#this was the hardest scene to pose for absolutely no reason

[fizzytoo]

karlee and chewie earned a bronze medal at their first jumping competition!

[lushrue]

ive really fallen in love with how you write the hockey au men. i need more, maybe of them watching reader skate a complicated choreography for the first time? (◞ ‸ ◟ㆀ)

yeah absolutely! thanks for the request, anon! sorry this has sat for so long, i wanted to do it justice!

there might end up being a scene like this later in the fic (haven’t gotten the whole storyline planned out yet), but for sure reader’s nervous. there’s a lot of complicated jumps in there and some skills that they haven’t quite mastered yet. they’d be practicing at the rink almost every day, probably getting a little hard on themselves when they’re still trying to iron out the kinks in their routine. they wouldn’t let the boys watch them practice, except for gaz. he’s the least intimidating of the bunch to them, more concerned about the artistry than the technical execution. but having the others watch would put too much pressure on them, so the first time they all see it as a group is when reader competes it.

they sit on the bench, waiting with bated breath as you skate onto the ice. you’d told them about it, of course. you had to when they saw how stressed you were and demanded to know what was mucking up that pretty head of yours. the shaking of your hands didn’t go unnoticed by them as you struck your starting pose. simon caught the puff of your exhale, your chest visibly deflating. when the music started, they all tensed up, their eyes locked on you.

price would fully be in captain mode, watching you like a hawk for any missteps. he would see the missteps and grimace, as much as he tried to keep his expression encouraging. he’d have a list of critiques in his head running as you skated. lift the leg a bit more and your turn will be more stable. speed up a little going into that jump and you’ll have the momentum for one more rotation. but he’d never tell you any of it, not unless you asked. it came from a place of love, a desire to see you reach your full potential.

simon would be stoic, just in case you looked at him. he didn’t want to throw off your game, so he tried his hardest to blend into the crowd, act like he wasn’t even there. he still wasn’t quite sure if the four of them watching you added to your nerves (it did, just a little) and he didn’t want to be the reason you didn’t land a jump and injured yourself. but make no mistake, he held his breath every time your skates left the ice.

soap would be the most encouraging of all of them to look at, a smile plastered on his face as he watched you twirl and leap. you’d think the man had never watched figure skating before with the way he whooped and hollered every time you stuck what he perceived to be a difficult skill. he clapped loudly for you, his bonnie little skater. everything you did impressed him, and it gave you an added layer of confidence going into some of the more difficult sections of the routine.

gaz is fully the mom from mean girls. he’s doing the choreography along with you on the bench, but, like, the seated version. he’s also the one videoing the routine on his phone. (price mostly got the head of the person in front of him last time, soap was so loud that you couldn’t hear the music you were skating to, and simon would get so caught up in watching you that he’d forget to follow you with the camera and not just his eyes.) he gives you quiet praise when you successfully execute a difficult skill, hoping that you’ll watch the video back and hear how much he loved your routine.

regardless of their expressions during your skate, they’re the first on their feet when you finish, clapping and cheering loudly. when you find them after, price has a bouquet of flowers for you, soap’s grabbed you a hot chocolate from the concession stand, gaz helps you unlace your skates, and simon is there with his big burly arms to give you all the comfort in the world.

please please PLEASE send me more stuff like this, i eat this shit up

[bloodycassian]

Reader x Rhys - Traitor.

  hi! i was thinking a bat boi x reader where the reader ”betrays” them but the reader is doing it to save the night court (they don’t know that until later tho) and the reader is exiled from the night court before the inner circle realises the reader did it to save them <3 (you can pick the bat boi :) Reader is a double agent - originally from Autumn court. The reader has allied themselves with the Night court after Autumn and Hybern began working together. Reader still poses as an Autumn court informant to Beron.

  This was a challenge for me, thank you for that!

They would be their own downfall. You knew they would do absolutely anything to protect Velaris and its citizens. Amren was the only one who seemed to be on your side regarding the risky method. Rhys outright refused. Which was why you had to pave the way to allow Beron's army in. Or, at least make them all think that was what you'd done. You spent weeks forging your plan, heart sinking with every tough decision to be made. Which buildings would be sacrificed, how to get the people of the city out without giving yourself away. Beron would be pissed off, but he wouldn't dare to actually march his army into Velaris. You had fed him enough information to make him hesitate at that idea. Plus, they were busy ruining the Summer court. But you doubted that the King of Hybern knew that. Beron liked to keep his soldiers tame and under his rule by allowing them free reign after battles. So you waited on your informants to get back to you to confirm. Like a spider waiting for it's trap to be set. If the king thought his own ally in the Autumn court had already sacked Velaris, he wouldn't make the stop there. He didn't want to ruin his own pride, wasting his first grand attack on a measly city that was already losing their battle. He would continue for the next city down the line that hadn't been trifled with yet. It was a risk and you knew it - playing the king's arrogance. So you covered all your bases, and you set fires. Got yourself the biggest Illusion spell you could find. A massive one that had cost you half your bank account for all the materials you needed to create it. Your lips trembled as you said the enchantment over the potion. You told yourself it would work. It had to. You packed your bag and tightened it on your back before you set off. Hurting Rhys would be the hardest part. You debated the plan all together because of the fracture it would cause. But you knew it was the only way to keep him safe from his need to protect his home. The city he built from the ground up. You tried to push those thoughts away until the day of your heist. Which seemed to come around much too soon. You led Rhys and Azriel far out of Velaris the hour before the potion was to be set off. You spun them a story of scouts watching from the south. You weren't even halfway to your destination when the screams started, a loud cracking sound ringing out over the land. The potions had worked. Your face went pale at Rhy's rage filled gaze. The hurt and devastation there. You didn't doubt the scene in the city looked much worse than you knew it to be. Rhys grabbed you by the wing and tugged you down forcefully. It was not what you were expecting, you thought his first move would be to use his power to make you paralyzed. You felt those claws lurking, but they seemed to hesitate. You spun, and were able to kick his hand off of you before you hit the ground with him. Azriel held him back, not understanding fully what you'd done. Az removed his hand once Rhys had filled him in, mentally speaking to his brother. A flash of shock and hurt lingered there even after Rhys told him. Shame built in your gut. You knew you weren't betraying them. You kept your shields up though, they had to think you would do such a thing. It would make the fight more believable to the king. It would force him away from Velaris. "Get out of this territory. Now. Do not come back." Rhys growled, watching the fake army invade his home. His chest heaved, those claws digging lightly at your shields. Perhaps he was afraid to go against someone he trained in the Daemati ways. You dared not open your mind to him. "Rhys I-" You began, stopping when he gave you the iciest glare you'd ever seen. His eyes were alight with rage. The trees seemed to quiver from the dark power that rushed to him. He pointed a finger at you, a curse. "Leave. Now." The command made your knees shake. Azriel looked away in shame. "There will be no second chances." He ground out. You could nearly hear his teeth clamping together. Holding himself back. You could hear Cassian calling orders far in the distance. Good, the scramble and panic would make the show more believable. The ships would be visible any second if your inside information was to be believed. Happiness for the safety of the city was your first reason for tears, the next was Fear. Fear settled in your gut, not moving no matter how much you re assured yourself. Not fear for Velaris, but for own alliances with any court. There would be a hit out for you, betraying Beron and the King and potentially Rhys depending how angry he would be about your Illusion spell. Those ships would surely be paying a visit to Beron after seeing his forces attacking without the order to do so. You backed away from Rhys slowly, like he was a wild animal. "Rhys, come on. We need to help." Azriel placed a hand on his shoulder to break him out of the rage filled trance. Rhy's last glance to you was something like death itself. You shuddered, and bit the inside of your cheek to keep from telling him the truth. The fact he would believe that you would double cross him stung a bit. But you knew enough of the bad blood between Night and Autumn that you weren't incredibly offended. He shook his head ever so slightly. Disgust, before turning away. They took off together, quickly flying back to Velaris while the king's dark sails fired a few cannon shots into the docks, but kept sailing. Your hope soared at the sight of their departure. Watching those sails turn direction, then keep going. You could have cheered. Your plan wasn't done yet. You took off to Day court. The potions in your bag secure and ready. + When Rhys landed in his city the ground beneath him cracked.  The Autumn court soldiers kept marching around him. Cassian joined him, assessing the threat that did not attack. Rhys reached out a mental hand to the area and found there was nothing to latch on to. Nothing to torment for information. Cassian was at a loss as well, and reached out a hand to a solider. Only for it to break and slide through his fingers like water. His blood ran cold. "Fuck." Rhys breathed, utterly still. They looked to each other, then Rhys blanched in horror - "I promised them death." He whispered, voice hoarse. Cassian's eyes went wide, and they shot into the air at the same time. + Overlooking Day court, you heard Rhys approaching before you saw him. "They're all going to die." You said, voice trembling. You watched the scene below as it unfolded. The ships docked one after another, terrible dark forces lurched into the city. Overwhelming the guards and front linemen. "I'm sorry." He said. "We can help. I can help. I'm sorry." He said again, shame washing over his face. "I owe you everything." Your heart soared at the words, despite the destruction below. "Can you get the Illyrians here to help?" You nodded toward the front that pushed through. The streets already stained with blood and littered with bodies from both sides. Rhys nodded, and nodded to Azriel behind him. The spy curled his shadows around himself and winnowed away, off to summon the Illyrians. Cassian had a wide grin on his face, and stretched his wings, ready to take flight down to the city and help. His siphons thrummed with anticipation. Rhys gave him a nod as well, and he took off. The screams and clash of steel below quieted, then roared back to life with another wave of Summer court forces hitting the enemy lines. Rhys sighed, his dark power curling around the hillside. "I am beyond words with you. I'm pissed, but I'm... awestruck." He took your hand without looking, running a thumb over apologetically. As if he was asking permission. You squeezed back, then gave him a soft smile. "Let's get to work." You dropped your bag to the ground and pulled out two more potions. You handed them to him, then pulled your blade from its sheathe. Rhys hummed in approval at the sight of your handiwork. He held up the dark liquid and admired it. "Remind me to give you a raise." He said, shaking the glass. You held his hand in place before he could shake it again. The sparkles from the enchanted sand inside swirled. "You're going to get me a new house. And a raise." You took the bottle from him, and winked. You leapt down the slope and into the air, flying faster when you heard his laugh gaining on you. A promise of violence against the King's army was laced with that laugh. An underlying darkness. You smiled wickedly and tossed your concoction to the ground far below. Setting your spellbound illusions free.

[xpeachesncream]

bands | thirteen

[ series masterlist ]

summary: jeon jungkook has it all: the looks, the fame, the money, the women. being considered the sexiest man in the industry, he finds no complaints about the way his life is going nor does he find any reason to apologize for the way he approaches it. he is a force to be reckoned with - until he meets you.

pairing: stripper!reader x idol!jjk

genre: (18+) strip club/nightlife au, post grad au | fluff, angst, smut

words: 3.9k

warnings: cussing, mature language/implied sexual content, slight degradation, trouble stirring behind the scenes if you squint, yeonjun and soobin (txt) make an appearance but also as reg 18 yr olds lol

tags: @brightcolorsoffendme​ @min-nicoleee​ @eggbutnotyolk​ @ra-mun-e @miinoongi​ @jimidol​ @ppeachyttae​ @thebeebi​ @bluesharksandfish​ @kooafraid​ @liriaus​ @thisartemisnevermisses​ @ggukkieland​ @preciouschimine​ @sunniejinnie​ @cypheruby​ @cyb3rbab3​ @masterlists101​ @awhnamjoon​ @redhedhoseok​ @wooya1224​ @taeismydeath @jikookiekosmos​ @un2-verse​ @aynsx​ @wearenot7withu​ (please message me if you would like to be added to the taglist!)

"BTS' Jeon Jungkook rumored to be dating stripper from nightclub!"

"Jungkook is no longer single, ladies!"

"Jeon Jungkook is dating a stripper? Why the hell is he doing that?"

"Who the hell does she think she is? I bet she's not even pretty."

"Jungkook fell for a stripper? Out of all people? Damn, and I thought he was better than that."

Jungkook has been tired, the rumors constantly being spread day in and day out. But, it still didn't mean he was gonna say shit to prove himself to people out there. He didn't need to give anybody answers. Hell, this was strictly between you and him and that's how he wants to keep it.

Fuck every single one of you who didn't wanna be behind him and support him. Don't even think about calling yourself a fan of his if that's your mindset.

He could truly care less. He was happy and he felt ten times better than he has in a really long time. It's unfortunate how people love to stay narrow minded. The only thing that bothered him was the fact that it was so unfair for you - how they stuck to that stripper image, rather than really getting to know you beneath the surface.

But it's not like anyone else deserved to know the real you, not after all this shit. And he was gonna keep it that way, and protect you.

"Hey, don't listen to any of that shit, okay?" Jungkook says as he meets you in your car in the BigHit building garage. "None of that matters to me."

"I know, but Kook." You look at him. "Your career, BigHit literally might not even want me here and-and—"

"Then I'll make sure they understand it's not an issue, because it's really fucking not." He says, getting irritated only at the thought of the company giving him issues over you. He watches as you slightly frown, causing him to sigh and soften his own facial expression. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to get worked up like that. It's just annoying how people are narrow-minded. This has absolutely nothing to do with you." You give him a small smile. "Come on, I'll walk you." You silently nod and hop out of your car. You follow beside him, your stomach in knots having to meet with their performance director. This meant you'd also most likely run into the rest of Bangtan.

In which happens to turn true pretty quickly.

"Jungkookie!" Hoseok says loudly down the hallway as he approaches the both of you. He does nothing besides smile, curiosity definitely filling his eyes.

"This is Y/N. Y/N, Hoseok hyung." He holds out his hand for you to shake, his head tilting ever so slightly because you know he's familiar with your face. He's just trying to remember from where. Or, he has recognized you, but he's trying his hardest not to say anything.

Cause they have seen all of you, especially in that fishnet bodysuit.

"Hi! Nice to meet you! You can call me Hobi for short. Are you meeting with someone?" You nod.

"Yeah." Is all you can reply with as you shyly tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.

"Nice, goodluck!"

"Is everyone else here?" Jungkook asks, making Hobi nod.

"Yeah, but they're still running through some stuff in the dance studio. I just ran off to take a break."

"Okay." Jungkook looks at you. "Follow me, he's in one of the private studio rooms." You both part ways from Hoseok, the need to clutch onto Jungkook's arm immensely strong right now. You hold yourself off though, because even with passing a few female staff members, you catch them looking at you oddly with the way you're walking side by side with Jungkook.

Nope. Don't even think about it, Y/N. It doesn't matter.

Jungkook knocks softly on a door, the middle of it being made up of entirely frosted glass so it's difficult to see inside. Their performance director opens the door swiftly and welcomes you in with a warm smile, stepping aside to let you in.

"I've got it from here, Jungkookie. Thank you." Jungkook nods but tries to peek through the door to get one last glimpse of your face before he shuts it fully. "How are you doing, Y/N?" He sits in front of you, leaning onto his knees with his hands fully clasped together.

"I'm good. How are you?"

"Good, tired." He chuckles. "Thanks for taking my call earlier and for meeting at such short notice on a weekend. I had a couple of things come up and didn't want to push things off until later." You smile.

"It's no problem."

"Jungkook tells me a lot about you."

"Does he now?" You chuckle and tilt your head to the side.

"Says you're a really good person. Super hardworking. Told me a little bit about your situation with your brother."

"Mmyeah, it's a little complicated."

"It's alright, no need to get into the details." He smiles before letting out a small sigh. "It's incredibly rare for me to hear Jungkook speak like that. In general. He's usually very closed off, doesn't like to let people in much. He really respects you, you know? Cares about you a whole lot." You slightly blush.

"I'm still getting used to it." He chuckled.

"Look, I know you've been worrying because of where you've been and all that, but I want to reassure you that none of it matters. I don't like to focus on all that. You're here as you, not her." He says, putting another pronoun to your stripper persona.

"Thank you, I appreciate it." He nods. There's a small pause before he begins to speak again.

"I could really use some help around here if you're still interested? The boys are becoming a lot for me to handle."

"Ah-uh, yeah! Of course I am." You found yourself stuttering at the sudden offer. Was this fucking real?! "But, you are aware of where me and Jungkook are at, right?" You ask, trying to be completely transparent and honest about their relationship. He nods and waves his hand out.

"As long as you keep it professional here, right?" You nod.

"Right."

"Come, let me show you around really quickly and have you formally meet the boys." You swallowed the lump in your throat. Fucking great. He definitely didn't know they've all seen your titties and pussy out during Yoongi's birthday, and now here you were - about to meet them again in this environment. Hobi was awkward enough even though he tried not to be.

Surprisingly, Jungkook wasn't waiting outside in the hallway like you thought he would be, but the tour commences and the PD is taking you around pretty quickly. You feel even more awkward and somewhat alone [even though you weren't] without Jungkook nearby, but you chug along and say your hello's to the people you're introduced to. He finally brings you into the dance studio, where there's loud ass music blasting, Jungkook, the boys and some backup dancers in front of the mirrors fooling around.

"Aye boys, come here real quick." You and Jimin lock eyes and your body suddenly gets tense. The room feels 10x hotter than it already is, especially when he slowly walks over and clenches his jaw. He is literally seeping with hate right now, maybe actually disgust, and he doesn't even try to hide it. Most of them for sure recognize you, but they seem to brush it off and give you a big wave/smile anyway.

"Last, that's Jimin - Jimin, Y/N." You give Jimin a fake smile, and the only thing his ass can reciprocate is the smallest, tight-lipped smile you have ever seen. You've never even seen your mom do that when she got mad or upset with you.

"Hi." Is all you can say.

"Sup." He looks at you before turning on his heel and walking away.

"Ooookay?" Namjoon furrows his brows as he watches Jimin walk away so rudely. "The hell was that about?"

"I knew that was Kookie's girlfriend! Maybe Jiminie remembers seeing her titties and shit too, needs to walk away before he gets his ass beat by him." Yoongi says lowly behind Namjoon.

"Yeah, like you're any better." Namjoon says, looking at Yoongi weirdly.

"I mean, we did see her practically naked." Jin says, chiming into the discussion.

"I touched her." Yoongi's mouth slightly hangs down. "I touched her."

"Go ahead, say it louder so Kookie can hear you." Jin nods sarcastically. "Go, say it!"

"No, stop." Yoongi's cheeks turn red while shaking his head and laughing. "He'll literally launch me out the window with one hand."

"Good."

"You asked for her to sit on your lap too, bro!"

"I was joking, and it's not like she did it anyway!"

"Whatever, I'm keeping my birthday deep in my memory storage."

"Clean slate for her so it should be for you too, my guy." Namjoon says as he has enough of their conversation.

You look at Jungkook who is silently standing there, looking like a big dork with a huge smile on his face and his thumbs up. You give him the tiniest nod before proceeding to follow the PD out.

"So?!" Jungkook dashes to meet you in their waiting room area, where an abnormally large picture of Jimin posing oddly hung up.

"He said he'll send me all the info and papers and stuff!" You respond excitedly as Kook hugs you and quickly swings you around.

"See, I knew it would work out!" He puts you down. "Are you gonna tell Kai?" You shook your head.

"Not today at least, it's his birthday and I don't wanna take away from that. It's his day." Jungkook smiles at you.

"Text me when you've picked him up? I should be home by then."

"Okay." You blush and back away, making Jungkook look at you with confusion. "I have to keep it professional here, duh."

"Ah I see." He chuckles. "That won't last very long."

"Jungkook." You whine.

"There's a lot of private rooms here and—"

"I'm not listening, sorry. I think Kai is suddenly calling me." You cover your ears as you begin to walk away, giving him one last smile before leaving him to the rest of rehearsals and whatever else they're doing. He laughs to himself as he waves you off, excited to get through the day so he can just spend time with you and Kai.

As the hours go on and it's about time for you to pick Kai up, you quickly stop by the store because you're a procrastinator and didn't buy Kai's birthday gift any earlier. You felt bad you weren't able to find the shoes he wanted, but you at least snagged the video game he had been talking about for a couple of days now. Before walking into the arcade, you made sure to write your birthday card and slip some more money into it before shoving it in your bag to give to him later.

"Your pretty sister is here." Yeonjun grabs Kai by the shoulder as he finishes up a game.

"Yeah, and you're too young for her."

"Age is nothing but a number. It's only like.. 6 years apart."

"Besides, she's taken, dude. Sorry." Kai snorts as he watches Yeonjun's smile fade. "You would have never had the chance."

"You're mean."

"I'm mean, or you just have really high, unrealistic expectations?" The rest of their friends laugh as they follow Kai over to you.

"Hey!" You smile at all his friends.

"Hiiiiii Y/N." They all say in unison, some waving in awe, while the others shyly dug their hands into their pockets. "Birthday boy, you all good to go? Got some good Loco Moco waiting for you."

"Yeah, I'm good."

"Happy birthday again, Kai! Get online later!" Soobin yells out.

"Yeah, yeah." He says, waving them off as he follows you out to your car.

"You guys run through the entire arcade?" Kai laughs.

"Pretty much." He sinks into his seat, legs damn near touching the glove compartment with how long he is. "I'm honestly so excited for Loco Moco. It's been years!"

"It has not been that long." You laughed.

"You're right, it's been months." Kai looks out the window. "Wait, you're passing the road to get to our go-to shop though?"

"Cause I found a better place."

"How is there a better place when that one was already supreme?!"

"Hey, trust me on this okay?" You laugh. Kai starts telling you about his day and how so many people he knew from school had been messaging him happy birthday. He truly looked his happiest today and it was all you could ask for. Though at the same time, your heart slightly sank at the fact that he'd be going off to uni soon and staying at the dorms. He was just growing up way too fast, and you wanted to spend as much time as you could with him now before he was too occupied being a college boy.

You slipped yourself past Jungkook's security, parking in the one guest spot they have in the garage that's closest to the elevator. Kai doesn't really question it and hops out anyway, his hands in his pockets as he follows you into the elevator and onto Jungkook's floor.

"You ready, kid?"

"Is this some like, Michelin Star Loco Moco restaurant?"

"Ah, I guess you could say that." You knocked on the door, hearing music playing in the background. Jungkook opens the door and Kai's eyes widen.

"Oh shit, that's Jungkook?" Kook laughs and steps aside to let you both in. "Sis why—what—how come you didn't tell me we were seeing your boyfriend? I look like a mess!" He says lowly.

"You don't!"

"Hey Kai! Happy Birthday!" Jungkook says smiling, making Kai actually blush. He's cheeks are tinted with a rosy color and he suddenly gets all shy.

"Thanks."

"Your brother's tall." Jungkook looks at him up and down.

"Looking at an 18 year old 6 footer."

"Must be nice."

"Go sit." Kai silently nods as he sits awkwardly on Kook's couch, while you go and check in on him in the kitchen.

"Is he always that shy?"

"No. Just with you, apparently. He's not even that shy around girls." You chuckle as he places a quick kiss on your head. "Need my help?" You still ask even though the plates are neatly prepared already.

"Not really." He smiles down at you. "You hungry though?"

"Starving, actually." Your eyes light up at the plates. "Ouuuuuu, yum."

"Honestly, I think this batch might be better than my first."

"Still honored to be your guinea pig." You carry a plate over to Jungkook's coffee table in the living room.

"Oh shit, that looks amazing." Kai says, slipping himself down from the couch to the floor so he could get a good whiff of the plate. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Jungkook hands you the remote before walking into his room. "Pick something."

"Here, birthday boy. Help me choose."

"Let's watch Soul on Disney+." At this point, Jungkook comes out of his room with a wrapped present, his eyes locked on the TV.

"Ooh, I keep seeing this everywhere! Niceeeee." Jungkook says, smiling with Kai nodding and already digging into his plate. "By the way, this is for you." You shoot him a look as he sits on the floor by you, watching as Kai unwraps the present. Kai's eyes light up as he sees a shoebox underneath the wrapping, quickly flipping the lid open to reveal those blue Air Jordans he wanted.

"Kook?!" You say lowly, making him smile at you and gently pinch your side.

"Holy shit!" He holds out a shoe, only for him to immediately shake his head and close the box again. "Jungkook, I can't take this." Kai says.

"No, it's your birthday."

"Yeah, but isn't this expensive? You've already done so much for me and my sister, I-I don't want to—"

"Kai, it's cool. If it's one thing you can do to repay me, it's to take my present." You literally want to cry at how sweet Jungkook is being with your brother. He had been good to you, no doubt, but this was one thing you didn't expect from him at all. Quite frankly, you had forgotten you mentioned the shoes to him. The fact that he actually remembered and kept his word.

"Okay." Kai says, gently setting the box down aside before looking at Jungkook with a small smile on his face. "Thank you. I really appreciate it. Like, even with the food and everything. It means a lot to me."

"You're welcome." You give him a soft smile before digging into your food while Soul was already off to a start. Kai and Jungkook devour their food together, with you following shortly behind as Jungkook brings over a small ice cream cake from his fridge for Kai to blow his candles on. After the boys had helped themselves to a good serving of the cake, they started getting hyper and pulled up Smash Bros on Kook's Nintendo Switch [as if Kai hadn't played enough games today]. It started to get intense; the boys jumping and yelling everywhere, bouncing off of the walls, with you getting pulled into the competition every now and then. Even though you knew you'd lost over and over again, you happily joined in anyway, seeing how excited your brother was - plus, it was always a bonus to hear Jungkook's loudly obnoxious, nerdy laugh.

"I WIN!"

"Hey, hey, hey. I let you win because it's your birthday." Jungkook said, making Kai laugh as he crashed to the floor.

"Sure." Kai huffed and puffed. "Crap, I'm tired. What time is it?"

"Almost midnight. We should start heading out, bubba." You patted Kai's chest gently.

"What? No, it's late. Why don't you two just stay here?" You suddenly remembered you've had Kai's shit in your trunk since you dropped him off at Yeonjun's this morning. You didn't have any change of clothes, but that could easily be fixed with Jungkook's closet.

"Only if the queen wants, she's driving."

"It's late, baby." Jungkook says to you softly. "No way I'm letting you two head out there."

"Okay." You give him a small smile before handing your keys. "Can you do me a favor?" He chuckles.

"What is it?"

"Kai's duffle bag is in my trunk." He nods and takes your keys.

"I got it. Kai, you can take the guest room or my office room." Jungkook says with his 3-bedroom apartment having ass. "I have my computer in my office room though, and a pull out bed. I don't know how comfy you'll be."

"It's cool, I'll just take your guest room. I always bring my laptop and switch whenever I sleep at my sister's." Kai says getting up. "Thank you."

"You're welcome." Jungkook says, toothlessly smiling at the both of you, completely endeared at how alike you two were - even down to the fact that you both said thank you for every little thing. If this was a result of Kai being close to you and having you as pretty much his mother figure, then Jungkook wouldn't know what to do with his feelings. He felt butterflies every time he thought about how cute and sweet you were, and he was always excited to be around you.

Jungkook does a quick jog to your car, grabbing Kai's Nike duffle from your trunk before jogging back to the elevator and back to his apartment. He walks in to see Kai helping you clean up the remaining dishes in the sink, tidying the rest of the things in his kitchen.

"Thank you." Jungkook says himself, a little unfamiliar with saying such a thing to be completely honest.

"You're welcome." You say softly, wiping your hands on his hand towel. "Off to bed, or are you gonna go online with your friends?"

"I'll see what they're up to, but I'm pretty beat. Today was fun." Kai smiles at the both of you. "I really appreciate it." You ruffle his hair a bit before gently pushing him towards his bedroom for the night.

"Bathroom's right over there, help yourself to anything you need."

"Don't stay up too late."

"Only if you aren't too loud." You gasp while Jungkook laughs out loud.

"Kai!"

"Hey, I'm just being honest. Please remember that I'm right in this room."

"Oh my god, go to bed." You shove him inside the room and shut his door. "Don't even say a word." You look at Jungkook shyly as you hurriedly brush past him to get into his room - even though Jungkook is literally right behind you with those long ass legs of his, making every stride so much easier for him to catch up to you.

"What's your outfit of choice tonight, pretty lady?" He shuts his door behind him as you start to make your way into his closet.

"Hm, I'll just wear this plain black--" You unfold it. "Balenciaga? Okay, I definitely can't just wear this to sleep."

"Why not?"

"Because this is like, name brand and everything."

"So?" He shrugs. "Just wear it, babygirl. It's not gonna make much of a difference, you're wearing it either way." You do a slight pout before you start to slip out of your clothes to get into his shirt. You make his way to his bathroom to take a little tinkle when you notice another toothbrush sitting next to his. A pink toothbrush, next to his blue one.

"Why do you have two toothbrushes?" You wash your hands as he comes in to the bathroom to start getting ready for bed.

"That's yours." Your eyes light up at his statement.

"Mine?"

"I figured since you'd be over more, it'd be easier for you." He furrows his brows lightly. "Unless.. you didn't want--" You press a kiss against his lips, his hands resting on your arms to keep you close.

"No, I did want that. Thank you."

"Of course, baby." He pecks your forehead.

"By the way, way to make me look like such a bad sister!" You say as you start getting your toothbrush ready.

"Why? The shoes?"

"The shoes, the Loco Moco, the games, the ice cream cake." You laughed. "I literally got him a video game and some money."

"I mean, he is turning 18. I wanted to help make it as memorable as possible."

"I appreciate you a lot. Really."

"I appreciate you too." Your eyes widen as you brush your teeth.

"Waaaaow, say thaht wun mohr tiyme." You say, pulling a Jungkook while brushing your teeth.

"Eye apprushiate yoh toh." You giggle. The both of you finish getting ready for bed before slipping into his warm sheets. Jungkook never goes to sleep early, however, he makes sure all the lights are off and that the show he's watching isn't too loud. You have no idea what's going on in his show, but you lay on his chest to watch for a little bit until you feel yourself getting a little more sleepy. He's holding you close, his hand brushing through your hair softly, causing tingles to ripple through your body.

"Kook."

"Yes, baby?"

"You make me happy." You say sleepily as you hung him tighter. He smiles down at you, your eyes now shut close as you slowly start to drift into a deep sleep. He presses a light kiss against your head, fingers still in your hair.

"You make me happy too, sweetheart."

[iliveiloveiwrite]

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​

[lukealvezhimboextraordinaire]

Prompt — wearing their lover’s clothes! (also, “can I get my shirt back? ’'no.”)

Philioise 🥰

okay so i tried to fill the bill this time! things get a bit hot at the end but nothing worth an r rating!

let's see philoise + wearing their lovers clothes.

It had taken some convincing on Eloise’s part.

Phillip was a man with a very defined style and that style didn’t involve hoddies - an absolute pity according to Eloise. He liked his cardigans, his pleated pants, and his wingtips. He liked to look good and yet be comfortable and wasn’t here to be ashamed for taking care of his appearance. And really, it was fine. Eloise loved it. The only problem was that Penelope had been bombarding her with snaps of her wearing Colin’s oversized hoodies and although she would never admit it out loud, she was starting to feel the green-eyed monster burning in her chest. Goddammit, she wanted to take cute pics clapped in one of Phillip’s extra-large hoodies and post them on every social media account she owned.

But Phillip was not having it. Not even when she went out of her way to make obvious hints as to how she wanted to steal his clothes. Or rather, how she wanted to be given his clothes.

And really? What was the problem? Eloise had full access to his closet. She could just walk into it and grab whatever she wanted and he would not protest. But he was a smart man and smart men did not engage in couple wars with their girlfriend’s siblings. Especially not with Polin. Because out of every two words Colin said, one was Penelope. And Phillip loved Eloise but he preferred to keep his displays of affection a bit more subtle and he preferred his love confessions to be for Eloise's ears only. Nothing wrong with proclaiming your love and devotion for the woman you were sharing your life with every two sentences, really. But being around Colin was, in all honesty, a bit sickening.

But even if his love language were light, casual touches or his quiet but calming presence or listening to her ramble about her day, that didn’t mean he loved her any less. Where Colin’s love was loud, grandiose, overwhelming, Phillip’s love was quiet, nurturing, gentle. It was waking up to fresh flowers resting on a vase every morning, it was coming home after a long day at work to the table set and dinner ready, it was finding little notes scattered around the house, reminding her to take her keys with her, to drink some water, to drive safely. It was a soft kiss on her cheek every morning before leaving for work, a cup of her coffee exactly like she liked it placed on her hand. It was pressed flowers under her pillow. It was a back rub while they read together in the afternoons. It was books with his favorite parts and quotes underlined showing up on her bedside table randomly - full pages circled with this reminds me of you all over it. It was gentle praise and sincere encouragement. It was words of affirmation. It was a sense of finally belonging, being taken care of, and being put first, of mattering.

Phillip loved Eloise in all the ways she had ever wanted to be loved but didn’t dare to allow herself to yearn for and even in ways she never knew a person could love another person. He understood her silences as well as her words and always seemed to know how to make her feel better. There was something in his presence that never failed to make her feel safe.

There was nothing she could complain about.

But she wanted to take a bloody picture wrapped in one of his shirts and post it, dammit.

And then a brilliant idea crossed her mind.

She would see Penelope’s hoodie and raise it. Go big or go home.

And go big she did, indeed.

Phillip had one of those botanic conferences he loved so much that weekend, which meant she would (practically) have the house for herself. Or at least she would have the house for herself once the twins went to bed. The smart woman she was, Eloise had already crafted a detailed plan to tire them out so much all through the day, that the moment they came back home they would pass out, giving her the time to put her second master plan into action. It was genius if she herself said it.

-------

The twins had drifted into a peaceful sleep as soon as their heads touched the pillows. The day had been filled with excitement, laughs, and a couple sugar highs that Eloise had made sure to schedule to last until they were on their way home. The plan had almost taken a turn for the worse on the ride home when their eyelids started to flutter. Nothing a good old banger couldn’t avoid. They ended up singing to the top of their lungs to songs Eloise had never heard before walking into those amazing kids’ lives but now she often found herself humming absent-mindedly.

She placed a sweet kiss on the top of their heads and made sure to tuck them in before closing the door quietly and making her way to the bedroom she had come to share with their father.

As much as she would have loved to take her time

Everything was ready; the lights settled to the perfect intensity, the phone resting on the tripod, and the throw pillows placed in a way that only added to the scene. All that she had to do was get in front of the lens. Surprisingly, the hardest part had been to pick the perfect garment to wear. Phillip had such a collection of nice shirts that it had taken Eloise a good twenty minutes to narrow it down to just two and then five more to come up with a winner. The soft baby blue cotton fabric looked very nice against her skin and it even made her eyes stand out so it became an easy pick. Even though the light yellow one was very nice too. Eloise took a mental note to keep it for a late date. Maybe she would have to ask Daphne to keep the twins for a night one of these days.

Eloise tried a couple poses on the mirror before settling for a suggestive yet not very explicit one. Her legs slightly parted, the hem of the shirt covering just about enough skin to allow the word tasteful to be used but to still spark the curiosity about what was (or wasn’t) behind, the first few buttons of the improvised attire open, allowing the valley of her breasts to peak over the lace brasserie, offering a glimpse of what was to come. The wicked smile adorning her features and messy hair the perfect last touches to her ravishing look. The camera snapped once, twice, thrice. Eloise studied the pictures, nodded with satisfaction, and with one last look at them hit sent.

My sunflower: A little something so you don’t forget to think about me tonight;)

Jesus, El, I almost crashed against the wall.

Just so you know, I always think about you.

My sunflower: I hope so.

Is that my shirt?

My sunflower: Maybe?

You little thief.

My sunflower: Do you want it back?

I think you ought to show me if you had stolen more of my clothes.

Like my boxers, for starters….

Eloise didn’t get much sleep that night.

The next morning she made sure to send Penelope a nerdy snap, Phillip’s shirt looking huge on her smaller frame, making her look like she was wearing an oversized dress. Judging by the dry response she got from her best friend, Colin was about to make a trip to the mall to get a couple dressing shirts. The bar had been raised. Hoodies were no longer good enough. It was pressed shirts or nothing now. Good.

Eloise surprised herself by how reluctant she was to take off his shirt. It had been only a day and she already missed him. His laugh, his hugs, his arms lazily thrown over her shoulders as they laid on the couch, the way he wrinkled up his nose with the first sip of tea… she missed having him around and the peace knowing he was close brought her. And it was funny because until that moment the realization of how used she had gotten to having Phillip by her side had not hit her. Their broken souls were two sides of the same coin, joined and twisted and embroiled until they became one.

So she threw a pair of jeans on, tucked the shirt in the pants, and went on and about with her day. The twins didn’t even bat an eye when she descended down the stairs muffled in their dad’s favorite gear. It was almost as if they had been expecting it for a while. In retrospect, they probably had not given it any thought because they were kids, smart kids, but kids and children didn’t tend to have the same worries as adults. For them, sharing clothes didn’t have a special meaning.

And Eloise realized that she should have gone digging into Phillip’s side of the closet a long time ago. Thinking about it, she couldn’t come up with the exact reason why it had gotten her so long to finally do something that had been on her mind for a while.

But Eloise didn’t have much time to dwell on the reasons behind her actions - or lack of them. Because the door sprung open, startling everyone inside, to reveal a smiling Phillip, bag hanging lazing from his shoulder.

“Daddy!” The kids rushed to his encounter, screaming happily, and attached themselves to his legs. He scooped them up, each in one arm, and when he looked up his eyes locked with Eloise’s. A knowing smile immediately overtook his features. Eloise knew that smile knew what it meant. It was the promise of something to come and it never failed to send a wave of heat down her stomach.

“Hi,” he had to lean in slightly to give her a soft kiss on the lips. The kids made disgusted noises and Phillip took it as his cue to let them run free. He watched them disappear up the stairs and only then did he turn his attention back to the brunette, his eyes burning into hers. “Is that my shirt?”

Eloise licked her lips. “Maybe.”

He grinned, closing the distance between them in two long steps, his lips brushing against her neck, tentatively running down her collarbone until they reached the valley of her breasts. The air caught in her lungs. Her eyes closed. And then he stopped. When she opened them again, he was smirking down at her. “Can I get it back?”

Somehow she managed to find the strength to talk. “N-no.”

Phillip grinned evilly. “Not even if I do this?” His fingers teased the hem of the shirt, sending a wave of electricity down her spine whenever they grazed her skin. Slowly, agonizingly slowly, he started unbuttoning the shirt, leaving a kiss on every inch of exposed skin.

“If you want your shirt. You are going to have to rip it off of me.” Eloise breathed out. And Phillip's eyes burned with desire and something that looked a lot like a promise.

Let’s just say, the shirt ended on the floor.

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

When she came into their bedroom later that night, there was a bag resting on her side of the bed. She looked around for him but he was nowhere to be found. Never one able to resist the temptation of satisfying her curiosity, she looked inside. Tears filled her eyes because there, resting in the bottom of the bag was a brown hoodie. Strong arms wrapped around her from behind, the warm breath against her neck making her hair stand up. "I would give you the world, my sunflower. All you have to do is ask."

It had taken some convincing on Eloise's part. But she never needed to try so hard.

[mc-critical]

What are your thoughts on Ibrahim? For me it went from indifference and dislike in season 1 to liking in season 2 and becoming my favorite male character in season 3 tbh. Actually the only good male character by season 3 (season 4 has many other options too). He is probably the most complex and well written character and I really sympathise with him. His arrogance was his downfall but if Suleyman wasn't such a bitch it wouldn't have been lol. He wasn't wrong in that imo. He was a slave, a fisherman's son but his intelligence and skill took him farther than anyone else and it's not wrong to be proud of such a feat. He deserved the pride more than just about anyone, even Suleyman. What I dislike the most about him is his treatment of Nigar after their relationship ended. She's my favorite character and although their relationship itself was my favorite in the whole show (other than Nurbanu and Selim) it ended really badly

Ibrahim is one of my most conflicting characters on the series: one time I feel like I don't get the appeal, especially not the stans in one Bulgarian forum, he doesn't elicit such a strong emotional reaction in me as he does in others, but then once he hits an incredibly strong arc and I begin to analyze his character and all its dimensions, I come to love him for what he is and realize how much effort has gone in conceiving and developing him. He's certainly the most well-written male character that isn't a sultan or a prince in the entire franchise. (the sultans aren't the brightest, but the bar is so high when it comes to their writing. There isn't any of them that is badly written. The princes are also well developed, but now that I think about it, Ibrahim surpasses some of them as well!) He's delightfully fleshed out with every detail; his actions, while morally ambiguous at times, are very understandable and you can clearly see the deeper, nuanced reasons why he does what he does. His arc was a sight to see from beginning to end and watching it reach its inevitable tragic conclusion was heartwrenching. At a point he became so important to the narrative, whether it was intentional or not, that the show (or actually, S03B in particular, because S04 was absolutely fantastic!) began to lowkey miss something without him. He had such a strong presence that couldn't be matched by anyone else after him.

[To be brutally honest though, I find his dynamic with Hürrem in terms of screentime to be kinda overrated. Not that it's bad or anything, quite the contrary - their chemistry was great, they were consistent and fun to watch, they had quite a few great scenes that were definetly more than Hürrem and Mahidevran's, I dare even say this is one of the most solid antagonistic dynamics of Hürrem's writing-wise, but I just find it sometimes gets way too much credit? It's weird, I know.]

The most interesting thing about him is, without a doubt, his fatal flaw that I... actually don't think is arrogance. It's not up for argument that Ibrahim can definetly come off as arrogant, but the arrogance is rather a manifestation of his fatal flaw, not his fatal flaw itself. I believe that it's precisely his inferiority complex that is the root of his vulnerabilities: as you said, he's been only a fisherman in Parga, and his background is both a source of memories where he can recall his more "innocent" days with his family and a tough spot for him where he is consistently reminded of something that is already in the past after all he has achieved. He did want to return to Parga, to see who he used to be one more time, but after that it's as if he never gets a chance to forget, to put it behind him. He pretends he has forgotten, but that consistent reminder of how he has started seems to be constantly haunting him to the point he begins to remind himself of it. It's not only people like Figani, Iskender Çelebi or the other members of the divan in early S01 that don't let him forget, it's as if he himself doesn't want to forget. It's undeniable that he had climbed up to heights he wouldn't dream of and the role of a grand vezier needed getting used to and to be dealt with with care. On one hand, we could argue that he reminds himself of Parga as a way to preserve his moral compass, in a way, to realize when and how he has screwed up or remind himself of the limitations of how far can he go, for Süleiman is his friend and companion who he wouldn't want to disappoint. But on the other hand, the more he rose in the hierarchy, the stronger became a wish for him to exceed these limitations placed upon him by everyone around. Süleiman is able to give him everything if he wishes, so why not let it happen? Then he's going to prove to everyone, prove to his inner demons, this sense of inferiority that he, in fact, can not only become the most politically adept grand vezier there is, but a person who has his own country within the country and can rule it with ease. The political arena ultimately becomes a target of his inner conflict where he projects more power than anyone else, is most influential and does the best in order to gain the goal, not only to gain SS's approval, but show that, yeah, he can do his best for the role he's put in, fixating on the Ottoman country he claims to be a ruler of and his apparently endless rights. It turns into a coping mechanism where he can escape his past and background and he gets so sucked in it that his self awareness becomes less and less. That's where his arrogance comes from and I feel that if he didn't possess that complex of his, he would've managed things way better and had more self control, as a result. He was a very good politician in the show, setting in motion many good strategies (his strategy gave them the Mohacs victory after all), having a strong, pragmatic mind and many innovative ideas and if he didn't try his hardest to convince himself he's worth something that isn't just the story of the fisherman in Parga, Hürrem wouldn't stand a chance against him.

This inferiority complex is the reason for his infidelity, too. He loves Hatice dearly and he never expected that she of all people would do the very thing he dreads the most. Her pulling rank on him came as such a shock for him that it seemed he would never forget or forgive. It put infinetly more salt to the wound, deeply hurting his ego and the self-esteem he was just beginning to gain. That's why he let himself in Nigar's hands for so long, for she would only want to please him, for that relationship would have no limitations whatsoever and wouldn't restrict Ibrahim in any way. It was something that was his, something the dynasty would never touch or learn about. I love Nigar and Ibrahim's relationship, too. Principally, I'm not a fan of love triangles at all, but that one is a notable exception for how wonderfully, but crushingly psychological it is. It wasn't added in only for the sake of the drama, it was set up for very long and it was like the characters actually got there through their own actions and they had to truly face that struggle to flesh out and evolve. But there wasn't genuine love there, not in Ibrahim's part. That was his biggest weakness speaking, causing the illusion of love, not the real feeling of it. He wanted to preserve this relationship as the fisherman in Parga, but to me, it felt like he showed something more similar to his own confident assertions of the power of a grand vezier than actual regard for Nigar's feelings. It all was a lie he wanted to believe, because of his ego's denial, and he believed it so much he told Nico that Nigar was the person he truly loved in E51. And when he did get out of the lie (the monologue in E57), see how he reacts differently in front of her now - he turns off every single try of hers to give him affection, he reacted very badly when he learned she was pregnant, it was as if he wanted her to wake up from the dream and move on, too? And due to his inner conflict that perpetuates his arrogance grew even more in S03, he got over Nigar, but not over her child. Esmanur's birth made him return to and enforced his old habits that made him consider that child as another piece of solace, something out of the dynasty, also only his, trying so desperately to have her live with him and Hatice. The infidelity and the way he treated Nigar after he realized the error of his ways are ones of the worst things Ibrahim did, along with Leo (now, I get he wanted to knock Hürrem down a peg, but that was admittedly much for me.) and while I understand why these events and interactions came to fruition, I can't justify him for them.

I agree that had Süleiman not given him as much power, his inferiority complex would be highly downplayed, at the very least. He underestimated the possible consequences of Ibrahim's rise and it really doesn't look like he knows him as much as he thinks he does. Whether he did it to test him (SS's lasting reminders that Ibrahim gets closer to death) or because he loves him dearly and wants to embrace his potential ("I want you to use that mind only for me!") or both, it's like he gave him both too much freedom and too many boundaries at once. I mean, I understand why SS executed Ibrahim: his affirmations, no matter their backstory and how metaphorical they are, pose a definite threat for a padişah and along with his growing paranoia of betrayal, he couldn't be sure how far he was going to go anymore. It's as if Ibrahim crossed every line, openly acting like he controls the padişah and his state in front of the fellow pashas, efendis and ambassadors and that couldn't be controlled anymore. It's as if he had done his best efforts to bring him down to earth, but since none of it was working, he decided to act accordingly. The many "failures" of Ibrahim have been piling up in the narrative in the span of 81 episodes and I get why SS would finally snap for what was the final straw. However, doing so much unprecedented stuff for a grand vezier was bound to bring disasters for the padişah due to the chance in his mind that he would try to question or prevail over him, hence Süleiman should've realized that it was only natural one would want more and more. And that happened with S03 Ibrahim - he fought more and more with his inner demons, hence wanting to have more and more to be validated by the others and by his own ego that perhaps wouldn't feel satisfied regardless.

While his fatal flaw underlines his complexity, it also gets complimented by his many positive qualities: his love for Hatice was very sweet in the beggining and after the Nigar plot, it turned out to be really genuine - their reconciliation was very telling in that aspect; his relationship and loyalty to Süleiman deserves respect, even though his inferiority complex came in the way, he still would never give him up and never once lost hope in his recovery when he was in his deathbed and while that may become up for debate in S03, he would never openly stand against him and would gladly try his best to please him; his bond with Mustafa is amazing, too - I love how he practically raised that kid and gave him sound advice as well as his mother; that said, his relationship with Mahidevran deserves more appreciation and it is one of the most reciprocal and understanding, soft and "carefee" dynamics of the show; I love his dedication to his family and how he loves them as much and remembers them with the same fondness as ever before. In short, when going in depth, this multifaceted character has so much to offer, like, wow!

Okay, when I first watched the show, there was that point where I felt Ibrahim overstayed his welcome and I even wanted for Hürrem to finish him already (heh, those were the days! 😅) but now when I've rewatched and reexamined MC many times, I see that despite of his few negative traits, everything about this character flows so well and so organically and it's one of the characters in the series that have aged really well with time in my eyes. And I respect him so much for that.

[charming-charlie]

The Worst Goodbye

Title // The Worst Goodbye

Pairing // Anthony Ramos x Reader

Warnings // Mentions of drinking, cute little fluffs

Summary // Anthony is leaving the Hamilton show and you aren’t coping well with saying goodbye.

Word Count // 2k

Prompt // Hey there! Can I request something fluffy with Anthony from Hamilton? Maybe something where the reader really likes his long hair, aka Philip hair, so when he cuts it she’s a little discouraged? // I found a cute writing prompt for Anthony Ramos. “Person A and Person B having deep conversations together on the patio / balcony at 3 a.m.”

It seemed to be a long, winded night. You were tired, not fully exhausted yet, but there wasn’t much energy in you left. It was yet another end-of-run party, this time for Chris Jackson, for Hamilton. The year was full of losses. Lin, Philippa, Leslie, Daveed, and Ariana left earlier during the summer. Anthony, one of your closest friends, was scheduled to leave next.

The next party would be in celebration of him.

You were okay with that. He wanted to further his acting and music career. Working eight shows a week sort of hindered that and often left him too tired to pursue his other interests.

But it went with the territory, especially in your line of work. You worked at the Richard Rodgers theater as a backstage hand. You made sure people got to their places on time, handled wardrobe malfunctions, and helped devise a schedule if someone was going t be out. It was truly a fun job for you because you were able to see the ins and outs of the show, and you became close with the cast members, both past and present.

The hardest part were the goodbyes, like tonight. Chris was leaving, wrapping up his final curtain call in 2 days, which meant 2 more performances from the man who played a stellar George Washington. While these parties were meant to be a celebration, they were sadder for you. You said goodbye to so many people over the past few months.

The party took place on a rooftop bar. There was the bar itself, which had high glass walls and then there was the balcony area that fenced off the roof. Due to the chilly weather, it being November and all, no one even so much as attempted to go outside on the balcony. At least, not yet. Surely after they had more drinks in them and got warmed up from the alcohol, it’ll be full of party people.

For now, you were the only occupant on the empty balcony. The sun had set, and the moon was out. You were able to see very few stars due to the heavy lights of New York City, but it was still a very nice, relaxing sight. You knew you could never give up the city. There was just something about it that you found comforting, and peaceful nights like this were part of the reason why.

You had a drink in hand, barely touched. You were more focused on the sights before you. It was almost like a scene from a movie. Your hair whipped lightly in the cold wind, but you didn’t feel the frigid breeze.

In fact, you were so lost in your little world, you didn’t hear the bar door open, the one that led to the balcony. It was only when you felt someone brush against your shoulder, you were lulled out of your trance. You turned and you saw Anthony. He was wearing a hoodie with the hood up, his hands in his pockets, and some casual jeans. “Well,” you managed to say with a smile, “you certainly dressed for the occasion.”

He turned to look at you, smiling in return. One of his arms rested on the barrier of the roof. “Yo, I came straight from rehearsal. I didn’t have time to change. Besides, you really think Chris is going to care?” Anthony responded simply. It was almost like he knew you were going to say something about his look, and he had a rebuttal prepared. You wouldn’t put it past him.

That’s right, when he wasn’t working on Hamilton, he had rehearsals for the new show he was scheduled to be on. You said nothing, turning back to the city, not wanting to think about saying goodbye to yet another friend. The theater was starting to be kind of bleak with your favorite people leaving.

“No, Chris won’t mind. I mind though. What is this?” you asked. With your empty hand, you reached out to grab his hood, but he pulled back with a laugh, ducking your grip. He looked so casual and yet it looked like he was almost wearing a disguise. Like, he wanted to blend in. It didn’t work for you though. He had a personality and a smile that could be seen and heard from across a room. He was just that type of person, one of the best people you ever had the pleasure of meeting.

“This is fashion,” Anthony said much to your surprise. You couldn’t help but laugh, truly laugh, at his dumb choice of words.

“Your fashion sense is awful. What time is it?” you grabbed his arm and pulled up the sleeve of his hoodie, looking at his watch. It was going on three in the morning. You had no idea it was so late. The party inside the bar was still in full swing. You don’t think anybody even left it yet. The notion of the time emitted a yawn from you, and you tried to swat it away out of annoyance.

“Whoa, my fashion sense is amazing,” Anthony counted back as he lightly bumped into you, nudging you gently.

You took a sip of your drink, which had long since been watered down, and waved a hand in his direction. “There’s your catwalk, go model it for me and try to change my mind.”

You were absolutely kidding, and you thought your voice was dripping with sarcasm and jokes but Anthony actually took you up on that. He nodded, walked to the end of the balcony and turned to face you. You stood there in surprise, watching as the young man strutted toward you, one foot in front of another, giving off ridiculous poses. He unzipped the front of his hoodie dramatically, giving off such ridiculous model vibes. You were not drunk enough for this.

He got closer to you and he flailed his head, pushing the hood down. Your stared at him. Both of your hands flew to your barely drunken glass, fearing you would drop it from the sudden look. Anthony had cut his hair. His beautiful, long hair that he often wore pulled back, was now short and styled, and it caught you off guard to the point where you couldn’t look away.

You definitely were not drunk enough for this.

“Oh no babe, what is that?” you pointed to his head. Anthony was taking it in stride as he ran his fingers through his shorter hair with a sheepish smile. You had a feeling you were the first person he showed his new style to, but your reaction wasn’t exactly encouraging him.

“I had to cut it for the role. Does it look that bad?” Anthony asked. His smile was slowly fading, and he turned to the glass walls of the bar, trying to catch his reflection.

It didn’t look bad. It just looked different. It was yet another reminder that he was going to be leaving the show soon. It was a reminder that things were changing, and you were not liking it. Finding a cold bench, you sat down, your breath shaky. Your put your drink down somewhere on the ground, not wanting to touch it.

Anthony’s smile had turned into a complete frown by this point and he slowly sat next to you. “I’m gonna wear a wig for the rest of my Hamilton appearances, don’t worry.” His voice sounded a bit defeated. He looked out over the scenery, watching the still buildings, trying to avoid looking at you.

You hated how you were reacting, but you sincerely could not help it. To much was changing too fast.

“It was Renee’s old wig. I’m getting it fixed and cut before tomorrow’s show,” Anthony kept rambling on, as if it would make you feel better.

You sighed. Of course, you were overreacting. You knew that. You were being dramatic. Deep down, you had to expect that this was going to happen, and it has. It wasn’t just the hair. You loved Anthony’s longer hair and you thought he could pull a ponytail off better than most girls out there. This was different. This just proved things were not going to be the same in a very short amount of time.

“It’s not the hair,” you mumbled to yourself, but Anthony heard you. Slowly his head turned to look at you, but you could not bring yourself to face his warm, comforting eyes. “It’s what the hair represents.”

That astonished him and he let out a breath, sort of scoffing your words away like he didn’t quite understand. “What does that mean?”

Sighing deeply, you turned to look at him and you grabbed his hand. Maybe it was time for you to say what you were feeling. When were you going to get another chance? Plus, Anthony seemed a bit down in spirit right now from your reaction. He deserved an explanation.

“You cutting your hair means this is really happening,” you began. You were speaking slowly, trying to choose your words carefully. You didn’t want to end up saying the wrong thing and make the evening (morning?) even worse. “I mean… it’s another reminder that you are leaving the show and leaving me. I’m just not… I don’t know, I’m just not handling it well. That’s all. Your hair looks good. I like the new cut.”

There was silence after that. You wished he would say something. Tension was growing between the two of you with each passing second and you were not sure how long you could sit there in overwhelming silence. You couldn’t take it. You exhaled and stood up, only to feel Anthony reach out and grab your hand. He tugged you back and you instantly sat down next to him.

He leaned in, letting his forehead rest against your shoulder. “Don’t leave,” you heard him whisper. His fingers inched themselves slowly and wrapped around your hand in a tight hold. You rested your head against the top of his and closed your eyes. For a moment, everything seemed to be okay. But it was only for a moment.

“We knew this was coming,” you said slowly. Now you wanted to avoid the conversation. Anthony shushed you as he squeezed your hand. You felt his head rise from your shoulder. He let go of your hand, hooked his index finger and thumb under your chin, and turned your head to look at him. His eyes were unreadable, and he had a sad smile. That did nothing to help your dejected feelings.

“I don’t know if I’m ready,” you said but Anthony cut you off.

“Stop talking.”

He didn’t move, forcing you to keep looking at him. His hand shifted from under your chin to the side of your face. He was making it worse. He was stirring up things inside you that were going to be squashed like a bug on the night of his final curtain call.

“I may be leaving Hamilton but I’m not leaving your life. Don’t even think about that. You think I can just walk away and leave you behind? I can’t. I don’t want to. Shut up about saying goodbye. You aren’t saying goodbye. You may be working with a new John Laurens and Philip Schuyler, but you aren’t getting rid of me completely.” His voice took on a bit of sharpness. You could tell he did not prepare a speech for something like that, which further proved he was serious.

He leaned in, kissing your forehead softly. A cold wind zipped by, and you felt it that time. Or maybe that was just the chill that ran up your spine at his sudden, simple touch.

“Please promise me that,” you said, needing it for your own clarification.

“I promise,” he said while looking at you dead in the eyes. He held onto your gaze for a few moments. The lights of New York City were behind him and he looked like such a vision, like a painting come to life. He looked happy, his smile returned, and there was a sort of lightness behind his eyes.

Your worst fear turned out be over-exaggerated and you were thankful he was there. It’ll be hard, getting through these next few weeks knowing he was going to be gone soon, but you had faith that there was more to your friendship with Anthony than meets the eye. You knew he saw it too.

[a-bit-too-much-of-a-zelda-fan]

@noblelightfighter asked: "How did you come up with the town scenarios? Like Wild trying to bargain and Sky being one of the links who was eager to try bomb-chu bowling?"

I’m really glad you asked this! I love talking about my thought process and inspirations when it comes to my writing, especially with Oops! All Links. There are a lot of sequences in the Selggog arc, so I may as well go through them chapter by chapter. More below the cut!

I'll start off by saying that around the time I wrote “Musings and Memories,” I read James Baldwin's short story “Sonny’s Blue’s.” Baldwin does a really good job keeping dialogue-heavy scenes interesting by describing the characters' poses and mundane actions. I thought, "damn, I want to do that too." So if you noticed another layer of detail in my writing at that point, that was why.

Chapter 15: Inn or Out... Maybe Just Inn.

Hyrule is by far the hardest Link to write for. He has hardly any source material, so all I really have to go off of is Jojo’s comic and other fan content. That's why I accidentally ignored him for the first 14 chapters. So I decided to give him much more of a spotlight in this arc, and one of the few concrete things that we know about him is that he has had to deal with vendors with wildly different prices. I figure, yeah, he probably got good at haggling.

I put Sky, Wild, and Hyrule together because they all have different experiences with vendors in their own games. I decided that I could add Baldwin-esque detail by describing the minutia of them undressing and eating supper. Damn, did I consult the original LU character concepts a ton for this segment. I also used this scene to add my headcanon/self-projection of Sky being vegetarian.

The Links also went through what could be a traumatic experience in the burning town. I had already written some fallout of Time using Darmani's Mask, where the others are mad at him, Wild flips shit, and Time describes how painful it is to use the masks. But Time only wore the mask to save Hyrule. Wouldn't Hyrule feel guilty about that? And who better to soothe that guilt than Wild, who must have felt incredible survivor guilt after the Calamity?

Chapter 16: Panacea

Scene 1: I wasn't sure why I made Twilight wake in a cold sweat, but it could be because of recalling his past experience in "Stars and Stories." Aside from giving Twi and Wars some 1-on-1 dialogue, this scene lets Twi have some pleasant memories of home after the awful ones in "Fire." It also shows his soft side when he lets Time oversleep.

Scene 2: This is mostly just setup for the rest of the arc, but eating breakfast and getting dressed is another Baldwin opportunity. The group also gets some downtime to decompress and act off of each other.

The title and Hyrule's line "And enjoying breakfast together in a warm and cozy inn is probably the panacea for that poison” is a reference to the Flobots song "Panacea for the Poison."

Chapters 17 & 18: To Sell a Butterfly (Necklace); A Sailor and a Ranch Hand Walk into a Store.

Bro, I love writing Twi and Wind together. All the Links consider each other sort of brothers, Twi acts like a big brother to his friends in Ordon, and Wind is the youngest Link. Perfect. These chapters let their relationship shine and give Wind a chance to use his own experience with treasure tellers for what I think were great character moments. Madame Viliafore wasn't really inspired by anything, she just kinda came into existence.

Twilight's line “Uh, I’m pretty sure most shops won’t buy off strangers. They’re trying to sell their junk, not buy yours. Think how fast they’d go bankrupt.” is a reference to the Snowdin shopkeeper in Undertale.

This is probably pretty obvious but the titles are references to To Kill a Mockingbird and that one joke (you know the one).

Chapter 19: Swords, Shields, Arrows

Wild is a knight and knows exactly what he is doing when it comes to weapons. The pose he ends his sword test with is a reference to the BotW Memory "Shelter from the Storm." He tries to haggle with the shop owner precisely because he just saw Hyrule do it, and they talked about it the previous night. He fails miserably because he has absolutely no idea how to do it. I also give Four and Wild some character interaction that stresses how much Wild's past messed with his head.

There's no particular reason the shopkeeper said they were scaring his customers when there weren't any customers in the shop, I just thought it would be funny.

Chapter 20: Mind the Tea

Hyrule got some comfort from Wild and Sky, but I felt he really needed to hear it from Time. Besides wrapping up all the plot threads from the previous chapters, I got to sprinkle in a bit more Time angst and humorously conclude the wallet side plot. I just thought it would be funny to make the events of two whole chapters entirely unnecessary.

This chapter and the opening to the next are inspired by the time I went to a British tearoom in New York City called Tea and Sympathy. It's a bit pricy but if you're ever in New York, you should check it out.

Rolling with the British theme, the title is a reference to the warning all over the London Underground saying "Mind the Gap."

Chapter 21: Me and the Boys

The Links needed some fun after everything, so I figured, what minigame from one of the Zelda games could all of them enjoy? Time said it himself, they all like explosions. Sky is the most enthusiastic to play (besides Wind) because he's generally one of the more positive Links, and one of his own minigames was that circus-themed diving game. I figured that this would remind him of that.

The girl at the counter is indeed the younger sister of the Bombchu girl in Ocarina of Time. The "heroic sideburns" line is a reference to Tri Force Heroes, which otherwise doesn't really come up in LU.

In my opinion, this is my funniest chapter by far. I really laid into the comedy here, because I knew that after this chapter, I was going into an arc centered around intense combat. I absolutely love Twilight's increasing concern over the Cucco, and Sky's line about animal welfare laws is a reference to the "Wait. That's illegal" meme from Red vs Blue.

My favorite jokes I've ever written are in this chapter:

“Games?” Hyrule replied. “You mean like chess?” Wind gaped at his friend in disbelief. “No, games are fun.”

And this entire bit here

The girl giggled from behind the counter. Legend shot daggers at her. She sobered up. Warriors snatched up a bombchu in one hand and patted Legend on the shoulder with the other. “Please, I’ll show you how it’s done,” he said with a wink to the shopkeeper. Warriors’ bombchu was as good as dead on arrival; it was blocked by the very first barrier. His shoulders slumped. “I don’t remember him asking for the quickest way to lose,” Wild teased. “Shut it, you don’t remember a lot of things,” Warriors shot back. “I—… okay, that’s fair.”

To finish up, I'll explain where this town's came from. Back in middle school, I ran a Minecraft server for my friends and me. We built a town and my friend decided to name it Selggog. Where did he get the name? We had just watched the "Lab Safety Song" in our science class, and it mentioned safety goggles. He wrote down "goggles" backward and, what do you know, he got "Selggog."

[strangestorytellersims]

Simblr Story Process Asks

Since I don’t want too much reblogs here, but I like the idea in general, I’ll just write down the answers. Thanks to @queenofvraquin​ and to her friend Josie for composing this!

1. Do you hide any secrets in your stories that only a few people will find?  

Sure. Lots of them actually. I like easter eggs, unobvious allusions, hidden spoilers, inner jokes and so on. And it absolutely doesn’t matter if someone reveals them or not. 

2. Sims writing has a visual component. How do you utilize color/objects and settings in your stories?  

As a tool for creating a certain atmosphere.

3. Which process do you dedicate more time to, editing visuals or editing your writing? Why?  

Does that freaking poses creation count? Alright, jokes aside. I spend much more time on visuals, but much more efforts on writing.. 

4. What scenes do you find hardest to write?

For me there’s no such thing as a “hardest to write scene”. If I feel somewhat of a resistance, I’d better go and get some inspiration or think about the whole scene one more time - maybe I’m missing something important. Because nothing comes out of nowhere, and difficulties are no exclusion.

5. Are there any scenes in your story that you enjoy re-reading?

All. Of. Em. Firstly, because many scenes start to annoy me by the time I finish them and it's good to update the impression later. Secondly, because I simply like them.

6. Are there any scenes you wish you could go back and re-write?  

Afterwit is truly common, yet I prefer to leave everything as it is. Because if I wrote smth in some particular way - it means I had reasons to do so. And because imperfections are a basis for further improvement.

7. Do you have any characters you believe might be misunderstood by your readers?   

I absolutely don’t care about that, so I never asked myself this question and moreover - I'm not even interested in a possible reply.

8. Are there any plots or characters that have changed dramatically since you initially began writing them?

Nope, if the question was about initial idea or my knowledge on the matter. But if it was about their current state and personality that may change as the story develops - then a bit later the answer will be “yes” for sure.

9. Are you writing with a deadline in mind to complete the story?

No, because personally for me story’s deadline is completely useless and even works the opposite.

10. If you could choose to be one of your characters for a day, which one would it be?

Gods of the Underworld, I beg you - save me from such a terrible destiny! 

11. What are some elements you think are becoming cliché in the genre you’re writing?

I can’t even define the genre itself lol. Tho, I don’t think cliches are that bad. At least they became what they are because they work. The rest is a matter of relevance, timeliness and quality of fulfillment.

12. What is your favorite thing about the simblr story writing process?

Same as for any other writing process, if we talk specifically about writing process and not about creating sims stories in general. I even lack the opportunity to _describe_ visuals, but since I love dialogues, it’s not a big deal. 

13. What characters do you feel most connected to? Why do you feel connected to that character?

Everyone, tbh. I don’t want to keep in my story any characters I’m not connected with. But ofc it depends on my mood, on the weather, on the current part of the story and so on.

14. What is something that you think most of your readers might miss?

Same as #7. I don’t care - because it is my deep belief that any story/art/game/whatever is absolutely free from the moment it was released in public. There’s no such thing as “proper meaning” or “right way to understand”. Any reader can ignore anything, bring in some personal meaning, miss or notice smth - and it’s an area of their individual perception which has nothing to do with me or my thoughts.

[romansrace]

Season 13 Sassy Reviews: Taking stock as of E07 ‘Bossy Rossy Ruboot’

So we know it’s not a good season.

Now all we’re watching to find out is is it AS BAD as season 7 or season 11?

It’s definitely up there for producer tomfoolery.

Let’s hit it.

So we know that going in to a new season, some queens are cast to go far, some queens are cast as filler (this year hilariously lampshaded by Joey Jay, self-aware queen), and some girls are cast to go midway and be allowed no further.

I wouldn’t be surprised if a certain proportion of queens are also now cast specifically to have a storyline of failing first time to set them up for an arc on Drag Race AllStars. (Why would producers care that it costs queens upwards of $10k per season to go on and that queens would probably prefer to only have to do that once?!)

As I mentioned in my last review, for some reason it seems that the production’s goal this time was to craft a season around Kandy Muse, a queen who was already fairly-well-known in the drag fandom scene for being a meme (just the one though) with links to existing Ru-lumni Alaska and Aja (and I suppose, Dahlia Sin).

If I had been in charge of production and wanted to craft a season around one queen (which, let’s be honest, has been pulled off successfully before: S3 Raja, S4 Sharon Needles; and semi-successfully before: S12 Gigi Goode and [Redacted], S6 Adore Delano and Bianca Del Rio) I would probably make sure to cast queens that didn’t threaten, or didn’t fill the same lane as my chosen frontrunner.

In season 4, this was probably most successfully previously done. Sharon was posited as the only drag queen in the world with a horror aesthetic, and compared favorably in that regard to her more middle-of-the-road competitors.

Raja, in season 3, was posed as away and above all others the #1 fashion queen. I would hazard that Manila Luzon may have auditioned as more of a comedy queen (given her reliance on Asian stereotype humor through the season) and ended up being more of a threat to Raja’s dominance than prodution initially counted on.

Season 6 was set up to follow the storyline of Adore and see how far she would grow through the competition. This was both helped and hindered by Bianca Del Rio’s dominance, although at least she excelled in precisely the kinds of challenges Adore struggled at, and vice versa. In this season, I suspect that BenDeLaCreme was not cast to be a fan favorite, but that ended up happening when she proved to be unexpectedly strong and versatile at challenges outside of the theatrical remit that she probably played up at her audition.

And in season 12, of course, all the groundwork was laid in Meet the Queens and in all the pre-show interviews for a season-long rivalry between plucky fashionista strategic player Gigi Goode, and old-school campy theatrical comedy queen posed as the relatable heart of the season, Sherry Pie. It would have gone well, had the latter not been revealed to be a sexual predator sociopath, resulting in a hasty re-edit that led to a lot of the (I imagine) originally less visible queens getting more talking heads to fill in the pie-shaped gap in episode content.

So we come to season 13, where it seems one of two things has happened to the show. Either:

1. After the smash success of season 12 last year, the editors got comfortable to try a different and more experimental tack of focusing on queens who were all personality and less good at challenges, in the belief that personality alone was what invested viewers in queens, or

2. Season 12 was ALSO originally edited like this (as was its predecessor, S11), to focus on a small group of queens at the detriment of all others, and the finished product (that was a smash success with fans) only wasn’t like that because of hasty re-editing that they didn’t feel the need to do this time.

Because for this S13E07 episode...

The strongest performing queens (Rosé and Denali) were for the third episode running, absolutely sidelined, even after drasticatically improving on the previous challenge that tested these comedy performance skills, which is surely a ready-made dramatic narrative.

Queens who performed alright, moderately who happened to fall into the group of queens production is favoring were praised to the high heavens, extremely effusively, as if what they had done was absolutely groundbreaking and incomparable to anyone else in the show’s history. (e.g. in what world is a silent character that performs physical comedy the hardest character to play, rather than easiest, in an improvisation challenge???)

Queens who performed poorly were only acknowledged as doing so if they had been cast as filler queens, otherwise, their performance was excused and not mentioned, or even some praise was found for very basic attempts.

This was all even emphasized inside the show itself by the filming technique of setting the queens who weren’t performing up on lawn chairs as an audience in another room to comment on each others’ performance, all suspiciously having the same comments which didn’t really match up with what we were actually seeing on screens.

Speaking as a fairly involved Drag Race fan (I mean, I make hypothetical videos of things that didn’t happen in the show...), I don’t watch this show to watch a scripted reality series focusing on performed characters. I watch the show for a competition in what’s essentially a queer community sport medium, an artform, to be judged by professionals with experience.

For queer people’s hard work to be rewarded, and their struggle recognized.

And this way of favoring the same people week on week, regardless of their craft or skill level, while leaving others to sit underappreciated, essentially televising the results of the creative queer struggle - at that, pretty much inadvertently recreating the feeling for these competitors of what it feels to be marginalized by a normative society that doesn’t respect your art and presentation... Mama, this isn’t it. It’s not the kind of thing I want to be spending my time watching in 2021, and it’s not feeding my soul.

[ice-creamforbreakfast]

1, 3, 4, and 13!

Aah thank you! These are good ones 💜

1. Do you hide any secrets in your stories that only a few people will find?  

Absolutely! I’ve often hidden links to videos or certain things behind full stops etc. to throw a bit of shade or make a related joke.

In my Smyth save, I hid a transitioning character in plain sight and only a couple of people twigged. Izzy appears from time to time in plots relating to Bee and was the first Smyth gen 3 baby to be born!

3. Which process do you dedicate more time to, editing visuals or editing your writing? Why?

If it’s a legacy save, the writing takes up more time, as I use Reshade for the visuals. If it’s something more story based, especially if it uses poses, I’ll spend more time on the visuals. I haven’t really done this in TS4, but Laundrygnomes, my unfinished TS3 story definitely took up more time for the visuals. The reason I focus more on writing and not on visuals in legacies is because I’m enjoying playing them over setting up shots.

4. What scenes do you find hardest to write?

Emotional scenes and sex scenes. I’ll often try to find a way to make them funny, as I’m a wee bit closed off emotionally and funny makes it easier 🙃

13. What characters do you feel most connected to? Why do you feel connected to that character?

Heather. She’s a bitch on wheels who works in fashion, refuses to age, has two husbands, casually fired out a heap of kids without missing a beat, as well as taking in a stray or two (animal and human), gives zero fucks about the small stuff or the opinions of those who don’t matter, but would do anything for her family and would gladly help someone in need if she was able to. Aside from Cabbagepatch, I’ve had the most fun writing Heather and she’s kind of represents how I’d love to be!

[enbycalicocat]

Day 5: 31st of January, 2021

.

A few days ago, my psychologist posed a question that turned my life upside down. And when I said upside down, I really meant it. Sleep had eluded me for the last week. My head was full of only that one question, the words resounding over and over again, like bells tolling.

 "Are you going to keep your name? Or do you want to change it?"

 Never in my life had I thought about changing my name. Not once. So, my psychologist's words took me by complete surprise.

 "Change my name? Why? For what?"

 "What do you mean why?" The woman had asked me, as surprised as me. Suddenly, she seemed to understand something and she became uncomfortable. "Well, Lindsey, many people in your situation, most of them in fact, change their names."

 'People in your situation.'

Just like her, I understood all at once.

 And it was true, a lot of transgender people decided to change their names when they started to transition. But I hadn't thought about that. In fact, I didn't want another name. I was very sure.

 "Lindsey," the woman in front of me said, "Your life, your feelings, your thoughts, do not need to be like everyone else's. You are your own person, and there's nothing wrong with that. Do not think you have to change your name. Just consider it as a type of healthy self-examination. Something to get to know yourself better and nothing else."

 I didn't think there was anything healthy in the way I had been thinking about her question, though.

 "Lin!" James' voice rang loudly, almost right next to my ear.

 My body jerked involuntarily and I turned to look at him with wide eyes. My boyfriend's face crumpled like paper and my heart gave a painful pang.

 Girl, could I have made it any more obvious that I hadn't been paying attention to him for the last god-knew-how-many hours?

 "I'm sorry," I said immediately, my face crumpling right along with his. "Honey, I'm so sorry. Really. There's no excuse. I should be listening to you. I'm the worst."

 James sighed wearily and shook his head.

"Lin, baby, just tell me what's going on with you. Please. You're killing me here."

 Looking away guiltily told James exactly what I'd been thinking about, no need for words.

 "The name thing? Still? Lin, why is this eating you up so much!"

 "Because I don't know what to do." The whine in my voice was childish and silly but I didn't care. I was sick and tired of thinking about the name thing too!

 "Okay. You know what. Let's go over this. Together. Let's debate and discuss and talk and put it out in the freaking air because I don't want it to rot in your head and rot your brain along the way."

 A small smile made the corners of my lips lift a bit but then it was gone. He was trying to lighten up the atmosphere. It didn't work at all, though. Still, I gave him A+ for effort.

 "Let's see. Do you want to change your name?"

 "I don't know." The whine was back and there was nothing I could do to avoid it.

 "Alright..." James said as he thought. "Do you like your name?"

 "I love it. You know this. I have always adored it to bits and pieces."

 "Yeah, baby, I know, but I wanted you to say it again." James gave me an encouraging smile, as if we were making progress. I couldn't see any though. "Why do you think other trans people change their names?"

 That question took me by surprise as I wasn't expecting it. We were talking about me, why did he suddenly want to discuss other people? However, instead of saying anything, I considered what he'd said. If James was bringing it up, there was a reason

 "Well..." I mused. "Maybe because of their past? Because they want to separate their lives? I mean, if they had a very hard time while living under their old name, even more if it didn't align with the gender they identify with, they would change it when they transitioned. That was their old life. This was their new life. Each marked with a name. And that's not even considering the possibility that their parents, the ones that chose their original name, might not support them or they don't accept them. So, that name carries a lot of memories and emotions, and if they're not the type of emotions they want in this new beginning, it makes sense to shed it."

 "Those are very good points." James mused, watching me with shiny, happy eyes. It made my heart skip a beat. Why was he looking at me like that? "Do you feel like that? Do you feel like your name is carrying a lot of emotions you don't want to take onto this next chapter of your life?"

 Through my mind flashed many different images and scenes.

The first time I finally found the courage to go out in a dress, with make-up, and a wig. That time I presented myself as Lindsey. It was also the first time I ever dated, kissed and had sex with someone as me. The me that's a girl.

Moving out of my parents house to a new city. I had lived in the dorms and entered into university, as a girl. The administration knew of me and my case, and were not against keeping my indentified gender from my parents. I had gone to class, made friends, talked to teachers, handed in projects and essays, all as Lindsey.

That photography class in which I met James. With me as Lindsey we'd fallen in love, graduated, found steady jobs, bought a house together and adopted a little kitten.

Lastly, that Thanksgiving, when I told my parents that I didn't identify as a boy, and then presented them my girl 'side'. They had been silent the whole while. And when they saw me dressed with a wig, girl clothes, and heels and the way I walked, my mother started crying. At the time I thought I would be rejected, insulted, humiliated, that my parents wouldn't love me anymore. But then my mother asked me why I had taken so long to tell them. My father looked me in the eyes with unspilled tears and asked if I didn't trust them. Turns out that when they saw me, the way I carried myself, and my change in behavior, it had become glaringly obvious to them that I'd been a girl for many years already, and hadn't said anything. They never noticed a single thing, never suspected, never knew, until that day. In the conversations that day, although there were a lot of changes and things they had to adapt to, there had been no mention of names, I had stayed as Lindsey.

 "My name," I began after a long time of silence, "carries a lot of good memories. A lot of love and support and care and courage. I want those emotions in my new life."

 James gave me a fond smile this time and I felt my chest get warm. Why was he looking at me like that? I hadn't done anything for him to look that proud.

 "That's really good to know." James' voice was so soft right then. And I knew, that he was really happy with me right now. "Now, let's use our imagination. You ready?"

 "Yeah," I said with a smile because his happiness was really contagious.

 "So, suppose you have to change your name. Like, there's no choice. You're forced to pick a new name with which to live from now on. What would you pick?"

 When I heard that question, I began to sense where this whole conversation was going. But it was all still very blurry. So, I decided to keep on playing along with my boyfriend.

 "If I were forced to pick a name," I began, thinking out loud, "I would like something that's androgynous, a name that isn't necessarily identified with one or another particular gender. Like Taylor. But Taylor is a friend from work, and also we share some common friends, and it would be really confusing to have two Taylors suddenly, one a transgender man and the other a transgender woman. So, I wouldn't pick that one.

"Also, I want something that sounds elegant. Maybe Robin? But Robin is Batman's sidekick, and even though you're gorgeous, you're no Batman, honey. And I would only ever be your sidekick. Any other case I would damn well be the hero and protagonist."

 James laughed and watched me, his eyes still shiny, his smile still so soft, so tender. I arrogantly thought that he was falling in love with me, all over again.

 "So, something elegant," I went on, because looking at James was getting me side tracked and this was a very important topic. I wanted to sleep peacefully again, thank you very much! "Maybe Sam? No. I don't like it that much. Let me keep on thinking. You know what we really need right now? We should grab a phone and look up a list of gender neutral names!"

 "That would be cheating." James was laughing all over again, his heart not just on his sleeve, but on his face, on a silver platter lying right in front of him, offered for me to take and cherish and love. It was a good thing I did all that already. "You have to think of a name on your own."

 "You, mister, are absolutely no fun at all! I'm sure when the FBI has to reassign their victims to a new state and life and job, and those people have to choose a new name, they go to..."

 A name rang in my head. All of a sudden. Like lightning.

 "Tallas!" I cried excitedly. "That's the name I would choose! I read a book with a character named like that once. It was so good! And I adored the name ever since I saw it. The way it's written seemed beautiful to me, and the pronunciation as well. Ah, but it's not as good as Lindsey, though. But it would do. I wouldn't feel discontent at all if I had to change my name for Tallas."

 James laughed out loud. A big belly laugh. He had tears in his eyes and everything. I just sort of chuckled because his laugh was very contagious, but I was very confused.

 "What? What did I say?"

 "Baby." James took a deep breath and tried his hardest to reign in his laughter. "Will any name be as good as Lindsey for you?"

 Ah, that was easy to answer. No need to think.

 "No. I love my name. No name will ever compare, and I will probably never like it as much. In fact, I would be kind of sad to let it go if I were forced to change names."

 "Then you have your answer." James gave me that absolutely smitten and whipped look again and finally kissed me.

 I was dumbfounded at first, but then I retraced the whole conversation, everything I'd said, and the answer was obvious to me too. My lips split into a radiant smile and I threw myself into James' arms, as happy chuckles and giggles burbled out of me. He was right, I had my answer.

.

.

Prompt: 5. If you could pick another name, what would it be and why?

.

Previous Day Next Day

[ladyoutlier]

Prompt: I don’t know if this counts as head-canon or not, but I’m interested in the idea that the Crowley’s feet get permanently damaged during the Church Scene (it follows if holy water is permanent death than consecrated ground might be permanent damage as well imo). One day, Aziraphale notices.

Falling was hardly painless. It burned and scarred and left behind a great deal of phantom pains and bad memories. Still, 6000 years was an awful lot of time for Crowley to get used to all that. Let it blend into his identity until it became as much a part of himself as his name. Though he had already proven that names were always up for debate. But it was enough time to let it shift his outlook on life and play a role in everything he did. Soon enough, he all but forgot what life was like without the pain of his Fall.

78 years, on the other hand, isn’t a lot of time for an immortal being to get used to a new source of pain, although Crowley did try his hardest to cope and continue on as normal. He wasn’t sure whether it made it better or worse that this, unlike his Fall, was most definitely self-imposed.

He had made the decision to enter that church to help out Aziraphale. Maybe it wasn’t the smartest move considering that Aziraphale would hardly be gone forever if he hadn’t intervened. He would’ve just been preoccupied for a bit up in Heaven whilst he was issued a new body. Likely, he would’ve made it back to Earth before the century was up, and all would’ve been right as rain.

But for some reason, Crowley just couldn’t let that happen. Had to save him the embarrassment as he had put it. Really though, he just wasn’t all that interested in seeing the corpse of his friend, even if it was hardly permanent. And dying probably still hurt like Hell. Aziraphale didn’t deserve that.

So he had tap-danced his way into that church, desperately trying to keep either of his feet from being too scorched by the holy divinity of God. At least the ground no longer burned when it was reduced to rubble. Still, the damage had been done, and, like his wings, his feet didn’t go back to normal. If he had thought about it a bit more, maybe he would’ve came in kneeling. God would’ve had a good chuckle at that.

It hadn’t been hard to play off the constant ache in his step when he walked. His overly dramatic saunter made it easy to play off a sudden stab of pain as just another example of his inability to remain still for too long. Really, he had the whole world fooled, even himself, that absolutely nothing was wrong whatsoever. That’s probably why he didn’t think twice about it when he swapped bodies with Aziraphale.

That’s not to say that Aziraphale felt Crowley’s pain when in his body. No, that wasn’t the case at all. If God’s holy wrath was tied to nothing but a physical body, well, it would hardly qualify as a punishment. This type of pain was linked to the soul so that whatever body Crowley incorporated, he wouldn’t be quick to get comfortable. 

Still, Crowley had never been discorporated, so his physical scars from his walk down the aisle were most definitely present on the soles of his feet. It wasn’t until a certain holy water bath where Aziraphale noticed, and it was very much the reason why he had left Crowley’s socks on for it. He considered keeping it to himself, but curiosity soon won out, and a week after deceiving Heaven and Hell,  he brought it up.

Their common place of evening banter was undoubtedly Aziraphale’s bookstore, but the angel had suggested they go to Crowley’s flat tonight instead. Surely if the demon was in his own space when Aziraphale turned the conversation to his question, he would feel more comfortable answering it. At the very least, he would have a harder time running away. Crowley had thought the change of place odd, but it wasn’t like he was going to say no to Aziraphale.

They were a couple bottles in, relaxed on an L-shaped couch that hadn’t existed four hours ago, before Aziraphale had the confidence to turn the conversation. It was a real shame to bring down the merry atmosphere with this, but this just wasn’t something he could shrug off.

“What did it feel like? Falling that is?” This wasn’t a new question the angel posed to the demon. Every now and then he would ask it, and Crowley would give him a slightly different answer each time.

“Like that warm bubbly God’s grace inside you suddenly got much too hot.”

“Is that how your feet feel too?” Aziraphale asked as nonchalantly as he could.

“What?” Crowley all but dropped his glass.

“I—I just noticed in our little escapade last week where we, you know, pulled one over our respective head offices…” He paused to look at Crowley who stared at him slightly slack-jawed. “Well, I noticed you had scars on the soles of your feet. Rather extreme ones too. And—and considering we can look any way we please and do away with things like scars, I assumed that these in particular must be related to a holy event.”

“Yeah it was.” The demon’s mouth was a thin line. “A holy event.”

“Oh, I do hope you didn’t step in that holy water I gave you. Everything in me said that I shouldn’t give it to you, but I did anyway.”

“Nah, was before that. 1941. Church. You know.”

Of course he knew. Crowley had once again showed up to save the day and, more importantly, his books. It was the kindest act anyone had ever done for him, and the demon refused to let him properly thank him for it. The holy water had been his later attempt at that.

“Dear Lord, Crowley. This didn’t happen to you because you felt the need to save me, did it?”

Crowley cringed at Aziraphale’s tone of voice. Last thing he wanted was the angel’s sympathy—or his guilt for that matter. “I wasn’t bloody certain what would happen when I went into that church. Figure a bit of foot pain isn’t that bad considering.”

“How’s a permanent injury to your celestial being not bad?”

“Well, the Almighty could’ve smited me then and there for stepping foot into Her holy sanctuary. Everything kind of pales compared to that.”

Aziraphale’s jaw practically fell off. “You thought the Almighty might smite you, and you still went in to save me?!?”

“I hoped the whole saving an angel thing would convince Her to go easy on me.”

“Crowley!”

“I’d do it again in a heartbeat.”

And he meant it. Absolutely one hundred percent meant it. He’d do anything for Aziraphale, although he usually tried to keep him from knowing that.

“I’d rather you not maim yourself—or risk your life—for me. Especially when it’s a non-lethal situation!” Aziraphale was now standing, his wine glass forgotten on the coffee table.

“With how your relationship with Heaven is, I’d say there’s all the more reason for me to.”

“Then I hope you don’t mind me saying that I’ll do the same for you going forward.”

And now Crowley was standing as well. “Of course I mind!”

“So, do you see where I’m coming from? Will you trust me to handle myself.”

Crowley sat back down, defeated, and Aziraphale followed suit.

“I’ll do my best, angel.”

They were silent for a moment with Aziraphale’s gaze turned to the demon’s snakey boots. He cleared his throat and spoke up. “So your feet do hurt then?”

“‘S fine when I’m sitting down.”

“And when you’re not?”

“Maybe hurts a bit now and then.” Crowley shrugged in an attempt to downplay his words as much as possible.

“Is there—”

“No, Aziraphale. Nothing you can do unless you also have a way to make my wings white again. And don’t say bleach. It’s not a funny joke.”

“Never would have thought of it, dear.” He moved closer to Crowley on the couch. “But I can’t stand to sit here knowing you’re in pain.”

A confused yet knowing expression flooded Crowley’s face. “Demons are use to pain, angel. We always feel it. The Fall wasn’t a one-and-done deal. We just get used to what it feels like.”

“Oh.” It’s a small little noise that escapes Aziraphale’s lips. One that holds a lot more emotional meaning than the word’s dictionary one. “Crowley, I—I didn’t know.”

“It’s not like I ever told ya.” He avoided the angel’s gaze. “Like I said, we get used to it. No use crying about some 6000 year old drama, now is there?”

“I’m so sorry. That sounds absolutely awful. I wish I could, I mean, there has to be—”

“Can we please not turn this into a pity party. Really I’m fine. As fine as I’ve ever been anyway. And I’d really just like to get sloshed with my best friend, if you don’t mind.”

It was time to back off. Crowley was done with this conversation. To the demon’s benefit, he had given Aziraphale a lot. Let loose quite a few secrets, and the angel appreciated that. If Crowley just wanted to drink now and have a good time, Aziraphale was going to do his best to give him a good evening.

“Of course. I shouldn’t have pushed you on this. We can go back to drinking.” 

He picked his wine glass back up but didn’t return to his side of the couch, instead remaining next to Crowley. If the demon minded, he didn’t show any sign of it. 

If Aziraphale couldn’t offer him any relief for his physical and spiritual pain, he could at least provide Crowley with his company. Really, that’s all Crowley wanted. Just Aziraphale’s company. Because, even though he didn’t tell the angel, just being around Aziraphale made him forget all about every ounce of pain he had ever felt.

[motherlifesucher-archives]

Overcomplicated l Shawn Mendes Imagine.

(a/n): heyyyy! this is kinda based on the song “Why”. It was supposed to be posted earlier but here was a 6,6 mini earthquake on my country lol. Anyway, I hope you enjoy it!

summary: The more famous they became, the hardest it turned for Shawn &(Y/N) to confess their feelings, but the Grammys might the the push they needed.

The first thing Shawn did to celebrate his Grammy nominations was to dial one of his closest friends, (Y/N), who had also scored three nominations, and they were both nominated for Best Pop Vocal Album with their self-titled albums, and Song of The Year. 

They freaked out over the phone, even if they were across the world. They wanted nothing more than to just hug each other and have a Grey’s Anatomy marathon to celebrate. 

He then called Camila, who teased him saying both of her friends’ being nominated on the same category should be a sign that he should find the guts to ask (Y/N) out.

He laughed at his friend before hanging up and trying to understand what the fuck was going on.

Soon enough his phone couldn’t stop vibrating from people congratulating him. Family, friends, people on the industry. He even scored a call from both James Corden and Ellen DeGeneres. 

Geoff teased his friend saying he should ask (Y/N) out before the ceremony, just in case he won and she didn’t want to see him again. They both laughed knowing she’d never do that, but it seemed like his friends were running out of ideas to make him ask her out on a date, but nothing seemed to work out.

He remembered the chills that ran down his spine when he saw her presenting in the Golden Globes next to Timothée Chalamet. She looked gorgeous. He always found it hard to keep his attention on the stage when she was next to him, and the Grammys wouldn’t be the exception. 

Should he ask Andrew to call the awards production and ask to not be seated next to her? 

No, of course it would find its way to the public and she’d be hurt. Besides, Camila had already texted him saying the three would be sitting pretty close with Taylor Swift. 

Hell, even Taylor Swift had tried to play matchmaker while she was visiting her on tour and he got to perform!

There was a part of him aching to see what her lips would feel against his. How disheveled her hair would look right after waking up in the morning. To be the inspiration behind her songs. To be the reason why her eyes shone so bright and her smile grew bigger just because she saw him.

He knew she already was his inspiration. The impotence of seeing her and not being able to declare his love was driving him crazy, and he knew the only one who could fix that was himself, but there was too much at stake.

Their friendship was precious; they understood each other in a way not many people could, and it wasn't because they both were in the public eye, but because they understood each other on a cellular level. It was like they were the same person and he knew there was a bright future for them.

He just needed to grow some balls and do the right thing. 

Everyone around him said she felt the same way, but Shawn only dismissed them with a sigh smile while shaking his head in denial. They were only doing it so that he could grow the confidence to do what his heart desired so deeply. 

He couldn’t help but torture himself with other possible scenarios. What if he had never dated Hailey and instead he had asked her out? At that point his feelings for (Y/N) were clear, yet he still went out with the model.

What if he had asked her out the moment he saw her for the first time almost six years ago?

Was he overcomplicating things? Probably. 

-

Nerves were taking over his body as he got out of the limo, only to be bombarded with flashes and screams of his name.

He politely waved before posing and paying attention to a girl with a clipboard giving him instructions. 

He then was walked to the red carpet, patiently waiting for his turn while greeting people. He started making conversation with Niall before the entire room lit up in front of him.

There she was.

Wearing the most gorgeous gown he had ever seen. Was it because she was the one wearing it? Probably. 

He noticed the way her smile grew ten times bigger when she saw him, and even with her uncomfortable dress she made her way towards him and hugged him.

“It’s so good to see you!” She tightened the embrace before letting go of him. 

“You look beautiful,” He said and noticed Niall hiding his smirk from the side. 

“Thanks. You don’t look too bad yourself,” She smiled before quickly greeting Niall who was being ushered to the red carpet. 

“So, I heard we are sitting next to each other,” She said excitedly. 

“And next to Camila and Taylor. It’s gonna be awkward when one of us wins” He chuckled and she softly hit his arm.

“Don’t be an idiot. I’m honestly not expecting to win, are you?”

“You gotta have some confidence in yourself, babe,” He said and she felt the color rush to her cheeks.

They knew that even in the small tent where they waiting, people were snapping pictures of both of them. Shawn wanted to add something when a woman in a black dress with a sign with his name interrupted, saying it was time to walk down the carpet.

“Meet me in the carpet?” He asked and she smiled.

“You can count on it, rockstar,”

it was his time to blush at her words before following the woman, and soon enough he was met with tons of flashes and people telling him to give them smiles and posing in different angles. 

He soon moved down the carpet and saw the same woman appear with a sign with her name. 

He felt his attention shift from the photographers to her, as she cautiously stepped on the red carpet and started posing like she was born to do it. 

She noticed him and sent a wink and a smile before she continued with her work. Soon enough people started screaming both their names and she carefully walked to him.

He took a couple of steps to meet her halfway and offer her a hand, making everyone go crazy. She giggled before placing her hand on his shoulder as he put his on her waist. They continued posing for a couple of minutes before they went back to solo pictures. 

The moment they were out of that part of the carpet they laughed and took a breath, now they were being pushed to different interviews and people asking for pictures. The scene was very crowded, but they were approached by an E! News producer who said they both were on the list of interviews and if they minded doing the interview together because time was running out.

They agreed and noticed Giuliana Rancic was waiting for them. Shawn again offered his hand and helped his friend with the steps while being careful to not step in her dress. 

“Well, see who we have here! Two of the biggest names in the music industry right now and multiple nominated artists tonight, Shawn Mendes and (Y/N)!” Giuliana introduced them and some people surrounding cheered while they greeted to the camera. 

“Thanks for having us,” Shawn replied with his charming smile. 

“You two look absolutely incredible. Ladies first, who are you wearing? Because I have to say that seeing you back in the Globes and tonight makes you climb to the top of the list of the best dressed during this awards season!”

“My God, you are so nice! Thank you so much! Well, tonight I'm wearing Christian Dior from head to toe,” She motioned her dress and shoes. 

“Well, you make this dress look ten times more beautiful, don’t you agree?” Giuliana asked Shawn.

“Absolutely, I think I’ve said she looks stunning like ten times since we arrived,” He said trying to play it cool, but his hands were sweating.

“Aren’t you a charmer!” Shawn smiled at the camera before Giuliana asked him which designer was responsible for his looks.

“Tonight I'm wearing Armani,” He subtly showed his watch to the camera, earning a laugh from his friend. 

“Is there any pressure or nervousness since you two are nominated on the same categories?” “I don’t think so,” (Y/N) answered. “We have been friends for a while now, even one of our best friends, Camila, is nominated tonight and I think we are just thrilled to be recognized amongst so many great artists,”

“Yeah, if you think about it we are still young and got many years to come, but the fact that I get to be here with my best friends celebrating our work is just magical,” Shawn completed her answered and smiled to the interviewer. 

“Great, you guys are spectacular! Thank you so much for joining us and good luck! Especially for Shawn since he’s performing tonight!”

They said goodbye and Shawn again helped his longtime crush out of the small stage.

“Is it time to go to our seats?” (Y/N) asked Shawn who shrugged. 

Only fifteen minutes were left when the same woman on the black dress told them it was time to head inside the venue. They waved to the photographers scattered around the red carpet for the last time before entering.

Their seats were on the first row, they could see people filling the seats and the biggest names on the industry greeting each other. 

They were reaching their seats when they spotted Camila and her boyfriend. 

“I was wondering where you guys were!” Camila said excitedly and hugging (Y/N) while Shawn shook hands with Camila’s boyfriend, Matthew. 

“It’s so crowded outside you can barely move,” (Y/N) said adjusting her dress before taking a seat. 

“When are you supposed to go backstage?” Camila asked Shawn.

“Uhm, I think I have to go during the first commercial break,” Shawn said and both Camila and (Y/N) clapped in excitement. “Please don’t embarrass me during the presentation,” Shawn teased them.

“Not a chance! We’re your biggest fans AND your best friends, of course we are going to embarrass you in front of the world!” (Y/N) said and hugged Shawn’s waist, completely ignored the look Camila gave Shawn. 

“You guys are so annoying,” Shawn wrapped his arm around (Y/N) and softly kissed the top of her hair. 

Camila almost squeaked in excitement. Why weren’t they together yet?!

-

Ariana Grande had beat both Camila and (Y/N) for the award of Best Pop Solo Performance, making them laugh and cheer loudly for the brunette in stage. 

The ceremony was coming to an end when the category where the three friends were nominated, the Best Pop Vocal Album category was up. Camila interlaced her fingers with her boyfriend when the camera was in front of her as her name got announced, closely followed by Shawn and (Y/N) that smiled at each other. 

“And the Grammy goes to,” Bruno Mars opened the envelope, “(Y/N)!” 

Everyone jumped from their seats except from the winner, who covered her mouth and slowly rose from her seat. 

Shawn engulfed her in a hug so tight while whispering congratulations on her ear. He almost let impulses get the best of him and kiss her lips, but he only kissed her cheek before letting her go. 

The entire audience cheered when Shawn helped her to the stage, carefully adjusting the back of her dress on the stairs before cheering for her. 

Her speech was shaky an emotional as she held her award. But the best part for Shawn was when he felt the camera next to his face, but nothing could erase the smile as she thanked him. 

“People say it’s hard to meet real people on this industry, but I just look here on the first row. Camila Cabello, Taylor Swift, and of course Shawn Mendes. Incredibly talented people who deserve to win just as much as I do. And a big support for me during this process has been this man standing here,” She pointed at Shawn. “Thank you for being my friend and guiding me through this process. I wouldn’t be the same without you and I love you, you are the best friend in the world,”

She continued mentioning her family, but Shawn knew there was something igniting inside of him and it was nothing like he had felt before. 

That something followed him the entire night. 

It was the courage to finally make his dreams come true and be with her. 

Love her. 

That was the reason why he didn’t let go of her during the entire night as they made appearances on the various after parties. 

They were getting drunker as the night passed by. He could feel her leaning on his shoulder, trying to find warmth since she had changed her dress into a short one and chills were covering her body. 

Her face was hidden on his neck during the majority of the night. They had lost their friends now as they stepped inside Post Malone’s after party. Paparazzi were having a field day as they walked inside with linked arms and she hiding her face and Shawn shielding her from their view. 

“Should we dance? I think we’ve had too much to drink,” She giggled and took his hand. 

Shawn smiled as she let another button on his shirt loose, exposing his chest. They were dancing, carefully trying no to bump into other people as they giggled in the dark room. 

He felt her face getting close, she even smiled at him as their noses bumped into each other, but he knew he didn’t want this to be dismissed as a drunken decision, so he delicately separated their faces and offered her a drink.

He missed the devastated look the drunk Grammy winner gave him. 

-

Two weeks had passed since the Grammy awards and Shawn was isolated in his room watching Just Jared instagram stories. 

People were confused, and to be honest, so was him. 

Multiple pictures of him and (Y/N) had resurfaced after heir drunken night. People were speculating whether or not they were officially dating, if they had started dating just now if if this had been going on for years.

But just two days after this, pictures of his girl and Timothée Chalamet appeared, making everyone, Shawn included, confused. 

He didn’t call her again. He ignored her texts. He didn’t even bother to check her Instagram.

And she noticed the lack of presence of a certain tall boy in her life. 

She was giving up on trying to reach him when he finally texted back.

“Sorry. I've been busy, you wanna talk about something? I’m leaving LA tomorrow.”

Her heart skipped a beat and told him to meet her at her house. He agreed and she started to patiently wait for him to arrive. Later, she saw his car on the camera, she tried to look her best as she opened the door as he parked his car next to hers. 

She smiled shyly, “Hi,” 

“Hey there,” Shawn gave her a quick hug.

They stepped inside and the first thing Shawn noticed was the Grammy standing proudly on top of her piano. 

“It looks nice,” Shawn pointed at the award. 

“Thanks,” She thanked quietly. “How have you been?”

“Good, you?” He asked her. 

“All good, thanks,”

They stared at each other quietly. Shawn was going to ask her what the hell was going on with the actor when she interrupted:

“Are you mad because I won?” She blurted, making Shawn’s eyes widen. 

“What?” He asked in disbelief.

“You’ve been ignoring me. Is it because I won our category?” She asked while fearing the answer. 

“Are you crazy? Of course not!” He replied offended.

“Then why have you been ignoring me? What’s going on with you? We had a moment, things clicked and it felt right, but you just bailed on me!” She told him with her voice full of anger but it was soft. 

Shawn took a deep breath. This was it. The moment he had been waiting for yet fearing the outcome. He didn’t realize when his heart started to pound against his ribcage, but he calmed his breathing and started pouring his heart out. 

“I’m scared,” He confessed. “I really like you, and I have for a while now, ever since I saw you. But I'm scared because we are friends, and you mean a lot to me and I can’t help it. We are constantly in the spotlight, I don’t want them to damage what we already have, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like you any less, because...” 

Shawn’s ramble was suddenly interrupted by a pair of soft lips against his own.

He instantly relaxed and everything felt natural. His hands fell on her waist as he drew her closer. Everything felt familiar yet strange, but the most important thing...

It felt right. 

[sparda3g]

Gintama Chapter 703 Review

This chapter is amazing. I don’t need to review it; just leave it like that and you already know why. Joking aside (not really), what is there to say about it? It’s not the chapter I thought I wanted, but it’s the chapter I didn’t think I needed. It’s Gintama at its finest in its serious tone. It’s the finale that surpassed the last Utsuro battle. It’s the finale that surpassed my expectation, and trust me, it was pretty high. It’s the finale that the fans will forever remember.

Right from the beginning, it’s a knee-jerking experience with a sheer amount of intensity in the air. Gintoki and Utsuro are not even fighting, yet I got goosebumps just reading their dialogues. Speaking of which, Utsuro continue to be the most sinister villain in a long time for Shounen Jump. I know it’s technically not part of it anymore, but it did spawn from it. The point is, Utsuro is intimidating as always, drawing the aura of sinister that have outsmarted everyone.

He retells the whole story on why and how all the events led to this moment, in case if you are confused. Above all, it does add the shivering feeling because of how right he was about everything. The line about the path makes a callback, which makes me happy, because I reflect this many times before on how important his words were. That means I didn’t overthink it; Sorachi acknowledged it. Also, it adds more to the theme of Silver Soul; a necessary conflict to challenge. Lastly and more importantly, it adds more to Gintoki’s character; a man who can’t escape the tragic path that happened to repeat itself. It’s a mad world.

The showdown between the two have been on-point and stellar, and they haven’t yet to attack to make it so. Even Gintoki grasping his sword got me chills; that’s how unnerving it is. He may have gone through hell, but he will forever keep his words with his friends. No matter what happens, they will find their way to regroup. The conversation is so compelling. It doesn’t resort to power of friendship in blatant terms. All of their words felt meaningful because it relates perfectly to their characters. Those words about Takasugi made me feel so good, but it ultimately segue to a twist to Utsuro’s own game.

The twist is great because it finally put Utsuro in his own mind game, and rightfully deserved. It turns out that he was the one lying down and Shouyo was never there. It was confusing, of course, but the explanation is pretty rewarding. We last saw him about to kill Shouyo, but it actually never went through. He was stopped by Oboro because his blood was also consumed. This makes sense, especially when we just learned about how everything works. Not only that, but it’s even better with him being the one to stop. How can Sorachi make a dead guy, who was once a villain, become so likable in after life? That’s amazing.

I got so gleeful when Gintoki takes the role of a tyrant, looking down on Utsuro. It’s like I have foodgasm without taking a bite. The mind game on Utsuro is awesome; that line delivery about what he sees is superb. Takasugi stabbed himself rather than on Shouyo; that commitment cannot be broken. Gintoki’s strike is so well earned, along with the parallel. To recap, Shouyo is saved (for now) and he’s going to be helped by Yorozuya. Those moments were stellar enough, the next scene is downright masterful, but it comes with a heavy price.

It’s really tough to choose the best scene of this chapter. It’s interchangeable to me. Regardless, the next scene is perhaps the moment I never expected. I was so hung on the idea that the final battle must be explosive, literally or not, tons of action, and a solid storytelling. Maybe because plenty of writers thought bigger means better. That is not the case, and that’s a great thing. What the fans get and thankfully understand the nature and premise, is a wonderful climatic end.

Just before the final exchange, there’s one more conversation; preparing you for the greatness. The bone-chilling feeling that I have comes from Gintoki posing like a true Samurai, ready to fight. That cold stare only increase the chill factor. Utsuro’s words are hurtful, especially when he more or less guilt tripping Gintoki. Words about losing a master and a friend; those are stabbing to the heart pain. The narrative is whether the end path for Gintoki will forever be an empty void. Shouyo is saved, but will Takasugi be saved as well? The answer is yes; just not what you’re hoping for.

It’s badass enough for Gintoki to pose as a Samurai; it’s even more so when he doesn’t move at all to all of Utsuro’s hit. None of them connects; he stands as he knows he will never be empty. The ones he wanted to protect are right there, in his soul. That panel with Takasugi preventing Utsuro’s attacks is pure awesome. That’s friendship at its best. The next scene…is mesmerizing. Everything is impactful for one main reason: the storytelling. If Utsuro was just himself, it would have been pretty cool, but that would be the end of it. It would have been a high-five victory only. However, this is Takasugi’s body, so the story has changed. It’s a heartbreaking story that will pain the fans. It’s a tragic story that must be done. And I love it.

I love every single panel. It’s all one-sided, but it’s incredible. Much like how One Punch Man is brilliant at one-hit gag, this is brilliant at finishing the fight in a one-sided beat down with a crushing soul. I love how every hit slowly eats Gintoki’s calmness, closing in to kill Utsuro, but above all, kill his best friend. The memories begin to surface, causing me to feel the agony. I can’t do it justice here, but it’s simply gorgeous. My favorite part is the sword reflection. No matter what happens, no matter if Takasugi has to die, the reflection shows true color: he is proud of Gintoki. This is unfair. I don’t want to cry.

The way how it was paneled is amazing. It is an emotional roller coaster and each passing panel draws closer to sad fate. It aches me when it zooms in Gintoki’s eyes; understanding the pain he has to go through, but it has to be done. That roar as he holds Takasugi’s sword is chilling. The sad part is, I wanted to cheer and celebrate, but instead, I found myself pleading to stop. The double page spread says it all; epic but heartbreaking. The deed is done. I love Utsuro’s end as he truly learned the lesson as he dies; the lesson of humanity staying strong in the soul. It speaks well to his character and it’s better than simply meet people with strong willpower. It’s a great moral that captured the theme. I honestly didn’t do justice on the scene, but it’s one I often go back dozens and dozens of time; no exaggeration.

The scene with Yorozuya and Shouyo is something I thought I would never see, but undoubtedly welcoming. It makes completely sense for them to interact; it’s simply the past meet the present. It also works out well to give Shouyo a better light that his action has its upbringing and that is giving Gintoki the life he has. The panels with Gintoki looking down at Takasugi with a line about saving or protecting is quite telling. It’s very fitting for Shinpachi to be the one to thank Shouyo for meeting Gintoki. Who knows what would have happened instead if they didn’t meet. It’s such a nice moment of two generations bonding. Now, here comes the hardest part.

I wasn’t so sure what to prepare for, but it’s not the writing fault. It’s me hoping for a quick asspull or something people despise in Shounen genre. The series may be at the end, but to see a very popular character to die is hard to accept. Rarely that happens. Maybe, Takasugi would receive the Sasuke treatment, even if it was bull crap. Sadly, Sorachi doesn’t play that way. In short, this is it; pay respect one last time.

It’s as everything you can expect; it’s downright sad. I find it morbid to think the wins and losses count was a huge indication for their end. It was designed for one to receive the win to decide it all, but at a price of a life. Not like this. Even so, it’s touching that Gintoki doesn’t want the victory, even if Takasugi finds it pity. I love their last share of conversation, talking about how they were bitter with each other since youth, but they could have been best of friends. Scratch that; they always have been. What hurts me the most is the fact Takasugi had lived in the past for so long and what could have been show plenty of possibilities; but his death means it wasn’t meant to be. If that’s not tragic, I don’t know what is.

When I read the chapter’s title, I was speculating that it could mean a good thing. Technically, I was right, but not like this. Sorachi truly knows how to make something simple, complex, small, or large absolute meaningful, and by God, this is no exception. Takasugi’s left eye’s final vision was the tear of his best friend. The right should see Gintoki as the man he knows very well; the man he can called an eternal rival. That’s his final wish, and Gintoki grants that with a smile. The eye slowly closes; God, it’s hard. He vowed to get his win one day in Hell, and Takasugi will be waiting.

He’s gone. Gintoki cries. Powerful. Simply powerful.

Everything from this scene, let alone the chapter, was masterful. I don’t know how my face looked like, but I know my eyes were watery. Let me tell you, listening to Unravel acoustic was a massive mistake. It had me pouring. You can complain all you want about not wanting to end, but if it result to this pure quality, why fight it? This is what the fans truly deserved. Not exactly killing a beloved character, but the top level of writing that one would say, “It’s been 84 years.” I know it’s a joke, but I have to lighten up after this. The next chapter will be the last. By all means, end it. We are satisfied enough.

This chapter will go down as the best of the series; most likely the best I have read this year. It will likely to have the best ending in a long time. I am seriously considering to buy all volumes in one sweep. There’s no need to repeat on why this chapter is the best. You read it and you’ll know it. If only this was posted in a magazine; I will buy it in a heartbeat. Here’s to the final chapter. Takasugi won’t be here next time, but the soul will go on forever.

Rest in Peace, Takasugi.