene: Lounging on servant’s stairs scene-> Sophie gives him a wakeup call

Scene: Asking Mrs Wilson about how Sophie is doing.

Scene: Poetry competition…continues.

Episode 5: Pushed over the line.

First half sees Benedict taking care of Sophie in little moments and in a scene where we see him wishing to ease her emotional burden. We also have little visual clues that he is painting again—although no one realises.

Second half is Grandma Alexandra’s death, which pushes Benedict back into his role as emotional support, forced to shun his own grief to support his siblings. (More on that in Grandma Alexandra’s post). But this time, Sophie helps him—in two key scenes. At My Cottage we had Benedict caring for Sophie (physically and emotionally) when she became injured. Now it is the reverse; Sophie shares his burden, allows him to grieve and comforts him. And after the second scene of Sophie aiding Benedict, as he watches her walk away he whispers.

“I love you.”

This is Benedict’s turning point. Benedict has shifted from wishing/delighting in Sophie to yearning for her. He understands he loves her, and he now knows that he wants and needs her in his life.

Furthermore, this episode highlights to Violet and Anthony about the toils Benedict has truly been under, something that continues in episode 6 (and in another post).

Primary Scenes:

Montage (of all different storylines)-> various little moments of poetry exchange.

Scene: Rewritten Garden scene-> becomes the ‘swing scene’ with Benedict supporting Sophie rather than riling her up. Inc. “your secrets are eating you alive”

Scene: Benedict being the emotional support animal of the Bridgertons to the MA, while squashing his own feelings.

Scene: Sophie comforting Benedict, allowing him to grieve: inc. ‘you have the soul of an artist’ & potentially the ‘you’re different from your family’ speech.

Scene: Lovingly watching Sophie tell stories to his sisters-> filling a role he usually did back when Edmund died. His secret love declaration.

Episode 6: An Offer From A Gentleman (Official title)

This is the height of Benedict’s internal conflict. This is where we get yearning looks, frustration, the jealousy etc.

And this is where various scenes, and various encounters inspire/encourage him to take that step into conflict—by proposing to marry Sophie after their lovemaking. Not for convenience, not for honour, but because he loves her. (I do have this scene semi written already if people want it).

But ofcourse…it takes two to tango and Sophie still refuses due to a combination of not feeling worthy/deserving of a happily ever after, and not wishing to estrange Benedict from his family (knowing all too well how lucky he is to have such a family).

Benedict is left heartbroken, regressing back into alcohol as Sophie regresses and bottles up her feelings.

Primary scenes:

Scene: Jealousy over Francesca and John that leads to Anthony and Benedict on the swings where yearning hearts are revealed (almost).

Scene: Wise advice from Mary Sharma

Scene: Realisation that Sophie is Lady in Silver (leaves him in shock, not anger)

Scene: Confrontation with Genevieve Delacroix.

Scene: Will and Benedict reach revelations. (scene here)

Scene: Benedict starts to paint… (mini snapshot scene)

Scene: Benedict helping Sophie from Araminta (as in book). Sofa Scene & its fallout. Heartbroken Benedict.

Episode 7: Guns blazing.

Most of Benedict’s arc is over now. The last hurdle is learning that one step into conflict is good, but sometimes you have to continue, you have to push yourself forward. And with a little inspiration from Eloise, he does so.

Benedict is isolating himself from his family. However, we see that instead of drinking he is using art to console himself/coping mechanism. Also, his family is more concerned for they have learnt that Benedict’s typical isolation is not actually a need for refuge but because he is spiralling.

Inspired by Eloise, Benedict decides to write a love letter, something that means he can continue trying to persuade her but respecting her boundaries by giving her the choice to read the letter or not. Unbeknownst to him, Sophie is also writing a letter…a resignation letter.

And then the next day, (after a ball) his sisters + Kate come to visit to check up on him. Eventually they talk about teh ball last night and how they got into a confrontation with Lady Penwood. Due to the Penwood servant scandal published recently, Lady Pewnood had been trying to save face. But the Bridgerton girlies clashed when defending a former maid (Nadia, a maid who went to work for Penwoods but returned to the Bridgertons worse for wear). And in that altercation they mention Sophie.

Benedict's tea cup shatters on the ground.

His sisters get increasingly concerned as Benedict seems unaturally agitated, drilling them about how much they revealed and when Daphne explains that they merely revealed Sophie's name and affiliation with the Bridgertons—she has not finished her sentence before Benedict is hastily making the way to the door, his face pale, barely able to explain himself when his sisters press him.

And now we see Benedict Bridgerton striding into Bridgerton house demanding to know where Sophie is. He does not care that his utter terror, his utter desperation, is conveying how in love he is with Sophie. He does not care about revealing that he proposed to her—he just needs Sophie to be safe. Calm, easy-going Benedict is now crying out at his family in unchecked emotion, (no longer hiding his emotions as before). Benedict Bridgerton is shouting at his sisters, his mother, all for the woman he loves. Even though the viewer is seeing, in tandem, scenes of Sophie’s arrest and imprisonment.

Too little too late?

END EPISODE

Primary Scenes:

Scene: From partying to painting

Scene: Eloise confrontation and discussion (in a studio—not on swings)

Scene: Benedicy's sisters come over for tea and reveal that Araminta knows Sophie's location.

Scene: Benedict Bridgerton unleashing his love and feelings

Episode 8: Benedict Bridgerton don’t give two—

In this episode, Benedict is no longer hiding his affection nor intentions about Sophie, especially while he spends two/three days scouring the city for her.

Of course we see real confrontational Benedict when he gets to the jail—lets have the scene of him punching the warden because he made a comment about Sophie. Let’s have Benedict reuniting with Sophie—oh and standing up to Araminta and professing how deeply in love with her he is.

Then Jail scene. This can stay the same—let’s turn comedy gold into comedy platinum. Posy, Benedict proposing, Violet being a badass with-a-capital-M Mama.

After this we have the rest of the episode being happy Benophie, with Benedict not caring for stupid ton rules or whispers as shown at the final ball of the season. As soon as Araminta legitimises Sophie to the King, he stays by her side, dances with her then makes a formal down-on-one knee proposal on the terrace—a mirror to the one two years previously.

The final scene of the entire season is Benedict waking up in bed, heart hammering, terrified—his hand runs over his wife’s hip, and he looks down on a sleeping Sophie next to him. He smiles, settles and whispers against her curls;

This is where I belong.

Primary Scenes:

Scene: getting aid from Ginny an Anthony-> both of them (closest person to Benedict, closest person to Sophie) coming to see how in love the pair are.

Scene: Punch the man! Or the warden.

Scene: Jail scene, jail scene.

Scene: Return to Bridgerton House and sneaking into the bathroom. Bathroom scene—a proper reunification and romanticising. (Yes they do not get into seggsy times at the bathroom, but I'll get into that in another post).

Scene: Bridgerton family dinner. A scene that establishes how natural Benophie are as well as how in love they are with one another. Also shows how Sophie slips into family.

Scene: Ball legitimising Sophie. Dancing and proposing to Sophie (properly).

Montage scenes: Wrapping up of loose ends for all storylines. Benedict courting Sophie. Sitting close to one another at F&J’s wedding.  

Final scene/epilogue: Wedding & wedding night intimate scene. Final shot.

Summary

So there you have it. Throughout the season Benedict is constantly pushed due to his feelings for Sophie to disrupt not only his own beliefs, his family and the ton. But after all is that not what his heart desires?

“What is it to admire a woman? To look at her and feel inspiration. To delight in her beauty. So much so that all your defenses crumble that you would willingly take on any pain, any burden for her. To honor her being with your deeds and words. That is what the true poet describes.” Benedict Bridgerton S2E2

*~*~*~*

What do you think?

I have written a couple of these scenes (or at least done them in greater detail), message me and I’ll see if I can post/edit them up.

Or check out the list here, for more of my ideas.

Or check out the general arcs of my prospective S4 here.

[transk0vsky]

daniil dankovsky (obvious one) and capella for the character bingo!!!

The funniest fucking thing is another anon asked for Daniil right before this ask 😭 I’m supposed to be making breakfast but no instead it’s rambling time watch me forgot to make breakfast because I get to fixated on this.

Explaining a few of the ones I picked under the bingo chart (I formatted this poorly but oh well ya win some ya lose some!)

Bastard: I’m using this affectionately as he’s a bit of a bastard but like so are half the characters in the game! But he’s a little bit of a bastard and ya know what that’s okay!

The fandom is so mean to them: this one feels self explanatory because if I have to see one more person only portray him as a grumpy asshole who hates everyone I’m going to commit a crime, because he cares! He cares! He has a heart! truly I feel like people have taken the limited view we get of him in the second game and ran with it (which we aren’t even seeing him through his eyes outside of the dlc it’s through artemy’s eyes in the main game…. we do not get to understand him from his own perspective we only witness him and his actions through another’s which often through someone else’s eyes you can become the worst version of yourself.) it frustrates me especially with how he’s characterized in both classic and marbles nest he comes off as someone who’s more so exhausted and frustrated instead of being cruel and apathetic towards everyone around him.

Everyone else is wrong about him: see above 

Capella I don’t have as many thoughts about her 😭 I promise I like her though! But out of the mistresses I think more about Maria but that’s not important right now!!

That’s a solid design right there: that’s only for the classic design I don’t like the second games design for her :/ I like her short hair and hair color in the second games design but that’s where my nice opinions end (truly I think like half the second games designs suck and if anyone wants me to talk about which designs make me roll my eyes I will! That’s a promise!!)

Had I found patho when I was a weird little teenage girl I’m sure she would have been one of my favorite characters as she reminds me of a younger version of myself honestly, wish I had more thoughts about her and I feel really bad that I don’t sorry :(

[dolphin1812]

Gillenormand’s house is very fancy, with all of the paintings and other decorations serving as a dramatic display of wealth (although he’s not as wealthy as he used to be - we learned in the last chapter he only has an income of 15000 francs, which, while it’s much more than most of the characters we know, is implied to be less than he had before). The most interesting detail about his furniture is this:

“he had a boudoir of which he thought a great deal, a gallant and elegant retreat, with magnificent hangings of straw, with a pattern of flowers and fleurs-de-lys made on the galleys of Louis XIV. and ordered of his convicts by M. de Vivonne for his mistress.”

M de Vivonne was the brother of Louis XIV’s mistress, Mme de Montespan, and was in charge of the galley fleet. Many prisoners there were textile artisans and were allowed to work as such in winter, when the galleys weren’t sailing (this information comes from Donougher’s notes). From the perspective of the narrative, this boudoir brings us back to thinking about convict labor and how it was used in France. Jean Valjean served on the galleys as well, suggesting continuity with the punishments of the ancien régime and that Gillenormand’s ostentatious decorations rely upon the harmful system of labor that underpaid Valjean and then made it difficult for him to find well-paid work afterward, regardless of his skills or strength. Unsurprisingly for something made for Louis XIV’s mistress, it also prominently features the fleur-de-lys. That Gillenormand owns something from the monarchy highlights his wealth and/or status as well as his monarchical leanings, as he displays the symbol of the monarchy so proudly in his home.

The brief descriptions we get of his character in this chapter should basically be considered warning signs in the context of this book:

“His manners were something between those of the courtier, which he had never been, and the lawyer, which he might have been.”

“Courtiers” aren’t a big part of this novel, so this detail mainly tells us about his aristocratic pretensions, but lawyers and other members of the legal profession certainly are, and they’re usually quite cruel. The best examples were Tholomyès and Bamatabois, who used their authority to harm others with impunity. The actual lawyers we saw at Champmathieu’s trial were the subjects of mockery at their best. That he “might have been” a lawyer suggests that we should probably be wary of him.

Hugo ends the chapter by tying Gillenormand not to the monarchy, but to the backlash to the French Revolution. The “incroyables” were aristocrats who led lives of luxury as a sort of backlash to the Revolution, more specifically to the Terror. Gillenormand further reveals his political beliefs by explicitly criticizing the French Revolution at the end of the chapter, too, solidifying his position as a character who’s opposed to the reforms called for by the book and as a representation of the backlash to social and political change.

[moonscreativeblog]

Electricity is in the Air

OKAY so, I recently got off college, so nows a good as time as any to say that I have this literal year old fanfic that I started

I may be up to rewriting this first chapter, but what is for sure is I’m gonna be working on the next one!

Primarily an Ochako centric fic! With some Denki perspective chapters planned. I love me a rare pair so hope you do too!

Might also cross post to here idk my brain is a cruel mistress.

[velvet-apricots]

An expert of my fic "Little Mistress" of Gideon interacting with Marika, queen eternal. Miquella is there too.

They returned to the capitol, and Gideon went directly to the queen himself.

He had been dealing with the God Queen for longer than most. Marika had fits of paranoia at times, and he was quite good at sniffing traitors out. This whole thing was because of that. The village was filled with women who had been ‘slighted’ by her, simply for doing the will of the Greater Will. So she wanted to know what was there, if the odd behavior of the village was a plot against her.

Well, it was a whole lot of nothing. They seemed very pleased to have soldiers of the capitol there after all. There was no animosity whatsoever. Besides, the village wasn’t very big. If they did hate her, it was nothing a few soldiers could deal with.

“I believe they are simply preparing their usual celebration and made a passing local nervous.” Gideon said, leaning on his scepter and keeping his head low. Queen Marika was braiding the hair of Miquella, who sat stiffly. The boy was… Well he was no longer a boy despite the looks, but his mother treated him no differently now then she did when he really was a boy. “They have their own little pagan customs, and the lack of men I wager made it seem strange.”

Marika made no indication she heard him, slowly braiding her youngest son’s hair. Gideon however made no move to leave until he was dismissed, lest he anger her.

He briefly wondered if he should mention the fact someone was toying around with Black Flame incantations. Of course that could very easily end in a bloodbath, like the Nomads. One vile man screamed heresy, and then all of them were buried alive. Gideon almost shuddered at the fate they had befallen. No, he had no desire to be responsible for the whole of the windmill villages getting eradicated. What was one teenager playing with black flame? It didn’t matter..

She finally looked up at him, golden eyes peeking through her golden hair. “Go to the celebration.”

“I promise you, my Queen that-”

“I demand ye go as a pleasantry for thyself, Sir Ofnir, not to spy.” She looked back down, tying the braid off, “Thou works too hard and long. My eyes and ears beyond these walls must remain healthy, soul and body.”

Gideon awkwardly cleared his throat. Well that was… Unexpected. It seemed her mood was fair that day. Not that she was cruel usually, but her moods over the long, long centuries had grown more erratic and dower, and the care she had for her disciples had lessened. She now cared more for her children than anything else. The fact she noticed he was overworked was quite… Touching?

Then again, she usually was a little more aware and at ease when around her favored children. Nothing made her a picture of contentment like the presence of Godwyn the Golden on her arm, or the prodigy Miquella in her lap.

Moreover, If she demanded it… Gideon had no way to refuse. For all he knew, she was not satisfied and wanted him to poke around more. The celebration was an excellent cover.

“Erm… yes. I will go… Do you wish for me to-?”

She lifted her hand and waved Gideon off sharply, and Miquella stared at him with an uncanny, wide eyed stare. If the boy was pleading to leave with him, he was looking to the wrong person for salvation.

He left quickly, letting out a relieved sigh as he leaned heavily on his scepter, both hands grasping it desperately. Years ago he would not be so rattled by the queen’s presence, but her continued decline and his own increasing age made things fall into perspective. He would much rather live a few decades more than anger her. He was actually not very old at all. Despite the teasing his men tossed at him, he was still a middle aged man.

Granted, he was not one to give his age away. He made himself seem more feeble than he was. It made would-be enemies underestimate his skills.

[ao3feed-tf2ships]

As Fate Would Have It

read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/53061877

by Loni

Chance encounters can happen anywhere, at any time. However, Fate can be a cruel mistress. From the Scout's perspective.

Words: 1163, Chapters: 1/?, Language: English

Fandoms: Team Fortress 2

Rating: General Audiences

Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply

Categories: M/M

Characters: RED Sniper (Team Fortress 2), RED Scout (Team Fortress 2)

Relationships: RED Scout/RED Sniper (Team Fortress 2)

Additional Tags: Fluff and Angst

read it on the AO3 at https://archiveofourown.org/works/53061877

[dondon-patapon]

Observation Log 2: 1/12, 11:07 PM

Temp: 45 deg.

Weather: Heavy winds and rain

Obs: Visibility limited, winds putting strain on structure

The past few days have blended together somewhat, and as a result I’ve neglected to document them. So here and now as I wait out the storm assaulting my corner of space tonight I will attempt to make up for lost time.

I left off my last entry with a bit of unease, and waited out that next day inside the lighthouse, keeping watch for any odd occurrences that might cross my path. But there was nothing to report, save for that uneasy stillness hanging over the air. No news reported to me, and no news to report from my perspective. Naught but the light to keep me company in my malaise.

The storm that broke while I slept has admittedly shaken me from the stupor I had fallen into of late. My mind clear once again, I bundled up in that old raincoat and made haste for the lighthouse. At least my hands were steady enough to light the lamp without issue. Now for the matter of keeping this place together. 

An hour ago my attention was snagged by a loud groaning coming from far below my post. The old cistern has copper pipes moving and collecting water from the rainfall, and my fears were unfortunately confirmed upon investigation. A particularly old section of pipe was bowed significantly, spraying water across the floor. When I fetched my old toolbox and attempted to stem the leak, the pipe only gave way further. The flow spraying about only increased, and I even came away with a lovely little gash on my hand. It still smarts, even now.

I did my best to put some kind of temporary seal in place, but it is a poor substitute for some proper maintenance. The thought of the mess waiting for me once this storm passes fills me with dread. What a nightmare. 

They used to say I was like a bull in a china shop with delicate tasks like that. When I went in guns blazing, throwing my weight around, I inevitably made things worse, tore everything apart around me in the process. As much as I meant well, it was inevitable. Was that why I couldn’t do anything when it mattered the most? When she was looking for me to save her? I don’t know anymore. Even if I can’t change it anymore, all I can do is regret. The blood pounding, dull throbbing in my bandaged hand reminded me of that with each thump of my heartbeat.

Why the hell am I thinking about this tonight? Ugh, this was what felt like a whole lifetime ago at this point. The mind is a cruel mistress in a place like this, and I am not spoilt for choice unfortunately.

The rain is normally a force of calm, even this intense. But tonight it brings me no peace.

Perhaps I will try and comb the beach for debris tomorrow once the rain stops.

[ravarui]

@lufitaro gets a thing in regards to this meme (and because Moon enabled me this morning)

Death was no strange occurance, not with the kind of life they lived. The sea was a cruel mistress and if it wasn't her who took your life, then there were still countless other people gunning for your head for all kinds of different reasons. Be they just or unjust, in the end it was all a matter of perspective really. And yet, some deaths were just unfair, hit those who deserved it the least.

The news celebrate it, another victory against a pirate who had been terrorizing the seas. It makes him sick to read the words. "Strawhat Luffy killed in a terrifying fight against Fleetadmiral Akainu." Underneath there is a giant picture, showing the end result of the fight and Luffys body.

He doesn't realize he's crying until the first tears hit the paper and his vision starts to swim. He lets go of the paper, covering his face with his hand in a vain attempt to hold back some of the tears, but it's no use. It doesn't take long until he sinks to the floor, ugly sobs escaping him. Out of all the people...why him? First Ace, his old captains son and now Luffy, the kid who had reminded him so much of Roger. The redhead is thankful that his crew leaves him be in this moment, those who knew Luffy, mourning in their own way.

He takes a deep breath, the grief he feels starts to get replaced with anger. A white hot anger he hadn't felt in years. No. There was no time to grief yet, he would allow himself to do so later. Standing up again he wiped away his tears, looking at his crew with a new found determination.

There was one thing he needed to do. Revenge may be a fools game, but not in this regard. He would show them. How dared they take the live of the kid who had been like a son for him? How dared they take him?! He who should have been the new king of this wretched sea?! Shanks could feel how the control of his haki slipped and it seemed as if the weather was feeling his anger, as a sudden thunderstorm begun. The sea wept for the one who had wanted nothing but freedom.

"Men! Set sail towards Marineford!"

If anyone was surprised by the order, they at least didn't show it. It would be reckless, stupid even, but he didn't care. He had rarely interefered, had left them to their own devices. But not this time. No, this time he would not hold back. He would give into his anger once more and unleash havoc onto them and if it would be the last thing he did. Luffy had been his son, by everything but blood!

Shanks would retaliate, like he always did when those dear to him were threatened. He would be viscious and ruthless. There would be no mercy for anyone, he had decided that now. Let them give him a new moniker, but this time the red would not refer to his hair color, but to the blood that would be spilled by him.

No, they should have never dared to take his life and Shanks would make sure they would regret every second of that decision.